winterlove

Sleep, she said.
No, I won´t.

Close your eyes, she cried.
I denied.

But then, I died.

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sin pescado

 

Jetzt will ich einmal tun, was man in einem blog so tut: Über belanglose Dinge schreiben, die keinen Schwanz interessieren, nicht einmal den Autor selbst.

Angeln zum Beispiel.

Eigentlich könnte ich das ganze Bla dann noch bei facebook einstellen, nur macht das Sinn bei meinen Freunden? Der eine ist der Penny Markt ums Eck, der andere der Arsch aus der Grundschule, den ich seit 30 Jahren nicht mehr gesehen habe. Ich habe ihn schon früher gehasst, wahrscheinlich geht’s ihm genauso und er brauchte nur etwas Füllung in der linken Spalte. Keine Ahnung wie er mich im Netz gefunden hat, er fragte mich dann ob ich sein Freund sein will, nie im Leben, dachte ich, stimmte aber zu. Seine Posts lese ich nicht.

Das Bla kürzen und twittern? Liest das denn jemand bei 0 followers? Kann das überhaupt jemand lesen, selbst wenn er es nicht will? Gedanken rausmüllen in realtime, kaum sind sie da werden sie schon von den nächsten überholt, überschrieben, übermatscht.

Nee, dann lieber bloggen, ist cooler und da erwartet man sowieso nix.

Worum ging es nochmal? Ah, Angeln.                                                                                 Ja, ich war mal wieder angeln am Meer. Mit einem Freund. Männer, die aufs Meer starren. Ich habe geangelt, er hat beim Angeln zugeschaut. Die alten Männer und das Meer. Hemingway, der Fuchs, wusste schon was gut ist.                                                   Gefangen habe ich nichts.                                                                                                 Man geht nicht zum fangen angeln. Man angelt weil man einfach mal die Fresse halten will. Weil man nicht antworten oder fragen will und keine Antworten auf Fragen hören will. Kein Bla. Weil man mal nicht in einen Bildschirm glotzen will und man mal nichts kaufen will in irgendeinem Drecksladen. Kein Netz, kein Sex, kein Zeug, kein Geld, kein Phone, kein Ton, kein Food, kein Drink, kein Club.

Angeln ist ein Anti-Event. Ein Minus-Sport. Ein Low-Light.

Meinem Freund, also der, der beim Angeln zuschaute, sagte ich, dass ich ihn beneide. Das sei das ultimative Nirvana. Er sah es anders. Ich glaube, er ist noch nicht soweit, wahrscheinlich fehlt die Routine. Auch nichts tun will gelernt sein.                                   Jetzt bin ich wieder hier und überlege, ob ich mir Angelfreunde bei fb an Land ziehe, wenn schon keine Fische. Oder in Foren gehe auf Angelseiten. So mit Fotofischvergleich, wer hat den dicksten – gefangen, welcher Wurm ist der geilste und welcher Blinker ist der tollste Hecht.                                                                                                                      Einen Namen für meinen Avatar habe ich schon.

Sin Pescado.

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why am I here

Hervorgehoben

Why am I here?

1.   I don´t know.

2.   Maybe at least to do something. In this world everybody complains about bad people, bad weather, bad politics and the self destruction of mankind. Of course all of it is true but – what can I do about it? Go to demonstrate, go to politics, go to the weather forecast? I´m not a teen anymore so I know I do not change things.

This world is not ruled by politicians, by bankers, by bilderbergs or by god. It is ruled by the static flow of our animal human species, billions and billions of little predators only being able to think about themselves. This is the curse of our conciseness. And the motor of our development. We are like little ants, working on a big thing but nobody knows what thing that is. Some ants even turn the other way around, but who cares? And in the end – who rules the ants?
What is really left from Caesar, Hitler or Einstein? Even Jesus died, as far as I know. So do I lil´ ant really believe I can change something? I´m even older now than Jesus ever got, so what?
Everybody´s life is just a bunch of moments – moments lost in time like tears in the rain.
So I try to keep some of them, for a little while.

3.   Maybe to express myself. I think everybody has that wish to do so. Some people talk, some people sing, some people are uploading weird porn from themselves. Communication is actually a one way ticket, it is all about love me, hate me but, hey, please at least fucking realize me! I´m one of that billion ants. I live for this second and I die soon, so see me. I only can see myself, so if you don´t see me, I´m not here, not even for this second.
So, as uploading weird porn from myself is not really my thing, it sounded like a nice idea to make some sort of a blog in the internet. I can say what I want, show what I want and I don´t even have to look into your eyes. I don´t even know if there are any eyes watching this. This is freedom. And as I don´t go for a wall street career any more, I don´t even have to fear that some future boss is googling me just to tell me that he is never ever hiring a crazy bastard like me.

What am I doing here?

1.   I don´t know.

2.   I don´t have a plan, but I´m planning to show some of my photos, which is a bit of my heart blood. I might write down some things, ideas, stuff that falls out of my mouth before I can swallow it.
And I also will steal things. I´m not that genius and neurotic enough to sit here the whole day producing masterpieces of timeless value. Others did this before, so I might get a collector of some of it, just to keep it a little more in the presence, like some people collect stamps to show the world what wonderful little papers have been created in, let´s say, South-East India, 1932. Well.
To collect things from somewhere is also a kind of expression of yourself (remember?), together the parts will get a whole picture of – what? Me?
Maybe.

As you can see, I will write here mostly in English. Why? Well, first of all I used to sing in a Rock Band and so I am used to use English for it is the language of modern music. And I like it.
Second, it is the international code, not that I am expecting chinese philosophers visiting this site, but it is easy to learn and almost any idiot is able to speak or write it. And at least from my side, my mistakes are not that obvious. So if you find some, keep them and get happy with the feeling that you are a much smarter son of a bitch than I am.
And in the end, talking in a non-native language is also a little hiding yourself. I´m not walking naked in the streets so I also do not go public with all parts of my personality. But
some of it I might not spell in German but I might in English. The real hard stuff I gonna spell in Kiswahili. Next year.

Where do I go to?

So how long will this page exist and how long will I work on it? I guess you are guessing the answer: I don´t know. Maybe I get fanatic about it and I feed it my whole life. Maybe I stop tomorrow. Maybe the internet police will arrest me for using terms out of a book from Raymond Chandler or a movie from Ridley Scott. Maybe my host kicks me out for not paying him anymore or he starts paying me for staying.
Or it will be here for a thousand years. Maybe it is already here since a thousand years.

Do you know the day today?

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Under construction

This is still under construction, so if you want to complain, fuck off and have a nice day. Otherwise you are free to come back soon and check for updates.

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