DESCRIPTION
I circle the gravity of this situation in elliptical curves. Inside the fences, so fashionably dressed in distractedly elegant drapings of barbed wire, the TV show goes on showing. (White noise. Fragments.) [589 words]
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Short Biography: Pepijn Sauer Born midnight between the 3rd and 4th of February 1970 in Arnhem, The Netherlands. Studied Japanese, Philosophy and Psychology at the universities of Leiden and Utrecht, finished neither because of tendencies towards the more obscure sides of the above mentioned fields. Paints, does illustrations and translates from Dutch to English and vice versa. (mainly scientific articles). [September 2001]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (8) A Song Of Absence (Short Stories) Absence. Everybody is on the beach but you. Meister Eckhart sunbathing in bright green shorts. Dostojevski and William James play beach volleyball against the Marx Brothers. In the shadow of a palm t... [1,412 words] [Mind] Dis-Appointment (Poetry) Short poem. [12 words] [Romance] For Sofia (Short Stories) You live with the question. Wondering how to proceed, we find ways to make things happen. We do not understand the question. It is there despite our lack of understanding, as are many other things. Fo... [449 words] [Mind] Party (Short Stories) Actually the host is dead. It took me a while to notice, but it's true. The host is so dead he has a lot of time to give parties. [581 words] [Mind] The End Of History And The Last Fish (Short Stories) When Field commander Asinine launched his final all out withdrawal the first one to be killed was major Fuck Up. The loss was grave but they had no time to bury him. [1,168 words] [Mind] The Function Of Criticism (Short Stories) We forget without remembering what. Something started at some point but the point is now almost identical to everything; or rather, it is starting to be, unstoppably, constantly. [774 words] [Mind] The Mind That Is Morning (Short Stories) The mind that is morning swims. As it grows later it will become frosted glass; an empty couch by the window; twelve words; a dolphin blowing rings of air and an empty coffee cup in the sunlight. [459 words] [Mind] Witness (Short Stories) You have seen things. I thank you for describing them to me with so much care and poetic accuracy. Your eyes must be beautiful. As for the things at hand, I am unclear regarding their purpose, if any. [826 words]
Gravity Pepijn Sauer
Gravity.
I circle the gravity of this situation in elliptical curves. Inside the fences, so fashionably dressed in distractedly elegant drapings of barbed wire, the TV show goes on showing. (White noise. Fragments.) You assault me with disgusting metaphors like: ‘A kite needs someone to hold its rope to stay in the air’.
Distraction.
Things do not turn around. It appears my face is glued to the sky. You tell me freedom is inevitable and therefore does not have to occur at any particular moment in time. ‘In a way,’ you say, ‘it has already been achieved’. This bugs me.
Elsewhere.
In the meantime someone is mowing the lawn. Outside. Because the sun is shining, my window is open. Although technically the window is not really mine because I rent it, it is open because the sun is shining: I have opened it. The sun, unlike the window is not included in the rental agreement. All this is somehow related to my existence. I don’t know how, but it is. This, too, bugs me.
Talk.
Q: What did you do?
A: Witness the disappearance of a giant statue from the dimly lit park at the back of my head.
Q: You were dreaming.
A: No, not dreaming, witnessing I was lost. The statue was a self image. It was replaced by an award winning impersonation of a Jeroen Bosch painting.
Q: We will never meet... again.
A: No. The city is between us. It keeps growing. We have both tasted it. It took us some time to acknowledge this.
Q: But now we know.
A: Now we know.
Q: Why did you steal my car?
A: It was there. I took away your illusion of upward mobility, sense of purpose. Force you to admit we were not so different after all.
Q: But we are. Movement was of no importance.
A: Yes, I realized that when I ran out of gas.
Q: Where were you?
A: Right here. In front of the abysmal image generator of imaginationâ . Yesterday, in the presence of three official witnesses, I opened the inverted, outsideless black box of the universe. There was nothing inside.
Q: You are insecure.
A: I am not insured against the bankruptcy of my insurance company.
Q: Why are you crying.
A: I am not.
Q: Why is water coming from your tear ducts?
A: Preprogrammed reaction to certain chemical processes in the brain.
Q: What kind of processes?
A: Imaginedâ social interactions of this kind associate images stored in neural networks to produce a chemical stimulation of particular glands.
Q: I am not really here. I am somewhere else.
A: You are in various places at the same time. The real you may be empty. The images are always indefinite, open ended. They are located in a ‘space’ not synonymous to the collection of objects designated as ‘the world’ or ‘reality’.
Q: You stole my car.
A: We assign different values to our relations with various objects in our respective cognitive maps.
Q: I paid for it, you didn’t.
A: The price differs, but it is paid.
Q: Where is my car.
A: In your head.
Q: It’s geographical location?
A: In my head.
Q: Why do you love me?
A: I wish I knew. When I look really hard everything starts to disappear. You don’t.
Q: That simple?
A: Is it? I’m sorry to disappoint you.
Q: I will never admit to loving you.
A: You just did.
Q: Alright.
Space.
It was there before I filled it with these words.
Who invents these titles?
This question will lead to a metaphorical building consisting of an infinite number of floors none of which touch the ground.
The ground.
It is beneath everything, you say. If you fall, that is where you end up.
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