The island of Kos vis-a-vis from our place
There is a story about: Over 2000 years ago people of Kos ordered a statue from Praxiteles. It should be for their Aphrodite temple. Praxiteles, knowing those guys, made two: one naked and the other dressed. The people of Kos were shocked about the nude one and took the dressed one. Aphrodite of course was not amused – she’s proud of her nudeness. “Just wait”, she shouted,” two thousand years later I’ll send masses of half-naked people to your beaches, but they’ll be not far as beautiful as I am. This will be your punishment!”
You just have a look at the tourists each summer…..
Ah, what became of the naked statue? People from nearby Knidos took it. Up to today we admire the famous Aphrodite of Knidos. And did you ever hear from an Aphrodite of Kos?
I drank from the world (68)
A locksmith learner pleasurably eats a bagel he bought from Ms Karabulut. He reads “Daily Mirror”. The world is a mirror. “I don’t have a bad conscience”, Uschi’s rival states.
Lili and her mother Irene eat their mixed vegetables (hot) in a nearly subterranean restaurant in a side street of Kowloon. Lili just took a photograph of two skyscrapers with only 3 cm distance between them. Maybe she shot the SPACE?
Once again Bernoulli looks at his own tombstone. One is dedicated to earthly matters. Eadem Mutantur Resurgo. Considered mathematically, it thinks inside of him, my spiral didn’t reach the zero point, on the other side even infinity is only nearly reached. And yet: it shows the perfect tension between freedom and safety, between SEAFARING and mother’s body, between isolation and mixture. Bernoulli notes all this in his tiny Akasha-notebook.
Halfway through the grit wall I stop half suffocated. How long will I have to eat through it until the promised land, where milk and honey flow like BALSAM? The semolina comes out of my mouth and nose, out of my ears and arse too.
“I’m late! I’m late! I’m late for an IMPORTANT date!”
İstanbul, Anadolu Siteleri:
DILEK makes bulgur salad, She takes another fresh onion and cuts it carefully into rings. She smiles
The 8th grade of preliminary high school “Johannes Müller” is writing a composition: “What’s your favourite kind of death?”. To suffocate from SALAMI, Gian-Andri writes.
Kant meats Merleau-Ponty and Foucault on a sunny morning for a chat. But he takes care not to get too FAR from his house.
Hanan rushes out of a dark gateway to the well to fetch water. An İsraeli sniper shoots her down. The bullet crashes a RIB and torns the aorta. Her black velvet dress soaks with her warm blood.
Mascha, aware that her customer is nearly impotent because of beta blockers, drenches his cock in GRENADE-jelly and enjoys it as a lolli.
His wife cooked filled aubergines for him and took a whole glass of olive oil for it. The imam FAINTED.
The best truffle dog in town, a LABRADOR, is kidnapped by unknown people from its kennel.
…and a nice semitransparent morning gown that I badly want or a peachblossom dressing jacket like the one long ago in Walpoles only 8/6 or 18/6 Ill just give him one more chance Ill get up early in the morning Im sick of Cohens old bed in any case I might go over to the markets to see all the vegetables and cabbages and tomatoes and carrots and all kinds of splendid fruits all coming in lovely and fresh who knows whod be the 1st man Id meet theyre out looking for it in the morning Mamy Dillon used to say…
The chamber pot
Once upon a time there was an old married couple, the “cute virgin” and Yorgo. Both they had worked on scene, she sang and played “Canto”, he played the violin and made all kind of jokes. One evening there was a Russian princess among the spectators. Yorgo, a handsome guy, flirted heavily with her. The cute virgin was fully aware of.
Fourty years later Yorgo was old, sick and confined to his bed. “Woman! Bring the chamber pot!” No reaction. “Woman!! The jerry!!” “Maybe the Russian princess brings it?”, she said.
The lily (51)
Bami Goreng and Gunpowder. Tablecloths done batik work on German oak. Round and cosy the innkeeper Lily shuffles along the archipelago. On the wall the shadow puppets in long raffia gowns, with feathery hoods, the thin and bony arms braced delicately. The Russian couple shows the short program. Perfect! a voice says, look at the coordination of the Soviets! My friend Kumaran plays the Wok-rock, the Phuket-rock, the Pearl diver-shimmy. One day he started from Penang wanting to get to Iceland, but he got stuck in Germany where he met his Karin. Karin lies on the batik sheets. I rub her with Hazelnut cream and moisten her with Cocos milk. Then I sprinkle her with bean sprouts. We do the thrown “Lutz”, the “triple toe loop” and the “stepped in balance” with thighbone grip. Kumaran’s curly hair shows right in the middle in between Kofi Annan and Jimi Hendrix. He finally sings the Ayam Rica blues and “We didn’t start the fire”. We get notes: 5.7 for our technique and 5.8 for the artistic value.
The Black Arrow
When I was young we constituted a secret society, and after Robert Louis Stevenson – “a black arrow in every black heart!” – we called it “The Black Arrow”. The society was so secret that nobody knew about the next meeting nor who was a member. I even forgot its goals. I only remember that I met Heidi Keller there. She had a scar on the left cheek which grow to be a big star in time and made it hard for her to smile, not like Ilonka, who had a similarly growing scar on her thigh. In winter that scar could be seen only by a few people, whereas Heidi’s was to be seen by everybody. Well, Ilonka wasn’t a member of the “Black Arrow” anyway.