It’s feckin‘ Bruges… and ghastly Gent. No, actually it is a tour d’honneur. One of the best short trips I ever made. The March of ideas: Something is trying to tell me someone. I could go on quoting Neil Gaiman but I I leave it at that. Thank you, CK for inspiration and company. Nearly like old times, eh?
A company outing to Stockholm in Mid-September can result in some hard work – but also in some – very tourist, I admit – views of the Swedish Riviera. Like Die Ärzte said: Jag älskar Sverige!
Komm zur Ruhr.
The wild wild West of Germany. Riddled with the remains of the industrial age. Change in the last decades is Green. And RUHR surprises me every time that I visit it. Sadly enough, that not too many pictures made it into this album. But I will work on it. It is not RUHR’s fault…
Since having moved to Düsseldorf in 2011, I started growing a liking to this town. Gradually. In those places where I had to take a second guess. On occasions, when I was taken by surprise. In Düsseldorf, I don’t find places, they find me. I know that sounds sordid, but what the heck, I am cheap.
When heads of states forget that they were chosen to serve the people
And deem themselves irreplaceable,
the Common Sense of our time.
When justice is no longer a good for all but exacted in currency and paid with influence.
When democracy is just a useful tool to establish a regime
by turning an election into a coup d’état
and make it fashionable for the 193 nations‘ club – a serpent among other snakes.
Who would not like to be an honorable juntaman?
Then, it’s foreign aggressors, whenever change is called for and the institutional robbery laid bare,
As if the enemy within a state were not often the elite elect itself.
Then, it’s an internal affair when rulers become erasers.
Backed by profits for those who collect the fortunes of war.
Playing the waiting game – diplomacy becoming a state of war by other means.
Then, those who swore to serve and protect, are asked to only serve.
And government pits its employees against each other to uphold its order,
and Human Rights are left behind and protest’s renamed terror.
Then, societies collide and powerless fear each other more than those who force their coffers open.
And on the news they say the opposition is divided. Unresolved – a farce! How could it not be, when their hunger cries out of a thousand angry throats, whereas united only is the greed in man.
Am Meisten ärgert mich, dass ich den Faden verloren habe,
den Seidenen.
Beim Nadelstiche setzen.
Rot war er, oder nicht?
Er hielt es zusammen, das Kleid des Kaisers. Das neue.
Ich hing an ihm.
Von Weitem glänzte es, wie?
Unabsteigbar waren die Stufen im Glaspalast
auf den (k)eine(r) von uns Steine warf.
Ich stopfe jetzt die Schlupflöcher im Mantel des Schweigens
und umsäume die Ränder meines Winterkleides.
Knüpfe Spitzen am geplatzten Kragen,
klopfe Staub von den Schultern,
male mir Knöpfe auf die Brust
und ziehe meine Kreise auf dem Boden der Tatsachen.
Im Schneidersitz. Beim Hundeplatz.
Ruhig, Brauner.
Weißt Du, ich trage edlen Zwirn beim Schlüpfen
durch die Maschen: Rechts, links, eine(n) fallen lassen.
Ich suche den Fingerhut für’s Glück und
wir plaudern dann im Nähkästchen.
für CB
