What do I care, when melancholia shatters the earth? Fear has given up on me, Angst, from which I drew for many years, you too .... was mich erschüttert beim zweiten Filmabend mit Lars von Triers Melancholia ist das immerwiederkehrende Motiv des r ...
48
When I was alive, Raven, I inevitably felt, having to run a parade. Why does that occur to me?? Maybe because I just woke up and had a dream: I had to walk through a kind of valley, anfangs zierten riesige gelbe u grüne ...
Foucault_from a conversation with Claude Bonnefoy_1968
'... I read all these texts, by breaking with all intimacy, with which we can stand with them, avoiding all effects of recognition. I try to present them in their singularity, in their greatest possible strangeness, and ...
Foucault_Conversation with Claude Bonnefoy_1968_
'When I faced the impossibility, to use my own language, I noticed at first, that she is a strength, has a consistency, which is not simple like the air, that you breathe, so no absolutely imperceptible transparency. Dann erkannte ...
Andere_E.M. Cioran
'Life creates itself in delirium and is undone in ennui.'
47
All this, Raven. curled up. So little. Raven. Rich existence, unreachable far away. Rich existence, Good, what an abundance of gifted life. So little, so much Raven. A thought in a room. Two eyes, two arms, two legs. And inside: ...
Eclats_another waking dream (out of agony)
scar, degree, when summer retreats, Misunderstanding monochrome, without reflexes, without colors. go to bed, half thinking, half asleep, a wait, that never tires, like a bus shelter. Missed the first bus, the second. The ...
Eclats_Wachttraum, My curtains in the evening sun and beyond
I climbed up a forest, who burned red in his crowns. The earth was white, Myriads of black and red flowers floated in it. From big plates, who were swaying, kullerte ein Schwarm orange leuchtender Nadeln herab. I smelled honey ...
Eclats_Poem without a clear title
the expectation brings. Door opened to a crack. Hour of the torn. hour, where the bridges shine, the cities from the burning of the roots of the grass. Shadowed eye bores home, in the wreath of silver gnats a lamp, ganz vorne bei der Ra ...