About the Realm of Realities

Reality is no shared good. Common sense - but I had forgotten about it. Welcome to reality's personal reality.

Reality is born within perception. Reality is a product of consciousness and as such a very intimate matter.

One Friday night. One room. And within its four walls we are all alive at the same time. The music that is blaring out of the speakers and finds its way into our ears is the same - but what is heard varies from ear to ear. While the Cure's Close to Me provokes melancholy in hers, he might relive a happy moment while the notes jump from one to the next.

And it is not only the music that is read, interpreted and felt in as many different ways as there are people in the room but everything around it. An outside observer might see one obvious storyline - a party. But in the inside every single mind is taking part in his or her own little play on his or her own stage of the night. The backdrop has been drawn by the individual's cognitive consciousness as well as expectance and expectations. The props are supplied by the intersection we share: time.

So, while our independant spectator watches us falling from the edges of our glasses and bathing in the alluring and blurring liquid of socialisation, and wile he watches this one overall party story, a thousand self-contained stories are going on with every participating party of the party.

And even within an actual cohesive bubble of a conversation two realities are being built because words are words, sentences are sentences and the sender and recipient don't share the origins of the latter. So, when his words make perfect sense to himself while they roll out of his high-spirited mouth, his listener's ears interpret them with the instrument of her tipsy reasoning. The chain of thoughts and emotions that have led to the speaker's words, however, are unknown to her. All that she holds in her receiving and construeing hands, is the essence of his thoughts - even if it is the nonsensical champagne speaking out of him. No thoughts. No sense. No significance. But still reveived and absorbed.

In the morning we wake up with roaring heads and resounding pieces of conversations in our ears, that in their incoherence and contextlessness leave nothing but an upleasant and awkward taste on our tongues.

We swallow some painkillers, take a shower and have a coffee to increase the space between yesterday's heard and said and today's hungover reality. And slowly within the course of the day we pull ourselves out of the fake intimicacies and familiarities that were created the night before, and we dive deep back into the sincerity of daylight.

During the aftermaths and several up-catching phone-calls later we discover that the story our perception of the party wrote differs significantly from the others'. While I was sitting in the kitchen trying hard to mingle, you saw me distancing.

While I was fighting against the sparkling fizzes in my feasting head, your head was already looking for another purple fizz to enter into yet another level of reality.

While The Kinks hijacked me into my past, you were dancing against the backdrop of your past-less musical stage creating your own commemerative synapsis for the song.

But as long as we meet on Sunday and throw all our tiny stories into one big pot, the awkward taste will dissolve into a funny collective memory - even if we stumble across some misunderstandings and clashing perceptions. So, come on, dear friends, lets revel on and build one common and illustrious saga of the summer of 2010.