I made a Christmas card.


For two days now I have had a rabbit lunch-buddy. Up north where I have spent some time now, there are only hares, and one mostly finds them outside the more densely populated areas, so I don't see them during the day.

The canteen of the office offers a view of a thin strip of grass by the backup power generators. I choose to place myself so that I can look at the grass during my lunch break. If there is a chance to tear down the concrete and glass and information circuits, and let some nature in, I take it—it's soothing.

The two days I've been back in the office and had my lunch in the canteen there has on the grass outside been a rabbit also having its lunch. Or maybe breakfast. My mind is still calibrated for hare-sized lagomorphs, but this can not be any older than a year. It is so very small.


It's odd returning to my city, however briefly.

It is as if I have lost the sense of the city as a network of buildings and streets and parks and so on, beyond which there are additional buildings, streets, parks, et cetera—things spatially strewn out, of which the totality is what makes up what the city is.

I exit my apartment and find myself on the PLAZA, the plaza is not—as it used to be—the open space in a central part of the town, circumscribed by a mix of old and newer buildings, beyond which there...you get it.

Instead it has transformed into an enclosed and isolated location, a room; the buildings are its two-dimensional walls beyond which nothing exists unless there is a door that leads there, the paved ground and cloudy sky are not so, but floor and cieling.

If this is just another room connected to my apartment, how do I get out?

You are at the PLAZA.
I select TRAM STATION and arrive at WORK.