i had a dream

there is one very awkward recurrent dream. many people know the theme in different variations and have dreamt the same thing.
all of a sudden there is a new room to the place you´ve been living in for years and years. it just appears and you discover it and get all thrilled by the mysterious delight of discovering.
a new door opens.
in my dream there is an entire new part to my apartment. it´s by the river and the windows are almost on eye level with the water. it´s a little windy in there and there´s no heating. very few furniture. and everything is chalky, salty white like in spanish fincas. it kind of gives me the feeling of houses by the sea. like my favourite house, the famous casa malaparte on capri. but all is run down and kind of bandit-like. a little dubious. a little shady. the danger of the strength of the waves and the devouring sea is in the air. the light is white and there are long shadows.
i sit on a white bench in one of the open rooms in my dream and wonder what to do with the place. i look at the run down stove. i don´t know. and so i sit, a little stunned and marvelled by it´s beauty. a little frightened by it´s mere existence. and don´t know what to do. but i don´t really worry either.
it´s kind of like being in the universe, isn´t it?
beautiful and frightening and not knowing what to do about it.
i know this room so well by now.
if you look for banal dream interpretations, they mostly say it means you´re discovering a new part of yourself and bla bla blurb. but i´d prefer to think it means that this room is there and waiting. either for you to make it or for you to find it and leave your known house.

the room gives me the same feeling i had when i first read camus´ "the stranger" as a teeanager on a boating holiday in a hot and awkward summer.
the shadows remind me of de chirico. or the shadows in "last year at marienbad" in the garden.
isn´t it lovely how all the places you´ve ever seen, be it in films, in dreams or in "real life" mix and drip together to form this big mysterious inner house of your imagination you live in? and why is it always a house with walls and rooms and floors?the floors and the furniture and the doors that can close and can open and the windows with the glass and the stairs and the cellars and the attics. houses! always trapped in houses.



this is an old tapestry from the middle ages that you can see in the cloisters in the north of manhatten, nyc. these cloisters are very bizarre cloisters. they were once real cloisters from the 13th century in italy and the americans took each and every stone and just transferred the entire site from italy to manhatten. even the garden.
this little tapestry shows the hunted and trapped unicorn from a well known fable i don´t know.
tapestries. these little carpets on walls, sewed with needles and threads by crafty little hands. they also somehow seem a little eerie. this ambivalence of something dark and heavy and hiding things behind it like a curtain, meticulously sewn together in so many days and nights, lovely and vain, but somehow a little morbid.


these are all imagined monsters from the middle ages.
the first two are from the surgeon ambroise paré.
the last one is from the encyclopedist conrad lycosthenes.
-isn´t that a nice job to be an encyclopedist?
and isn´t it so bataille the monsters in the middle without heads? and the trunks in their torsos!


headless? head?

"Human life is exhausted from serving as the head of, or the reason for, the universe. To the extent that it becomes this head and this reason, to the extent that it becomes necessary to the universe, it accepts servitude. If it is not free, existence becomes empty or neutral and, if it is free, it is in play. The Earth, as long as it only gave rise to cataclysms, trees, and birds, was a free universe; the fascination of freedom was tarnished when the Earth produced a being who demanded necessity as a law above the universe. Man however has remained free not to respond to any necessity; he is free to resemble everything that is not himself in the universe. He can set aside the thought that it is he or God who keeps the rest of things from being absurd.Man has escaped from his head just as the condemned man has escaped from his prison. He has found beyond himself not God, who is the prohibition against crime, but a being who is unaware of prohibition. Beyond what I am, I meet a being who makes me laugh because he is headless; this fills me with dread because he is made of innocence and crime; he holds a steel weapon in his left hand, flames like those of a Sacred Heart in his right. He reunites in the same eruption Birth and Death. He is not a man. He is not a god either. He is not me, but he is more than me: his stomach is the labyrinth in which he has lost himself, loses me with him, and in which i discover myself as him, in other words as a monster."
(Georges Bataille: The Sacred Conspiracy, in Visions of Excess, 1985)

can a man really escape his prison?
isn´t the measure and the border something relieving?
camus said most revolts were stupid because they misrecognized the necessity for borders. because headlessness is also pure violence, rage and naivety.


no hope

all unhappiness of mankind comes from hope that tears him away from the castle of silence and chases him on the hills in expectation of salvation.


the vibraphone

if there is an instrument i´d really like to learn, it´s the vibraphone for sure.
i love this instrument.
the guy in the video just started learning and he already looks so thrilled and ecstatic bouncing his body like a pizza dough, that it get´s me all excited about the vibraphone just by watching him have a blast.
i´d like to have a vibraphone as long as a whale.
and i´d love it even more if some whales joined in with their whale sounds.
-there is actually a great clarinet player who has managed to improvise with real humpback whales by playing his clarinet music at the shores and transmitting his music under the water where he records the whales´"answers". very good idea of a very bright fellow.

in a landscape

i love how you only see the hands of the person who obviously loves the sounds he is transferring from his mind through his body into the piano into the air and back into his body again where the sounds are probably connecting to circles with his desires.
it may be a little bizarre, but his hands strangely remind me of the hands of my dearest movie-murderer from fritz lang´s M: peter lorre. i love his face, his voice, everything about the way he moves.
"will nicht! muss! kann nicht! muss!"
("don´t want to! must! can´t! must!")

but whatever, john cage´s "in a landscape" is just the shadow of a bird in the sky of a blue.



Moondog was a blind American composer, musician, cosmologist, poet, and inventor of several musical instruments.