Memory box, Diary

August-Bebel-Strasse, Leipzig, 1998

I just remember, like me 1998 Arrived in August-Bebel-Strasse in Leipzig in mid-October, and it was 23 City

and then 2 Months later the snow froze on the street, For weeks, small ice lakes had dug into the concrete pavement, and the wind was the coldest and the most dashing, I ever felt, with the exception of the Schönhauser Allee metro underpass in Berlin

I always wanted to live in the south back then, but for paradoxical reasons I always ended up in the northeast,

in February 03 I came in high-heeled black tube boots, the woman wore at the time, up on Senefelderstrasse with my checkered suitcase skidding, it snowed and snowed, I saw the snow rise, Werthmüller came to me in the black, customary breast-flowing summer shirt…and when we finally got to his front door, Senefelderstrasse had disappeared under the snow

2005 I threw my first manuscript from the fourth floor of Senefelderstrasse “the insatiable” out the window down this great street, on the one hand, because it was really bullshit on the other hand to impress the black drummer angel Mich Werthmüller

About half a year later I received a letter on Hopfenweg in Bern with an unknown sender, is (anyone) I found a complete manuscript on the pavement of a Berlin street, something like that would not have happened to me under southern palm trees, that a brisk passerby, who rushes through German streets, bends down for a manuscript. Fortunately, the content remained bullshit

fortunately, because it would have been embarrassing, if the Aufbau-Verlag of Mr. Paschedag had published this Brunz

I've looked at a couple of times since “the insatiable” thrown, but besides memories and a great title, I haven't found out yet, how I could still save individual passages.

2006 I was in Berlin for the penultimate time, in the summer and drank the biggest beer (half a liter) at two at night, in four minutes, the next day I went to “Love memorial” made of steel on the Soundsoplatz at the hyperhype Prenzl in my pink fish scale pumps a legendary disagreement. I must have grimaced, because someone walked past me and asked:ok?(again a German courtesy).

the last time I accompanied the poet R.R. 2008 to Wannsee in the villa for writers. I was in a bad mood, very bad, my second manuscript “the business”, that I took with me, war bullshit, somehow even bullshitter as the first. The writer's villa, in which even Michel Houellbecq stayed, was completely lifeless and extinct, but the wild boars, who haunted the property at night and left their traces, impressed me.

The first stay was unforgettable 1994 in October in Berlin with my sister. We had to go every morning 7.30 be outside from the youth hostel. Postdamerplatz shone in the dew, a huge area of ​​meadow and torn building land. I hiked down a flight of stairs into the former walls of Hitler and Co, The photographs of the murdered Jews were hung on the rough walls….it was impressive, much more impressive than later the stela monument. I never got that, that they couldn't just leave Potsdamerplatz as an inviolable huge wound of memory…and replaced the ruins of evil with huge cinema complexes.

When we drove to Potsdam at minus five degrees, My sister stuck her tongue out against the frosted subway window, and I had to laugh terribly. Back then, my big sister could still be damn funny in her huge blue hat. And despite the insane freezing and shivering, I could still laugh through the thin black coat. In Bergmannstrasse near Kreuzberg we threw ourselves into the sofas exposed on the open street and ate the lukewarm kebab with highlight red cabbage.

1996 I was in Friedrichshain and was followed at night by a couple of rioters from a spunk with lots of punks. At four o'clock in the morning I just slipped into the Spunten, out of pure curiosity. Because they didn't stop banging on the door of my apartment, I got scared and called out the window with all my might (on what floor?) for help in this typical Berlin courtyard.

At this disreputable time in Berlin, I played Julia Andrewjewna von in Schönbergerallee …from…Chekhov's uncle Vanya? I played really well for about a day, But after two weeks I just got fed up with the acting class and played accordingly badly, so that we even had to swap roles. (8.10.2020)
not far from August-Bebelstrasse 1998

Composer and drummer Wertmüller in his pose in the late 1990s