(UR: bärte / beards)
The large system it begins, where it ends, it has limits, enter, headquarters, where? Of which composition its consistency, which atrocities are award permanence to it? Does it have an address? A will, a wanting? Which attention should we give to it at all?
How long must it boil how long does it keep fresh? Is it sworn, shock frozen? Dried, zwiegebacken? Is it the rescue if nothing more goes more is in the store cupboard, nothing else? Is the large system a compromise, the fusion two poles, a line, a red twisted thread thread, laced Connection, axis of crumbling, up with the ruler pulled at around brain halves north-south, a crumb trace which leads behind bars in the fairytale woods, Italophiles Schwedendesign?
Working hypothesis: We assume the large system stayed at a hotel. A modern hotel fillled with nostalgia. Or in twos, hotel Hotelli; simultaneous, always simultaneous. And we also assume a hole by which the acceptances immediately slipped to the trifle would be in the middle (of the large system). On all edges grieselts.
An intersection, a ban on stopping, a waiting cab. The red is the in front open coat of a girl in this reality with long hair. It drives on the bicycle from the picture. And our looks like it could drive from the picture, we would come home like them where a man waits behind the three day beard? Like her we let the coat glide of the shoulders, get to the kitchen table, put our hands in the lap. The man brings two plates of penne arrabiata, they give themselves a smile, it then planes a little cheek down about stubble, breaks a piece for everybody of the crispbread they start to to eat.
However, we because our hypothesis writes metaphorically must remain hungry. Any moment avariciously hangs in the context of its possible away walks. We open the door to the hotel, climb up the stairs, throw a searching eye to the rooms and into the double rooms two. We see the hotel, the Hotelli of the outside, for us but every time if try outside view to catch one to look finally out finite out!, only again.
And we, and will no conclusion ever prove as right still as wrong so with our observations never into that simultaneous state of aggregation of crisply and softly at the same time turned out well, we could claim certainly out of this, the large system has sat in the black limo which left the town with an uncertain aim in the late afternoon.
(Also see the note to the happy Zwiespältigkeit; former crispbread vs. pasta/the case Barilla Wasa)
Source: Hotel Hotelli Gustav Wasa
Translated by Linguatec
posted by savadee @ 01:07:19