. wiggling his shoulders . bouncing the head up and down before biting into a huge cheese quesadilla, the men . grins over to the band and . says to himself - but loud enough so people on the next table could hear him could hear : "this is my son!" . and he chews down and adds "arent't they great?" . and he keeps on dancing with his heart and his feelings, jumping and moving inside his big body on the tiny chair, moving more than any of the people around him only they do not see it.
"Have you slept well tonight?" "--- äh... yes.." pause "Do you think humanities problems can be solved?" "...."
Kroy's architecture is calling for a certain type of life-style. Not only the architecture, of course. But to a certain degree, yes. Maybe Mies van der Rohe would not have thought that his buildings could procreate Hip Hop. Unvoluntarily, they helped creating it. Today, we observe this type of dance which is not (really) sensual nor erotic. Its movements are the expression of a whole culture; movements and bodies which are somewhat more "here", more "grounded", "rooted to the soil" or "down-to-earth" than other types of dances. More "autochthonous", which probably means something solid and rooted in the way that plants are rooted. And so we are dancing in garages in Harlem or in industrial ruins in Brooklyn, rooted to the cement with both feet, the hands like branches flying high in the air, jumping up and down, but resting on their ground. Like plants, we move in the worst weather conditions, rest flexible in the upper part and solid on the base and try to get the semen, the word out there, and to do so we speak fast, as fast as we can, we call them bros and call ourselves "fat" or "grand" and have little animals and herbs invade our organic bodies until we all merge in the up-and-down-movement which we then take out to the street and keep it in our voices and in eyes.
In a world of total design I walk around the city and get the feeling that all this is designed for the passer-by, the sun shining at exactly this angle between the buildings, getting reflected in the fire escapes and street signs, that the person resting in the last ray of the sun is just standing there to be seen and to produce sincerity, to produce truth, for truth lies in the beautiful.
I walked over Times Square and felt emptiness. Superficiality and emptiness. Facades of glimmering, shining buildings, flickering lights, heartbeat and faster than heartbeat orgiastic color symphonies, penetrating my eyes. What is this all about? I look at the people around. Most of them take pictures (so do I), most of them do not know where to look first (neither do I), most of them seem confused (however, they don’t say it). I am one people amongst them. Oh, that does not work linguistically, since people is always in the plural. So to be with the people and not feel superficiality I have to plunge into the plural?
Once upon a time, there were 3 brothers. All 3 of them had a special gift: they could see the emotions of the city in color. So, all 3 of them became painters and set out to paint the walls of Kroy, adapting the city to its everchanging colors, each time adapting the walls to the emotions of the moment, so everyone could see it. They went from red to blue to yellow to a type of brown until they settled for this type of brown and thought this was not so bad a color after all, and since then they have been going aroung painting in this ... very particular hue: Some gallons of sadness with some gallons of despair with a dose of feeling shitty, and a touch of fall (symbolic for the automn of life) ... and some white to keep the hue lighter (and keep the hopes up that times are a-changing.)
The “cold” is the great separator of Kroy. The cold.org is a company specialized in equipment for separation on rich and poor matter by using cold wind, ice, storm, rain and snow. When the cold arrives in the city, people’s movements tell you a lot about their financial background. Usually, the wealthier the people, the livelier they move about; that is, if you see them at all, stepping out of taxis into restaurants or bars and back into taxis and from the taxi into their home. Other people tuck their head into their shoulders and move along, fixing always the next steps on the sidewalk, like the guy in “Momo” who was looking always on the following square feet he had to clean until he reached the end of the road… (but this is yet another story). Then, there are people who stand on the street to sell things. They move from one foot to the other, in a certain monotonous dance on the same spot. Most of them clap their hands. Again other people do not move at all. They rest in one place and stare in front of them. Sitting on cardboard boxes and stacks of newspapers which barely keeps the cold away, they just sit there and wait for the spring.
... says the man who is selling almonds on 14th street to the woman who is cleaning the toilets of several big buildings. She laughs and blows smoke in his face. The smoke gets pulled away from the wind; it mixes with the smoke from the underground and the smoke of the sewer system. The wind in Kroy always blows horizontally, bizarrely enough, in this very vertical city I would have expected the wind to blow vertically also, like blowing up from the subway airshafts, blowing up skirts, plastic bags and hair, blowing up up up up up to the highest point of the skyscrapers only to turn around and fall down on the heads of the millions as revenge or maybe only cold wind. Or “cold” and basta. But, hey, no, the wind in Kroy blows from the left to the right and from the right to the left, and the flying plastic bags or flying squirrels have nothing to do with the wind but rather with not-being-from-this-wordliness.
Originally, I come from a small village. A village like for example the village of Stanglet. Only that my village is not called Stanglet, but Leitershofen. A village like a city, just smaller. Leitershofen has two major streets, a bakery, a shop for about everything but cheese, a shop where you can buy cheese and milk, an elementary school, lots of trees (dark and tall tress that never lose their leaves), a butcher, a flowershop, a church with a cemetery attached to it and one kindergarten. And one Pizzeria, with an imported Italian waiter to show off Leitershofen’s international flair (even though his mother was Moroccan). I used to pass all houses of Leitershofen on my way to school, waving to some old people who were always looking out of the window, nicely fitting their elbows onto pillows, and ringing the bells of other doors, running away and watching furious faces yell after me without seeing me. Most afternoons I spent sitting with some friends in the treetops, watching American soldiers and their children pass by: the smaller ones with plastic guns, the bigger ones in tanks. We were sitting in the tree, trying to be as quiet as possible, to be almost invisible, which was, however, not necessary because the Americans never looked up, they always looked straight forward. They looked as they moved. Their gaze indicated the direction. Since then, I have been wondering about the direction which these Americans indicated, with their eyes and their pointed index fingers. So that, also in the city of Kroy, I went up on treetops and rooftops in order to look at the people passing by. I will continue doing this. So far - as what I have noticed - there are generally 4 directions: to the left, to the right, straight ahead and back. This, however, is not purely American. It seems to be universal.
The old Frenchman says:
"There are things which are of political relevance and others which are of symbolic meaning. Do not confuse things. This victory is a fact but it is not (yet) a political event. Enjoy its symbolics. Don't trust the state. And concerning politics, rely on yourself and on collective actions."This is what the old Frenchman said. He quoted another old (even older) Frenchman who had said: "Any action of the state is a dog." But maybe I did not understand it correctly.
I met a lady who said "we always want to make people go out into the streets and make a revolution" and I thought, hey, I like that; but she also said " nobody believes me, THEY have all the loud speakers" and I did not like that; felt awkward.... and then she said "you just take little steps without losing the great ideal and the vision" and I liked that. But when I wanted to say something, too, she got offended and did not listen and I wondered how much people really listen when they say they are. And I thought, how about pulling the electrical plug and leave us all without electricity and see what remains, after we have figured out our way and oriented in the so-called dark. Maybe something very human. Maybe something very pure. Maybe...
There is one day in autumn, when the dead are celebrated in the City of Kroy. It is a day when summer really has disappeared, when leafs start turning red and yellow and when you can smell the first snow. In the City of Kroy, people are not dining with their dead on top of their graves, neither walking to the cemeteries for festivities. The cemeteries of Kroy have long been unused; they are full – filled with bodies that do not breathe any more. One new highway cuts through the biggest one of these sacred places, now in the middle of precious territories. Towards east and west you can see tombstones, and towards east and west, you can see, this one day of the year, the spirits coming back and moving towards the city. There they go, all united in their march. Cactus Man and Bambi, some queens with carnivore plants, elephant and the Super Mario Bros., Barack Obama, the blue man, the sun, cats, giraffes, fish, the pope and some bishops, Neil Armstrong and John Lennon and McCain Hand-in-Hand, Snoopy, a baby chicken, freedom(yes!), Global Warming and the Atmosphere, and a pancake. Oh, and sometimes a campbell soup. OH, and at the end, you always have a chinese woman dressed up as cleopatra. (this one is real, though.) When they crossed Chinatown, the little Chinese kids clap their hands and yell – “I can see the new humanity coming!” and they throw chicken feet over their doorsteps (from the inside to the outside of the apartment, but don’t ask me why). These transparent bodies materialize more and more and wander through the city of Kroy. Every year, they have become more numerous, until the council of the city decided to no longer try to hide it but organize this event; they close some major streets and keep the feeble humans away from the monstrous parade, they play music (mostly Michael Jackson) in order to suppress the sounds of “your-left-the-gas-open” and they pick up falling fingers, toes and hands as fast as they can, together with sugar candy they throw all over the place in order to do so.
The city of Kroy and the whole country will elect its new king. People are motivated. There are the ones who are for the white one, others are for the black one. After everything which is written and said, it feels like : you can chose between squirrels and rats, but both belong to the family of rodents. My Spanish friend says there are two things. He always sees two things. On the one hand, one thing; the other thing on the other hand – but both belong to the same body, he says.
There are principally 2 types of animals in the city of Kroy. INSIDE-Animals and OUTSIDE-Animals. The Inside-Animals usually are sticky, icky, yucky, little and wacky. The Outside-Animals are much more un-sticky, un-yucky and un-little (in most of the cases). The Outside-Animals can be divided into 1) Outside-Domesticated-Animals 2) Outside-Non-Domestic-Animals.