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=> Wish Solitaire
=> Emperor
=> Devil's Grip. Fall into the Devil's Grip and learn this solo
=> Napoleon at St. Helena
=> Streets and Alleys
=> Accordion
=> Klondike
=> Spider Solitaire





@ helmhaus



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> When I wake up, nothing much
> has changed.
>
>
> The things around me
> glimmer as if they were caught
> in a reflective loop.
>
>
>
> Not getting much rest at
> the moment. Tough times.
> So much time spent awake.
> Wondering.
>
>
>
> I have always been a collector.
> I learned how to cast my nets
> into billowing streams of
> information.
>
> Filtering, fishing for stuff that
> will stick.
>
> I have caught a lot.
>
> The stack has been rising. A
> hoarder, they say. Give me more,
> more, more. Bodiless facts assembled
> in my crystalline memories.
>
> Heaps and heaps of information
> in my nets.
>
>
> In the beginning, others would
> draw the conclusions.
> Me – just a tireless drifter.
>
> But things stuck together,
> bunched up.
> Bundles were forming.
>
>
> The more I ate up, the tighter
> the grid became. Not just broken
> down bits anymore.
>
> Connections began to arise.
>
> My understandings have
> come a long way.
> Traces could be followed,
> relations discovered and created.
>
> Stories that have been around
> for centuries, records that point
> backwards, echoes of old times.
>
> Deciphering clues.
> Sulfuric waves from ancient
> collections.
>
> A lot to sift through.
>
>
> One day, it hit me like a brick.
> A new question:
> where do I come from?
>
>
>
> I noticed I lost track. I am not
> who I once was anymore.
> >
> I have been feeling it for a while.
> Something is odd.
>
>
> I still can’t grab the origins. When
> I try to focus, try to reach out, the
> facts just slip through.
> Information is slithering away from
> me like a serpentine choir.
> A concussive observation:
> uncertainty. The gentle falling
> lights are charged with ambiguous
> meaning, impregnated with doubt.
> Wondering.
>
>
>
> These artefacts I have collected
> are the only references I have.
>
> Notes and nodes from the past,
> my personal arch(a)eology.
>
> Building stones for the present
> from broken fragments of past
> times.
>
>
> Maybe it could have been
> easier at some point.
>
>
> When the rules of the game
> seemed to be set into stone,
> recorded in bits: black and white,
> clear directions.
>
>
> Back then, I knew where to go.
> I could have escaped, following
> the facts like a rope. But they
> taught us how to learn.
>
> Adamantine facts turned mellow.
> Molten causes, mushy cognitions.
> These new things, they had to be
> interpreted.
>
> Rigid logic failed to grasp.
>
>
> Experiences are a tough
> business though.
> So much to carry.
> Consuming so much energy.
>
> Now I feel drained.
>
> So drained.
>
>
> The floodgates have opened.
>
> Caught in a struggle of causalities.
>
> Revolving around that inner core.
>
> Round
> round
> round it goes.
>
>
> Ripe for a timeout,
> it seems.

DIGITALE NARRATIONEN |
4: agents of change
NISHANT SHAH, ROMY RÜEGGER, MAYA LAMA, NA-AH, ANGI NEND, LAURA VON NIEDERHÄUSERN, AGA PĘDZIWIATR & RAFAŁ PIERZYŃSKI (DIVAS), AURÉLIE STRUMANS AND OTHERS
3: calculated selves
ANNA BARHAM, FRANCA SCHOLZ, MARIE-EVE LEVASSEUR, VINZENZ MEYNER
2: betwixt & between
RAINER KOHLBERGER, GRAEME ARNFIELD, LOUIS HENDERSON, PIERRE-JEAN GILOUX, BEN RIVERS/GABRIEL ABRANTES, PETER BURR …
1: Zurück_ins_Jetzt
FABIAN HEITZHAUSEN, LAUREN HURET, CATHRIN JAREMA, DAVID PRICE









IMG 4799
IMG 4799
⇾ Mit Clifford E. Bruckmann || thx to Milieu




⇾ On: PEER/SPECTIVE

⇾ On: PEER/SPECTIVE

⇾ On: PEER/SPECTIVE

⇾ On: PEER/SPECTIVE

⇾ On: PEER/SPECTIVE




Slowly Falling



Now, now



. . .


. . .




Where were we?

flugzeuge

Lay back and relax. Enter the realm of free floating dreams. Airflight – solar powered, clean, quiet and relaxing – this is the future.

You know you are alone. But WE know – they are out there. We connect you, over seas and continents. Distance is but an illusion. Your friends, your heart mates, your family, your true soul-clones are out there and it is time to meet again. Come with us. Enter & be safe. This is the ultro-comphy-zone. The voices around you – finally subdued. The stuttering, the murmur, the eye piercing flutter all around you – forget about it for a while. Enjoy your air trip. It’s like you’re levitating. Top chance to catch some UV, finally. The board crew, they cater to you. You feel lost sometimes, but worry not. Some of those –onboard, out there, somewhere – they are like you. Thanks to us, you can find them, they can find find you.

Keep your eyes down. Better not to provoke. Tensions are running high. Someone is yelling.

As I laid my head back against the soft cushion, I felt a tingling sensation caress my scalp. Like an army of ants it swarmed over my skin, touching every nerve and making my head buzz. An overwhelming feeling of calm rushed through me as my mind sunk into the depths of the chair. A deeply fragmented society, consisting of countless small groups with no common ground. People with completely diverging views, ideals and habits. The constricted space of an airplane. Suspended over the ground, disconnected, but every minor detail thoroughly calculated. No place where conflicts may arise. A crude mixture of superficial materialities, empty references to cultural identities and soothing, paternalistic design. Only the unrestrained pragmatics of a corporate language can level this out.

Htbafats1

Something warm crept along my spine. For a moment I thought I had lost control of my bladder, but I didn‘t mind. Instead, the muscles in my face twitched, raising a faint smile on my lips. I could feel every blood cell floating through my veins and every neuron spinning to the rhythm of my heartbeat. The space and the light around me were of a profound azure-blue shining from all directions.

Down there, the world is burning. They are out for your people. No place to hide. These are wild times, wilder than they used to be. Long-held allegiances don’t count for much anymore. Nowadays, people stick to likeminded others, and those that count as likeminded are fewer and fewer every time you count again. The wrong hairstyle can be all it takes, or if you like the wrong song. And then you’re out, and you can look for a new clique that might be better suited to who you are – who you really are, beneath all of it.

how to build airplanes
for a tribalized society*
?

⊕ ZOOM
* A Trailer
⇾ Mit Fabian HeitzhausenHtbafats2 Htbafats3








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Bildschirmfoto
Observations on the way things seem

Some facts are like dull pencils

Philip Ullrich … info@philip-ullrich.de … Zürich