Urban autumn / Kneeling lamb

Urban autumn / Kneeling lamb 

While striving through the city and its periphery I recently discovered that I am quite responsive to my natural surroundings. Which astonishes me because I never considered nature would influence my aesthetics behaviourally. Of course I can say that every environment leaves a mark on the individual (e.g. according to David Adjaye ¹ ² ³), thus it must have left a mark within me. But I think there is something else behind it. A former colleague of mine once said that she visited Germany and was surprised about the beauty of its colours during autumn: a thing which does not occur in her home country. It was a beautiful moment in itself, a memory which is shown as a facial expression, as pure vividness. Her eyes glared while speaking about her reminiscence. Maybe it was more this moment which let me think about autumn colours differently. It's not so much the colour per se but the liveliness I am looking for. As if others have to show me how to feel these moments of intensity. And I, consequentially, try to get there, as if this would be a competition for the richness of experiences in one's life.

Another comment fits into this pattern. A peculiar observation made by a friend, something which troubles me since. The accusation of not having developed an aestheticism on my own, but being merely and superficially influenced by others, temporarily only, to show an inclination where there is none. Another friend would have added the term of being an 'intellectual lightweight': to be someone, who says something in order to please someone else, without a sense of what pleases the own eyes and the own mind and without a detailed knowledge (in a broad sense). What a curse.

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.