kelle.de

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.