VOYAGER 3 (linger a while) 

(PROLOGUE) LOVE in the evening and love in the morning. Longingly, I think of love in the morning. Was it not, by far, more beautiful than love in the evening? To grasp happiness is the beginning of dissatisfaction. Where had I heard that? The moment until one is content again, a brief, tiny, small moment, before dissatisfaction begins anew. Was satisfaction not precisely that moment in which happiness had already been grasped, and thus the beginning of dissatisfaction? You existed, then, only in that moment where happiness and unhappiness shook hands, you, feeling. And the two of them thought, linger a while, only to turn shortly thereafter to yet another episode of life. Another episode of: Was it not more beautiful there, in that distant place of MEMORIA? MUNDUS VULT DECIPI. ERGO DECIPIATUR. I wanted to carve you into stone. I wanted to launch you into outer space in metal. I wanted you, billions of light-years away, to be read, you, feeling. To be deciphered by that which we do not know, and yet wish to read us. Just as you are reading me now. A pitiful hello at the edge of the Milky Way. LOVE in the morning. A thought of time which, in the evening, certifies the day as having been a day. Now go into the eternal hunting grounds of lived days. And look forward to the morning, when longing will think of you, wistful and heavy. (ACT 1) I ride my bicycle to work, from Wedding or Weißensee. While riding, I think about the beauty of the district. I think: I love this district. It is beautiful. I am glad to live here. My work is located in the inner city, which does exist. Even if it is constantly questioned (by people who have no idea). The work fulfills me, but it is not part of me. I can leave it in the inner city if I wish. I do not have to take it home. I ride along a street made for bicycles. Along an avenue. A taxi driver kneels behind his taxi on a prayer rug, facing Mecca. We look at one another, and I take pleasure in his gaze. Traffic flows steadily toward the city. He kneels there, resting within himself. Before work, I still have time for a coffee with a friend. I listen to her attentively. I like listening to her. I love being told things I do not yet know, do not yet recognize. I do not think about time. I observe the other people in the café. The older people who are here. I am glad to see older people in the city. We pay for our coffee at a price that seems decent and fair to us. We do not think about the price. Without further ado, we leave a small tip. I work. Then the work is over. It is only a part of the day. It does not make the day for me. The sun shines on the tower. The tower, the only tower in the inner city. We orient ourselves by it. Its reflection shines like a second sun. Its signal gives us image, sound, and text. Wherever we need it. I have one hour before I buy the things I need for dinner with friends. The things are nourishing and affordable. They are good for me. I use the free hour and help where help is needed. (ACT 2) I have time for myself. I sit beside you in the car. You drive safely, calmly. My time is also your time. And here is a child. We take care of the child so that nothing happens to the childlike, so that it may grow in calmness. Within itself and within everything that surrounds it. It does not have to be ours. But we can give it what we know and what we love. And share the time that is meant to be beautiful. We go to sleep when we are tired. A good book, the last thing the eyes see before sleep. As long as I wish, only to be awakened by a voice one loves (CATASTROPHE) BIRDS ARE A FAREWELL. ARE A REUNION. H. M. (ACT 3) I hope the birds return. I hope for the return of the seasons. I hope for summer. I hope for the old people in the city. I hope for a conversation. I hope for the city as the greatest work of art of our civilization. I hope for a day and a night. I hope for looking beyond the rim of the plate and further still. A hoping for hopeful days. A moment of: (EPILOGUE) LINGER A WHILE. Just a little longer. Until I have strength again. Until I can see again, the beauty of this city, and of the people and animals. And the sky, which ceaselessly crashes down upon us and bursts at the edges, only to stretch itself over us once more. And I wish for myself: a morning and an evening. And a time for us. LOVE in the evening and love in the morning. Longingly, I think of love in the morning. Was it not, by far, more beautiful than love in the evening?

Text: Jan Koslowski