(no subject)
Looking upon the little turkish box of keks with its lavishly colored decorations, the tinest little finely made cookies made deep into the night, the wee hours of the night. to think of all the stillness, all the places which are unloved and shadowy, corners of chimneys, behind rubbish bins, the chins and armpits of the stone gargoyles perched high in a dark viennese night. The thought of the stillness alone drives one mad; the sheer boredom of a sleepy city on a Sunday evening. I went out and sat in a dingy watering hole, a matte black bar filled with Yugoslavian men, with an apt name given the lack of female prescence: "Pandoras Box" - and drank away two glasses of really nice Czech pilsner. A girl came in, ordered a small beer and sat quietly nibbling from a dish of peanuts, wondering why I was ignoreing her. I want to remain imagining these hidden, evening things. Those that are in the evening unseen by people, but nevertheless powerfully *there* -
Imaginary quarters of a city which build themselves in the mind. Yesterday by accident I found a part of Vienna I had not remembered ever being in before. When one exits U4 Längenfeldgasse and turns right, and walks for a long way through very boring ugly streets, past with stone communist housing blocks whose dirty beige paint from the 1930s ruin any possibly cheeriness of the street - and keep going further, suddenly one pops into a few series of blocks which must have been bombed in WWII. I found myself totally in marvel, I did not recognize any street names, block after block of strange cafes, shops, faces. Suddenly transported into an imaginary neighborhood of Vienna where Nate does not exist. To invent these places, or to change them around, change their clothing, their facades and odors transformed somehow.
Imaginary quarters of a city which build themselves in the mind. Yesterday by accident I found a part of Vienna I had not remembered ever being in before. When one exits U4 Längenfeldgasse and turns right, and walks for a long way through very boring ugly streets, past with stone communist housing blocks whose dirty beige paint from the 1930s ruin any possibly cheeriness of the street - and keep going further, suddenly one pops into a few series of blocks which must have been bombed in WWII. I found myself totally in marvel, I did not recognize any street names, block after block of strange cafes, shops, faces. Suddenly transported into an imaginary neighborhood of Vienna where Nate does not exist. To invent these places, or to change them around, change their clothing, their facades and odors transformed somehow.