Monday, February 28, 2011


Schmetterling tanz

Im Flügelkleid                            für mich 
Mit sanften                  Wellenschlägen  
 Durchbrich       die starren Räume  
Tanz durch    meine Träume
Hinab in meine Seele
Dort spüre ich

Sunday, February 27, 2011


Philosophy’s puissance embitters to nuisance
Torn between devil and deep blue sea
Scylla’s six heads, Charybdis’ esurience
Oh, ravenous plight! Why devour me?

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Pick a Tree

   Ever felt like you haven't really figured out yet what to do with your life  but there is no point in musing too much about it  right now and anyway everyone needs to sleep from time to time and tomorrow is a new day? 
Last time I was sleeping a fairy came to me saying „Hey, you are doomed.”
  “Yes”, I said, “I know.”
“No”, she said, “I don’t mean mankind, I mean you.”
  “Yes”, I said, “I know.”
“No”, she said “I mean you are supposed to turn into a tree tomorrow.”
  “Really? Why that?” I asked.
"Oh, no special reason", she said "it's just that tomorrow it's your turn." 
   "No, I mean, why a tree?", I pointed out.
“Because all of you are turning into trees when you die, didn’t you know that? I thought that was why you so rigorously chop down the woods?"
  “Nope”, I said, “that we do because we are doomed. Same reason behind starting a war or starving people I guess.”
"Hmm ...", she was puzzled. "Anyway”, she said, “I like your ears. So, I let you choose. Either you live one more year and then turn into a tree or tomorrow it will be.”
  “What kind of tree?”, I asked, because there is no way in the world I would ever want to end up as a Christmas or topping out tree.
“You choose”, she said, “that's the point. It’s up to you. Otherwise I could just as well turn you into a tree right now. Choose wisely. Whichever tree it may be, you have one more year to figure it out.” Then she disappeared.
  When I woke up this morning I was not sure whether I dreamt or it was true, but there was a golden hair on my pillow, so I suspect that in one year time I might turn into a tree. Nothing special about that, because, as the fairy said, one or the other day we all are going to. 
   The difference is, now I know, and there is only one more year to go. And I need to make a choice. I have never been good at making choices though. I have never thought about what sorts of trees exist in the world either. What will I be? Let me see ... maybe an oak tree, or a birch tree, ... or a chestnut tree, ... a tropical tree, ... or an African Baobab, ... a Giant Sequoia, … oh boy, why she gave me only one more year? There are so many possibilities, I at least need two years to look up each and every one of them ... Sugi ... Manna Gum ...

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Forget About the Intercom

Los Granado, La Gomera
  What if the doorbell rings every day and as soon as you go for it there is nobody to be seen? Ignore it? Answer it? Speculate who it may be? 
   One cannot handle ghosts every day. I don't believe in ghosts. I don't believe in signs either, but the intercom never works. Switching off the bell means not hearing friends coming over, which is okay once in a while, but everyday? Whoever it may be, by no chance any ghost is that persistent to ring the bell for ever and a day. Or is he? 
   Today I might still go for it. Tomorrow we may see. While working out whether I go for it or not, I might as well just get rid of the intercom. There may be reasons why it never works. 

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Beam me up Scotty!

   Well, it's not a new insight that, no matter what, in the end all and every thing is doomed to tumbling into a black hole. What to make of it if anything? Question all there is? Quit work? Restart? Jump off a space shuttle?  
   Because e-ve-ry-thing is pointless
   Even the very existence of a black hole causing all this pointlessness: pointless
   Suddenly immersion seems to be quite an attractive idea. If only I could become part of the Star Trek crew. Access to the holodeck would be granted for free.
   Now what? 
   Making choices is all one can do. We are the ones creating the holodeck: Reality is what we make it. Poetry. Dance. Art. Nature. Beauty. Love. Passion. Life. Doesn't sound too bad to me. Incredibly intriguing actually. Still pointless?
   Hmm. Maybe. But it means a whole lot to me. And pointlessness may be the key.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Thridteen Possible Side Effects of PhDism

  1. You may feel like you went out for a walk and missed the sign for marathon.
  2. You may make a list of ten things to do and do them all ... not today. But tomorrow! Or the day after, better today or tomorrow or ... let's PROCRASTINATE!
  3. Facebook has a log-out button?! (You might as well wonder about the log-in button).
  4. You may feel like screaming (or bursting into flames).
  5. You may feel like strangling someone (you may imagine human dartboard cards too).
  6. Okay, let's find THE theory (if you don't find it, just go to the movies, that might help, if not you at least haven't spent the evening pondering on it).
  7. You may find out talents you never knew you had. Maybe you are a sky diver, cannonball or astronaut. (If you don't find any, you might as well just found a company, or start a family).
  8. You may feel like night but it is day or is it night? Doesn't matter, there is only light after the deadline, which is before the deadline, which is ... GO TO BED AND SLEEP!
  9. Where are your friends, and if they ask, what will you tell them about your progress and what it is that you do? (If you haven't spoken in a while due to deadlines, see rehearsing for it as an excellent opportunity to recover your voice).
  10. You may end up explaining the universe and its existence but not have a clue. What is reality? And is it true? Objectively? Subjectively? What is it that you think you think you do?
  11. You may question any reason behind doing a PhD ... if at all, does it make any sense ... does it not ... does it ... or not ... and is it of any importance whether it does or not ... if not at all, why not, and if at all, why not not ... aah, just SKIP that part and KEEP GOING! Or maybe not? NO, just KEEP GOING!
  12. And the most vicious one: You may end up doing nothing at all because there is just too much to do, which again leads to point number two.

~ d~y

yesterd~y p~thetic ~p~thetic
tod~y ~p~thetic p~thetic
wh~t ~ difference ~ d~y c~n m~ke

Saturday, February 19, 2011


Lese an manchen Tagen Wolfgang Herrndorfs Blog, so auch heute. Arbeit und Struktur. Mitreißend sein ernster Humor. Seit Mitte Januar gibt es keinen Eintrag mehr. Ich kenne ihn nicht, sein Tumor tickt schon ziemlich laut. Er lebt, zumindest steht bei Wikipedia nichts anderes.

Ich hoffe, er füllt den Blog in Schüben. Erst schreiben, ein paar Szenen überdenken, vielleicht Namen streichen, dann veröffentlichen. Mein Wunschdenken. Hoffnung gibt es höchstwahrscheinlich nicht, vielleicht sollte es besser bald als qualvoll enden. Doch ich bin unverbesserlich, kann man da nicht noch was machen? Nein, kann man nicht. Falls er dies je liest, hoffe ich, dass er allein schon aus Trotz länger lebt. Aber wieso schreibt er nicht? Er veröffentlicht ganz sicher in Schüben ...

Bin jetzt in Kapitel vier; er hat eine Exitstrategie. Psychohygiene nennt er das. Ziemlich schlau, sollten wir alle häufiger betreiben, dann vergeudeten wir unsere Zeit nicht mit so viel Mist. Der Tod ist in seinem Blog allgegenwärtig, in meinem ist er es nicht, aber wer weiß. Mein Tod ist nicht weniger wahrscheinlich, seiner ist nur genauer prognostiziert. Spätestens wenn ich mit seinem Blog durch bin, ist er der Prognose nach tot. Ich bemühe mich, seinen Blog äußerst langsam zu lesen.

Friday, February 18, 2011


Bringe immer die Zugzeiten durcheinander. Musste letzte Nacht wieder eine Ewigkeit am Hauptbahnhof abhängen. Spiele dort mittlerweile Spielchen, Treppe rauf, Treppe runter, Rolltreppe, irgendetwas Warmes kaufen, manchmal Kaffee, gestern Pommes Mayo, schrecklich versalzen, lehne mich ans Seitengeländer, schaue den Zügen von oben beim Einundausfahren zu, dann umdrehen, Menschen sind immer unterwegs, die Leute wandeln nachts im Bahnhof fast im Schlaf,  Somnambulie, nicht nur nachts, die Kälte zieht an den Beinen hoch, hatte vergessen, mich warm genug anzuziehen, Jeans, Socken, Sneaker, Salz macht durstig, die Kioskschlange ist lang, Fußballfans, HSV, St. Pauli hat gewonnen, eine Cola für die Rückfahrt, für die Fans gibt's Bier, diese scheiß Fußballfans ruft einer, laufe einmal um den Bahnhofsblock, wo sind die Penner, ein paar schlafen immer in der Unterführung zur Innenstadt, heute ist da nur einer, über mir leuchten riesige Reklameschilder, Überladung bis zum Gehtnichtmehr, auf der Seite zur Kirchenallee gibt es ein Café, das mir vorher noch nie aufgefallen ist, sieht okay aus aber teuer, ist jetzt eh schon zu, im Fenster zum Zeitungsladen liegt eindutzendmal Psychologie Heute aus, sagt das etwas über den Zustand der Gesellschaft aus, ich versuche mit meinem Handy die nächtliche Bahnhofsstimmung einzufangen, gelingt mir nicht, werde später zu Hause alle Aufnahmen löschen, ausnahmslos. Endlich kommt der Zug.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Feather riddled coats

Who bestowed
feather riddled coats
on birds
instead of fur

All comes down
to thetic rules
of gravity,
endless eventuality ----,

Flying bird
sing your secret
mocking all that gravity
brave it
with your song

Monday, February 14, 2011

Valentine's Day

   The other day, I met a guy who studied mathematics and electrical engineering when he was young. Though these people digging themselves deeply into numbers always trigger some sort of excitement and admiration in me, there’s nothing special about meeting a number chap like him. 
   He was homeless, though. That’s odd. Maybe not that odd after all, but it has kept me busy thinking for more than a week. He liked me and gave me a present, a magazine worth more than six bugs which he was supposed to sell in the streets. 
   Now, getting a present from a homeless person, that’s odd. 
   It’s cold outside. It’s snowing and freezing. Giving me this magazine without making me pay might keep him from buying a warm cup of something. Today it’s Valentine’s Day. I got a magazine. What has he got?

Friday, February 11, 2011

frailer than snow

traces fade in summer snow
catch a glimpse of me in the window
within your second
I am beyond time, frailer than snow
could I melt, I took your marvel
down to the river and laid my tremble 
in waterside’s sands

Zarter als Schnee

Spuren verblassen im Sommerschnee
sieh auf, ich stehe am Fenster
in deiner Sekunde, zeitenlos
bin zarter als Schnee
Könnte ich schmelzen, ich trüge dein Staunen
hinunter zum Fluss und legte mein Zittern
in sandige Ufer


to come off the wall
some heavy things fall