Musique concrète

A man walks down the sidewalk towards the Vienna Stadthalle, reading a Kriminalroman by Alex Beer, “Der zweite Reiter.”
Suddenly there is a big KADONGGG!!
And the man sees a few stars.
What a beautiful new sound, the man thinks.
KADONGGG, I love it.
He rubs his head. He focuses his eyes on the steel pole of a street sign, very close.
He steps around the pole, finds his place in the book, and continues walking, half of him reading, half thinking about the sound.
Half of him wondering how a Foley artist would reproduce it, the THONK of brain against skull against 4-inch steel pole, the ringing tintinabulation of the pole and the sign after being struck.
The world is full of beauty.

Happy, happy

The engine warning light is on, I say to the mechanic. Can you plug it in and see what’s wrong? Also the windshield is cracked and the back seat windows roll themselves down.
You’ll have to leave it here, he says. We’ll call you later than you expect and say something cryptic only car guys understand. Or better yet, we’ll wait so long to call you that you call us first.
Sounds good, I say. Can you have your cleaning lady drive me to the station?
Will do, he says.
I am happy because I catch the same train as always (the one I take on the days I use that station because I drop Gamma there, and not the usual station nearer our house).
Then I am happy because the bus doesn’t drive away without me.
Then I am happy because I figure out relatively quickly that the connecting bus isn’t operating because school vacations.
Then I am happy because I can just cross the street and take a subway to a different bus.
Then I am happy because, when I trip and fall on my face entering the station, I don’t break anything. Fuck you too, ground.
Then, because so many nice people stop and ask me if I’m okay, including a man in a black fedora and an attractive young woman.
Then, because, when I tell them I think I’m fine, they all look at me and ask, Are you sure? Which suggests it was really spectacular.
Then, because, thinking about it, I had managed to avoid falling on the guy in front of me, which would have caused a domino-like catastrophic group fall in the subway station.
Then because the next bus isn’t very full because school vacation.
Then because two crows greet me at the office, demanding dog food.
Then because I am sitting down at my desk before I realize I am dizzy.
Then because youtube suggests a bunch of dark ambient music.
Then because the crows are all, like, waddup? And I’m like, waddup? And they’re like, this is so fucked. And I’m like, what. And they’re like, whaddya mean what? Everything dude. And I’m like, now would be a good time for like aliens or god or someone to intervene. And they’re like, what are you talking about, you’re the god of the office. And I’m like, oh yeah I forgot.
But that’s a non-interventive position.

Based on a true story

I took a long drag on my Nicorette inhaler and immediately suffered a coughing fit.  The Dalai Lama sat down next to me.

“Could I bum one of those off you?” he said.

Eyes watering, I waved the Nicorette inhaler in front of me. “It’s the only one I got,” I finally said. “You’re welcome to it, though, Your Holiness.”

“Please,” he patted me on the knee. “Call me Dalai.” He showed me his inhaler. “I already got one. I just need the little nicotine fluid thingamajig. Ran out of those.”

I gave him one and we sat there for a while, puffing away.

“You can’t inhale too deeply at first,” he said.

“Yeah, I figured that out,” I said. “My kid gave me these for my birthday.”

“Oh, when’s your birthday?” he asked.

I made a generic waving motion at the day around us. “Today,” I said.

“Happy birthday!”


“So how old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

I pointed at the sidebar over on the right.

“Wow, you’ve been blogging a long time.”

“I was one of the first,” I said.

“Respect,” said the Dalai Lama.

“By the way,” he said, wiggling his Nicorette inhaler. “You don’t need to tell anyone about this.”

I motioned locking up my mouth and throwing away the key. “Mum’s the word.”

“I mean, I know about you bloggers.”

“Dalai, please,” I said. “Take a chill pill. Quitting making you antsy?”

“Ehn. Looking for a reincarnation.”

“Who is it this time?”

“You wouldn’t know if I told you,” he said.

“True, true,” I said. “So what signs are you looking for?”

“Remembers drowning in a past life. Trips over shoelaces at an ice cream parlor and falls on face without losing ice cream.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s like ninja-level slapstick.”

“Here’s the kicker – it’s a girl. Who gives her father Nicorettes for his birthday.”

“Aight. Okay. I’ll keep a lookout.”

He was looking at me funny, but I ignored him. I wasn’t going to tell him.

Not until he spilled the beans on whose reincarnation he was looking for.