recording ghosts

How long is now?

2011-08-17T14:45:00.007+02:00

... Notes on a Protest Movement

I.
These busy intersections, plenty of buses, cars, bikes, pedestrians – all in a rush getting somewhere other than this place. The streets of Tel Aviv know the hum, the honk, the hustle, particularly since the middle of July 2011, when a rather unprecedented level of socio-political awareness started getting a hold of an impressively increasing amount of (predominantly Jewish) Israeli citizens. The streets, Rothschild Boulevard most prominently, now not only know about the hum, the honk, the hustle, but are learning to host all sorts of people’s desiring and demanding calls for a rather blurry concept of “social justice”. Faced with an outrageously high cost of living which forces a lot of people formerly known as a “middle class” to work several jobs and still perceive their lifestyle as precarious, “the people demand social justice” (Hebrew “ha’am doresh tzedek chevrati”) now. And here. Be it during the massive demonstrations in Israel’s urban hubs or peripheral cities, be it in between a circle of tents during a public lecture or over a beer on someone’s terrace – “the people” in its and their heterogeneity talk, discuss, move ideas and engage in lively debates. Whereas during the first weeks of the growing protest movement the media and the struggle’s representatives constantly reiterated an non-political (whatever that may have been), solely social understanding of their plight, more recently the surprisingly non-disappearing connection between Israel being an occupying and oppressive state with a yearly security budget in the billions and therewith lacking financial backing elsewhere, has risen to a non-negotiable (oh, I meant non-negligible, silly) fact on the ground (or rather – in the heads) of this grassroots movement and media representations thereof.

These moments of shifts, these ruptures in societal and socio-political constitutions, they are, one could argue, even more prone to know the hum, honk and hustle accompanying it. Some of these alliterations not only concern language but also are bloody serious, result in burning streets, dead people, and dictators in cages.

Some others are fun. Or rather fun that makes one wonder.

II.
So, there are three actual intersections. Busy ones. Within the bigger context of a seemingly hot-headed, impolite and chaotic – qualities that are unquestionably perceived differently in different places and habitualized forms of socialization. I grew up in Germany, and lived in England – public sphere, which I am currently part of, interrupting the chaotically choreographed order of things is not usually met with cheers and smiles. Arguably, the ruptures described above are so far being met with an understanding and supportive public response and participation.

One might presume it has to do with so many individuals’ own immediate needs and frustration that are suddenly on the forefront of a collective protest, and some form of desire for unity within this struggle seems to suggest itself as the way to go. A person’s own urgent and tangible will for change of their way of living is, apparently (and almost sadly so, given the fact that in most cases these needs are obviously intertwined with others’), a rather motivating force for activism. “I have a problem, therefore I act.” is easier said and done than, “I see you have problem, which may or may not have something to do with me, therefore I act.”

Patience.

III.
“If not now – when?” … Not only part of one of Hillel’s most famous sayings (“If not us – who” precedes the time), but also a chorus line of Yehoram Gaon’s “Od lo ahavti dai” (I have not yet loved enough), a catchy and sunny tune, frequently used for big circle dances that have had their share in a Zionist identity formation during the first decades of the State of Israel.

This song now, and, “If not now – when?”, is played at these busy intersections one Tuesday evening in August. A portable speaker placed in the middle of the road, and suddenly, out of a regular group of pedestrians waiting for the traffic lights to allow them passing, a group of about 30 to 40 people emerges, forms a circle and dances, claps, jumps and sings along. Two and a half minutes the intersection is blocked. Pedestrians see, halt, look, some smile, some are obviously irritated. Drivers are faced with people on the street, which does not seem something most of them appreciate. Many cars and motorbikes meander around the circle, forcing it into some other, more elliptical form, breaking apart the chain of hands joint. Bus drivers argue with wild gestures, impatient passengers are pointing at their watches, metal pushes into people. It is fun, frighteningly so. One would think – people, it is two and a half minutes, why can’t you just let them do their thing? Why push push push? The shove of metal pushes people down, almost.

However, at such a time when push comes to shove, now, more precisely, one wonders why and how people react to interruptions of their being so aggravated, so annoyed, so ignorant. What makes one form of rupture okay, and another one a problem one needs to deal with aggressively? To which level are people here, now, willing to let others voice their concern, their being, in a public sphere?

Public Movement who organized these three little public interventions facilitated a sense of uncertainty for the people being faced with it (and, partially, for the participants too, I am sure) – How does this action relate to the current protest? Why are they dancing a folk-dance? Who are these people, there is no banner, no shouting, no youth-group-shirt? Why are they doing this? Why the fuck are they blocking the damn road and make me be late for this appointment by two and a half minutes? Why this song? Who are they? What do they want? How am I supposed to react? Can I join in? Do I like it? What do I like about it? Would I like to join in? Why am I so angry when someone is 1.) apparently having fun and 2.) is really not that violent or bad?

Am I getting my way? Is that what the angry reactions were asking? Am I getting my problem solved by their action? Do they have a problem? Would I want to listen? Engage with them afterwards? Would I want to know? Why would I want to know? Does it relate to my problems and me?

IV.
I have no patience.
I demand social justice.
Now.
Yes.
How long is now?

V.
Rupture.
Reflection.

Between Two Walls

2011-07-28T10:40:00.005+02:00

Between Two Walls
July 2011

Between two walls, facing a third one. Behind me is darkness. Your hands are caressing the stones. These cold ones. Right next to my shoulders. Softly, oh so softly, your thumbs, I presume, work on their flesh. Your eyes, piercing into the wall in front of us, suddenly it is us. Your feet, balancing on the same thin wall. Us, there, between these two walls. And you, I hear you saying how you love my body. And the walls grow tighter. And you keep caressing the stones. And my eyes. Yes. And my smell. Yes. And the walls grow tighter. Yes. And me, then, when the night is making the stone alive enough to hear and speak, then, when the placid whispers are leaving you. Yes. Alone. Then you love me. Without dividing me into stones making up this brick wall you see. But yes, right, you see a wall you think is me (forgivable given the circumstances), right. And so whole it seems. Mortar, caress the mortar, too. It is keeping us together and walls in place.

Whispered Child Dark Dark

2011-07-07T08:47:00.008+02:00

a stone of age
and splinters
in between

dark
and
dark

it glitters

broken is the bird
song of morning

dark
and
dark

for life on veins

to play
the splinters
gather
elsewhere

and always
the others
are
splinters

and to play
the splinters
gather
elsewhere

Whispered Child Dark Dark
July 2011

portugiese finds are mixed and many

2011-04-28T19:56:00.003+02:00

lisboa
april 2011

i have heard ...

2011-04-05T08:00:00.003+02:00

i have heard ...
april 4th 2011

rührt mich an

2011-04-03T17:15:00.007+02:00

rührt mich an
jede Ruhe
macht aus
zähem Klinker
festen harten Stein
jede Ruhe
ein Stein mehr

die Falten lachen sich starr

und Jeder tanzt
allein
im Funkenregen
der Stahlbrocken
im Hirn
schon Ruhe
Steinbäume
wiegen
nichts
wiegen
nichts
als den Wind des Traums

der Rührung

Kristalle leuchten wie Lava
in ihren Armen
ist es
nicht
nicht
beinahe heiß
nicht

rührt mich an
jede Ruhe
macht aus
Lava
auch Lava
Beton im Stillen

and more finds

2011-03-31T11:01:00.003+02:00

central bus station, tel aviv
march 2011

lifta
march 2011

money from different streets
march 2011

überraschungsei, berlin
march 2011

more finds

2011-03-22T09:28:00.004+01:00

in the water, tel aviv
march 2011

sheikh jerrah, east jerusalem
march 2011

esther hamalka, tel aviv
march 2011

silwan, east jerusalem
march 2011

finds

2011-03-13T09:49:00.006+01:00

some street, tel aviv
march 2011

hilton beach, tel aviv
march 2011

sheikh jerrah, east jerusalem
march 2011

al rajaa' street, ramallah
march 2011

mea shearim, jerusalem
march 2011

jaffa road, jerusalem
march 2011

i can't remember where it was
march 2011

al shuhada street, hebron
march 2011

Three years later - Hebron. Or: How it is no longer orange.

2011-03-04T08:58:00.010+01:00

Al-Shuhada Street. 2008.

Al-Shuhada Street. 2011.

"Liberation. Return. Rebuilding." 2008.

"Liberation. Return. Rebuilding." 2011.

Above the painting it is written:
ויש תקוה לאחריתך נאם יהוה ושבו בנים לגבולם
ירמיה 31:17
The children have returned to their own border.

A side note to translating לגבולם: Luther 1545: Und deine Nachkommen haben viel Gutes zu gewarten, spricht der HERR; denn deine Kinder sollen wieder in ihre Grenze kommen. // King James Version: And there is hope in thine end, saith the LORD, that thy children shall come again to their own border. / Jer 31:17

French versions (http://saintebible.com/jeremiah/31-17.htm):
Tes enfants reviendront dans leur territoire
et tes fils reviendront dans leurs confins.
et tes enfants retourneront en leurs quartiers.

German versions (http://bibeltext.com/jeremiah/31-17.htm):
die Kinder sollen heimkehren in ihr Gebiet!
und deine Kinder werden in ihr Gebiet zurückkehren.

English versions (http://bible.cc/jeremiah/31-17.htm):
Your children will return to their own land.
Your children will come again to their own land.
and your children shall come back to their own country.
And your children will return to their own territory.
and your children will come back to the land which is theirs.

גבול can be translated as: border (state, country), borderline, boundary, limit, frontier, line, margin, extreme, bounds
-ל can be translated as: to, toward, of, for, until, till, into

Google translate offers, when it comes to לגבולם:
come home
to their borders
their borders
have come home

How it is no longer orange

No change.
Yes change.

Egged at your service.
The sun was shining.

I doubt the sun paled the orange away.
No no.
The white of all.

The "Day of Rage".
That was that.

Home-border-line syndrome.

Buch / Care

2011-02-16T23:18:00.005+01:00

nobody will know II
February 16th 2011

Through a gate I entered a park and looked at a statue. I asked a woman with strongly painted eyebrows and a light brown jacket (matching the colour of her dog's hair) if there was another exit, back to the train, she said there was not, I could only walk a circle and get back there, but would I not better be afraid as there was this man and he was watching me the whole time - I hadn't realized that this was the case - I said maybe I was not afraid and would have a look and thank you very much.

Ducks stood on melting ice. A lot of bridges. And leaves on the ground. The trees had names pinned into their skin. White paper. Sans Serif Italics. Little brook was wild.

No man came.

The woman, ten minutes later, outside the park, did not react to my smile of recognition. But she really cared. She was wearing a jacket matching the colour of her dog's hair.

That is care.

Safe train back. Until one tree fell on the rails. That was way inside.

Void III

2011-02-11T10:26:00.008+01:00

Bear me a child
Bury your hand
deep in the mild
cleft of my sand

Sing of a sun
of dark shadows' age
of moving undone
of birds in a cage

Of wings close and
spread around a face
like a hand
circling a place

Bear me a child
your soul's gentle hand
I shall hold. Your wild
song it will free your land

Void I
January 3rd 2011

Void II
January 3rd 2011

Stories

2011-02-10T09:39:00.000+01:00

Als (II)

2011-01-22T13:03:00.006+01:00

als wir so lagen
im Graben
der Welten

und es schoss
durch den Wind
das Andere her

der Wind
und das Haus
und das Zittern
im Hier

als wir so lagen
im Graben
der Welten

die Winde
die wehten
die Welten
vorbei

als wir so lagen
im Graben
der Welten

dort
wo es dunkel
dort
wo es still
dort
wo es war

dort oben
im Graben
der Welten

da liegen
vielleicht
da lagen
vielleicht
die Lügen
vielleicht

der Liebe

Als (II)
Wir so lagen
January 22nd 2011

maze

2011-01-16T11:07:00.003+01:00

maze
December 2010/January 2011

Man kann alles erzählen, nur nicht sein wirkliches Leben; - diese Unmöglichkeit ist es, was uns verurteilt zu bleiben, wie unsere Gefährten uns sehen und spiegeln, sie, die vorgeben, mich zu kennen, sie, die sich als meine Freunde bezeichnen und nimmer gestatten, daß ich mich wandle, und jedes Wunder (was ich nicht erzählen kann, das Unaussprechliche, was ich nicht beweisen kann) zuschanden machen - nur um sagen zu können:
"Ich kenne dich."

Max Frisch - Stiller

Burg-sight

2011-01-09T14:21:00.005+01:00

I read something in Haaretz today. Which I like (like many articles they publish, seriously), not only like, deeply appreciate in many ways. Avraham Burg's latest book sure has interesting approaches, as does his article:

Marrying the Dalai Lama
Reaching out and accepting family members who are not of Jewish origin will greatly expand the boundaries of contemporary Jewish existence.
By Avraham Burg

The letters of the rabbis and the rabbis’ wives are arousing all the dormant Israeli demons. Although sometimes it seems as though the demons are already wearing down, they still have the power to frighten us and cause damage.

The first reaction is automatic and loud: Gevalt! Racists! The second reaction is also predictable: “What is hateful to you do not do to your neighbor,” or how, in light of our own history, we are doing exactly the same things to others.

The next reaction is far more thoughtful and profound: Am I really prepared to marry someone who is not a member of the Jewish people?

I encountered the first part of the question several years ago. A smart, secular and enlightened friend told me: “Avrum, I agree with all your humanistic opinions, but I must admit that if my son brings home a non-Jewish woman, it will cause me heartache.”

“And if he brings home a Jewish man?” I asked.

After a long hesitation he replied frankly: “I prefer a gay Jewish man to a non-Jewish woman.” For him, as for many others, the key is the “Jew” within him rather than the loving person within his son.

I recently encountered the first part of the answer in a courageous and penetrating article published by Edgar Bronfman, former president of the World Jewish Congress, which included a call to reopen the tent of our father Abraham in all four directions. To contain among ourselves, to stretch out our hands and to adopt the family members who are not of Jewish origin, and they are many. Not to tear apart and exclude, but to greatly expand the boundaries of contemporary Jewish existence.

Fortunately I am already very happily married, but this question awaits me with my children. They travel all over the world, study and with open minds meet Christians and Muslims. Some of their best friends are Orthodox Jews. And like that same friend, I have reached the age at which I have to answer myself frankly, what will my viewpoint be if one of their partners isn’t Jewish?

My answer is very simple. For me the test is not their Judaism. The first and almost the only perspective by which I examine my children’s friends is whether or not they are good people. The Jewish consideration is not the first one.

These are my considerations only. I have no authority over my children’s lives. I speak to them, and that’s all, and in the conversation I always want their happiness. One of the foundations of family happiness is a life of partnership, and the secret of genuine partnership is a common value system.

So this is the time to ask what Judaism is. When people say Jew, what do they mean? In the eyes of those letter-writing rabbis and rabbis’ wives and all their simplistic and fanatic believers, Judaism is first and foremost a genetic description, a connection of blood and race of “anyone born to a Jewish mother.”

And therefore those very same people pile up so many difficulties, and try to deter the converts who want to join our community. In the eyes of Judaism it is a connection to content and commitments; a glorious civilization ‏(which is presently fighting for its life and its future‏), which is mainly a values-based, humanistic system, embracing all of humanity.

That is why a person’s origin is far less important to me than his core principles and his lifestyle. I divide all my worlds into the good and the bad. I totally reject the tacit assumption that all the Jews are on our side and all the gentiles are against us. There are wicked and terrible Jews, and there are good and righteous gentiles. And between them I prefer the latter, because of their goodness, and I despise the former, in spite of their Jewishness.

An eternal Israel will continue to exist and advance only if openness defeats seclusion, only if the Jewish people overcome the ignorant among them.

In order to understand the significance of the argument for everyday life you sometimes have to take the theory to absurd lengths.

Let’s say that one of my daughters were to introduce me to two possible sons-in-law: the Dalai Lama, whom she loves with all her heart and soul, or Rabbi Meir Kahane, whom she is willing to marry only because of his Jewish genetic origin.

And let’s also suppose that she were to say: Dad, choose for me. My choice would be clear and unequivocal: The Dalai Lama would become my son-in-law, beloved as a son and admired as a true partner in a way of life and principles of existence. Over the years and with patience I would work hard together with him to build bridges of understanding between the truth of his life and the foundations of our family. Together we would create a far broader family spirit than a narrow-minded Judaism of limited horizons. Even though the Tibetan priest does not speak Hebrew, he lives in the “Jewish language.”

On the other hand, if she chose Kahane or one of his successors, only because he is a Jew by origin and in spite of his disgusting language and base values, my world might fall apart.

I would probably pull myself together and do everything possible to be with her in any future she might have, but my heart would know and weep: She too is a racist.

(Haaretz-Link and Edgar Bronfman's article)

What Is Staying Moves Beautifully

2011-01-07T06:59:00.000+01:00

The Laundry

2011-01-02T12:25:00.005+01:00

I actually like going to the nearby self-service laundry. In the times there I have met quite a diverse amount of people, talked to several and enjoyed staring at the ever turning machines with a slightly dizzy sense of joy.

Today was no difference.

The laundry also seems a place where the Rabbis and their wives have no say in who is allowed to wash. It does not seem to matter who you are as long as you bring three coins of five shekel.

Today was no difference.

When I arrived two of the three machines were running and one was empty. An old, seemingly fragile woman was there, and I asked her if she was finished, if I could use the machine (in Hebrew), she said yes. I filled the machine. And sat. She was about to go and had a lot of things. I asked her in English if she wanted some help carrying it up the stairs. She started yelling and shouting in Hebrew that this was Eretz Israel, that she does not want to hear English, I did not understand the rest. It was frightening. I started crying when she left, and was really shaken. She came down on me like a harpy. The shop owner next door said she was crazy. A man came and saw his bag was gone, he was Ethiopian, I gave him one of mine, he said thank you, emptied his machine and left. A woman from Sri Lanka came and waited with me. The old woman came back and in perfect British English started shouting again. She hated the English. Was I English. No. I said I just wanted to help you, sorry. She does not want my fucking help. Was I German. Yes. Was I Jewish. No. See, I had no idea what's going on, she would not need my help. She would not want it. Where was I born. Dresden. She knew someone, very nice, hard working man from there. So was I an Ossi. I said I was from Dresden which is in the East of Germany. Was I an Ossi. The GDR was still in existence when I was born. I had no idea about the Jewish people, I should go back to the Ossis to prevent them from turning Nazis. She would not want help. I was crying the whole time. The woman from Sri Lanka stood nearby and said nothing. The old woman left. I asked the woman from Sri Lanka if she had a tissue. She had not. She asked what happened. I told her I asked the old woman if she needed or wanted help and she started yelling at me. The woman from Sri Lanka said she was here for three weeks now to be a care giver as so many other women and men from Sri Lanka and the Philippines. I wished her the best and hoped she met people who treat her respectfully.

I learn how these things work and experience them as the "other" which I may not have experienced before in Germany, where my white skin seems to "prevent" me from discrimination. Now that I come to think of it, it is a bit ironic that some time in the summer this man on the train in Berlin said they forgot to put me on the transport to the gas chambers in Auschwitz.

Worte von der Naht

2010-11-22T14:45:00.009+01:00

imagine
November 22nd 2010

Inspiration: MOTS. Heute die derzeitige Ausstellung des Museum On the Seam "The Right to Protest" gesehen.

Auf dem Weg zum Museum von meiner Wohnung in Nachlaot, da hin, Richtung Osten laufend, durchquere ich Mea Shearim, ein ultraorthodoxes Viertel. Ich weiß nicht immer, auf welcher Straßenseite ich zu laufen habe. Die Busse da hin, die benutze ich nicht. Hosen tragend ist mein Wohlgefühl beim Durchqueren der Straßen eingeschränkt.

Blicke töten vielleicht nur den, der sie empfängt.

Ich sehe nach unten. Auf dem Boden ein benutztes Kondom. In der Bäckerei kann ich einkaufen (Es gibt schon wochenlang Pfannkuchen, auch wenn Chanukah erst noch kommt). An mancher Ladentür steht "Please only enter my shop dressed modestly". Gesittet mache ich Raum für Männer in Schwarz und Frauen mit zwei Lagen Sittsamkeit auf dem Kopf. Die Kinderwagen klagen mich nicht an. Die Sammelbüchsen an den Häuserwänden schweigen mich bittend an. An manchem Torbogen lese ich "We are not Zionists".

Im Osten, die große Straße, die zum Damaskustor führt, überquerend, gibt mir die Sonne ein deutliches Ja zum Ablegen meiner Jacke. Das hat sie auch zuvor getan, aber da war das Nein der Sittsamkeit viel lauter. Eben also diese Naht überquere ich, ein Stück noch und ich erreiche das American Colony Hotel. Da gibt es einen Buchladen. Da arbeite ich jetzt. Und mein Chef da, der verspricht, mich zu schelten, wenn ich im Rock kommen sollte, der nur der Sittsamkeit, nicht aber dem Wohlgefühl dient.

Worte erreichen vielleicht nur den, der sie lesen kann. Mots. Worte. Ausstellung lesen. Protestieren. Gesittet um Zeilen feilschen. Dass jeder sich eintragen kann in die Öffentlichkeit und ihr Vokabular der Ko-Existenz.

Die Sprache ist kein dem Für-Andere-sein hinzugefügtes Phänomen: sie ist ursprünglich das Für-Andere-sein, das heißt, das Faktum, daß eine Subjektivität sich als Objekt für andere erfährt. In einem Universum bloßer Objekte kann die Sprache in keinem Fall "erfunden" werden, da sie ursprünglich einen Bezug zu einem andern Subjekt voraussetzt; und in der Intersubjektivität des Für-Andere ist es nicht notwendig, sie zu erfinden, denn sie ist in der Anerkennung des anderen schon gegeben. Allein deshalb, weil, was ich auch tue, meine frei geplanten und ausgeführten Handlungen, meine Ent-würfe auf meine Möglichkeiten hin draußen einen Sinn haben, der mir entgeht und den ich erfahre, bin ich Sprache.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Das Sein und das Nichts, 652

A crowded place

2010-11-21T16:58:00.005+01:00

du und ich und hier
November 21st 2010

Und dann habe ich an Hans Blumenbergs Theorie der Unbegrifflichkeit gedacht. Die Fallen der Begriffe, der Zaun (גדר) der Definition (הגדרה). Einpferchen des Lebens. Ein Netz von hin und her gespannten Grenzschnüren. Stolpern. Hängenbleiben. Alarmgeheul. Es gibt Zäune. Fallen. Hinfallen. Sich zu verhalten wissen. Oder still.

Sein.

...
there I saw hope barbed as barbed wire.
And i said to myself: That's true, hope needs to be
like barbed wire to keep out despair,
hope must be a minefield.

Yehuda Amichai

Buberlese

2010-11-08T07:26:00.007+01:00

Die Augen des Tiers
November 6th 2010

So vieles kann die Kruste der Dinglichkeit nie durchbrechen! O Glimmerstück, welches anschauend ich einst zuerst verstand, daß Ich nicht etwas "in mir" ist, - mit dir war ich dennoch nur in mir verbunden; nur in mir, nicht zwischen mir und dir hat es sich damals begeben. Wenn aber eins hervorsteigt aus den Dingen, ein Lebendes, und mir Wesen wird, und sich in Nähe und Sprache zu mir begibt, wie unabwendbar kurz ist es mir nichts als Du! Nicht die Beziehung ist es, die notwendig nachläßt, aber die Aktualität ihrer Unmittelbarkeit. Die Liebe selber kann nicht in der unmittelbaren Beziehung verharren; sie dauert, aber im Wechsel von Aktualität und Latenz. Jedem Du in der Welt ist seinem Wesen nach geboten, uns Ding zu werden oder doch immer wieder in die Dinghaftigkeit einzugehn.

Martin Buber, Ich und Du

Waiting for Godot

2010-11-08T06:35:00.005+01:00

Gummihammer.

Gefährlich.

Lotto.

Lösungsmittel.

Baywatch.

Finde den Fehler.

Auf der Straße.

Als

2010-11-02T08:53:00.007+01:00

Fremde Tochter
und kein Wein
und doch
kein Nein.

Fremde Tochter.
Ich
und Du
irrst. Du.

So nicht gerade
eine Büchse.
Darin?
Und wieso?

Fremde Tochter
Ich
Öffnen

Feuer. Du bist doch schon verbrannt.

Noch nicht,
hier oben, aber
dort, in der Fremde
auch:
Leuchtet noch
der Himmel
Deiner Asche.

Die Augen Dir küssen, damit Du siehst, nicht siehst, wohin ich blicke.

Licht.
Leuchte.
Licht.
Hier.

Das Leben in Dir lieben.
Das Unendliche.
Da bist Du.

Als
Fremde Tochter
November 1st 2010

Hillel fragen?

2010-10-29T17:59:00.009+02:00

"Wenn ich nicht für mich bin, wer ist dann für mich? Solange ich aber nur für mich selber bin, was bin ich? und: Wenn nicht jetzt, wann sonst?" (Hillel, Sprüche der Väter 2,8)

"?אם אין אני לי, מי לי? וכשאני לעצמי, מה אני? ואם לא עכשיו, אימתי"

Is Meat Murder? Is You Me?

Know Hope in Kafkanistan

Klone (d'Air) Condition

Sleepy. Hugging. Sleepy. Live in the Blue.

Real(ly) - Don't deport me, not now, paradise is on top of me.

Anhänglich. Aufgehoben. Eingesogen. Ihrs.

Jesus on the Edge.

Leben? Im Film!

Drei Vogelfälle.

Know Hope ... and so on

2010-10-27T07:39:00.007+02:00

Was man so macht,

wenn man die Hoffnung (nicht) kennt:

Man springt über einen geklauten Schatten.

Übermalt die Möglichkeit der Liebe und lässt Golda den Clown geben zum Trost.

Schwört den lieben Männern ab. Vor allem die Treue.

Schreibt Briefe.

Und hält aus.

Here, Air, Now

2010-10-17T11:39:00.000+02:00

Früher Vogel geht schwimmen

2010-10-16T06:26:00.005+02:00

Es verging bisher kein Morgen, den ich nicht eigentlich, auf eine gewisse Weise, gerne länger schlafend verbracht hätte. Wenn um fünf Uhr früh ist, scheint auch halb acht durchaus verlängerbar. Aber immerhin, ich schlafe.

Zudem lebe ich mich ein, einleben heißt auch - schlafen.

Auf dem Campus der Universität bin ich gewesen und habe meinem Professor davon erzählt, wie ich das erste Mal, als ich wirkliche Palmen sah, beinahe geschrien hätte. Auf dem Campus befindet sich auch das Diasporamuseum - Beit Hatfutsot, neben dessen Eingangsdesk eine Wand ist, mit Videobildschirmen, auf denen ständig wechselnde Portraits zu sehen sind. Darunter steht: "You are part of the story". Mit Noam habe ich mich dort getroffen, der da auch arbeitet, und gemeinsam waren wir in der Ausstellung "Andy Warhol and Israeli Artists Present: Jewish Icons" .

War gut. Sehr.

Es ist noch immer sehr heiß.
Noch immer war ich nicht am Hafen.
Und auf den Weg nach Jaffa muss ich mich auch noch machen.

Aber ich war im Tanztheater. Mit hübschen Tänzern und guter Musik. "Distanz" im Tzavta. Gut. Weil gestern Freitag gewesen ist, fing die Vorstellung schon um zwei Uhr nachmittags an.

So ist das.
Nachher Volkstanz am Strand.

in Dnegev

2010-10-10T07:29:00.007+02:00

Sonne, LKW, Gaza

Nicht nur, dass der Monat Oktober hier in Tel Aviv so eine Art Schwellenphase für mich darstellt. Mehr und immer Heterotopien braucht der Mensch, also - auf in die Wüste. Das kleine feine Indie-Festival in Dnegev bot Gelegenheit, Sterne, Menschen und Sand zu sehen. Mit Hila und Itamar also von Rehovot (und wieso schluckt die Schranke am Südausgang der Bahnhofsstation, da, Richtung Weizmann-Institut, mein Ticket und ich muss drüber klettern?) aus da hingefahren, viel Essen und The Shins und The XX im Auto.

Ein schönes, liebevoll gestaltetes Festivalgelände, so Installationen überall, ein kleiner Friedhof mit offenem Sarg für die ganz Müden, Gaza 50 km entfernt (und da geht die Sonne unter, am Abend Horden von Menschen Richtung Westen laufend - wo gehen die nur hin?), super Duschen, immer Klopapier da, wenig Schlaf, Arak, viel Chakchuka zum Frühstück, das wahrscheinlich kleinste Zelt der Welt für drei Personen, hellgrüne Augen der Zeltnachbarin, die Veterinärmedizin studieren möchte, vor der Bühne viele Menschen, über ihnen eine Wassersprühanlage, feine Perlen auf die Menge, eine Deutsche rennt früh durchs Zeltlabyrinth und verteilt Kuchen "ohne Drogen, aber es ist viel zu viel", Sterne, sehr viele Sterne.

Hilas Initialen sind der Beginn des Wortes "hafti'a" (Überraschung), Itamars "esh" (Feuer) und meine "kaf" (Hand), so dass wir drei zusammen logischerweise sehr viel Spaß hatten.

Überall Sand, auch zwischen den Zähnen.

cheap guys cost less

Verdrängungsareal

Heim nach Yishkon. Das Wort Yishkon, heißt, ich glaube, "wohnen", "residieren". Der Prophet Bileam, der für den König der Moabiter, Balik, das Jüdische Volk verfluchen sollte, bekam von Gott die Warnung, dies nicht zu tun. (Er hatte auch eine sprechende Eselin.) Nach mehreren gescheiterten Versuchen, die letztlich in Segen endeten, kam die Prophezeiung, wohl als Segen und Fluch interpretierbar, "hen am levad yishkon" heraus - "ein Volk, das allein leben wird".

Da wohne ich also.

Da

2010-10-06T19:03:00.004+02:00

Wenn ich mich recht entsinne, war das letzte musikalische Highlight auf Dizengoff der Mann, der da sang "Chai Chai Chai, gam ani od chai". Heute nun, ein Saftstand, es spielt sich in den warmen winterzeitlichen Dunst Glenn Gould und seine Interpretation der Goldbergvariationen von Bach.

Aus den Fugen könnte also nicht nur ich sein, sondern auch die Zeit selbst. Der Herbst, den ich versäume, ich verbringe ihn am Strand spazierend, warmen Sand zwischen meinen Zehen, liege lesend und in den Himmel sehend auf meiner Terrasse, jedenfalls doch der, die mir temporär gehört. Sie scheint mir die einzige zu sein, die "natürlich" Wind hat. Verlängerte man Yishkon, das kleine Gässchen, auf dem ich wohne, hin zum Meer, ist der Wind jedoch auch noch nicht von großen Hotelbauten gebremst, die das weiter nördlich gelegene Stadtgebiet weitestgehend windstill machen. Städtebaulich lebe ich also nicht nur auf dem jemenitischen Weinberg, sondern auch in einem der wenigen nicht als Bauhaus erkenntlichen windigen Ecken des Frühlingshügels.

Zudem lohnt sich anzumerken, dass dieses Foto tatsächlich in meiner Wohnung aufgenommen wurde, und schlagender Beweis für die Existenz erfolgreich globalisierter Chamäleons scheint.

Wenn sich jemand, ein netter Juwelier, ob seiner mir gegenüber getätigten "lashon hara" entschuldigt, muss auch ich mich sehr deutlich fragen - wenn meine Zunge, meine (zumindest doch hebräische) Sprache nur als "ra meod" (sehr schlecht) zu qualifizieren ist, wie viel Leben und Tod in meinen Händen liegt. Die Sprache wird mehr, und ich bin doch auch erst ein paar Tage hier. Nicht mal ein paar. Wenige. Aufpassen. Zügeln. Zunge und Taten.

Hinsehen und laufen.
Durch den Sand.
Der Straßen.

Morgen in die Wüste.
Sterne sehen.
Durch den Sand.

Den Wind in den Augen.

Vom fremden Zimmer

2010-10-03T23:16:00.005+02:00

Im Zimmer hier -
eine Blume
und ich.

Wir werden uns zerblühen -
beide
ins Kommende.

Werden wir gehen.
Werden wir fliegen.
Werden wir wachsen.

In die Tonne,
die sich leert auf dem Berg.

Neue Tränen, auf
und davon,
und bleiben,
im Leben.

Was Leben sich nennt.
Was so bleibt.
Über den Berg reden.
Immer, da.
Den Berg sehen.

Ihn fühlen.
Erklimmen.
Beklommen.

Wandern wollen.

Und dort, da,
fort von hier,
werden Blumen wachsen.

Und Leben sich zerblühen.

Weil sie leben.

yes, why -

2010-07-16T11:59:00.001+02:00

reconsider the heat outside, anyone?

2010-07-14T08:54:00.003+02:00

it might help.

always, maybe sometimes

2010-07-02T11:07:00.002+02:00

le mur

2010-06-30T13:34:00.005+02:00

le mur
interdit
le mur
trébuche sur les mots
trébuche sur le mur
le mur
donné de la tête contre
le mur

mort

le mur
pas mort
le parement
mon mur

à

mon amour
la mort
mon mur
le mort

duck in varying circumstances

2010-06-29T08:06:00.002+02:00

unsteady

2010-06-24T08:15:00.005+02:00

die bienen brummen

2010-06-17T22:11:00.007+02:00

auf der langen, der sehr langen straße, der mit dem asphalt, und rings umher stufen und formen und verschiedenes von grün. und unten eben grau, auch verschieden. es liegt am rand, das war zu erwarten, da am rand, wo das gras, das mindestens eine grüne sache ist, das gras wächst, da liegt am rand, ich gehe vorbei, und das ist die wahrheit, es war ja erst heute, da liegt ein mann, so mit längeren haaren und der liegt da, und ich denke, er schläft. in jedem fall habe ich mich erschrocken, dass dieser mann da lag, so plötzlich, so links neben mir. es ist ja sommer. und ich war allein. und der asphalt. also, das grün, das mit dem mann drin. und oben sitze ich und schaue und werde ganz klein und unten im wald, plötzlich, da läuft der mann, vielleicht schleppt er sich auch, er läuft und in der einen hand ist eine tüte, oder zwei, und eine gelbe kunststoffverpackung, und in der anderen, da in der anderen hand, da hält er ein stück rohes, dunkles fleisch, so groß wie sein handteller. und dann, und dann, dann führt er es, es passt ja auch zum grün, und darin hat er sich mariniert, ich hab' es doch gesehen, er führt es zu seinen zähnen und nagt. seine hose rutscht runter. die bienen brummen.

auf dem weg zurück (oder vor) blicke ich auf die stelle, auf die in dem gras, die, wo der lag, der nagende mann, und daneben, im prinzip im grau, ist ein kobaltblauer fleck, der die sonne spiegelt.

die bienen brummen.

pola oh oh oh ohs

2010-06-16T23:35:00.005+02:00

i went back to the scene of the crime and documented some of my oh-ditions.

boy

2010-06-12T13:09:00.003+02:00

boy
june 12 2010

Once one lived in a seamless experience of wordlessness. Wordlessness means that everything is continuous. The later dream of an ideal language, a language which says all simultaneously, perhaps begins with the memory of this state without memories.

John Berger, Once In Childhood

there is no is no

2010-06-07T20:28:00.005+02:00

there where there is no is no there is no no is there where there is no is no is no where there is no there is no there where no is no where where where there is there

and then of course the bird screams and the bells ring of course and there is dog and dog barks of course and the chirping of plates and knives when there is cooking of course and the juice in the glass is cold of course

and then when the bell rings one goes of course one goes to the door and then there might be no one but the plates and knives still chirp there where no is no

and yes of course one cleans when a kid spills a drink

and yes of course one is also another one depending on yes

and yes of course no is no there where no is no there there is no is no

one might wonder but no of course i mean yes the plates and the knives do chirp

there is no is no

there
is
no
is
no

green grass and pink flowers and cryptic words on grey sky
june 7th 2010

Gegendarstellung

2010-06-01T00:58:00.003+02:00

starting this post with an image seems counterstating the counterstatement of gegendarstellung by lose combo which premieres friday june 4th in berlin's sophiensaele.

do come and see the unseeable.

there might be no unsaying.

---

GEGENDARSTELLUNG
Performance . Installation . Konzert
4./5./6. und 8./9./10. Juni 2010, 20 Uhr, Sophiensaele, Berlin-Mitte

Während die VeranstalterInnen der bevorstehenden Fußball-WM kraft der Medien ein weitgehend widerspruchsfreies Bild des Gastgeberlandes zu verbreiten suchen, hinderte die raue gesellschaftliche Wirklichkeit die LOSE COMBO 2008 bei einem Südafrika-Aufenthalt mancherorts sogar daran, Bildmaterial für ihre künstlerische Arbeit zu sammeln. Eindrückliche Fremderfahrungen jenseits des touristischen Mainstreams, verblüffende Begegnungen und verstörende Erlebnisse sind deshalb allein aus der Erinnerung gespeiste Tatsachenbehauptungen geblieben. Ihnen geht GEGENDARSTELLUNG jetzt auf den Grund.
GEGENDARSTELLUNG ist eine Re-Visualisierung zersprengter Erfahrungen mit Hilfe entwendeter Massenmedienbilder, ist polyphones Geflecht aus freien musikalischen Improvisationen, Erinnerungsberichten und Reflexionen, dem via Skype aus Kapstadt, Johannesburg, Zürich, Amsterdam oder Sylt zugeschaltete „Südafrika-ExpertInnen“ ihren aktuellen Stempel aufdrücken.

Im Foyer ist das Video CiTi lives (2009) von Ulric Roldanus (NL) zu sehen, das durch die äußerste Zurücknahme des Dokumentierenden ein multiples Selbstportrait Kapstadts und seiner Einwohner zeichnet.

---

GEGENDARSTELLUNG (COUNTERSTATEMENT)
Performance . Installation . Concert
4./5./6. and 8./9./10. June 2010, 8 pm, Sophiensaele, Berlin-Mitte

While the organizer of the forthcoming FIFA World Cup try to convey a largely consistent and harmonious picture of the host country in the media, the harsh social reality prevented the LOSE COMBO during their stay in South Africa from collecting visual material for their art work in a number of places.
Impressive experiences of alienness far from tourism mainstream, astounding encounters and disturbing incidents have therefore remained asserted facts only fed by memory. GEGENDARSTELLUNG (COUNTERSTATEMENT) now tries to get to the bottom of them.
GEGENDARSTELLUNG is a re-visualization of fragmented experiences with the help of purloined mass media images, it is a polyphonic network of free musical improvisation, memoranda and reflections on which “South-Africa Specialists” attending via Skype from Cape Town, Johannesburg, Zurich, Amsterdam or Sylt will put their up-to-date mark on.

In the foyer the video CiTi lives (2009) by Ulric Roldanus (NL) will be shown which by complete withdrawal of the chronicler himself depicts a multiple self-portrait of Cape Town and its inhabitants.

ascension

2010-05-30T11:27:00.004+02:00

obviously, one cannot only just do arty things and drink beer. also, only working hard academically is not a real option. once in a while the contact with the countryside and its people is what makes ascension day special (and i am not joking). so, once again (not "on my way to my mother's annual turkey curry buffet"), i travelled to nossen, reached the monastery's ruins and photographed with something alike a love for ruins.

three here, the other ones there.

"all used was dead before"

2010-05-26T10:25:00.025+02:00

Listen to me. Like you, I know what it is to forget.

No, you don't know what it is to forget.

Like you, I am endowed with memory. I know what it is to forget.

No, you are not endowed with memory.

Like you, I too have struggled with all my might not to forget. Like you, I forgot. Like you, I longed for a memory beyond consolation, a memory of shadows and stone. For my part I struggled every day with all my might against the horror of no longer understanding the reason to remember. Like you, I forgot. Why deny the obvious necessity of remembering? Listen to me. I know something else. It will begin again.

(from Hiroshima mon Amour)

My work all used was dead before showed Marguerite Duras' words in seeing red.

They might describe a perspective on the installed environment as a whole and shape an understanding of an underlying attempt of trying not to forget - finding oneself in the difficult situation of needing to withhold an unspeakable presence and/or absence and concurrently displaying it - for (not) coming to terms with it. For staying alive.

267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YmYRXYoApLQ/S_zjY-1Cc9I/AAAAAAAAAds/Wqj-qJYvu3I/s400/1+floorplan.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475501265297503186" />

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

floorplan

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

אותו (לא) ידעתי

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

sui_site or how to disappear completely - outside

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

sui_site or how to disappear completely - inside

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

slightly damaged frontal cortex

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

seeing red

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

seeing red & sui_site & אותו (לא) ידעתי

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - wingblind

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - series

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - flying card

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - bird

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

paraphilia - bird detail

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

match

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

match & paraphilia

all used was dead before
installation during oh oh oh oh oh
may 20th 2010

cryptographies I & II

oh

2010-05-16T20:16:00.003+02:00

do come.

happy was gone so fast

2010-05-06T07:08:00.005+02:00

happy was gone so fast
may 5th 2010

breaks

2010-04-30T11:17:00.004+02:00

f.t.
april 29th 2010

f.e.
april 29th 2010

Geduldig sitzen im Hinterhof, wenn wir Glück haben, scheint die Sonne, oder eben - Es gibt Kunst

2010-04-28T07:53:00.006+02:00

Ich schreibe dir hier, vielleicht sehen wir uns auch früher, als dich dieses Schreiben erreicht. Kannst du dir vorstellen - einmal, nicht allzu lange her, da kannte ich eine Vogelwiese. Ich konnte hingehen und sein, so wie ich dachte, zu sein. Auch wurde mir gesagt, sei, wie du denkst, dass du bist.

Jetzt bin ich in Eile, weil ich doch in das Institut reisen muss, heute, wieder. Immer wieder. Da reise ich dann hin und unterwegs, wie gestern, vielleicht, kommt ein Mann mit Krücken, mit zugewachsenen Ohren, mit beinahe ganz zugeklebten Augen, mit geschwollenen, sich ihrer Form (sowas wie der eigentlichen?) entwachsenden Händen und Füßen. Der, ich weiß nicht seinen Namen, hätte ich ihm nicht auch nur einen weiteren Stachel ins verbrannt wirkende Fleisch gerammt, wenn ich ihn rufen würde damit, der, gehört der dahin, in die Bahn?

Immer dieses Eilen.

Also, zu deinem Bild, du weißt ja nur, dass ich es mag. Mag ich es so, wie ich die Vogelwiese mag, mochte, ist es vorbei mit dem Mögen? Du kennst ja nur dies Bild, von der Vogelwiese hast du keinen Schimmer, das macht nichts. Jedenfalls dies Bild (weißt du, natürlich kannte ich deine Texte, die sind doch in dem Buch drin, was dieser Verlag nun setzt), konntest du dich einfach für diesen Vogel entscheiden? Als wir saßen bei dir, da hatte ich die Genealogie der Installation so greifbar vor mir. Und hier, hier lässt du mich, aber jeden Anderen, wieder, darf ich wieder sagen, allein. Wenn Vogelwiese ein Ort wäre, könnte ich sagen, ich hänge Patio da auf. Ertragen, auch Geduld Geduld Geduld. Das wäre wie dies Bild "Straßenszene" zu nennen, glaube ich. Es ist ja doch ganz spezifisch dein Hinterhof. Würde ich über (merkst du, die ganze Zeit, die ganze verdammte Zeit über rede ich von ich. Aber du weißt, was gemeint ist, was ich meine) die Steine fahren mit einem haptischen Werkzeug meiner Erfahrung, so wie über Birkenrinden fahren (wirklich 40 Arten unbekannter? Diese beschränkten Perspektiven) - würde ich sagen müssen, taktil ereignet sich mir dein Hinterhof? Auch der im Bild? Auf eine Weise ist es ganz schlecht, dir hier darüber zu schreiben, wir werden uns ja vielleicht auch sehen. Aber du weißt, als wir gesprochen haben über die Hermetik dieser, für den Moment sage ich auch - unserer - Arbeiten, oder des Arbeitens, wie ich dir sagte, es wächst sich in deinem Haus, das hast ja auch du gesagt, so eröffnend auseinander, ineinander, miteinander. Es spricht sich und mich und dich und jeden Anderen an. Wie in den Wald gehen und dann merken, es sind 40 Arten von Birken.

Ist es nicht bezeichnend, dass diese Arbeit sowohl den Hof, als auch die Geduld evoziert. Das ist toll, das mag ich. Das ist wie einen Schlüssel in fünfeinhalb Metern Höhe hängen zu sehen. Aber wir haben ja geredet. Sieh, was ich meine, für diesen Moment, der mich noch immer in Eile trifft, wir sind eben Hinterhofkinder (wir gehören in die Stadt! Wir gehören in die Stadt?). Die Leute, die uns sehen wollen, haben eine große Menge mehr Schwellen und Rahmen (auch die der Türen, der verschlossenen) zu überschreiten. Das hängt sich ja nicht ins Schaufenster (Wäre ich ehrlich, wieso schreibe ich dir hier?) - so, dass der Andere nur Glas dazwischen hat (erlaube mir den Totenglockenscherz, ob eine Birke auch so klingt, so wie eine Totenglocke, was antwortet sie?) - wie im Museum, oder eben im Mausoleum. Aber wir haben uns im Hinterhof vergraben.

Aber dann.

Es wird Zeit.

grischa lichtenberger 0310_11_patio aus andyrchie iv_block I

gerade so

2010-04-17T19:22:00.000+02:00

gerade so
April 17th 2010

Flügellichter

2010-04-13T19:19:00.002+02:00

Flügellichter
April 13th 2010

"Auferstehung"

2010-04-10T12:25:00.004+02:00

Die Statue mit dem Namen Auferstehung (1933/34) von Georg Kolbe, sie, die Frau, zieht die Schultern merklich hoch. Ihr nach oben gerichteter Blick aus den weiten Augen fragt und hat er etwa Angst? Ganz leicht zieht sie auch das eine Bein an das andere Bein. Die Finger sind aneinandergelegt, die Hände leicht gekrümmt, zum Körper, dem nackten, geöffnet. Alles mutet geradeaus und gespannt. Sie weiß nicht, was kommt. Auch sowas wie Schulterzucken - "Was habe ich denn getan, dass ich hier entblößt vor dir stehe?" Vielleicht auch ein Frieren. Ein nicht wissen, was kommt. Auch eine Gelassenheit - "Ich nehme an, was kommen mag, auch wenn es mich in der Erstarrung trifft." Vielleicht sieht sie gar nicht nach oben, sondern nur der Kopf, seine Haltung, deutet diese Blickrichtung an. Eher vielleicht ist der starrende Blick auf etwas weit entfernt Stehendes, sich Befindliches, gerichtet. Ihren Blick und sich und ihre Erwartung kann sie nicht davon lösen, sie ist eine Statue. Zustand der Spannung und Kompliziertheit, in dem sie gefangen ist. Alles könnte kommen, und sie kann doch nicht reagieren, sie ist eine Statue. Selbst der ambivalent anmutende Mund könnte sich womöglich nicht zum Lächeln finden, auch wenn dies vor der Erstarrung eine Richtung schien. Vielleicht soll genau dieser Moment des "Gleich lächle ich, weil ich weiß, was kommt, und es ist gut" gehalten werden, diese Versprechung von Bewegung und Leben. Das, was auch Lächeln machen wollte.

stitching I-III

2010-04-06T23:32:00.006+02:00

Whilst in the language of rhetoric, a little like litotes, like extenuation or retinence, a diminution consists in saying less, sure, but with a view to letting more be understood. - But letting thus - and who lets what, lets who, be understood? - one can always speak of diminution by diminution. And, by this henceforth uncatchable stitching, still let rhetoric appropriate the truth of the verdict.

Jacques Derrida
A Silkworm of One's Own (Points of view stitched on the other's veil)

stitching I - rest my heart
pins on canvas
march 2010

stitching II - nie nie nein nie nie der schein trügt nie
glass and pins on canvas
march 2010

stitching III - i act and mute the void
glass, pins and copper on canvas
april 2010

2010-03-31T20:10:00.004+02:00

pin is like icicle.
no no knot burn.
pin is like kairos.
no no not here no.
ice is not mine mine no.
kairos not pin pin no.
no no no not pin pin.
pin pin no pin pins.
pinning flesh flesh no.
pin pin pins pins no.
no.
pin pinning.
no.

icicle.
ici clé.

no.
silly.
no no no no key.
pin pin slot shutter
close close close shutter.
shutter shutter shutter shuttered.

pin pins.
or not.

das problem mit der liminalität

2010-03-31T19:15:00.000+02:00

Die Aufgabe der Blumenleichen

2010-03-24T16:47:00.014+01:00

Worte zerblühen sich
im provisorisch gezimmerten
Himmel.

Ein Hüttchen
unweit der Mauern
des Hauses.

Die Fenster Spiegel.

Drinnen bald nurmehr
ein Misthaufen.

Es fault und gärt
und wuchert zu.

Nebel einander,
der Worte Hauch.

Vergaste Haufen
- nicht mal Asche.

Es gibt da
- Blumenleichen.

Unzerrissene Kragen,
Schalen von
zu nackter Haut.

bild: miriam eichner - blumenleichen

cryptographies III

2010-03-13T23:33:00.005+01:00

muecken
blink
licht aus
dunkel
passieren
blink
wieder
blink
muecken

stechen
das
licht

den
muecken
eins auf
den kopf

also
aus die
muecke

bsssssssssssttttauajadas

muecken
march 13th 2010

cryptographies II

2010-03-12T10:05:00.004+01:00

do you
know this
haunted place

it's nothing
but a
frozen pond

oh frozen
safe with
pondering

the pond
the frozen pond
it is

so deep and
black and
cold

today
i've had
a feverhead

and slowly
melted
all away

i know we
do we do
not know

the snakes
march 12th 2010

cryptographies I

2010-03-09T19:47:00.010+01:00

oh you are
like little
tatters of

fruit
are you
like fruit

i bite
and tear it
tears away

from you
the best
i learned

map
march 9th 2010

plaudercamp by dramazone. or: "I wish to be moved. I cannot feel in life. I must have others do it for me in theater."

2010-03-07T23:52:00.006+01:00

saturday i went and saw plaudercamp IV by dramazone during 100° festival which in its general state of event i've ignored (bad me).
well, the set up of that durational performance was quite interesting. whereas i mainly went because it was them. turned out i stayed for about two and a half hours, and both actively participated and watched.
basically, you had to climb up to the top floor of hau 2 theatre in berlin and would be welcomed by orange edgyness and people that asked you whether you wanted to chat a bit. r. and i came together and he went "in" first. "in" was a seperate room, more specifically a tent inside that room. in that tent both performer/expert and guest sat down without shoes and jackets and talked. their talk was projected in the corridor on said top floor of hau theatre. they would explain to you a little what it was all about - collecting memories, archiving them, maybe as a counteractive impulse against mediatized rapidness and general ignorance. they would "check you in, firstly". could not exactly name my bloodtype. mmh. then performer/expert would, under the motto "es gibt ja kleine und große krisen" (there are small and big crises), share one personal crisis, for example how they hate it when their bike gets stolen, how they felt affected by the rehearsals of a biographic performance, how they missed their partner during a year abroad, how they felt overwhelmed by seeing dead people during their civil service. with the slogan "sie können uns ihre erinnerungen anvertrauen. versprochen" (you can trust us with your memories) they encouraged you to share a moment of your own crises-history. initially they also said they would try to combine or relate the two memories which wasn't always the case, which was good, maybe.
so r. sat inside, i was wrapped in a blanket in the not too hot waiting and public screening area. not so many people, which somehow was a pity. strange to see your friends being projected against a wall and hear them talk about their crises.
somehow, i found, the listening and watching was really remarkably fascinating, as if following a quite voyeuristic desire,

a bit like reality tv ("please, let him elaborate more on that threesome in the sauna and how they were interrupted by people telling them their suicidal friend was lost"),
a bit like getting to know glimpses of people ("i don't have a favourite book", "do you think he's a butcher"),
a bit like therapy (which is, indeed, problematic, as no one of dramazone is a trained psychologist)

intrigued, i was watching in on those rather private moments of (however actual or staged) mutual exchange. it felt, sitting outside, rather intimate, somehow, a somewhat guilty pleasure crawled through me when people actually looked into the camera and thereby stated their awareness of being watched from an "outside".

m. said something, actually in regards to the glasshouse, but that might be valid here, too. how can you try to create a personalized, intimate setting and situation, maybe even feeling between performer and individual audience, and then change the "usual" setting so drastically?
maybe that was not the case with plaudercamp. well, but maybe it was, in the sense that, perhaps there were people like me, who came and knew about the general idea of the project. others, more likely, browsing around the festival, maybe incidentally passing by and being approached by one of the performers/experts, maybe did not know what to expect and then would find themselves in a situation with a total stranger being suddenly exposed.

well, i can say i really enjoyed the process of watching, relating different stories and actually realizing the amount of personal history that was "collected". nobody, to give account of that, was lastingly recorded for plaudercamp IV.

ne cadant in obscurum

2010-03-07T23:07:00.009+01:00

du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich bist du noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange noch du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange noch du du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange noch du bist du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich nich lange noch du bist raus du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du noch du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du noch lange du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich raus bist du noch lange nich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich du ich lange lange lange du ich du raus bist du noch lange nich

i.d.
march 7th 2010

passing futures

2010-02-28T16:18:00.022+01:00

zuhause
february 28th 2010

after 11 days in israel i am back in berlin, readjusting - no snow any longer, but piles and piles of rubbish that was covered in ice. maybe like this, or not:

the expedition
dotan&perry

basically, i went for the closing workshop encounter of a gif-funded project called poetics and politics of the future which, for the last 3 years, brought together israeli and german theatre scholars and phd students from tel aviv and berlin free university. we had some more formal discussions and talks, but also academical forms that sought to maybe enable encounters on a more personal, individual level. not hammering in on a mass of people like with conferences (or teaching, for that matter) but disseminating knowledge or variations of that through a rather uneconomical version of black market (which is not unlike speed dating, but longer). anyways, how nicely weird meeting berlin colleagues in tel aviv. for me, getting to know some of the israeli group a bit better, namely in the person of freddie rokem, was very nice and created some interesting talks and inspiring discussions about my thesis, which i am going to write in israel/palestine on forms of performing senses of self and other - on the streets and in the sheets, sort of. the initial abstract thought of focusing on street art, which seems to say only so much. interestingly, we saw a nice amount of performance art in very private spaces, homes of people, where you would think that negotiations about self and other are slightly different from discussing them in public spaces. but, we'll see. more on that a little later.

we also did a tour through tel aviv with some person from the municipality, about architecture and restauration and stuff. it was very entertaining, as you can see here:

as it was my third time in israel, being back in a foreign or strange place in some situations wasn't so strange any longer, especially with regards to language and understanding, the initial blurry bliss when encountering layers and layers of unknown or incomprehensible words was pretty diminished. which is not at all saying that i understand, not even a little, but there's hints of known, that i clutch to desperately but lose nonetheless ... this will surely be an interesting problem when encountering such situations on a day to day life (now, said that, thinking you've grasped something and losing it again, is not honestly something so very outlandish, is it). but, yes.

him with the red shirt
february 22nd 2010

one encounter that haunted me for two days was initially taking place on the harbour promenade. i sat there, read, donated money for mentally disturbed kids and just generally enjoyed being bathed in sunlight and a fine mist that was blown over from the heavily breaking waves. anyhow, there came a young kid, maybe 17, who knows, light blue jeans, red shirt, dark hair, confusion, desperation and aggression written in his face, carrying a plastic bag full of clothes. he approached me and started talking in hebrew, which i could follow at first, and sat next to me. not so long after, i was becoming more and more frustrated and repeated that i would not want to go anywhere with him, even if that meant missing out on ahava, chaver, masagim, and generally really did not understand what he was saying. he kept insisting on talking in hebrew and i felt increasingly uncomfortable when he asked if i was cold and whether he could touch my knee. so i left. and he sort of went in the same direction northwards. he went on one of the outer piers, though, lucky me, and i sat, relieved, in a café and scribbled some notes, enjoying the sun and wind, and the lively talk of two elderly men next to my table. every now and again their hebrew was interrupted by german words and phrases. well, i sat, and after a little while this guy came, again. i saw him approaching other people, too, and hoped he wouldn't see me. which was not the case, of course. so he came and i basically yelled that i did not want to do anything, nor go anywhere. he insisted and i asked the men next to me if they could maybe translate and find out what he wanted. and it turns out, for then, that he was lost (i gathered as much), somewhat mentally disturbed (see, even before meeting, i donated ...) and basically looked for an occupation, help in a general (and not sexy fun related) sense of the word. i was irritated, thanked them, he left.
well, then, the following day, watching the sun set, a northern shadow approached me, i looked up and thought "no". there he was, again. i felt angry, irritated, whatnot. he actually managed an english sentence "look for fun". as i am not generally a fun person, i declined. he left very soon after that.

what you can encounter on the street in front of dizengoff centre in tel aviv, is a man, regularly singing there. it seems strangely lost, especially this song, there, maybe the young kids don't remember. at least, most passed. maybe the addition to am israel chai with be'seret is actually a valuable assumption. in the mirroring shop windows - all one shiny surface, whereas in the flesh, everyone on their own. somehow, that is not a statement limited to israel. are we not all caught in representational threads and threats, diminishing our ability to humanly interact? or to interact at all ...

now, to art, we need strict borders, so that they can clash and dissolve, do we not. as i wrote, a lot of performances we saw, were somewhat related to ha'dira - the flat - die wohnung. yes, for example we went to see a production titled ha'dira by the arab-hebrew theatre of jaffa, performed in the flat of the set designer, if i remember correctly, of the theatre, in tel aviv. an israel-palestinian adaptation directed by michael ronen to requested program - wunschkonzert by franz xaver kroetz with sara von schwarze and salwah nakkra. the play, consisting of stage directions only, and actually written for one actress was performed in an interesting way on several levels, and i may very well quote, as i had, basically, the same thought "one flat for two women like one land for two nations ... a fascinating happening which is developing like a musical fugue ... the great merit of this original performance is that the political meaning is implied and hidden in favor of the human message" (zvi goren, "habama" site). basically, we, as an audience, shared the same space with the two performers, said flat, and were not interactively involved in any way. salwah nakkra entered the flat first and followed (i presume) the stage directions of the play, undressed, cooked some dinner ...). she was, after a short time gap of about five minutes followed in action by sara von schwarze who performed, obviously in a different interpretation (she had sushi instead of bread), the same stage directions. well, there were cats, too, impressive acting (both cats, and actresses), no interaction whatsoever, and to make a long story short, the both end up dead, obviously.

another, very interesting thing we saw, was maya zack's short film mother economy that might deal with questioning gender roles at home and work, in a basically rather enigmatic way, a beautifully filmed meditation on absences, if of nomoi, topoi, oikoi, hard to say.

maya took some of us to several adorable places afterwards (well, after a fantastic dinner in barbounia restaurant): the corridor, the riff raff and the texidermi, all being sort of rather berliny bars with gorgeous peeps and decoration. and - she took us to lital dotan's and eyal perry's the glasshouse on hashomer street number 3, where on the flat's corridor a 24 hour long performance took place. basically, what lital and eyal seem to do, is living in their art and considering their art as their living. which, as a general statement might very well be considered hippiesque nonsense. but, we beg to differ, it was really quite impressive and in a certain way innocently aware and cautious. a great sense of hospitality and openness transferred to me. well, we saw this performance, in which lital was not allowed to leave the corridor, about five meters long, one and a half maybe in width. at the end of the corridor two signs on a table said "nail me to the wall" (displaying nails and a hammer) and "make me grid" (white colour and a knife). this short video documents one of these actions.

apparently, what they also do (but you might wanna check their website which is informative in many regards) is inviting people over to share their bed with lital for a night. i thought that an intriguing idea and found the initial question of whether or not two strangers in a sort of intimate setting would change their patterns of behaviour while asleep, sort of interesting (...). so, one night, wednesday, i went to their flat at about 11 p.m. lital and i had little talk, about their project, my project, art in general, upcoming things. maybe, we were getting to know each other a little better, maybe. eyal was not present in our conversation, which i initially thought a bit strange, but okay. in the morning he explained that this not getting to know the person that sleeps over before makes it easier for him to not overreact in an emotional way when he sees them sharing the bed with his partner. so, yes, we talked, and as lital had to get up at six in the morning ("but you can sleep longer if you want"), we decided to go to bed at about half past 12. the following frame was to be: we are naked, there is no sheets for covering, there is an infrared camera above the bed that documents the whole night, eyal is going to come in every hour to change the tapes. "i have to warn you, it is not comfortable, it's very cold."
the decision to go and do it, was somehow very rationally and easily done, of course i was wondering how that would feel, but fine, no problem, with a somewhat clinical ease (or not) we took off our clothes and laid down. it was incredibly hot in the room, about 30°c and radiators on each side of the bed were directed at us. we did not talk much and basically went to sleep (...). well, that is easier said than done, really, after about half an hour i started feeling really cold, especially my feet were icy. i went to the bathroom (it's what i usually do when sleeping in other people's beds), went back, it was incredibly hot again, tried to sleep, thought, cold, again. lital was having difficulty sleeping, too, but we did not consciously interact, neither verbally nor physically; later i wondered if the initiation for a closer bodily contact is "the job" of the guest, so to speak, she did not initiate, i did not, so we both laid there, cold.
the first hour passed without a second of sleep, it sort of was very good to know that it was not going to be a too long night. though i did not feel discomfort in a strict sense of the word, i wasn't comfortable, more restless and forced to think because i couldn't sleep. well, coming back from the bathroom in the second hour (it is actually quite funny to measure your experience by the intervals in which somebody is coming into the room and changes the tapes of a camera that records you being exposed), i took off my ring because my hands were swollen and put it on the nightstand. five minutes later, due to a combination of thoughts of restlessness and the ever-present camera, i somehow wondered how weirdly familiar that might look on the pictures. as if somebody takes off their individual past and bindings to anything else that is not that specific situation. bare yourself for encountering a stranger in an intimate setting. it sort of felt, at times, quite familiar, this laying next to a stranger, thinking "what the fuck am i doing here, why am i not leaving". in fact, not unlike a one night stand situation in which you find yourself wishing to leave, but you can't, maybe there's no taxi, who knows, or you think, "well, maybe if i stay it won't feel as detached in the morning and our shared intimate encounter will lead us to a mingling of spirit, body and soul", that sort of rather irrational and hopeless patterns of behaviour that some of us might find themselves in more often than others.
well, at some point, i somehow managed to fall asleep lightly, i guess. in the morning lital got up, i dozed a while longer, thought that, in the form of this filmed documentation "there's your lonesome stranger, left behind by the one they shared a bed with" ... of course, that is not per se how i necessarily felt, but maybe i couldn't help thinking out a narrative for the camera.
well, i got up, too, eyal made me a lovely toast, we chatted a bit; apparently i was the first woman in a row of until now 12 men, who all were, in different stages during the night, sought physical contact.
a very detached intimacy. i was so cold.

the green bed and the mirror
february 20th 2010

well, there were a lot more things. but, maybe that's enough for now. i went back to jerusalem for some days, were the gates to (or of?) heaven opened, it rained and stormed and thundered for two days, tiny ways in nachlaot neighbourhood became rapid streams.

one night, i went to the western wall and left an impossibility. going back unseeing made me feel like the angel of history. my little impossibility will impalpably get lost in the heap of history.

also, i went to the synagogue for shabbat. felt very intrusive. left soon. natu was reminded of his past by the singing that was the same as in his shul. the singing made me sad. on the rainy way home, through some window, i heard "rainy days never say goodbye to desire when we are together. rainy days growing in your eyes, tell me where's my way". i was reminded of the piano.

due to the rain, or general lazyness, hila and i've watched candy by neil armfield. and i thought of doing something on being willing but as troubled as the time and the circumstance. being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the desire to halt and contemplate. or the desire for pain and pleasure. or the need to risk. or the resignation and fear that comes with it. i did all my best to smile and not be drowned in sorrow. this is the result and it is for you:

Die unbedingte Universität?

2010-02-10T21:25:00.006+01:00

die unbedingte universität?
february 10th 2010

Die unbedingte Universität hat ihren Ort nicht zwangsläufig, nicht ausschließlich innerhalb der Mauern dessen, was man heute Universität nennt. Sie wird nicht notwendig, nicht ausschließlich, nicht exemplarisch durch die Gestalt des Professors vertreten. Sie findet statt, sie sucht ihre Stätte, wo immer diese Unbedingtheit sich ankündigen mag.

Jacques Derrida Die unbedingte Universität

baby, i will kill you in the park

2010-01-09T18:55:00.002+01:00

baby, i will kill you in the park
january 9th 2010

"das ist alles gewesen, und wie die Dinge stehen, muß es genug gewesen sein." Judith Hermann

"Der Flamme zu gehorchen ist zugleich das Leichteste und das Schwierigste." Albert Camus

"Ich spreche es nicht aus. Stumm sage ich zu dem, der nicht mehr oder noch nicht der Andere ist: ich halte mich zurück, Sie zu lieben." Roland Barthes

Nocturne

2010-01-02T10:09:00.004+01:00

what if the lights go out and maybe
January 2nd 2010

Wenn also der Mond scheint
und alles weiß,
dann scheint der Mond.
Es ist weiß und kalt.

Und das Schwarze
strahlt so grell
zwischen Steinen, Blumen, rotem Licht.
Das grelle Schwarz strahlt.

Und dann also,
wohl seitlich liegend,
bohrt der Salzeiszapfen sich
hinein in das je tote Herz
darunter.

Jammer ob der Schändung
könnte auch ein Einhorn künden
- dann, wenn ein Salzeiszapfen sich
mittig aus der Stirne sprengte.

Das wäre
- ganz entschieden -
fabelhafte Spinnerei.

Je nachdem müsste man bemerken,
wie schwarz der Vogel ist,
der - ganz Resultat der Wandlung auf:
"Achtung! Komm! Hinfort!" -
von oben flatternd
auf Gräber scheißt
und
Salzeiszapfen leckt.

Es ist null Uhr
und der Vogel lacht,
weil er nicht anders kann.

Nocturne
January 1st 2010

i will begin to mine

2009-11-29T10:31:00.008+01:00

i will begin to mine
November 29th 2009

Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains. I would drink deeper; fish in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly with stars. I cannot count one. I know not the first letter of the alphabet. I have always been regretting that I was not as wise as the day I was born. The intellect is a cleaver; it discerns and rifts its way into the secret of things. I do not wish to be any more busy with my hands than is necessary. My head is hands and feet. I feel all my best faculties concentrated in it. My instinct tells me that my head is an organ for burrowing, as some creatures use their snout and fore paws, and with it I would mine and burrow my way through these hills. I think that the richest vein is somewhere hereabouts; so by the divining-rod and thin rising vapors I judge; and here I will begin to mine.

H. D. Thoreau Walden

פרפר

2009-08-18T16:59:00.002+02:00

פרפר
august 18th 2009

ripl pics

2009-08-10T19:57:00.003+02:00

the latest festival pics i took can be found amongst many like these

here.

meet lenor.

2009-07-30T11:33:00.003+02:00

one video of one situation lars and i have installed with "rabenkinder" during hörspielfest altzella. big thanks to the organisational team of the festival! and for invaluable support thanks to my parents, sylvia arnhold, angelika diedrigkeit, stefan heyn, susann starke and thomas starke/probau kugel.

rabenkinder

2009-06-30T10:58:00.011+02:00

i shall keep you posted on our installation in the magical park.

route from berlin

the tragedies of late june

2009-06-26T11:04:00.006+02:00

- a wine that is incredibly good but not appreciated.
- the lack of interest for the weather with politically concerned individuals of my acquaintance
- the incapability of last.fm and my ipod to scrobble my playlists. which in fact means 200 turns less of patrick wolf's "the bachelor" than i actually listened to.
- billionaires that are impolite
- drunkards that are impolite
- billionaires and drunkards in the same place and hardly different in a crowd of impoliteness.
- the politically concerned hazard of a digital bohème that suddenly lives in tehran and is all green.
- the death of kings and angels. and seeing how many people suddenly are religious monarchists whilst not saying that this is not a good thing under the circumstances.

and a fairytale. just for you.

märchen eins
may 25th 2009

portobello beach, scotland

2009-06-09T09:37:00.005+02:00

nobody will know
June 4th 2009, Portobello Beach, Scotland.

photos

2009-06-05T13:03:00.006+02:00

more photos taken by the person in that picture

here photographed by that person

who actually is the photographer of this band

can be seen amongst many like this

here.

die zärtliche gleichgültigkeit der welt

2009-06-01T23:53:00.011+02:00

die zärtliche gleichgültigkeit der welt
june 1st 2009

Als hätte diese große Wut mich vom Bösen geläutert, von Hoffnung entleert, öffnete ich mich angesichts dieser Nacht voller Zeichen und Sterne zum ersten Mal der zärtlichen Gleichgültigkeit der Welt. Als ich spürte, wie ähnlich sie mir war, wie brüderlich letzten Endes, habe ich gefühlt, dass ich glücklich gewesen war und dass ich es noch war. Damit sich alles erfüllte, damit ich mich weniger allein fühlte, brauchte ich nur zu wünschen, dass am Tag meiner Hinrichtung viele Zuschauer da sein würden und dass sie mich mit Schreien des Hasses empfangen.

Albert Camus Der Fremde

still from my new project - baby, i will kill you in the park

and

2009-05-08T15:50:00.002+02:00

this gem by serj tankian (the singer of system of a down ...) here, from his first solo album "elect the dead". the video is directed by lebanese/armenian/american director gariné torossian whose first feature length documentary "stone time touch" was shown in the 2007 international forum of new cinema. i love how she treats the material.

wayward

2009-05-08T14:40:00.004+02:00

how fantastic tsai ming liang depicts the characters' state of feeling and mind is beyond words which are so rarely (i think there is one actual spoken dialogue consisting of two lines) used besides in the lyrics of the enigmatically and beautifully campy songs. this film smashes my all every time i see it.

now.

2009-04-30T08:53:00.003+02:00

for a.s.
then, when it happened, 2009

how you'll find me anywhere

2009-04-29T00:23:00.007+02:00

4.55% i need another world
4.55% leatherchapsbln
2.27% i need another world, this ones nearly gone
2.27% man tänker sitt
2.27% i need another world this one is nearly gone
2.27% mueck and baudrillard
1.14% i went to the house but did not enter analysis
1.14% exciting facts
1.14% wow sunglasses
1.14% i need another place another world this one is nearly gone
1.14% i need another place
1.14% when i was a child / i bred a whore in my heart
1.14% metzitza-bapey
1.14% bukkake sunglasses
1.14% i bred a whore in my heart
1.14% beta test what a difference a day makes
1.14% i need another world... this one’s nearly gone
1.14% i need another world,this ones nearly gone
1.14% i need another place this one is nearly gone
1.14% i need another world this one gone
1.14% i need another world, this one's nearly gone
1.14% i was a child i was a child lyrics
1.14% i need another world this one
1.14% i need another world this one's nearly gone
1.14% metzitza bapey
1.14% will there be peace i need another world this one's nearly gone still have to many dreams
1.14% the-madness-of-the-day blanchot i am not learned
1.14% i am again at the bottom of an unstoppable wheel, and when i feel my eyes close for death, as they have and will a thousand times, i awake
1.14% don't punish me for wanting your love inside me
1.14% read real death threats
1.14% facts and figures about ghosts

so, a quick personality check-up: heading for facts and figures about ghosts - me. real real death threats, too and while you're at it - need another world, and i'll be there as well, wearing my sunglasses in a bukkake session with leatherchapsbln and baudrillard and mueck, who might just be enjoying a little metziza bapey with mueck asking baudrillard to not punish him for wanting his love inside him. in a corner of the room there will also be a red haired kid moving through the woods in his mind to choir singing about the madness of the day and secretly thinking that he was a child but that his childhood was taken away or it thinks: i am again at the bottom of an unstoppable wheel, and when i feel my eyes close for death, as they have and will a thousand times, i awake.
yes, but in fact, you did not really look for me and then if you did - you went to the house but did not enter - how very anarchist of you!

i keep forgetting the whore in the heart ...

so, the hours are floating ...

2009-04-18T17:28:00.009+02:00

philip glass reverberating through my flat. also, i think of lady & bird and that naturally makes me sad and not as serene as the one of too many facebook quizzes i recently took tries to tell me.

i'm wasting the hours floating in my bed
and placing sunflowers over my head
you're facing the doorway waiting for a sign
to stop me in some way from crossing the line

yesterday i watched a sad movie.

and then i realized, much later, how i lack reaction.

so, the hours are floating ...

somehow

2009-04-02T23:50:00.004+02:00

when what
i say
is
only
that what makes the least sense
then
what
oh the great
what i say
and say is
the least
and
also
i tend to say
things
that seem to be
oh the great
seem to be
oh the great
seem to be
great
but
yes
it makes no difference
and i did not
mute
myself
but
later
oh the great

and then
shattered

on
and
on

goes oh the great

and then there is water left
with salt
and it only leaves my eyes

for you.

unveiled and feeding the hungry leopard

2009-03-26T18:24:00.012+01:00

kader attia's ghost

sun yuan's and peng yu's old persons home

after a little vacation in sunny london and cambridge i am back here and find myself facing the fact of having lost a majority of my intellectual property (...). anyhow, england was gorgeous, clearly demonstrated by the display of yet another fabulous levi's ad (see below) that (partly) did not make it to berlin (as of yet) and the (see above) unveiled exhibition in saatchi gallery in their fancyful building near sloane square.

basically, i was relaxing, enjoying the lovely weather, meeting nice people, catching up with old friends, reading - holidays in a very nice sense of the word! as i did in the picture below in hammersmith with luci, audrey and adrian after a long and beautiful walk through richmond, kew and chiswick. actually walking was what i did a lot, also in regent's park, in the docklands, battersea park, mayfair and beloved soho.

exciting facts and figures

2009-03-06T13:59:00.003+01:00

i will list the last weeks' highlights.

number of goodbyes: 23
number of drinks on the occasions: too many
number of cigarettes on the occasion: far too many. but that does not mean i am not still a non-smoker as certain actions require certain measures.
number of job-offers: 5
number of films i saw: i'll try and list them later
number of episodes of mad men: 18
number of episodes of germany's next topmodel: 3
number of people that were at alfredo's dinner: 10
number of 3 portuguese people who could sing their national anthem: 3
number of 2 french-canadian people who could sing their national anthem: 2
number of 3 german people who could sing their national anthem: 0
number of 1 dutch person who could sing their national anthem: 1/2
number of chicken i cooked: 1
number of hearts i did hopefully not break: 2
number of moments i wish i would have kissed somebody: 7
number of times the words zizek and fuck appeared in the same sexually connotated sentence: 3

number of numbing numbers so far: 16 or 77 1/2
number of those numbers that were actually not numbing but nice: 43

43 nice things. great.

the day i met a really nice busdriver

2009-02-22T23:42:00.007+01:00

over the hiccups by negativland.

unlistlessness

2009-02-21T16:10:00.008+01:00

a - great deal of things were nice
b - ut i missed
c - olouring my own
d - reams and
e - nigmas and
f - inishing things the way i like
g - ood in fact was the
h - ermetic feeling, or not,
i - nside but not too
j - oyful at times
k - i said to myself
l - et it not get to you too much
m - emories of how things had happened before did
n - ot stop me from making the same mistakes again
o - ver and over
p - lease, i said to myself
q - uit
r - idiculing yourself
s - omeday there will be moments without
t - ension. moments of
u - nbelievable calm. and behind my
v - eil i
w - ished for
x - rays i could use for screening
y - our thoughts and hearts
z - oom into them for details

dancing with myself

2009-02-17T09:42:00.009+01:00

dancing with myself
Berlin, February 16th 2009

Postaktionales Brennen

2009-02-13T11:29:00.006+01:00

Postaktionales Brennen
February 13th 2009

of soul power and fig trees, maybe

2009-02-11T23:43:00.008+01:00

met m. today for a screening of fig trees, a sort of opera-documentary about hiv/aids and activism in the fight against it that structurally worked as a opera and/or musical. pretty much unsure of what to make of it.

i see (well, obviously i see ...) the poignant wish to depict difficult topics as something cynically, or not even that, perhaps only humorously, wrapped. i felt that the tendency to do that was also there in השמצה/defamation. generally there is not much to be held against this but my own feeling of sickness while watching it in a room full of people who seemed to think that a group of israeli students in front of the "arbeit macht frei"-gate posing for a keepsake, not saying "chesse" but a chorus-"auschwitz", was an uproariously funny joke. actually i really liked the movie but found watching it in the cinema rather difficult, but maybe that is part of the process of thinking about it.

later tonight we saw soul power. this was just wonderful and such a joyful experience. incredibly well mastered sound met depictions of soul legends that nowadays could not possibly be filmed.

berlinale will all be over soonish. i can't say i am as relieved by the prospect as maybe i would rationally rather be. well, but then again we have a lot of exiting things ahead of us still, as of tomorrow the filmic oevre by ludwig schönherr will be shown for the first time in public.

i can now sign my posts as an academic. i only will have to convince the prüfungsbüro about the necessity of getting rid of that A.

saw man tänker sitt again.

of burrowing

2009-02-11T01:11:00.004+01:00

going back from potsdamer platz to my flat tonight was rather strange. a sort of alertness found its way back into my brain (... actually i just wrote "may brain" ... maybe may then). i am glad it has, to be perfectly honest.

alert indeed i was some days ago by the picture that was, in a packet of posters, sent to the forum office and on display in its wrapping some hours. intrigued i thought that this must be my favourite movie of the programm. i never even knew, then, what it was about, by whom, etc. tonight i finally made it to a screening of man tänker sitt (burrowing) and can say i was rarely as moved as with this debut by fredrik wenzel, henrik hellström. this depiction of solitude/loneliness/vulnerability/subliminal violence was so modestly brilliant and breathtakingly shot. the character of sebastian, a young boy, leaves traces of his whimsical, 'naive' wisdom in the narrational structure by overvoices. feeling of being vulnerable oneself as a viewer because of the ordinariness of situations and places. structurally you might judge sebastian's way of looking at things as something that will pass, some wishful thinking - as in the notion of his hope that his own loneliness is something that might be dealt with later in his life as he sort of settles professionally, emotionally. this inert wish striked me as so human. the cinematography as one way of staging the seclusion was just wonderful. but then this paradox of this hope he maybe carries within himself for himself (?) clashes with the precise descriptions of everyday suburban horrors he gives.

writing this now makes me think i should have just said nothing as what i was going through during the screening was just beyond words. which in itself might be something that helps to sensually grasp the lack of humanness in human interactions. man tänker sitt, if i understood correctly, means something like "everybody has their own thoughts". we have. yes. we have.

the aforementioned "unification" during berlinale only goes so far. wondering how the area around potsdamer platz would actually look like seen from above. because additionally to a zillion posters and billboards comes a lighting strategy that sort of stars out from potsdamer platz through all the streets on which there is some berlinale-connected building. remarkable as usual - despite all those lamps being red the ones for talent campus are pink.

a red center, a beating heart of humanness or lack thereof.

all expanded

2009-02-07T22:57:00.010+01:00

trying for the third time to start this post i realize that maybe there is nothing much to say besides stressing the notion of expanded in my current life.

lucky me shared a car for the openings on friday with team of forum expanded, stefanie, nanna and uli, expanded by barbara hammer and michael snow, later marie losier and sebastien sanz de santamaria. what i loved when i actually saw the exhibitions was pavel büchler at tanya leighton gallery and i am very much looking forward to being at the artist talk with them tomorrow. karoe goldt's piece in galerie antje wachs was sort of really sad. eyes die. i find that utterly disturbing.

a must see - ludwig schönherr. i love his work. the exhibiton (as the installation in filmhaus and the filmprogramm curated by marc siegel) in halle a/14 is really something else, seriously. anything structural/chaotic that resonates within you should call you to that place. and once you're there, have a closer look at bill viola's "transfiguration" in haunch of venison. it is beautiful beyond belief.

being 'inside' the festival as somebody working there makes me feel like michel de certeau again ... no kidding, looking down at potsdamer platz from the office is ridiculous sometimes and you wish corporate design was never created, though i do believe that this year's design is sort of sweet and subliminally very much fitting the notion of unified masses hustling down unified streets in their unified ways of feeling utterly busy and important.

but tv-man on super-big screen inside sony centre said "die stimmung ist gut am potsdamer platz".

i'll go get some sleep now and hopefully will dream of that summer day when there's nothing to do besides having eyes and heart open again. maybe there will be water, too, a lake with a view or a drenching curtain that'll transfigure me back into something b/w.

you can have a look at the other forum expanded events (films, exhibitions, performances, talks, tours ...) here. don't miss "farewell" by stefan zeyen in the black box at filmhaus! and - do enjoy marie losier's gorgeous "movie boxes".

oh bliss

2009-01-17T17:45:00.003+01:00

two excellent new records on the shelf ...

the froosh's new lp the empyrean leaked. it is brilliant. oh so brilliant. so conceptual. so perfectly mastered. so brilliantly played. so brilliant. so surprisingly surprising.

to think how brilliant can one bass-line be: dark light

to cry with: song to the siren - what a cover!

antony and the johnsons' the crying light is difficult and beautiful. somehow and that seems weird the old material from the debut is rougher and edgier but still resonates within me far more than these songs here. it seems that the development through i am a bird now was to have structures that are most definitely less edgy. also i am not sure about the whole environment things to be perfectly honest. but - this is not to say that it is not beautiful. i think it is. but it needs replay, lots of replay. strangely enough. ha! and i will see them live in edinburgh :)

besides new music there are many things. many indeed.

i work with the forum expanded of the berlinale this year.

and - next weekend 23rd til 25th the margins student conference will take place at the institute for theatre studies at fu berlin. program on paradisaical states (paradiesische zustände) is online here. i will show an installation sui_site or how to disappear completely. please come and be with us.

that for now.

2009-01-04T02:32:00.004+01:00

what began a drizzle leaves me bloody drenched now. i rather went to where there was only sun. i rather went to where there was no "i told you to", i rather went to where i wasn't going before. i never was on mars. no fools. no sailing. i could just go there. sail there. but there, unmistakably, is drenching rain. can i be on mars drenched? can i go to beauty shattered as i feel? never did this writing feel further away. i need to leave the drizzle.

you're totally beating up the wrong guy if you think that i have bad intentions. obviously.

shocking end of the old shit

2008-12-30T09:22:00.004+01:00

came across this nolita-add in le. what a mess.

so let the new shit begin.

2008-12-14T23:24:00.007+01:00

have worked a great deal on installation for margins for which we also have the programm scheduled now and you can see that here. my work "sui_site or how to disappear completely" will be shown as a video loop with performative side shows in a durational installation.

a still:

what a difference a day makes

2008-12-11T09:40:00.001+01:00

check out this durational 24h performance of self improvement, they're sweet :)

5 people, 1 room, 24 hours. How much can be done in one day? What have you always wanted to do but never had the time? We decided to find out. We are Beta Test; John Hunter, Simon Cummin, Cat Harrison, Iván González and Max Olesker. We started out with a length of time, 24 hours, and looked at ways of filling it. We were fascinated by this duration we'd allocated entirely to ourselves; a period with which to do whatever we wished. So. Conversations bubbled with excitement, and the ideas flowed freely. 24 hours seemed like a long time; long enough to achieve something. The question then became what could be achieved and, crucially, what did we want to achieve at the end of our day? Everything, it seemed – from a neo-renaissance tromp l'oeil relief, to a wall-sized mosaic, to a five-part harmony. Madness.

exactly

2008-12-08T23:12:00.006+01:00

find myself agreeing with deviant kgullholmen.

but like things, too. i.e. my internship. and this gadget that makes my pics go *weeeeee* ...

quiet and slow and not

2008-11-17T13:07:00.006+01:00

imagine a quiet and slow place. a quiet and slow time. a surrounding of quietness and slowness and all that twice within two days. have i met my personal paradise? or is it rather only the hope of having found it that makes me all romantic and blind for its loud and fast paces that undoubtedly must have been there as well.

well, i went to two performances and liked them.

first was heiner goebbels' i went to the house but did not enter shown during spielzeit europa in haus der berliner festspiele. he directed this scenic concert performance/installation which he also composed the music for. said music was sung by the hilliard ensemble and was brilliant. the sung texts were eliot's love song of j. alfred prufrock, blanchot's madness of the day, kafka's im gebirge and beckett's worstwards ho. the whole performance very much used a filmic setting in a sense of space and maybe depth of perspective. there were always the outsides which the people (the four singers) referred to by example singing out of the window, but those outsides were not really seen. so it sort of felt very hermetic. the texts, too, are maybe not the most open texts themselves. but instead of using this spatial and textual hermetics to sort of 'show'
something to the audience it rather felt as if it was displayed in a panorama of associations that were not forced upon us. the only thing i felt forced by was the head of that woman in front of me who was very eagerly following every tiny action and movement on stage by moving her head and upper body constantly which is a great joy for the person sitting behind in haus der berliner festspiele, i can assure you. the sounds have been amplified incredibly good so that every quietest tone could be heard - the rustling of wrapping paper, the folding of tablecloths, their breathing. it looked sort of flat but was deeply audible.

left sort of satisfied and sad. satisfied because i really enjoyed the brilliant music and performance with its quietness and slowness. sad because the texts seemed to stir something in me and that, i thought, was sad because it was sad texts by 'old men' and on stage were only 'old men' and heiner goebbels may also be an 'old man' ... but then, i learned afterwards that prufrock for instance was written by eliot aged 23. don't know it sort of made me even sadder.

from the love song of j. alfred prufrock by eliot:

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use;
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...

from the madness of the day by maurice blanchot:

I am not learned; I am not ignorant. I have known joys. That is saying too little: I am alive, and this life gives me the greatest pleasure. And what about death? When I die (perhaps any minute now), I will feel immense pleasure. I am not talking about the foretaste of death, which is stale and often disagreeable. Suffering dulls the senses. But this is the remarkable truth, and I am sure of it: I experience boundless pleasure in living, and I will take boundless satisfaction in dying.

I have wandered: I have gone from place to place. I have stayed in one place, lived in a single room. I have been poor, then richer, then poorer than many people. As a child I had great passions, and everything I wanted was given to me. My childhood has disappeared, my youth his behind me. It doesn't matter. I am happy about what has been. I am pleased by what is, and what is to come suits me well enough.

Is my life better than other peoples lives? Perhaps. I have a roof over my head and many do not. I do not have leprosy, I am not blind, I see the world—what extraordinary happiness! I see this day, and outside it there is nothing. Who could take that away from me? And when this day fades, I will fade along with it—a thought, a certainty, that enraptures me.

I have loved people. I have lost them. I went mad when that blow struck me, because it is hell. But there was no witness to my madness, my frenzy was not evident: only my innermost being was mad. Sometimes I became enraged. People would say to me, Why are you so calm? But I was scorched from head to foot; at night I would run through the streets and howl; during the day I would work calmly.

second was maybe forever by meg stuart and philipp gehmacher (who both danced) shown in volksbühne theatre with fantastic music by niko hafkenscheid whose music was sweet and melancholic (sort of reminded me of vincent gallo) and sad and sorrowful but never failed to grab you, and the two dancers, with its progressing ever so slightly promising rhythm (waltzes, mainly). the set design here was also very flat, a half circle marked by dark green curtains which were, towards the end, opened a little. in the center there was a big picture of a dandelion clock, halfway blown away, that was sometimes in a sepia shade, sometimes almost colourful and bright and shiny. the dancers were sort of repetitive in their movements and the music, repetitive, too. but then those subtle changes, a hand here a minor chord there. shifting from something you think you recognize to something that seems very strange to you back to something you feel sure is directly performed for you. the strange thing was, you felt lulled and lured into it and only at points could realize the subtle shifts. then those came as a big surprise. (which now, as i write this reminds me of a thought i had on the sublime and subliminal. etymologically somehow connected, it seems contradictory and paradox to think of the sublime as something you would only be aware of subliminally. but then again, maybe it's those surprises you're facing with incredibility, those that found their way subliminally into your sub_conscience. once you focus (again and maybe consciously), they're there and struck you as incredible, maybe even sublime.)

one for/ces all

2008-11-15T23:35:00.005+01:00

it seems a little unreasonable to me but proves that one can petrify a system. cute in a way. outrageous as well.

in short: lutz heilmann, former member of former gdr ministerium für staatssicherheit, now member of die linke leftwing party and member of deutscher bundestag has decided that this article as being linked to by german www.wikipedia.de is not exactly to his liking. and has forced www.wikipedia.de to shut down their site.

today at hamburger bahnhof

2008-11-08T19:54:00.009+01:00

kult des künstlers:

(ayse erkmen)

(?)

(sarah lucas)

(rodney graham)

(not really beuys)

nay, seriously, what a coincidence

2008-11-04T22:31:00.003+01:00

mueck's big man with nico's janitor of lunacy. hah, and that song is covered by soap&skin as well.

Janitor of lunacy
Paralyze my infancy
Petrify the empty cradle
Bring hope to them and me

Janitor of tyranny
Testify my vanity
Mortalize my memory
Deceive the Devil's deed

Tolerate my jealousy
Recognize the desperate need

Janitor of lunacy
Identify my destiny
Revive the living dream
Forgive their begging scream

Seal the giving of their seed
Disease the breathing grief

mueck(e(t))baudrillard or i just wanna be the cigarette

2008-11-03T17:12:00.024+01:00

i wish i was them sometimes. today for instance. they're actually really small. and they're not alone.

or why not her? mueck paid huge attention to her. that's good, isn't it?

"Alles trägt zum Versagen des Systems bei, das sich unfehlbar gibt. Und angesichts dessen, was wir im Rahmen seiner rationellen und programmgestützten Herrschaft bereits erleben, kann man sich fragen, ob nicht die Unfehlbarkeit des Systems selbst vielleicht die schlimmste Katastrophe wäre" said monsieur baudrillard in le monde diplomatique. and also in the perfect crime: "The absolute rule is to give back more than you were given. Never less, always more. The absolute rule of thought is to give back the world as it was given to us — unintelligible. And, if possible, to render it a little more unintelligible."

or maybe i just wanna be the cigarette in luca's hand

oh, and here are parts of angstbörse, one really interesting, very interactive work on our fears by performance collective dramazone as shown in the akademie für angewandtes leben, hotel subbotnik: .

différance

2008-11-02T14:27:00.011+01:00

the house is with blurry dots of colour and all the haze may just have been change of gestalt.

thank-you-sillyness

2008-10-31T15:08:00.003+01:00

dear bachelorette-commenters. that is for your sake. i am now relieved and graded. major thank you to all of you who commented on- and offline and really helped :) i owe you!

besides that - excitement and cold