Aller Ursprung stammt aus dem Wort, aus der Leidenschaft für das Wort (die Wörter). Wörter haben stets etwas Zwingendes, was immer ihre Ausdrucksform sein mag.
Basically erverything comes from words, from the passion for words. Words have always to do with obsession, whatever the forme of expression might be.
A la base tout vient des mots, de la passion des mots. Les mots ont toujours à voir avec l’obsession, quelle que soit la forme d’expression.
the ones that aren't afraid of getting muddy when playing football
the ones that encourage without controlling
those who are dead scared of boredom
the ones that go into a random train just to find out where it might take them
those who are planning everything but it looks as they're doing it spontaneously
hell's angels holding babies
those who cut their barbies' hair until it's all messed up and crazy
those who question the power of democracy
those who look out for others and aren't afraid of consequences
those who support local artists
happy mothers happy fathers
smiling children
peace
I can see in the mirror that you're staring at me.
I'm not a bad girl.
My appetite is excellent.
Now that I've conquered my lack of appetite I'll not have my appetite spoiled.
You unbutton my shirt, shy?
I help.
I'm searching for your mouth in your bearded wilderness.
I can bite your nipple. Have you any? Come on, show me.
I don't go too far. I won't fulfill all your wishes.
I touch your thighs. So you play football? Why didn't you tell me you played football? You are keeping it a secret from me. Is no one supposed to know you do sports?
Now I know. You play football and nobody knows.
If I had a bajillion dollars, I would create the
“Never-ending sexual intercourse”
Yes I would
If I had a bajillion dollars, I would create innovation,
a perfect girl, a perfect man, a perfect mother, a perfect father
If I had a bajillion dollars, I would create the best 99$ COMPUTER and give it to
everybody, and if the evil would still outstand the gentleness,
I would create another disease called manic-impressive
Definitely „a cure for AIDS”,
“Food and shelter for all”
If I had a bajillion dollars I would create
Nothing you can buy,
“Something simple”
If I had a bajillion dollars I would create me
“The life I have now”
I would create a world full of love, like you love me, I love you
If I had a bajillion dollars I would stop creating, go back to work, buy the company of my husband, so he could create and stop working for money ... He would then create the never ending sexual intercourse and share it only with me ... In return, I would be gentle with the staff but remain picky
If I had a bajillion dollars, I would create clean water and give it to everyone on the planet
If I had a bajillion dollars, I would put half of it in a savings account
*IMAGINE THE INTERESTS ON THAT!*
Then I’d create the best lovers ever
Er ist 27 und Anwalt und immer da, wenn ich putze. Er ist einer, der genau weiß, was er will, nämlich seine Möbel selber entwerfen. Geht man durch seine grossen Räume, ist alles staubfrei, störungsfrei, in Ordnung gebracht durch mich, die Putzfrau einer anderen Kultur. Alles ist durchrationiert, er total trainiert, Zufälle, Unordnung, Störungen, Abweichungen, Zeitverlust gibt es nicht. Und wenn ich putze, ist er meistens da. Seine Klienten, vorwiegend Flüchtlingspaare, die in kaputten Häusern wohnen und täglich in der Unsicherheit leben, ob vielleicht doch das Dach über dem Kopf nicht einstürzt. Armut verpflichtet.
Und heute fragte ich ihn, weil er da ist und mich so anschaut: „Willst du was anderes oder soll ich putzen, willst du küssen, oder soll ich meine afrikanischen und puertoricanischen Freunde anrufen, die kochen dann für dich mit ihrem ganzen Clan hier. Ja, die würden dann mit ihrem ganzen Clan hier für dich kochen.“
Das wäre doch lustig, die bunten, farbigen, afrikanischen Gewänder - auf unkonventionellem Boden - das Lachen puertoricanischer Kinder in Räumen, die jetzt nur vom Echo bewohnt sind. Und jetzt kommt die Sache, die ich nicht denken kann, nur sagen kann, weil er immer da ist, wenn ich putze. „Entschuldigung, hast du Lust auf mich? Oder willst du reden?“
„Was soll das kosten?“
„Ich rede nicht von Geld.“
Warum bist du immer da, wenn ich da bin? Vertraust du mir nicht? Ich sag dir mal was, hier nebenan in der alten Siedlung, da bumsen alle schon mit 15, wenn auch nicht besonders oft. Das erste Mal treibst du es mit einem Mädchen, das alle schon mal hatten. Die sind meistens älter.
Es gibt da immer eine oder zwei, die mitmachen, die gehen dann in den Keller und bumsen mit mehreren. Donnerstag- und Freitagabend ziehen die älteren Mädchen und die verheirateten Frauen ein paar Nummern durch, vor allem am Ende des Monats, wenn sie pleite sind, ist hier viel los. Bei schönem Wetter stehen die Kerle vor den Häusern Schlange und spielen Domino. Ja, das ist das Viertel, das ist die andere Seite der Stadt, wusstest du das nicht?
Du tust mir richtig leid mit deinen blauen Augen, wie du mich so anguckst. Hier ist das so. Hier herrscht Wohnungsnot und der Brotpreis ist hoch. Es ist eine Tatsache, dass man Geld braucht, wenn man leben will. Wieviel bezahlst du fürs Wohnen? Vergiss es, du bist jetzt da, es ist so, und nun muss ich zu meinem nächsten Job. Ciao!
Für das andere hätte ich eine Freundin für dich.
Der Freund meiner nächsten Kundin ist Kommunikator, seine Generation wird abgehärtet im Dauergewitter von Pop, Rap, Handy und Klingeltönen - immer schön an der Oberfläche. Kultur muss immer originell sein. Immer wenn es global heikel wird, hängt er die Peace-Fahne aus dem Schlafzimmer.
Die Ich-Schwäche des kinderlosen Doppelverdieners staube ich jeden Donnerstag von 3-6 Uhr ab. Auch er leistet mir gerne Gesellschaft und liest so ganz nebenbei aus seinem Buch, das er gerade schreibt, laut und stark. Wie finden Computerkids ihren Stand in der Welt, in sich selbst?
Wie erden sich Surfer? Auf welcher Insel machen sie Halt? Welches Produkt braucht ein reengineering, wie deklariert man Flexibilität und ... was ist Freiheit? Seine ist subventioniert.
Ich frage ihn nach seinem Lieblingsautor.
„Ach, ich mag irgendwie ganz viele.“
Was er denn gerade lese?
„Ich habe schon lange keine Zeit mehr, denn ich schreibe selbst, mein Buch, das wird besonders, ich gebe es dir zum Lesen.“
Oh junger Mann - Trauer, hart, fern der Schönheit auf zertretenem Rasen der Kultur - die Subventionierten werden nervös, die Regierung wechselt den Kurs, die Subventionierten sind nervös. Zu Hause schaue ich aus meinem kaputten Küchenfenster hinaus und denke an meine Heimat, an das Wasserstauen hinter Grossmutters Haus, mein Haus, eine Welt ohne Computer, die Flucht mit Mutter, und dass das Wasserstauen keinem äusseren Zweck diente, sondern ein Spiel war. Eine falsche Bewegung, und die Anstrengung von Stunden schwamm bachab.
Warum erzähl ich das? Weil heute alles so überall geworden ist, weil man sich am Rande des Möglichen, aber ja nicht darüber hinaus bewegt.
Aber ich bin wunschlos glücklich. Ich bin nicht ausgebrannt.
Ich fühle, dass alles neu und frisch ist. Ich fange jetzt an. Das ist mein goldenes Zeitalter. Wenn nur jede Generation einsehen würde, das die Zeit für Grossartiges gerade jetzt ist, wenn sie lebendig ist - die Zeit aufzublühen ist jetzt.
He is twenty-seven and a lawyer and always at home when I come to clean. He is one of these people who always know what they want and he wants to design his own furniture. If you walk through his big rooms everything is dust-free, disturbance-free, tidied up by me, his cleaning lady from a different world. Everything is organized, streamlined - even he himself. There are no coincidences, no disorder, no flaws, no irregularity, there is no loss of time. And when I'm cleaning he usually is in. Most of his clients are refugees who live in ruined houses and in daily fear that the roof over their heads might collapse. Poverty obliges.
And today I ask him - because he is always present and watches me: "Do you want anything else or shall I just clean, do you want to kiss or should I call my African and Puertorican friends to come over and cook for you with their whole clan, yes that's what they would do, they would cook for you here with their whole clan".
That would be fun, the colourful African garments - looking a bit incongruous against this floor - the giggles of Puertorican children in these rooms that are inhabited only by echoes. And now comes the thing that I can't really think, I can only voice it: "Ecxuse me, do you want me? Or do you want to talk?"
"What would that cost?"
"I am not talking about money".
Why are you always around when I am cleaning? Don't you trust me? Let me tell you something, in the old housing development next door everybody starts fucking at fifteen, even if they don't do it very often. The first time you do it with an experienced girl, one that has done it with everybody. They are usually a bit older. There's always one or two who are willing, they go into the basement and do it with more than one at the same time. Thursday and Friday nights is when the older girls and the married ladies get it on, it's really busy there towards the end of the month when they are broke. When the weather is fine you see the guys queuing outside playing dominoes. Yes, that is the neighbourhood you live in, that's the other side of the city, didn't you know?
I actually feel sorry for you, you with your blue eyes, the way you look at me. That's just the way it is where I come from. There is housing shortage and bread is expensive. It is a fact of life that you need money if you want to survive. How much rent do you pay? Forget it, you are here now, that's how it is and I have to leave for my next appointment, ciao.
And for the other thing I could suggest a friend of mine.
My next client's boyfriend is a communicator, his generation is seasoned by an unending electrical storm of popmusic, rap and ringtones - all very much on the surface. Culture has to be fancy. Whenever there is an economical crisis going on he hangs the peace-flag from his bedroom window.
Every Thursday I dust off the ego-impairment of this childless double-incomer. He likes to keep me company, too, and he likes to read to me from the book he is writing in a strong and loud voice. How do computerkids find their footing in the world, inside themselves? How do surfers ground themselves? On what island do they alight? What product needs reengineering, how do you decline flexibility - and what does freedom really mean? His freedom is subsidized. I ask him about his favourite author.
"Oh, I kind of like a lot of them."
What is he reading right now?
"I don't have the time for reading because I'm writing my own book. It's going to be very special. I'll give it to you to read".
Poor young man, sad and hard and removed from beauty on the trampled-down lawns of culture. The subsidized get nervous, the government changes course, the subsidized are nervous. At home I gaze out the broken window of my kitchen and think of my homeland, I think of building dams in the stream behind Grandmother's house, my house, in a world without computers. I think about escaping with my mother and that building dams was not done for practical reasons but just for play. One false movement and all the efforts of the past hours got washed away with the stream.
Why do I tell you all this? Because nowadays everything is so everywhere and because one keeps moving along the line of the possible but never trespasses.
But I am perfectly happy. I am not burned out.
I feel that everything is new and fresh. I start now. This is my golden age. I wish every generation would realize that the time for doing great things is right at this moment, while they are alive, that the time for flowering is exactly now.
We are the black sheep of the family called black sheep folk
We always speak our mind
Understand and need differences of the culture
We belive in sexual preferences
We belive in no racism
No sexism
No religionism
No fanatism
There is always one in every family
Even when we are surrounded by bodies we are always alone.
And you die alone
You where born alone
And you die alone
You can’t take it with you
WRITTEN BY A FORMER BLACK SHEEP
Black sheep look different from their families
It’s the way we look at the world
Usually our family, our city, our country never understands us
We knew this from when we where very young that we weren’t ment to be understood
Usually we’re not appreciated until the next generation
Usually we’re outcasts, outsiders in our own family
Don’t worry, get used to it.
My sister says I don’t understand what you’re doing
My brother says you’re ok but I don’t understand what you’re doing
My mother says I don’t know how to handle you
You’re so different from the rest of the world
We’re related to people we love, who can say, I love you black sheep daughter
I love you black sheep son, I love you outcast, I love you outsider
Black sheep love the invisible
We know each other’s thoughts
We feel fear and hatred
Sometimes black sheep are chosen to be sick, so the family can finally come together and say I love you
Black sheep’s destinies are not necessarily in having prescribed existence
We are not the american dream
We are often politically incorrect, therefore against the only one power, to be the only number one,
the american dream
We feel a unique responsibility, a human responsibility for feelings for others
We can be all things to all people, we are there at 3am when you call
