2001/2002 I was in Marbach for three months, because I slipped into a weird crisis: I no longer made love to my doc and lifesaver with my body, I was suddenly separated from him and fallen out of the wholeness of our connection. I could just with him, where I only found trust and closeness, no longer bear this closeness. Terrible fear overwhelmed me, and, even some sort of persecution fear from Doc, who didn't understand at all and continued to love me faithfully, as if an endless drama weren't happening, for him and me.
Brief description of some of those present.
Frau Muhle, Perception therapist. Wears Deux-Pièce and Blouson. Tugs at the stub of her tie with one hand. We don't just want to communicate with each other, but also experienced, if this, what we say, corresponds to that, what we feel. Let's feel into our body for once. We are well? We feel, like our feet are on the ground?
Rainer's Adam's apple twitches, the eyelids fall over his yellow iris. He slowly strokes the shell of a shell with his thumb. Otherwise Rainer likes to move. Although two toes were frozen off on a mountain hike in the high Tibetan mountains. He also got tangled up in the Montblanc Mountains. He even had to be rescued by Rega three times.
Nik sits next to Rainer. Nik would like, that life is a trance or a catharsis. In any case, it shouldn't be here, but happen elsewhere. Nik's need to communicate is enormous. During the day he sneaks around the rooms like a eager cat, clings to the respective person, heaps them with incoherent scraps, restlessly choked words. I have often admonished Frau Muhle and the others: Take care of him, speak to him properly! But such people are like zookeepers. I'm sure, the unstable drug cracker is planning his escape right now, which even Yvette on his left cannot stop him from.
Yvette, highly gracious gothic junkie. He stretches his dry brush into the air like a cigarette holder. You can see the milky wrist. The blue, thick arteries. Yvette is confident. It cleans itself of bacteria. She comes out of the bathroom again, if different from their white, Remove fragments of skin from brittle spider hands. Then she goes into silk painting with the mop ladies.
Who are the mop ladies? You have likely sinned in the past. Denise is also an intimate gossip, a blasphemy, who guiltily cleans his peach-sized glasses before knitting and after the panic attack. Not just the glasses, The view of other gaping bumps is also justly cleaned. For example, Denise explains, Kim is an excellent knitter of egg warmers. It's Denise, that lifts the loose stitches of Kim's egg warmers onto the needle.
At lunchtime, Kim commutes barefoot through the corridor, as if she were a hibernating octopus. Flushes an egg warmer down the toilet, she feels a certain satisfaction. At lunch, I give Kim my flaky rabbit ragout. Then her heavy face blossoms in morbid passion.
Muffled bird voices pour out of the cassette recorder. Bea discusses tinnitus with her neighbor. I have the impression, Bea would be an ideal match for the Thailand buck. I had the Thailand buck bring me two more duvets, because they, my bed neighbor, can only sleep at sub-zero temperatures. The Thailand buck, however, was not allowed to enter the old wing. He had to hand in the duvets at the entrance. Where the team searched them for drugs and stabbing knives for half an hour. A small bottle of Sterilium was found in it. Smuggling ranks me on par 0 back.
Peter strike, Anabolic bull, that I haven't introduced yet. Strike cannot find peace in painting, so he can get up and carry logs in for the drum lesson. When the sweat runs down his face, he suddenly stands next to me and acts mysteriously. Whether I give him such a thing, that I would carry around with me all the time, the chocolate bar, could give, he's dirty. I definitely don't want to bother you, calls he, the women are worst in Mexico, they hang around your neck like blowflies, they are so keen on you, Nobody can take that! Peter devours the stalk in front of my eyes. Then he goes out into the hallway and begins, to break the front door. Again and again he takes a running start and throws all his weight against the wood. I would love to strike in heaven. Second, preferably to jail. strike, pull yourself together! rufen wir im Chor, but it is of no use. The perception lady deducts all points from strike.
There is a point system in this department. Anyone who joins the team lands on level four with zero points, which does ______________ mean, that he shares all his good and constructive ideas and thoughts with the others. One such thought is for example: I always find it interesting, Clear the freezer and refrigerator, defrost, to grant again and then to determine, what happens to me. Does he have bad thoughts, there is no point. The newcomer does not share bad thoughts with others. Such would be for example: I dream about it, den Kopf meiner Ehefrau im Eisgefrierfach zu verstauen. The sentence is completely forbidden: I've thought of suicide before. There is a rule in this department. You work hard. You share with your neighbor. Except for intimate business and the thought of death. Then you rise.
Kick your feet firmly on the ground and feel the energy! Frau Muhle comes over to me and puts her hand on my leg. It is cared for with cream, the fingertips shimmer green. I imagine Ms. Muhle's youth on the tiny balcony of a gigantic high-rise complex in East Germany. She smokes and ponders, she doesn't go out, she has great goals. Your blue one, cheap kajal underlines the lower eyelid only negligently. You actually have a problem with exercising, she says. You are capable though, to talk about perceptions and feelings, and, it's easy for them, to give us flowery information about it, what you are seeing right now, what you feel or not, but in reality you feel nothing at all.
After lunch, that I have given Esther willingly, I slip into the workroom. Give me a hammer! Becker, who, as usual, tackled his afternoon shift with listless nonchalance, pushes hammer and spatula into my hand. Then he looks at me, as if he wanted to measure me. As if he were not entirely sure of his cause, he takes the hammer out of my hand and, grinning, replaces it with a smaller one. The! said is, start!
I hit the hammer in the marrow of the wood, in the bronze circles, the so-called rings of life.
Every Wednesday evening we need air and go for a walk. Today everything is full of fog. I fix my eyes on the puffy red ski jacket of the psychiatric nursing student, er will mich nicht am Rand der Autobahn marschieren lassen. I grab his sleeve, that is cool and soft as snow. "You are not allowed to do that!“, said is, strips off my arm, and his blue eyes curl like marguerites. Rainer bindet sich das Halstuch um die Ohren, he has a hollow cross and trippies like a girl from the Sahara. I think of his four toes. Nik trots behind us, hands in pockets. I have to piss.
We wait for him on the other side of the street at the gas station logo. It is cold, it's the beginning of December. Rainer counts the license plates in the parking lot. What are you transporting? he screams. A truck driver cranks down the window and shouts widely, southern German dialect: Egg swimming!
Nik is not coming. We look in the urinal of the gas station. The door is locked. We cannot push them in or climb over them. We'll get the gas station attendant. We say, we're from university.
The ambulance comes and tries to ventilate Nik with bare lips. Rainer and I return alone. Because I believe, that I could use some food now, I go to the cafeteria and order a bowl of Birchermus. The Birchermus tastes strange, kind of like plastic.. I chew, swallow and spit up a frozen orange sprout. Then I see a boy. It blows through the hall like an antelope. A silvery viscose-like training pants nestles against his narrow abdomen. Lanky, she falls down her long legs and curls up there, where the glassy, with tiny, Connect calves with rounded muscles. Hey! Sit down with me and tell me something really bad! I point to my stomach dramatically. Whenever I hear something bad, I get hungry. The boy chuckles. Its neck is as delicate as a tube, the head above it is wonderfully round like a pumpkin. At the top there is a tower of black curled pubic hair.
The boy sits down across from me and feeds me a rubbery pineapple. I look at his sad eyes. One eye is a little smaller and more pinched than the other. A deep one leads from the lacrimal gland, multiple seam and draws a circle through the well-formed, plump cheek. What you have there? I ask and run my fingertip over the scarred area. A mysterious one, malicious smile crosses his face. The boy takes my hand and holds it in his, the delicate, is hot and dark. Iss! You have to eat and I have to build! I couldn't build anything in Africa. Why not? Psst! The boy whispers. Because there are lions all over there. The cashier gives us angry looks. I lower the spoon. In Chicago I have my own lion and in Africa I have a crocodile. Unfortunately I can't go there.
I lower the spoon.
come over, eat now! Suddenly the thread of patience breaks. The boy pulls the spoon out of my hand and kisses me on the mouth with his big red-brown lips.
I get up at three at night and go into the ward room. Becker crouches in front of the shelves of a huge refrigerator like in front of an altar. He neatly fills a bottle with a liquid, stick a label on it and hold it up in front of you for a while. When he sees me, he rolls back the sleeves of his hooded jacket and reveals his artful tattoo. I'm shaking a little. All right? A few tears roll down my cheeks. Becker comes up to me and puts a fever knife in my mouth. Behind the delicate lens his ironic eyes contract like dark sea urchins.
In the bathroom I meet Yvette. Yvette, gentle diet product, Occult Model. Who understands, not just destroy their bodies, but also to care for and to design beautifully. After weighing thirty-five pounds at five feet a few months ago, a probe was inserted into her body through the nostril, the usual story. Now has her black bra soaked in soapy water and wants to know, what i ate today. Seven bouillons, two Farmerstengel and a Birchermus, and you? Yvette sighs. Two and a half yogurts. She turns and looks at me with a feverish look. Spindly hair flows down her high forehead, shiny black like coal. The skin of your face shines like marbled linen.
Back in the room, I open my pensées.
For example, humans are related to everything, what he knows, he needs space, that embraces him, time, to last, Move, to live, elements, that put it together, Warmth and food, to feed, air, to breathe; he sees the light, he feels the body; short, everything comes into contact with him. So to recognize the person, you have to know, where he comes from, that he needs air, to persist, and to see air, you have to know, where does it get this relationship to human life from, etc. Then I fall asleep.
The next morning, Mr. Gastrick's massive whiny mustache appears in the crack in the door. The man points this out to me, that I have an appointment in functional diagnostics at nine this morning. Of course, nine is long gone, and Gastrick asks me, to appear there immediately. Suddenly I think of Margrittli, my wake up service. Margrittli's eyes crackle good-naturedly like two bright candle wicks above me. His blonde ponytail is glowing. The boy lifts my covers a little, so he can understand me better. He is like Jonathan from the Lionheart brothers. Every morning he leaves a mysterious one, intact paradise, to spur us on to top performance with overwhelming enthusiasm.
He didn't come today. He's probably still waiting for Nik, that cold-blooded fox!
On the trundle bed, it goes straight to the oven. The oven roars and rattles and jiggles around my head. Then he takes a breather. Then he rushes fragmentarily and head-on towards my forehead. Punch his idiotic hieroglyphs in my brain. After ten minutes, the nurse sticks her head into the tube and explains, that the work is delayed. I don't believe in the brain, this dishonest shit, i believe in the soul! They probably won't find it at all, I think and gulp down my chewing gum. When the work on my brain is delayed, because they don't find it, I think, then maybe I can get around the bulk purchase unscathed.
Ten kilos of pasta, ten bone ham, Butter, Whipped cream, Mayonnaise … The nurse gently puts her hand on my arm. Keep calm, she says, just close your eyes and dream …!
Earlier, when i couldn't sleep, I rummaged in the back of my mind, and faces brightly chiseled out of the darkness appeared as if from ephebe and mermaids. There were about a thousand of these phenomena. An ash-blonde girl, A cluster of tiny freckles piled up on his right cheek, his brother, a boy with melting, velvety skin like that of little Aquarius, whose upper lip was embroidered with a freckle, a tiny lucky bug.
Sometimes I went into the rustling reeds with my two siblings, behind which a secret pond lay. The boy lay down on a thick moss pillow and wrapped a glowing strand of hair from the girl around his snow-white finger. A mosquito joined the strand of hair and pricked the finger with so much pleasure, that the boy took it and rubbed his cheeks with it, the mouth and also passed over the nipple.
The girl, who wore a white plush dress and whose calves were stuck like tubes in white woolen stockings, sat quietly and reverently, and in his light-sensitive eye a delicate pupil floated like in a salt water glass. It was, like the boy himself, which had a buttery soft testosterone behind the velvety limbs, very weakened.
They had no origins or professions, did not live in any political circumstances. Nor did they have to provide for a livelihood or to reproduce, because shortly before something like this could have happened, I always fell asleep.
Gut, earlier, when I couldn't sleep for a particularly long time, I had thought about it once, ob er nicht ein Schauspieler, should become a lyric poet or a geology and forestry student, and whether I shouldn't have him write a libretto. But he was dyslexic. (Or cacophonetics.)
Somehow I was spoiled for the job of searching and putting on clothes, denn Musiker, Ballet dancer, Boarding school refugees, Anorexic, Blondes, Horsewomen, actor, inglorious or with knee injuries, Finnish mothers with togas thrown on, Vacuum cleaners, Fathers with private jets, Lovers in Paris and many babies, cozy doctors with double chins from Prague and so on, all of this had already existed in my previous series. I always used the same pattern for the figures. It had been funny and spirited communities, which calmed me down and made me forget the anxiety before the next school morning. Sooner or later, however, they got bored, murdered each other or played dirty games, because they could not practice giving up on themselves, so I removed them from the scene.
Slightly abnormal alpha-beta mixture with a steeper course …! – Intracranieller Bildartefakt. The engine stops. Convulsive readiness? Inflammatory processes? - Pathologically irrelevant. Alpha 10 heart, Basic rhythm of the brain at rest, eyes closed. Beta 25 heart, Sensory stimulus or mental activity? – Nicht nennenswert. Delta Wellen …?
Suddenly I hear a female and a male voice scrambling with each other. They are voices, that determine with words, in words of the conventionality of the brain. The female voice comes across as trusting and a little excited, but is then used by the quiet male, The voice that is heavily enjoying itself in articulation is trimmed and falls silent. I'll wait a while and start, to shiver. There's another one in the tube, that was simply forgotten.
Bulk purchase of Christ.
Christmas is coming. We speed through the plain in the VW bus. Forests move left and right, moldy hills past, to which farms cling like charismatic garden snails. The winter has thrown, the farmer would say. A bit of Death Valley. Next to me, Denise completes the shopping list. Rainer sits proudly in the passenger seat and controls Bogna's driving skills. Bogna is the gym teacher. A small, stocky lady with strong buttocks and hysterical laughter. That she doesn't like to move, carries over to their behavior in traffic. They are the most subtle reasons, from which she steps on the accelerator. Shortly before a roundabout, Bogna operates the gear stick, and the old VW bus goes into a reluctant gallop. A farmer in a pointed cap leans out of his tractor and sticks out his tongue.
I see butchers amazed, Jewelers, Pull by pet stores and insurance companies. A greasy cook in a white apron walks under the poinsettias. A couple of schoolchildren are blocking the way for an elderly person. The salt shaker is annoyed with a dog, who does his business on an advertising poster, (Johannespassion). Then the supermarket appears, a crescent-shaped colossus with modern glass cabinets, Travel agency, Fitness center and underground parking. Our car loses its nerve and takes a skid marks.
Right next to the entrance, a man is leaning against a bottle container and playing the guitar. He is blind, has a harelip. A toddler crouches on the floor and sinks pebbles into a ventilation shaft. If you don't come now, Mommy never speaks a word to you again! calls a woman and puts on a bright yellow bicycle helmet. The child starts screaming, whereupon the blind man lifts his head. It's me, as if I saw a nasty laugh in his shriveled eyes. young lady, here! a pimple face calls in my direction. Seeking protection, I step behind the blind man. The mother grabs her child by the arm, whereupon the child bites his mother's hand. Why don't you play a swing?!
Bogna sticks a shopping list under my nose. Twenty-five minutes have passed, since she came back from the underground car park. I would like, that you take on the easier things. Spices, Salad and Christmas decorations, she says monotonously. Denise loads potatoes and pasta, Single cream and ham. Rainer is responsible for the drink; rimus, Milk and mineral water. I'm sure, that I can trust you with these tasks. Do your best! Bogna watschelt davon und verschwindet im Warenhauskaffee. Your buttocks rasps.
After a few meters we lose sight of Denise. We have never felt so heavenly in a supermarket. Rainer has discovered a novel by Reinhold Messner in a rack at a discount price. The CD shelf next to it exerts a magnetic attraction on me. With trembling hands I reach for a single, Cher, the music‘s no good without you. Rainer doesn't have enough change with him, I can't help him out. He tucks the book under his armpit anyway. We take a few steps, and Rainer talks about a tour with Reinhold Messner. Let's not buy him a silk stocking? I babble. Rainer, as excited as I am, say something, but i am already submerged. In the vegetable department.
The heads of lettuce look beautiful to me, its deep green leaves are fascinatingly compressed. Next to it the yellow and red peppers piled on top of each other, flawless shine. An old man is busy next to me, to find the number of his beautiful salad bouquet on the keyboard of the scales. I think, that it strains him, so I rush to his aid. Dann wäge auch ich meine zehn grünen Prachtsexemplare. The old man is beaming. The scales spit out a numbered sticky note. We wish each other a Merry Christmas. Dann mache ich mich auf zu den Charcuterieprodukten.
The devil is going on there. I finally spot Denise. She is leaning against an artificial Christmas tree and leaning with her elbow on the pasta packs in the shopping cart. Obviously she's not feeling well. Your glasses are crooked, fleeting ones have appeared on the cheeks and forehead, red spots formed. What's happening? I ask. she acts that way, like i'm inferior. Or not good enough for them. I have a panic attack! Where is the emergency exit? I need my ambulance! I hesitate. But Denise! We are here. There are no emergency exits. Can't you stretch it a little?, Postpone your panic and its climax to Christmas Eve, for example? Denise gets angry. The tree in her back is tilted, its thin branches are covered with ham in golden knitted nets, Completely overloaded with luminous collars and ties. come over! I say quickly and want to move Denise away. But the chicken refuses. Pulls the shopping cart around and falls head-on towards the tree.
While Denise is being fooled by the security staff, my gaze wanders over the ice chest. I've never seen a frozen saddle of hare before. I also meet the horse hoof for the first time. Both the meat of the rabbit and that of the horse are dark gray, almost the color of a cow's tongue. The cow's tongue is strangely twisted and squeezed in a plastic container, which is not surprising, considering, that the whole palate is still attached. Of course, the cow's tongue fascinates me more than anything else, what I can see in this freezer compartment. I take it out and sniff it. The tongue coating is covered with a knobbed film and seems intimate to me.
As a young girl, I had to do the land service, where one lunchtime the Madame was steaming a tongue of veal in a pan. I stood there motionless. I will not eat this tongue, I thought meek. The madame was not particularly surprised. How do you want to feed your children one day! she exclaimed, and her sidelong glance landed disrespectfully on my Ethiopian chest. A few days later the madame tried, to sit in front of the door. Unfortunately, it was not approved by the Landdienstverband.
Rainer pays. Denise and I pack the food in banana boxes. After eight boxes we don't know, how we should transport them to the underground car park. Denise and me, we don't want to go into the underground car park at all, we leave the work to Rainer. Rainer bought his book on summit climbs with the rest of the household budget. Denise tells it in Bogna department store coffee shop. This stirs in its foam and is indignant: That will reduce Rainer to zero! Denise swallows, their eyes shine. Straight to zero? But he was already at four …! Bogna wraps a little chocolate house out of the paper. We are a training platform. Who doesn't make it with us, he must understand, that he won't make it outside either.
Right now we see, like a glass ball glides past us.
Rainer stands in the crowd of the lift and waves to us. I've never seen him so exuberant. That will cost Rainer his rank, Bogna hisses again.
A few minutes later we leave the supermarket in silence, as if we were going to church.
Next to the front door, the blind man creates this sweet one on his guitar, casual hopping, this playful, tearful, dance-like slips of paper and feeds, this melancholy, in front- and rebounding punchlines; all this, what I always imagined under swing!
Back, I go straight to my room. I don't feel like doing the drum group. There's a trash can on my bed. I reach into it, pull out a half-eaten apple, a single sock and a dirty one, strange sanitary napkin. Strange, that a woman will not stop producing her ovaries, in a place like this, I think and open my Milka postcard box. The postcards are a present from the Thailand goat, originally addressed to his ninety-six year old aunt. The Thailand buck has accepted a number of personal items from her, after she was admitted to the hospital a few weeks ago because of an overgrown toenail.
My favorite postcard is of a marmot. The marmot holds a pine cone between its lovely paws and peeks out from a ledge overgrown with anemones. The card has a red one, in steep felt-tip writing as follows: The food is good. The weather plays along. Our honeymoon should never end!
I also think the steamer Kronprinzessin Cecilie in the port of Hamburg is beautiful, Thunderclouds, romantically jagged. Many greetings from …, cracked, tiny professor letters: … “The pissed off Europe!
Deep bass sounds make me sit up and take notice.
Rainer turned up the Teckno so loud, that the glasses clink not far from the jukebox. We have kitchen duty. The refrigerator must be defrosted once a week. Despite his downgrading, Rainer is in a good mood and buzzes around the kitchen like a pascha. I'll take you to the Hogant one day, he enthuses and tries, a lime with a fork- or to scrape trace of milk off the stove. When i listen to music, I think, that a man has an inside. A thought, I wanted a thousand lives for. When the music gets intense, the masculine becomes transcendent and I think of God.
I'm busy with two rotten cucumbers in front of the fridge, which fermentation juice drain. In contrast to Rainer, its a very quick one, is an almost fleeting cleaning man, I work in depth, with an almost sluggish leisurely pace. Nevertheless, we are an efficient team. What us, how the soap dish or the rest of the jelly gets in the way, let's throw in the trash. Rainer is annoyed, that jam sticks to the spice lids, the dip sticks to his fingertips. He brushes them on the window curtain. Then I come across a cockroach in the bread basket. The cockroach turns on its back and wriggles its legs in the air. I aim a spray can at her, whereupon she writhes pathetically and rears up her abdomen. The cockroach gives me that tingly feeling, to be a bad person. Nevertheless, I also begin to fidget and whimper. Rainer is getting annoyed. You are perverted. You just didn't get it, that in the world the law of the thumb prevails, how am I supposed to take you mountaineering! he says and crushes the cockroach between his thumbs- and index finger.
Finally turn this music off!
Rainer and I parted, offended. We know, what is in store for us. Gastrick will act like Santa Claus in front of us. We wouldn't have removed the dirt, but shifted into all possible hiding places. He has lettuce leaves under the kitchen stove, discovered half a chicken in the drainpipe, he will say. And he will want to know, how that came about. I shrug my shoulders.
A refrigerator has a lifespan of two hundred years. He is stronger than man, the mere sight of it brings it to mind. It makes no sense, To scrub glasses, especially for the unstable, they increasingly think of the bad. Dry, as well as, without mother? Of course I won't tell Gastrick that.
Already in bed, the assistant doctor surprises me. He doesn't want to disturb. In the run-up to Christmas, everything is always a bit haywire. He won't be back until mid-January. So he begs me, write him a résumé by tomorrow night. Nothing big, he whispers with a sly grin, … just a few facts. – But, doctor, I have a little problem there, I say meekly, it's about my right leg, I don't think there's any more blood in it!
His mouth takes the shape of a soft one, pudrigen Pflaume an. Do you have a moment or are you planning to do something?? he asks pleasantly softly, with a demonstrative look at his watch.
We go to his study. The bed is covered with a tissue paper. Something flashes in the air. The intern takes a hammer and taps it on the soles of my feet. Then he takes an object, that looks like a tuning fork, tugs at my pajama pants a little and puts the whirring thing on my bare thigh. I have to laugh. How he leans forward, I see a delicate one behind the polo shirt, ocher-colored chest and below the fluffy tummy shimmer.
There is nothing, says the assistant doctor, everything in perfect order. - Really not? In his slow green baby eyes there appears a violently pleading innocence.
Would you like to, that something would be?
My parents, the petty bourgeois, wealthy and lonely, never kissed. At least not in front of our eyes. A couple belonged to her small circle of friends, that corresponded to the Urbernerischen. He was a hunter, she, resolute, sunny housewife with great, slack bosom. Each time we were invited to the roe deer pepper by them.
I think. Keep going.
My parents, who cannot tolerate whole milk, each sat in silence at the table and minutely chopped up the meat. They seemed like ghosts to me across the table, Ghosts, who forgot me.
I think. Keep going.
My parents were very fond of these people. Sometimes the hunter pinched my delicate blonde mother in the buttocks. Or the three children plucked their hair, so that his fist fell with a crash on the table.
I sigh fervently.
My father attacked my mother with a sharp sound while shifting gears in the car, like an endless robot. My mother used to pull the lever, as if she wanted to uproot a root, and the car jumped in the air. Then my mother stepped unnoticed behind the room window and sobbed into the white curtain.
I stretch out my stiff leg and think: The intern is sexy and I'm not properly incarnated.
My mother didn't like cooking, she filled the coffee cups, with the gesture of a mute, barren goddess. Sometimes her cheeks glowed like strawberries, then everything around us was beautiful.
Something is wrong with the twenty year old computer.
When everything was cold, the milk, the spinach and the fish on the plates, told my pouty sister about school, that this is something very wonderful, just like an afternoon in the indoor pool, only the gym class is a bit boring. And my father, who suspected, that he will one day become president of the athletics club, in which my sister would do top-class sport, nodded.
I hit the screen vigorously on the hood a few times. Quickly write the last sentence:
I felt good at home.
Then it crashes.
The next day I wake up late. My legs itchy short and hard. I condemn humanity. Only half in the pants, I rush to the ward room, where do not disturb – Schild prangt. I have vaginal thrush! I scream. This is your Vaginal fungus! You are responsible for that! she have this fungus on their conscience! All of them crack peanuts. Stare at me. Underage like peanuts.
Ten minutes later, Becker and I are driven into town in a VW bus by a driver from the institution. Icy rain shimmers through the streets, auf denen Menschen in außergewöhnlicher Hysterie durcheinander laufen. A demonstration train is also moving forward. Angry slogans are shouted into the microphone by a young girl and shouted three times by those who followed the demonstration.
The waiting room of the women's clinic is scruffy like a train station toilet. Becker sits down on a stool and picks up a fashion notebook. I stare at him, stuttering. Hang on his lips, his forehead, his filigree fashion glasses. He and the women's magazine. What a beguiling contradiction.
The plump doctor in a white coat carefully puts back my labia with her gloved fingertip. She has bad bronchitis, and i'm afraid, that their viruses get into my vagina and from there rise into my lungs. There is nothing. You can get dressed again, she murmurs fleetingly and throws her gloves in the trash can.
Everything OK? Becker wants to know, when he sees my contrite expression.
I am trembling. What is it? What do they have in these magazines seen?! Becker throws the magazine into a pot of dried flowers and looks at me intently. Tell me, why are you so angry with me? I sit down next to Becker on the edge of the pot. We are silent. Sehen Sie, says Becker with his bright, ethereally fragile boy's voice after a while, actually I would have liked to have become a pharmacist, unfortunately I did not pass the Matura. He sighs. A couple of weeks before the final exam, I had a dream. My head was cut off with a knife. After this dream, I skipped my exam preparation and wandered aimlessly through the city. The whole time I had this feeling, to have no more head on shoulders … I do not know, why I'm telling you all this … Becker looks at me with concern. I want to touch him right now.
Back from town I hit the hammer in the marrow of the wood. From which no drum can be built.
I'm sitting in the entrance area on my favorite orange chair, direkt neben einer zersplitterten Telefonkabine, An old man and a transvestite play chess. They are sparse, strange people, but trustworthy. Behind them, in the star-shaped window of the cabin, a boy appears with milky pimples, ice blue eyes and a lock of lard over his forehead. The boy comes from the G, the crime floor, we have already given us stupid signs through the windows several times. I secretly call him baby boy. While we stare at each other, I separate two tangerine halves and slowly slide them into my mouth. The old man and the transvestite get up and go to the patient Christmas. The entrance hall empties. I also get up and approach the splintered phone booth. Baby boy holds out his hand to me. “Do we want to cut or feel each other?“, I say quickly and see that his hand is bleeding easily. We press each other awkwardly, his bleeding hand caught between our thighs. When he gets boisterous, I suddenly get scared, because he comes from the G. I run away quickly.
Yvette leaves us in the department. Her fingernails are blackened, the silky lips are bathed in violet blood. The deeply sunk eyes are highlighted with black kohl. Yvette has had enough. From the gravedigger, as she says. She has successfully overcome three hierarchical levels, now she wants to have fun again over Christmas and consume everything possible. A bearded man is waiting for them outside the old building. Yvette hugs us in the hallway. Your long, smooth legs stick in skin-tight, Jeans decorated with silver stars. Your pelvis is delicate, the limbs of her body are almost muscular, noble. After Yvette weighed thirty-five pounds at five feet a few years ago, a probe was inserted into her body through the nostril, the usual story. I have made up my mind, in the course of time to bring all my clothes to Caritas. That's why I'm giving Yvette my pastel-colored flamingo dress as a goodbye. Yvette bends down to me and wishes me all the best. With God, she is not a cockroach! I think to myself. Yvette is my miss!
It's already midnight. When it occurs to me, that I still have to bake bread. I scurry quickly through the dark corridor and stand in the kitchen, perplexed. In the beginning, Bea instructed me to bake bread. So I take the largest bowl, that I can find, pour in a kilo of flour and mix the yeast and milk into a slimy paste. Suddenly I feel something soft behind me. It's so soft and pliable, that it could possibly dissolve, there is also something compact and integer in this turn, I think frozen. Margrittli shows me, how to handle the bread dough. He thinks, I could do more. We chat a little. He still has to give me greetings by phone. From a young man, who wanted to visit me in the morning. On the phone, the man sounded disdainful to arrogant and then almost intimidated again. I look at the lump of dough. Charles's bread, I've been living next to us on Steckweg, loved.
Margrittli smiles. I think, They have a little with men, he says melancholy. I look at him with bare eyes. Are you sure of that? We laugh. Then all of a sudden I see, that Margritti is not doing well. And, a tear loosens in his eye and drips down onto the bread dough. What about Nik? I ask. Margrittli nods. You quit me. But Nik wanted to take the golden shot! I whisper. How can you be given so much responsibility?! I approached the psychiatric nurse from behind, turned him around and hugged him. That costs you a lot of points. Already yesterday you didn’t go to the patient’s Christmas without being canceled ...
The twenty-fourth is irritated. Dicker, acid fog, streaked with frosty rain, hangs in the sky. I have a visit from K. I would K. do not call a suitor, because he's always very rude to me. As much as I desire him, he treats me so cold. Now K is leaning. to a tree trunk and smokes. His cornflower eyes glow with a mixture of lethargy, Disgust and compassion. How are you? Goes so. I'm still scared. Angst? Of what? Angst, when I think of Doc. I think, I'm locked up there in his heart. Then why do you let yourself be locked up here, when you're already locked in Doc's heart? I dont know. To forget, that there is Doc. So as not to have to think about him every moment, depending on his care and separated from his flesh. Gastrick, who walks two meters behind us as a guard, A cough drop wraps itself out of a piece of paper. At this moment, where I hear his jaw crack, a pine cone loosens and slams down on the back of the head. Ich muss fürchterlich lachen. Ich weiß nicht …, says K , … but I think, you just play. With you, with everything and everyone. Life is all about you and that, that people let themselves be manipulated by you! You have a good-hearted friend and you make beautiful eyes to all men here. I turn to K. one. Please be, please be a little nice to me!
Kim has put on a white tablecloth, Folded napkins. Bea was drawing candles. Denise wears a silk mini. Rainer's ski sweater shimmers nostalgically in the golden candlelight. Strike has been picked up. A completely disinhibited Becker sits under the illuminated Christmas tree and improvises with dessert forks and sticks on Peter's pompous legacy: a drum made from a tree trunk. A few people hang in front of the television watching the Christmas series Spital der Angst.
I sit down with them and ask a careless drug cracker, ob sich seine Vorlieben in Bezug auf Film und Fernsehen durch die jahrelange Drogensucht verändert haben. Will someone, who experiences an unusual mood every day, his organism the tensions between extreme- and normal state suspends, respond to certain films with more immunity or receptiveness? I ask. The guy puts his arm around my shoulder. Silver bangles clink on his wrist. Slowly the eyelids fall shut.
I don't understand at the table, why the cold plate is praised by most. The rancid, fatty bits of salami stick between my teeth, the unhappy cured meat switches up and down between my palate and my esophagus, like I'm a ruminant. Nevertheless I start a Christmas carol with the others. Actually, I don't care. That a dispute breaks out between Denise and Bea, which is about cold platter versus alpine macarons. It's Christmas around the turn of the millennium and we're not even allowed to say, that the ham sucks! No matter. We laugh and sing. We curse God and praise life. We do not praise, what there is no expression and what hides from us, and we don't curse, what ours is and what we know. Because we are related to everything, what we know. What we know is our life. We don't see everything in it. But what we know about it and have therefore recognized it, with that we connect. What we connect with, gives us a sense of life. That we connect, gives us a sense of life. Life comes into contact with us. We feel the bodies. We embrace the body. We praise the bodies. We moor the bodies. We dismantle the bodies. The bodies don't know us. We're reaching for the stars. The stars don't know us. The stars, we don't know them. The body, we don't know them. The connection, there are none. What we are connected to, we don't feel that. What doesn't connect us, we do not make up for that. Shall we reconcile with that, what hurts us, Scares us and leads to our abandonment? Shall we love the pain, the fear, the abandonment? Why are we only here?
(Hop path, 2002)
(Also this work as part of the novel “the insatiable” thought, what remains is a loose jumble of fragments. Unfinished in fragments, because: the whole text has no superstructure, no thread. Strangely enough, it only consists of external descriptions, he is talking about a phase, I'll never forget, how i felt. But at that time I was not able to transform this feeling into a pronounceable core or even into an action. It was like that, that the scenes from the outside world on Marbach saved me, before, To sink into the chaos of me and to go completely insane. Maybe that's why I consistently only described these external images, e.g.. in contrast to my second stay at Marbach twelve years later. This stay contrasted my own trauma with equally traumatic external images, but I was able to retrospectively, to integrate my inner drama into the framework plot (A vicious circle, Trönencurriculum). However, there was existential fear or the delusion of 2001 has already given way to something physically tangible. And, of course, an internal disaster can be derived much more symbolically from the tangible. Even if the symbolism is incorrect or must be correct. Scraps, 2001/2002, because there was no inner drama? Or how could I describe it, if I go again with Marbach 2001/2002 would begin? No, the occasion would not be visible or big enough….there is madness, which cannot be involved in an action, there are paradoxical crises…)