воскресенье, 28 октября 2007 г.
These grisly ignorance, the fear that you, the blood
bibbernden lumps freeze. The brain gymnastics in all
directions, looking for tiny shreds least one reference point.
But where it also moves, it slips and slides back into the
zähklebrigen swamp complete helplessness. Nothing offers. The
house, from a side street. Gusseisern fenced. A freudloser
rhododendron bush in front of it. Cars park, passersby stroll
on the pavement. Anytime someone leaves the house. The view
remains unmoved. A door slams. Silence. Actually, completely
harmless. But who has the look ever thrown? And why send anyone
on the video tape preserved views, without regard to the final
races, and carries him into apparent children's drawings with
black contours and Blutgeschmier? Again and again the house
entrance. Thoughts turn in a circle, tumble in the boundless
space, finding no reason. One sees: Georges, as he breaks to
work, his son Pierrot in the Heimkunft. Otherwise nothing. But
And then this Flüsteranrufe from somewhere. Without naming
them. Paranoia writhes the stomach every time, if Georges and
Anne Laurent rätselnd front of the giant screen of their
television amid their bücherüberpfropften cold living room,
fast forward, rewind, searching for the hidden clues. Georges
knows all the big, and considers himself a place for such.
Finally, he moderated the most successful literary Talk round
on television. But there is no dark spots, perhaps somewhere in
the past? And it could harm someone? Suddenly, not just the
doorstep passage. Georges birthplace, an unknown street, a
rooster with abgehacktem head. Oppressive reflection images.
The noose lies close to entangle themselves deeper and deeper
Georges and Anne, always panischer is the fear of persecution,
no one shall exercise physical violence, but the feeling to be
observed without knowing by whom, the next step suspect to be
paralyzed everything. And the videos draw districts.
Blutbeschmierte postcards landed in the school of Pierrot. And
again and again at family Laurent himself
Very slowly lurch long ignored reminder shreds back in Georges
selbstgefälliges memory. A durchtbarer suspected manifests
itself. He stumbles over his own narrow-mindedness and self
justice. Will trust and honesty, but he tries, even his closest
confidants to deceive, contains important to them prior to his
past will not make it. He suspected and convicted, even though
the evidence hardly tangible than soap bubbles. Fragmented
trust what Anne, as the only wise and sensitive acting family
mother, desperate. It runs with husband and son against
mistrust, bornierte and verhärmte emotional walls.
Caché, the new film by Michael Haneken
zerknabbert the nervous costume, is a genialisch-herber
boulders and even recently won the directing prize at the
Cannes Film Festival. It blurs the boundaries between filmed
reality, gefilmtem movie filmed in the reality and gefilmtem TV
filmed in the real world. An incredibly thrilling and
disturbing film about guilt and atonement, lies and
concealment, he turned. With a fine sense of nuanced character
traits and relationships with psychological acumen and unusual
means he stokes the fears of persecution, which is spread when
one realizes that followed and monitored - without knowing by
whom. He defines the wrong tracks, hidden, twisted, confused.
Spammers. Also, the audience will lied, it will be deprived of
important evidence, so he was in the same situation as the
movie characters. Nothing is clear, but we must somehow his
vision of the world so zusammenzuimmern. Very slowly lift the
veil, little really happened and it is almost like Jackson
Pollock, blood everywhere. Then something happens. But who is
at the end of guilt, who is the real perpetrator and the victim
who? And who has all really started? A grisly good film.
"Since you have the salad."
"I wanted but did not."
He curls the forehead to a confused Faltenknäuel.
"Salad is healthy. Nahrhaft, refreshing, fiber. "
Funkelndes toothpaste smile.
"Ballast. Since sagste was. Such salad, I wanted not. And do
not tell me that the salad here healthy. The tugs and ziept to
"You are also demanding."
The tone is patziger.
"I had a funny idea got me pretty, red threads meditative,
verschmitzte punch set ..."
He sighs, stemmt the elbow on the table and the fists in the
"So rather cables?"
"Actually, no salad, but I like to be someone grad meat salad
"Too salad verwursten without sausage?"
"Come to me not even stupid!"
A sonnenfinsterer view hisses at him.
"As I said, I had a great text almost done. Wasweißich how
long I sat there. And shortly before the Road Chicken on the
"back" button, and everything came off. Since I have the salad,
all right. But that's for nobody well, robs me nervous and
vitamins, speeds up the heart rate, increased blood pressure. "
Word schreiben und dann rüberkopieren." "I
say 'yet: Texts always write in Word and
"When you say that? So far, you did not have said. "
"And now help is still not on. Wise sayings bring me the text
does not. "
"But you still have it in your head?"
"Yes, but no time everything down twice-and especially not in
the mood, the horse again completely from scratch aufzuzäumen
where I can still almost completely fixed."
"Impatient and irascible?"
"It's looks then."
The view is mistaken half wistful, half angry through space
and fragmented on the woodchip wallpaper.
"Well, sometimes I have to go. Not there's dinner. "
"Strammen Max? So, with fried eggs of chickens unhappy,
because they will soon only be allowed outside after the
winter, where it will nix the pecking? "
"Snow chicken fried eggs?"
"Nee. No Strammen Max, in any case? "
"... Bread and butter bread ... ... salad."
суббота, 27 октября 2007 г.
Standing two skyscrapers in the basement ironing and butter. If a strip Horn over and asks: "What is orange and goes a long way in the mountains?" The left skyscraper elevator and the wrinkles croaks "no idea." "A Wanderine." Say the right skyscraper "Had my irons not just evaporated, I would have typed, tomorrow about 'New Year's Eve. But I would have gone anyway. "
"Bekackt, Walter! Bekackt! "
Baadls massaged his chin, ordered his cards on the hand.
"What should I do with the grits here? Since chases a scrap sheet next to me the whole evening. And since wag 'I still times, and then something. In each village a monster because I can soon yes' ne dogs Pension open. "
Fump! Jo floppt the Cap of the beer bottle, embarrassed grins and takes a sip strong.
"Oh come, Not kannste still zero."
"The best is still open, what? The sheet is leaking like rotten arbor in the allotment garden of my aunt. Bekackt! Bekackt! I mean, can the stochastic but did not. So much shit as I have tonight to get the hand, must but something good. "
Baadls grummelt encroaches into the Chips-Kumme and fills a handful in the throat. A few crumbs from the mouth stumble angles, and again entangled in Bartgestoppel.
"Nu already come what Want to play? In the time it takes you to the announcement brachst are other people already with the wheel from Hamburg to Paris driven. "
"You me too. I hätt 'lift. Real. "
"Ab. Ab. "
"You have too much Werner watching."
"And you still did not say what you want to play."
Jo scharrt with their feet and turns on the frequency of the old suitcase radios.
"What do you know, that's how long will probably take until today I least one smart sheet wars?"
"Very funny. I mean, but even this may not be. This contradicts everything. The gauß'schen normal distribution. Nietzsche said: 'God is dead'. When I look at the angucke so, I say, not only because since a few hundred years, agrees: 'Gauss is dead'. "
Gel still dripping wet from the glitter hair,
He mellowed as the camera itself.
Oh how shocked we were all suddenly,
, And saw how the dream crumbles to dust.
The giant pink, bent, broken,
The curved front chest swollen with pride punishment.
Thanks lawn after sensational hat's smelled,
But the hopes frozen to stone.
To jump Panther ready, it is flown,
His arm, his leg thwarted chance to chance.
Deeply elastic, he has bent,
And yet crumbled at the end of the Fassance.
A light ball, with sich'rer hand caught,
In sending Hecht leap but then entfleucht,
Zerdepperte the Heldentumsverlangen,
The gala evening shortly before closing contaminated.
"My parents always thought that verbildet television." Inka kringelt laughs and one of her golden curls to the left index finger. "In that respect, they have the old black and white TV discarded, and Dad has instead work weeks in a doll house carpentered, then on the Fernsehtisch was built. Even with lighted Puppenklo. " Outside, the sun shimmers through the crumpled WOlkendecke how fat stains in butter bread paper. Igor smiles as he tried to sail his ears still a bit forward to turn to better listen to her. His tinnitus fiept again today especially loud. He tilts Gedankeneingesunken coffee, as he looks out the window. The cup is running over, the freshly starched Baumwolltischdecke sucks with brown spots are full. He talks contrite.
Inka can not be swayed picks a cigarette out of the square box, lights it, considering blows genüsslich Kringeln in smoke at the ceiling. So, I have only last week for the first time the Simpsons. " "But your childhood is already at least 15 years ago." "Yes. But we have always played dolls. And I still see little away. " "Strange." "Why?" "Only in this way." "Ach so." "Yes." "My brothers and I have often played that we are pregnant." "Your brothers also?" "Yes, they were bauchhöhlenschwanger." Igor swallowed nearly a Kekskrümel, when he accidentally laughter in the trachea transported. "And dad was also pregnant. But Kreißsaal dad has smoked since he only has a teddy bear was born. " "And you?" "I smoke now. Although I should stop, but I like to smoke. " Inca pulls at her cigarette, closes his eyes, grins and says: "Maybe yes, I get somewhere in a teddy."
Pigeon eclipse the nocturnal streets was flowing, the moon hid his light behind thick clouds. Some snowflakes danced in the pale light showers of street lanterns. I almost slipped, but beherzter a grip on one of the lanterns saved my pants ground before contact with eismatschigem reason. Before I went, with strubbelschwarzen hair and cozy winter jacket, a young guy, probably as big as me. Since the oats pricked me, I went quicker step behind him, took him almost one and typed him on the left shoulder, a step quickly to the right to do so. He turned around. Sah anyone. His facial features derailed confused. I brought the index finger and said: "Haa-haa!" He grinned spitzbübisch me and said: "What are you only for a fox." The cold lamp license reflected in the entspiegelten scratches his glasses. And I saw that I was he. Then his arm suddenly went high and almost frightened! - He whispered: "Behind you! A dreiköpfiger monkey! " Now I turned schreckerstarrt back. Nothing. A lone Bäckerelieferwagen, lots of darkness, ice cold, lanterns. Then we grinned at each other and said almost simultaneously: "Verarschen I can be alone." Shortly later: "And together it's almost even better."
Someone puts it, or someday with someone or without someone for any reason in any bed. That is not necessarily amazed, and I am no different. And once since New Stem apparently keen interest aufkeimt, insights into the Schlafgemächer netzumtriebiger erhaschen writers to give me at least a photographic glimpse into the area where I mainly to nachtschlafender aufhalte time in which I durchlebe bizarre dreams in which I gedimmtem light reading great novels, in which I famoser with music beschallen leave. An enormously comfortable, the pleasures to be quite diverse and inviting opportunity. My höchstpersönliche cushion Burg, my bed.
The glove compartment was for a ausgeleierter, seated wrong word sweater that term for that is what it means, and everyone knows it. So I propose a fast regular exchange, finally finds itself behind the flap nothing that keeps the fingers warm. And everything that I think are souvenirs from the old, better times, while the shimmer of your tail lights in the direction of East dissolves, where you have a better life to believe. I was looking for some legal sweep, the rain rattled on the radiator cap when I came to pictures, which I have long tried to forget. And so, the idea drilled into my head that it's too important, as it had been. But I have absolutely no hint of an alleged debt of how our love slowly zerbröckelt. And here, where disappointment and regret at verkeilen, I lay awake on the night.
Available for: Death Cab For Cutie-Title and Registration
It will be dangerous in the giant meadow lengths my hometown especially when no hot tea with Kluntje and Rahmwulkje within reach. Instead of flashing guns and live ammunition, it is so far in the East Frisian Plains advisable to look at Mehrfachteefiltern arm.
From Switzerland will stockende flying objects thrown across the border. Michelle's has caught, I follow the invitation.
First A track .. From your earliest childhood.
As a four Zweieinhalbkäsehoch brought me through clever, even when watching the record player in the living room to operate. Besides Georges Moustaki, and the first two albums in the Dire Straits belonged primarily Hannes Wader to my discoveries. All too happy to primarily "Hannes Wader sings songs workers." And so as I moved through the tiny Steppke amuses East Frisian home village and sang "On to the fight, to fight, to fight, we are born" ... Before my parents took me to the chest and I kindly suggested, but perhaps now prefer a different song to sing. Since I did not understand what I sang and I Rosa Luxemburg for a maximum plüschpinkes neighbor stopped, I just felt that it seemed more appropriate songs for munteres walking through the neighborhood there.
Second A track .. You with your first great love assoziierst.
R.E.M. Night Swimming
Third A track .. The yourself to a holiday recalls.
"Exit music (for a film)" in the wonderful piano-jazz interpretation of Brad Mehldau Trio. In "fnac" in Bordeaux, these guided me throughout the France-1999 on vacation and still conjures images forgotten again.
Fourth A track .. Whatever you in the public do not want to admit so glad that you like him quite like it.
The trend, I think nothing of gustatory blinders. Permits, and what do you like lots. If, then perhaps "Blue (dabadidabadai)" by Eiffel 65, in the original while schröcklichst arranged, but in the version for piano selbstarrangierten suddenly almost irresistible.
Fifth A track .. The thee-plagued by lovelorn accompanied.
"How come your arms are not around me" from Kristofer Ĺstrřm & Hidden Truck. Has the black darkness rather verdüstert then, I was desperate longing but exactly.
Sixth A track .. You in your life probably heard most frequently spotted.
Difficult. Probably "Alice Childress" by Ben Folds Five debut.
Seventh A track .. The instrumental is your favorite.
The 2nd Sentence, the incredible Adagio from the 7th Symphony of Anton Bruckner (1883), which he on the death of Richard Wagner wrote. Unbelievably great music.
Eighth A track .. One of your favorite bands represented.
Achherrje, which is difficult. There are too many. But I suppose "Fog (again)" by Radiohead.
Ninth A track .. In which you yourself wiederfindest or where you are on a certain way feel understood.
Motor Psycho - Vortex surfer
10th A track .. The thee to a specific incident reminds (& what that is).
The very first kiss my first great love, I swapped its former parent before my disco to Trent Reznors words, "I want to fuck you like an animal" from Nine Inch Nails "Closer."
Eleventh A track .. At the best you can relax.
Again, the scenery was not appropriate. One of many possible answers is "Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontem" by Giovanni da Palestrina.
Twelfth A track .. For a really good time in your life.
Kettcar - dikes ... Almost exactly a year-then still very fresh and with rotweinverschüttetem Esprit.
Thirteenth A track .. The moment your favorite song.
One hardly answerable question chases the next. In short, almost spontaneously: "Last cruces jail" Two Gallants.
14th A track .. You devote your best friend would.
"Serpentine" by dEUS.
15th A track .. Where you have the feeling that it unless you like nobody listens.
"Too young" Blow Beat.
16th A track .. You mainly because its lyrics like.
A great many: The Weakerthans - Pamphleteer
17th A track .. Neither German nor English, and you very amusing.
"Mister Mayers Inst" By Kaizers Orchestra, "Ŕ étoile ton" of Noir Désir, "Glósloli" by Sigur Rós ... Hach, the Beschränlung to a single song mellows.
18th A track .. At the best you can abreagieren.
Tool-Stinkfist or Fall Of Troy-F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X.
19th A track .. At your funeral should be played.
The Nocturne in B flat minor by Chopin. Even if I have no wish to waste thoughts here.
20th A track .. You be the best of all time would expect.
From practicing guitarist zergniedelt, ausgelutscht and overstaying ... And yet, "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. And here would have a whole armada of other stroke of genius deserves to be mentioned, but ...
Weitergeworfen will not. Who likes's notes. But I would be interested in answering the following confessing music fanatics, for example, Burnster incredible, even if the floor to allergy suffers, Miss Fox, Ally, Nora, MC angle or Enno. Take it or leave it, anybody.
Seidig shiny struppen whiskers under his crooked nose. One of them has been resolved, and has reeled down on the brittle lips on his tongue tip lost. He spits out moist air to get rid of it. He is the hairdresser. Not Crane, no movie character. He is the hairdresser. The men's hairdresser, to be exact, but since he is rather long only the seat. If you have a hairdresser, when we no longer upgraded? If you still can dress the hair, but no one hereinschneit, airs on the hat and greeting to the rotating Knautschlackleder-Drehschemel front of the mirror settled? Only the neck ausrasieren. Please not with the scissors. If the beard perhaps even a bit. Nothing. The whole day is the Barber on the middle of his three waiting chairs. The seater. His hands, a number of small scissors cut scars on his left hand, folded into one another. The eyes a little sad, her shoulders drooping. The hope in his view is old and tired. My shine is peeled off.
He sighs, lighting a cigarette. Almost slow the thick smoke hovers at his crooked nose gone to the room ceiling. In addition to the roaring of the trucks in front of his small shop is the quiet crackling embers of tobacco, each of his lung accompanied trains, the only noise around him. He feels alien in today. Everything is so different. The barber there is only on the opera stage, and the hairdresser can no longer call his shop if he does not want customers einbrocken wastage. And not only that, now you need fesche Barber with breathtaking zerzaustem hair Schopf, abgedrehte accessories, the latest products, art designer furnishings, hot music and a silvery Klotz, in the twinkling of milchschäumenden latte macchiato or feinherben aufbrüht cappuccino. With such tricks buzzing the business. Here only the drone trucks.
The hairdresser has something for no money. A glass of tap water, it could offer its customers. That would them from the next room pick. Even Gern. With a dunkelgelben smile. And the presence of women makes him ever so nervous. Almost helpless. His spit dries out, the neck is brittle, the hands are wet, the schlingern thoughts, and he does not know what he will say. That is his whole life. And so, no one likes fesche young hairdresser. He would also not even money to the employee. And so nobody comes. And because nobody comes, nobody dares to even look. Because an empty Barber Shop may not be the best. As can be thought of the hair cut elsewhere. Not for this Ewiggestrigen. For others get a coffee. With milk foam.
But long he can barely pay the rent Laden. Two reminders, the landlord already sent to him, because he was delinquent. And, although he received the landlord the rent for forty years, not increased, and recently even lowered. But it is not a customer. Maybe one day. The old customers are nearly all dead or moved away. So the hairdresser often sits alone for hours on the middle chair. About him the old cutting crouch on the wall. All still work. Everything collected themselves. With love and devotion draped on the wooden board that he screwed into the wall and gedübelt. So is its plant in the corner is often the only one who he is a glass of tap water can offer. Sensually he called it "Lulu." They listen to him, if no one else comes, and that is often. You know his concerns and desires. Especially when it gets dark in winter, and nothing is heard except the Verkehrsgebrüll outside and the crackle of his fervor.
Previously, it was different here. Since waberte heavy cigar smoke through the tiny shop. Men from all age groups jostling on the chairs, refused to narrow stone pillar next to the door. Since rang his old fund. His heißgeliebte fund. Meanwhile valuable. Even with real crank. If today is no longer something built. True solid, holds several lives.
His shop was the message Shift situation all over the place in the quarter. They scuffled herein felt in heavy coat, and since they were already all. Mr. Johannpötter, Mr Paschulke, Mr. Rottenberg, Mr Mark Stein, Mr. Tollkötter or Mr. Jelinek. That was a mess. This policy was made. Someone brought a beer with, and remained even after the haircut hours, because it was such fun, in the busy bustle, the heated discussions about politics, football, or lawn mowing finger in the pie. Because life took place here.
The Barber Shop was the small, close and cozy afternoon master table. There was one at home. But those who were here at home, are no longer at home. Tot or fort. And the connection of the time missed.
The Barber never had a feel for trends, almost a little afraid of them. A timid faith in the bright, hectic modernity. He is the only hairdresser. He cuts hair. And plauscht likes a little. With his voice, always rough, tobacco and deep as too long sleep. Gimmicks for Others, like he says. White today because no more manual work to appreciate? Even today, no. Nobody. From morning until 9:00 at night to 6:30. And that, even though he himself a new Easter decoration created. Dyed eggs, a little green gift from the gardener, a few light yellow ribbons to grinding curved. Everything flows over. Now he closes the door again at the heart of all the whole day as well. Perhaps yes tomorrow again a customer. What a joy for the hairdresser. He would even him spend two glasses of water. And even a free shave on top. Just because he is so happy. But still, it is not tomorrow. Tomorrow maybe.
How often had Heinz-Dieter on the roundabouts sworn. An impatient and jähzorniger Schnurrbartträger as he quickly lost the focus. Again and again he kurvte in roads, which he never wanted to travel because he did not understand the signs. Was it perhaps was that Heinz-Dieter barely could read.
Or he does not bog from the rotors and accidentally rammed trucks, cows or helicopter crashed because of a rotary vertigo flushed and confused. "Hach," sighed Heinz-Dieter now before luck when he and his rostroten Scirocco in this traffic circle in the district Emmendingen imports. "Roundabouts, in which only goes straight to lob 'ich mir". He thought and accidentally drove into a red road barrier while trying to abzubiegen.
Between Prusten and despair arrives quickly, when it comes to word games. Not infrequently borderline. Often already one step over the precipice, and strained wortwitzig shows just the industry's Hair Stylist frequently. A small inventory, it was some time ago once. Here are some new additions, beyond any. We read and bestaune:
- Schlemmer Cuts
- "We behairrschen our craft"
Only rarely the watchful eye catches a glimpse. All too rarely does he ever in the wild espy how he Hügelschrägen along tappert and sometimes the wrong side hinunterpurzelt slope. Especially since he is if, then almost exclusively in remote valleys of British Columbia look. And so many of its existence until now remained hidden. And even for those who in any way with his cute appearance came in contact, he is almost forgotten-the bevel slope rodents.
I never Readiness. I can not even knitting. This is what distinguishes me from some other people. And a few of them apparently wondering how many stitches because they just zurechtgestrickt. This family knows the inventor Council Because she has a knit stitch counters invented. But that's not enough. With zeal düsengetriebenem invent anything, what you never dreamed of and that you never have dared to ask. Anti-ant-picnic blankets with double-sided tape, "Bumelade" so that we no longer annoying Zweischrittigkeit until butter and then jam on the bread must foam, with the pictures we paint on the grass, a Klositz with vibrating massage, so that ' the faster and more convenient fliutscht or Schwimmbrillen with compressed air cartridge glasses complaints against papers, a sound for pain perception, a Fischdosenspritzschutz, scissors, the paper collects ... Very surprising.
Who his head for half an hour against the wall suggests, it consumes about 150 calories.
Whoever comes too late, is not very early turn. Until quite recently, I have come to hear that the reibeisenstimmige Wuschelbart- schluckspecht Harry Rowohlt tomorrow in Muenster reads. What exactly he reads, he tells no one. For 16 € a very rewarding but costly affair. The prize is me, but do not scrape-it is already sold out. And so, I will (inevitably) at home simply my great Flann O'Brien-Buch rausholen (have), and one or two glasses of stout drink on the zottelige rafters, a few kilometers from the hall inspires me. My wallet is the only one who was there, I thanked the absence. Nevertheless.
A half-century was the bird tinned since moved Les Lailey zuleibe around the plate. The mid-fifties, he got it done. From his tender bride Beryl, as part of a Präsentkorbs. A canned chicken in jelly. What a delicacy. As his eyeball herded Les since the magnificent gift, it is like a hidden treasure. Before furtive glances dawned hidden the rifle plate decades previously. And now, fifty years later, to the golden wedding of the two doses was the chicken on the table, which was tastefully Canned turned on. "It tasted wonderful, most a little too salty," said Les. But he says as Sole; His wife, with whom he is still happily, was overwhelmed by caution and dared the roast. Fifty-year-old meat had her stomach skeptical suspect, even if not the hint of danger of bird flu there. So she left her faithful husband gelled the spring animal. The made her happy, beat all the concerns about a decades expired shelf date in the wind-without the slightest Magengrummeln afterwards.
Kitzelig kullert a Schnötteträne. Among upper lip nose, is being slowed by bereitgehaltenen paper handkerchief. Reißfest. The nose shimmers in dunkelrosé. Cold clanks crystals. Fege Sauseschwitzend I use my ass wire through the shallow street canyons. Even a curve. As it is, the City Theater. Ruins remains blurred reinforced concrete, glass. Lange, I was no longer in it. But tonight. The short Cordjackett zurechtzupfen. The glass doors to welcome me turn around. The scent of Guiseppes mustache whirs through the foyer, I come Otello. Tingle durchsprudelt me. For the first time in a long time I give again an opera.
The sky is full of Blechspeichengewimmel and old lamp shades in the room, the three ranks are lined with Flechtbastplatten. The faded Schick of the seventies. The light goes off, the curtain will be raised. In the dark hall are green Notausgangleuchten position as lamps of a space ship. On stage squats eckigwindschiefer a huge box of steel pipes, the distance to a theater festival recalls. The box is sturmumbraustes ship and rulers palace, ambush, catacomb, garden, rooms behind closed doors at the same time. The eye feels at the sight not flattered, but with time develops the backdrop of their charm. With thunder, and spätromantischem Rumtata schmetternden choirs fetzt the overture to the ears. Then dip the intrigante Sausack Jago, the chronically jealous wood Bock Othello and his charming, unschuldig-schuldige heart Dame Desdemona. Hinterlistig trickles Jago Othello intriganten Mumpitz into his brain, it requires mental horns. According feels this is gehörnt, swings on the Heckmeckmeister. His brain synapses and spit stew before kränkbarer and seemingly betrogener love embers. The Schwelbrand in brain and heart is a large-scale fire, burning everything and burn through because Desdemona who allegedly blown differently.
With wild schwungvollem force and pathos, delicate and lyrical Melos encapsulation umbraust the music from Verdi's opera version of "Otello" our ears. And even if many visitors to the strange Sets for zerrümpfte noses ensures that the voices of dazzling brilliance, the intonation of the sound security body, and especially the diversity of the orchestral nuances timbres astound. One such successful musical opera performances were in my ears no longer in Munster.
Barely more than 03,000 residents live in brummelgemütliche Ihrhove, a small village off the main road from empty after Papenburg Castle. Ostfriesische diaspora. Two-brick houses dawn pushed each other along the small streets. There is a bank, a church, a soccer club, even years ago in the third league played a decrepit station, a blocked Raiffeisen warehouse, the "limit" - a small but very fine indie-disco, Charlys fish shack and a new shopping center at the Ihrener road.
And where exactly would the beam of my anger flammenlodernde a fire ignite, if he only could. For in a small corner between Aldi, and Gammelpizzeria Combi-market squeezes in a little ibid computer store. Tumbe hordes sparwilliger laptop finder racing there, the shack, because the two operators brand laptops used by companies to buy and resell favorable terms. Since I too for the dissertation on the stalk for a possible favorable laptop (as a Christmas gift), I first looked at a shop for used laptops in Munster, I recommended several similar business, but then heard from just one in Ihrhove, 12 km from my home village.
As I said surprised, therefore, also the owner of the store, with whom I shared, albeit two years under him, the primary school attended. Enormst friendly and caring he beat me a friendship price for a IBM-Thinkpad, which indeed was not wrong.
"And weißte what? We are looking for you even among all models, which we reinkriegen, a really great model. You will see. Klasseteil! " Freudig surprised me, I spoke briefly with my father; Then we said. This coming weekend, the computer and then got ready to be picked. Vorfreudig So, I went on the following weekend, again with the Trödelzug of Munster after empty, and from there by car to Ihrhove. Twenty people squeezes into the tiny shop, but not for me predefined device. The trouble, but now good.
My father brought the unit a few days later, my mother found that I gift-da-even at Christmas only to handle themselves so that the special gift of the respected remain. Okay, happy. Then came the Christmas Eve. Among other lovely gifts I grabbed the laptop, joined him and I was happy to set up, pushed the start button. Once he went high, then: Schwock! Blue Screen errors. Crash. Padautz!
The next time is not different. The device angry out of the window to throw my mood would be complied with, but probably my 12-month warranty claims expire. Nix went. And we remind us: "We are looking for you even among all models, which we reinkriegen, a really great model. You will see. Klasseteil! " So, I called on 27 December promptly, described the shortcomings of achso great part, and I was asked to pass it quickly. Made.
"Ah, oh, yes, broken. I look,'s whether I can repair. Call Now afterwards. "
"I need's but quickly, I am starting from tomorrow no longer here and now also need to work."
"Sure, no thing."
He said no. I will, however, slightly annoyed, in the late afternoon. Device broken, fix anything, it must be exchanged, but no straight replacement unit there, all sold. Wars in three days until new ones. In my brodelte it stronger, the eyebrows moved to a pfeilscharfen Winkel.Nun well, in God's name. Even my parents were both owners by telephone again to their disappointment and anger participate. And they even cleared a deadline until 3 In January, for the Neubeschaffung and refurbishing of the equipment. "Super, nice! Of course, by then we will have everything ready. You no longer need to call in advance. "
At the time my father went so again the 25km out and back then, and? Nothing. No device there. "X grad is on the road and gets what. Tomorrow. " The next day I called in the morning, now back from a distance and again in Leer, around my birthday to celebrate. "Yes, device is there, kannste pick up." After lunch I went to the first station, to a very important guest pick and then jump on to the shop. Once again. It was 16h. In an hour at home had a very good, old friend, whom I had not seen the dawn of time, announced.
Like almost to be expected squeezes itself again about 20 customers like daunenbejackte Ölsardinen shop in the "box". About friendly welcome. Oh, and congratulations on the birthday! Twenty minutes of waiting. Then finally. "Yes, ähmnääh, your device ... so where is it ... ähhh ..." He jumped into the rear of chaos populated area. Mr. Hustle outward and oaks of devices. The outwardly exceeding fifteen technicians received individual parts sufficed. Smart! Smart! My unit has now assembled, and soon flüchtigst. He was allowed German keyboard stickers draufpappen, setup. > My neck artery was thicker than Ottfried Fischer and puckerte like a drum roll; My lips were thinner than a scalpel cut.
I wrested the wrong snake shop owner the laptop. Quickly up in the car, okay. Later I noticed the machine was a little faster, but had only half as much RAM as agreed. Well, this can live with. DVDs played fine, as agreed. Since the laptop does obediently peacefully and his service. But I was only a little vorerste week. One of my best friends, I wanted to burn a sampler, this time with the laptop. And? Sure! It is a Nur-Lesen-Laufwerk in it, no burner, as was denied. Even Urschreitherapeuten had frightened before the sound pressure waves, which in my room almost legten.Und rubble? For almost two weeks now, I try to shop by phone to reach. With suppressed number. Does your, it's someone to answer the phone? No. Either is busy or no one takes off. Allegedly, the phone now muted, as the calls the sales talks hinder. I think it is more than a pity and quite annoying. A good business and a good business, there are two pairs of shoes, gentlemen. Already disappointing.
From time to time, the ghost questionnaire waves through the network and countless heads are beulengezeichnet because they made unannounced little sticks were thrown. Such met me now with delicate balancing out of the hands of Mrs. Frank and Dudu. A little, it is like painting by numbers or by filling out personality tests in relevant journals. Nevertheless: During the breakfast, I krümelnderweise up, the questions to be answered ...
Four jobs, which I had previously:
* Stockwirbler behind the drum skins, the world mean.
* Illustrator a "learn counting" book
* Plaka color in the glass counter in a store inventory
* Caliph instead of the caliph (just for example)
Four films, which I also look after zigfachem still love:
* Pappa ante portas (Loriot)
* Store Clerks - The guardian (Kevin Smith)
* Big Lebowski (Coen-Brüder)
* Night on earth (Jim Jarmusch)
Four recently read novels, which I have fallen:
* Toni Morrison-Jazz
* Jon McGregor-After the Rain
* Gustave Flaubert - Bouvard and Pécuchet
* Magnus Mills-To King
Four places where I have lived:
* In Leer, a small town ostfriesischen
Born in Muenster, the metropolis of Münsterland
Born in Barcelona, the much metropolischeren capital of Catalonia
Born in Mainz, the incredibly pink homeland public broadcasters
Four television, which I like in front of the screen fläze:
* Harald Schmidt (ARD)
* Simpsons (Pro 7)
* DENKmal (3sat)
Four places where I was on holiday rumgetrieben:
Four of my favorite dishes:
* Cheese tortellini with cream sauce
* Pannacotta with fresh strawberries
Four Internet sites to which I often verirre:
Disk tests online
Four places where at the moment at least, I would like to be like this:
* Grog with a Monkey on Iceland
* In the night life in Barcelona Ravals
* With Gaukeley Gundel in a gondola at the Venetian lagoon
* In bed
A whole bunch of writers, the questionnaire already bent. As the chain letter etiquette apparently requires four more now to fill invite, I knock care with no single case, Pe, Rulla and grandfather. Otherwise might take, who likes.
Glitzernd drips from the erythematous tip of the nose. The temperature is not more than a zero-sum game, while we spend hours by the cold of the East Frisian Low-level shuffle. Fourteen are we. Twice seven. On narrow streets between small cattle pastures, Wall hedges and tiny farms through. Against Bibbern there is the anticipation of green cabbage. And mulled wine. Against cold finger is gloves.
What do we do? We throw small, heavy balls from Russia to America. Why we do this? We compete in Bosseln, the East Frisian national sport, a sport that so many on the other frozen nose rümpft and in Karachi, Buenos Aires or Los Angeles would be difficult to imagine. Why? It takes for what is not there: small, like a little winding, paved roads and flat with no movement possible. In Ostfriesland find something more frequently if you know, in Karachi, Buenos Aires and Los Angeles barely estimated.
And what do you now, if you have found a road? They meet in groups at approximately 10 to 20 people and one or two Bollerwagen with coffee, tea, biscuits and often and also likes Kruiden, mulled wine, or other clear Kehlenbefeuerern (the truly ambitious athletic Boßler renounce selbstverfreilich on the spirits share). Then, too boßelnde track down, usually about two to three kilometers, once again, and back to cope. Because Bosseln can you imagine how long-distance goal without bowling ball or wide cones without cones.
Now the ball is with Schmackes thrown along the road, in the hope that with every throw greatest possible distance to go. Because the goal is to make the track with as few throws go best with less litter than the opposing team. Special items ( "Schött" or "Schööt"), there is, if a team throws so far that not even the opponents with two litters the same distance.
And so you can stroll along the balls thrown behind, incidentally chats with friend and "enemy", the fires on the roadway sausenden balls or fishes with strange equipment, small Eisenkörben on broomstick (right), the balls from the matschigen Schloot (ditch ), if they too swear by the line abandoned.
After two or three hours refreshing walks through the cold winter, the shivering then an end. As a rule stapft man then in the warm room, where one of the hotly awaited gourmet food in the form of green cabbage or the National Court ostfriesischen "Snirtje" hermachen. Not infrequently, some of the groups at the end of their street Boßeltouren, ball, team and dish twice, with the aim of increasing snake lines closer, the more air with the time in the liquor bottles court has found. That may now but everyone decide for themselves. The true athletes remain more in the East Frisian thermos flask. And the best of the best (there are whole league with competitions) occur every two years, even at the European Championships, has the game but also to Ireland, Holland and England lost.
Now and stones can also soften. Strange unrelated, but almost simultaneously trudelten several requests to the mail compartment. "Ole, you remain so strangely faceless behind the absurd mask. How does the man behind the confusing world? " Why now and cumulative? You know, perhaps others. I have never been a big sense is seen me here to immortalize visually. But heartfelt pleas do I dislike a "P". In this respect, there is quiet after the recent infants also had the rare opportunity times, a contemporary photographic impression state. I lüfte my (yet so few remaining) optical anonymity. The photo, incidentally, is only two days after this fiasco. Voila, c'est moi.
Who has not yet, but still wants to whom the idea strudel new gewitze incursions into the brain coils, and has sputtered ever, or who continue until just lust has until Monday morning, the doors opened at the title contest. Yet, the opportunity there.
Outside clangs the night. Ice cold bites as with the Vampirzähnchen just lying skin. The breath breath clouds above the lips. Inside knuspert one by ofenfrische pizza, yaps, laughs, pulls genüsslich at the dump, bevels the beer bottle and lays his head in the neck for the rest of Schlücke beer from the bottle to sip. Fun and relaxed Gewusel. You know it, yes, so students Parties. The Arctic Monkeys dance from the pits. Since Jays phone rings.
"Hey man, Hazelwood here. Age, geht'n what else? Bisse Where? Let draufmachen a ma! "
"I am in grad ner private party."
"Yes super age, horny as pearls or what?"
"Geil, I am there."
"Wait 'times before I ask briefly."
"Boah, how are you there? I come over. Sachmal where. "
"No, wait 'times."
"Sach and I come clearly?"
And as Jay submit it away and still asks. And clearly, the Hazelwood come. Only you have to know, Jay has forgotten the host to tell what this one is, of Hazelwood. But Jay was also good wine. As ever dreamed of the memory in deep feather beds, it's about something. And then he goes off, the Hazelwood collected. Because he has already been well tanked. Is it always bad to houses and roads, which otherwise always a shit. It was never there, or had never been there, and what should we be huge pile of stuff to remember that you never again need eh?
And then suddenly both are back in the hallway, and the Hazelwood with partners like Grützwurst nose and eyes like goulash soup. His shoulders bulligen überschlabbert a football jersey of the English national team, his cowboy step is in hamburgerbrötchenfarbenen Baggypants at half-mast. And ne hairdo between Tingeltangel-Bob Atze and Schroeder. And there he stood still, the Hazelwood, and except for the Jay knows he does not. Rumms! Because he is first in the empty living room on the couch. And nen ordentlischen first sip sugar cane liquor. Pop And that must be noticed that the most ne birthday party. The hosts also for the rest of the bottle gift, because he should be happy if he ever gets what.
And yet not so sharp devices on the party as promised. And funny music. So stuff that the whole ticks and wannabe rocker hear it. But the Hazelwood has his Gabba-CDs forgotten. After a buffet. And so he breaks the first half of focaccia bread and grabs with the regular Pranken nen Batzen tomato butter from the bowl. And sweeps the entire plate of peppers. What, was the second pizza plate thought? Who are you and what do you want from me? Go shit, age!
And then back into the living room and the first video shelf checked. Couple this very hot streaks. And first Train Spotting removed and the recorder and pushed the door, because otherwise is too loud, the whole Gesabbel of people. And, I tell you, the Hazelwood and Jay have ne first half-hour video watching. There is the host, which then has occurred and then asked if they do not feel well, and so on, and that Videogucken ner Party already rather unusual. Well, the Hazelwood is not Unmensch. The television is not alone.
Is it then just to the Host room gone. Amélie-Japanese posters on the wall, what a girl Bude. And then just as turned on the tube. In the first boxing match. Hot Shit. And the others have embarrassed and dreingeschaut first nix said. And found the Hazelwood then but enormous behämmert and then gradually went into the kitchen. The Hazelwood has also found the DVD and first since so much thrown into the player. What matters is for cowards. Was too stupid to's on. Now go watch boxing. But then the first reading easy chair from the corner and plucked clean, the middle of the room. I tell you, as a bold, he dagelegen Pasha. Wide legs, feet aufm desk chair, and then only "boah cool" and "hau him the Omme broken, you Drecksau!" Hollered. Just as at home. And the hosts took the whole ungefragte behavior pretty shit. His Faust has repeatedly shrugged, I tell Dir But he is so well-educated. But it was getting a little tense, because I tell you, when Hazelwood you never know whether the non - when nobody was looking at-what is inserted, the other would later miss.
And then still Magenknurren at Hazelwood. So the rest away from the buffet. And even with the tongue licked off the cake platter. When the head of tomato soup like to also put in the pot, but then so were olle philistine in the way. So back then. And weitergeguckt. Tomato butter with the fingers in the trousers just mopped. Scheißegal. Sah then a little like the blood of children's corpses, which Geschmiere. And without hot pearls, and only with such comic Uni-Heinis is also boring. So I made the rest of the sugar cane liquor and collard purely so in the throat. And beside Jay ashamed because this is actually a very dear. And he has also noticed how the bescheuert Hazelwood now found all. "Ey, I will ne Olle, age! Let ma geh'n into the Black Sheep! Or somewhere where we can still make it clear beads! " And so taumelten of Hazelwood and Jay eventually go. Because of Hazelwood would still ne pearl. He came but only up to the bus for home. And since it has the Jay reingesetzt then. The rest of the ceremony took place in turn, not so wrong that the Hazelwood rather go somewhere else. So really liked him, they had not.
(Still up: Joining the title contest)
Brain coils on, very sharp thinking and win! Because I have a problem. My dissertation is about to start, and although I rarely am embarrassed by the words, and the issue is clearly defined, I am still missing the title, the whole thing sparkles and crisp to the point. I have intensively with the issue, but the exact and precise clip, the subject of investigation and almost precisely formulated in a few words, I will not really succeed. Zig tests, but as yet almost every passing geschrammt; No one has made me really happy. For the application I need now but the final title.
In this respect, I am writing here a spontaneous competition. I schildere you what I planned, and you go in you and tried to find crisp to the point. The best title wins a prize! (Undoubtedly very seriously!) As profit beckons the winner of a selected me himself novel , then a short time later in the winner Mailbox land. Minderwertiger Murks like Poertgen-Herder is not verscheuert. The jury for the award is made up of myself as a superb cast.
What's also going to be? It will go to a comparison of synchronous communication modes, ie different ways in real time to communicate with each other. Specifically, I plan to compare Face-to-Face-Kommunikation (ie, the direct encounters with other eye to eye), telephone and chat with respect to the information-sharing in the work mode and with a special view of perception and emotion. What can I do to what mode me a picture of the comparison to make, even by his emotional mood situations? Based on what charms and instructions from my picture emerges communications partner, as is taking the identity of education?
"Communication and emotion in real time. A comparative analysis of synchronous communication modes in view of the possibilities of the perception of emotion expression and identity design "- a little bumpy, a little long for me so far failed.
In principle, yes Face-to-Face-Kommunikation are all sensory perceptions are available. I get the content of the conversation, I can comparison incidentally also see posture and gesture lane, I can tune the language exercise, see how the opposite dresses, it may affect etc. .. And just gestures / facial expressions (nonverbal) and the voice melody (paraverbal) are so important transmitter of emotion expressions. What happens if I use the comparison and his gestures / facial expression can no longer see when suddenly both communications partner spatially separated in different environments and contexts participate on the same conversation, perhaps not even ever seen? How is compensated him that I (as in the chat) not even hear, and the whole thing rather to a sort of "to the language spoken angelehntem written drama without dramatic concept", "never comes to performance?
The Tour left the legal route is excluded, a presentation of the prize to myself will not take place.
Nüdelwüdel Paik is dead
Gniedldidl Paik is dead
Nüdelwüdel Paik is dead
Gniedldidl Paik is dead
Tröt-tröt-tröt-trööööt. Humpahumpa. Ruarg. Ruarg.
Yes is the mournful melody
That echoes in their head
Without a beat they march along
Believing Paik is dead
(With allusion to the Residents)
With elephants previous einparken sideways.
How many dozen times, I have noticed that our views are little more? From your chair, I can judge the exuberent disgust over my mere existence felt. Klär me as to when exactly you such a tremendous part of my life are sure all your lies scratch me, the only aimed at me to plunge into chasms. Pustekuchen! Once again! Werd 'me again of a reaction depends!
Oh, I am bitterly to the walls of sheer ice remember, the emporschossen from nowhere. And I can assure each of the lies, which you ever dreamed you and persuaded you. You blutest me out until I am withered and dried; And I ask not why I stay behind with the dust. Judas kiss, I announce, thanks for all the fish and all the things I am now! I am unverurteilt. Hey, wait kindly! I am still not through with the screaming!
I tell you what, and defend, that you are thinking of nothing better. Verscheuer 'for my life' nen gold bullion. Search you fix someone else before I will be too old. When I refer to the price of beauty live, you will see me with all your shame pay! I erspähe every glimmer of light in your brain coils each time anew when I vorbeigehe only for noise and whispers. My pleasure in my suffering itches me no more. I am beyond your stopwatch lost in the real-time of life is the real life! Remained standing! I am still not through with you!
Do you not trouble you to collect. I was in grad me from the room to verkrümeln, when the door of your judgment zurückschwang. Perhaps halt 'I just inne to attend your show, before then I will go my route. Too many of these childish games hab 'I need to watch. For every minute of every day, which I have agreed, durchwurmt biting me shame. The worst enemies are all too often verflossene friends.
Frei by: Boysetsfire-My life in the knife trade
Cultural tourists, more than ever before with Mörike than travel to Prague reading flow. Perhaps you will hear the closing ceremonies of the World Cup even the Lacrimosa from the Requiem? Perhaps, the World Cup because of the Mozart year completely, as in the time Rattelschneck mutmaßte?
The anniversary marketing machine buzzes as mistaken. According to Einstein now Wolferl. Commemorative have (even in that case) absolute rights, but especially high economic activity. The hype of the giants makes me almost dizzy, almost driven to flee. Listen again next year to hear Mozart.
But one of the greatest composers of music history, despite my distaste for his zähneknirschenden commercial cannibalization deserves to be given a musicology student at the 250th Birthday congratulations. Congratulations, John Chrysostom Wolfgang Gottlieb.
The third part saga, in which obscure memories open new levels. The reader is hurled into foreign worlds. Future actions cast their shadow hidden, new tracks creep in, but still remain ambiguous and await their discovery.
"Too much silence makes mellow," Gregor thought, "Time for music."
He raffte and scuffled on the CD player. His gaze durchschlängelte the overpopulated wood shelf with the recordings. In short, his index finger to the lips sprüden, mused. Then he plucked a plate and sent it out into the abyss of Abspielers. He slumped back into the chair. The quietschten feathers. With the elbow he stripped his coffee cup. Almost had his cappuccino from the rest swept. Only a few drops schwappten.
"The spots I can wegschrubben tomorrow."
A carillon strummed slightly slanted against slow schepperndes drums, psychedelic guitars and long strings. Novo Kain for the soul. The eerie, huge girls' eyes, the diseased eye, the beautiful freak. The first panel of the Eels. And suddenly it clattered into his head. The music drove their knöchrigen long finger, won the Dietrich from the pocket and opened doors to hidden brain. There was a cinema in the head unannounced performance with old recordings long forgotten geglaubter experiences showed (on Super-8?) And only a little blurry. Gradually sharpened the image, the colors were clear. The film listened to the alarmingly barren working title "Gregor Eels-CD buys."
He peered himself on the shoulder. Gregor as Neunzehnjähriger, October 11 prior years in Minsk. With a blurred denim jacket in the weathered market hall from zerbröselndem washed between Dynamo Stadium, the Museum of the Great Patriotic War and the place of victory on which the eternal flame burned. About whom there who had triumphed, Gregor was eliminated. Also, for whom the flame burning. Probably the Patriotic War had something to do had. Completely absurd it appeared at least not the idea.
The market hall was a giant of weathered concrete block, whose roof bröseliges far lebensmüde curved and arched. Among quirlte melancholic liveliness. Schäbbig bekittelte farmers were overflowing into diesel, angerosteten Blecheimern out to knallblauen their tractors to refuel. Canisters were perhaps too expensive or simply not their beer. Fuel splashed over the edge, seeped into the porous gravel soil. Suddenly krabbelten even memories of the equally fascinating how excited disgust smell there from the treasure chest of memories back to consciousness. The smell of fuel mixed in the haze of freshly baked bread, pickled cabbage inserted, urine, Halva, red Bete, mothballs and abgehangener blood sausage.
Here in the market hall, there was almost everything life necessities. Anything to cook, bake and fry made jackets as trousers, hammers, circular saws, night vision devices. But some things perhaps in the urgency list of survival less far above. The most prominent example of this category was for a short Gregor meterhohes plastic cross of Jesus' crucifixion been in the dozens of small, colorful LEDs embedded. At the push of a button blinked this hectic, and this squawked from a small loudspeaker at the foot of the cross a melody, Gregory of a CD with Russian Orthodox liturgical chants to know believed that he once years ago at a flea market very favorable refuse. Besides the obscure Cross had on the trestle still aufziehbare tin soldiers of the Red Army stood, which also LEDs blinked. From the eyes. Almost uncanny.
Again and again had zahnarm friendly and smiling, wrinkled men in kälteanfälligen Lumpenkleidern "Drushba!" - Friendship! - And called on Fraternity Offers to drink vodka with home-tries, the boys for their hochprozentiges potato distillate enthusiasm.
In some corners of the harsh market hall could be tons of tin in which smouldered below charcoal, the so-called "Rattenbäuche" buy. In dough eingeschlagenes minced meat, whose name and sight Gregor but the appetite away. A few meters further seller sipped beer from a Einweckglas. He even had the ring alarm drangelassen and art prints sold in appallingly poor quality, mainly painters of the twentieth-century Magritte, Dali, Kandinsky, Miró. The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. The technical reproductive possibilities seemed in this case further. For a moment there was still tilted Gregor been a pressure of concentric circles to buy Kandinsky. But the paper stank sour, the colors were very pale, the print itself is very streaky. Furthermore: The travel bag was on the Hinweg almost torn apart, where there should be a poster reinstopfen knickte without it? Gregor had not bought it.
From a relatively windstillen corner in the hall crowed music by the lively confused murmurous, feilschende feilbietende and goings: The Folklore Trio "Kressiwa", German: Feuerstein, played in traditional costumes gewandet, raging wild Polkas, dances and painfully slow mourning songs about erlittenes suffering. In each held two break Balalaika-Spieler, and the singer is selbstbeschriftete vodka bottles at the neck, causing the sharp brandy in alarmingly large Schlücken runtergluckern the throat. Some arteries were in their faces burst. The two dancers, in addition to the group included, were not getting a sip, perhaps out of consideration for their leg coordination.
Somewhere there was totally unexpected Gregor of the CD Eels found on a small patchwork quilt, Plain, intermediate or greasy bacon rinds and bloody, gehäuteten sheep's heads, Marie-Orthodox icons and old military uniforms of the Soviet era, it was a more than amazing Fund. Not U2, not Michael Jackson, not the Scorpions-the Eels in a heap of Soviet Schlager-CDs. Ironically, the Eels. And suddenly appeared to him as a much better investment over the shabby Kandinsky printing. The only western CD, which he otherwise there would still can buy would be "One, two, the police" by Modo. A nowadays not unduly nearly forgotten piece of music. Frank, the bassist of his former band, the joke had once remarked: "If I want to leave the Cheer and I want to kill me, I will stylish lay in the bathtub, brüllend aloud, one, two, police 'by Modo hear and then with a toaster thrown into the water. "So far, Frank still lived. Thank God.
Cozy is the sun rays through their warm dust in the air to the Helmholtzplatz slide. We enter a typical house at the Prenzlauer Berg. The entrance door to the barren whitewashed house floor is smeared with graffiti, whose salary probably even the sprayers themselves now forgotten. Come clean and the same right as resident Kathrin and her lovable Teenie-Sohn Max now and she likes to paint. The houses, which she paints, as seen from the houses that they paint Well, almost. Then you can then compare how different it must have if the houses at some times different. Perhaps we could also sell it, but so far no one is interested in that. As long as they reject being on zuckerkulörfarbenen coal furnace. Even if Kathrin use the money well.
The little paradise high above the street
Because Max longs finally jogging shoes with built-in air conditioning, shock suspension and other gimmicks to have that in his friends and especially his sport, secret love ones. But work has Kathrin currently none. And with nearly forty, no! Neununddreißigeinhalb, it is trained for a show advertising designer not so easy for a new job. Especially when one is shy. They müht, visited Assessment Center courses, the success hides, but continued somewhere in the bushes of the neighborhood, the hood wearers secretly pee, if none is looking. Currently, it has enough for now. But it really works very little. Panties are still scattered across, could be bought again, except Schoko-Flakes, milk, wine and vodka is almost nothing in the house. Wine and vodka hike until late in the night with the top attic. There has Kathrin's best friend Nike pastellgestrichenes their empire and a small concrete balcony on which the whole aptly mild summer night talk, laugh, drink and dream. From wonderful professions, the right faustgenau dream man, a bit more easily in everyday life. With blood geweiteten beschwingt-benebeltem cars and awareness can also talk to the ex telephone pranks or pharmacist to concoct.
The whirl through life
With too much liquor in the blood stream and hoarse laugh strumpelt Kathrin often only in the morning back into their verschluderte Butze. Often with such great Gerumpel that Max distracted from their sleep scares. The next day, the empty bottles as thick as the head. Träge peels, Kathrin until around midday from the sheets, while the kecke Nike shrill in their provocative clothes and knatschengen have their daily morning tour starts at her job, dependent old people to look after. Because in the mind of the schrumpelfaltigen Kauzes Oskar reigns again rollercoaster. Just his dead wife to visit, the coffee jar is on your own in the hearth scrabbled and the loo flushes itself miraculously still not by itself greise Mr. Neumann lies motionless with his verhutzelten Alm-Öhi-Bart in bed and surprise: it has yet to school. And the mischievous Helene frets kuhblöden again with her daughter around, her daily accordion playing, and above all, the beloved penny Charm lectures ban. Shortly afterwards, Kathrin almost on the streets of a carpet-truck übergebügelt, with the horrors of them, but suddenly takes the lives of all those involved surprising turns ...
It seems like it is
An intriguing fragile Idyll characterized Andreas Dresen with fine line in his film "Summer in front balcony." Fully unflattering and loving eye for detail, he has his characters and accompanies them with a view to their warmherzigem trips through life-at Straucheln and failure, in the delicate moments of happiness and in the hours just before the abyss, with their sehnsuchtsvollen Schwelgen, in the small sensations and disasters, while airy upgrades and harsh dreamier bursting bubbles. Alcoholism and death, love and life, sex and frustration, child and pub. The kodderschnäuzigen and often verschmitzten dialogues are wonderfully refreshing and nowhere.
The center of things
On miraculously creates Dresen, Sponaneität to stage and the exact tightrope walk between ungestelltem, heart zerknirschender refreshing wit and melancholy. Nowhere kitschy, nowhere flat. Here are jam-Aldi and Lidl-Cola for breakfast, with the loving devotion to the low-cost dishes served, the underwear still hangs over warped chair. Everything seems coherent in its fragility, which is the life-nothing. It is as if you have a clear view in a strange life. As would be the third man in the league, the middle sternüberfunkelter summer nights behind the struppigen flowers with Nike and Kathrin albert on the balcony, was sitting with them in the evening beer at the bar of the pub around the corner, in the middle of the loud and quiet, funny and sad moments. Bolstered by the film is totally unpretentious and genuine game of the actors who kauzigen and complex characters to life, sensitive and mischievous merge with their roles. Added to the atmospheric images, the camera has captured man.
The city in the city and their film
A bit is "Summer In Berlin" for the Prenzlauer Berg, what "Amélie" was Montmartre: A dense atmospheric love letter to a district with his people and his flair. But is "Summer In Berlin" less playful and magically, clings to the fractures and difficulties in life and city, and not just refer to his peculiar, confining, delicate poetry. For me, "Summer In Berlin" almost a small miracle cinema and perhaps the finest German films of recent years.
A small but clearly visible change is in Absurd Istan confiscated. Thanks to the great help of Kathleen, I could be creative, have the weekend pencils and brushes curved and must now present a new header. A little less simple, but somewhat absurd. I hope that the loading times are not hours.
Gedauert had it. But after years of static tests, eternal Afterthought at neuralgic points and problems with the material consistency has now recently unveiled to the serial, virtual shopping cart is presented, also in the (internships) as a candidate and laid goods can be transported easily.
Screenshot of www.praktika.de
The second part saga
Two weeks ago, the. Maybe even three. Since then, Jörg swear in a boiling sea of physical passion Submerged-for the rest of the world disappeared. Also for Gregor. Janine just 20, had an apprenticeship as Floristin canceled and jobs now at the front desk in a strip club schummrigen location on the bottom of the harbor, not far from the Hamburg Mountain. According to Jörg, it germinated in the hope that there will soon also to be able to dance and maybe even Star Revue up. Intellectually rich water they could hardly Jörg, who has his economics studies in a financial consultant for publishing textbooks for Accounting lektorierte.
Memories of the joint bars evening, in which he made the news Jörg had krabbelten from memory, while Gregor briefly from the ears chair rose to a powder cappuccino aufzugießen.
"Intellectuals ... papperlapingpong eye level, I sach you! Too much intellectual eye level to provide time for short-sightedness! You should think less and act more, my dear! Too much spirit paralyzes! If the intellect completely tail and look at the vice pressed, he misplaces dsie view on the essentials. If I try to mind-level stimulate wants hab 'ich but my friends, "Joerg outlined its position. "Not much light up. But front 02,000 volts und'n damp slot, which is the main thing. Man, that's true ne grenades bride! World class, as long as they are not your mouth to speak out toward. Thanks God it does only rarely. " He had impish zugezwinkert Gregor, kumpelhaft him on the shoulder and knocked a metal laughter from the throat clatter. "Only fun!" Then he had two Absacker still be ordered. Gregor had mitgelacht. A little artificial. Then he said only: "Sometimes you are really full Horst, weißte that? But yes, women seem to stand out. " Jörg had energetically pulled at his cigarette. "What you leave a can, old man!" In his new plate-pool mixed with a thin Fiepen. His face swelled red that he had swallowed the smoke.
With Gregor had laughed. But such statements were opinion and not his cup of tea, made for dizziness due to severe Kopfschüttelns. Sure, it also resulted in the sight of a well-shaped female body attractive, tended tingling and the synapses began spontaneously einberufe a chord work shift. Nevertheless.
"Gently sweeping curves, lips moist, tender bites under hot kisses, in the back festkrallen their breath whiff felt in the ear ... Sure, the ravishing, great. Verwuschelte hairs between zerwühlten pillows, wolllüstiges grin after waking up ... Traumhauft! But when the body except Lichen nothing to a woman finds interesting, except the passionate affection is not a level at which you share something with it ... If you make a joke and you only see Glupschaugen confused with an imaginary, flashing question mark on the forehead, verständnislos ... If they then perhaps still at least silly giggles, because they suspect that what you just said, you may well have to be funny ... But this is scrap! Since missing but the Major ounce of 'more'! "Gregor muttered to herself when he was in the boiling water tipped his cup." The lust for the female body, but in a much larger and broader appeal rise ... The only makes a woman desirable, or not? Am I really too idealistic? Is this already too much to ask? "'s Own, he had that right thinking, a priori, the" target group "tremendously reduced.
And his track success in recent years, but a little from the eyes had lost. Jörg would already know what he did. Moreover, it was finally his life. And that was how Gregor easily find sighing had for some time but much more exciting than his own. Raindrops clapped incessantly against the window, have come together and ran a turbid tears down the disc. Television wanted Gregor not to read, he was after rough day at work too tired.
As a graphic designer in one of the major advertising agencies should Hamburger he is a new logo for the airport Fuhlsbüttel design. It should be fresh, cheeky and concise, curious, and a Backward aircraft, a runway and a rising sun should it be seen. Twelve designs he had abgerungen PR-Chef and the airport operator sent. Dr. Achenbach. This was not a rudimentary promised. Arroganter Ignorant!
"It removes something from the fight against the Don Quixotes windmill," Gregor thought, and began a smile, the obese PR-Chef the airport than with the poor rudernde pinstripe suit Windmill present: Trinity with his chin, fleeing, fettglitzernden forehead with the almost on the back of the head reclusive, gray hair melierten approach, with its borderless, deliberately on the most deeply held high nasal tip geschobenen glasses. These opaque buttermilk this view. His mostly brown suits combined it with great determination in shirts and ties impossible patterns and color combinations, in which sight is almost grauste Gregor. At the same time, Dr. staged Achenbach is like as art patrons and glared at angelesenem openings with half knowledge, was also allegedly flew to London to access an auction for a genuine mitzubieten Magritte. Probably was Dr. Achenbach said at the exhibition opening been on the Jörg and Janine had learned to know. Probably had his unsachverständigen, erzkonservativen eyes especially big outcry in the Missgeschickliche view.
"Arroganter Kackschnösel", it escaped Gregor, ears back in the chair, the hot cup of coffee on the upper floor. Small Wutfunken glommen in on him. Especially disdainful Schnösel like Dr. Achenbach vermaledeite were the reason why Gregor's social life in recent times quite often to the benefit of unnecessary work had come back. A point that was more than angry aufstieß.
Contrary to his gönnerischen gesture, the universalgebildeten Nimbus, the Dr. Achenbach anknipste before leaving the house, on the way to public events, left his office only on large artificial intelligence. Mainly hung fuzzy aerial photographs of the airport grounds or exterior views of the terminals on the white, cool walls. And yet the brightness made an arc around the room, the gloomy interior decoration klobige-fearing, simple dark cabinets (solid oak), in which a family photos (provided), golden framed. In a Black Forest cuckoo clock, in addition to a black steel shelves with files folders. On his desk lungerte a miniature replica of the Sphinx from lapis lazuli. "Did my mother brought from Egypt." Had Achenbach purred-Gregor then nodded approvingly, his subconscious to start wondering and faded away only to a related connection between mother and Sphinx recalls.
Part III follows shortly in this theater ...
The first part saga
The altersmüden iron springs of his Ohrensessels quietschten as Gregor had to fall. "If you have what could only smear," he grumbled. Then again spread the previous silence. Schlaff and sluggish Gregor hung in the cushions and stared out the window down. Long minutes. Below: the dark Ereignislosigkeit the street below his apartment. Street lanterns langweilten the regenfeuchten paving stones with their cold light cones, close to densely parked schlummerten small car parked at the kerbside. No hint, no sound.
Even he himself remained motionless, half of a Dämmertraum umfangen, undecided. None of his friends had time tonight, let alone desire, do something about it - although he once previously Feierabend them. Although he had not yet reached Jörg tries. Focusing on one or two of Guinness in "St. Patrick's "meet around the corner, that would be fine ne thing. Gregor loved the dark brew with his moorbrackigen consistency. His fingers huschten on the telephone keypad. Patiently waiting Gregor travels spaces. Then finally.
"Hello? Oh hi, Stephan! Is Jörg also there? ... Who is? ... When Janine? Janine, Janine ... Who is going to the executioner achja again ... .. oh ... . and that's er, I mean ... who are now really? ... Yes, manure, I just wanted to ask him if he ... well, it also does not matter ... nee, was nothing urgent ... . well, do love him nen greeting. "
The sparkling passion, Jörg they felt understood Gregor not. But how both had found each other on the outcome of an opening for contemporary art. Briefly rustled a smile in Mundwinken Gregor. Janine is not interested in art. But she was happy to exhibition openings, because it's free to drink champagne was her favorite drink, which she loved so not least because of drinking "so funny tingling in the nose." This time, they sneaked into the gallery and immediately in the direction of the lean-oriented glasses, in which they are amply served, while the art gallery owner interested in the exhibits brought closer. Fluxus. Sound like luxury, was Janine. And Luxury was exactly her thing.
What Janine was not good, was level. And so they had within a short time nearly a half bottles of sparkling wine in her sparkling glass and poured behind her bandage was with their high-Stöckelschuhen on which they are moving very awkward, as it was sturzbetrunken, stumbled and in the cold buffet offerings. Directly between grits and red Matjesplatte. It had a markerschütterndes Geschepper given, and until they are held, Janine was on the floor, verkeilt wallpaper in the table, on the buffet was draped.
From her flowing, dauergewellten red curls troff grits; In their brief and deeply cut dress klebten evenly Remoulade, shrimp and Ziergemüse. For her décolleté towered the tail of a mackerel. From their own adversity touched by alcohol and woozy, Janine began to laugh hysterically. Rather they have shrieked.
The hochwohlgeborenen visitors to the opening solidified horrified, and threw her reproachfully verständnislose views, rümpften pikiert their noses, turned from happening and tuschelten with excited faces. The only amused by the whole thing was Jörg. Actually on the way to the post, he was only coincidental to the gallery vorbeigeschlurft. Spontaneously, he had the view through the window of his plans umgeworfen, and decided, as Kunstinteressierter but first a look at the newly opened exhibit to throw.
He had a small packet in the arm. That put an old bread knife, which he was raised by his grandmother had inherited. It had a silver handle and concave chases eingravierte fine illustrations of old English roses. Rare, valuable antiquated. Jörg had from the beginning is not liked. It was only years around located in his apartment. Unused. And so he had summarily auctioned on the Internet.
Jörg bent over the still helpless herabgefallenen between the bowls and plates in the trestle trapped, clangorous Janine laughing, and helped her get back on its feet. Suddenly he pulled his kurzentschlossen packet again. He rejected the idea spontaneously, the packet with a knife right now to bring to the post, but it was also started for a couple of shrimp Janines dress to scrape and then pushed her with the knife tip the delicate seafood in the half, verdutzten mouth . "Let us savor the delights on your dress and then each other ways," he had whispered into the ear. His words verhallten not unheard, he took her by the hand and both left under the indignant glances of the other visitors, Janine still uncertain step, the gallery. "I am a Mackerel!" Had they Hinausstolpern hinterhergegrölt the room. Remained understood. They tottered, they giggled, they metal in his arms.
четверг, 25 октября 2007 г.
Others say they would nix. But I got the feeling that someone has hacked into my page and the layout rumgepfuscht. A strange image in the header, beige unterlegter text, very, very strange! When's still with whom it looks like: Schreit! And if it is true, a shame that you can slog unknown bad, especially over the Internet. Maybe everything but just a mistake? !
In the midst of life met him Kornél Esti suddenly. Previously, they were like twins unequal. Then, the schurkige Schlingel Kornél just kicked. How unequal they were equal. For years now heard nothing more from each other, then suddenly. The memory makes confusing phrases and suddenly, it is as if he's never been away.
Here is the gesittete, hardworking and hochanständige writer whose repertoire idea for some time but it is barren and abandoned as weathered mining ghost towns in nordrussischen Arctic Circle areas. There, the mischievous Rumtreiberling, lively source of adventure crazier ideas, a verschmitzter Bohčme, full-genussfreudig obscure projects, and arbeitsfeindlich crazy.
Both complement each other like Ying and Yang. The first is the fist, the other the eye. Fits perfectly. Age and ego, as a couple and yet one. And so rotten it is. One tells erflunkert sparkling and experience reports, the other writes zealously. And so durchtanzen it in the memory almost one dozen amazing stories. Abstruse incidents in train abroad, trips in the city where the truth is told, they roam the goings nichttsnutzige bohčmer Schlauschwätzer in cozy coffee houses, dive into the iridescent charm of Budapest, guzzle insane Erbsummen meet university presidents, nothing can be better than that of public events through seliges Slumbering to shine.
Still, there is a lot more to discover, beschmunzeln and fun to browse in this equally exciting as enjoyable novel full of life, whose witty and eye sharpness today emit less; In Dezső Kosztolányis great work, "A hero of his time. The confessions of Kornél Esti. ", which in the late twenties was, but only in just two years, also appeared on German. Nachwievor Kosztolányi is hardly known nurmehr seething secret here. "A hero ..." One is less stringent than a novel augenzwinkerndes collection of stories, it is, but every single one of them wrapped his own magic, a stunning Cloutier, captivating atmosphere, sensuality without mawkishness, Esprit and wit without platitudes, feinstrichige sketches in detail without losing Intelligence without Besserwisserei.
Thomas Mann was a great admirer of Kosztolányi, Peter Eszterhazy he is "the greatest Hungarian writer," Sándor Márai saw in him his idol. Strangely, he is still barely a concept to someone. But those who know him, and remain mostly rave. During his re-discovery a few years ago, the reviewer wrote the Süddeutsche Zeitung even: "Desző Kosztolányi was a genius, maybe even a god." I will not here cheering Babel Tower building, but everyone here this novel highly try.
Before joy, I almost burst yesterday when I discovered by chance that there are other, previously lost novels around Kornél Esti, who recently appeared. I have no hesitation added. The reading lamp next to my pillow in the next few days longer burn, I durchstreife new Eugenspiegeleien, let me push back on the glittering flow of a language of my favorite authors. For me the discovery in recent years.
Also, losrennen and arrange! Verschlingt him. Laughs that beams bend and break. Badet in almost amazing voice elegance! The süffisante Hintersinnigkeit admired. Maybe it's also for you, perhaps even a hot discovery? Who's interested, you can find more votes.