Male Braxilian Wax Stories

interference



The phone rang. I closed the window, turned on the air-conditioning, drove back the hands draped with telephone cards, the dealer, schottete from me. The window whirred up and separated the heavy, lead-containing, herausgerotzten of the many motorbike taxis blue haze of the cool, clear air of the vehicle interior. A clean cut, like a cheese in order to free him from the rotten mold. With the haze more cacophonous mixture of the Formula One circus to advertise goods, music from car radios and the boxes of CD vendors, slowly, softly faded out until everyone and everything disappeared in an unnatural way in a dull room.

- "Hello!" - "Hello" - "Yes hello, who's there?" - "Hello" - "I hear who is speaking?" - "Hello!" Great call, I hung up. A short while later rang the phone again.
- "Hello, who is speaking?" - "Hello" - "With whom I have the honor? Say "-" Suleiman "
-" No, this is not ... "Hanging Up.. No "I've dialed the wrong number" or something like that, let alone an apology.


The reservoir of time in Benin seems endless. The smallest movements in restaurants or at the post office celebrated the tenth patient or unacceptable rejection in the office with a piety in which even the Lamb rebelled against his executioners would have long ago. What is even the time of a life in this world when it comes to eternity in the afterlife is, within, something has gone wrong, wait boiling blood flow to one.
it is a matter to work out at the traffic lights a time advantage of a few nano seconds, honking, jostle, jostled and fought. In the smallest rooms wind around the scooters and determination, like an ant trail, past the taxis, beggars and traders. At the end of the journey is the one who visited should not be, at home and the cost of gasoline is many times higher than the unit that a telephone call would have cost. The phone rang again, this time it fell silent for a ring. On m'a beep, you have me angeflashed, phoned, sent a signal with a request for a callback. I looked at the screen and saw the number of Segun, a friend from Lagos, who has lived eight years in Benin. I dialed his number, but got only an interference signal to hear the crash of the phone followed.


A news broadcast on Fon, the local language of southern Benin led me to a channel change. On Atlantique FM ran a quiz show. The presenter spoke in a deep, full voice effect in a characteristic style, as one usually talk to him all over the world in commercial radio broadcasts. A reverse played song should be guessed from the caller, he would get the chance to get through the introductory talk.
I could hear that he imagined, for the name but it was too quiet, even after several repetitions. The moderator did not seem to hear, hooked to impatient, asked for nothing but to speak, asked for distance to the radio. It did not help, it took only a few seconds and the listener was out, music. The conversations were always followed the same pattern, introduced themselves to the audience well-behaved, the radio announcer was getting impatient and threw out the caller, the music, danceable, groovy, was louder.
It often happens that the phone only one side gets access to what has been said of others, the possibility remained uncommented. It was business as usual. Music again, this time longer, a piece of Polyrithmo is played, salsa made with African rhythms I float through the city, past a cattle market on tin huts along the sea, the lagoon and raise the fishermen their nets from canoes.
The moderator reported to sweeping with a welcome back a caller knew the answer and could finally begin his talk. How are you, what's your name, by calling out to you, what's your favorite stations and so on. Apparently someone had noticed the mishap, the telephone network, as usual. What followed was a crack pipe and suspected in tinnitus frequencies, this time when the caller said. The moderator heard nothing and chatted merrily. Changing stations.

Can You Have Silverside Rare?

Cagliari




Pierfranco runs to the railing and back again, he stretched out his arms in the air and calls something in Italian, then he tried to put me a peach in the mouth. "They're good," he says, "these are mine." He gives me the peach, I rub the dirt from under the table quietly at my skirt. He watched me while I bite into it, nodded to me, as I begin to chew. I smile with your mouth full and I'm stupid in front of it.
As if him seeing me suddenly something occurred to Pierfranco runs from the roof terrace to the kitchen. Shortly thereafter, it comes with a carafe of iced coffee and two shot glasses back. "Drink," he says, "so you get good coffee anywhere." After he has poured himself, he runs back inside, gets cool lemonade and cookies. Finally, he sits across from me. His legs twitch under the table. "A Paradise, right? "He points to the plants on the railing, the sofa pillows on the wall, the basket lying on the floor. He points to the growing timber, which are only a bed, a table and a fan. "Up here you have complete privacy," he says. I sweat runs down the back, arms and face. For two hours I am looking for a room. "Tomorrow is the Pope," repeated the landlord, and looked at me in her half-open front doors as if I was disturbed.
Pierfranco however derogatory whistles through his teeth when I look down the street, which is closed today for vehicles. "This all the excitement, "he says," for an old codger. "His rooms are up to the sultry shack on the roof terrace fully booked anyway. He beckons me into the living room. Before a world map he stops and taps his index finger on red flags. "I've been everywhere, Iceland, America, Russia. In Germany I was in Berlin before the Wall fell. "He asks me where I come from exactly. I type on a tiny spot just ahead of Denmark. He pulls up the eyebrows. "From an island?" I nod. Hastily he bends down, pulls open a drawer, pulls out a red flag and stick it in the middle of the Baltic Sea. I look at him. "And," he asks, "how is it for?" "flat," I reply, "and usually cold." "Good." He runs slowly over the flags. "What is this island?" I grab a support from my backpack, leaning against the wall and pull it over my shoulder. While I put my other arm through the strap, he lifts his head in amazement.

Dog Have Rights To Drink Milk Fromboob

palaver in the crate



Kpawa, a young village came through heaped laterite soil of the pulsating vein network of paths and trails of breath, associated with the capillaries and veins from gravel and asphalt, through the small pickups, rusted, warped, revived countless times with their flow of goods, packed full of yams, held together by a tightly drawn plastic sheet, which bulges out beyond the frame, driven by the heartbeat of the trade.
The village has learned to walk, has become larger, has eaten country, the old and new fruits have digested. The village has around a sewage belt formed a ring of shrubs, similar to that of a city ring of a major European city. There are no latrines.

I sit inside this ring on a wooden chair in the shade of a crate not far from Issifous hut. No one moves. Even the wind, it's too hot. The heat presses on my body as blood flowed not but lead in my veins. I try not to move until me and I'm glad I do not have to speak, that the chairs are empty next to me keep that otherwise the men of the village their palaver.
Before me lie motionless three dogs in a narrow strip of shade thrown by a towering piece of corrugated iron of a roof.
called, "Who knows" (Qui sait), "or not" (ou bien) and "Speak for yourself" (dis pour toi). Names that are as appropriate responses to a possible discussion in the shade of the midday. Together, we try as little energy as possible to burn.
I wonder if a delicate piece of antelope meat with fresh basil leaves, the three might well open out.
"Who knows" turns subtly but clearly his left ear in my direction, without lifting his head for it, as if he had read my thoughts. The group of children who normally stick to one like the flies on the corrupt Cashewfrüchten, has evaporated in the few shady areas of the village. They lie on a sand pile, a table or a cold cement grave in the courtyard of the hut of their parents and siblings in addition to goats.



The square in front of me, a kind of connector to the marketplace, offers me a grateful light show. Hundreds of small reflections on flicker in plastic bags, their rags, tin cans and aluminum packaging of the drugs on the black market, as in a sea of rubies and crystals, until the wind takes her into the woods or someone makes a fire. The village is young, full bloom development. You can hear it grow, like the bamboo, which stretches every day a piece of the sky. The rate of growth, whether economic or population here is probably a thousand percent. Time for the priests and imams, the opium to the hook of their fishing and spear fishing to begin the soul. First, the construction of a mosque, beside a well, Life-giving water for the lost souls. The well runs dry, not drilled deep enough, it is the Koran.



Dieudonné comes with Innocent returned to the village from the field, hoe and rifle shouldered, the smell of earth and sweat meets their space. The heat seems Innocent identify not much. He greets the men, mothers, old people, us, with a smile that makes his face glow. His four front teeth have grown at a right angle from his jaw and pointing to the shed, under the same palaver begins and he is already looking forward. Whether he was with the self-made rifle already a dangerous I hunted squirrels, I ask him. Innocent he says have with this gun, from which peeped a cotton ball in front, killed a buffalo in his prime. I believe him and look forward to more hunting stories. Also Issifou is back in the village. He and joke with Dieuxdonné Issifous Malabou maids, the food prepared for us, Peuhlkäse with rice, her marriage promise as a second wife with me, the white man. Malabou means something like, "What have I done" I wonder what he has done for this to ask for later in the shed under which the men sit on the field work so much and get an answer.

I Lost My Confirmation Id For My Appointment

Tanzania energized. About

Yesterday at the first reading stage in the first Tanzanian reader the power went out, the show was then continued in the spotlight. The electricity provided by two cars with running engines.


is sad that the Clove hotel my room was already taken, I would have to confirm again, I learn from the manager. It refers me to the Kiponda, which costs only 20 $ a night and I also seem sufficient. Then to divine meal at a Danish doctor, Leonie has a charming, about 10 year old daughter. The lady who celebrates her farewell because, she flies back to Aarhus sailing, passion, work on a boat made of cement they will be ready in 30 years, now. In Zanzibar, there were 10 years on a poor doctor, she says, even Europeans, who only took money from the rich and treated the poor for free. Then he rumgebrüllt drunk and the local head of government abuses, he was immediately expelled.


Later, through the dark, narrow hum of the generator filled city. The ongoing for weeks by power failure, damage to a submarine cable from Dar Es Salaam caused and no one knows how long it will continue for. The feeling is, nothing happens. In the hotel room it is to endure with the ceiling fan to some extent, lie under the mosquito net in his underpants. How do I But if it is off by 22 of the clock generator, sweating through the night going, which is another story.
How long do I need sometimes, to the obvious, obvious, in my head to the ingenious idea: Of course, the power failure, causes, consequences, reporting expected duration, etc., plus beautiful photos of the night lighting scenes, so tomorrow fresh to work, scribbler !

unexpectedly fabulous sleep, morning will come on for half an hour of electricity, after a week and my digestive tract is back to normal, what a joy to live!

I meet Leonie Schollmeyer. Sometimes they ask friends or relatives: "You have frequent power failure?" "No," she laughs, then, "We only have one, and the last four weeks!" She is one of the German employees of the Dhow Countries Music Academy, which resides at the port of the island in an Arab villa . Drums, guitars, piano and violin sounds by the cool courtyard, and the roar of a generator.

The now broken power cable through the Indian Ocean from Ras Kilomoni on the mainland of Tanzania to Zanzibar Ras Fumba. Hakon Hamre, Norwegian engineer, the Tanzanian authorities were called in to help, said after visiting the facilities in Zanzibar: "I can not say when power is restored, but we expect that the work lasts up to three months because the problem is very special. "He leads the failure of the cable back to a surge that occurred on the fateful day as a result of the collapse of the Tanzanian electricity grid. The messages of the Tanzanian press about the "Zanzibar power blues" are confusing, the cable had exploded, the cooling fluid for the line would be sent to France to be tested there before using the oil for a new cable, even though this oil in 28 years, successfully protecting cables in Dar Es Salaam. What is certain, however: There is no electricity and no one knows when he returns. Hotels and small factories were forced to close, 30,000 people were made redundant by the current lock. These figures are probably difficult to confirm in a country where most are unemployed anyway. Undoubtedly, the fishermen take the lack of energy the most, get the larger fish no longer sells: What you can not eat on the same day would inevitably perish for lack of cooling.

A Spaniard, who runs a hotel near the city calls the blackout a "nightmare", the offer of restaurants is limited, water prices have risen to 1,000 shillings for the 20-liter bottle. The prices for Water, gasoline and diesel have almost doubled, generators are no longer there to buy, either here or in the three hours away by ferry capital Dar Es Salaam.

Nassor Rajubu Dachi is the director of the local branch of the Bank FBME, and of course he can not talk about economic impact on his business and can not photograph well. But his private situation, he is glad to provide information. He buys petrol for the generator of the neighbors and therefore they get electricity. The fact that neighbors come closer through this situation is a good thing. Finally, he sings the praises of the government that all the generators from their offices for the water sources has made available.

mosquito Quinckhardt, Director of Music, is skeptical about the quick non-bureaucratic help. The Hamburg woman with Huguenot roots knows Zanzibar since 1989: "That one has no electricity for hours and days is normal. But over a month? "Only after several days they thought that it would soon be over.
native students learn in the academy traditional music. There, they first changed their daily work, read the paper, instead of information on the Internet, the shelves have been cleaned up and all done what you need no power. With her laptop she could, if the battery was charged, three hours and texts Write protocols. Now part of the daily routine to sit two hours in a Stone Town Café, to charge the phone and the laptop to access the Internet while drinking coffee for 1500 shillings. The culture of conversation is changing significantly, with the Swedish couple at close quarters, with whom she had never spoken, they talked for hours now with electricity and water. In general the fruitful discussions, also in her school: ". It is remarkable how has communication improved," There were so stories that the cable had been laid 30 years ago and have a maximum lifetime of 30 years, but no arrangements had been made, No spare parts were available. Earlier there were here for each neighborhood generators, which were all removed and sold.

The guide raves about the largest city of Zanzibar: from "The streets of Stone Town radiate peace and calmness, and sometimes, it seems that time stands still. Any hassle and stress gone from home for a time forgotten. "Who said the city is buzzing around every corner, no shop, no hotel, no bank and no restaurant is currently out of diesel generator. David Livingstone named the city despicable "Stinkibar": "The night stench is so blatant that one could cut a piece of it in order to own to fertilize the garden. "Sewerage these states has long since improved, but could see the city again today call it that. But it is now the stench of the generators.

Interrogate still Farina (11) about what they dislike the power failure: that one can have anything warm in the morning. One has to draw water by hand, the noise of the generators that you can read anything. School is out, because being on vacation anyway. But on the first day of the blackout they had tests and the class was on the generator and made a hell of a noise. That you get no cold, no ice, without paying twice. Also Zalia (10) remembers the beginning, because they had a 4-liter box eat ice cream, then it was bad. That one night in the darkness stumbles, like the children either. But some positive Farina recognizes the energy shortage: "There is more communication standards is that everyone has a great wall around his house, now reads: Where you download to your mobile phone? Do you have water? Can I charge my cell phone with you? "Most of it is painful, that they can look at any of the 60 DVDs that she has brought from Germany.

I eat again in Malindi, where they already know the only Mzulu and bring me the same as yesterday. While the locals the spice seeds and bark all draped next to the plate to the oil-cloth blankets, eating I do everything on. Note the futile attempt at a nap, like a new wave of diarrhea gurgles from the stomach into the lower intestine.

Later I had the good fortune of Schlenderers, the highlight of my power-blues research: Meet on a fully in-service generator repair shop, where I can hold you my video camera a lot of sound bites. Really excited the operator, a pair of brothers, not the changes caused by the power outage are: Two times is already with them have been broken into. Whether they want, that stops the power failure? They laugh, that's an answer.

book the hotel I head over heels for the ride tomorrow by 8 to Bwejuu on the east coast. The hotel manager said, had assured the Chief of Tanzania, today or latest tomorrow, the blackout was over. Hope that God forbid there. All my research, All in the ass?

night I'm sitting on the terrace at Africa House, with the couple, he a physicist from Munich, they have a Abiturientin from Reinickendorf who has volunteered in southern Tanzania, and a tax-aid workers from Hanau at a table. Hanau, call it also the city of golden jewelry. Never heard of it. Here in Zanzibar, there is no Tribalism, the right attitude in general in Tanzania, the corruption here is smaller than in Kenya. It agrees with me that to Zanzibar Helgoland was a bad exchange. What am I ran around today, but it was good.

½ 9 departure, the trip to Bwejuu the minibus cost 12 000 shillings, $ 10, with me on the bus are still a Dutch female couples and three locals. It is one of the many discarded vehicles in China, some on the streets still have the Chinese auflackiert promotional literature.
Soon it passes through the poorer suburbs, there are no generators to see more. A large market, zebu, a cemetery, palm forests, bush. When honked, cyclists must give way and the street on the hard shoulder. Force signs and road humps slow Driving, as I was just wondering what animals cross the road here, crocodiles? Hippos? Aurochs? I see the cute monkeys in the wild, if one can call it here in the street near the Sun
a Africafe, generally administered as the soluble coffee is here, I am in the culinary center of Evergreen Bungalows to me. Here in paradise so I'll spend 24 hours reading, writing, hopefully, jogging, and it still asks me in: What am I doing here?

Later I lay in the sun and read Kapuscinski's "African fever" is over, what a wonderful book and a pity that I have now read. Rain and storm, at least I've probably gotten enough sun. Jimmy wants a dubious 10 000 shillings deposit to buy gasoline for the trip back tomorrow, his scarred dude in blue is no more confidence-inspiring, too stupid rip-off may not be threaded.
Unlike yesterday, I succeed in my palm hut of the afternoon nap. The awareness of sleep fills me with so irrepressible, all-encompassing lucky that I did not remind me of something similar can.

is the night in a Bwejuu some crazy episode of malaria-mosquito attacks and involvement in the stupid mosquito net. Reading GALORE April to the end, an interview with Maxim Biller, in the he claims, intelligent German women love good sex, otherwise it appears to present a complete asshole, arrogant and boring. Whether he does it on purpose? The magazine interview despite drink-thin, full of mistakes ("the summer from the balcony"), content and style. The needles with which they sew together the magazine are probably a bit hot.

Monica Roccaforte The Best

explorers and Sodabi

One of the three men has shouldered a hoe, the style carved roughly, the iron slightly wavy. No relic of the Bronze Age, but most important tool in the field. Beside him on the same level, perhaps his brother, the only bulb in the night hard shadows on the work of the sun and tanned face. At the head of the father's or chief of his district to the greeting ritual, to which the small following matches rhythmically.
- Hail. - Yes hail. - How's the family? - Yes, the family's doing well. - The family, their's is good? - Yes, and health, making health? - Well, what do the children? Yes well, the woman's doing well? - What makes the field? - Yes the box, it is .- And the mother? - Yes, brother? - Father? - Grandma? - The niece? - The cous ...? - Hm! Hm! The sentences are shorter, too short sentences, Words follow draw back into the palate and die slowly in quiet nascent buzz on the lips. Minutes pass. I try to focus, to miss the end of history do not tell the Issifou straight on, when he has finished the greeting is.

Behind me is a long day, a long drive through red laterite. Dust stirred up by our car, long and dense as the contrails of the aircraft shall, to the dry river beds, in the columns of the dryness gaping earth, or the children on their way to school. In the village it is good form to bring small gifts. Batteries, cigarettes, pens, radio, photos from the past The laughter of times
forensic Bar, the village founder, exploded in the shade of the baobab tree, our heads touch two times on the opposite side of the forehead, in thanks for the bottle of gin, which is here not only appreciated by the spirits. Guests will enjoy fee could bar forensic two glasses, water glasses, the temperature at 30 degrees gin poured to the brim, we handed the glasses. This does not, we had thought, looked in bars shining face, his glowing with joy at the guests eyes. The gin burned down our throats down at 43 degrees outside temperature, the heat cooled down like a bell loosened protect us, the tongues, ready for a tour through the village, on arrival, to check into our little hut, which had cleared for us.

forensic bar with a purple baseball jacket, a frayed Bermuda shorts and a traditional, up to current conical cap, similar to a stocking cap, but without the tip of purple-colored, too. He followed a few years ago a path that has been beaten for a road into the bush, burned all his way standing trees for a field, plowed with a simple hoe, for the coveted yams to plant, love the heat like a volcano's lava flows . It came Dendi, Fulbe, Hausa, Fongbe as Christians, Muslims or animists, they live in the neighborhoods, peaceful, as farmers, while supplies last. It goes without having to resort to a common language. Only their children, they play with the languages as if they were their empty bicycle coats, they hunt with sticks through the village. It is my friend, the geographer who is interested in these population movements, which I accompanied here.


The Sodabi, a liquor derived from palm trees, sharp as a razor and as clear as the instinct of a hyena in front of his prey, flows into the small glass from the bottle without a label, makes the rounds with the man the Hacke, perhaps his brother, the boss or father to us. The visitors, on the family, on the field, the wealth, the newborn, happiness, fertility, ancestors. And each time, before the Sodabi the way into the shallows of the body will burn freely a few drops poured on the earth, as a tribute to the spirits, the fetishes, the Marabous.
Issifou, in whose house we sit welcomes the one or the other newcomer, had the thread of his story long ago lost what none of us noticed, and tells of a radio broadcast, reported in a Benin professional football player, was the give up his career had, as he noted with pain, he had broken glass in his knee. Jealous relatives from his native village, with the ancestors in the league, had inflicted it. Murmur, compassion, one is never sure what he had done well. Had he not played just bad, we wanted to know. Laughter. Issifou knew that already from us. A game between him, the wizard of the geographer and the saint himself. Incredible that we can think of something. Only whites can be so incredulous. Until late into the night goes on like that, in light of the bare light bulb in the singing of the cicadas, the squeaking of the belt of the corn mill, the cawing of the radios from the Dendi or Haussaviertel through which powder invulnerable or invisible, on Geldverdoppler or charlatans.

Greetings For New Baby Born And Christmas Wishes

family of origin + professional success?

.


What did the professional success with the family of origin to do?


"see essential"

The origin family: We all have

father + mother, a family from which we originate
and with which we are connected. These relationships are
fate fundamental to our feelings, our actions, our relationships and our health
.

allows the setting up of the family system has direct access to previously hidden
dynamics behind the scenes and there
dominant disorders. We get by using alternate
from the group of blocks to light that bind us and hinder our unconscious
flow of life.

Inside and outside!
The preparation work leads to an altered mental image, which serves low
acts as Grundlge for change and healing.



Other facts about


The extraordinary statement Seminar
"see essential"

under
http://www.hypnose-muenster.de/ family make-seminare.html



.

.

Tall Converse In Black

Can Make family be dangerous?



Family Can Make Dangerous be?

set free Sometimes statements enormous energy:
feelings that were hidden under a thick layer
break with a blow to the surface.

It is sensible to consider in advance,
that after establishing a later sample
may be necessary in individual sessions.


Who is suitable for participation in the family constellation?

* People whose general life coping well is
* People who have responsibility for your actions.



Who is not suitable for participation in the family constellation?

* people who take psychotropic drugs or other powerful drugs.







'

Metal Core Wheels For Madd Gear Scooters

Mo and I for the duration of a journey (From unpublished)

Mo and I in front of a giant shopping center on the outskirts of Reykjavik. It rains only. We are now identical rain jackets with the small Icelandic flag on the upper sleeve. Mon photographed young artists with artists hairstyles. They say they now live in Iceland.

The Grouse enters a museum. Mo and I did want to talk with the young artists just like we would all be wonderful to adopt, but we quickly and follow the grouse. We buy tickets to enter the building to be allowed. The museum has an exhibition to see where the wood model like this is how the museum looked like a hundred thirty years. The trick goes like this: The museum was not yet at that time. Reykjavik hundred and thirty years ago is a saw mill or something, and people who work in the sawmill, so Icelandic legends gather must also hold live somewhere. There, where the museum stands today, you know a sign out that this will be the place where one is the museum.

says The Grouse:

"Come with me, I want to show my home."

Mo said enthusiastically:

"Home is still where no one was"

see the grouse from battered. It is gray or white. I travel because I could not take it anymore, that things turn around. Are you on the road, you turn things around. Mon finds the hypocrisy and escapist and trivial. Home is where you have to do nothing. Apart from mathematical computing functions only because I believe that people never have a meaningless expression. Iceland a hundred thirty years ago when there was no GPS.

L Glutathione Between Glutathione Difference

A boy, a man attempts to be

The summer is here and why you would rather go to the beach on the Baltic Sea and can be times that fall into the beach sand. The Kurhaus is in Ahrenshoop rum also an extent. But soon I saw no more. According to the Tourism weeks, the days for the old house are also counted.
on the Baltic coast, I wanted to write songs but nothing came out when. But the castle was the home Dargun the still. So the lyrics are named: the sea, pictures box, the journey through self-Me, No matter II, collapse, in the park, circle, no, because I run, co-existence and purpose of the country. Now you only see what it is stupid and what not.
So we do let's see if this works with the images here.


I and my feet at Wustrow. Then I really had

2 super weekend with Tomasch and Uncle Tom TKM. Our 3 concerts were really a success. Nice get many good responses and Anregeung and Klugscheisserscheiss. Next the drummer search vorran is also good, I think. Karsten Troyke is a very nice person with whom one could talk very well. And his program has really impressed me and Tom. After Karsten Troyke we have indeed again sneaked onto the stage and it came out a good little Unpluggedkonzert it.

Tomasch in Ulenkrug

I can already hear the last 2 weeks only U2.
And therefore my advice: Be sure to listen

:

U2 - Boy U2
- October

look at all costs: The kings of

Nutzholzgewinnung


I wave

Project Report On Start New Business

Jerusalem

If I heard earlier on the news from Jerusalem, I thought it would be a wide area in here and there is something important, the compressed cultural history of the world, sanctuaries, military objects. Jerusalem was in fact once been larger, it is shrinking steadily. Great, but it must be silent bulldozer, night after night undetected attach to the walls and the old always move closer together. The energy increases exponentially, focuses on a smaller, but dense point, a red-hot world Abel. When I entered, I became the meteorite which, entered the atmosphere burned up, from now on. In my hand I held a Map, which illustrated to me the old city in 3D. I graduated from unintentionally everything in half an hour, Armenian Quarter, Christian Quarter, Jewish Quarter, once I had, by mistake, because I had become to me unaware fast enough, fully illuminated a hub happened, and now stood on the best-guarded place in the world, but as soon I could not clarify the situation, I was not clear what I saw, no, had seen, because now I was already in a small side street in the Arab quarter and met Abed Nasser al. Al Nasser invited me to an Arabic coffee, and I accepted gratefully, for he offered me a chair and I did my burn up if it has not stopped was at least a quick break. A look at my city map that I had kept in my hand, found that I had lost him. Even before the Kaffeefusseln had placed in the cup, I learned that Al Nasser during the first intifada eight times in the arm and was once shot in the head. A few girls came and looked at the rings in Al Nasser's delivery, she tried, giggling. Al Nasser also reported: He had short arms . Actually saw his arms quite short. I understood this much: Because of the many entry and shots they needed him to be shortened. Could you cut arms, I wondered, while Al Nasser asked me why I saw so many people here probably, running around with weapons. Short Arms, I thought maybe he meant: short arms? Besides, Al Nasser chatter with potential customers who, wrapped white cast curious glances at the goods Al Nasser, stones, jewelry, electric cars - but the apparent interest in the goods turned out to be a ritualized part of a conversation among friends. An old friend of his, "said Nasser Al would go here several times a day along, only it was the now no longer a friend. He did not know whether he should greet him even out of politeness, his heart told him he should be totally behind. I took a swig said coffee grounds, my mouth full of crumbs, I Yes, thank you as Al Nasser offered me a new coffee. The Jews, "said Nasser Al, here they run through the streets with their weapons. Also, all Arabs, who are active in politics were actually Jews, "said Al Nasser, and while his mouth was always wide broke away on my lips in the hot coffee. I sat in a web of side streets, almost lost, it seemed to me, has lost and forgotten. If anyone I knew? Maybe I was already in another time, another space. The famous Jerusalem Syndrome, had I read the guidebook, not suffered a few, especially religious, tourist, who thought they were the Messiah or the Virgin Maria. It has already achieved this, that two Messiah have fought fiercely with one another. These cases come to a specific reference to the Jerusalem Syndrome oriented department of psychiatry. After a few days, sometimes even hours, the psychosis usually disappears again and the patient can return to their hotel. Unfortunately I was not a believer, otherwise, I'm sure I would be such a thing happened to me. Now would the syndrome with me to another, choose certainly unpleasant way. I got up and went, while Al Nasser kept talking, and yet, I think we passed each other. Something Frightful sat in my stomach, maybe a little bird who tried to fly. Jerusalem, a tiny, hot, crazy spot in the world. Within the more and more together back end walls I was stuck now. I went straight and found myself in a few minutes later in the same place. Jerusalem, it was clear to me is a ball. This is logical, I thought. Sabi for Jerusalem was a candy. A round candy. Sabi, an eight year old boy from Bethlehem has never been to Jerusalem. He could not come. His aunt, who has a permit brings Sabi whenever they in Jerusalem, with a sweetness. Have you brought me back Jerusalem, they asked Sabi. And what I meant that I had traveled thousands of miles, Jerusalem? Sabi for it is a goodie - He lives just twenty minutes away and to the other on the planet's side. in concentration, I bumped into a group of Christian pilgrims, who sought the Holy Sepulcher. It was equipped with various cards, books and accessories and all the holy members wore bright green T-shirts. They were hard to lose, so I followed them in a temporary community of interest, because of the Holy Sepulchre of view I would probably figure out again, and, ha, there we were. Rather than on a clear, linear path, moving it away here in loops and hooks. One would have the place to which one wishes to imagine, I thought. In the church the pilgrims went straight to the holy places, I saw her vanish green and disperse. have been fervently they rubbed the contents of their bags on the stone on which Jesus anointed a packed DVD is keen. Processions of various denominations with disabilities, and got caught short time together, when they each crossed, they sang and prayed various things and for a moment the liturgical songs fused together, but everyone made sure the right one, his melody to sing more and not be distracted to leave from the other Christians. Now I was taken, I bought a thin candle in a strict, silent monk, and made my way through the many floating in the air cell phone cameras, by I floated through the blue glow of my burning candle in hand, perhaps for hours. When I came out, I came along blinded by the brightness, with a beautiful girl and her machine gun, which she wore casually over her summer dress. A large group of South American nuns urged the church and would have almost swept back with. After streets full of colorful, over the heads enthroned towels, they do not flutter, for here was no wind, the air was there for over two thousand years, past all the dealers, sometimes, all captured on a tear to me almost my cleavage, as I willingly, no weak been made, try on a bright red chain and was offended that I was shocked, I was not passionate, he said, otherwise he would have given me the chain, after bending, staircases, narrowing passages, I saw a clearing, was re-screened and was again at the Wailing Wall. In the heart of a monstrous person, surrounded by golden domes, the holy remains of walls and religious devotion, so attracted and repulsed that I could only stand on the spot. It dawned on Muezzinrufe and church bells, groups of Orthodox Jews in the evening bustle, always to pray, to weigh, to complain. So close, like this all together, so no one can talk to each other. The all close together are, the sharper the boundaries they draw around. You have to stop the bulldozers, they need to protect their city, I thought. The wall that divides Jerusalem: If it were wide instead of high, they would not be a wall but a broad, swollen river. The wall snakes through the city. But it is not a river. In that moment I knew now I would find out, and I found out.

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Pure existence.



















As a child, I have a small skate caught. The ray was initially a strange disc just above the seabed, which moves slowly and with a kind of wings, a short time later, a dark-gray balls in my net. I made him proud on the beach where he was admired by guests. to catch the rays was simple. I had him kept the Nets in front of his nose, he was into swimming. In Sperlonga always be simple. Here you could win bowling tournaments, water skiing learn in the hotel pool, go to the painter Victor Koulbak for morning exercise. The sixteen year-old Flavia, which might have been the daughter of Ornella Muti wanted to spend, with the twelve-year-old Beniamino hold hands, who all did not understand who would prefer to run away to his friend Luca. Luca, who secretly read books Samurai, Pink Floyd, The Wall 'as the Bible called and spoke to want to later be surfers in front of Big Sur. I doubted at that time not because he would soon celebrate off the coast of California's success.



















In the hotel there were no phones, no minibar, no TV. There was no air conditioning or mosquito nets, there were beds for nearly 100 guests and a stone floor that cooled and then the feet when the thermometer indicated inside the concrete construction for well over 30 degrees. Army has played a barbecue at night while our bathing suits drying on the balcony. In the distance are some dog barked, and in the morning, at sunrise, an old rooster crowed the staff in the kitchens and showers us with the. The sweat of the night had to be washed off before we, the men in linen suits and women in summer dresses, in the breakfast room each nodded. We, that was gold traders, lawyers, professors of literature, a dealer from Berlin-Kreuzberg called Mohrchen, crane builders, artist, Hatter from Florence, journalists and almost infinite number of children who behave too knew at the breakfast table talking quietly and politely asked for permission when they get up and go to the beach wanted.



















The coastal city of Sperlonga was at the end of the beach on a rock in the Middle Ages as a fortress built by the residents and dressed chalk white. After Sperlonga could not drive a car, you had an infinite number of steps in narrow streets rise up. On the market place two small cafes, in one of them, Max Frisch in 1952, sat and wrote a postcard to Publishers Unseld. In Sperlonga, is fresh at that time delighted, that he was finally a 'pure existence' is possible.
in over fifty years has changed Sperlonga. On the beach, a hotel was made to the next, and although the deck chair series are still to be counted on one hand, is pure existence 'only if you happen to find one hotel that is hidden at the end of a long, sandy driveway. A hotel in which there is still no air conditioning, no phones, not a single TV. By 23 clock closes out the light and the doorman in the lobby. In the rooms will be whispered, because the walls are thin and you do not disturb the neighbors want. The hotel has lost his fourth star, because travelers now expect a different comfort, however, prices were increased. If, pure existence can offer, "no price is too high.

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Elvis lives in Tokyo


Ihara lives in Tokyo. He is a minor employee of a large Japanese corporation. During the week he runs every morning with the overcrowded subway in the city. It takes an hour, Ihara lives in the outskirts of 20sqm with his mother. Ihara usually gets in the subway seat no more, but what it does not stop, one of the support rods leaning to take a nap. The signature tune of the station at which he must get off, wakes him to warn him off the line before the current voice platform edge and wishes him an enjoyable day. Once in the open-plan office, he sits at his desk and edited files. Very front of the room sits with the views of the staff group of his superior, the do not miss any foreign employment. After work, go the staff of his department into one of the many bars near the headquarters. Ihara is tired and would rather go home, because his colleagues and, above all, his boss would find this rude but when he has so far come along every time. Common Drink after work promoting cohesion. If Ihara finally arrives home, he falls into bed. Sun pass the Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and also a large part of Friday. On Friday evening, however, Ihara feels on the way back in his district, as it spreads in anticipation. His foot already teeters on the beat of the tune that is heard in his head. Once home, he walks purposefully to his closet and pulls out his Saturday suit. He cleans it carefully, it draped on the chair beside his bed, put some hair gel and Kunstkotletten. Falling asleep is not easy today to him - his legs tingle.

The next morning, Ihara begins immediately with the preparation. The suit is created, the sideburns glued on, put the hair gel and with much patience in shape. Ihara considered satisfactory in the mirror. To shared breakfast with his mother, he is still around, not before he makes his way to the subway. Once in Harajuku, he pushes himself to the crowd from the station and crossing a square where he sees familiar faces. Yohei is with his "free hugs" sign at the edge and pluck smiles for the cameras of tourists, Junko and Haruka to her Victorian dress and her pink and blue braid flip the finger, Tomoko apparently balanced on new blue platform shoes and strokes the panda hat on her head, and Masao has turned his back crowd of spectators and plays air guitar used thoughtfully to Sting's "Fields of Gold". Ihara has no time for a chat, he hears the music shreds echoing across the park entrance. The closer he gets, the faster it runs. From a distance, he sees that all are already there: Hiroshi, the bar owner and family man, Takuya, the fishmonger, Daiiki, who is still at school, Yutaka, Tadashi, Isamu and the others. As today, all arranged in a black leather gear. To groove already, what is absent from the hips. And finally arrived Ihara, an excited greeting calls in the round, drowned by the loud music turned up from Hiroshi Beatbox roams, impatient at his leather jacket, throws it on the tarmac and starts to dance. He dances with passion, he dances well, he dances with his joy, he dances, the monotony of his daily life from the womb dancing over it, he dances and dances and dances, now he can it, now he can do it, now is He Elvis, and Elvis together, he sings: "Let's rock, everybody, lets rock / Everybody in the whole cell block / What dancin 'to the jailhouse rock"!

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homesick tourist.


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indicates the map: number 22 Corner Cherry Alley, number 2 corner Menzel Road. Willy Cohn has lived directly across 17th ie, number Can you say to that neighborhood? Is there a word for comparison with living? At some point, both have moved. Willy Cohn in the street Opitz, Lauterbach from the house with the number 2 into the house with the number 20



a smaller apartment, the children had left home, lived in Berlin and Thorn, the father in the forced retirement. Money was scarce, the photos from the apartment in the street Wölfl 20 show far too much furniture in too small area. Toni remembers only the apartment in the Cub Street 2 She says: "A very spacious apartment with large balcony. It must be a corner house, made of red brick. Is there still a house? It's in the South. "It is still standing. Hans Poelzig who designed it. The left Pocztowa has not separated from two houses, has picked it up: house numbers 2 and 20, calculated. In between runs now a panel down the street. The right Pocztowa in contrast, has lifted, 15, 17, 19, all still there. Although the Russians from the south came to the city and kingdom President of stagnant place. The Reich President Place, on Willy Cohn walks to Ohlauufer breathers lodged, on the park benches rested until they could affix tags: Forbidden for Jews. Until he moved to the street Opitz. But when Lauterbach moved from the 2 in the 20? Toni says: "I do not know. I was long ago in Palestine. "In the letter to the University of Amandus of 1937 still stands Wölfl Straße 2, 20 in the address book of Breslau in 1941 then Wölfl Street Just like on the back of the photograph, which shows in the background, the Baroque building of the Bureau of Mines.



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Other photos show a tall sons smiling on the Cherry Avenue. There, in the water tower, which today houses a fine restaurant, there was already a restaurant with views overlooking the city. That is what the Woerl Travel Guide Breslau in 1926. Feature: tourists drove in the electric elevator up.


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A few miles south, at the end of the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Strasse, the building of the Silesian Radio Hour. Birth of Radio Drama under Frederick Bischoff. "Hi: This wave globe"



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play in the Pocztowa today why not just children? Apart from the lack of bay window at the house with the number 20 to vote windows, floors and door exactly match the house in the photo. Is that reassuring? Is that important? Is there a reason for tourism research? I hear deep into me.

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splashy on Thai

with woolen socks, hat and several layers of jackets I sit shivering and rubbing your feet on a metal chair at the gate, while Jan Fonte Handtrocknegerät under the men's room of his wet shirt. Outside there are well over 30 degrees. The growing crowd waiting Japanese uniformistisch dressed in unkritisierbar correct posture, generously ignored my ridiculous sight. The Japanese travelers has evidently a constant high body heat. Waiting for the flight to Tokyo in the supercooled temperature stylistically and technically Mega Airport Bangkok.

Today, Thailand celebrates New Year's hit well? Yes: from the giant water pistols young Thais who depend huddled in the back of pickups and put pedestrians and counterparty screaming under water. Well made and from the water hoses of employees waiting before practice and shop entrances to new victims. From the colorful plastic buckets of children on passing cars, in bus doors open to, or - at best! - In the passenger compartment fully occupied tuk-tuks, motorcycle rickshaws empty. This activity we witnessed at the first few meters towards Silom Road. There, it was recommended to us, could be used to bridge the time until the next flight. We are pleased, given the apparent high fun factor of this Type of New Year's Eve celebration: splashy in Thai. In the turmoil, we may then find that even tourists packed no mercy is granted. Pretty wet, we encounter between high-rises, finally, the first temple, which contributes with Disney-like color and a smell of flowers and incense smoke its part in confusing the meaning of the city atmosphere. But before we can enter it, we learn a second New Year's tradition: Grinning Thais smear our faces with a white, chalky mud-like substance. A particularly fun holiday practice that confuses us: In Thailand, we read in our guidebook should you touch the face of a counterpart must be avoided because they are perceived as offensive. There was not: Dress up your New Year's waterproof. We will probably sink him in the next tub of water. On the way back to the airport in barbie pink taxi we cleanse ourselves provisionally. After half a day to travel, we look like we're on the road for months.

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The tumble dryer was to blame!

to Ian Curtis's death. I am totally impressed of the film "Control"! People get looks at the play! I know the band "Joy Division" for some time and knew the best-known songs like "Love Will Tear Us Apart" and "She's Lost Control". But now I see this brilliant band from a different angle. Great songs, good melodies and a singer with a very square Armbewegeung on stage. "Transmission", "Shadow Play" or "New Dawn Fades" you'll have to listen to you, absolutely!

So I have since read yet another blog.

I wave.

Headache Cold Weather

this house is tied to a lamppost
is on the line a poison-green coat?
in the shot crows crumbling cement font

ivory color, Arabic numerals, spice
cloves, bullet holes, Atoll
the fingertips the Sultan's dig in saffron
a Prussian cat-blue, naked slave
his lung excrement

this house is tied to other houses
on house edge, house areas which open up now
there is suddenly the ocean, an animal back

the fin easy sailing

My Stomach Hard Bloated

Stone Town on the edge: Moscow - city of Bishkek, which meant

is a mincing maiden, two turkeys to the poor, winds its way through the turnstile. Your hands are damaged, or it is white, slim, with shoulder blades installed. The braid swings are like a band across the back. An airport official is holding her on the glass door, nods in recognition of a bow.

between the columns of the opera house, the body of a crow. The half-open beak, flies blind eye sockets. Zündelnd the Überhängsel of a small, squishy body. Blood flamed the milky juice wound. A wing hangs loosely on his body burned, stored as.

Koken has lake views and the roof full of dried fruit, apple slices, plum bodies. Her hands are large and black pumpkin herb of the walnut harvest. Koken shuffles their Filzfüßen through the garden, to the wash house, the kitchen, the water bucket in the pear tree, then the screaming telephone. The iron listeners it is hard on the chest, pale green, 1937. Koken takes off with two Hands, sings briefly in the handset, light is the monster a clatter. The kitchen door moves along on its hinges.