Trains

I like trains. They have massive windows. Staring out of them is almost like watching a movie. Stopping in the stations along your way is like watching a trailer for the cities you pass by. (Mannheim: full of suits. Forbach: absolutely nothing happening. Zürich: impeccably organized, spells things funny. Leeds: grey. Linz: tidy, shiny.)

Trains are conducive to good thinking, though the hum can send you to sleep. It’s a pleasant struggle, debating whether to nap or to think. 

The best is when your train and another train are traveling on parallel tracks in the same direction, at roughly the same speed. Then you can forge brief friendships with window-starers in the other train. (Or feel like you’ve won some sort of game when they look away from you.) The other train speeds up; your temporary friend moves ahead and you lose sight of her. Your train speeds up too; you’re side by side again, laughing at the oddness of the situation. 

There are more nice things about trains, but it seems napping is about to win over thinking. 

I/O

Input and output have to be in some sort of balance to yield contentment. Inexplicable, troublesome moods come about when you stop creating things from all that you’re taking in. The input piles up. Crumbs of input fall under the trackpad of your mind, first making irritating crunching sounds, and eventually blocking you from taking action. This results in frustration. Remedy: tidy up, do a bit of hoovering, and start baking fresh bread from the crumbs of stale ideas. Clear your mind of this clutter. How else are you to invite anyone in?

"And then to sleep, with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips."

The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

Liebesgrammatik

Broken telephone

A call from a bar in Wales to a German living room: 

“Love you loads!”

“Love you too.”

“What?”

“Love you too!”

“Love you loads!”

“What?”

“Love you loads.”

“I love you.”

Oh, Skype.

"Writing always means hiding something in such a way that it is then discovered."

Italo Calvino

The best cup of tea

A certain best friend of mine recently put this question to me: 

i still can’t figure out what the best cup of tea is, but i think i’ve narrowed it down to 3. 

1) the cup of tea you have when you’ve been walking in the rain for ages and you’re soaked and freezing because you forgot your umbrella and it’s ireland and you’re sitting curled up on the sofa watching the rain outside with the cup of tea after a long, hot shower. 

2) the cup of tea you have when you’ve been away on holidays for ages and it’s raining when you fly back into ireland. 

3) the hangover cup of tea.

thoughts?

Though I can strongly identify with all of these, my best cup of tea looks a little different. You’re up slightly earlier than usual, and have slept slightly less than desired. But for some reason you’ve got a sneaky, inexplicable happiness about you. You’re slightly dozy, slightly in love, and in the company of people who make you smile. It’s a little chilly in the kitchen, and as you sit down at the kitchen table and start pouring, the slate is clean for the day - you have no expectations, and so you can only be pleasantly surprised with whatever comes your way. The mug warms your hands. (If only your feet were more fond of tea…nevermind - you have slippers.) It’s at once the simplest of pleasures, and at the same time everything you want out of life. 

Could kill for that cup of tea right now. 

The captivating madness of Völklinger Hütte.

Colors of Paris