wintersonnen oder: the house of the rising sun

new york new york. die stadt ist kalt und voller schluchten. man sagt,
ich solle auf das empire state building, unbedingt. ich verliere mich
an der upper west side, john lennon wurde um die ecke ermordet,
strawberry fields ist ein stück central park genannt worden, zur
erinnerung. darin ein mosaik, das sagt: imagine.
ich ziehe meine jacke fester zu und finde mich am ufer wieder,
vielleicht ist es der hudson river. ich seh schiffe und attraktionen,
der himmel grau wie ein gemaltes wolkenbild. ich will schlafen. das
wasser ist trübe und dreckig und traurig. ich lehne über der reeling
und spatzen sitzen da mit mir und ein paar obdachlose mit ihren
geschichten. die sonne kommt nur fahl durch, erinnert an den vollmond
in ralph albert blakelock's bild 'moonlight' das in paul auster's
'moon palace' eine zentrale rolle spielt.
dieses bild sehe ich mir an im brooklyn art museum. ich sehe es mir
an, 45 minuten lang. von nah, von fern, von allen möglichen winkeln
her. verstohlen wische ich mir tränen weg und schnupfen, aber die
aufpasser wundern sich eh schon.
imagine. ich kann mir aber nichts vorstellen, es tut nur weh alles,
mein herzmuskel ist verkrampft. ich komme nicht klar mit der
geschichte dieses landes, genausowenig wie mit der geschichte meines
anderen heimatlandes, deutschland. also erklimme ich das empire state
building doch, zwecks fehlender imagination und weil ich es meinem
vater versprochen habe. wir werden 100 mal kontrolliert, die schuhe
auch. endlich bin ich oben. meine brille ist kaputt und weht mir fast
von der nase. es ist ein strenger wind da oben. es ist nacht geworden.
und ich seh die lichter angehen, langsam, wie sterne am himmel
entstehen. viele menschen sind hier oben und gitterdraht für
diejenigen, die sich gerne runterstürzen würden. es kostet viel geld
hierhoch zu kommen. die kälte und der wind der um die ecken saust
erinnern mich an das buch 'der schwarze turm'. sie haben ihn gebaut,
um näher an der sonne zu sein, nur um entdecken zu müssen, dass es so
kalt wird, da oben. dann bauen sie ihn wieder ab und verkaufen das
konzept und die steine an südliche andere länder, die daran glauben.
und die aber schon sowieso viel sonne immer überall haben.
ich sehe manhattan unter mir, central park, so schön noch gestern,
jetzt nur noch ein grünes viereck inmitten von häuserschluchten. das
meer, der fluss, und noch mehr stadt, stadt, stadt, die sich über den
gesamten horizont ausstreckt, wie mit gierigen fingern auch die
entferntesten stellen betatscht.
ich will mich schütteln und weinen. die heilige insel der algonquin
indianer, verkauft für ein apfel und ein ei, heimat der modernen
urbanen legenden und musik, die ich liebe, harlem jazz, bob dylan, und
die liste goes on and on und es drückt meine eingeweide und
herzmuskeln und es ist nacht geworden.
warum, frage ich meinen vater, warum wolltest du, dass ich da
hochgehe? mir ist innerlich schwindlig geworden. es ist deprimierend.
keine aussichten hier.
da sagt er, weisst du, vielleicht, vielleicht muss man erst die äußere
sonne verlieren, damit man sich auf die suche machen kann, die innere
zu finden.

auf dem union square begegne ich vier jugendlichen punks, die mit
akkordeon, waschbrett, geige und banjo die musik dieses landes
erklingen lassen. appalachian blue grass und blues, ein bisschen folk
und country und the house of the rising sun.

how I lost my bike and went dancing again...

She wasn't that old, but worn. The two girls were dressed both in light blue skirts and darker blue shirts, breaking my heart with their morning freshness after a long days work. Julius seemed to know them too, gave them some candy for free, there little three year old sister in the hospital with a desease nobody seems to know. She was certainly the complaining type, willing to share her lot with anyone willing to listen to it. In the bus the older girl was freezing in the absurd air conditioning at night. I covered her with my man's green army jacket and what else I found in my back pack, always prepared for worse weather than you'd expect in the city of lost angels.
Sophie, the five year old who looked actually like HIS daughter will look like one day, fell asleep and the Grandmother didn't know really what to do when their bus stop suddenly approached. Of course I offered my help, I have received so much good on my way that any opportunity to pay back is more than welcome to me. I carried her all the way to their house, sat down with them, played cards and ate ice cream.
They were jewish-persians, very beautiful and of course the apartment was covered in breath taking carpets. The woman talked and talked, about her Italian jerk of a husband, who left her after she had an accident and lives in Las Vegas ever since, gambling his life away. Her husband, whom she brought back to America when they deported him. Who told her that he loved her and that she was his queen. With whom she danced in the streets.
"Look at me" she complained, "I used to bike, swim, dance, I had a perfect body. Now I even can't sit straight. I want revenge. If I had known back then, that he would leave me like that, at this age, with my injury, I would have KICKED HIS ASS..."
The girls were sharp like little razors, vivid eyes and beautiful smiles. Wise little words and explanations coming out of their mouths, why their parents left the 'country of milk and honey' that the Jews, Persians and Muslims found in Iran. How the bad people took over and they had to run away in an airplane!
And whether I am Christian, Jew or Persian? German? I am just me I said, smiling. I tucked the little girl in, tickled the older one. Two little love hungry girls who can't be with their Mom who has to take care of their youngest sister. Two girls, who would need a nanny way more urgently than the two boys I am taking care of. Two girls who want to see me again.
On the way back to the bus I realized that something was missing.
My bike. Fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK. Secretely I scolded myself for wanting to help so much. Stupid me, to forget my bike, my only means of transportation in LA, on the bike rack of the bus!
Strangely enough I wasn't too upset. I was just calm. It is what it is. I might get it back.
And I did. They found out on which bus it was, told me when it would be at the San Vicente station. I just had to wait two hours.
I know I can't describe all this appropriately beautiful, how could I explain, how happy I was to be dancing again? I had to wait almost two hours for that bus to arrive so I went to a gay club and danced as if there was no tomorrow. Oh yes, wife, you would have loved it. I had tons of fun with the gay guys, telling them about Berlin, hearing their stories. No judgement people, but gay guys sure are the safest and funnest GUYS to hang with....
It has been such a flucking long time ever since I was out the last time!
and it was so much fun! clap clap clap! yeai! That's how I love my nights: surprises surprises...In a way it was even good I didn't have any money with me....
so in the end, everything was cool.
I helped that lady.
I got my bike back
AND I got to cure my back pain with dancing without borders :) good night

people like you and me

usually we talk about shit that happened in the past, that might happen in the future, and the funny thing is when i remember right now what we did, it was talking.

aristotles was right.
when do we ever talk about something truly innovative, something that matters, something that is not just digestive?

and more important than that...when do we ever walk or our talk?
i mean....that would suck maybe.
but
doing something meaningful other than sitting around?

geez.

interim report

Sooo, I am back in LA, didn't have the chance yet to go to the beach and enjoy what I envisioned while roaming the perfect Black Forest roads...However, I will, I will.
It's a very confusing situation for me right now, don't know what I got myself into. Maybe waiting around for life to show isn't always the best recipe...I might have to take action, I will, I will, I just...gotta think a little about this one.
So I will apply at universities but still have to figure out what it really is that I want to study. Anyone - ideas? Gosh. This is a really hard one. Going to Germany was supposed to help me out with that, but what it really did was to throw me back through space and time and to point zero, all over again. Now, everything is possible again. Fucking, everything.
Staying here could make sense in retrospect some day, but for right now...I start feeling so trapped, so scared. It's kind of time for a scene change. I think. Oh well. I need to get in contact with certain people here in LA. Like Orlando Bishop. We'll see what that brings. Actually, I LOVE LA and being here in some weirdo sense as soon as I pretend I AM leaving back to Berlin. You know? As soon as this horizon is set for me I can enjoy the scenery like a hot steam bath.
Yeah. ;-)

Forgive Them Father

good bye, homeless man. good bye, capitol records tower, red blue flag. good bye drunk. good bye room, my little ship, who ever knew you had to become the symbol of friend-ship-wreck.
Made me wonder, for a minute or two, whether I was a bad captn, boohoo, but then I had to face it, phony people are a part of LA's desease, loyality isn't spelled right and the line between friends and traitors remains in the twilight.
'Like Kain and Abel, Cesar and Brutus, Jesus and Judas, backstabbers do this, Forgive them Father for they know not what they do.' (Lauryn Hill)