kelle.de

I take you with me
wherever I go
Over asphalt or meadows
You give me all I need
I love you
so much
as only a Horse can do

When my time has come
it will be quick
a bolt of steel
and my meat is yours
I will become part of you
so much
as only a Horse can do

So, I was back in Briançon to visit my parents at their cottage somewhere in some rather detatched side valley. Snow was falling when I drove up to their barn. The snowflakes sizzled as they touched the bonnet of my car, otherwise there was complete silence.  There were footprints of a non-defined number of cats, slowly becoming obscured by the growing new layer of snow. It was already after dark, and the shadows cast by the porch light where of such opaque blackness that the footprints looked almost artificial. Other than the snow screaking under my footsoles there was no sound now, the snowflakes falling silently.

Inside there was warmth from the fireplace and mellow merriness. After exchanging the latest tales of life and a simple but tasty dinner including some home-made bread, smoked meat and a bit of wine, it was time to go to bed. The bedroom was almost looking as I had left it to venture abroad, making the leap to adulthood. Still the same wall posters and the same arrangement of furniture. Other than the bright living room, this room was dry and cold, full of the smell of old wood planks that had been exposed to a fair deal of humidity, more than through the time of being part of the house bearing also the heritage of being trees swaying in the cold forests of the mountains of the Rhône-Alps.

I was sleepless. Memories of my childhood crushing in on me, unanswered questions shooting through my head. My parents had long gone to sleep, so I went downstairs, grabbing a pair of boots in the hallway, passing through the dimly lit living-room which was illuminated but by the dying glood of the fireplace. I took a coat and went outside.

It had stopped snowing and the clouds had disappeared. The moon was shining brightly, painting the scenery into a crisp black-and-white image. The snow crystals blinked as I moved along for good. I watched the Moon, it was full and appeared very large, larger than usual. In that moment an obsessive thought occured to me. I wanted to go to the Moon.

Meanwhile, as history had progressed and earth had seen a lot of more wars and crises, unbeknowest of many politicians, an economy had come to spin up on Moon. Some time around the thirties they had found some minerals there that swiftly established an infrastructure of Moon-travel. Therefore, many ports across Europe had taken up Moon service. It was still the most expensive trip to do, even on cheap cargo-aircrafts, but I had been able to put some money aside.

The next days I discussed it with my parents, and their reaction was surprisingly positive: “Take your camera with you, will you, boy?”. So, without a fuzz I arranged to go to Grenoble, the nearest Moonport, and the rest of the week I spent many hours with my father and his telescope, eyeing the new civilisations nestled at rims of craters.

When I entered Grenoble Moonport, the first impression was the mess of everything and everybody being very busy. The sign Passage Interdit aux Infirmes posted all over the place did not catch a lot of my attention, but it was clear there was some brawl going on about it, as it was a newly introduced safety regulation. I went to the counter to book a flight, readying my credit card and passport. I had some good contacts on Moon to whom I had already announced my visit, and they were happy to also arrange a couple of job interviews for positions that never would have been possible on Earth. So I was invigorated with a strong spirit of starting something completely new.

The good-looking woman at the counter smiled at me in professional style and she asked me for my medical record. I pointed at the credit card which was supposed to have all relevant information on its chip, but she waved her head in excuse and pointed me to a different counter, where there was just a brawl going on. I advanced and was kindly asked forward by the likewisely good-looking counter employee in charge. She asked me to join into a compartment where she took a genetic fingerprint from me. After a few minutes of waiting she reappeared with a frown and said: “Nous sommes très desolés mais la passage a eu determiné interdite pour vous, Monsieur. Votre condition permet pas de passage pour la lune.” Instantly I got up and excused myself to the lady being up for extensively explaining further. I was not ready for futile discussions and instead submitted to the verdict of authority.

Back at my parents’ cottage, again I was out in the snow at night, taking a breath of fresh air, watching the crisp silhouette of shades cast by the moonlight. An idea struck me again. I took off my glasses and the Moon and the snow suddenly became one.

The cold rain dribbling onto the roof window in no haste but with steadiness, getting heavier with each drop. It feels almost like north atlantic is reaching out with his mighty chilling grip, far onto land. It is safe and warm inside, but I can sense the stormy breeze ooze underneath windowsills and doorsteps. And outside in this cauldron of deadly atmospherics, somewhere there are you, waiting and hoping for the bus to come soon.

In my dreams, there seems to be one particular thing that persists throughout almost every dream i can remember. The ability to fly . It requires a lot of energy and skill. It’s not something you just do. You have to concentrate and find the right state of mind in order to be able to lift off. It takes most effort to get off the ground. At an altitude of half a metre or so, there seems to be some kind of critical point where it’s very unpredictable whether you will crash-land again or gain further altitude. It’s possible to fly up to 30 metres high, depending on the terrain below. There is the constant danger to loose concentration and fall down, therefore it’s unwise to exceed 10 metres. Getting off the ground can be made easier if you start on a slope where you can jump into the state of flying. Unfortunately there is never any guarantee that it works everytime. I like to fly at very low altitudes, like 1 or 2 metres high. I enjoy the curious looks of the other people and the combination between emotional tension and physical relaxation. I wonder if flying is actally healthy. Maybe it’s a new kind of medicine: “Fly like an angel, but stay alive.” Anyway it feels like something completely normal. Whenever I miss the bus to take me to school or work, I might just decide: “Well, let’s just take the straight way and fly it.”

Waking up being tied back to the ground again, feeling the discomfort of 1G pinning me down, it’s truly disappointing to discover that the convenient ability to fly is but an imagination.

In Vienna they are currently planning for the construction of a central train station. Pretty much like what was accomplished in recent times in Berlin. Right now, ressembling Paris, there is a couple of medium-sized stations circling the centre of town. Westbahnhof, Süd/Ostbahnhof (one complex), Franzjosefsbahnhof, Wien Nord,.. I think that’s about it. The station which is going to be reconstructed into Vienna Central, is going to be Südbahnhof.  Even now it seems to be the largest train station in Vienna, with its vast concourse, held in the chilling humongous ortogonality of 3rd Reich architecture.

Anyway sometimes when I get there, there is this train to Moscow waiting at the platform. It appears to be going directly to Moscow, all those many hundreds of miles.  It waits there, lurking, with it’s dark blue carriages, some machinery whispering in their humming tune, and staff in their different uniforms bustling to load the train with food and equipment. It takes 30 hours to get to Moscow.

Thinking about it, I picture myself getting on that train, in my briefcase I have the golden ticket for the ride to Moscow, with some kyrillic words of mistery on it. Heading north-east through unknown territory, passing vast patches of barren isolation and dense forests. Sitting in the restaurant car, dining in the crammed yet pittoresque atmosphere of the long tradition of traveling by train. The crystal glass of port, swaying in the yellow light of electric candelabras.

Then finally Moscow, the suburbs made from darkness and hulking slab buildings,  getting closer to the centre, peering out of the window and getting dazzled by the lights of this HUGE city.

There is a subway network, one of the most dangerous places on the planet. Especially the Y line, that goes in a circle around the centre of town, is known to be dangerous.

Of course it’s the first ride I take, other passengers shaking their head at me while rushing for the taxi stand. Then emptiness of the subway platform, the train approaching, and then solitude, screaming danger, the noise of metal on metal, and dark phantoms outside the windows. Watching my own reflection pale white and dripping with cold sweat, pupils widened in terror, pulse thumping in raging fear.

But nothing happens – it’s just a quite normal subway ride in a large town.

I should go and try it out myself. Yes, I expect to be on my own. If not, contact me.

I was at home at my parents’ house in Germany. I am not quite sure which season, but it looked dry outside, the weather not very hot or cold, it might have been autumn. I was in the middle of planning a trip to the US, maps spread out all over the place, working on a good itinerary to get around the country without spendig too many hours on the road while seeing many different cool places, though. My dad with whom I was going to take the trip together looked at my efforts in appreciation, but I could feel the lack of sleep crouching beyond, pulling me down without mercy. Before I could elaborate, I must have passed out on site. The next thing I could remember was waking up on the airplane shortly before landing in America. How could this be? I missed all the packing, saying goodbye to my mum and sister, checking through the airport control and boarding the flight? The thing, however, that bothered me most, was that I obviously had forfeit my chance to discuss the travel plan with my dad. He had made the decision about where to head first without consulting with me, but in good faith, so I quickly calmed. We were headed to Seattle/Tacoma airport which was an okay starting point. We would be able to start in the outer northwest to loop around, so no problem there. We had been to Seattle before, and our family had friends there. Rosemary and her family. We hired a van from one of the car rentals, and went on to pay them a visit – unfortunately, since this was not really planned for, we did not remember the exact location of their house, so it took us a while to find the right suburb village. And even after arriving at the house, we weren’t sure if it was the right place. So we sneaked up at the porch, worried about the “no trespassing” sign yarding the fence, and we couldn’t quite make up our minds while crouching in the high grass, lest anybody see us. Along came a cat, blue fur, and I asked the cat: Hey are we in the right place? The cat answered: Well, you guys look kind of familiar, I reckon you found the right place then. Who are you looking for? I answered we were looking for Rosemary. The cat went: OK, I don’t know really who you are talking about; why don’t you give it a shot anyway.
So we looked at each other in disbelief and reassurance at the same time, and knocked on the door, prepared to be shotgunned or welcomed. And indeed, things turned out fine, and in no time we found us at the dinner table together with Rosemary and her ones. The blue cat also had company by a purple one.

Rosemary later explained: Yeah, the blue one is really smart, much more than the purple one. The purple one doesn’t speak at all, but you never know what a cat is up to, do ya. Now have some of the pie.

So, how about that so-called “city that does not exist”. What’s the point anyway? Why bother about something that is obviously not present… Well, in fact, there are many good things about this city. And believe it or not, while reading these lines, you have just entered it. Unlike normal cities, once entered, it is not possible to leave by walking away, no matter how hard you try. In a way the city has to leave you. However, there is no point in trying to leave, because this city happens to be mostly a nice place.

Here some facts and figures:

• Location: nowhere
• Capital of no nation, state or province
• Permanent residents: none
• Ethnicity: unknown
• Rank:0th biggest city in the world
• Highest building: A large nameless tower close to the centre. Its height is generally regarded as infinite but there has never been proof. The purpose of the building is unknown, but it’s a good landmark for orientation.