And what do you bring to the table?

If I would meet you in an empty place, with noone around, with nothing around..... who would you be?
If I would shave your head and take off that jeans jacket you love to wear frequently, pull off that shirt of your favourite band, ... who would you be?
If your skin was blank, with no ink and no scars telling stories, who would you be?
If I would meet you afar from that busy hometown you live in, despite your job, with no hierarchy, your economic success, your position in society, would I recognize you?
And who would you be without your possessions and connections?
What would you bring to the table in an empty space?
The horse you came in on?
Your thoughts? Your ideas? Your emotions and perspectives? Your abilities and talents?
Feathers?
Who would you be if you would have to stand for yourself?

I m so tired of masquerade.....

Mut vor Handwerk, auf ewig

„Wenn Sie eins wählen könnten, welches würden Sie nehmen, junge Frau?“ Fast prallt die Brille des kleinen Mannes vor meine Nase, während sein schütteres Haar vor meinen Pupillen schwebt. „Aber nur eines!“  Sein Aufzug aus olivgrüner Cordhose, weißem Hemd und braunen groben Schuhen wirkt etwas antiquiert, mit den brauen Hosenträgern jedoch durchaus charmant. Trotz seiner geschätzten 80 Jahre finde ich ihn süß. „Den Ringelnatz aus dem Erdgeschoss. Den Dachgarten der Irrsinnigen würde ich nehmen. Da brauch ich gar nicht zu überlegen.“ Als erstes Bild begrüßt es den Besucher in der Ausstellung. Es könnte auch von einem Grundschüler gefertigt sein, wären die Motive nicht so absurd. Erbrechende Alkoholiker an einer Tafel, Seiltänzerinnen mit blanken Po, Monster und Stelzenläufer, Menschen beim Sex, Menschen bei der Masturbation, ein Akkordeonspieler und der gesichtslose schwarze Mann. Die Runde ist illuster und wir sind eingeladen.

„Sie mögen wohl die Sonntagsmaler.“ Das trifft es nicht ganz. Nicht die Sonntagsmaler mag ich, sondern die inneren Dämonen und den Mut sie trotz mangelnden Handwerkes mit anderen zu teilen. Gerade in einer Zeit, in der jeder viel zu bemüht eine digitale Idealversion seines Lebens bastelt, erscheint Ringelnatz Ehrlichkeit außerordentlich. Zu zeigen, was einen bewegt und antreibt, egal wie grotesk, erscheint mir mutig. Nicht, dass Ringelnatz nicht malen könnte. Kaum ein anderer schöpft die Instrumente von Farbe und Raum so ergreifend aus. Er entführt uns über die neblige See und in düsteres Dschungelgestrüpp und teilt seine Seeabenteuer in vortrefflichem Handwerk. Hier erlaubt sich sein Kind-Sein. Er schert sich nicht um Proportion und Mittel, nicht um Perspektive oder Sinn. Er ist all das und daran ist alles richtig. Er ist der stuhlwerfende Irre auf der Cabaretbühne. Er ist der einsame Seemann am steinigen Ufer. Er ist aber auch der ausgestoßene Missverstandene, der Trinker, der Einsame.

„Ja malen können die, diese Kunststudenten. Das Handwerk an Kunsthochschulen für teuer Geld erschlichen. Das täuscht über den Geist hinweg.“ Er scheint mich zu verstehen und nickt.

„Dämonen...... ja ja Dämonen. Den Dachgarten also. Sollten Sie einen Komplizen brauchen, ich stehe Ihnen zur Seite. Auf drei rennen wir.“ Eine versöhnliche Begegnung. Ich bin mir sicher wir sehen uns wieder.

halve the hippo

Well, I halved the hippo so I´m not scared of you anymore....

Truth and dare: speak your mind

Why is it so hard for us to speak our minds? At least in a sober condition....? A few drinks usually help to loosen the tongue. That´s probably why kids and drunk people are supposed to tell the truth. But why is it that we struggle so much with beeing honest, although we claim so much to do so? Why can´t we say straight ahead what we want and what we think? Is it not to protect others or not to hurt ourselves?

To me it happens on a daily base. While my mind thinks "I miss you and I want you all over me" what I actually say is usually "what´s up?". The situations are countless. Friends who don´t keep promises or dissappoint me I usually want to spit all my hurt feelings right in their face. But "it´s alright" ususally wins. Here are some examples with translations:

  - I like you = you re so hot I want to eat you alive / damn, you´re way smarter than me

  - I´m not in the mood today = I know I´m only your second best alternative and that´s not enough

  -  we´ll do it another time = you must really think I´m heellla stupid

  -  congratulations = you did not move one finger to deserve this, bitch, you just got lucky

  -  he´s nice = your boyfriend is so dumb

  - I really don´t know him = we fuck occasionally but that´s none of your business

  - I´m sorry I got so much work to do = I´d rather masturbate in the tub than waste my time on that bs

  - I´m really sorry = i really think you suck and I´m not sorry at all

    

Very rarely establishing an honest behavior becomes part of my reality. Towards really good friends I would admit that I can´t stand them this very moment, that it´s hard to like them because of their actions. Also sharing needs and wishes with people I appreciate takes place. "I would really like you to bite my neck", "could you pleace fuck me reckless", "I feel dissapponted and random when we are not in touch for weeks. please don t do that". VERY rarely.

To be honest you have to be brave enough to stand a nother persons reaction. And this might not be what you wish for or imagine. And that´s actually fine! As it´s not gonna kill you or them. It´s better and also easier to deal with something real, something visible than with thoughts inside peoples heads. It gives them opportunity to actually react, to recognize your perspektive and take care of your needs, maybe even fullfill your fantasy. You´ll figure out a way, does not matter if it´s good or bad. And when people ask me tomorrow what I did on new years´ eve I´ll tell them: I hate new years parties and spend the evening with comic books, codein and popcorn and it was great.

Happy new year everyone!

FAQs

1. Pinkeln andere auch in die Dusche? 
2. Wie umständlich ist Intimrasur für belaibte Menschen und Schwangere?
3. Wieviele Menschen vögeln die Menschen, die ich vögel, während sie mich nicht vögeln?
4. Haare grau wachsen lassen oder färben?
5. Die 50-50 kaufen oder Kaugummi?
6. Ist es dekadent Pfandflaschen am Bahnhof stehen zu lassen?
7. Was ist ekliger : Kot oder Kotze?
8. Wie oft darf man stinkende Sportklammoten noch tragen?
9. Ist es ok vorm Bewerbungsgespräch zu trinken?
10. Ist Star Wars wirklich so gut?
11.  Wenn ich die Freundin meines besten Freundes kacke finde, finde ich ihn dann indirekt ebenso kacke?
12. Sind mir Brain-Komplimente lieber als Titten-Komplimente?
13. Wie oft kann man Seinfeld Folgen gucken, eh sie nerven?
14. Ist Zeit wichtiger als Geld?
15. Wäre Sophie Scholl ein guter Hangout?
16. Wie groß wäre mein Penis, wenn ich ein Mann wäre?
17. Wäre ich lieber blind oder taub?
18. Was sollte ich noch studieren?
19. Ist der Kater am nächsten Morgen schlimmer als sich auf der Party zu langweilen?
20. Weiß meine Apothekerin, dass ich Vomex nur für mich kaufe?

Tuna and depression - clean up before you leave

If there is one thing in the world I promised myself NOT to do, it´s that I would not kill myself. No matter how heavy the feeling, no matter how dark the path or hopeless the future, I would NOT kill myself. 

When I was eleven years old I watched my mum die of an overdose. I found her after school on the kitchen floor. Foam was dripping down her chin on her pale chest, emphesizing the maple white colour of her skin. The blood running from her nose making its way to her bright red lips. Magnifizent I thought, how she managed to chose almost the same colour for her lipstick. She had cleaned up the kitchen. I could not decide weather to admire the blinking kitchen sink or her flipping body and the little shocks running through it. I stood frozen, not sure how to react. Two deep breaths, three deep breaths later I took two pieces of bread. With the orange kitchenknife I smeared a thick  layer of maionaise on it. Hell yeah, I made myself a tuna-sandwich.  Then I called my dad. 

"Just go to your room", he said with a calm clear voice, "it´s gonna be fine". I knew he was right, it would. Upstairs I opened the lid of my record player and put on Jefferson Airplane. Sitting on my knitted bedcover, chewing tuna and bread i watched the black vinyl spin. There were no more noises from downstairs.
She had chosen pills. There were various of them everywhere in the house. Some to calm her down, some to make her sleep, some to wake her up and some to allow her to think other than dark thoughts. She never cooked meals but pills we always had. Since I can remember she was fighting beeing soaked in this spiral of dark and negative thoughts. She had stopped slicing up her skin but never stopped slicing up her soul.

Thinking of her death was soothing. She would not have to struggle anymore with the exhausting things of daily life like getting up, getting dressed, leaving the house.... I heared the doorlock and my dead calling an ambulance. He did not cry, he did not scream. 

Climbing down the stairs I could see him kneeing next to her. Gently he ran his fingers through her dark hair, wearing a warm smile on his face. The sunlight danced on the kitchen sink. "Look, she s finally in peace. Ain´t it beautiful?", he said. 

It´s funny how even nowadays tuna sandwiches and blinking kitchen sinks would remind me of my dads smile and my mums suicide. Things did not change much afterwads, they just went on. But I would never kill myself. I would never kill myself, because I did not believe him that she was in peace.

asymptote - agreeing in difference

People are great. Honestly! Pretty much everyone. I like the kind ones, but way better I like the mean ones, the difficult ones, the jerks and monsters. The reason for this is a pretty simple one: i consider them different from myself. Some show differences in a positiv way, some just scare the living crap out of me. The greater the difference the better. There is literally nothing I could be less interested in than people simular to myself. Just like you or probably most people, I m very aware of and familiar with my own disfunctions, failures and triggers. So there is nothing exiting about that. Therefore people with a completly different and alien mindset attract me a lot. There is a lot to learn and figure and and understand. Challange is attractive. There s no need to agree with their views, positions and argumements but it is a clear reminder these perspectives exist and are to be respected. 

The approach towards these people is always very exiting. I personally have a very hard time beeing open and honest and trust them. It s a good exersize. And to be honest: usually I just stay at a safe distance. But with some of them it s a mysterious spiritual connection. It s like finding a negative, your aenima. The combination would build something whole, something round and complete. It took me some time to understand that respect and appreciation of the others exitence was the reason for this. This offers a solid foundation for a dialogue, a discurs. And while observing and understanding, the two positions move closer and distance shrinks. Like two curves in an axis of abscissas. But people are people and noone is free of angst. A minimum amount of mistrust will always remain. And just like an asymptote we move closer and closer in time, never crossing. As we are not brave enough to stumple into each others beeing and accepting completly.  It s a soothing but at the same time sobering metaphor. What instruments or circumstances would be necessary to manage this remaining distance? Should anyone have ideas or proposals for turning an asymptote into a tangent, please feel free to write. Collision is probably something harsh, but at the same time it sets free a lot of enery. It would be a waste not to use it.