Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Random Stuff
Happy Newton's day. (Newtons Birthday was the 25th...). Also celebrated on the same day: the birth of the first communist jew or jewish communist roughly 2000 years ago.
On tsunami-news: the german minister of science now wants a tsunami warning system for the mediterranean. The one in the pacific and indean ocean (if working at all) will give people a 10 minute before warning. Assuming the speed of tsunamis is the same in the mediterranean as it is in the pacific and the indian ocean, this will give you a 2 minute before warning (rough and unscientific guess by me). Time enough to kiss your ass goodbye or have a last quick one with your girl-friend (or whatever at hand), not time enough to run.
And I'll be gone till the 5th, as there surprisingly is no work to be done inbetween...
On tsunami-news: the german minister of science now wants a tsunami warning system for the mediterranean. The one in the pacific and indean ocean (if working at all) will give people a 10 minute before warning. Assuming the speed of tsunamis is the same in the mediterranean as it is in the pacific and the indian ocean, this will give you a 2 minute before warning (rough and unscientific guess by me). Time enough to kiss your ass goodbye or have a last quick one with your girl-friend (or whatever at hand), not time enough to run.
And I'll be gone till the 5th, as there surprisingly is no work to be done inbetween...
Friday, December 23, 2005
Bonobos
Just came home from a nice evening with friends. Going with the S-Bahn is always interesting...
Just opposite of me sat a couple, both being at the beginning of their twenties. He sitting there showing off like "I have that big balls and a that huge member, I can't even sit straight", she sitting completely taken by something in her hands, ignoring him. Both having that "I'm so annoyed"-face. No talking. Then he grabs whatever she was holding in her hands, she shouting at him to be careful. Silence. Annoyance. Kissing. More Kissing. He starting to take out his earphones, not paying much interest in her, even while still kissing. She had to get off at the next station, saying "I love you", he mumbling something, then louder "You too". Kisses. She leaving, he completely obsessed by his walkman. Still annoyance on both of their faces.
Then I thought, well, my life sucks. But their life sucks even more, and worse: they don't even know it.
Just opposite of me sat a couple, both being at the beginning of their twenties. He sitting there showing off like "I have that big balls and a that huge member, I can't even sit straight", she sitting completely taken by something in her hands, ignoring him. Both having that "I'm so annoyed"-face. No talking. Then he grabs whatever she was holding in her hands, she shouting at him to be careful. Silence. Annoyance. Kissing. More Kissing. He starting to take out his earphones, not paying much interest in her, even while still kissing. She had to get off at the next station, saying "I love you", he mumbling something, then louder "You too". Kisses. She leaving, he completely obsessed by his walkman. Still annoyance on both of their faces.
Then I thought, well, my life sucks. But their life sucks even more, and worse: they don't even know it.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Sunday, December 18, 2005
A poem is a city
a poem is a city filled with streets and sewers
filled with saints, heroes, beggars, madmen,
filled with banality and booze,
filled with rain and thunder and periods of
drought, a poem is a city at war,
a poem is a city asking a clock why,
a poem is a city burning,
a poem is a city under guns
its barbershops filled with cynical drunks,
a poem is a city where God rides naked
through the streets like Lady Godiva,
where dogs bark at night, and chase away
the flag; a poem is a city of poets,
most of them quite similar
and envious and bitter...
a poem is this city now,
50 miles from nowhere,
9:09 in the morning,
the taste of liquor and cigarettes,
no police, no lovers, walking the streets,
this poem, this city, closing its doors,
barricaded, almost empty,
mournful without tears, aging without pity,
the hardrock mountains,
the ocean like a lavender flame,
a moon destitute of greatness,
a small music from broken windows...
a poem is a city, a poem is a nation,
a poem is the world...
and now I stick this under glass
for the mad editor's scrutiny,
the night is elsewhere
and faint gray ladies stand in line,
dog follows dog to estuary,
the trumpets bring on gallows
as small men rant at things
they cannot do.
--- Charles Bukowski
filled with saints, heroes, beggars, madmen,
filled with banality and booze,
filled with rain and thunder and periods of
drought, a poem is a city at war,
a poem is a city asking a clock why,
a poem is a city burning,
a poem is a city under guns
its barbershops filled with cynical drunks,
a poem is a city where God rides naked
through the streets like Lady Godiva,
where dogs bark at night, and chase away
the flag; a poem is a city of poets,
most of them quite similar
and envious and bitter...
a poem is this city now,
50 miles from nowhere,
9:09 in the morning,
the taste of liquor and cigarettes,
no police, no lovers, walking the streets,
this poem, this city, closing its doors,
barricaded, almost empty,
mournful without tears, aging without pity,
the hardrock mountains,
the ocean like a lavender flame,
a moon destitute of greatness,
a small music from broken windows...
a poem is a city, a poem is a nation,
a poem is the world...
and now I stick this under glass
for the mad editor's scrutiny,
the night is elsewhere
and faint gray ladies stand in line,
dog follows dog to estuary,
the trumpets bring on gallows
as small men rant at things
they cannot do.
--- Charles Bukowski
Monday, December 12, 2005
Sunday, December 04, 2005
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