[music : Soeville by Roses and Branches]

 

Classical was how it felt。The instinct pushed to look up and to see。 The eyes found themselves where they were not meant to be。 A beautiful and light morning’s spontanity。 All is white , luminous , rich of pale sun。 Few palm trees in sight as usual in England ’ s capital。 The air had its moody coldness , the wind was mad。 What about was he mad ?

Bird here , bird there , Victorian houses – everyda ’ s picture on the way towards the tube。 Sometimes one can hear a flute to be played。 There are days a street cat  intensively seeks for human ’ s attention。 Seldom people would talk on this street。 They pass by in a typical manner fort his city – shy , reserved but still acknowledging the presence of others。 Usually this block is full of silence。 Especially when the clock shows midday。

The clock  was showing midday。 The street was white and quiet。 My thoughts were all over the place about all what was seen during the first meters outside the house , high above what the day could bring and where the life is heading to。 The wish it would be a simple-mind-situation , when the brain smoothly flows , was strong。 A need for simplicity occurred by every step made this noon。

A bird , classics , look up 。 A window。Her isolated hand in the window。 This window was not  small  nor was it big。 It was a little bit less than a middle-sized one。 In the middle beautifully placed a pale skinned hand was holding a cigarette。 A fully white cigarette。 One look up , another look up to spot the person behind the frame of that open window。 There was  no one to recognize。 There seemed to be no lady to connect with the hand。 Only dark room in the background。 The Hand was on its stage and the  world outside was the audience。

This hand was graceful。This hand was tired。 This hand was brought yesterday out。 Most likely。 The pose were showing that there was no energy left。 Only fresh air and some rest was needed。 Hands can say enormously much  if you watch them closely。 They are the second after eyes to rely on if we want to profile people。

Anonymous was this beautiful body part。 It was cut from the body due to the lights and shadows around it。 Only the hand existed and nothing else was to add or to take away from this scene。 It matched to the Victorian house。 It belonged to the fine atmosphere around it。It was radiating something aristocratic。 Was it caused by the country where the Hand was or was it because of the inner world of its owner?

The Hand was in the middle of the window and it did not move。 It was frozen。 There was no sign of tiredness in the static movement even if one could see that the hand is tired。 It was placed on the elbow with the fingers hanging downwards。 Hanging , tired but still holding the cigarette。 In its non-movement I froze  even if I was walking towards my day’s agenda。 This hand didn’t leave me cold. It embraced me warmly by being so comfortable。 There are people we meet and only by seeing them we melt。 There are hands like this where I become calm。

I am better off alone is another description of this picture。 I am better off in this silent numbness。 And there was the Sun, and there was the Hand higher than the ground, higher than everything else around。 This was high noon。

 

*Latin : hand

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There where are no openings , where are no beginnings

There were we practice in the air hangings

In the middle of the medium middle I know that

I can follow I can unfollow

I can go back

I can go left I can go right

I can take you over and go straight ahead 。

Then when you wish to breathe without breath

Then when huge heavyweight is on your chest

In this pattern of today ’ s crystal reality you

You rush you crash

You blush

You choose blond dumb moves

Not that blonde is out

You are simply expired。 Dot。

 ོ

I copy paste , we copy paste

For originals that ‘ s a daily micro ‘n’ soft move

For you this goes as  life leading counter-move

You copy paste and after only paste , paste ,paste

What for this waste?

Your ego scores high, you think you are in the sky

The fake tag I can see gets you only till the certain degree

Nothing better I see , don’t you agree?

Intimating ,imitating , investigating

You sniffy , nosy , goofy

I don’t wanna tell more I say less

I keep it simple God bless

Otherwise you get into a new mess

And again will get ya another day the same dress

Or whatever brings you a piece of success

 ོ

Choose the right drawer in the right color

This ist a box for you to stay  , you super crawlers

Watch out , keep away from them the real ballers

Take it as a friendly grown mind advice:

Let ‘ s hope it will help you out of your clan of mice

No ,you can ‘ t all what I can , take some time to grow ,man

Maybe , only maybe you ‘ ll get a real life  plan

 ོ

One more important teaching which to you is itchy

Chill ,breathe in and coolly stop being bitchy

And this is for free , no recipe , just a remedy

The ingredient is a priceless substance named RESPECT

Just press the button ,select and pay direct

Pay? Wait a sec。 A small big detail to be concerned

This can only be gained, earned and learned

My Post Scriptum

I can follow I can unfollow

I can go back

I can go left I can go right

I can take you over and go ahead。

You are not the first and not the last but least

In my ways there are always a couple of these at least

There where are no openings where are no beginnings

 Is it  real or is it perfectly managed illusion of belonging to original  was on my mind when she entered my zone.  The worldwide known scent of many generations  flew molecole by molecule spreading around her and stitched  my nose. Nothing was more awakening and requiered to grab my attention towards this lady that day – the carrier of Chanel Nr. 5.

She came from my right, from behind.  Her  from my eyes hidden walk was telling me that she has to be sure about herself.  She wasn’t. This was not because of me or others sitting in the room. It just was. Eventually because this particulare parfume obligates your body language and your inner state be tough, be knowing who you are, what you need and where to get it. There is no obligation only if you are  the real one. The red sweater got  into my sight right away. Without seeing more I saw too much.

She chosed the free corner on the leather sofa where I was sitting. Maybe it  wasn’t real leather. It looked like it was. The feeling I cannot recall. There was no importance for it. Her role in that moment was too interesting to be aware of details. And still I was aware of them.

For some time my brain made a  pause from being conscious of her sitting there on the divan in a simply satisfying concept fast food coffee shop – McCafé. The ambience was  bracing me with it’s  warmly welcoming furniture and the details of the interior design. So usual things became so unusual through the fact where they were combined: books, lusters, wood instead of plastic, flyers and metal.  This contradiction  kept me coming back to this particular McCafé since it gave me that unique feeling. Usually only for €2,49 – coffee with milk.

The dominance of the scent was extremly irresistable. It draged me back to what I was dealing with few minutes ago. My thoughts were with a wide variety about her and McDonald‘s in her life. Even if this happened in Berlin. In the city where you would not question things of that compilation. I tried to proof to myself that I also shouldn’t. I failed. I couldn’t. So it was to be continued. Without  looking at the lady in red  I could percieve only that what my peripheral vision allowed me to. A female grown-up in a european type body, the right moves. And still –  Chanel No. 5. This was bothering me and simultaneously felt right.

My eyes moved towards her meal tray to see what was her choice. Because there seemed to be no choice for Chanels. Not because they don’t belong into fast food chain. They would probably chose an elite fast food chain. I was curious. The typical menu consisting of french fries, a hamburger and a drink. It was a cup of coffee. The only choice which one could take seriously regarding to her perfume. They supported each other. The rest was disturbingly unbalanced towards each other. French fries and the No. 5 – there is no idea how to combine them to maintaine the class, the classic.

I could see more. I could catch her movements longer. I was observing her and  pretending that I wasn’t. She was sitting up straight. All the time which was aproximately 20 minutes. She held her european body  in control. The chest was up, the legs close to each other in a feminine angle. Not 90 degrees. It was more above. That made her appear soft. She had good energy, not arrogant at all. It seemed like this woman tried to keep herself in line. Maybe because of her morals, maybe because she thought it has to be that way. The food was picked up in an elegant manner. No rush, no mess on the table.

More details was what I wanted. I had to find out why. Why she was  there. Her haircut was a bob. It ended at her jaw and had a tense character underlined with a perfectly straight line. The hands, the european hands – long  thick fingers with well done manicure but a lack of nailpolish. The shape was round. Also the hands’s movements were controlled. I couldn’t read more about her looking at them. They did not talk, they just functioned. The function was for picking the food and demonstrating her jewelery – golden rings. When they apperead in my sight I zoomed up to her upper body again. A golden chain and golden earrings. At least one on my side. Her left side I didn’t see. The whole picture brought new idea.  All the things I saw reminded me of eastern european women. Was she? I will never know.

The dismatch was so clear to me that I could only pay my lost drops of attention to her throusers. Grey was the color. Red, grey and Chanel. Gold and the french fries were not important. These three elements build a cage for her. Her aura was screaming that it wasn’t her. It seemed that she could not manage the fact who she was with the need of the society surronding her of what she had to be. That was why  No. 5 came into game. Possibly. Was it a guard for her? Would you attack somebody wearing No. 5? A person with a strong character? People usually let the Chanels be and make their strong decisions by themselves.

The lacking strength in her energy was suppousely the main reason why I could enjoy this parfume and enjoy the scene. Even if it was played so carefully it couldn’t fool. But somehow I was wondering what made me inhaling this fragrance consciously over and over again.

We didnt talk. If we would I would see less and know too much.