32 D’Alembert’s escape … . Heissenbuttel

The room was full of smoke. The smoke hung straight in the air, in thin strips, like a curtain. He was stupid, without thought. The smoke worried him. He lay on his back and thought about it. After an endless time, he took a breath and shouted: Fire. His lungs burst. That made him laugh. He didn’t like the sound the laughter made. He wiped the tail off his face with the fingers the correspondence course had sent after the first new easy lessons, half an hour for nothing, box two million four hundred and sixty thousand nine hundred and twenty-four. come crazy. He came up and after a while the floor stopped. He toppled over, breathing heavily, and a voice that seemed to come up from under the floor said again and again: you have the mice you have the mice you have the mice.

He no longer tried to cling on. Nobody could do anything for him anymore. As if he didn’t see them, he stared at a neon sign. The longer he stared at it, the more what he saw (didn’t see) filled with meaning. It became clearer. He could even remember the weather now. The colour of the sky. If he had tried harder, he would have known the year and the month and maybe even the day of the week.

Did he say before he set off what his intentions were? Do you remember a conversation that took place between you about this? He wanted to go home. And he said he didn’t want to take any risks? You decided not to wait for him because you were afraid? Because I could no longer help him. Did you expect him to come back?

I was basically sure he wouldn’t come back. You were away for a long time. We talked. Are you getting nervous? Tomorrow’s not the day yet. That’s not the point. Then it must be something else I don’t know about. Nonsense. You’ve changed. You have to keep a clear head. What were you talking about? I’ve already said that. Are we keeping secrets from each other? Very well. 339 340

We act according to the image we have of ourselves. Do we act according to the image we make of ourselves? I eat, walk, talk, think, observe, love according to the way I feel. Do I eat, walk, talk, think, observe, love according to the way I feel? Do I perceive myself in the way that I eat, walk, talk, think, observe, love? This image of myself that I create for myself is partly inherited, partly acquired and partly the result of self-education. Does this image of myself that I form owe itself to self-education? Is it acquired or inherited? Do I have this image of myself that is partly inherited, partly acquired and partly the result of self-education? His hands felt thick and clumsy. He ran a finger over the tabletop and looked at the streak he had made in the dust. He looked at the dust on his finger. He looked at the clock on the wall. He looked at the wall. He looked at nothing. He stood on a loo at a sink. He rinsed his hands. He looked at his face in the mirror. He brushed his hair and looked at the grey in it. The face under the hair looked sick. He didn’t like the face at all. He listened as the night filled with noise. Very slowly he became quiet in this ending night.

He no longer tried to cling on. Nobody could do anything for him anymore. As if he didn’t see them, he stared at a neon sign. The longer he stared at it, the more what he saw (didn’t see) filled with meaning. It became clearer. He could even remember the weather now. The colour of the sky. If he had tried harder, he would have known the year and the month and maybe even the day of the week.

The room was full of smoke. The smoke hung straight in the air, in thin strips, like a curtain. He was stupid, without thoughts. The smoke worried him. He lay on his back and thought about it. After an endless time, he took a breath and shouted: Fire. His lungs burst. That made him laugh. He didn’t like the sound the laughter made. He wiped the sweat from his face with the fingers the correspondence course had sent, after the first new easy lesson, half an hour for nothing, box two million four hundred and sixty thousand nine hundred and twenty-four. Crazy. Completely bonkers. He came up and after a while the floor stopped. He toppled over, breathing heavily, and a voice that seemed to come up from under the floor said again and again: you’ve got the mice you’ve got the mice you’ve got the mice.

In the pub he had time to swallow two cups of coffee and eat a bread roll with salami hanging out between the halves like a dead fish in a dried-up waterhole. He thought it was good. He liked it.

The room was full of smoke. The smoke hung straight in the air, in thin strips, like a curtain. He was stupid, without thoughts. The smoke worried him. He lay on his back and thought about it. After an endless time, he took a breath and shouted: Fire. His lungs burst. That made him laugh. He didn’t like the sound the laughter made. He wiped the sweat from his face with the fingers the correspondence course had sent, after the first new easy lessons, half an hour for nothing, box two million four hundred six hundred nine hundred twenty-four. come crazy. He came up, and after a while the floor stopped. He toppled over, breathing heavily, and a voice that seemed to come up from under the floor said again and again: you’ve got the mice you’ve got the mice. Full mice, you’ve got the mice.

We act according to the image we make of ourselves. Do we act according to the image we create of ourselves? I eat, walk, talk, think, observe, love according to the way I feel. Do I perceive myself in the way I eat, walk, talk, think, observe and love? Do I eat, walk, talk, think, observe, love according to the way I feel? This image of myself that I form is partly inherited, partly acquired, partly the result of self-education. Do I form this image of myself that is partly inherited, partly acquired and partly the result of self-education? Does this ego image owe itself to self-education? Is it inherited or acquired?

His hands felt thick and hot and clumsy. He ran a finger over the tabletop and looked at the streak he had made in the dust. He looked at the dust on his finger. He looked at the clock on the wall. He looked at the wall. He looked at nothing. He stood on a loo at a sink. He rinsed his hands. He looked at his face in the mirror. He brushed his hair and looked at the grey in it. The face under the hair looked sick. He didn’t like the face at all. He listened as the night filled with sounds. Very slowly he became quiet in this ending night.

The room was full of smoke. The smoke hung straight in the air in thin strips, like a curtain. He was stupid, without thoughts. The smoke worried him. He lay on his back and thought about it. After an endless time, he took a breath and shouted: Fire. His lungs burst. That made him laugh. He didn’t like the sound the laughter made. He wiped the tail off his face with the fingers the correspondence course had sent, after the first new easy lessons, half an hour for nothing, box two million four hundred six hundred nine hundred twenty-four. come barmy. He came up, and after a while the floor stopped. He toppled over, breathing heavily, and a voice that seemed to come up from under the floor said again and again: you’ve got the mice you’ve got the mice. Full mice you’ve got the mice.

It is a basic feature of the nervous system that it cannot perform one action and its opposite at the same time. In any given moment, therefore, the entire system achieves a kind of general integration that the body will perform in each of those moments. Attitude, sensory perception, feeling, thinking, chemical and hormonal processes form a single whole in each moment, which cannot be broken down into its parts. No matter how complicated this whole may be, it is the integrated whole of the system at every moment until the final, definitive disintegration.

He no longer tried to cling on. Nobody could do anything for him anymore. As if he didn’t see them, he stared at a neon sign. The longer he stared at it, the more what he saw (did not see) filled with meaning. It became clearer. He could even remember the weather now. The colour of the sky. If he had tried harder, he would have known the year and the month and maybe even the day of the week.

On foot: Gaedechensweg Goernestraße Eppendorfer Landstraße Eppendorferweg Bundesstraße Hohe Weide Weiden- allee Schanzenstraße Schulterblatt Neuer Pferdemarkt Wohlwillstrafße Hein Hoyerstraße Reeperbahn Silbersack- strafße Hein Köllischplatz Antonistraße Pinnasberg Fisch- markt; then gaps; movements back and forth; where? Pubs? Freiheit Talstraße Bernhard Nochtstraße? Taxi from the Milerntor? Drunk? Yes and no? Silent, nightmarish, far away, disconnected.

His hands felt thick and hot and clumsy. He ran a finger over the tabletop and looked at the streak he had made in the dust. He looked at the dust on his finger. He looked at the clock on the wall. He looked at the wall. He looked at nothing. He stood on a loo at a sink. He rinsed his hands. He looked at his face in the mirror. He brushed his hair and looked at the grey in it. The face under the hair looked sick. He didn’t like the face at all. He listened as the night filled with sounds. Slowly, he became quiet in the ending night.

He no longer tried to cling on. No one could do anything for him anymore. As if he didn’t see them, he stared at a neon sign. The longer he stared at it, the more what he saw (didn’t see) made sense, it became clearer. He could even remember the weather now. The colour of the sky. If he had tried harder, he would have known the year and the month and maybe even the day of the week.

In the pub he had time to swallow two cups of coffee and eat a bread roll with the salami hanging out between the halves like a dead fish in a dried-up waterhole. He thought it was good. He liked it.

To Fufß: Gaedechensweg Goernestrafe Eppendorfer Landstraße Eppendorferweg Bundesstraße Hohe Weide Weiden- allee Schanzenstraße Schulterblatt Neuer Pferdemarkt Wohlwillstraße Hein Hoyerstraße Reeperbahn Silbersackstrafße Hein Köllischplatz Antonistraße Pinnasberg Fisch- markt; then gaps; back and forth movements; where? Pubs? Freiheit Talstraße Bernhard Nochtstraße? Taxi from Milerntor? drunk? yes and no? silent, closed off, far away, no connection.

Machinetranslation