"They march to battle. We float with the sticks on the stream ; helter-skelter with the dead leaves on the lawn, irresponsible and disinterested and able, perhaps for the first time for years, to look round, too look up - to look, for example, at the sky."
"But with the hook of life still in us we must wriggle. We cannot stiffen peaceably into glassy mounds."
Monday, January 31, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
if he wasn´t here i would have to make him up
Amanda is taken to a mental clinic after she slices her underarms open with some glass shards and throw various objects from her balcony. The doctors do not have anything to recommend her, and so Amanda´s fate takes its course. “I kept hearing the voice of my dead father and seeing faces everywhere," says Amanda, deeply moved. The sympathetic lady wants to dive headfirst into a puddle. Now Amanda can finally take care of her son again. “Love is the best medicine,” laughs Amanda Beyer (36) from the city of Innsbruck in Austria. It is 7 years prior, and Amanda suffers from postpartum depression after giving birth to her son Justin. Every day the learned machinist visits her. “Suddenly I began to notice things again that I had ignored for years, like the chirping of birds and the beautiful weather. It was as if a boulder had been lifted off of my soul. I have only my Victor to thank for that.” Finally, the hidden wells of her mother´s love spring up from the depths, and she accepts her son Justin. “My duties as mother gave my life structure again,” Amanda says knowingly. “Mama is simply swell since she´s become healthy,” says the youngin. “I love playing with mom. “I´m a passionate rummager, I love going around flea markets and looking at all the old stuff,” gushes Amanda. After eight years the little family takes it´s first vacation and spends two wonderful weeks in Italy. Exotic bracelets and earrings demonstrate Amanda´s readiness to live her new life. If my Victor wasn´t here then I´d have to make him up. Love heals all wounds...”
Written by Reportage Team Berlin
Translated and edited by white n00b with a laptop
Written by Reportage Team Berlin
Translated and edited by white n00b with a laptop
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
visit to the doc
Well Doc,
Too much milk
makes me sick
too little fiddle
makes me whittle
too many people
soils my steeple
too few naps
make me crap!
etc. etc. etc.
Doc says,
THE "ME"
"THE" MY
The
Too much "much"
and too "little" little!
I'd say it's
Anxiety
with a capital A
I ask
"Well, doc, what can I do doc?
Doc says,
"pills? drills? biofeedback?"
"what's BIOFEEDBACK!?"
Too much milk
makes me sick
too little fiddle
makes me whittle
too many people
soils my steeple
too few naps
make me crap!
etc. etc. etc.
Doc says,
THE "ME"
"THE" MY
The
Too much "much"
and too "little" little!
I'd say it's
Anxiety
with a capital A
I ask
"Well, doc, what can I do doc?
Doc says,
"pills? drills? biofeedback?"
"what's BIOFEEDBACK!?"
Sunday, January 16, 2011
two dreams about [ ]
first
We go into an abandonedish building that is still being used across the street from the house in Kingston where I spent my adolescence. “I can’t believe this is still in use.” [ ] laughs as the building sways back and forth in the wind, the floor levels on either side seesawing up and down, six feet at a time it seems. An old balder man in a wife beater brushes his teeth and another one, or the same one, with a bigger build, struggles to get up and down the stairs. “Incredible what it is we live with around here huh?" I say.
As we go back downstairs something deeply disturbs [ ]. I don't know what to do, [ ] is inconsolable.
second
we meet again....
some kind of airport looking place, it seems to be some indistinct metropolis, Toronto at least, but also Kingston, also Vancouver/ some emptier city out west or in Florida. It's summer.
We are in a van, driving around. We pull up to the fence alongside the Rondout neighborhood center. There are a group of hysterical people that seem to know [ ], even though we're in my neighborhood.
We started cruising down spring street and then took a left onto colonel chandler. I pushed back into my seat a bit, maybe even reclined and asked. “So [ ], how’s life been these past 3 years? Or has it been 4 years? [ ] put up four fingers to correct me, maybe [ ] was smiling. I remember that i knew exactly that it had been 4 years, 4 long years.
“You know, nothing too much, each year turns into the next.” “Yea” “I’ve got a degree from Columbia.” A vision of a Facebook page comes up and I look at [ ] degrees listed.
At some point we are cruising through a neighborhood that looks like where Dina lives in Franeker. I said “growing up some crazy stuff happened to me here.” I was referring to Kingston, the Rondout. “Like what?” “Just crazy stuff... but it happens to everyone in my neighborhood so it's just the way it is.”
Things had really gotten much more subdued, for us both, yes (perhaps all this relates to the email i took apart and blogged, the drunk dialing [ ]'s answering machine, and how different [ ] voice sounded somehow, even though it was the same answering machine as 4 years ago.)
My brother's voice tells me something wise that brings the context of the dream into question, I might be aware this is a dream at this point.
I was in the backseat now, a bank perpendicular to the front seats. I saw [ ] get back in. [ ] put [ ] foot up on the dash and leaned back, maybe [ ] started driving away, that's when I woke up.
We go into an abandonedish building that is still being used across the street from the house in Kingston where I spent my adolescence. “I can’t believe this is still in use.” [ ] laughs as the building sways back and forth in the wind, the floor levels on either side seesawing up and down, six feet at a time it seems. An old balder man in a wife beater brushes his teeth and another one, or the same one, with a bigger build, struggles to get up and down the stairs. “Incredible what it is we live with around here huh?" I say.
As we go back downstairs something deeply disturbs [ ]. I don't know what to do, [ ] is inconsolable.
second
we meet again....
some kind of airport looking place, it seems to be some indistinct metropolis, Toronto at least, but also Kingston, also Vancouver/ some emptier city out west or in Florida. It's summer.
We are in a van, driving around. We pull up to the fence alongside the Rondout neighborhood center. There are a group of hysterical people that seem to know [ ], even though we're in my neighborhood.
We started cruising down spring street and then took a left onto colonel chandler. I pushed back into my seat a bit, maybe even reclined and asked. “So [ ], how’s life been these past 3 years? Or has it been 4 years? [ ] put up four fingers to correct me, maybe [ ] was smiling. I remember that i knew exactly that it had been 4 years, 4 long years.
“You know, nothing too much, each year turns into the next.” “Yea” “I’ve got a degree from Columbia.” A vision of a Facebook page comes up and I look at [ ] degrees listed.
At some point we are cruising through a neighborhood that looks like where Dina lives in Franeker. I said “growing up some crazy stuff happened to me here.” I was referring to Kingston, the Rondout. “Like what?” “Just crazy stuff... but it happens to everyone in my neighborhood so it's just the way it is.”
Things had really gotten much more subdued, for us both, yes (perhaps all this relates to the email i took apart and blogged, the drunk dialing [ ]'s answering machine, and how different [ ] voice sounded somehow, even though it was the same answering machine as 4 years ago.)
My brother's voice tells me something wise that brings the context of the dream into question, I might be aware this is a dream at this point.
I was in the backseat now, a bank perpendicular to the front seats. I saw [ ] get back in. [ ] put [ ] foot up on the dash and leaned back, maybe [ ] started driving away, that's when I woke up.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
new thoughts on old butter
have you ever really sat down
and looked at a stick of butter?
I have
(in my wildest dreams*)
So,
let´s share our experience.
Experience is valuable*.
Let´s = let us.
For all you n00bs out there.
(hey that´s me)
It was sitting at my table,
but I wouldn´t call it my table. I was subletting. It was somebody else's table which, in order to melt a stick of butter on, I was leasing at a fixed rate.
(oh yes take me there)
Ok.
Our supertenant had been keeping the window open, even in the winter, because too much heat allows too much moisture to collect on the ceiling (not intended for moisture) and mildew forms.
It slowly melted after I closed the window to turn the heat up.
It should be a proverb, but there are already too many proverbs, in too many languages, one is liable to devalue it. My favorite proverb is ´early ripe, early rot,` which teaches us the value of letting our reserves spawn themselves, of not looking for a climax. Both of these stories remind me of the golden egg as well.
It begins its slow descent
and I wondered if I should have turned the heat up in the first place. After all, what would there be to learn from a brick changing into a puddle?
By this point the butter was getting there.
I hoped the table wouldn´t get ruined if things got out of hand.
it began to smell, its corners softened.
"What now?" It had been a long time with the window closed, and look, it was seeping into the cracks of the table.
"If I open the window now it will harden."
I looked on,
it´s corners passed away.
I poked into the lump and the lump got on my finger.
Yuck.
It coated my finger. I wanted to whine, or rub it on my shirt and then whine. Instead I licked it and licked it clean.
(oh god yes, oh god!)
Eventually it began dripping through the table and onto my feet.
I didn´t want to lick my feet, so I took a roll, and rubbed it off.
Then I ate that, and
realized that by eating all of the butter, it it wouldn´t have to go to waste, especially not if I spent the next 6 hours walking or jogging in place. I could even go to the park. So many possibilities.
I ate all of the butter in various reprehensible ways,
and then I did so many things,
not just once, but more than once.
Epilogue:
I thought it was interesting that whereas I was feeling like a puddle before watching the it, afterwards I felt as complete and enticing as a whold cold block of untouched butter.
the end.
wow!
a climax*!
*The following text is fictional, or at best pseudohistorical dammit right?
*This is what endeavor teaches us no?
*Alternative ending
and looked at a stick of butter?
I have
(in my wildest dreams*)
So,
let´s share our experience.
Experience is valuable*.
Let´s = let us.
For all you n00bs out there.
(hey that´s me)
It was sitting at my table,
but I wouldn´t call it my table. I was subletting. It was somebody else's table which, in order to melt a stick of butter on, I was leasing at a fixed rate.
(oh yes take me there)
Ok.
Our supertenant had been keeping the window open, even in the winter, because too much heat allows too much moisture to collect on the ceiling (not intended for moisture) and mildew forms.
It slowly melted after I closed the window to turn the heat up.
It should be a proverb, but there are already too many proverbs, in too many languages, one is liable to devalue it. My favorite proverb is ´early ripe, early rot,` which teaches us the value of letting our reserves spawn themselves, of not looking for a climax. Both of these stories remind me of the golden egg as well.
It begins its slow descent
and I wondered if I should have turned the heat up in the first place. After all, what would there be to learn from a brick changing into a puddle?
By this point the butter was getting there.
I hoped the table wouldn´t get ruined if things got out of hand.
it began to smell, its corners softened.
"What now?" It had been a long time with the window closed, and look, it was seeping into the cracks of the table.
"If I open the window now it will harden."
I looked on,
it´s corners passed away.
I poked into the lump and the lump got on my finger.
Yuck.
It coated my finger. I wanted to whine, or rub it on my shirt and then whine. Instead I licked it and licked it clean.
(oh god yes, oh god!)
Eventually it began dripping through the table and onto my feet.
I didn´t want to lick my feet, so I took a roll, and rubbed it off.
Then I ate that, and
realized that by eating all of the butter, it it wouldn´t have to go to waste, especially not if I spent the next 6 hours walking or jogging in place. I could even go to the park. So many possibilities.
I ate all of the butter in various reprehensible ways,
and then I did so many things,
not just once, but more than once.
Epilogue:
I thought it was interesting that whereas I was feeling like a puddle before watching the it, afterwards I felt as complete and enticing as a whold cold block of untouched butter.
the end.
wow!
a climax*!
*The following text is fictional, or at best pseudohistorical dammit right?
*This is what endeavor teaches us no?
*Alternative ending
another old email out of context
Re: helloo...
The truth is, ive kinda
been seein this comin for a while now, but it hasntreally bugged me.
------------------
helloo...
>hey sjoerd,
i had to
>write this up real fast
>at any rate, this is how i feel and this is how im gonna deal with this particular situation.
>write this up real fast
>at any rate, this is how i feel and this is how im gonna deal with this particular situation.
>the reason i didnt tell you in school is because i honestly didnt have the courage,
>please write me back and say a little somethin cuz i just wanna know youre position on the matter
Friday, January 14, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Stuffed Cats
The pharmacist sleeps in Garfield themed sheets.
"I´ve even won a goblet."
But a hobby is intended to reconcile the seriousness of life.
"In the end it´s worth at least that much to me!”
Story by Reportage Team, Berlin
Transl. Woody Harrelson
Sunday, January 9, 2011
shots in the dark greeted with smiles abroad (excerpts of old emails)
Dear ,
> >I'm
> > > > >moving into my apartment
> >tomorrow,
> > > > >I've been living out in a suburb with my
uncle
> >and
> > > > >working as a city gardener, so I have yet to
> >really
> > > >pretty
> > > > >neat place so far
up
> >too
> > > > >late being an internet junkie again, bis
nextes
> > >Mal.
> >hey sjoerd.
> > > >
> > > >thanks for the mail.
I would like to meet up with you sometime
but
> > > >week of december becuase unfortunatley I'm
>moving
> > > >We'll keep in touch and see what sort
>of
> > > >plans will unravel.
> > > >
> >I'm
> > > > >moving into my apartment
> >tomorrow,
> > > > >I've been living out in a suburb with my
uncle
> >and
> > > > >working as a city gardener, so I have yet to
> >really
> > > >pretty
> > > > >neat place so far
up
> >too
> > > > >late being an internet junkie again, bis
nextes
> > >Mal.
> >hey sjoerd.
> > > >
> > > >thanks for the mail.
I would like to meet up with you sometime
but
> > > >week of december becuase unfortunatley I'm
>moving
> > > >We'll keep in touch and see what sort
>of
> > > >plans will unravel.
> > > >
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Highlights from a Valentine´s Day in the Clouds
“Michael isn’t just some vacation fling,” says Vanessa. “Love is in the air! I found my man in the heavens and brought him from cloud nine down to earth as my personal souvenir. Valentine’s Day is our lucky day!.”
She apologizes and seeks to mitigate the damages with a napkin.
He’s a passionate kayaker, especially in white-water. The 1.88 m (6 ft 2 in) tall althete loves athletic challenges as a contrast to his career as a civil engineer.
Vanessa loves to go on long trips to Asia
Gorgeous Buddhist temples, shiny golden cupolas and fantastic beaches invite one to discover the exotic country. Yet first Vanessa has to save enough money from her salary as a salesperson in a big bookshop until she can finally get away. Because she travels so often, Vanessa can speak English very well.
Stewardesses bring snacks and tomato juice, and at 10,000 meters (32.000 feet/6.2 miles) over the earth, the airplane came into heavy turbulence, and the entire machine was abruptly shaken.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” stutters Vanessa.
The stewardess has to disrupt the puppy lovers` canoodling
Both would rather spend their free time reading than watching tv.
Half an hour later, as Vanessa and Michael are standing at the hotel reception desk with their luggage and bouquet of roses, the hotel manager asks “Two single rooms? Or one double room?”
After their kiss in Asia, the American looks forward to the happy in end in Europe
“Ich liebe Dich, Vanessa!” Michael moves into Vanessa´s little apartment and is astonished as to how closely related the German and English languages are.... Valentine’s Day is our lucky day!.”
Written by Reportage Team, Berlin, Germany
transl. and assembled by Illuminati69
She apologizes and seeks to mitigate the damages with a napkin.
He’s a passionate kayaker, especially in white-water. The 1.88 m (6 ft 2 in) tall althete loves athletic challenges as a contrast to his career as a civil engineer.
Vanessa loves to go on long trips to Asia
Gorgeous Buddhist temples, shiny golden cupolas and fantastic beaches invite one to discover the exotic country. Yet first Vanessa has to save enough money from her salary as a salesperson in a big bookshop until she can finally get away. Because she travels so often, Vanessa can speak English very well.
Stewardesses bring snacks and tomato juice, and at 10,000 meters (32.000 feet/6.2 miles) over the earth, the airplane came into heavy turbulence, and the entire machine was abruptly shaken.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” stutters Vanessa.
The stewardess has to disrupt the puppy lovers` canoodling
Both would rather spend their free time reading than watching tv.
Half an hour later, as Vanessa and Michael are standing at the hotel reception desk with their luggage and bouquet of roses, the hotel manager asks “Two single rooms? Or one double room?”
After their kiss in Asia, the American looks forward to the happy in end in Europe
“Ich liebe Dich, Vanessa!” Michael moves into Vanessa´s little apartment and is astonished as to how closely related the German and English languages are.... Valentine’s Day is our lucky day!.”
Written by Reportage Team, Berlin, Germany
transl. and assembled by Illuminati69
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