le chat fantôme à père lachaise

So be the post-modern german interpretation of the black cat phantom at père lachaise. Tomb stone and garden deco. Work of "art," duplicates in the age of modern reproduction. I had a walk along Lake Constance, pondering on life and philosophy. Pondering on Baudelaire, and then Benjamin. Pondering on the Erlösung, as the mundanity has been so deafening and I'm not sure if I've missed the calling. Where shall the flaneuse be looking for the aura? If we are indeed endowed with the little messianic power, where should we be turning our heads to?

Tropical Sun

Nothing, not even
Homesickness solidified
Beats tropical sun

Rhapsody On a Cloudy Night

03:56

The flight to Madrid was at 6:30 in the morning, departing from an airport on the far southeast side of the city. When I headed out from the house, the night was still deep, my roommate just went home from partying and I was still sick from a flu I caught a couple of days ago.

04:12

It was surprisingly happening in the S Bahn station of my usually not very happening neighborhood. We were all travelers, each of us carrying our luggage or backpack. Weariness was permeable and pervasive, and a distant fatigue was written on everyone's face. None of us found it necessary to speak to each other. The platform on which the airport express arrived was filled with people, yet disproportionately silent. It was a rhapsody of a lonesome walk on a windy night for each of us, on a cloudy windy night. The only being that spoke to me was not the moon, for the moon was clad in thick autumn clouds. It was the almost dazzling lights in Berlin Südkreuz, the hissing sound of the arriving trains across the platforms, and my own footsteps that kept me company.