About love is one thing. But the difficult one is, to write out of her. “You can't tell love from the inside.” Says Jeanne zu Pinson. And so she tells a slightly small love story and that of Kabiskopf u Kindskopf Resp Jeeanne u Pinson. All big love stories, Jeanne states, tell the circumstances, They tell the love of outside, And nobody knows in principle, How love feels in every single one. If you go according to the statements of these feelings, it must be quite interchangeable and arbitrary again. But you also have no more than the ABC to formulate your non -verbal magic.
I don't have a suitable expression for the act of love and the essence, Since I either spoke explicitly or in boring metaphors, who rewrite the act of love, without formulating the real sexual act.
So I'm not coming forward, Because I want to describe something, that felt unique and overwhelming for me, but at the same time experienced by millions of millions of this kind. And because the end of love was their circumstances. (For example, in contrast to Ana Andrejewas Love). It is strange, that the intimiste u is the most private, The sacred of my feelings does not allow literary changes, and this chapter may be the weakest in “Disappear”. It's just like that, that I wish, I could love, As she felt for Pinson, tell from the inside, I would then leave out everything, What is not a loved one, the merger and the division, This on many pages. I would be incredibly repetitive and rhythmic. I would have to help the elements; the water, the earth, the sky. The sweets. The blood, The saliva. The silk. Glibber and animals. Colours. The temperature. Land. Feuer. No. There are too little words for it.