MAX KLAWITTER

DOORS:

„At the doors my friend.“ Closing a little too early, quickly even before I got in.

Trains left. The repetitive sound of the speakers, trying to warn from moving objects, dangerous when we stay or stumble.

Deserted, he stood beside a motionless railway while the train left.

And he insists once more. Swerved away in foregrounds and sitting people.

Opened sideways and slid towards the artificial light.

It’s grounds that now lay in the back, and air between two open windows, -not as bordered as the dewy nocturnal air.

Laid out like still lifes, every foot still in contact with ground and none moving floor but in gestural motion. Something might be unseen here and there but so irrelevant. His bag next to him, his right hand secure makes sure, it won’t get stolen this time. Another paper bag with fresh bread, a reddish jacket and an old wool head, the woman the opposite bench wearing the coat is drinking coffee and has her shoes in her hands, looking at them as they were living – lukewarm melancholy of half charged things.

Driven, I watched out of the window; Someone walked halfway through across his garden to his car. Will have driven away, probably.

When I closed my eyes, still lives disappeared. I wished for sunglasses that protect me from the looks. Fragmented, patterns of fabric reflected in the glass, nothing warm this time.

I yearned for a moment on my own, when the doors opened again followed by the loud sound of the speakers, a lot of people left. As we drove further south of the city, through the window above my head a breath of air turned loving into misplaced silence as we stopped again. The rhythm was so dense, noise was exchanged into tender silence.

The next afternoon. Thursday. Someone knocked; „Please open!“ I didn’t answer, but asked myself silently „why?“

„We need to inspect the floor!“ I left.

Thirty minutes later I was inside the U-Bahn again.

Of course they got in, even when I didn’t let them in.

They have keys for everything, they don’t even need to crush doors or use special tools,- no they just have the right key.

In order to destroy the evidence of this conclusion, we definitely must shew a reason right? Why this particular case is expected. Is it that entrance thing so great of any importance, that it is a presumption for relational prudence to dispose of it?

A conversation with another woman; I sat on the kitchen floor. White tiles but warm, the old radio played music, I guess.

A pale body promptly emanate and feel entirely right away. I thought she was so well dressed back in the days and he wasn’t.

Never forget you’re only here because someone forgot to call.

I want to add; the white tiles were the erectors of atmosphere,- as if something was about to happen. But do not forget I was already in the u-bahn again, all that were memories mixed up in an aftermind’.

She was working in the hotel years ago when things were different, life seemed ok and still so much more ordered.

„All these rooms so look alike, but one nicer than the other, draped in white and light brown shades,- it is a border addicted service, a wonderful hotel whose porters handing out the wrong keys constantly.“ She once told me, when she came home from a long shift. She continued that the answer of a nervous guest has been that it is always nicer if they would play the music for two people. I remember that she laughed. She was fascinated by this cheap phrase and back than I didn’t understand a single word.

Often when I picked her up after work, I met the team briefly and saw them grim and reliable. She always left the counter quickly, change her dress and then left through the main door. Heads didn’t like the staff leaving through the main door but never really wanted to forbid either.

We closed the doors even before the tube driver could. Under thin sheets lay some of us and some of the others. The compensation was adjusted psychologically while the underlying system remained opaque.

Doors closing and opening again.

The present was short and only when I just got up, nothing but the real name of a mysterious and so meaningful swing door. We speculated how long it would take? How much time would be left for us? Addiction kills. At least that’s what they said and even when we were so radical back than we still believed them somehow. When she fell asleep on my lap, the bench was warm. The in and out correspondence started and left me alone as it armed me in my daydreams.

Me and her and all the sorrows I had. Only the reception of our requests, which were so politely phrased remained covered with orange thoughts. Stupidity seemed to be seeping. Maybe it was in itself. Maybe it was this automatic door, but we knew the driver controlled it.

It felt so stage-like, nothing ever made it more theatrical than this door itself – to the staged stairs, falls shut, but everything remains open in front.

A junky might live under the stairs, where no one goes and wants, no one’s desire – it means to live.

A production is compelling, the piece at the end so routined as I was with substances and life.

„Nothing real everything wrong“ she said when she woke up at my lap and realized it was day and even early morning. I knew she meant this adjectives as opposites, which they weren’t.

The sky was grey but mostly it seems brighter and less shadows in the morning. We had changed to S-bahn – I don’t know how I managed to leave her asleep during the change. Which option would suggest itself – if not the home. I took it off.

We’re the disposal of this life, a wonderful meditation so reserved as the peculiar province and the periphery. The almighty thought it were an encroachment on his right for men to dispose of their own lives; it might be equally criminal to act for the preservation of this life as for its destruction. If I turn aside these trousers, me packed with my one plastic bag, as something which was falling upon my head at night. I disturb the course of someone and I invade the peculiar province. Lightening life. Beyond all laws of matter and that wonderful motion, he had definitely assigned to it.

Troubled province. Indications of conflicting relation between us and we, when doors closed back then – it was always loud and someone even warned before. Interior was greater than the carriages.

The stations became our living space as well, everything warm,- exterior daylight and others so brutal, furious guys even tried to rape my beloved! Not very nuanced terminology. Being informed about all the conflicts in which words and thought might be played off and against each other. But our conflicts our love we could say as well,- so against its concepts defended themselves by the force of definite negation or reduction.

A door inadvertently left ajar. A genuine action played by whom? „Open the door!“ the last words of a early morning again and again at every stop.

If they had watched us, they probably would have known.

No one grows older than this.

Doorways – it was enough below the wood, to put it under. But some of the images from within stayed a little longer.

„As any introduction; the setting moved to another friends apartment. He was upset that his girl wouldn’t leave with him that minute. Of course,- a bit later he left. She stayed. I knew something broke that night, if not between these two, then between them and us, or us and us. Never try to sit aside. And even more important, never try to do these things in ridiculous whispers when it’s already past the hour of some shouting.“

This panic might be at least the experience of impropriety that can sustain itself a little past bedtime desire. There is no home for us.

I remember him wearing white and very light yellow. She had a red jacket.

On the lamp in the corner something was written and he wasn’t able to react, so stoned, he stayed and literally stood there.

Her – watching him.

Some of the others had been lost as well, by this time. So long ago,- the rooms. „Does it make you sad?“ Since I’ve heard it in a language that wasn’t mine, even when I was just learning a bit vocabulary is only faintly tinged with meaning. Nonetheless the speed was so impressing that something had just happened that was probably not good.

A nursling in tightly grasped bedsheets, said that one must never forget that someone might always pass through, independently if it’s to get in or even out, and moreover perhaps while one were so fast asleep. As we are nowadays so tired from not knowing and wandering through city and this weird tubes all day.

„They probably only informed me right? Only remainers“ he smiled.

„It’s hard that one might leave, so much harder if it’s her,- or both of them? And harder if none of them would do. A door means. Meditation sounds when this doors are announced to close soon, before departure. They turned around and got only one direction, I turned sleepy too, with her on my lap, substances started to desert my body, it hurts.

I was wondering so many times what would happen if I burn everything down, and now so many years later it is actually close to what I imagined but without having initialized it.