30 September 2008

Impa's forest is out of the wood



As the working week starts on monday morning and everyone returns to their computers, assembly lines or conference tables, throwing quick glances at the clock that is yet to tick away all the working hours of the week, what does the forest do? Isn't it secretly sleeping late? Are all the trees at the ready? Are they standing by to house spiders and silently bend over the forest trails? Are they dropping chestnuts?
I went out to check early this monday morning, and all was in perfect order. In the misty morning hours the forest was just as it should be. Trees, mist, wet sand, fragrant moss, mushrooms.
I wish I could be getting up for the crack and the dawn every monday morning.

23 September 2008

Impa and the music

Music is the shortest route to God. The large tent isn’t crowded. In the back, my feet have several square metres all to themselves. The asphalt is marked with white parking lines. Here, on the edge of the festival terrain, I see no green from underneath the tent cloth, only parking spaces and porta-potties. The crowd is lying on the grass somewhere else. I dance in the dark. Little light in a lot of tent. The dark folds itself around me. I’m hoping friend A. will head this way too.

16 January 2008, 09.42: Hurray, hurray! I am proud of you. Hurray, hurray! We’ll have to celebrate this. Hurray, hurray! A kiss and a hug. Hurray, hurray! M.
20 February 2008, 14.05: Looking sharp, girl!
2 April 2008, 10.13: Du bist meine himmelsterne superschatsen. Schlaf gut. Der M.
14 juni 2008, 00.03: Happy birthday, cutie!

Music comes floating along like the ribbon of scent in a cartoon. I stick my nose in the air and before I know it, a trail of sensation flows into my head and all I can do is follow: drooling and tripping over my own dog’s paws. Music that curls itself around my senses and hooks on to something. Not fastening it, but vibrating along. Vibrating to exactly what was already there and then taking me to another place. Not somewhere else. To the same spot, but then more. Like an extra piece of reality unfolding.

17 July 2008, 12.11: We‘re resting today with our books and a bag of delicious, unhealthy fruit flavoured toffee in our lazy chairs underneath very tall, rustling poplars with the sunshine flickering through the leaves. Good luck at work. Big kiss T.
24 July 2008, 08.51: 1900! So I can go to Image sales. Have alrdy gt terrain tckts btw.
02 August 2008, 02.22: Hadahelluvagoodtime! Toodles.

And then there’s the dancing in the dark, when no one can see me. There’s something about Mogwai’s sound. Every tone seems to come from a different vocabulary than other guitar sound.

5 August 2008, 13.20: Hey Beauty. Are we still on for the cinema tonight? Kiss.
11 August 2008, 19.03: Hello! Are we still on for a movie after work tomorrow? Should be fun. See you tomorrow... M x
29 August 2008, 21.48: Fucking psycho's, these Chinese. They start giggling when you only look at them or want to sleep with you straight away. I’m in a club now and they are all playing dice.

The music builds up gently, flowing into my brain. I bob and roll and before I realise it, with my feet deep, deep in the asphalt, I am heaving in a wall of sound built up so slowly and still so in sync with the flow in my head that I hadn’t noticed it had swelled so. And then there’s this wall of sound tumbling over me, whirling and spreading. An avalanche of motion in my mind, and then suddenly, deep inside, something opens up.

3 September 2008, 16.44: Will call you after work.
4 September 2008, 09.38: I think I’ll come by between the meeting and my activity. Are you interested in a dried frog? I’ll bring it along.

I look straight at something true. Something making me an inextricable part of that huge, cool, dark tent where the sound has swelled so that nothing else exists. I am the farthest reaches of the music and the music fills every last part of the universe.

4 September 2008, 16.21: Ah. Jolly good to have an unexpected cuppa.

A breeze makes my legs go all goosepimply. Music runs down to the same careful sounds of the beginning. I open my eyes. It surprises me how tangible things look and how they are both very near and infinitely far.

14 September 2008, 13.18: I love you.

Tent, lights, stage, crowd. They’re all solid and dry. And very weightless. Very understandable. Like paper. Tears run down my face.