This morning at half past eight I went for a walk, to see everything, the dry stubble of the meadows with the bent stalks, the scrub and the few flowers, the necks of poppies and little daisies, Grasses rampant in the concrete. Sheep, Peaceful under the wood, Quiet, Air already warm, but tolerable, I felt as dressless and naked as a weasel, Happy and happy about this half an hour without human noises, Only me and my dress, naked feet, And what of the little piece of nature, that surrounds me, remains left.
I adore a nature, I never worked with, a field, A tree cartilage, I worship, where I come from and what I am a part of, If I understand it. I never worked physically, viewed, How something grows, that I planted by hand (Except for a single time, 2006, in the mountain forest), I never fell into bed in the evening, Tired of work, drained, But fulfilled by a sense, No, I grew up in a time, that already took off, And I think, My hybris is a result of this withdrawal of the time, the eighties. For me, the symbol is the Challenger, The rocket, those at the time by the thick, small flicker box, Fire on the butt and a tip at the top, who wants to get started, But shortly after the start explodes.
We, back then, at school, we, The big ones, were all little challengers, Fixed and solid the housing, Everything technical feasibility inside. But I, only me, I had these mistakes in the technology from the start, I missed the start and stayed lying down, crouch, It bothered me less, that you are trampling on me. I was packed by a fever, Feeling life, sensual, on my body, To feel and experience, What was beyond the mechanics, I was, So to speak, withdrawn in a different way, lucky, lovable, remotely even intoxicating…..
And because there wasn't much of it, I was also addicted to my own suffering. I thought it was big, Guard it, The less you asked about it. Not much was missing, And I would have changed from suffering to happiness again, I was looking for a person, who discovers me and lovingly leans over me, But at the same time I went my own way, far from everything, far away, of the possibility of trusting people without this hellish inner tension. I didn't think about it, that nothing could become of me, I never thought that, I was so uncompromising into myself, I was so little interested in everyday life, the school, education, the world, The sports club etc.. In this bubble I became twenty, than my body, that was raced all the time, Give up the ghost. There were no laurels to pick, never again, since. I knew, early, How important it is, physically, to be sensual and energetically, It was clear to me, That was one and everything, Even before I lost it, Because I got the challenger being implemented, Because I was a hollow head with ambition, that you thought of, He can only laze, just dream, just brood, dream, Brood like Hans Castorp, And that never finds peace, The expectant engineer, Not even in his sick days in the sanatorium, for years, in his thoughts or in his body, No way.
The great feelings were going to be emptied, And the emptiness remained, But the insult I became, All the better, nature was again over culture, This crushed and maltreated soil, I would never have known about, How he would feed me and I don't know. Back then, When the Okis fled to Californers because of the drought, they became apricot pickers, I thought of that this morning, And I looked around for the apricot trees, But I only found a few sea fighter, dried on the shrub. I went around the house, silently and introduced me, I am a migrant worker with a harmonica in a torn little fabric bag, half -hidden, muscular defined hips and thighs, tanned skin and bright eyes. I wanted to go far on foot on dusty streets, singing and happy, Because everything is easy in one body, who has no conscience, Only sensual hunger. But soon it got hot, Already around nine o'clock, And I returned from my walk around the house and returned to my studio.
I adore nature, Because the culture, in which I live, in my opinion, broke up. I adore nature, Because it is not to be humanized, Because she calms me down and reminds me of something, that I don't know: A life with nature.
Sooner or later my body will give in and the only place, where I am not disturbed, hopefully, Will be somewhere in
be of nature. But until then I still feel this little challenger in me. I would have to get better in writing, write more, Another novel, Write better this time, etc.. Only love could position the Challenger correctly.
What else do we do with our floor. None of these elementary processes of food production from the natural resource to a buyable product, I am present. Would it be possible, Outside in my one meter long garden bed to plant a potato? Would grow? I would be able to treat them like this, that she becomes a potato?