A circle. A destination. This day.
My expectations. Your silence.
Another photo of the horizon.
Category Archives: Dorothee Lang
It was in a coffee break between two powerpoint presentations, with her expecting nothing but the usual small talk, that they came to talk about home. How it takes a while to feel home in a new place. How sometimes, you never reach that point.
“All my childhood memories are in another place,” he said. “When I moved here, I didn’t feel at home at all. It was just the place I lived, currently. Then, one weekend, I visited a friend, and after I left, somewhere along the road, I had this feeling of driving home.”
Maybe it was the combination of the two words that triggered the memory: home and road. “Once, when travelling in India, I went on an organized desert trip,” she remembered. “In Rajasthan, that was. Two days of desert, riding on camels, camping out there. A jeep picked me and the others up at the guesthouse, to take us to the starting point. They had music playing, Take me Home, Country Roads, and Sweet home Alabama. The songs accompanied us through the desert, and in the evening, at the camp fire, we sang them again, in the middle of this huge, empty, sandy landscape: Take me home, country roads, to the place we belong. Which was right there, for that song, for that day.”
all those layers
a steady two or t(h)ree
that had been the brief plan
the concept of exponential scales and continental drift:
truth was, we still tried to (read)just the moment
when we had sat there, listening
She dials the number carefully. Voices surround her. A telephone box would be handy now, a space with a door, she thinks while she listens to the ringing of the phone on the other side of the line. Which, of course, isn’t a real line anymore, but a conglomerate of computers, transmitter and satellites. A black box of communication without answer.
She tries again, just in case.
“Hello,” she finally whispers into the phone, as if it would make a difference. “Hello, are you there.”
She waits another two rings before she pushes the disconnect button. The she turns away, takes some steps into the crowd, becomes part of it again. A minute later, she is gone, while you still stand there, waiting for your phone to ring.
are tossed tangents
or leave it
while you halt + read
while the heads
in this velo(city)
|we spent the first half|
|of the evening|
|in an affectionate distance|
|of observing the other|
|the unspoken questions|
|lingered rumpled, waiting|
|until they finally broke through the walls|
|we had tried to keep up|
|around us||silence fell|
|like a veil|
|and took us back|
|to where we started,|
|a wor(l)d ago|