Versus.

Train still.  The day arrives. Close to Luckenwalde. I would like to do exactly the same sometimes: stopping time itself.

Here we are. Back for good, gone for good? I don't know. I just know that I have exploding ideas while having walks through the Strausbergian twilight. A 'versus' pitches, an idea so close to journalistic ideas crafted before, a post-re-post-system between google's illfords (it's the one you are reading) and wordpress' illfords, that I have the feeling of standing still regarding creativity, and yet, it doesn't let me go. I will see how it all works out. 

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First it was a big green grasshopper I found, dying in the grass. Then, today, it was a huge dragonfly, which lay on the pavement without its typical moves of its wings. Autumn turns into winter, I guess.

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I am at at another starting point: a car waits for me, so that I can travel from A to B (leaving out C, because I refuse living in a city and using a car). Hopeless to a discuss it with my ecological consciousness.

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A flat. The handymen are only going to finish the bathroom, then it's done. I am trying to contact the zugvoegel but they didn't reply yet. It was a request, I've written, something like an open invitation to a volunteer from the Global South. I'd like to create a similar space for someone else, something equally warm and liveable as the House of Dreams. 

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The realisation that radical egoism has to go into another identity / role of mine. Sometimes it strucks me that others relate to my actions as a reaction / response, not so much as (pre-) actions. Odd.