Unexceptionally Lovely Days

Friday, noon, S. and J. are sitting in The Valley heat, waiting for H. to pass the border into The Land.* Several text messages and about three hours later they take The Yellow Plated Car and leave without H., who was not allowed to enter The Land via The Bridge. The Bridge that day was crowded and functioning normally, efficiently. Two female officers – talking Russian amongst themselves – accuse H. of lying and check The Big Machine and their Secret Files. Entry denied.

Later, S. and J. and M. go drink a drink and play cards to release aggression about H. not being there. Hitting a table with Aces and Queens is not immediately satisfactory.

Saturday, the early morning, J. is sitting on a small bus that drives through The Big Checkpoint. J. looks at a blond chubby male soldier. This Soldier gets on the bus. J. hands him The Privileged Passport after “Guten Morgen, kann ich bitte Ihren Pass sehen” crosses the lips of The Soldier without any hint of German not being his mother tongue. Flipping through the pages: “Sie reisen aber viel.” “Ja.” The Soldier hands back The Privileged Passport, smilingly wishing J. “Einen schönen Tag noch!”

J. is shaking her head all the way from The Big Checkpoint to The Holy. In The Eastern Holy, J. is meeting P., and together they walk to The Western Holy. There, they meet The White Citizen Y. and The Black Infiltrator M. and their Yellow Plated Car.** Together, they now form The Holy Group, and travel south to The Other Border. The desert is blooming, The People Who Used To Have Camels drive on dune buggies, and The Holy Group has coffee in a gas station (the last one?) somewhere still on Road 40 or Road 211 (if you use The Big Machine, you will know where they went!).

In the car, Y. explains everything she knows about refugees and asylum seekers, her work for the undocumented people with uncertain and/or illegal status, the asylum seekers who are being smuggled into The Land via the land border with The Peninsula. M. explains about his life in The Prison, his reasons for leaving His Country, the one where they butcher and butcher The People and where The Leader is Wanted by the ICC and only changes location via countries where the ICC has no say, and butchers and butchers.

J. wonders how and why P. must discuss The Other Elephant on the way to The Prison with such vigour. Perhaps J. has had too many discussions about The Other Elephant in small spaces like Yellow Plated Cars in The Land and fears (… is sure of …) their futility. The Prison, however, is but a Katzensprung away from The Other Prison where The Other Elephant enjoys hundreds of cells for detention and torture, too.

So yes, everything connects to and within The Fucking Shit Reality.

One element of The Fucking Shit Reality is The Theatre. The Theatre also happens in The Prison, which is why J. and P. came. They arrived early. The Prison, which to all eyes J. has, is a fenced in concentration camp in the middle of nowhere in The Fucking Shit Reality, is off limits to visitors, but The Inmates in This Open Prison are – of course – allowed to leave, and 24 hours even, and only after 48 hours can they be arrested. But once back, they will be sent into The Other Prison a Katzensprung away for punishment. The privilege of The Prison over The Other Prison is that they only have to sign in three times a day. And that they can take the bus northwards ho. Besides that, they can walk to The Big Wall South, which is only two kilometres away, and they can sit outside in the sun. All eyes J. has see a lot of men lounging outside, some cook, some sit and talk. There are benches and shade and some kind of boat sculpture made of wine bottles.

The Fucking Shit Reality gets interrupted by things like The Theatre. People come and talk to The Inmates and suddenly their stories are being heard, by people like J. with The Privileged Passport, and by The Media, and Other White Citizens, who all come, in cars and air-conditioned busses. Three spoken languages, bodies that talk eloquently, voices and movements of desolation: A group of ten performers, the majority are Inmates, tell their stories, speak of their oppression and experiences in the language of The Theatre Of The Oppressed.

Big discussion and applause. J. and P. agree it was great, it was interesting. Really. The Fucking Shit Reality continues to be shitty, but they witnessed a group of proud Inmates, who spoke their truth to an audience, who, hopefully, listened.

J. and P. part ways. In one of the air-conditioned busses J. travels to the Spring Hill and in The Black Garden – that is where People Like The Inmates, that is: The Black Infiltrators, gather day and night with nothing but time to kill – meets her friend B. in her Yellow Plated Car around midnight. B. takes J. home. Home is place of The Goodbye Party for the young Q. who is an element of The Other Elephant. His home is a walled in part of An Area of The Other Elephant and Q., who likes to jump on walls, decided he must leave The Other Elephant and The Land of The Yellow Plated Cars and Privileged White Citizens and Soldiers Who Speak All Languages.

Little Q. will travel to the land of J., which once knew division, but is now Clearly An Exceptionally Lovely Country With No Real Problems. Someone told J. that they are bringing corpses now, corpses of The Infiltrators to the Cooperation of Exceptionally Lovely Countries, and that – much like with The Theatre that gives a stage to The Inmates – they will bury them to make a point.

They call it Political Beauty.

The Fucking Shit Reality couldn’t give a shit and continues to be shitty.

J. takes a train. Trains in The Land have Wifi and you can connect to The Big Machine and verify all sorts of things, whilst riding through the ruins that everyone here loves, because they have such charm and they look so old. On the way back to The Holy, big fires consume the greens in a Wadi along the Line Dividing The Elephants.

All that smoke and fire made the smell of shit disappear for a while.

* For reasons of international, interpersonal and individual security all names and places are anonymized and pseudonymized beyond recognition to anyone other than an informed and involved party.

** In The Land and everywhere else, we must name all legally qualifying names correctly, obviously, because those are the names, and they sound best.

„du hast recht, ich liebe dich, das veröffentlicht sich nicht, ich sollte das nicht ausposaunen“

du bist am grausten, wenn ich die, neben denen du stehst, so betrachte. genau genommen bist du grau, ganz grau, ein bisschen rau und ein bisschen grau und ein bisschen, was man schwarz nennen müsste, hast du auf dir. beinahe neben dir ist nur eines schwarz-weiß, selbst wenn das, was schwarz-weiß ist, vielleicht auch besser grau wäre, ein anderes als du, aber sicher nicht schwarz-weiß.

du bist zu mir gekommen und das, was ich dir antun muss, mein gott, was ich dir antun muss, habe ich nie jemandem angetan und ich weiß nicht, ob es daran liegt, dass du es bist, aber vielleicht, wer weiß, deswegen tut es mir nicht weh, dass ich dir weh tue, weil du es so offensichtlich nicht nicht willst, sondern eben ganz offensiv deine verletzlichkeit ausstellst in deinem grau und fast schon zu mir zu sprechen scheinst, so mit einem stummen „komm schon du musst dir mühe geben, du musst das, was ich mit absicht verberge, enthüllen, nimm ein messer und schneide präzise schnitte, schneide, was das zeug hält und öffne mich, damit das, was ich in mir habe, dich erreichen kann“ –

es ist wie mit einer postkarte, die ich an dich senden würde. denn wie meine karte dich nicht erreichen kann, wenn ich dich nicht öffne, seziere sozusagen, muss auch ich eine art briefkasten einrichten und vielleicht einen kleinen nicht-hegelianischen zettelkasten, einen postkartenkasten, in dem das, was du mir sagst, gesammelt werden kann, auch wenn ich nicht derjenige bin, der nicht schreibt.

du in deinem grau könntest (kein) platon sein, denke ich bei mir. (k)eine graue wolke inmitten eines blühenden frühlingsmorgens, einem bunten feld von rücken, die du gar nicht beachten kannst, weil sie nach dir, lange nach dir gekommen sein werden oder in kinderschuhen steckten, als du ganze lager voller schuhe zu de-denken versuchtest. solange ich nicht an dir seziere, exzerziere, kannst du nicht sein, was du sein kannst.

also nehme ich dich wahr und seziere dich. dass ich dabei ein meist zu wenig präzises instrument nutze, schmerzt mich mehr als dich, zumindest ist offensichtlich, dass du trotz der schmerzen, die ich dir zufügen muss und will und deretwegen ich mich winde, nicht du dich, sprichst zu mir.

wenn ich dich ganz zerschnitten habe und erst dann –

wenn ich dich ganz zerschnitten habe, werde ich danach sagen können, „niemals habe ich so gesponnen / ich verlier die stimme, dich zu rufen, sprich mir, sag mir die wahrheit“? oder wird eine postkarte ihren adressaten (nicht) gefunden haben? wird der, der nicht schreibt, schreiben und das, was geschrieben gewesen sein wird, mein herz zerissen haben –

werden deine getrockneten tränen tränen, oder werden die dann trocken blickenden augen nie feucht gewesen sein? wird das haar, welches der finger auch hinters ohr klemmen könnte, dir weiter ins auge wehn und dich wirken lassen wie das graus(was macht ein „ams“ aus dir?)te buch in meiner sammlung?

wird nicht das, was gewesen sein wird, dein tod und das andere sein?

jacques derrida: die postkarte. von sokrates bis an freud und jenseits. 1. lieferung. berlin: brinkmann und bose 1982.

im mai 2008

Buberlese

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

i will begin to mine

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

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

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: .

seasoning reason or "i love you. i want to have your abortion."

when i came back today from work i was having a little walk through reuterkiez and then sesamkiez and then my place of which i don't know any name. i came to realize, again, i might add, that both reuter and sesam are full of seasoning. and you might very well think it's a change of season why should there not be a seasoning in the air. you are so wrong. not air. no. floor. down on the streets there is loads of ripped little packings of seasoning for your very own ramen noodles dish. i wonder why and how that can be? i mean, obviously, we are not so much of a hyper-sophisticated city that allows citizens to boil water on the street, as of yet. how come there is seasoning packings all over? mistaking them for other packings or wrappings? nope. checked like 10 of them. all seasoning. so, maybe, there is a kind of art-project involved? i mean, how? i can understand crisps or gums packings, i can, but, seriously, seasoning for ramen noodles?!

well, i had my very own noodles today, they've been dipped in coconut-chili-ginger-peanut-etc.pp. and they've been yummy.

and what's wrong with the weather? thank god for lacan or i would have frozen my bollocks off although i am sitting here wrapped like an onion. reason tells me - turn the heat on - sod off, it's september, other part of reason replies.

well, been also cocooning myself with icelandic music, and if that is not warming i don't know what should be.

i've been watching quills and was a bit disappointed frankly speaking. well, but i don't like kate winslet anyhow, so that was to be expected.

read deleuze, too. and some more lovely žižek, so two quotes for tonight, whereas the first one (the parts in inverted commas) would actually be palahniuk, i presume:

„i love you. i want to have your abortion.“ this, and not the proverbial „i want to have your child“, is the ultimate expression of love: the gesture of sacrificing the offspring and thus asserting the love relationship as the absolute end-in-itself. (180)

when we are subjected to a power mechanism, this subjection is always and by definition sustained by some libidinal investment: the subjection itself generates a surplus-enjoyment of its own. this subjection is embodied in a network of „material“ bodily practices, and for this reason, we cannot get rid of our subjection through a merely intellectual reflection. our liberation has to be staged in some kind of bodily performance, and, furthermore, this performance has to be of an apparently „masochistic“ nature; it has to stage the painful process of hitting back at oneself. (183 f.)

(žižek: an ethical plea for lies and masochism. in: lacan and contemporary film, ed. mcgowan/kunkle)

antony

how i love antony and the johnsons. when i used to have a music section on the right they've been the only ones. does that qualify for a whole section? i wasn't sure. but just right now it's lovely, echoes through the flat from kitchen to here. have i mentioned that i love my blue?
ikea was funny enough yesterday, i payed 88,88 EUR and thought that very precise shopping. well.

and i picked up writing the paper on hydra's traces when in fact i should write my bachelor thesis. at the moment it's hard enough to concentrate (heat anyone? please, why was there no rain yesterday? bet it's going to rain tomorrow night, though, why not, wet marwell is as sexy as dry. haha. come to ladyfest and hear us play), and for i don't know, getting in the mood to write i read derrida and it helps. and i will get the second part of die postkarte later that week. i am thrilled. it's beautiful. it must be, right, because if it is the only thing i find the will and love to deal with at the moment it must be very special. wouldn't it be great to receive such notes, such exchange with somebody like him. sometimes i am just so umpf to not be a little older or young in another time.
speaking of that (haha) the dying animal is going to be made a movie, i didn't know that. ben kingsley and penelope cruz. wow. well, let's see. i liked the book so much, it could be hard.

one very positive aspect of living here now is that i learn a lot of swear words. it's great. a whole new package of communicational skills. maybe t.'s proposition to d. to have anti-violent-communication-courses could come in handy. but it's good. it's another way, but i can understand why the people of ernst busch decided on placing the ivy-toweresque arty lovebees in that industrial, working zone. or not? well, in a way everything is okay.

takes 30-40 minutes by bike to uni. that's good news. did that  yesterday (bright as always, to pick the hottest day).

imagine that - i have got tickets to four shows of tanz im august.

leaving. again.

i am just about to go to the airport where a plane will wait for me to east midlands. whoa, i was never there and it still feels like "finally, i am going back (home(?))". i'll be working with an international group in a workshop by performance collective gob squad and it'll be great!

well, preparing always makes me wanna scream. so i did, internally.

by the by, saturday we had this conference and eiszeit was taken very well and discussed quite interestingly. the forum itself was quite relaxed and there was a very nice exchange of opinions during and afterwards with the afterwards slightly less polite which i liked. well, not impolite, don't get me wrong, just probably a little more on the honest side of things and that is something you can always catch me with.

lg and i started recording for our interactive audio walk which can be heard during the hörspielfestival in klosterpark altzella, close to dresden the weekend of 19th/20th. to put it simple, people will walk with mp3players through the park, which is lovely by the way, and will hear sounds and do things which we propose them before on a piece of paper. like hugging trees and telling them their secrets. or leaving traces on the floor. or whispering a confession of love. we'll see. but there are really quite interesting intermedialities at ear- and eyesight, i presume.
well, i guess i should be going.

bought fantastic shoes today by the way, and a shirt, and a pair of trousers. as being sensationally priced and needed i could not seriously resist. well.

and - my room is rented, at last. great.

i had a horrible dream that ended with me fighting some very good looking person on a staircase about who would fall and be dead. i won.
nothing compared to the one dream lately where i couldn't help but experience a sexual encounter with one person who accidentally really is not unimportant these days. well, we need to dream, right.

ah, and i packed, right. but just for nottingham.

not for the new apartment. this whole move is going to be quite disastrous. too many things and too little i would like to get rid off.

whhhha, i am going nuts over that person from that dream. that second. and i can't help it. and it can't be helped.

partly read. levinas "die zeit und der andere".
"Dies gehört also zusammen: Freiheit des Ich und ihre Materialität. Die erste Freiheit, die davon herrührt, dass sich im anonymen Sein ein Seiendes erhebt, fordert als Preis: das Definitive des an sich selbst gefesselten Ich. Dieses Definitive des Seienden, das die Tragik der Einsamkeit ausmacht, ist die Materialität. Die Einsamkeit ist nicht deshalb tragisch, weil sie Entzug des anderen ist, sondern weil sie in die Gefangenschaft ihrer Identität eingeschlossen ist, weil sie Materie ist. Die Fesselung der Materie sprengen heißt, das Definitive der Hypstase sprengen. Heißt, in der Zeit sein. Die Einsamkeit ist eine Abwesenheit der Zeit. Die gegebene Zeit, die als sie selbst hypostasierte, erfahrene Zeit, die durchlaufende Zeit, durch die hinduch das Subjekt seine Identität trägt, ist eine Zeit, die unfähig ist, die Verbindung der Hypostase zu lösen." (31)

come and see the time_s

would be too happy to see you there :)

after germany's next topmodel no3

firstly, let me thank my audience for being so supportive. thank you. thank you. i would never have guessed to receive an award because of being able to predict professional modeling choices. right. thank you. see, i told you (with ruc) that vanessa is special. well, we'll see. i am getting more interested in jennifer, whereas raquel loses some points for me.
and because the world is such a terrrible place and i lack sleep and food at this specific moment in time:

loved:
vanessa.
jennifer.

hated:
gisele.
sophia.

personal braindamage from earlier post turned out to be miss penthouse. she is now a naked braindamage which is no professional education i would not consider. why not, it could just be having a great time.

it was funny to talk to colleagues from university about gnt.

***

hackfresse and kotzbrocken are two ethymologically highly interesting and appropriate topics for this blog. this is why i wrote this last sentence.

***

so, homi k. bhaba was in berlin. at the re-imagining asia exhibition in the haus der kulturen der welt and he gave a keynote on "global memory. on barbaric transmission". his lecture was inspiring and at times truly engaging. and i think that his stressing the "past that is not going to die and a future that will not wait to be born" are a kind of nice way to characterize the human condition and the responsibilities that face each and everyone of us.

***

spent two hours talking about one painting of yl with yl.


***

second gig with marwell was marwellous. there were sk, fs, c?, fj, ruc, sf, cm, yl, nb. i liked that a lot :) thank you for coming. hang out afterwards with future management in freizeitheim and june in prenzlauer berg.

***

recently on myspace i found out that the roosters are now stalin vs. band. hh is looking his usual naughty standards which brings me to this:



***

am now about to have another slice of bread and envy organic food of present flatmates. later mini-break in saxony. suddenly feel like screengoddess in manner of grace kelly, though ever so slightly less elegant under pressure (which, basically is as nice a quotation as "i used to wanna change the world, now i just wanna leave the room with a little dignity (adorable justin bond in SHORTBUS - amazing. found my future occupation. am not about to tell which one - but give it a guess)). and - a mini-break is not just shagging. a mini-break means true love. looking forward to round belly, whiteish hair, otto and riverside, although it is just too little time.

***

sweeney todd

visually sweeney todd from its very first frame (i loved the opening credits in all its abstraction) was an immense pleasure for me.
i adored alan rickman's voice and it seemed obvious to us that he used the same timbre as in the potter-films. shivers... i loved one line that sweeney todd said whilst holding up his new/old razors: "At last! My arm is complete again!" it seems interesting that additionally to all the visual keys of him being 'different' he considers himself incomplete when without a prosthesis. screams very loud in one certain direction, does it not. not that i put in words so eloquently, but the last scene, i totally agree with fe, seems to be a reversed pièta and was just beautiful beyond words. the same goes for helena bonham carter - very yummy and tragically funny.



i loved how the innocent, be it thought or thing or living being, was practically erased (see: erase, raze, razor) from the plot ...
i found it mildly disturbing that i couldn't watch the ads before the movie itself without analysing their potential misogynistic attitude. so, my hidden creeping radicalisation, as wb put it, seems obvious to me now, too. well, but perhaps i will never be fundamental and radical.

i so loved being in the cinema!

i also watched pan's labyrinth in a very poor quality but very much enjoyed it. somehow 'the fantastic' has found a very solid base in my heart and is a source of constant stimulation and pleasure which is good. there should be more magic. which, quite obviously, is why i bought a sweater that looks very glittery, see here:


re: misogynistic or magic. not too much thereof in germany's next topmodel, sadly lacking glitter and magic and disturbing grace, at least when the first episode. it seems to be turning into another dsds (well, it never was anything else, i know!) what with forcing people to commit ridiculing crimes. i very much am for sandra at the moment but do think that jennifer and raquel are cool and i am so curious about what happens to gina lisa, seriously.

ronja räubertochter

i went to my absent flatmate's bookshelf and took away something! without asking. but i will return the lovely tale of ronja räubertochter so that nobody needs to cry. so much is for sure. it was a pleasure reading it, i am not sure if i actually ever did read it when i was younger. i did read pippi langstrumpf though and loved it very much.
well, but i once again, as ronja really, discovered how much brutality is in words and hurt some people i don't even care about by saying that their performance was making me want to go run out of the room and discover the beauty of emesis. in fact, i am sadly lacking the ability to shut my mouth. i realise i should but i don't and hurt and ridicule and embarras. i feel that people who are using an audience as their therapist which they obviously are in need of, are making me aggressive to a very dangerous extent. probably that's something i really can't stand. as well as i can't stand those precocious, arrogant mindfuckers who think they know everything and are in a position to enrich the world with it all the time.

*** or is it just that they are so similar to me?

sophie calle

here we go with a little film with and about french artist sophie calle, directed by a very trying ben lewis. funny and interesting. i would like to really recommend it, although it doesn't have this 'somewhat-below-10-minutes-i-can-concentrate-on-length' but is about half an hour. there is even rosalind kraus in it and she explains about mallarmé's thought on books' clefts.
it was refreshing to see and hear calle (presenting herself) as being 'completely accidental' when being so deep whilst in fact having no idea about barthes or derrida or whoever. makes me want to be happy



and did you know that forced entertainment's exquisite pain is actually based on a project by sophie calle? i didn't, but i made the connection nonetheless when in the documentary they quoted from this 'red book' "5 days ago the man i loved left me" and also the red phone. it's strange how such seemingly ordinary things as a sentence of no higher 'quality' than any other or the picture of a red phone got burned into my memory that i was instantly reminded of it again. beautiful. i had seen the production in volksbühne last year or the year before.

manifesto for the dada of the cyborg-embrio

"|...| s/hit is a natural narcissist (pleasurable self-therapy through self-eroticism & sex) as the psyche has to accomodate for loss-of-form, fear of transformation:
identity= CLOUD of the most probable whereabouts

|...| loss and becoming are part of one process: mutilation is loss&becoming at the same time: lose an arm>become a fountain, get blown to pieces>get a new shape, get killed>become eatable left-overs"

i adored the cloud. and i guess that splatter is just another way of accepting and being honest with each other. hans a. scheirl who wrote these words above and has this manifesto published in the eight technologies of otherness, ed. by sue (or johnny) golding, by whom i, incidentally, was utterly impressed, is a painter/filmmaker living in london who did the film dandy dust >>>



now cy know.

...

nothing much happened.

indeed, the 'nothing much' just 34 minutes ago was bruce darnell's styling show which is just booooring. it's ridiculous, really. and it's not so so bad that it would be funny.

much time today was spent with reading beatriz preciado and trying to grasp the dildo, literally (... lol), which was not so bad, really. i would not say, by all means, i understand everything she writes, but some of her thoughts about the technologies of sex seem interesting to me and i loved how her text worked. it also made me laugh at certain points, especially those connected to kellog. if you wanna know, go buy the manifesto contrasexual. or watch this (so sorry, nothing about kellog here):

gelesen

unter uns - uns allen zusammen und in unterschiedenen zusammenhängen - hat es schon das teilen eines gemeinsamen gegeben, das nur sein teilen ist, doch teilend existenz gewährt und also an die existenz selbst rührt, insofern diese heißt, der eigenen grenze ausgesetzt zu sein. das eben hat aus uns "uns" gemacht, uns trennend und uns einander näherbringend, die nähe schaffend durch die entfernung zwischen uns - "uns", "wir" in der wesentlichen unterschiedenheit, in der sich dieses kollektive oder plurale subjekt hält, dazu verdammt, niemals seine eigene stimme zu finden.
jean-luc nancy.

lösung des intellektuellenproblems

nach reiflicher überlegung komme ich zu folgendem konstrukt, was wir jetzt mal machen, okay?!
also, treffen sich 1231 intellektuelle bei herrn habermas und niklas ist auch da. die herren baudrillard und derrida sind als gespenster anwesend. marx auch.
dann geht das so: einer springt vom reichstag. vielleicht ist er nicht tot, jedenfalls nicht sofort. zwei geplante strategien werden daraufhin angewandt - 1. ein gefülltes rotweinglas wird erhobenen hauptes der revolution gewidmet, geleert und schließlich verspeist. auf dass s/he von innen verblute. 2. mindestens 31 intellektuelle bilden einen schutzring um die/den dahinsiechende/n genossIn im geiste und verhindern so das rettende eingreifen einer zweiten, zu benennden rettungskraft. am tage darauf wird nach der formel f(x)=(x+1) * n [n>2,1] ein zweiter intellektuellentrupp auf den reichstag geschickt um nach beschriebener methode weiter an der lösung des intellektuellenproblems zu arbeiten. täglich fortführen. irgendwann sind die intellektuellen weg. und dann kann es losgehen.
in diesem sinne.

tun oder denken?

den tyrannen töten oder den polizisten mit steinen bewerfen?
systemimmanent das system angreifen oder sich über das system erheben?
morgen germany's next topmodel schauen oderglobalisierungskritik denken/machen?!?!
beides gleich?!
auf geht's...
schöner abend mit freund m.

mononormativität

nach dem nachdenken. ja, mononormativität ist wohl eines der großen themen der karlotta. weil mono das gegenteil so impliziert, oder? schade eigentlich, wenn es "minderheiten" genausowenig schaffen, oder besser, damit zu kämpfen haben, sich ohne ein wirkliches abgrenzen gleichwohl als gemeinschaft beschreiben zu können. ohne kitschig werden zu wollen, aber der vielzietierte schwellenzustand oder zustand des zwischen scheint mir ungleich reizvoller.

ne, also di homonormativität

franziska s. verkündet, ich schließe mich (natürlich auf keinen fall ironisch!) an - bisexuelle seien die besseren menschen. natürlich ist das so. das kann man aber auch aus der reinen homo- und heteronormativität gar nicht nachvollziehen (dürfen). tiina, die sockin, sagt ja, dass frauen, die mit männern schlafen, geschlechtsverräterinnen seien. ja, finde ich auch, auf jeden fall. nein, ganz im ernst, natürlich hat sie eigentlich recht, aber was hat sie davon - nur die aussage, dass bisexuelle letztlich die allerschlimmsten sind. und das von meiner zweitlieblingswissenschaftlerin.
ich habe auch wein getrunken. mein sessel ist kaputt und ich habe unglaublich viel schneeartiges in den nasenschleimwänden. hui. C₆H₁₂O_{6 - einer meiner lieblingsnasenfüller :)
annemarie schwarzenbach meine liebe... hach.}