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Mr. John Doe
Moment of Perfection.
Sometimes, when it hurt too much, he went to where nobody could bother him. Those places could barely be found, but when he found such a place it was like every sound on earth vanished so there was room for his inner voice to break out.
And when hte air was full of his screams and the tears on his face had dried he felt nothing but a satisfying emptiness, freedom from every though, every doubt and every superficial demand. And then everything would be good until the very moment he returned into the world of the self-destructive, material species called mankind.
Before this, he would dwell in just one moment of perfection.
Would you tell me what you know about the West?
Everyone’s dreaming of the West
Would you tell me what you saw,
cause you look like you’ve been there
and haven’t seen the best,
cause you look like you remember – and haven’t seen the best
Would you tell me what is your Utopia,
everyone’s dreaming his own Eden
And would you tell me what you saw,
cause you look like you’ve been there
and wanna go there once more,
and you look like you’ve been there
and can’t get there anymore
And have you ever gone to the ocean
to pray it may open and close over your head ... ?
And have you known it better,
gone home without wanting
that something would happen…?
Would you tell me, grey-haired Man
Where your eyes dwell in moments
when you think nobody watches
Would you tell me is your heart
In Atlantis, just lost or left far across the sea
In your Dreamland, just lost or left far across the sea…
*kleines verwirrtes romantisches Kind in Gedanken in Schottland und weit weit fort...*
Text vom 09. Juni '06
a man comes into town
The man came into town in early October, when fall already turned into winter.
He entered the village Old Greyshire at the eastern coast of England on a cloudy Saturday in the year 1986, age of Pisces, around lunch time, when a male citizen betrayed his wife, a female citizen betrayed her fiancée, an old man threw a stone at a dog that had stolen his cane, five boys were running away from the Second Hand LP Shop in Quarter Lane because they had stolen the Number 5’s* and 8’s** of the UK charts, and when several middle-aged men spent their money they used to give their sons as pocket money in Charlie Shoe’s Pub.
So much for the wild side of Greyshire, so much for the facts and so much for what one would find out if he spent a boring afternoon in Mary Witherspoon’s bakery.
Greyshire was divided into New Greyshire, the so-called city with the business districts, offices and shopping streets, and into Old Greyshire. Old Greyshire had no local news-paper, because it would be all about fisherman’s tales, little boys’ tricks and bloody family tragedies. Just the everyday stuff.
When the man came, they could have gotten a little story, with a small picture on the cover that made people read on when they got bored on the toilet. And they would think afterwards, “…eh?”
But they decided to live on their everyday stuff life which means that they kept absolutely buttoned up towards strangers.
People don’t recognize interesting stuff because they’re not used to it.
* When the going gets tough, Billy Ocean
** The Final Countdown, Europe
He did what he could to keep his eyes open.
The need of sleep was pressing down on him, he felt his eyes closing every other moment and then tearing them up again.
The point was to lengthen the state of mind between being awake and asleep.
It was making the world blur, fade away around oneself.
It was stepping ove, playing with one's conscience.
It was being able to control one's dreams.
If he fell asleep, he would lose himself, his mind would dwell in surrealistic images, throwing up flashes of his past - a timetravel he would immediately forget when he woke up.
But when he was so tired that he was still hardly awake alive then he could hold the flashes tight, stop or go farther, influence his ability to remember.
He lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling like fainting, awaiting the pictures.
one of those questions
"Can I ask you a question?"
"You always can, but since when do you ask if you can ask a question?"
"Are you able to play the piano?"
"As far's I know, no, I'm not. Why's that?"
"Oh, nevermind. Just one of those questions, again."
"And what does Bavaria mean to you?"
"Alright, alright, forget it."
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