White noize. Sound in your ear after an explosion. You hear that? That's the sound of dying cells. It's unique. You will hear it just this one time. Middle of the night, televisions used to send nothing. A hundred little mice filled the screen. Do you hear me? I'm your dying cell. I'm here. - What was that? - Just a sound between the links. In an experiment to research the impact of sound, neurologists were exposing little baby mice to hours and hours of white noize. First hours: Reduced brain-activity. Last hours: None. Clean slate. Clean, white mice An endless fall. Just fading pictures. - What I wouldn't give for one moment in your eyes. - What was that? You're unable to look into the eyes of the person on the other site of the video-chat. Enemy lines: See each other in the sight of a weapon/ a bullet/ a word. - What I wouldn't give to feel the breath behind your words, to see your breath in the cold of the technological landscape. Filled with enemies you love or those you want to do business with. The first time I ever visited the place, where they'd all been killed. It was spring and flowers were growing everywhere. A hundred butterflies flew amidst the colourful butchery. I walked with you through the scene and the knowledge of its past drowned the landscape in no other colour but red. Give a warm sound to those who will die. A moment of ‌ An explosion. Sound of breaking glass. Empty TV-Screens. Step by Step over the graves and flowers that cover a world. Two loving enemies in the middle of a war.
As we walked further through the garden, I looked into your eyes. A moment with the enemy on the red ground, where they had all been killed. And I knew that neither of us could understand until we'd done a bad thing for a good reason. I couldn’t have known what was around me, if it wouldn’t have felt different to what was inside me then. Butterflies/ links/ a voice that says: (explosion) - What was that? - A circle. (explosion) - There it was again! The butterflies scattered into the sky. A red cloud. My hand reached for yours. Through the screen, I could not feel a thing. Just a cold plane surface, but the red cloud reached my breast and when it came to the centre, I was able to hear the explosions/ butterflies shattering wind between their wings. It was real. At least it felt like it. - Check my history for reality. “Why are things growing here?” You asked, as we passed the gate that led to the area behind the garden. - Check my history for reality. It will show a blank page and no moment that was created. “They grow because they have no idea of the future." Behind the garden was nothing but a field of mud and suddenly I knew that we had come there because you wanted to show me something hidden beneath the surface. So I began to dig, deeper and deeper into the cold, wet earth. But there was nothing. Just me. - You gave everything for a moment in my eyes. Only one level of consciousness at a time. -You walked the field and forgot your history just to reach out to this moment.
The fear of being exposed to every level at the same time. - That was reality. And I wouldn’t have known a difference to this feeling without the knowledge of how many had died, searching in this mud. Chat-Partners can’t look each other in the eyes. So their words reach you... - An explosion reaches my brain. Down there I had company. When I was deep enough you reached for me with your hand, but I didn't want to touch it. You took my hand by force and pulled me out. As I reached the top I saw a red explosion in the butcher’s lovely garden. - The explosion turns into white noize and the butterflies fly higher. The red clouds in the sky, the butcher's lovely garden and the hole where you used to dig. All the things you fear. The second time I walked over the ground where they'd all been killed, I lost the feeling for a life without the dead and the knowledge of where to find them. - The red cloud goes higher. Leaves the muddy, white mice on the ground full of past and present. There was this field, where they had to dig. A clean garden now, with a well-known history, for a lover with no eyes. There is no life without the dead and the knowledge of where to find them. - A clean slate. We went back to the garden. You walked a little faster. I tried to keep up with you, but the mud was still sticking to my feet. The distance grew. I stopped. You didn't notice. Two loving enemies with no weapons left, fleeing each other, in the middle of war. - Close the page.
(Text von Lars Werner)