4.3.2016
To a certain extent, she had stolen her freedom, to shape their own lives. Now nature was there, to repay that freedom. she had (for good reasons?) didn't believe anyone, but now, where it was soon too late, Strangely, she believed in herself, at its most rustic core, so, as she should have done as a school child, but, as is well known, she was not taught that at the time, how to do that. It had been days now, Weeks, Months, maybe years very quiet with her. The disease demanded, that she concentrated more. What to focus on, she didn't know. she was very, very tense.
5.3.2016
But she had now survived her work, and the essence of their physical strength was in the work, nowhere else. But the world out there, into which she had wanted to infiltrate her book, was no longer worth it. She didn't know anyone like that, no body, that she wanted to please. Reveal and hide in artistic work at the same time; that's what it looked like, long time. But now she had survived her own work, the essence of her physical strength was no longer with her. And it was too late now for life as a matter of convenience. She had always wanted the perfect timing: an artistic and spiritual climax at the height of their fertility: a perfect moment.
6.3.2016
The boys next door were partying. One should be like that, in the intoxication, without memory! She thought. With scarce hot-humid consciousness, allein aus Drüsen und Säften, There are metabolic surges! Wouldn't evolution have given birth to great glands without a brain, dancing on rubber springs? Something blind, without self-awareness; a beetle, Lucky bug, the once its transparent, Gold shimmering dance air ventilated, reproduced and hummed. If evolution does not result in consciousness with depth or breadth, but a kind of shed, that you always hit, if you wanted to go on, wanted to become freer; then why hadn't creation just stopped at the grass??
21.6.2016
She was now 41 and had one or the other joy: the Intouch or the lipstick collection, die sieh nachts vor dem Badezimmer unter die Lupe nahm. Twenty lipsticks, which she took one by one in her hands, opened, rauf und runter schraubte, examined and commissioned. Then lay back in bed with the fetish of the colored lips, revolt. Wiped the lipstick from her lips, ordered a new one ...
What did that mean? Maybe it was a trace of color with which she conjured up a shard of mirror on her intertwined, withering self, that she was amazed at, because it was still there, palpable yes, while the body, who never really housed this me, rotten and could not be identified. The disease could not be verified with the current measurement methods, So it was called invisible and yet in the middle of society: to die, a society, who provided medicine for some with science, who saved lives, while others were unlucky. So the world was a good one, for some, a bad one for the others. People are good people for some, bad people for others. All of this was only determined by chance. Oh, how was she in a bad mood.
28.3.2016
How high and one lane, single track she wanted out! As a twenty year old, than her resolve, To be a poet, längst fest stand, at least since the age of thirteen, she suddenly had the idea, in successive phases, first actress and then- because she found: there would be no role for them- Opera singer, to become, haha! Weak as a little bit after all the long school years and on top of the exhausting secretary school, was there this idea for a runaway year, by, besides being a poet, what was certain, wanted to learn two artistic professions at other schools! actress, she was that for herself, heimlich, also during the whole school fear, at the front of the teacher's desk, always been. Against all of their obvious failing to perform because of the pressure to perform, she thought: the actor, this is not the performance artist, the player, the show delivers, but basically the introvert, Paleness, that can't be entertaining. But although she is “a benefactor on stage, with which not everyone grows ", submitted, because you just "look", no matter, how badly or well she is doing something, she quickly drifted away to enthusiasm for the art of singing, this much purer and more beautiful than the art of acting. Learn, to practice, the scale! The low and high C! With what enthusiasm she threw herself into this. But there was no vibrato! She could, like as a nine year old, Singing “On the banks of the Mexico River” touchingly, but it stayed that way, their physical capacities were no further. Three weeks of solfège and she escaped! At all: Opera lessons! What monstrosities, which Masquerade, no thanks! So within a short time she had cut two professions like a pink cake, without reference to reality, out of pure enthusiasm, as she calms down and burned out, 21year old, turned back to writing. To be sure, she had almost as little talent for it, but who bothered? She had to express herself artistically, so much had been inoculated into her since she was a child, she could not deviate an inch from it. It wasn't until many years later that she thought about it, what a shame it actually was, that she had not completed an apprenticeship as a pharmacist! How nice it would have been, if she had just learned a varied job and earned some money with it. But an apprenticeship and how fulfilling it could be, Coming home after a day at work with the feeling, to have done something useful, she hadn't thought of that once.