Quite a lot of time and effort went by, until I finally get there (the old town of Berne) had done. When I got there, I was already as unsteady on my feet as before, before these seven or fifteen years of spatial abstinence, but after that 4 The rod. I said I hadn't been there for seven or fifteen years, with the latter is the year 2007 meant, When I broke up with beer and going out once and for all.
Actually, I'm still drunk.
The happiest part of it all seems to me, that somehow I got home safely. But I'll be in an even better mood, when I've gotten through this weird high and can be normally sober and depressed to death again.
The taxi driver was from Turkey and said, everything was better before. I said yes, and had to discreetly push my beautiful gray Manchester jacket under my butt, because I- ochherrje, as my body used to do in the past- everything, everything … well… had bled to death, just like in the good old days, crappy times of my tweens and thirties.
I said, as I said, and, Yes, everything was better before, the Post has cut staff, I would have liked to have lived in the 20's and you? You know, that there, wo ich wohne ,used to be the Vicusstrasse and there are still Celtic remains standing around in the undergrowth, hey you know that? And so forth, more jokes like that. I do not know, whether the taxi driver knows the Romans, I believe, by his silence, he has never heard of them. It doesn't matter.
I saw so many people in the 3 Confederates, how long, not long, but except for the gray serving nozzle, I didn't recognize a single face. Since I was massively thirsty, I drank quickly, and about halfway through I came close, close to a tense relaxation relationship, (this was sorely needed after a week of comedy with the city tax office about my missing be-login account.) I wouldn't call it relaxing.
I noticed, that I looked at the round arches of the arbours, the kind, how the lamps hung in the hallways and that I have never seen these things, fifteen years ago, when I was still drinking here. The rock of the arbors is not quite even, it is very nice, I agree, despite the oppressive character, that the arches give to the streets.
After a while, everything other than the rock began to weigh me down, I would have given a lot for it, if Chris Rosales had stopped by. I used to have an elegant American live chat with him- at the height of the best possible mood and liveliness for the moment! Rocker Chris Rosales, now probably also bald, was nowhere and nobody else from the inventory at that time was there either. Then I suddenly thought, whether maybe these people, who were left here at the time, all my age and ten to twenty years older, whether they might have snapped off too …. more or less …. so, like me. I thought, that some may even have died because of the liver. And that I've been stupid, to believe, the longest time, only I am so exposed to transience.
Much, I would have given a lot for it, if Z had come by, is, who dismissed me as a tween like a teacher, but i always thought; this is Kierkegard, this Z. with his blue eyes and the red tuft of hair on his head. (I tried to read Kierkegard once, vain.) I've always hoped, that he still kneels before me, Even though I'm such an unholy chav. But he had a brain, very clever, I have never seen her. But now I would have loved to have discovered Kierkegard's face in the arbor, this child's face, behind which the priest is probably still crouching and lurking, to flog women, who just want to cuddle with him.
I do not know, if drinking made me vulgar, and so, whether the alcohol a hidden, brought out the obscene side of me, back then on those lean nights. It is possible. Chris Rosales once said: You have a true face. You are the most edgy woman I know! That was before we went skating together, Kuven?, on which I didn't cut the best figure, unlike Chris, who was also a rocker on the ice.
Maybe I should have gone to California, to meet other men, who think I'm the most grounded woman on earth. I already knew myself, that he is right, definitely drunk. I know, what he meant by my earthiness.
As I slowly got drunk, I noticed, that it was never worth it and never would be worth it, the 3E and I got scared, I wouldn't make it home to Vicusstrasse.
Then came A, put two scribbles in front of me and said: I want ten francs for it! Oha, he's also allowed himself a raise over the last twenty years, can't blame him, since everything became so much more expensive in the commercial world. He still looks the same, a beggar, who cannot look up from the ground, and so somehow always looks up obliquely from the ground….. and yet he must dare to look, Does he want to survive somehow?……
I thought of Robert Walser, who gave the waitresses hundred francs, for any looks, the poor, poor dog and flirting robbers.
I have a. bought the paintings, because i think, I made a solid middle-class impression with my expensive wellness glasses, the black palazzo trousers and the dark gray manchester jacket. The times, walking around like a tart, are over, each piece of skin must be covered with black, be covered in a wide cloth, I want to minimize the damage to the eye. But I cried out of desperation, before I left, that there is absolutely nothing left to improve on my silhouette and that my face has lost its aura overnight, Ever since I cut my hair and got these glasses.
Nothing is like that anymore, as it appears. Everything is just, how it is. As a contemplative I see, that the exuberance and happiness lives on in the boys, who roam the streets with excited speeches, I see eighteen year olds rocking hand in hand and I know, that they are alive and happy now, at this moment, although they don't know, that she's walking down the ugliest street in this city, the Neuengasse, walk. Those streets, at the upper end, before the Loeb, they give me a shock, a feeling of inner distress, because everything seems so abandoned, so hideously unforgiving. Thereby one has there, Eleven year old, at Waisenhausplatz in one of these needy booths for the first time proudly ate a portion of fries on a folding plate without parents! Bought a pair of jeans or a cheap finger ring for the first time at the family EPA …!
The waitress at 3E is really very, turned very grey, I got a little scared, when I saw her. In return, she must have seen me as a fat black bug with blunt hair and a slack mouth. But we recognized each other, in the images of our memory, and because our eyes haven't changed, I mean this very specific soulfulness, the living eyes only looking bestows, and that remains the same for everyone from children to old people.
She took a beer coaster, half of it torn off and her phone number written on it, maybe, because I said, that I haven't been to 3E in seven years because of the Chronic Fatigue nonsense, or but, I don't know why either. I didn't feel too good about it, because it was so accommodating and nice. But the gesture then reminded me of the even more distant past, when I was in Thuner Alpenrösli with Henri, the everlasting vitality stitch, Messages scribbled on the lid of the Feldschlösschen, stupid, stupid messages … my God!
But yes, aren't there moments, that you like to look back on and that you don't want to miss, freight R., and I say stomping: No! No! No! Don't tell me that!
Because I just didn't want to, that life is made up of moments, but something grows down from those moments, like the roots of the tree deep down, that something deep is settling in over the course of years, that good and glamorous, is solid and unbreakable …. that survives the moment in its ridiculous fleetingness …..!!!!!!
not the chronification of sickness and failure, sondern die Chronifizierung von Tagen, weeks and years, in which there is a form of stability, a ground, from which fulfillment arises ….. (I think of C. and cry), but I didn't get there, I have nothing tangible, somehow have nothing in hand, although I've been alive for so long, because I'm stuck, remains ….. (so, here we are again, beim sorry), in my own words, which vanish into thin air in a strange way, as soon as they are expelled … and because I can almost only expel them without thinking ….. as fragments ….
Words are not material, Writing is not material … it's just like breath in and out …. it gave me this insane feeling of aliveness for a long time … and yet this distance did not dissolve …. that feels so cold, now. Aha, I've run out of beer, the body trembles exhausted, a kind of rubber glove wraps around the heart muscle, it's a bit Python-like every time. Hurry under the covers and calm down the last pinch of strength, save the last bit of power, because I was out for an hour after seven years.
The beer tasted good, it wasn't light. Dark beer has that rich, loamy taste.
And yet I secretly dreamed of a glass of red wine. Tiefroter, almost more bluish, slightly sweet rosy Bordeaux, pounded from sun-ripened grapes.
(14.5.22)