Hack attack?

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? !

It is not enough to have no thoughts.
It is also unable to express them.
(Karl Kraus)

A hero of his time

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.

A man, a car - an expiration date?

Meanwhile, K.I.T.T. Probably no more TÜV.

The Un-Tag TM (I)

Unverhofft sometimes more often than you think, in general, if you are not so profitable. Insgeheim scrawls one secret wishes, desires and expectations in mental Kladden, look again into the daily routine becoming thicker book of the past experience, and tries to guess what might come. Once the expected future to the present, and experienced little later, the past has experienced, is adjusted. What I hoped for and expected? What happened, what is not? What surprises are hit because one chance in the sandbox can not play? At the end of periods ends to look back on the experience - inventory, räsonierendes Resümieren, the bottom line is zurechtgezogen. Does today's one or the other. Yesterday also, and even before that a lot. But what is not happening to me today?

I am not hornbebrillten Schnurrbartträger in violet robe met Felt, the Apricot from the shirt collar looked.

I have no unexpected invitation for a lobster buffet by the government of Pseudowinzstaates Sealand.

I said that, despite the bear forces and hands as Kneifzangen not broken faucet.

There were not suddenly a rescue ring of a pack DGzRS tacks, or a rosemary - whirlpool-tablet in a red aluminum foil in the refrigerator.

Ulla Kock on Brink is not on our apartment door jingled to-Window-Color image with manure Fork's motives for the fight against the dying forest to sell.

Something had changed since he last through this door was kicked. But he helped himself Kopfkratzen initially not strong on the jumps.

On the evening aloud

Sometimes miners working underground. Entsteigen then at the end of the layer to the elevator, bonded hauchfeiner dust the skin pores, a certain similarity to coffee powder is not always deny. Maybe drink miners also like coffee. At least from time to time. This is not too much-needed thoughts on the relationship of Röstbohnengebräu unteridischen tunnels and bubbled in my brain, when I am in the queue in front of the "Miner's Coffee" einreihe.

Density Drängelschlangen before neuschicken coffee bars are not commonplace in Munster. Rather whistled the sparrows from the rooftops that the Nestor, Doyen and the German Zarathustra column matters, the bad haferstichlige Glossenschreiberlinge, Harald Martenstein stone, between coffee beans and milk foam for a reading colony. Together with Radio Q, the Uniradio, they have the famous writer Ling of the Tagesspiegel and the TIME for the "Poetry night" after Munster piloted.

Inside there Gewusel. I-Books are up, headphones squeeze at the apex. Finally, the reading live on the airwaves, and then even to download on the website. Champagne will be served. Feedback loops are humming, a champagne glass fragments when someone in the audience wants to keep shut their ears and forget that the hand up to date Prosecco Hold been used. The audience coos and burbles bunt confused.

Unlike Blogger readings here, however, is "Bunte- or gala ^blogging" TM nonsense. Who also on the reading and watch who is whom do not yet taken but positively or negatively amazed, who, you know what I said and did, who came with whom and who is at the bottom with whom heimgeht interested this is hardly, except myself because hardly anyone knows someone of those present.

And now comes the Masters, briefly anmoderiert, shuffles from the Angestellten-WC, where he was allowed to maintain his audience. Strip needles on its anthracite suit, nice beard umfusseln lausbübische the smile of his lips, his eyes glisten keck. His voice knarzt rough. And, even though he did not smoke and cigarette shop in India around the corner in Berlin just bought lighters, because the owners welcome him to always be kind umschnurrt. Unprätentiös, and wonderfully self gewitzt he spins the threads between its texts, garnished with anecdotes.

A good inventor, he is not, he says. But an everyday eagle-eye. With schwungvollem stroke he outlined the bizarre Duscharmaturen between madness and auto workshop. The Berliner knödeligen meat salesperson, the purchase of a mozzarella salad verhageln or the horrified Karstadt saleswomen glances when the well-heeled customer standing with the premium Happy-Digit - card suddenly double grain purchases. He reported unsuccessful effort to Hipness thanks to the guns to him the fate pfefferte between the legs in an attempt, in Kreuzberg to Coke to come to it at least one time even tried to have. Also, why he prefers in Munster than in Berlin would buy shoes. Only thanks to him we are thinking about whether Hitler may have problems with dry feet, and where the relationship between the Internet and penis size is.

Whether he actually almost a Stückchenpfütze on the Frühstücksfernsehmoderationstisch by Thomas Koschwitz would leave after his foot with moisturizing cream teeth cleaned, or whether it only has seen too much Amélie, disturbs no great spirit. The diaphragm quivers in prestissimo. His wit and edgier nonchalanter peppiness accelerates the time. Holterdipolter, it is already gone. Much too fast.

The audience falls on the books table, squeezes in front of the lectern to Sigi kidneys. Please for Eva. Can you write that I am your biggest fan-so I think my biggest fan Harald? Gieriger turmoil. Elongate arms, hands grapschen. When I suggested to Bauchhöhlengegrummel. Time for the predator gastric feeding. Maximum amuses me leave the coffee refill and make me on the way into the dark night. Once Q Radio on its homepage reading than the recording download has made, I will be there with me on a board ban. Because war's toll.