[Living in the Present Continuous] [1]

Christina Wolf is a twenty-three year old composer. She studied composition at the Royal Academy of music - and also plays flute and piano.  Her mother died when she was nineteen years old. She lives in South Kennsington - London. Events take place in 2001.


Christina's life has become digital simplicity - and everything she cares about - her work - films - images - music - memories - have all become digitalised - and can be carried in a rucksack on hard-drives along with her lap-top. Holding a USB drive in her hand - and feeling the weight of the weightless data - all of her ideas in digital form - everything with the substance of ghosts. And so when she looks at her rucksack sitting the corner of her studio - it reminds her that existence is transient.


There’s a storm - and Christina is sitting by the window staring at the downpour. She’s listening to the sound of the rain against the window - and of the rushing water in the drainpipes.  She loves to stare out of the window like this - and is inspired by the way that Franz Kafka developed absent minded-window gazing into an art.  To be thinking of nothing - which isn’t nothing at all - but everything that’s  on her mind.


Domestic life doesn’t have any appeal for Christina.  She has no interest in having a husband or children - or getting stuck with someone in a fixed relationship. It’s not for her. She would feel trapped.  And it doesn’t suit her personality.  So she prefers to make beats instead of making babies - not flesh forms but techno forms - and to make noise instead of making a home. Whatever can fit into a toaster she can cook.


Christina took off her t-shirt and held it in her hands for a few moments.  It still feels warm to touch - from the residual warmth of her body. But can she really be in two places at once? And how much of her is spread around her flat - or the rest of London? There’a a clump of hair on her brush - and traces of her lipstick on a tissue that’s in the waste basket - bits of her everywhere. And last week she left one of her favourite books on the tube.


It had been a long day - and so Christina went to a pub for a drink.  But when it came for her turn to order she couldn’t decide between beer or tea.  She was too tired to think. It went on and on in her head - beer or tea - beer or tea - beer or tea? She was in a state of confused brain-lock - and couldn’t get herself out of the loop. And  so frustrated by her own indecision she sat down at a table to try to unscramble her mind.

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