The Sound of Snow

Thursday, 23 January

Despite walking on snow and ice in the wrong direction after I got off the U-Bahn in Kreuzberg, I managed finally to find the café where Sebastian K., who has offered to help me publish Someone Else on line, was waiting. It’s fair to say I didn’t understand much of what he had to say about platforms and poster pages but I did get the point that I finally have to face the times and open a Facebook page. At least look into Twitter. Write to some more friends and ask for blurbs.

I was also thinking yesterday about how much goes on in one’s head about which one is only partly conscious. For example: I was going down the elevator, on the way to German class, thinking about my homework, when the elevator stopped. Some inner rhythm told me it had stopped too early, before the ground floor. And indeed the door opened one floor too soon.

When I stepped outside, the snow crunched in a certain way. In a certain -6° way. Having grown up in Chicago, having attended college in Maine, I know the sound of snow. The squeaky noise it makes when it’s well below zero and the squashy noise it makes when it’s beginning to melt. I registered the information, it helped for my picture of the day.

So maybe with all this semi-conscious registering, I'll conquer Facebook and beyond...