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driftwork · 3 months ago

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exiles - [1] an exiled old woman enters a room in hotel des'pirt on the 10th floor and [2] a younger woman leaves the hotel...

An old woman enters a hotel room

Long after the singularity, living deep inside the change. Predictably nobody noticed. Mostly the change was unnoticed...

Either way we arrived the early evening, booked into the hotel. Left the luggage in the room, and went down to the mezzanie restaurant and ate a last meal, I drank some white wine. [edit] [edit] [edit]

The front door, is covered in a matte finish pale wood eneer, it opens into a hallway of about 4 metres by 1.5 metres, on the left is a small unused kitchen, a minbar with in a pale wood casing and shelves with some glasses and cups. On the right a wooden wall with a magazine and bookrack, shoe rack and luggage store. At the end of the kitchen is the bathroom and shower. The glass wall turns opaque when you enter the bathroom. The room itself is about 8 metres by 8 metres. The floor is covered in machined wood with oak veneer. The walls are covered in a grey green grass patterned paper. A pale wood picture rail and band runs around the room at about 2.5 metres above the floor. A few abstract pictures are standing on the band. There is an inscription in hand written Kanji script, in a nice hand, in pale grey. I looked at it and wondered why I could not decipher it. A magical inscription perhaps. There is a table and a closet standing against the wall, a luggage rack as well. All in the same pale wood colour, varnished in a gloss finish. There is a grey anglepoise lamp with brass springs and bolts, on the table. A power strip with plugs and USB and USB/C power outlets. There is a large mirror with bevelled glass and orange surround placed on the wall above above above the desk.[edit] I remember studying my face in the mirror but have no idea how this was possible. It's a very nice mirror, I think, but how can I have looked at myself in the mirror ? Some mirrors reflect a cruel and dangerous image, he said, looking at his wet face in the the reflection. Under the desk a solid looking grey plastic wastepaper basket. Facing me, almost the entire external wall is taken up by the clear glass window, it faces south-west, the lower half has a blind that rises from the floor to about a metre, the top half by another matching charcoal blind. The hotel is located in the west side of the city, it's 125 to 150 metres or more in height, we are on the twentieth floor. The window looks out over the city. Most of the buildings are lower than this. Photons from the city lights illuminate the ceiling of the bedroom. On the other side of the room a large double bed, covered with a green, white and black duvet, in a restful pattern that it seems wrong to describe like the headboard itself which is I think grey or perhaps brown. With matching bedside cabinets or tables. Sealed bottles of water on the top. They both have drawers and reading lamps. Our phones are plugged into white cables, ear pieces charging beside them. It's the last hotel room we will ever be in.

{[open] [It's a simple story really, he had been her, she had been his, she had had him for decades, they decided to go together, they had gone out together, they had gone to bed together, for longer than you have been alive, they had been together a, all this happened tomorrow. for her another was impossible, she simply had not had for anyone else, that the other ones had died, so he had become her other, he had still not had anyone else no other, that had not mattered to him, so they had remained, it did them good, it did them no good. as the terminal illness developed, the other wondered if she could live without him, too old she thought, he has not yet ceased to be, her is her, he is with her, she is with him, she is him, perhaps others would want something more, perhaps others have times for her and him, they don't, it is quite this.

she listens and regrets, wonders how it would have been if he hadn't been the one, lonely she thinks, and what if there had been another? would he be hers again when they reincarnated? she smiles at his face i still have that thought about reincarnation she thinks. would she be his if he were to ask again she wonders, would they be together again if her were to pull her backwards again, would everything she wonders begin again just again, probably he says, i hurt, i'm sorry, one of them could have vanished been sacrificed exiled fallen been killed, a simple story, couldn't it have been simpler still, still simpler? A love story she knows. ] [Close]}

His breathing is a little laboured. His lungs do not work properly any longer. The painkillers are wearing off. I'm sorry he says from the bed. I never expected it to end like this. It's all right. I let the sentences with there intense meanings, and crucially true cross the room. I;m sorry, he says again, I wish we could have lived differently, more banally, ordinary. I think he was hallucinating. We couldn't. I culdn't, you couldn't, I said to him, holding his hand now. The universe allowed us to have children, grand children, friends, love. He still looked grey, colour would never return to his terminally ill face. It's been a good life. Better than I deserved or could even imagine having. I regret nothing. I told him. He was feeling warm under my fingers. I have been happier than I could have imagined when we first met. He says. So we are sitting in the hotel room, saying our goodbyes. I took off my clothes, closed the blinds put on a teeshirt. I put the drugs in their aluminium case, on the side table... we were both about, actually, no our age doesn't matter, suffice it to say we were both old old older than anyone. Descartes wold have been proud. Our children were not young anymore. I put the endnotes, the letters on the table. It hurts, he said. I know. I lay down on the bed and held him. The painkillers were completely worn off. I injected him and then a few minutes later myself. It takes about 15 minutes to lose consciousness and die. I wrapped myself around his old and lovely body. That's so nice, he said. It's been lovely. It has, I told him. Amused at how romantic we sound. He died in my arms I could feel him stop and then felt myself stop me. It was selfish I know to die in the hotel. Two old old people unable to imagine living without the other. [edit]

exiles - [2] A young woman leaves the hotel

{edit] [edit] [edit] Ping. Ping. I'm awake, listening to the building, it sounds different, Ping, Wake up, ping, phil says. It is midsummer and I am, it is listening to the sounds of the hotel at night. The lift, people in the corridor, the unbearable soft hiss of the air conditioning, laughter of people heading towards their rooms for sleep or sex, outside its noisy, music from suite to the side and the light from the always light corridor does not get through the solid fire door. The room is almost identical to the room we entered. Almost a mirror image.

Wake up, phil had said. What is it? I'm awake already. Get up, look out the window at the drone. Why ? she asked, I asked, it asked. I feel stiff. hot. weak. another room of the hotel, you were 82 years old, and whilst you were still beautiful, graceful and desirable. You left a note on the door for the hotel staff. They found you yesterday, lying peacefully together, in the morning, having taken your lives, as you planned. Perhaps we can say you have vanished. He, in case you don't remember, had a terminal illness. I remember, I said. You cannot live without each other. Didn't want to, I said. I put on a teeshirt, it's shorter than I remember.. it has a picture of Mayakovsky wearing a hat and smoking a cigerette on her chest. I, She is standing in the window looking at her young hands in the moonlight. There is a tattoo of a dragon on her left arm, curling up and around her arm vanishing beneath the tee shirt and around her shoulder onto her back. I wonder how I know that. What the fuck? Why? What's this? she says in japanese. We are sorry, phil says, but we need you to do something... I think I copied everything. Your taller. He's asleep. We'll need to speak soon. Wait a few minutes phil, just a few. I say to phil, she says, I say, it says. (should I speak of the shock? the surprise? no need you can imagine that) [edit] [edit]

In the middle of the night, after 2AM and before 3AM. She is standing in the window of the hotel room looking out at at the drone which is outside about twenty or thirty feet away. She, I have been watching the drone for a few minutes, and wondering how long it has been watching her. In the quiet of the hotel. I can feel things sliding into place. Are you awake? I ask him. Looking over my shoulder at him moving in the bed. So noisy, he says, how could I sleep through that. He sits up, puts his feet on the floor. Again? He says, again? He is looking at the blue light from the ring on his young hands. I am watching the drone as it turns away and flies along the side of the hotel. What is it phil? Have we, I been edited? I asked. You may both have lost a few memories, unintentional, any questions you can ask me... What is it phil? He has turned on the bedside lamp and is looking at his young hands. The quantum ring glowing blue on his finger. Why have you done this phil? We have been asked to stop a research project. To ensure another one takes place. We needed someone who could understand the issues, and you have done it before, phil said. That's a terrible argument, answer the question, he said from the bed. I'm glad I'd miss you both, phil said. Look in the envelope. Why us? I asked. Look in the envelope you'll understand that there is nobody else.

While he looks at the material, inspecting his passport, his new identity, everything a person needs to live this year, this decade, a black box of an identity. I watch from the window and then sit next to him looking at the black box. We look so young. He said to me. We are young. What are the pin numbers phil? Same for both of you 1968 or 196884, all real. He went to the bathroom, the sound of water running. I opened the envelope with my new identity, passport, licences, names, identifiers and codes. There is a sheet of paper with details of my employment, our employment as precarious workers, contract workers for Hat. A meeting in London in two weeks. You are on holiday, you are newly employed permanent employees at Hat. House keys? The red set are for the warehouse apartment in London, I have an instance there. The car is parked there. There were train tickets inside the passport. I read the documents in the contract envelope. Seven days? that's quite short notice... Do you have details of the woman as well? Yes. If we miss we'll need them.

It's after 3AM when he comes out of the bathroom We have an early train to catch, we should go soon. I feel well again?, he asks. You are well, phil says.

Who are they? I asked phil now that he was back. They are scientists thinking things the universe does not approve of. It cannot be allowed to become technology. Why not? It's a variant of Jevons paradox, (an economic phenomenon) it occurs when technological progress increases the efficiency of resource use, this leads to increased consumption of the resource rather than reduced consumption, their work means planets and stars, eventually clusters will die. The universe is experimenting, with us, a homeopathic solution to its problem, phil said and stopped. I could almost hear it sigh. It's ok phil, we understand this scenario. So is there anyone else? No one, phil replied. Just the three of us. It's us and the Universe. Preventing the destruction of the planet with an asteroid. Preventing the destruction of stars. We won't miss, I said. We know. It's lovely work but the Universe doesn't allow it. We are applying pressure to ensure that the Universe isn't harmed. We are applying the laws of nature, a sentient species existing in this universe cannot be allowed to have that level of knowledge of the laws of nature. A natural contract, an experiment in homeopathy to see if the species can exist knowing it must capitulate to the laws of nature, he said, to phil really but also to me. This law, we did not manifest itself before us, nobody could know about this before. Though it may not be an accident that Galileo ran into trouble with the church, that Bacon died from eating frozen chicken, that our societies actively prevented women from studying science and technology, and Archimedes was killed by a drunken soldier. The law normally works by applying unbearable pressure on species, by extinction. We are the alternative approach. Selectively preventing some science from developing that would challenge the law of nature. For example this man, i tap the file with my finger, a child of his will enable matter to be removed from the universe, it would enable devastating wars, extinctions, humans, moons, planets, suns, steller clusters vanishing from the universe... we will prevent this. Besides, phil said, there is a billion years to go before this planet ends and there are better things to do than become extinct because of genocidal scientists, even if they don't understand what they are doing.

Does this mean the three of us and the universe against humanity and science? He said watching me get dressed. (It's my one skill, he said once, watching you get dressed and undressed. Well over 20,000 hours I told him.) Yes, phil said. It used to be just the two of us, I said. At least there are more of us now. I look young. It's very romantic. We have lived together for about 90 years. For most of that we were agents for the law of nature. The idea of us being homeopathic agents protecting the universe pleases me. I wonder if we exist like this, in a hotel room across the multiverse. A multitude of Songs? I asked rhetorically. I would like that, he said.

We leave and stop off the mezzanie bar, seeing that it was open with a few late night customers, drank a shot of belvedere vodka and espresso. Charging it to the room. He is drinking the same. Eating some light food, poached eggs on toast and a small basket of chips. It's nice to see your young face again, i say to him. At our age the desire... I understand this is why he is standing slightly further away than he would have a few days ago. He looks slightly worried. I step closer to him, and allow my desire to be expressed with my hands, arms hugging him. I wonder what we look like. Song, he says, your name is Song.

Rather than the scientists we are the homeopathic solution to their searching for forbidden knowledge.

#exile #london story #vignette #serial

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driftwork · 3 months ago

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minus [+36] A talk on types of death with examples after the singularity or before:

There is one dead body in the room beside the table. Another person who may die at anytime in the living room. They are bleeding and being ignored.

Park: refers to Francoise Dastur who produced a profound mediation on the idea that to practice philosophy is to practice how to die... or something like that.

Sam is sitting on the dining chair looking at the body that is half fallen on its face, head down, eyes wide open and bulging. Traces of foam in the corners of the mouth. Mouth frozen, teeth clenched, lips drawn back into a tight circle. Cherry-red cheeks, the rest of the face bluish pale. Unquestionably dead.

<<Ein Vortrag über die Arten des Todes mit Beispielen>>

Park: I don't understand it, even if it was imminent, inevitable in one way or another, it will soon be continued. The provisional nature of the start and the definitive nature of their end, like now. Pointing at the discarded weapon and the casings...

Sam said: The provisional nature of postponement and the definitive nature of farewell. He looks under the table and continues: She remained beautiful while she was already biting into the void with her teeth, very white teeth. Her face used to be as if cut in onyx.

Park is looking at the body from the other side: (resting on the pillow of vomit she had spat out. Her blackened body, her blue thighs and legs, bent like those of a locust frozen in mid-leap, could be seen beneath her long linen shirt.)

Park quotes Dastur again: How do we confront death? This question imposes itself at critical moments, such as when our lives are in danger or ike today when we observe dead bodies like this....

Sam quotes Defoe and says: <<The wagon contained sixteen or seventeen corpses. Some were wrapped in sheets, some in coarse woollen blankets, some were almost naked, or so loosely wrapped that their wrappings fell off when they were thrown out of the wagon, and they came to lie quite naked among the rest; But it didn't matter much, or nobody else cared about the indecency, since it was obvious that they were all dead and were to be thrown into the common human grave in a colourful jumble, for no distinction was made here, but rich and poor went together; there was no other type of burial, and it was not possible that there would be any other, for coffins were not available for the enormous number of victims. >>

Park: The unbearable nature of this ((the idea of)) A memory of sensory perception that is lost and can never be repeated (the blind person who remembers what can never be seen again; the deaf person who remembers what can never be heard again; the person who buries the dead).

Jess, leaning against the doorframe: It is the idea of not finding one's way in the limited practice. The unimaginability of the cessation of memory and projection. Never again: tomorrow. Where does that leave: me? As soon as the hereafter is understood as an illusion, there is no consolation. To the....

Park says: For us, jess, this is a/the trolley problem, we had to choose between these people and those they will kill in the future, initially we had to let them kill so we could be sure they were what we thought. Mostly we cannot choose because we lack certainty but in this particular micropolitical event we can and so we must.

In the next room a man is lying on his side, his head on his arm, his back against the wall, the small hole in his abdomen bleeding, shaken, suddenly, by the coma. With a last effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position. He could see the strip of moonlight. For the first time in his life he was afraid. He realised that he would die as he had lived: unwanted and alone. He was still breathing. Sweat poured down his face.

Jess asks: Still do we have the right to be who finally decides everything? To always be aware of this definitive end, as early as possible, to live in and in the awareness of what is always already and always coming to an end.

Sam says: Yes. Perhaps consciousness has not been afraid for this or that, nor for this or that moment, but for its whole being; for it has felt the fear of death, the absolute master. It was inwardly dissolved, trembled within itself, and everything fixed trembled within it.

Park smiles: The goal of all life is death, and they looking back: the lifeless were there because of (earlier) the living. I wish our employer would speak more clearly.

Jess says: Did Laurence Sterne write about death in Tristum Shandy?

<<Rondeel mit Klingelzeilen aufs Klingelzeichen gehört nun wandre Maria>>

Sam said: Orientation in the world is based on the ability to find rules. Rules presuppose that whatever happens can be seen in such a way that it has a view that is not definitively unique, but comparable, repeatable and categorisable. But this is a fiction. Whatever happens is definitive and incomparable. Cognition was previously only possible under this fiction. We are only ready to use the fiction as a fiction (not as an axiom or premise). The definition of living, temporal existence is the definitive of every moment. This definitive is hidden under the preconception that we have erected over it in order to be able to bear it. The image of the definitive is death. Image means: seeing the definitive from the outside. The inner experience of the definitive is unique and definitive. It is also the cessation of experience.

Jess sighed: The horror of images does not diminish. You can only manage not to remember it at times. I used to think I'd get used to these things.

Park is putting her gun away: Death, if we want to call that unreality that, is the most terrible thing, and holding on to what is dead is what requires the greatest strength. Powerless beauty hates the mind because it expects of it what it cannot do.

Sam: The provisional nature of postponement, delaying death and the definitive nature of farewell.

The technician says from the office: I've copied the data, just cleaning up.

Jess shrugs: I'll call this in...Hello Murphy, sorry to call so late, tell Frank and send a team here, we have some bodies. We'll urgently need an ambulance or two as the murderer is still alive. And some escorts to guard him. After despatch open a casefile...

Park: The goal of all life is death, and looking back: the lifeless was there earlier than the living.

The technician says from behind Jess: Machines and atoms decay and die. Everything is stardust.

Sam quotes: Francoise Dastur produced a profound mediation on the idea that to practice philosophy is to practice how to die... .

Jess closes her phone: Faulkner said the only immortality consists in the certainty that everything ends with death, or something like that.

Park says: Who wants to be surprised by what finally decides everything? To always be aware of this definitive end, as early as possible, to live in and in the awareness of what is always already coming to an end.

The technician says: Humans never stop thinking that only they think about death, it's why Levinas is wrong about the death of the other... We know our cats think of death. Steve asked after a slight pause: who were these people?

Park: Bad ones, they inflicted slow torture, or what amounts to cancer death or its equivalent as an appropriate way to die, they like consciously and physically torturing . Reducing the other(s) to bodies without organs, one is ready to stop.

<<Zweites Quergespräch über Todesarten mit Beispielen>>

Sam is pulling back the rug in the sitting room. Revealing the nearly invisible hatch to the basement.

The man with small holes in his abdomen groans. It was an even, terrible sound, a moaning of a regularity that didn't seem human; more like animal cries or the grinding noise of a machine.

Sam says: if you live, you will never leave the insane asylum or prison cell again. Solitary confinement, nothing can save you.

Park: The unbearable is the idea of memory of sensory perception that is lost and never to be repeated (the blind person who remembers what can never be seen again; the deaf person who remembers what can never be heard again; the sociopathic murderer who is never to see daylight again). It is the imagining of it, not the realisation of the limited practice. The inconceivability of the cessation of memory and projection. Never again: tomorrow. Where does that leave: me? As soon as the hereafter is understood as an illusion, there is no consolation.

Sam says as he opens the hatch allowing daylight into the cellar: "Consciousness has not been afraid for this or that, nor for this or that moment, but for its whole being; for it has felt the fear of death..." Time to rescue the victims.

He cried out loudly that he didn't want to die. When he saw his hands gradually turning blue, he stopped screaming. His face became rigid. He said nothing more. Park kicked his ankle

Park smiles: The goal of all life is death, and looking back: the lifeless was there earlier than the living.

The sound of sirens approaching.

#everyday practices #fiction #ideology and discourse #london story #minus

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driftwork · 3 months ago

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two people whom you are aware of in a foreign city, who are not aware of each other

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driftwork · 3 months ago

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About a Sentence by Sigmund Freud - (Helmet Heissenbuttel)

machine translation from 2025... a perfectly lovely poem.

what is made cannot be unmade nor does something cease to be future if not visualised I believe that I know the present better to know the future better nothing is and is not but has not perished without a trace. kind of memory had been preserved darkened and distorted which from the background continued to work, as it were, from the background. clear to an attentive eye and yet can easily remain unobserved by most that this I, that is the soul through which I am what I am is completely distinguishable from the body and even

more recognisable and even if it were not would not end all that is the boundaries of my language are the limits of my world the unhappy consciousness divests itself of its independence and struggles to being-for-itself for things and thereby returns from self-consciousness to consciousness. consciousness back into the consciousness for which the object is a thing. which the object is a being a thing but that which is a thing is self-consciousness for not if not of one and the same nature is the nature of the world or there is no there is no being except bodies and souls

or whatever we perceive sensually and and no bodies where their distance is not is determinable for us the thinking imagining imagining subject does not exist dependent born born the same High and low Regovernors and governed, we are dependent on the one unchangeable predetermined law by which we were created before inventions existed beyond all ideas and sensations, even before every existence and bound in the eternal eternal pattern of the universe outside outside of which there is nothing for us to be born

the limits of my language are the limits of my world the subject does not belong to the world but it is a boundary of the world On the other hand, all this does not mean that that there must be any world at all or what the conditions of society of society or of human peace peace or in other words what the basic law of nature is after a violent easterly storm on the night of night which subsides at noon on 3 November 1861 I notice that the front surface of the iron railway embankment which consists of gravel on the sides sides is strangely patterned and layered

like slate so that I can tell to a fraction of a degree of a degree exactly from which direction the rain came from the saturnine pace of the matter had its deepest reason in the process of a complete transformation transformation which a metaphysical time of directly metaphysical and even theological thinking had to undergo in order to world of images had to undergo in order to to nourish a present constitution after a violent storm in the east on the night of night which subsides at noon on 3 November 1861 I notice that the front surface of the railway

of the railway embankment, which consists of gravel sides is strangely patterned and layered like slate so that I can tell to a fraction of a degree of a degree exactly from which direction the rain came from but did not gone under a kind of memory had darkened and distorted, which from the from the background, as it were all this is perfectly clear to an attentive attentive eye and yet can easily remain unobserved By most in his consciousness this consciousness speaks that whose conscious awareness it is as a

proposition it is the infinite judgement that the self is a thing a judgement that cancels itself nothing is to be feared nothing is true everything is permitted the unhappy consciousness empties itself of its independence and struggles its being-for-itself out to the thing it turns thereby returns from self-consciousness into consciousness into the consciousness for which the object is a being a thing but that which is thing is self-consciousness nothing is to be feared attentively examining what I am observing that I can imagine that I can imagine that I have no body and

that there is no world nor anything where I I am, but that I cannot imagine that I am not there and that on the contrary part from the same that I think the doubt of the the truth of the other things obviously and quite certainly follows that I am there but did not perish without a trace a kind of memory had been preserved darkened and distorted which from the background, as it were continued to work as something identical only from unanimously motivated experience and determinable only by unanimously motivated but beyond that a nothingness or more precisely for

which a ‘beyond’ is a contradictory meaning. Thank you, the world and life are one but did not perish without a trace a kind of memory had been preserved darkened and distorted that continued to work from the background the world and life are one are one the soul itself its immediate internal object but only in so far as it contains ideas or as that which responds to things responds with what is perceived the perceiver is is identical with what is seen he sees whatever is and whatever is possible, so the business of of insight is also identical with the insight

sight that has a similarity with it this similarity similarity is language the limits of my world language are the boundaries of my world but not perished without a trace a kind of memory had been preserved darkened and distorted which from the background continued to work in the same way after a violent storm in the night that subsided at noon on 3 November of 1861, I noticed that the front of the railway embankment of the railway embankment, which consists of gravel of gravel is strangely patterned on the sides is layered like slate so that I can tell to the I can tell to a fraction of a degree exactly

from which direction the rain came the boundaries of my language are the boundaries of my world the thinking imagining sub subject does not exist 21 June 1960 Present tense Praesens Cargo American Express London England the one who sees is identical with the is identical with what is seen he sees whatever is and whatever is possible so the business of seeing is the business of seeing is also identical with the sight that has a resemblance to it one cuts up cut and arrange the pieces into any combination any combination and what in truth can be said expresses itself in this way

that the being of the spirit is a bone what is made cannot be unmade nor does anything cease to be future if not realised on the other hand all this does not mean that there must be any world there must be any thing at all the entrance is the insight of unspoken language which is is the root of insight into everything and whoever this entrance cannot enter enter and what can be said in truth can be said is expressed in such a way that the being of the spirit is a bone what happens now is present in the past or future

do something now but would itself be present nothing but at the same time present and past at the same time even then namely it will last in us as now work in us and this duration will be through be through us just as the works are through us are that this I, that is the soul through which I am what I am from the body and is even more recognisable recognisable and even if it were not en- not everything that is nothing is to be feareone cuts up and arranges the pieces pieces in any combination

#helmut heissenbuttel #machine translation #ideology and discourse #non-fiction

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driftwork · 4 months ago

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An adorable flowchart from Capital Vol 3

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driftwork · 4 months ago

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hermes and peitho ... (implausible pasts setting up a communist future [5])

On the equator the night falls abruptly, quickly on a fleeting nightfall that lasts a single instant and then the stars fall. He lives only in that brief moment of time the rest of the day he does not exist. The rest of the time it is as if he doesn’t because he has followed the line of flight away, across the desert that borders the city, along the train lines that travel north to terminate at Marrakesh, filling the sails of the ships, following the travelers who slowly cross the plains of Persia on camels, reading a book sitting on a droning plane at 35000 feet, a bag full of messages at his side[…] There is a city square which even in the dark is full of merchants and waitresses with their voices that sound like songs and the flow of crowds. It is impossible to know what my world is made up of and whether means anything. He delivers messages, take a close look at him, the same thing applies, they represent the worlds of business, government, media, management, science, refugees, tourists. They’re all messages every one of them. For him of course it has no meaning instead it is merely a dreamwork, you recognize his dreaming and thing that any meaning and truth only lies in the instant. Its structure is made up of many lines, with fleeting fragments, a myriad of segments which have already passed by the time we are aware of them. Like spacetime in our narrowly determined lives. He was given the spacetime to study it again, that thing which is no longer mine. Though once it had been. Spacetime passing finitely inside his eyes, he can see all the places, landscapes and times where he had lived with her, moments shared, conversations from long ago that he is not sure ever happened, does she remember? Does she remember persuading him? The hotel rooms in Paris and Berlin, parks on the edges of clifftops, a house we would have like to live in, buildings crumbling on the edges of cliffs their substance slowing becoming beaches. A cafe on the pier where we ate soup and drank coffee and lemonade. The old chapel on the bay which had become the lifeboat house with rusty bolts holding the shiny steel launch rails in place. Madonnas dancing on streams of information and those who are lost like puppets who only listening to ideology mistaking it for sense and sensibilities. Their they stand on the edges of waves hoping for a first sunbeam. All this passing through my eyes eyes eyes to be deciphered with accuracy of an AI system, sadly he is lost in the noise, that parasitically the passage fails to become a color, instead its synaesthesia and the passages become monochrome with the sound of air piano running atonally in the background. Its variants of rose pink in the suburbs, in the morning its mauve in the highlands, the deepness of a September night as the moon glows and apples are falling, the scent of your body and your right breast is creased overnight, I loved it more than the left breast he thinks. Life was here, a cricket singing in the evening, the most perfect summer evening, hot, walking down the hill to a cafe to drink cold Chablis and laugh with his grandchildren. Young angels who will become the children of hermes and peitho, the goddess who personifies persuasion and seduction […] Here in this moment before finitude ends the infinite, always its destiny amidst laughter, persuasion and music, which is the spacetime between his now and your then. He waves goodbye and and and walks off wearing black and brown shoes, jeans and a black denim jacket. A book and pens in his shirt pocket, a notebook in his (h)and. Peitho smiles at his almost dancing. She puts her leather jacket on the passenger seat of the car, the way she used to when they were young enough to go to the cinema and she waited for him to come back, to go home, stopping off at the long mourned restaurant in Belsize park. This is why we became human she thinks…

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