It's about 12 years since I arrived at Gara de Nord at 6 AM, having crossed the Danube on a night train in the spring, in a crazy scent of ... jasmine? I'm not sure, some very sweet, aromatic flower in warm, moist southern air. Probably not jasmine. I don't know what grows on these … Continue reading Gara de Nord
I have been trying now for some time to formulate the overarching theme of the personal research I've been doing over the last years, seemingly jumping across areas, taking up new topics and dropping them, migrating across topics. It would be nice to write a book – actually that's what I'd already set my mind … Continue reading The queer book of body and emotions
I vaguely remember reading that Paul Celan, the Jewish-German poet born in Romania and going through the Shoah, had issues writing in German after the Holocaust. That makes more than sense. Yet, wikipedia claims he said: "There is nothing in the world for which a poet will give up writing, not even when he is a … Continue reading Celan and the mother tongue
When leaving Berlin last time, I forgot my laptop charger. I was so extremely focussed on not forgetting to put the laptop into the case and the case into the bag (seems that's sufficient executive function complexity for my travel stressed mind) that I forgot to routine check where the charger is. I don't like … Continue reading Another one on anchors and lighthouses. Losing electronics while traveling and the joys of aspie meltdowns in unknown places.
Let’s say you are Hemingway. You are sitting at your typewriter at sunrise, planning to write a novella about the old man and the sea. Inspiration hits; your fingers dance. As the Spanish sun rises inspiration ebbs; you start yawning (perhaps starting your working day at 4AM was that tad too radical), so you leave … Continue reading Empath tale of the yellow hybrid typewriter