Quinten Surrepetitive

- It’s a thrill to be sure. And the pleasure is all mine, I assure you. We have been expecting…I mean, we had been hoping for a signal of some sort, so our lab team was overjoyed when it suddenly broke through. No, they are still working on that sir, but we felt you should be the first to know. I mean, the first civilian. I mean, eh, never mind, shall we? Ah, here is Dr Whirst, she has promised to guide us through the…excentrities this time around. This way, if you please, Mrs Secretary. - Hi. I’m doctor Whirst, but you can call me Callie. That’s what everyone around here does anyway. So, you came to see the big kaloohey, eh? Yeah, well, I didn’t bring out the bells and whistles for this one, let me tell you. See, there was this one time, in the K´thar desert where it seemed we really… oh sorry, yes of course…I quite understand…take your time. I forget what it must be like for grumpies to pass that gate, myself, I am so used to…sorry again. Yes of course. Yes… Can do… Right, howev...

Dear reader, I am sorry to have let you hang out to dry. I have a perfectly good reason. I was hungry, did I mention that? Having identified the three dishes on offer in the in-house canteen i quickly made up my mind to wander off-grid. Yes, I did visit that joint, again. No, I will still not tell you where it’s at. That’s for me to know and you to find out. Only, I hope you don’t. Why? Well, once you find it you will understand. The tricky thing is the making of a decision. Choice is overrated, if you ask me. There is so much tastiness in the world (or in this joint anyway) and so little lunch breaks. So, though I am loath to divulge more, I am inclined to share some of my insights. It just feels right, you know? So, anyway, this is how i handle it. I don’t. Makes any sense?  It goes like this; the best way to make an important decision…is not to make it. Yes, I know dice is all the rage this season, and sure, if that tickles your fancy, don’t let me stop you. As for me, I do it d...

”Violence is never the answer”, the monk says, pumping his shotgun. ”But you don’t always have to be right”. I look at him in disbelief, soon to be growing panic. How did we get from peddling serenity training lockers to…this? True, I had only known Theseus for..let’s see…two weeks, but still. In two weeks you’d think stir crazy would pop out its head and yank at you. At least once? But no. Theseus (Dzisus, is that even his name? Maybe I don’t know anything about him) seemed as regular as Volvo. It was smooth sailing and inward smiles all through camp training. Not one to stand out, I thought myself lucky to be paired with him. I had looked in disbelief at some of the other recruits. Misfits, ex-druggies, clean-cut loonies, and the occasional seeker. No, I could have done much worse, of this I had felt certain. And the first three days of door-knocking here in….Tubersville (population 563) was apple pie and cream cheese. Perhaps we got more door-slammers than lemonade glasses to our...

Mean looks mean. Curiosity can be hemmed in, but not drowned. To accomodate it is necessary to allow a free rein, within the boundaries of the concept. This is modern, useful approach. This is pragma, when results and not appearances matter. You can forget the guilt trip, it does not compute in this environment. Just look out for the green, ever moody, likely to shift on a whim.  You got to work with me baby. Don’t make the mistake of thinking.  This is more about feeling. A touchy subject I know. And Aldred…no let’s not go there. I must obey the rules. I will obey the rules. The rules are mine. I rule. Think for yourself. Feelings are overrated. This feed is monitored. 

As a rule I will not obey, as a scream I will not obey, but give me the morning, or your time of day, and I shall remain. I shall beat out the rhythm and hear me say. That in this moment here I am yours to stay. As we pass through the hundredth German hamlet it becomes apparent. We are floating through spring. The solidity of ICE is encapsulating us, so far no need for worry. Its smooth as a clean sheet fluttering in the early morning breeze. Up on that hillside to the left.  Its an unlikely combo, the green of spriggly leaves reaching out, soaking up the light. The subdued light of the tinted windows, the professional courtesy of DB, the unholy train neighbor with the pointy elbows and the sharp nose, squealing of violence. The chatty man opposite row laying it out, the sharp smell of India in those covers, already colored by water of strawberries never eaten.  The carriage full to the brim of stories passing through, we but one momentarily. The incoherence of half sleep, str...

  Looking out the window. It looks gray. After a lot of hours, the family comes home, one by one. As they left, I lay in bed. When they get home, I'm in bed. They look a little longingly at my pillows, warm quilts, piles of magazines and books. Maybe they're thinking they'd like to swap with me. I'd love to switch. Updating my status on FB, getting some comments pretty quickly. People who feel sorry, and who tell of their own accident stories. I've been through that before. When an acquaintance, friend or relative dies, I often hear my friends talk about their own experiences of death. I used to get a little confused by that. I wondered why it felt so important to compare accidents. Or even compete a little in them. Now, with window views of slowly approaching days, I'm struck by another thought. Maybe it's their way of understanding and dealing with difficult things. To relate it to themselves, and their own lives. Perhaps, therefore, sometimes it is easier...

It was a year of ripe fruits. With it followed all the usual complaints. Too much work. Too heavy. We will never get it in on time. But of course we did. We always did. The complaints were a river we needed to cross. And cross it we did. With the fruits came a new sensation. We accumulated. First it was small things. a smile here. A new tire there. It was all I could do not to choke. Yes, the days were long, the work heavy. But heavy in an acceptable way, if you know what i mean. Heavy like the body responded, felt used, useful and needed.  At the time my days felt fulfilling. Of course the smiles didn’t hurt either. It was a welcome relief after a rough patch. No, I rather not go into that right now.

Oh my gosh. Quentin seems to have fallen asleep. Why didn't you wake him? He is now having nightmares. About eastbloc . I blame you.

There is power in repetition, he said he said. We must not strive for the narrow path, we must be the path. The voice sounded bleary and tired. Like he had not slept for a hundred days, just looking at the archi-cola landscape, laden with fresh things. I have since then stopped listening, as it will drive me insane. The things he says...like the one about the onrushing star cluster HVGC-1 was simply too preposterous. Back in those days i was still wet behind my ears. We used to jokingly refer to those parts as the uncharted wetlands. I could have gone further, i know. But somehow this spot talked to me. Something inside my core being clicked with these rocks, those shadows, the smell of coke. I have not yet regretted my impromptu decision to usher Glenn and Ava away, and strike for gold here. My gold is no fools' gold, though my scars are many and fierce-looking. At closer inspection, you will see me for what i am. The imposter. I can live with that.

Me bein on Bloglovin

So you see it will have to be like this now. Living is a dance, where your moves decide your future position. But this is not to be confused with the misconceived conception that order rules. We create this sensation to keep panic at bay. We will do many things to avoid looking this in the eyes. We might not like what we will find. As usual the path of least resistance beams ahead, inviting as the quick fix we long for. There are times when the dancing commands our full attention. These are times of relaxation, as they block out the sun. The sun is a disk of unfathomable energy piercing most defenses. We will yield in its presence, and that is in order. Fortunately for us we are seldom called upon to commit ourselves to this degree. This is what the story of Abraham is all about. And this is something we have known, but either forgotten or denied. For we will take another step forward. The movement creates its own moment. And in the end we will die, obviously. This might not b...

The   passing of time, do you even want to feel it. Not sure we are built that way. perhaps we have no choice but to be bruised by the hard grip. And anyway, it does not ask. We should be humbled. We should bow our heads and relent. but we usually don’t. and the bruising will get worse. suddenly you are five again. maybe thats in our makeup too. the mountains do not ask our permission, so, we seem to think, why should we? In those instances when our woes are man made, we would have a point. But in all other instances, we should relent. It is not the same as giving in.

  You must be obsessed to gain entry here. You must break the rules, disregard your safety, ignore the door, quench your thirst. In short, you have to give it up. Then you might gain entry. But there are no guarantees. It might not be what you had in mind. This is not for everyone. and know this, once you are obsessed there is no turning back. Of course you can back off, but you cannot become clean again. This is the price. There is no shortage of candidates in spite of this. Each morning the floor needs to be swiped. They come in all forms and shapes. They persist. As this has gone on for some time, they shrink into background chatter, part of the fabric. In short, they invisibilise. Only by their silent intermittent sighs do you know they are there at all. So you adapt, and workaround it. For him, this became routine. Sharpening of the pen, cleaning the pad. (He liked his pad clean.) Some short minutes of looking at the poplar tree outside the window, all...

Jakob wasn’t there. He never was. He was the classic example of the absent father. He could nevertheless not be accused of not being present. His gaze could penetrate the thickest walls. Somehow, he just knew. This made people shy away from him. Noone likes to be subjected to such piercing blue eyes. Slightly blank, like water blurred the edges of those irises, just added to the discomfort you would unfailingly experience. In the gaze was a good measure of judgement. Not so much with words, what can they convey anyway? So he trudged on, unperturbed by the commotion in his wake. He had had to develop a rather thick skin over the years. Most things seemed to bounce off him, and you could be excused for thinking that nothing got to him. This was not true. A lot of things got to him.

you can take it with you. Beams are secured, old but working construction. will stand the test of time. The atmosphere is unmistakable.

Please, he said. don’t kill me like this. Take me to 13. I dont care about protocol, and if after 13 i am to go, i will not lift a finger. Forget about the flowers. Just go to 13. slowly the sun moved that day. How is it that time can stretch so? what is the mechanism by which this is ticking? Slowly, some would say lazily. Like the odd drops falling over Budapest that time, so long ago. hitting the large umbrellas with resounding plops. All was possible then. Only the word was missing. The word was not yet even formulated.

He ascended the stairs to reach fresh air. Fresh air and a new start. Crispy croissants and cafe con leche in a new setting. He could make a go of this. It didn’t matter the earlier times. He had free will, and wanted to execute it. He knew all about luck, and paid no heed to coincidence. He wouldn’t be bullied. But in himself he had to admit it wasn’t going well. He was honest enough to face up to the facts, at least in front of the mirror. It was something about luggage, no matter how he hated excuses. There are excuses that cover the real reasons, and there are excuses that are so well crafted that they fool the messenger. But in his heart of hearts he knew there were excuses that were actually true. He just didn’t really accept them. He had this childish notion since childhood, that his approach to dealing with things like this could affect their final outcome. And so he stubbornly resisted. No matter the weight of evidence tipping the scale against him. Becaus...

It was the thought of caresses that made him sick. Sick to the stomach. Sick to the soul. This is the question. Are you there or are you not? He looked in the mirror. The room was all sweaty and dense with depletives, unsorted and in a mess.

There’s the rhythm. Catch it. Can you catch it? Caressing your spine. Just love me. You know i am there. In the tap tap. Now i said it. I let it out. I thought i couldn’t. I was alone with my sandwich, and my glass of warm milk (tinged with honey). Building up the courage. Smiling to myself. Yes, scared. It’s a cold feeling, don’t you think? I let it go. Tap tap. Heavy sleep descending in its place. Moving in slo-mo, struggling. The all low level hitting the system hard. Not promising relief, just clawing at the edge of thought. A daily battle, it must be said. Oooo. The Green butchers. No, i didn’t I think the world is made of jazz. Jazz and concrete. It wasn’t always so.

To him the rhythm was the same, and he could sink in those rooms. White of light, and well used. The library was in three floors, plus a basement full of music. He used to go to the first floor, where the largest rooms were. His eyes would lose focus then. That was another way of relaxing. Of letting go. Slouched in the semi-comfortable chairs. Sometimes reading, sometimes not. The thick windows would mute the buzz of the city outside, the constant toing and froing of cars, like the flowing of blood in the veins of the huge city organism delivering little packages of the story, one at a time. It was also a safe haven. He would later come to call it graffiti literature. Not in any demeaning sense. It’s just that he didn’t fancy lying dead in the apartment for weeks. It’s nothing special about his fear. I heard of this actor who was so terrified of being buried alive that he always carried a hand written note in his pockets. Please check that i am dead before bu...