i would have liked to do a love will tear us apart cover
that's what i did
it was horrible
and i felt unworthy of doing any kind of interpretation of anything at all ever again
with the waves as background noise even more so
good thing there are no recordings of it
i guess the waves would have eaten it anyway
i would have done the same
Auf der anderen Seite des Bedeutungshorizonts.
Und immer noch bin ich der Überzeugung, dass mir solche Sachen nur passieren, wenn sie mir am wenigsten passen.
Und ich sie am wenigsten erwarte und ich sie am wenigsten will.
Und sie mich besser passieren würden, ohne mich zu überzeugen.
Und mir wenigstens meinen Willen lassen und mir nur keine Erwartungen machen.
Dann kommen sie von hinten herangeschlichen und stülpen dir eine Plastiktüte über den Kopf, oder legen dir eine Plastikschnur, eine verstärkte, um den Hals und drücken so lange zu, ziehen so lange fest, bis dir schwarz vor Augen wird und du blaue wabernde, pulsierende Punkte siehst und sogar irgendwie spürst. So, wie wenn man auf die beiden Punkte knapp oberhalb der Augen richtig fest drückt, an der richtigen Stelle. Nur intensiver.
Und, wenn du dann versuchst zu atmen, nach Luft schnappst in dieser Absicht -
And since the whole point is that I just wanna be loved, it makes matters worse.
Because every single cell of my teenagerish anti-postpubescent brain damaged head tells me not to do anything just in order to be loved.
Actually rather to develop tendencies to do things in order not to be loved.
And it's connected to rebellion and not accepting and not wanting and not not not.
Because that is how you put distance between yourself and the world.
And whenever I felt that something came too close to me, I quit it, I stopped it, I cut it off.
And I ran away.
And since fleeing is always an option for the ones lacking courage to either face yourself or another, I did it.
Again and again.
And, basically, to tell the truth, THE truth, it never turned out too well for me.
It only threw me into a phase of re-orientation. I was torn out of my closest environment, I tore myself apart actually, apart from my closest environment or bigger parts of it, chunks.
Like a fabric, a fabric of a pillow case, on which my head has been resting for ages. After the hundredth time of having been washed, it is in the ideal condition to make this comparison work, this metaphor. My environment should represent the fabric, which then, after we agreed on that common basis, rips at some place, not even where the seams are, but right in the middle, well, a bit more to the left really, and then you (me) can dig your fingers in there, and rip out, something, and the threads keep bursting, and not evenly, but rather in such a manner that it ends up shaped almost like a circle. And of course there are loose ends, no clean cuts.
---
OTHER
I HAD THE TIME OF MY LIFE
A GREEN GLASS BOTTLE FILLED WITH CIGARETTE BUTTS
2009-2010
mfg
walk away to save your face
you never were a genius
