The summer is leaving on a steamy ship. The air in New York feels like the inside of a bun sold in a Beijing street. Inside time has stopped for quite a few objects, and now we are arranging them into new and quite chaotic constellations. Plastic robots eat plastic robots eat invisible caterpillars that magically transform into completely colorful and fantastic, and yet also very invisible butterflies. Trains go around and around and around. Plastic animals roar at each other. Some extinct, some familiar and so very badly painted by hand.
I have barely slept last night, and so for the entire day I felt like a drunk, not really able to keep myself upright, struggling to follow even the slowest of conversations. And the body hurts more when something falls on it. Have you ever been hit with a whale? Completely innocently, of course.
The Universe expands and contracts in magical ways. A constant motion, as if the tectonic plates of life were assembling themselves to form new and more fantastic shapes again and again and again. And again.
I am looking forward to some sleep tonight. It will be one of the most amazing experiences I will not really be able to write about. Sleep is such an odd space. And such strange things happen within it. Quite often it feels as if the ring master of my dreams whispered one last message before kicking me out into the dark morning before sunrise. “Stay away from the blue edge, my friend.” Or “do not trust the winged one, unless the words are filled with kindness.” I made these up now, but that’s approximately what happens. And then a blurry hour or so is spent just crawling into that other, slower dream: reality. The one we are in right now. Tea is necessary to get to the other side. And the sun tends to rise.
The summer is leaving on a steamy ship. And I have almost succeeded doing almost nothing for a few weeks. Now the ideas are starting to catch up with me in some new ways. And if I only find out what that other message meant, then perhaps we will get somewhere. And there is nothing crazy about all this. Intuition is one of the most important elements of the creative life. That, and hard work, of course.
Perhaps I should have another tea. This could maybe help me to stay in a certain glow, until the shutters close on me very soon and I enter the architecture of interconnectedness. Sleep. It would be a very bad idea to be awake at 3am like last night. Even if any time of day or night can actually be experienced as a morning or a noon if one has traveled to enough places. But that is only fun if one can also turn the day into night. And I can’t right now.
Something amazing might be on the horizon. I just need to take some time to shape the particles of thought into a proper giant that will then crush doubts and sarcasm. It can be done. I have done it before. Many times.