Verfasst: 31. Mär 2015 15:04
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Verfasst: 31. Mär 2015 18:23
Virginia Woolf hat geschrieben:I would venture to guess than Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.
You were red. You liked me cause I was blue. You touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky and you decided purple just wasn’t for you.
Verfasst: 31. Mär 2015 22:32
Verfasst: 1. Apr 2015 08:35
Aus einem Zeitungsartikel eines Austauschstudenten in einer Amerikanischen Kleinstadt:
"Und vollkommen zurecht beschreiben AmerikanerInnen, die einmal in Berlin waren, die vegetarische Ernährung in der Bundeshauptstadt als schwierig. Während der Spiegel also von der Fleischlust der Provinz berichtet und deutsche Großstädte zum Hort des Vegetarismus ausruft, sind Herbivore und das Saturn Café in Berkeley schon liebgewonnene Institutionen."
Von welchem Berlin reden wir. Ist mir da was entgangen ?
"Und vollkommen zurecht beschreiben AmerikanerInnen, die einmal in Berlin waren, die vegetarische Ernährung in der Bundeshauptstadt als schwierig. Während der Spiegel also von der Fleischlust der Provinz berichtet und deutsche Großstädte zum Hort des Vegetarismus ausruft, sind Herbivore und das Saturn Café in Berkeley schon liebgewonnene Institutionen."
Von welchem Berlin reden wir. Ist mir da was entgangen ?
Verfasst: 2. Apr 2015 04:00
[font=Impact]And my own affairs were as bad, as dismal, as the day I had been born. The only difference was that now I could drink now and then, though never often enough. Drink was the only thing that kept a man from feeling forever stunned and useless. Everything else just kept picking and picking, hacking away. And nothing was interesting, nothing. The people were restrictive and careful, all alike. And I've got to live with these fuckers for the rest of my life, I thought. God, they all had assholes and sexual organs and their mouths and their armpits. They shit and they chattered and they were dull as horse dung. The girls looked good from a distance, the sun shining through their dresses, their hair. But get up close and listen to their minds running out of their mouths, you felt like digging in under a hill and hiding out with a tommy-gun. I would certainly never be able to be happy, to get married, I could never have children. Hell, I couldn't even get a job as a dishwasher.
I couldn't get myself to read the want ads. The thought of sitting
in front of a man behind a desk and telling him that I wanted a job, that I was qualified for a job, was too
much for me. Frankly, I was horrified by life, at what a man had to do simply in order to eat, sleep, and keep himself clothed.
So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn't have you by the throat.
I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn't have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn't make for an interesting person. I didn't want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone. On the other hand, when I got drunk I screamed, went crazy, got all out of hand. One kind of behavior didn't fit the other. I didn't care.
I had no interests. I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn’t understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go. Suicide? Jesus Christ, just more work. I felt like sleeping for five years but they wouldn’t let me.
Charles Bukowski[/font]
I couldn't get myself to read the want ads. The thought of sitting
in front of a man behind a desk and telling him that I wanted a job, that I was qualified for a job, was too
much for me. Frankly, I was horrified by life, at what a man had to do simply in order to eat, sleep, and keep himself clothed.
So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn't have you by the throat.
I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn't have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn't make for an interesting person. I didn't want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone. On the other hand, when I got drunk I screamed, went crazy, got all out of hand. One kind of behavior didn't fit the other. I didn't care.
I had no interests. I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn’t understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go. Suicide? Jesus Christ, just more work. I felt like sleeping for five years but they wouldn’t let me.
Charles Bukowski[/font]
Verfasst: 7. Apr 2015 13:39
http://jungle-world.com/artikel/2010/42/41903.htmlUnd dort, wo sie nicht von anderen abkupfert – in den sogenannten Theorien der internationalen Beziehungen zum Beispiel –, ist sie so wissenschaftlich wie Pommes rot-weiß.
Verfasst: 8. Apr 2015 08:12
Mindy Nettifee hat geschrieben:I could draw you a map of the minefields inside me.
Verfasst: 9. Apr 2015 08:19
F. Scott Fitzgerald an Zelda Fitzgerald.The sadness of the past is with me always.
Verfasst: 9. Apr 2015 08:26
Neil Gaiman, Trigger WarningThe monsters in our cupboards and our minds are always there in the darkness, like mould beneath the floorboards and behind the wallpaper, and there is so much darkness, an inexhaustible supply of darkness.
Verfasst: 9. Apr 2015 08:36
für's Zitat und für Neil Gaiman 