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so ist das leben. so kenne ich es.

es ist st?ndig, als w?rden die Bust?ren vor der Nase zuschlagen, die S-Bahn losfahren, als ich gerade auf den T?r?ffner dr?cke...

das, was mich am meisten in meinem st?rt, ist tats?chlich die Entt?uschung. Diese grenzenlose entt?uschung und dann die leise frage: Ist das Alles?

Man wirft mir vor, dass ich grenzenlos pessimistisch bin.
seriously... wenn ich optimistisch denke, gibt's einen Schlag nach dem n?chsten... na ja, als ?berzeugter Optimist w?rde's dann auch nicht so weh tun.

whatever.

its ... sometimes... quite disturbing.


wenn man im Auto sitzt... die Dunklen Alleen passiert, stumme H?user, einfach pure Finsternis und dann das Mozart-Requiem im Radio beginnt... oder eines dieser wehleidigen, ?lteren SIlly-Lieder... that's just ... was ich am Leben liebe.
Ich liebe das Leben wirklich, so sehr, dass es oft wehtut.

i guess, this is not my day.
gab
4.1.04 18:06


Sylvia Plath.
(ein Gedicht, das die Lady provoziert)

The Ghost's Leavetaking

Enter the chilly no-man's land of about
Five o'clock in the morning, the no-color void
Where the waking head rubbishes out the draggled lot
Of sulfurous dreamscapes and obscure lunar conundrums
Which seemed, when dreamed, to mean so profoundly much,

Gets ready to face the ready-made creation
Of chairs and bureaus and sleep-twisted sheets.
This is the kingdom of the fading apparition,
The oracular ghost who dwindles on pin-legs
To a knot of laundry, with a classic bunch of sheets

Upraised, as a hand, emblematic of farewell.
At this joint between two worlds and two entirely
Incompatible modes of time, the raw material
Of our meat-and-potato thoughts assumes the nimbus
Of ambrosial revelation. And so departs.

Chair and bureau are the hieroglyphs
Of some godly utterance wakened heads ignore:
So these posed sheets, before they thin to nothing,
Speak in sign language of a lost otherworld,
A world we lose by merely waking up.

Trailing its telltale tatters only at the outermost
Fringe of mundane vision, this ghost goes
Hand aloft, goodbye, goodbye, not down
Into the rocky gizzard of the earth,
But toward a region where our thick atmosphere

Diminishes, and God knows what is there.
A point of exclamation marks that sky
In ringing orange like a stellar carrot.
Its round period, displaced and green,
Suspends beside it the first point, the starting

Point of Eden, next the new moon's curve.
Go, ghost of our mother and father, ghost of us,
And ghost of our dreams' children, in those sheets
Which signify our origin and end,
To the cloud-cuckoo land of color wheels

And pristine alphabets and cows that moo
And moo as they jump over moons as new
As that crisp cusp toward which you voyage now.
Hail and farewell. Hello, goodbye. O keeper
Of the profane grail, the dreaming skull.

8.1.04 16:32


statusbericht

es ist sp?t und fr?h.

ich wei? nicht ob auch 'zu'...


viel zu tun, zu viel. Das Zeichnen wird eine Weile zur?ckgestellt werden m?ssen. Sighs.
Die Hausaufgaben sind monstr?s.

Daf?r kratives Schreiben in Deutsch, Zensuren laufen, die Leute sind derzeit angenehm. Informatik.

daf?r male ich im TWistED Comic weiter... wenn's auch nur sehr langsam zu Ende geht und ich will das buch endlich zu Ende schreiben... nur noch maximal 15-20 Seiten... sighs...

Kunst ist extrem frustrierend. Pit and Pendulum (Poe) in 5 aufw?ndigen... kartoffeldrucken.
8.1.04 16:34


dont worry, I just want to keep it.

Sylvia Plath
"Child"

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose names you meditate ---
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.
11.1.04 03:33


right now, its a bit empty around here.

though I seem to be knowing, how it's passing on... everything glides away... slides into the void night...

orange light. skelettontrees. if I had a talent for haikus i ld try to do it this way. fortunately, i havent.

right now, i wish to sit in a room with somebody, who understands. just sit and drink a nice cold glass of absenthe... a cup of boiling chocolate... a pot of creamed bayles, watching the flames of the fireplace... slowing down... just embers...

rainfactory.

its a deep feeling right now. i should work on twisted. it would be good under this feeling.

but there is such a lot of stuff, yet to be done...

drew 'absenthe' right now. i like it, though it's technically desaterous. whatever, that doesnt matter.

dosenfutter.

i never want to produce the very named thing - dosenfutter. if im down to producing, i can put myself between two sheets of paper and wouldnt stick out.

im addicted, fucking addicted. i cant stop thinking about that stuff. if i cant draw, i have to write. if i cant write and draw, i get restless, because the big afterwards is staring at me with blank eyes - hey. good idea. i gonna draw this... sometime. though im a little tired of monster-tentacles.

i screwed up the co-production. i cant work both pieces together... it looks like little cloudy pinky sky.

one day, ill be able to draw the sky, i see right out there or to describe the twinkling of light through a full crown of spring-leafs. one day...

i hate it, if the ideas get caught up in the head... and cant be expressed.

geez. egoistic selfpity. well... my diary is left somewhere... i have to...

fuck. it starts moving again. theyre too many.
11.1.04 03:46


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