‘Twenty-five years and my life is still
Trying to get up that great big hill of hope
For a destination
I realized quickly when I knew I should
That the world was made up of this brotherhood of man
For whatever that means
And so I cry sometimes when I′m lying in bed
Just to get it all out what’s in my head, and I
I am feeling a little peculiar
And so I wake in the morning and I step outside
And I take a deep breath and I get real high
And I scream from the top of my lungs
What′s going on?
And I say, hey, yeah, yeah, hey, yeah
Hey, yeah, yeah
I said, “Hey, what’s going on?”
And I say, hey, yeah, yeah, hey, yeah
Hey, yeah, yeah
I said, “Hey, what’s going on?”
Ooh, ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh
And I try, oh my god, do I try
I try all the time, in this institution
And I pray, oh my god, do I pray
I pray every single day
For a revolution
(the four non Blondes)
The things, that we have to do
So freshly baked rolls to bake, about with 100 Up around and 85 below the waist, we weren't that kind of girl. You lived your dynamic moods and I lived my fine vibrations. We got together, we overflowed.
There was this hot summer day 2003, when we ran into the water like young dogs in a zigzag run, you in your white tiny, me in my blue tiny bikini.
You were soon swimming out in the lake, more elegant and noisier than any swan. Half-submerged, I paddled near the shore, surprised by so much water music on the ear. Then we lay back on the grass and talked about ourselves, by mentally jumping like bumblebees from flower to flower. “Is it right, how i am here, am I right for the others?” did you ask. “Is this being here really for me?? Isn't it more real for everyone else?” I asked.
We were just in our mid-twenties, and what we wanted, that was our thing to do. Of course everyone at this age wants that. But I think, we wanted it a little different: I went one way, with all naivety, without even thinking about making any social compromises. You had the suppleness of a life artist, and consequently researched your truth in dance, you kept your broken paths together under the umbrella of your inspiration. Perhaps we didn't expect a lack of understanding of an environment back then, the adult human beings judged by templates, calculated according to their benefit and likes to point to the stopwatch, if someone at thirty has not yet landed as glue in the jam barrel of conformity. There, when we both turned thirty, back then, we still felt like twenty anyway, Not?
At one in the morning we came around the corner from the train station, stopped suddenly between the tram tracks and emptied two goblets of champagne with crossed arms, the you (the bottle!) previously under the gaze of several male passers-by, conjured up from your white skirt. Then a bright angel pulled on floating shackles with long blond hair, as light as a feather as silk and a dark little Napoleon with jingling spurs through this city, those of constant sleep (even back than) constantly drooping eyelids. Everything flashed, swayed like on a deep-sea ship. Groups backed away from us, and one or the other would certainly have liked to put our energy in the sack and knot it and tie it twice. In the end we negotiated our status quo loudly, trumpeted our possible and immediately comprehensible, incredible future, in a singsong quite indignantly out into the night: Our age! (That seemed pretty old to us back then!) The upcoming cosmetic surgeries and the future lowering of our still girlish flesh! Your hybrid heart to your work, my hybrid heart to mine! Our common inclination, Sponsor, Schools and institutions, who could possibly help us with our actions, to be viewed with the suspicion of aliens! The ambivalence, Perform and work, which was intimate and a part of ourselves, to operate publicly and to drag in the dirt for money … Your idea of running away, Camy, and the farm in Australia, wild horses, bumpy jeeps and mud masks! My idea of endless train travel, the occurrence in train stations (Of: dance, I: language), sleeping in cheap motels, Life from our charm, Eating from our own deserved, really self-earned bread …
We were already very hoarse and very drunk, when we were stranded at a party of a university friend of mine, tripped over the legs or chair legs of some strange intellectuals, in the last free chair, at the back of a shady Yuka plant, sank down and became very quiet. “What do the others think of me?? When i am like that, like I am, am I then right for the others?" Of. "I do not know, what the others think. If any, then don't ask yourself, who or how you are. No, I believe, they just sit there, drink so much wine, how to do it and talk about things. Things can be more exciting for some, than yourself. Things are always there, surround them like swimming rings and provide them with ever new reality, almost like the daily news from the newspapers.”
In the meantime you got up, with the cell phone to the ear, disappeared several times in the stairwell, got more and more absent, were no longer responsive. Your friend wanted you, you mumbled something about surveillance, of telephone terror day and night, Pain, that plagued you behind the breastbone, who have been causing you this bond for a long time and were suddenly as if swallowed by the ground. As completely different. Suddenly I felt the threatening harbingers of a hundredfold alcoholic disillusionment.
The rigid-headed one, nitrogenous, slender magic of men! You know, I would never have believed, that this pink handy, but darn effective male high pills just one of their weathered ones, to throw off the fizzy drink borrowed from Eros, so that our Villa Kunterbunt, a pantheon of ever new metamorphosis, (?***2020 a pantheon can transform itself?) dissolves in fuming air. Okay, you've had it a little with those two-legged drug pills! And I've had it a little with these two-armed drug pills! Yours trumped up in the form of great ones, historically ancient machos, mine were dry jointed fern! Yours, as vain beauties, demanded space! Mine carried their maternal mollusc house with them, to warp if necessary, as soft whites! But while I danced a little on the nose for a colleague with the necessary distance, do you have a "real" relationship with a badboy under one roof. I haven't seen you in months. And when I've called you, did you complain, you can't talk on the phone for long, your relationship is ruining you, You lack the time and energy for your projects, etc..
I met you once then, in the afternoon, by chance in town, and while we are called this one at the train station, drank cinnamon tea, the shadow fell away from you very tentatively. So we have another one (Tee) with rum on it and a second with pear schnapps on top … well … It was ten in the evening, we were soaked in high spirits and exuberant courage. Maybe too much of it (I). That's when I got the stupid idea, you with a man with a huge mollusc house, a shelter for two, to couple, so to speak. I handed you my cell phone with my ex-boyfriend's number on it, the number was already dialed. And by introducing you to each other, I never saw you again!
This means, but, three, four times, yet. I don't know exactly anymore, when it was. In fact, you brought us to dance, me and other non-dancers, Unemployed, Girlfriends, two, three almost criminals, picked up directly from the street. The brilliant project came about four times, before it crashed, then they all parted angrily. Wanna bet, everyone was deeply disappointed in themselves. I was already powerless at that time, I felt my muscle strength, my stamina, (Endurance?) waning and waning in an eerie way. I couldn't explain this to you. While you were in constant motion. You moved easily, almost floating through my little attic apartment, which was far too small for your charged mood, in a red dress, with hair down, very easy, silky.
Crush eggs, Flour and sugar from my kitchen cupboard, shakes a couple of wonderful omelettes out of your sleeve within a short time. Brew hot herbal tea and juggle the whole thing on a tray in my room. Some things fall down, but that's normal, that doesn't matter! You quickly put on another record, We want to sing to Laura Pausini's howls, do our best. You always louder and louder. Arms up high, the legs to a grand plié, you sink at the peak, down at the last note, mechanically pull a photo album from my shelf, look at the year-old pictures of me and my ex-boyfriend, who is now your love partner. I see, how the expression on your face changes, your shoulders cramp up, your posture becomes very stiff: “You still want him! You never left him! You're still together behind me! You're playing a mean game against me! You want, that he thinks badly of me! You are against me! Everyone is against me …!”
Life with its silly coincidences, his arbitrariness (** I shouldn't use that word, because I don't understand 2020) and its alien baggage; I didn't understand it so often back then. I felt left alone and displaced, I was so sad. That's how I turned thirty-five, first, and then forty and more and more pointless. And because mine is my thing, that I once believed, that I have to do it, more and more slipped away, I'm biting into this thing meanwhile. You shouldn't have seen me: I was no longer a free person in my freedom, I had lost all my sensuality! I was no longer that little down-to-earth Napoleon in the shape of a firing jumping ball with ten times testosterone. When we ran into the water like young dogs, in summer 2003. In our children's bikinis, full of excitement, what the years would bring, what we would wrest from the years!
Hey, nor to the masses of the bikini: There weren't a few (female) and (male) be right, who claimed, with our little girl's breasts we aren't really women at all? And because our breasts are so girlish and small, we would never become adult women? Hoho! Little Napoleon would have liked to have had a D-Cup, because he thought, that there would then be more leeway, You already know. But you once said: “When I have small breasts, it's much more practical when hugging, because then I am the person, that i love, can push much closer and closer to me, when all these women with their - “We weren't just freshly baked rolls to be baked, powdered and velvety, fleshy and child-friendly, No; We weren't that kind of girl.
You were the artist of life, the fearless of us both.
Your relationship with the man, that I hooked you up with, broke apart at some point, and later I heard, that you lived on the street for several years. You should keep yourself afloat with little money, quarreled in relationships, this ended, but always new ones. But I only heard that, and so it's only in my ears. I think, you've set up projects, continue to grapple with your immediate substance, the movement, your environment. Again and again you set out and left this cool country with its many cool and abstract people and lived elsewhere in the world. (elsewhere among happier people?) Sometime, After a few years, did you call me. There is no reason, That you just dialed my number, this is pure coincidence, You said. And you fell out of a window on the third floor in the south and broke your back. If you could still dance? Your back is full of metal. I found out later, that you try, climbing down the facade of a house, to escape a man's advances, fell.
I imagine, how to expand the boundaries in search of your truth, that you don't know yourself, a steady drilling, how to get close to people, very close, confuse them, mobilize, enchanted, infect, Wishing to the devil in an attack of psychotic chaos. You also had me back in the summer 2003 carried away, I've never raved or laughed so much with joy again. (This one year was kind of an island for me before the time of gray shades and my long one, disease-related aging came).
A few days ago I found out, that you were found lifeless in a coastal village below a not too high rock.
It is strange, That you took off for a flight when you were forty-two, but it probably means, like most, nothing else. Forty-two is the age, in which one, when one is an angel on earth, has two wings, one of which is slightly transparent, purple and shimmering, the other blazes and sparkles, black jagged.
"Am I right?"-" Clearly. "
(dedicated to Camy, August 2017)