The power of sound

It is only a big concrete-mixer in front of the building that is being renovated across the street. No need to feel anxious. But it sounds similar to the noise of police helicopters circling around in the area close to my home whenever the Spanish government does something the people here don't support and they go out on the streets to let their voices be heard. Every time I get immersed in my work I forget it is only a concrete-mixer. And have to remind myself and look out of the window when I start feeling a bit nauseous again. Intruiging how you get conditioned so quickly and how the memory of sound makes your body respond before your mind realises what it is and changes how you feel about it.

It is always time to love

Where did it go? I stayed up until 3 am to see where it went but in the moment I kept my eyes on the time in the left corner of my computer screen to see when 02:59 would change into the next hour, it had gone already. It is stored somewhere and will be returned in the fall. An hour had vanished, the time had changed but times aren’t really changing. In 6 minutes and 20 seconds 17 young students were gunned down, one of their classmates made it tangible by being silent for 6 minutes and 20 seconds during a speech she gave at the March for Our Lives yesterday. The Brazilian politician and activist Marielle Franco died in an instant. Life on earth has lasted at least 3.5 billion years. When I was asked earlier this week what I would do if I only had an hour left to live I wrote down the first thing that came to mind: nothing. None of the other answers that were given seemed more appealing to me, apart from maybe “making love”.

Growth

They are so vulnerable. The leaves break off so easily. I try to be careful when I move the plants or water them but it is almost impossible to not lose some now and then. Sometimes some leaves fall behind the pot and lie there in a dark corner for a few weeks. They don't give up easily though. The leaf creates new roots and forms new leaves, turns into a new plant. Vulnerability is a strength.

Spring

The woman without baggage (Part 2, in progress)

Of colour                

Sometimes she raised her hand, when early in the evening
The sky had this particular colour blue
And I was never sure if she was pointing up
Or tested where the wind came from
Or was about to ask a question

Almost like a dance move
But never moving her feet
And looking straight ahead into the distance
Never up, or down

Last time I saw her do it was in early spring
The evenings were still cold then

Sometimes she looked me in the eye  
After her hand had landed, heavily, after          
she was silent for a while and asked

Do you want a beer?
Or: how was your day today?
And sometimes: what are you doing tomorrow?
Shall we go somewhere?
————————


She had come a long way, she said
and she showed me her maps
Glued against the window to keep the light out at daytime
Pinpricks across three continents
Which didn’t make sense to me until she asked me to stay one night
and I saw Orion


—————-

She held her breath

Leaving is easy
She said
Look at me
And she shot herself in the head
With an air gun
Air as in air guitar
Airborne

——————-

In her cloudless eyes

i saw animals chasing each other in the sky tonight she said
a snail being followed by a dragon being followed by a bird
a big white rabbit was hovering over them
when i looked again the snail had turned into a person
and the dragon and the bird had become dogs, howling
the rabbit had thrown its head in its neck
it was real she said
it was real i said i saw it too

——————-

he tickled her under her feet
she didn’t laugh
callus, she said

——————-

Pinprick

An insignificant puncture made by a pin or similar point.
A mildly annoying wound or damage.

A day

I saw animals chasing each other in the sky late at night.
A snail being followed by a dragon being followed by a bird,
a big fluffy white rabbit was hovering over them.
I wanted to take a photo but they had already changed.
The snail had turned into a person
and the dragon and the bird had become dogs, howling.
The rabbit had thrown its head in its neck,
as if it was dying.
Why take a photo of that?

I had taken a photo of the panther in the porch across the street early that day.
Only it wasn’t a panther, just a blanket covering a homeless person.
But when I watched the blanket being folded later on it wasn’t a homeless person at all.
It was a young couple, nicely dressed, saving money for who knows what.

The bumblebees on the balcony where real.
Two of them, slowly plunging themselves into the hearts of the flowers that had appeared mysteriously one day in March.
Traces of the person who lived here before I did. Who sat on the balcony to watch the world like I do now.

In the afternoon the road was blocked.
Groups of elderly people walked in one direction to join the crowd in front of governmental buildings to protest, accusing the government of squandering money while they don’t get a decent pension.
Some time later there was a big march in the other direction.
Young and old people protesting against the government trying to reduce the importance of Catalan in education.
I wasn’t sure if it was a different protest, a different manifestation but the opponent they were speaking out against was the same.
After the people were gone and the roadblocks were removed the helicopters were still there.
But they were gone by the time the animals appeared.

(Two days after I wrote this I found a map online with the meaning of the names of different countries. Spain means: land of many rabbits)

Vamos!

I saw Elvis. He was running a marathon. He was wearing what looked like blue suede shoes. And his iconic white suit. He only had another 5 kilometers to go. His black hair was impeccable.

Around 11.30 it was mainly single men. Small groups now and then. The fastest ones. Their passing in front of my balcony was announced by big drums a couple of hundred meters down the road. After 12 there was a continuous stream of runners. Some of them had wheels instead of legs.

A man dressed like spiderman passed by, in full costume, his head completely hidden, sweating like a maniac. The people along the road were cheering, some of them waiting for friends and loved ones, carrying banners with names on it. Some were there for whomever passed, trying to keep them going, putting almost as much energy in their cheering as the runners put in their quest.

I always find it touching to watch. Friends sticking together and adapting their speed to the slowest one. A young boy running along with his mother for a short stretch of the route. A man with a running buggy, I couldn’t make out if there was a baby in there asleep, hidden under the blankets. A man running with his guide dog. Two young guys with a cardboard sign and bottles of massage oil, ready to treat anybody's tired leg muscles.

What I first thought were a father and son running hand in hand were two men connected by a small piece of rope they were both holding. The young man was blind or had bad eyesight and his older running partner kept him on track. The man in the golden cape wasn’t pretending to be a super hero. It kept him from getting undercooled. He just came out of an ambulance and was escorted to a taxi where two of his running mates were waiting for him, neither of them would cross the finish line.

Around two the pace had slowed down. Most people were walking, some of them still making running movements with their arms and legs but moving in a speed that was probably slower than their normal walking speed. Slow motion runners. The audience had thinned out as well but some of them didn’t give up either. They knew they were needed.

More than 17.000 people passed. I don't know who won. I bet most people felt they did.