Yesterday's bread tastes like cardboard today. I jot this down after my second coffee, while the world outside is throwing up its usual caprices and I'm trying to organize the day into a form that's neither planned nor chaotic, but something in between.
Vacuuming, balcony for five minutes, then the sun disappeared. That's how it works around here.
It's all timing, none of it is right.
Graz is still reeling from Tuesday's shock. The school massacre at the BORG Dreierschützengasse school clings to the city like bad paint. Eleven dead, including ten students and one teacher. A 21-year-old former student was found with legally acquired weapons. Chancellor Stocker—no longer Nehammer, that's been a thing of the past since March—is playing the statesman, promising stricter gun laws and psychological screenings. It's like patching up a burst dam.
The comment sections are buzzing; everyone knows better, no one really knows anything. And at the same time, I'm thinking: The guy bought the guns legally, passed a psychological test, and no one noticed.
Until he was no longer who he pretended to be.
Meanwhile, the Middle East is escalating completely. Israel has bombed Iranian nuclear facilities, killing several high-ranking military leaders, including the commander of the Revolutionary Guard. Iran is firing back with drones and missiles, there have been strikes in Tel Aviv, and a state of emergency has been declared in Israel. The US is withdrawing diplomatic personnel, and Germany, under Merz, is calling for de-escalation. Concern is spreading.
But this is all just another routine escalation. A gallery moment, the confusion of brain-clogged ideology. I spot a cold reflection in the mirror. Virgos are booming.
Between the news, I switch between my projects. Anything in a Nutshell, AI Magick, all those domains that float like islands in a digital sea. Everything is interconnected, none of it finished. Stable chaos, as I once called it. It's fitting for the times.
Google Veo delivers three free AI videos daily. The technology is impressive, but the results remain strangely empty. As if the machine were dreaming but had forgotten what it was about. NotebookLM turns my texts into audio shorts – mechanically friendly, but it works. An additional dimension.
The chat with the Ukrainian children's book author ended before it really began. I asked her how she justified leaving her children in Kyiv while rockets hit her every day. Just like that. Directly. Because I was interested. She probably thought it was too direct. Radio silence since yesterday.
Maybe it was tactless. Maybe it was honest. I don't care about the difference anymore. If you're no longer allowed to ask how people make decisions in impossible situations, what's there left to talk about? The weather?
What concerns me: How do you actually live in times like these? How do you manage everyday life when everything is constantly exploding? In Israel, families are hiding in bunkers and wondering if the next rocket will have their house number. In Graz, parents are wondering if their children will get home from school safely tomorrow.
And I wonder, as I oscillate between doomsday blabber and vacuuming, whether this is the new normal: living in a perpetual state of narrowly averted catastrophe. But it's definitely not appropriate to always act surprised. Every nation gets what it deserves, more or less. Harsh but heartfelt greetings, your intelligence agent.
It's cooking time at six. Maybe a trip to the park afterward, maybe not. I'm improvising, as always. Plans make me anxious, but routine without a plan is okay.
Just as I was chopping onions, another bomber arrived. Minnesota. A gunman posing as a police officer attacked two Democratic state legislators. Melissa Hortman and her husband were dead, while Senator Hoffman and his wife were shot but still alive. He had a manifesto and a target list. Targeted political violence, while anti-Trump protests were planned outside.
Graz, Iran, Israel, Minnesota. All in one day. I keep chopping onions. That's just how it is in 2025. While dinner simmers, the world crumbles a little more. It's just another Saturday of bliss on credit.
The news continues to rumble. At some point, everything blurs into a vast roar of crisis, alarm, and Breaking News.
What remains is the feeling of being a witness to a time. Not of history, but of this strange moment where everything happens simultaneously and yet nothing moves. Where the world burns and yet you still have to vacuum.
If it's not posted, it isn't real, isn't it? Still true. But sometimes I wonder if posting doesn't also destroy reality. Whether, by constantly documenting, we forget how things feel when no one's watching.
Tomorrow, today's bread will be stale, too. But today it's fresh, and that should be enough.
