7.3.2003
Smaller, rabiater, not too sensitive volcano, this american-guy. It was a spring day with a hair dryer and fibrous clouds. The birds fluttered overhead in droves, while we were skating- it was nice. The undulating power of their wings, synchronous movement. And in me the urgent desire for Bielmann pirouettes, only for him and my arrogance. Then we played with a little boy at the football pit and the boy's hand was very small and fishy, when I was doing shake hands with her. We should eventually win against Americano-Vulcano. Suddenly we both lost everything. Only because I said, last night, stupid and drunk: let’s buy condoms and have sex. We were so speechless. A huge trench opened up. We were stranded on an ice surface, that I would call rough. Then I had written him a little love letter beforehand: I am a Child. I am an Angel. I cannot have sex except if you are playing my mother. I have Over-Consciousness. You must really help me to fuck! It couldn't be brought together, all that.
9.3.2003
If only I could escape from the captivity of my head! That's why I want the film in my life and I stick to different roles! Because the narrowness and fatefulness of being an individual ends me. Skin and body, Heart and brain remain the same anyway, whatever role I come up with. I woke up this morning and thought of the American? How can we ever meet again like this?? All day long I just felt the need, to submerge and disappear. In the cinema, I was annoyed by the exaggerated American portrayal of feelings, and only one sentence the Virginia Woolf (played by Kidman) said in the hours, stuck to me: “Someone has to die, so that others will appreciate life more. "
11.3.2003
Was on the Jungfraujoch today. Turquoise green glacier, anthracite columns a few meters in front of the screen like nested petals. But in the mountain: Pubs, Bars, Toilets, Watch shops, Museums. The whole on 4000 meters above sea, an ice cream, Made suitable for amusement. As if the city were on the yoke! Only a sign indicates this, that we should climb stairs a little slower, because the oxygen capacity is worse up here. No idea, what to write for the Kuhn painter's book. Thinking does not appeal to me physically enough. Later: the mountain sun has burned my face. Again scraps of words from the last few days: „I don’t understand you. I don’t understand you. – „You don’t …. don’t …"Blaba.
12.3.2003
Give me matter, that I can shape, for which it is worthwhile, to burn and become stupid. I'm in the city, cross the pedestrian crossing and marvel at every shape, that I encounter. I suck myself full of these miracle figures, rather than stopping in front of the crocuses. I wanted to be with a man. Instead, I provoked God. It's also a kind of penetration, with which God penetrates me. Restrain yourself, Instead of burning me alive. It is your madman, your complexity, Who chased the poor boy to hell. If only I had a property with a huge turnaround. Then I would learn now, hissing like a tiger.
13.3.2003
Where was I? Mahler Symphony, No 4, Movement, calm. I bled a lot. Slipped along in the warm slumber of maternal pills. I don't want to wake up that day. Heaven has drawn its curtains, I bury myself in the violins, I can't cope with the ugliness, that lurks beyond this spun cocoon. This heaven has drawn its curtains, and. But these violins open the sky again. And the curtains, these are the tears, one comes across Mahler's symphony, adagio number four, over this wandering swaying incredible ship. Only when the last note is heard, I can shake off the shock again. No, actually I emerge from this symphony like fresh, but bathed too long.
15.3.2003
Actually, I have no interests other than myself, Essen, Drink, Sleep, To stroll, Write and fall in love. Something missing, I feel bad. Or I'm bored. Am I so simple?? How can it be then, that I am unhappy so often? I'm afraid, I am complicated to be simple! In this huge, I feel unbelievable ungodliness, like a ruined engine! Two traumas seem plausible to me, first: that I had to part with Mommy. And secondly: that I had to part from the illusion of God.
Ever since I realized that, I understand, that men can only fail with me or vice versa. Because mommy comes first. Then God comes. And only then does the man come. Somebody rescue me from the addiction of such stupid thoughts! "I love your bones." He said. What's west here, is the bone?