(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.
“you know” fatrick said, “every random group of people contains a certain percentage of morons – some higher, some lower, never zero. every random group. astronauts, whale watchers, immigrants, flamenco lovers, inuit, vegetarians, argentinians, christians, homosexuals, geography teachers, homosexual geography teachers, buick drivers…”. “i think i got it!”, i interrupted. he looked me in the eyes for a second, then he started grinning mechanically, nodded in satisfaction and continued.
“in return, every random group of people contains a certain percentage of cool guys – some higher, some lower, never zero. astronauts, whale watchers…”. while he continued his mantra he put his hand into the sore depth of his massive triple chin, covered it in a disgusting mix of sweat, aged sebum and burger sauce and splattered all on the back of a young mother pushing a bram. she didn’t notice, turned the corner and i faced fatrick again. “homosexuals” he muttered, “geography teachers, homosexual geography teachers, buick drivers”. “so, the racists are wrong”, i went.
“very wrong”, fatrick replied, looking at his balloon hand drying in the afternoon sun. he was right, i thought later. seyfried swears by this guy.
the framework by now (september 29, 2017)
- two buddies leave big city business for some time off at rural nomansland
- they find a hidden lake next to a forest and not too far from a village
- in the evening they sit next to a campfire at the lakeshore, having some beers / bbq
- night falls, they are drunk and throw stones at something that looks like dead body
- they go to sleep in nearby cabin
- next morning, one dude drives to the village to get something for breakfast
- other dude gets up, goes to the lake, washes his face and notices the dead body
- when the other returns with breakfast, first one is sick and in bed
- the other notices dead body as well and calls police and a doctor for his friend
- police salvages the body, friend is taken to hospital
- dead body is in rather good shape, only wears kind of old fashioned clothes
- body gets analyzed and its ascertained that it is indeed from the 1940s
- lake is being analyzed, water turns out to be toxic
- during this process other bodies appear on the surface, water toxicity increases
- specialists find out that temperature on the ground has risen due to global warming. bacteria started to decompose the bodies and gases made bodies emerge from the depth
- friend’s constitution worsens
- (old) villagers are interviewed about the bodies but remain quiet. it’s obvious that there is some sort of dark secret
- friend dies in hospital
lot’s of unanswered questions still, depends on what genre the thing wants to be filed under
- cause of deaths of lake victims? 1940s? war crime (intoxication)? accidents? suicides? (dark secret)
- reappearance of undead friend?
- lovers couple instead of two buddies?
to be continued…
to get the most authentic feeling, i decided to write this article next to the opened window. snowing outside, minus 2 degrees celsius. even though it was much colder very recently that’s gonna be a cold finger experience for sure. the timespan between the work seasons of 2016 and 2017 will come to an end tonight and since that will also mark the conclusion of another tiny and isolated chapter again, i have to write this article before. as long as this particular mood persists.
those last two weeks included christmas and new year (both as next generation clones of the previous years and therefore not worth to be mentioned here) and a whole lot of healthy idleness (what’s müßiggang in english? primrose path!) which allowed me to focus on some stuff, that was too time eating so far and therefore postponed: long walks, long chats, extended writing, reading, thinking… and sleeping. it’s also the ambient and vaporwave season.
outside frost traditionally creates this magical inner relaxation. the hibernation of my homunkulus makes everything around me hypnotising, inspiring and easily addicting – and everything i do meditative, soul cleaning and… just the right thing to do. actually i have no idea if this unique kind of silence (that in fact functions not nervewrecking but reconstructing) comes from the absence of my tinnitus as result of homunkulus’ sleep or from the fact that the snow blanket really kills all outside noises. maybe both. this clearly remains one of the biggest winter mysteries for me.
i can’t keep this inner peace and calmness alive throughout the upcoming weeks of course. all kinds of daily life routines will wake the homunkulus up again who will instantly start to scream. trying my best to preserve it despite everything. that’s my only resulution for 2017. again. thanks much to everyone involved! ❤
ok, it’s been a while. so let’s get back on track again now. the last couple of weeks flew by with me back to work, walking through the forests around, enjoying the transition of summer into fall, reading murakami and getting caught by his unique and addicting mixture of pretty detailed realism and well dosed breezes of grotesquery.
haruki murakami never was this kind of top level writer for me – mostly because of the extent of his texts and books. didnt read much so far. i mean, i have the the wind-up bird chronicle for years now in my shelf, almost untouched and always kept there for this mythical and vague “later” moment, when there’d be time. only recently i used the ardennes created chill wave to get through this book and i am still benefiting from the mood it created. autumness!
not sure whether to call autumn my favourite season or not. i enjoy it a lot, most of all i enjoy the fact that summer is gone. those months that heated up the incubator of brain eating organisms inside my skull. now it’s peaceful again, regained control so to say – looking forward to winter stagnation probably.
what else happened? i met one of my childhood heroes personally after decades of waiting – the grave digger, i started to get interested in formula e (it’s essential for me that the hype is gone when i dig into something new) and i attended the frankfurt book fair. not sure what will be mentioned in an own post. still enjoying the days and nights… back later.
“nautilus was a liar, a narcisstic impostor. most of the stories he told about himself and his achievements were pure fiction. no doubt about that. nevertheless i liked him and continued hanging around with him. i didnt care about truth. it just wasnt important in this case – i loved the imagery.” (2007)
i’m fucking sensible and receptive to images in general (go check my instagram) – and especially to poetic images. gonna collect and share them in here, which should be no bigger problem since i used every single one of my favourites at least 3 times in different texts and stuff.
first one derives from a story my granny told me several times to explain life – or at least her point of view on it. i simply was too little back then to figure out with certainty whether she really believed in that or not. anyway, here is what she told me:
we’re all born as little sheep and start the journey of our life on a pasture where the grass is cut too short to provide food for us. in order to survive we have to move on. there are two directions – one leads to “day pasture” (tagweide) and another to “night pasture” (nachtweide). everyone of us has to make his choice where to go. on both pastures we find sufficient food and other sheep that are just like us. when we arrive there we’re living our life until we die. there are two different ways to die. on day pasture, we become light and lighter, get off the ground, rising up and finally burn up in sun. on night pasture we become heavy and heavier, a chasm yawnes in front of us, we fall into it and finally are eaten by mother earth.
i thought about this uncountable times, trying to place myself into this most picturesque theories of all. never succeeded really since there still are way too many unanswered questions about it. i dont think that i’d stay on one of the pastures. most likely i’d continuously run from one to the other and back again – and finally dying from hunger somewhere in between. the metaphor of the restless soul. seen all but never really arrived somewhere. at least that sounds like the summary of my first 35 years.
feel free to let me know your interpretation.