Nobody disturbs

The tradition of the Morning Sites, of pure blogging, which is enough in itself, is like this strange world and my strange place in it, in constant change, the eternal Sunday of the flaneur culminates in effervescent creation. Reflecting this is complex. I therefore try to reduce the language, to better introduce the reader and to let them participate.

Like the counterpart of World Viewing, the Daily Doses of Perception, or the summary newsletter of the Weekly Ten, the Morning Sites are intended for daily, or at least almost daily, use.

Even though it is very important to me to provide my followers with much more visible common threads in the future and, above all, to focus on concrete creations on a variety of topics instead of sinking into the eternal potpourri.

Dog Days

Europe is in the feverish shimmer of a heated time. I am still somewhat tied to everyday necessities, even though my true being has long since set off for the nearest beach. Begging for wind, cheering for storms, we trot into an escalating summer of climate change that we will one day remember as bearable. Vienna will be Skopje, Skopje will probably be Cairo.

But maybe a super volcano or a failed experiment by panicked nations will darken the sky so much that we freeze, as I once imagined many years ago in the Icetimes Adventures.

The failed assassination attempt on Trump triggered the news junkie in me at night. I love being geopolitical, I forget all local trivialities, even a Kickl or the banal oddity of an AfD can no longer inspire me to grumble. I think, love and live only in these global contexts, which in no way means that I am not aware of the pragmatic daytime space.

For several weeks and months, I have been in private retreat, a reflection process similar to lockdown, urgently needed renovation of body and mind. Updates for the inner operating system so as not to use the consciously rejected word soul.

Naughtily diverse, as seems to be my calling. But also thoughtful, appropriate to my age. At least that's how I interpret my middle-age existence.

So I try to escape the heat in the creative process and in the trance of self-development, finding my own joys in a selective Zen. I am always amazed at who I meet.

Ella invites me into her little house on the edge of the forest, tells me about her own emigrations and learning processes, but as quickly as her enthusiasm turns into a torrent of words, it is over again. I know this form of restless hope of discovering oneself in others, of basically wanting to date oneself.

I smile at her, shrug my shoulders and am relieved not to have to feign enthusiasm for an outhouse. Or to adapt to DIY fantasies where my most beautiful vision would be eternal life in a hotel. This old literary bride. The Tangier of the 60s/70s kisses my longing much better than the prospect of falling into disrepair in Fürstenfeld.

Would you actually become less crazy if you lived alone or on an island too far away? Is the confirmation of your delusions more dangerous than the lack of feedback?

In the politics of this time we see exciting answers to this: human civilization is a difficult to digest psychotic experiment.

In the future, Morning Sites will be like introductions, invitations to follow me into the day on X, Insta or wherever. The creation is a documentary in itself. The transformation becomes an example for itself. I like the associative autobiographical, but it will be easier to embed.

Opinion journalism meets autofictional writing

, better art / creation.

Here I am acting against the otherwise highly valued advice of my AI assistants, who nevertheless play a decisive role in the processes behind it. I can finally experience the multiple orgiastic, the simultaneous, and emphasize the existence of the shapeshifter not only in theory.

I can be Loki one moment and the contented walker writing here the next.

My journal as a newsletter, a voice in the void. In a multitude, in the noise and colorful static of our crazy, half-real Dali existence between doubts about what we are and hopes of finding it in likes and the lives of others.

I recommend these sketches, the constant creativity, to clients and myself alike. Breaks are useful if too much repetition starts to creep in, so there are the same jumps in my notes as in the network where they take place.

One moment I'm here, the next I'm gone. A pirate of pandemonium.

Anything in a Nutshell is becoming more and more intertwined with Aimagick, both blog networks are multiplying in the social channels and ultimately culminating in something I would call Multimedia Art.

Yesterday I had a long discussion with Claude, yes, that Claude, about how you can and perhaps should reinvent yourself at 53. Then probably study at 78.

Of course, I am also faced with the problem of every visionary: how to create all of this? It is a palace, a kind of multiverse, not a tiny house.

But thanks to role models like Tolkien or Pratchett, like all creators of things greater than themselves, this problem is one that can be overcome if you think long-term.

Over the last few days I've been watching the new adaptation of Shogun, which, together with the book, is three masterpieces that have given me a kind of complete picture.

My soft spot, my affection for Mariko and Toranaga remains unbroken forty years after first contact.

Strategic skill and extraordinary loyalty, courage and mastery.

Slow thinking. Kahneman appears in the room.

But more about that another time. Morning sites are meant to bridge the time until the second coffee and have a little prelude chat.

I send you greetings, unknown being, connections are wanted, I open the comments. I even chat with spam to satisfy the irony.