Dreigliederung hurra!

Der Kapitalismus endet oft im Faschismus. Aber mit dem Sozialismus hat es bisher auch net so richtig geklappt. Lasst uns was Neues versuchen! (Anarchie ist machbar, Herr Nachbar!). Wie waer’s mit Dreigliederung? Die Dreigliederung des sozialen Organismus geht auf Rudolf Steiner zurück. Dreigliederung? Wir können eben nicht alles (wie der Friseur) über einen Kamm scheren. Wer wird “demokratisch” darüber abstimmen, ob ein Bild schön ist? Und auch wer hungert, tut dies, auch wenn er die Mehrheit der Stimmen haette. Es gibt genug Bereiche, wo alle Menschen gleich sind! Also: Freiheit für die Kultur! Solidaritaet für die Bedürfnisse der anderen! Und demokratische Gleichheit für die Entscheidungen der Allgemeinheit (wo heute ja oft die Grosskotzigen alleine über unsre Köpfe hinweg entscheiden) (Th.Kutzli, quer zum Mainstream)

Capitalism often ends in Fascism. But Socialism didn’t work out either. Let’s try something new: Threfoldness of the social organism! Rudolf Steiner elaborated on it as the first. We cannot decide everything the same way, can we?. Who would vote by secret ballot if a painting is beautiful or not? And the hungry one needs food without any decision from the crowd. There are plenty of matters to decide democratically, for example about the place of a street lamp, or the building of a barrage, nuclear plants or wind power, and so on….(are you or the few big ones deciding that nowadays?)

Laundrette Nausikaa

If you’re really done and finished and don’t know where to go you can hope to end in the “Laundrette Nausikaa”. By all appearances a quite normal vintage laundrette, but people going in there come out quite different. There are many rumours about it too.

Wasn’t there lately the shootout between Yugoslavs? Neighbours had called 911, but too late; on the place were only pools of blood, but no people.

Most clients there carry a bundle of clothes as an alibi, but in fact they want to enjoy the warmth, the blueish light and the stringent smell of ironed laundry, the narcotic sounds of the washing machines for some hours.

From the street one goes down some steps and enters the low entrance rather crouched. Earlier, in the vestibule painted in white one notices a patchwork of notes, announcements, magic spells, cries for help, they scarcely reach one’s consciousness and barely touch one’s eyes: Used violoncello to let, Demeter-articles always fresh, who saw Manfred with my daughter? No ironing from 21st Sept. onto. I translate texts and poems for a small Obolus, I have already gone to sleep.


Your hair shall be all silver curls

Your face all covered with raven’s shit

Your shoulders shine from Harvest Moon

I pet your breasts with bitches weed

Adorn your feet with snake’s skin

To make this spell you stay with me

For every night, for every day

On the door frame you notice a cranny sketch. You should know it.

You are welcomed now by half a dozen of washing-machines, the regular customers say: each one has its favourite program! Additionally there are wooden banks, darkened by age. Strange statures sit there. Three more doors are at the rear wall. A grumpy work supervisor sits in a tiny room behind the first one, his place is at a small table where a collecting box in the shape of the sea rescue cruiser “Jan Flindt” is to be seen.

The second one leads to the air-conditioning system. The third one is called “Nobody’s door” because nobody knows something exact about it. For myself: last summer I had an adventure there “that has washed itself”!

Tell me?

That day passed while I hid at the outer Alster in a shrubbery. Randomly I strolled through the quarter then until I came to this place. At once coming in here I saw that the Nobody’s door was ajar on this evening. I had the crazy idea to wash all my things because except a spooning couple I was the only one here. I undressed and threw all my stuff, even the espadrilles, in the machine. If only there would be a shower here! Having that thought I suddenly was aware of my bad smell, my unhealthy white skin, my cracky toes and my big belly hanging down nearly onto my thighs! And the mordant pains at my wrist joints started again.

But now they wouldn’t catch me!

All at once I was alarmed by noise and indeed! I saw the most beautiful lady in strapless ball gown enter the room! Where to hide now? At once I dashed through Nobody’s door and slammed it behind me. Shame, confusion and darkness welcomed me.

I listened at the door panel. A silvery laughing and a happy argument behind the wood fibres. A faint fear thrills through my veins and I feel a chilly breeze. I grope my way but I find neither a door handle nor a keyhole.

And then?

Yes, I saw her bending sorrowful over me! But I’d already turned away and groped first hesitating, but then more sure, the steps down into the dark. Around me white noise, murmur, rippling and babbling. Was it really going further down? I felt like a feather. A round table with many people. Did they float? Young ones, old ones, women and men emerged: BUT THEY ALL LOOKED LIKE ME! How affected that one there was talking, this tone of importance! Disgusting. Compliments, hypocrisies and goldfish swam near my face, some transparent jellyfishes too. That one there in the green mud fears getting ill and always listens inwards. Near him that other one only talks about himself and his great accomplishments. Condescension hits me with poisonous needles. Burning shame keeps me looking at them, though I would like to turn away. Even the unkemptness of the semi-cripple there turns to coquetry.

I’m sitting in the Tattersall, right in front near the arena. But instead of white Lippizan horses there are lions romping about. Some of them jump up the balustrade, I want to retreat, but the crowd holds me a prisoner.

Look at yourself! a strong voice’s saying.

Fucking Jesus, how do I look! Come on, put the mask on, smile, smile! Bad breath and my collar full of scales, fuck! I’ll have to train for a more casual walk. Eau de Tamanarivo. Alas, a nice bath on the day off, to caress oneself, to rub my back with the towel, aah! To explore the face with the finger. A fever blister here, a pimple there. To scrutinize the mirror without ever seeing the face.

You’ll not get anywhere like this, the strong voice says, come on, where do you come from?

Everything began with that flipping seafaring, the youngest one responds. I wanted to be carried all over the world by the gulf stream.

Go on, go on!

At the military academy I finally got that feeling to be among other people, to be among people I deserved. Elite, medals, better women. The young man says it. The 30-year-old continues: To care about me, to manage everything, be aware of guys trying to overtake me, to progress oneself. A career at the expense of one’s friends. From stress to alcohol. They needed me in the executive floor, the greyish man whispers, his hands trembling. To move a load of weapons. Make cargoes disappear. Talk the Filipinos into illegal working. Fake bookings in Dakar. To bribe the port authorities in Mombasa and elsewhere. To smuggle some girls from Thailand via Wilhelmshaven. And on and on.

No, I didn’t have a fit of delirium!

No, I didn’t care when Penny left me!

No, I haven’t been fired without notice!

No, I didn’t steer an armed car into the inner courtyard of a bank!

No, I didn’t spend all my money in no time!

Why should I hide? No, no, no!

Yes, I did…

I am cold, shivering…I’m jumping through another door into the dark, but it’s enlightened, I see myself sitting inside a laundrette and I remember having entered that blueish light coming downstairs…

On a huge square just in front of a golden flickering cathedral, weeping. To feel the asphalt surging at the soles, to mount across ankles, calves and thighs up to hips and belly, pressing a strange cry for help out of the lungs.

Like a sheet in the wind. Inside hangs outside. Hair at the lime twig. To walk head over heels in the clouds. The clouds are made of glancing, of laughing and the smell of orange blossoms.

It sounds sweet it sounds soft. I hear a soft sound it sounds me I ring green the spring the grass it purrs it hums and warms me over there the little clouds and there the pebbles and a flower it’s me too or not or am I awake or sleeping but who dreams me?

I woke up in the near hospital. And the pretty woman from Nausikaa came to see me! Who are you? we both asked at the same time and then I told her this here and she told me how she found me on the wooden bank, all naked and clasping a plank like a castaway. She’d been at the ball in the neighbouring Hotel Atlantic. The banquet room there is gigantic, at least ten times bigger than the dormitory here, one could barely see through the sea of dancers and how to get to the other end? All these greedy and horny men here made her so sick, that she left into the night and soon found that scrapped laundrette “Nausikaa”. She just saw a glimmer through the milk glass, hesitating but nevertheless curious she’d stepped down into the blue, Oh, fuck, nobody will find me here if something happens! she’d thought. But then she saw me, naked and all wrecked…

Then she fell silent and after a while meant she’d nevertheless found something beautiful in me…

I was embarrassed, ashamed, believe me. She further helped me and I believe in soon coming home now.

99 & 1 pub

Café des Narcisses (85)

While passing I saw the girl rip up the cellophane wrapping of the new card game. On top lay rose seven. We always said “nice seven”. An untouched deck of cards used to awaken nearly religious feelings in me when I was a child. For the first time all the face cards and numerals saw the daylight. How cool and smooth they were!. They’re not so easy to fan out as later in a greasy state. In their inners all the promises, all the insecurities, all the well-being of hundreds of games in the future! Three in a suit, four in suit Only ace and six. Who knows how it comes. The trick. The movement of the hand, To collect the cards. The harvest! Forefinger and thumb grope for the next card. To lead!

So it went for hours and hours until the girl left the table. Hastily Mila crossed the street and vanished into the house vis-à-vis. Uncle Todorovic counted his money and then stroked the stubbles on his chin. His Zephyr-blue suit was worn out and baggy. By the way he nodded to the others. Feed rabbits now. One of them looked like Schellen Under, he always thought.

(back to the radio station)

99 & 1 pub

Yol (84)

On my way home yesterday just saw the “Yol”. I like that place, its assigned floorboards and green wallpapers; the colour just fitting the (few) clothes of the belly dancer performing here at weekends. Later, her clothes changed, and she’ll turn out as a genuine Stuttgart girl. What if I would offer Alphorn lessons in Cairo? But why not? Anything goes. As the Adana Köfte is brought I miss my online love from İstanbul. To love without seeing? “Habibi, Habibi, Habibi, ” the ceiling loudspeakers say. Yol, “the way”. I sneak away…

The treasure box of little lies and truths

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?

99 & 1 pub

Captain Cook on level B (pubs 83)

The world will devore you, so you better taste good.  Besides the moving stairs I eat from a mixed vegetable plate, chewing I consider the birthmarks of my vis-à-vis: the black point on the right of the nose’s deeper than the one on the left side, they’re held together by a golden nose ring. Underneath them chomping jaws. No bird of paradise feather shot across the nostrils. Another stain of lens’ shape moves imperceptibly down the neck. Endeavour, Discovery, Resolution. In the end some discoverers have been eaten up too.

99 & 1 pub

Who might it be now? (82)

First day in my favourite café at the Schlossplatz. But outside on the terrace. My waitress is here again and she still recognises me after the long winter. Do you remember her, the Bosnak? My pixel-self fell a bit in love with her last summer. She’s even whiter and slimmer than before, sharp-edged in the face and streaky in her sandalettes. The sun shines people out of their beds, but it took half a day and it looks down graciously upon Ver.Di and Jup.Pie…

I drink a Vernaccia on the stable properties of life. Who travelled? Who died? Who doesn’t find his path anymore? Who has never been here?

Just you allow questions, says my supervisor.

99 & 1 pub

Oderbrück, a guest’s contribution (81)

“Sunday before noon. Sunshine. In the fool’s hospital at Oderbrück. A girl in grey gown spoons rhubarb compote. ‘Like transparent colour’ it whispers, and ‘ideal landscape’. The girl stirs the rhubarb compote with its spoon and says: ‘Altdorfer painted his paintings in the state hospital Krefeld. Albrecht Dürer finally painted in the mental home of Königslutter. They put Hackert in the jail of Enkensbüttel. Rhoden painted in a closed section. Runge died in the psychiatric clinic Eppendorf. Caspar David Friedrich worked in a tower for fools. Macpherson put his easel in the lunatic asylum Hoxton. Pantani killed himself in a hotel in Rimini. Güte still painted in his vigil coma. Carus went mad. Blechen went mad. A spoon for Max Liebermann. A spoon for Hibou. A spoon for Leuwenkerk. A spoon for Lovis Corinth. A spoon for Segantini. A spoon for Slevogt. Hans von Marees went mad, Arnold Böcklin still painted in straightjacket. Friedrich von Steeck died in madness. Menzel died in a mental hospital’; the girl spoons rhubarb compote in the fool’s hospital of Oderbrück. Sunshine. Sunday morning.”

(from: Wolfgang Schlüter, Eines Fensters Schatten)

99 & 1 pub

Select, late at night (80)

My talents tickered away with the red wine into the tablecloth. I feel myself in the breastbone, extending from there to the whole body. Who has seen beauty with his eyes is already bound to die. Don’t hang out your head, Tom Dooley!. New abilities must be acquired now. The fishbones of the soul. The socially primordial phenomenon of falling asleep – waking up.

Now we got another Bihac. Carried away by a snow slab.

Snippets of conversation. Silken scarfs. Adds. Toothpicks.

For, if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place, ’twere pity on my life.


Sorry, your breast hangs out! Damn, again I forgot my baby in the bus!

Soul cages, silvery flakes buttock geography. In a state of siege.

The bar chairs lean silently against their tables.

People went outdoors, closing time has taken them away. Only their gests still hover around.

Who drank from my goblet?

The treasure box of little lies and truths


Ayşe and Tune were strolling. In those times you could hardly move, such a crowd of tourists was moving through town. Why don’ they go to the Halicarnassos Disco? It’s foam party today! Downtown they buy some Lokma and they even do a video with their camera in the window of a night club, to film the potpourri of passing people. One Hollandish girl, aware of being filmed, turns to us and shows her tits.

Bodrum streets and places were to the last corner used to present souvenirs, even the school was closed and there were stands all over the courtyard. But another thing: They don’t think to find a density of Coiffeurs anywhere higher than in Turkey! Sometimes one finds three or four in the same street. In front of their shops, their creative ateliers, big pannels, and one reads: Güzellik Salonu, Saç Tasarım, Fön, Röfle, Kaş & Bıyık, Semisolid. The strolling couple gets curious: what does “Semisolid” mean? And they enter a Berber in the side-street to ask for. Come, says the Coiffeur enthusiasticly, sit down here! I’ll show you! No no, we just want an explanation…and it turns out: Semisolid is what whe know as Waxing, Brezilian waxing. One gets a waxed cloth on ones leg or elsewhere, and when it’s cooled down: shak! İt’s ripped down and all the hair caught in it.