Narrate your story...
Stories so far ...
Sitze nun 43 Tage vor meinen Besitztümern und nichts.
Alles ganz anders, als es scheint. Mein Expeditionsschlafsack hat die Daumen verloren. Kaum mehr verwendbar. Eher ein alter grauer Socken für einen Giganten Fuß, eher ein toter Silberlöwe, ein Kuguar (engl. cougar, aus frz. couguar).
Während ich schlief und vom über die Ufer getretenen Fluss träumte, löste sich mein Boot auf. Als ich erwachte und mir die Augen rieb, legte sich sein Gerippe mit leisem Schmatzen in den Sand nieder. Von den Seitenplanken waren noch einige Schatten und spinnwebartige Strukturen dar. Auch sie sind verschwunden. Jetzt nur noch Abdrücke im Sand. Das Stechpaddel aber liegt nagelneu noch da. Metallisch glänzend und kühl wie ein Teelöffel, den jemand einen Lidschlag zuvor vorsichtig dort abgelegt hat.
Etwas weiter oben mein toter Gefährte in seinem Metallsarg. Ach, Azzo, my dear pal, ich wünschte ich hätte dich nicht verloren! So, zerstoßene Biomasse in einer Dose.
Habe die Antenne des Kommunikators ausgefahren. Auf dem Schirm nur das regelmäßige Kreuzgitter der atmosphärischen Störungen. Statik.
Wird wohl alles noch etwas dauern.
Been sitting before my belongings for 43 days and nothing. All quite other than it seems to be. My expedition sleeping bag has lost its down. Hardly usable now. More an old grey sock for a giant foot more a dead cougar (Germ. Kugar, Fr. couguar).
While I was asleep dreaming of a river flooding its banks my boat dissolved. When I woke and rubbed my eyes, its ribs sank down into the sand with a squelching sound. A few shadows and cobweb-like structures of the planks could still be seen. They have disappeared by now. Some indentations still in the sand.
The single bladed paddle though still lies there. Brand-new, shining like metal, and cool like a teaspoon somebody has put there carefully a blink ago.
Somewhat beyond my dear companion in his metal casket. Ach, Azzo, my dear pal, I wish I hadn’t lost you! So, you are brayed biomass in a tin.
Have pulled out the aerial of the communicator. On the screen only in the regular grid of the atmospheric disturbances. Statics.
Might all take some more time.
This is no story …
No, it is opposition.
I look at a game which looks like a book. Should i accept the invitation, should i participate? Stupid question, naturally, i am still participating, whole life is nothing but a game. And art? Is a metaplay which makes the theatrical nature of life more obvious.
Now, as a player, i am very very proud remembering what Schiller says (The Aesthetic Education of Man, 1795): “Man only plays when he is in the fullest sense of the word a human being, and he is only human when he plays.”
Ironically we ourselves are nothing but playthings, toys or dolls of the god, as Plato says (Nomoi 803 C ff. and 644 D ff.). And if we all are playgirls and playboys we need some requisites for the performance. But i don’t know the programme, i don’t know the rules, because it is a kryptogame.
Looking inside the cryptic playstation what did i see? It was the following requisites: a single sensitive sock looking like a grey panther, God’s dog perhaps, crying loud for its companion. And nearby i saw a very round, very closed, tiny tiny Italian palazzo with international inscriptions and a golden roof on the top and a golden bottom underneath. But from the inscriptions we could gather – much to our regret – that the wonderful palace, looking like the Mausoleum of Hadrian, and its contents will be of very very limited duration.
But all good things come by threes. The third thing i saw was a very very mysterious one, a not identified technical object of shining surface with something like an metallic aerial. And if you scrape it, it gives a sound.
Which are the relations between the three things? The aerial has led me to assume that a bugging affair is going on. One is an undercover observer, an surreptitious unauthorized surveillance operator, the two other are under his strict surveillance, one because of its seclusion, the other because of the loss of its counterpart. The operator i think is a type of Big Brother, a spy from the sky, a threat to the environment.
What is the meaning? Why this ensemble of things? What shall i do with these sleeping things? Take them, shake them, try to awake them?
The Zen-Master Dōgen Zenji (1200-1253) knows:
“That you carry yourself forward and experience the myriad things is delusion. That the myriad things come forward and experience themselves is awakening.” And in his Genjo-Kôan he says:
“To study the Way is to study the Self. To study the Self is to forget the Self. To forget the Self is to be enlightened by all things of the universe. To be enlightened by all things of the universe is to cast off the body and mind of the Self as well as those of others. Even the traces of enlightenment are wiped out, and life with traceless enlightenment goes on forever and ever.”
Now i have to decide: as a very very creative person – whom or which thing shall i add to this triade? Who or what will save the two from the third? May be a steadfast tin soldier? Or shall i arrange a meeting as beautiful as the accidental encounter of a sewing machine and an umbrella on a dissecting table?
No, no, no, just i met a very very beautiful lady named Santé, too tempting to ignore her. Though appearing in a special way – nearly bodiless – she has an enigmatic charisma the radiance of which exudes a fascinating aura. If at all anybody can save the lonesome grey panther and the prisoners locked away in the Italian palazzo, there will be none to solve this problem better than our gracious lady whose lips look so promising.
Therefore i give her a try.
And what shall i do with the palimpsest?
Please test. I have tried my best. For you the rest.
In this case look with praise at the face of the woman full of grace.
play it again, and again, and again.