i am a guy who…
- stands outside the vinyl store at berwick street, listening to the beats played inside, talking to the dude with yellow teeth, a strong smell of old sweat and a fancy basecap. about freshest drum and bass. dude is smoking. in this very moment your personal opinion is way more interesting to me than all the experts combined, i say. and i mean it.
- sits on a deer stand at the edge of the forest, reading field post from a german wehrmacht soldier who was deployed in norway, writing to his family about nothing happening. six pieces of this 1942/43 one way correspondence, bought at unobtrusive flea market.
- has unread items in his “sent” box.
- lies on the cold stairs in the dark staircase of this anonymous apartment-house, waiting, reading leisegang, illuminated by the mobile screen, too lazy to get up and turn the lights on, all too comfortable in this bucket of circumstances. soon to be spoiled anyway by the appearance of a faceless inhabitant.
- wants to breathe under water. even tried it a couple of times. still wants to wake up as drexciyan branchiate creature one day.
- sits on the toilet seat for half an hour trying to figure out whether the rhythm in which the broken bulb above the mirror is flickering is aleatoric or follows some sophisticated system. when the big dances are danced.
- uses the slowest car on the longest track for intensified virtual meditation. future is retro. the next few meters are pixelated.
- wants to fight nature’s disquietude of colors and capriciousness of forms with the syntheticst possible music. and enjoys the failure.
- was the kid that threw a stone at the old grandfather clock he found at the backside of a weathered cabin in the woods, hit the clockface, made the clockhands stop moving and, by that, caused a rain of dead birds.
- uses a random shot of a bull’s head because yeah… a tray full of snap shots in the off-context era.