[058] the running thing

i don’t know how many times i started, quit, restarted and requit my running. back in school, which is more than 20 years ago now, i quickly understood, that running was something nature built me for: an easy way to get in shape, feel healthy and achieve good results with a relatively low effort. what i’ve always been struggling with though is continuity: good results didn’t matter anymore when i found myself installed at my job. the older i got, the less important physical shape became. when i started to feel too uncomfortable in terms of physique i changed eating habits – or whatever habits. only when that didn’t help anymore, yeah, i restarted running. as soon as i felt good again and was able to run for 2+ hours through beloved kraichgau hills without notable bodily effects, i requit. and so on and so forth.

it’s today when i restarted my running again. so, why do i write about it now? well, it’s different from before. i need to stay on board when i don’t wanna suffer from what the effects of constant high blood pressure might be. simple as that. also new: for the first time ever i own runners that deserve this description.

let’s see where things will lead me to. aside from all the new development, something will never change: as long as i live, i will never join a running community or take part in a marathon or whatever. over the years running perfectly served another essential purpose: it works as a refuge from (over)civilisation.

[058] the running thing

[057] the 13.874th day

“… because memory is what we are”

the idea of the “polaroid” called literary snaphot is ages old. these things though have the highest value for myself in times like these, that’s why i decided to get back to this again a little more.

today i slept pretty much all day. there is a lot falling off of me right now. in the afternoon it started raining, i opened all windows and layed myself on a sleeping-roll in midst of the draft. since i felt the all natural background noise needed little synthetic enhancement i tuned in “24/7 Dark Ambient Music Livestream for Studying Lovecraftian Tomes“. when the rain stopped i opened my eyes again and searched the wallpapers for discolorations of black smoke as a result of the detoxication process of my soul.

prepared myself some non-hipster dinner (fried slices of maultaschen with homemade lecsó sauce) and started processing my watchlist. first stop:

i loved both, but… neither will i study lovecraftian tomes nor listen to nick cave’s music now. it’s just that these things make this moment last and memorable. alongside this small note.

p.s. i could have added a shot of the outside weather quite easily, but you don’t add pictures when the text was first – the text, that represents the inside weather.

[057] the 13.874th day

[055] rebellious music

(autumn evening. single-family house surrounded by nature. daddy and daughter on the corridor. loud music played in her room)

daddy: “i’m curious what music you’ll be listening to when you hit puberty!”

daughter: “i already did… girls usually do at the age of 11 and i am 12!”

daddy: “in your puberty, you’ll listen to music that clearly separates you from the oh so boring adults!”

daughter: “i don’t know any adults listening to sunrise avenue and ariana grande!”

daddy: “no, no. the music i am talking about won’t even be called ‘music’ by the adults!”

daughter: “if so, when does your puberty end?”


in a couple of weeks she’ll turn 13… the party just started i guess.

[055] rebellious music

[052] a guy who… part 1

i am a guy who…

  1. 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.
  2.  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.
  3. has unread items in his “sent” box.
  4. 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.
  5. wants to breathe under water. even tried it a couple of times. still wants to wake up as drexciyan branchiate creature one day.
  6. 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.
  7. uses the slowest car on the longest track for intensified virtual meditation. future is retro. the next few meters are pixelated.
  8. wants to fight nature’s disquietude of colors and capriciousness of forms with the syntheticst possible music. and enjoys the failure.
  9. 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.
  10. uses a random shot of a bull’s head because yeah… a tray full of snap shots in the off-context era.


[052] a guy who… part 1

[048] Waiting for the shock treatment

“it appears like an innocuous illness. monotony, boredom, death. millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. they work in offices. they drive a car. they picnic with their families. they raise children. and then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. some never awaken. they are like the people who go to sleep in the snow and never awaken. but i am not in danger because my home, my garden, my beautiful life do not lull me. i am aware of being in a beautiful prison, from which I can only escape by writing.”

anaïs nin, diary, winter 1931/32


and here we are, again, waiting for the shock treatment…

[048] Waiting for the shock treatment

[047] salad oil 718

most of my instagram shots are containing special memories and stuff what’s naturally not visible for the viewer. it’s just more of a personal thing, let’s call it a clandestine value… treasure chest. but due to the fact that most uploads look kind of cute you’re still free to like them. several times already i asked myself whether or not to tell the story behind the picture (since its a picture, it’s not able to tell the story by itself). but yeah, i postponed that… to today. this particular shot stands for a ton of different things all in one. a variety of mixed (even contradictory in parts) emotions. at least it feels like this…

what it actually is:

it’s a snippet of an advertisement poster for salad oil, done by a guy named jan toorop back in 1894 (i know what this sounds like! but it’s a damn fact. not making this up!). the entire thing can be seen here: rijksmuseum.nl. and since it’s public domain i made a tiny glitched edition.

what it stands for:

this phase of life where everything appears vague, supercomplex and dynamic – but in the big picture, the whole show feels like it’s slowing down, approaching the ultimate stagnation point, the glorious standstill. it’s not the first time i’m experiencing this but it’s the first time i share this with somebody… while listening to the cranberries in a loop.

and here it is, symbolizing truly special days while describing them best:



[047] salad oil 718