Olympiastadion Berlin, 1998
Shadow falls on the stairs, which border on the sky. The places, brown plastic benches, die von weiten wirken wie in die Luft gebaute Springhürden oder rostige Haarnadeln, they are evacuated. It's Sunday. There is a, two spectators, die auf der gewaltigen Tribüne sitzen, far apart, isolated small dots of color. A young man is reading. Two people with packed lunches are looking for a chair in the official gallery. Several people are on the edge of a gray-stone colossus, carelessly amazed. Muffled voices are swallowed up by the concrete. Someone is meditating. The stadium has a gigantic back on all sides. Feindseligkeit konserviert sich irgendwie in seinem Innern. Gleichzeitig scheint die äussere Welt weit weg, irgendwie nicht mehr vorstellbar. Every now and then a couple of crows cast a shadowy corner in the sky. All in all, there is no wind at all. People sit in pairs in front of the plaque, huddled together. Auch sie scheinen verlangsamt. Ruhen sie aus? This is my third time here, without knowing, Why. The longer I sit here, the more I have the impression, that I turn to stone.