Saturday, January 2, 2016

"28000 pages or, 'In Color': A mid-life crisis" Jeff Gabel at Spencer Brownstone Gallery

Hey tits, No reason, just car, just drive across the Florida border -no, it won’t look any different but for me, love new current-time references to a past projection of current can’t exist so desires, repressed or not logically can’t exist. "Bud - Bud - hey Bud" :What?" Fuck. Out. Flat, By a (Hain) grove, stand or lean on the car. Sun purple streaks are more past-subjunctive-not realized. "Bud, fuckin too. lets stop. hotel." crossing borders still feels like changing modes or states (physical ones) same as when a kid. Driving alone makes body numb makes horny feeling more closer to hair trigger not quite. hotel. porn, comical shot with rainbow color condom flipped in air slow motion before putting on had to go to can and wax off it took few secs. Don’t tell Bud. Didn’t. Now ok. Not at the time saw in myself pictures of resolution, sympathy a little, empathy so far away. Now my late 40s still empathy missing - so sad or maybe real, not sad. What kind of love they had abstract, Urich and Agathe. "Bud-Bud" "fuck you" "bitch" potato chips.  He was afraid of the woman, misquote, he was afraid THAT the woman might. Missing is still. Naipaul must’ve been sexually self conscious about a body part I gather from the bit repeated about the fat jiggling calf, or maybe just lit descriptive? Too skinny narrow shoulders. "Bud." "Lets drunk." Back room. No.

The communication gained, once formulated, on concision what it lost on reality.

I used to, we all did, act like someone we’re not, sure cliche, big success in personality grooming is when you stop doing that - first phase you do it - ie stop doing it - for show - then for real and then you are grown up middle aged. But as artist I’ve been assuming 10 years or so I need to learn to act - creating prose or vis art isn’t diary confession only - now changing mind again acting wrong need to go more essence of self direction - self or social idk yet. Often thought that everything I experienced was a toggling suggestion only, under the influence of imagination. The thousand year empire, No you can’t hoard experiences, they’re more like eating than I thought. You keep needing new ones. Science says so too - I read that on FB this week. SO the idea that experiences and desires unfulfilled is a force now - wrong it doesn’t matter how much or how barren you had it - you can’t eat for a lifetime in one month, shit too, no - and himself too, myself too, not only the vision that’d seen it and the memory that’d remembered but the clothes too, as garments carry back into the clean edgeless blowing of air the lingering effluvium of a sick room. What you’re afraid of has so much power that it paralyzes the drive to inhale the environs of a short life.

The human urge to pair up (Böll) moves from love-attraction on sight - on past the spontaneous desire to be with (her) to the most intense primal passion which creates restless souls and bodies - all of its variants - which arise as irregularly as they do lawlessly, every one of them could’ve been aroused by Lenni - at 17. (Böll)

Burn in the throat and film in mouth over all surfaces gradual increase over two decades, now it’s normal. Ok, no organism gets through life physically oblivious and untouched from nature and self preservation process, moderate but only where outcome positive in self-environmental balance. Take it up the ass if it’s calling just let it make sense. Fuck yourself all you want. That doesn’t necessarily mean loneliness. When I drive home I want to wack it, that’s when I’m not obsessed with not getting in a wreck. It’s such a trip to discover, after thinking everything you do is a crime, that almost everybody else is culpable, embarrassing, guilt, immoral, etc, by the standard evolved in the name of tradition, expectation, rulings, judgementalness, etc. - but, I keep re-wondering about absolute values and if I’m falling behind - no - fuck you I’m not - absolutes are in math and other theories - not in analog nature. And you can suck my dick on that one. And to justify the whole - no - to complement - I remember, I was in Greenpoint this one time on Nassau and way out by the BQE - and I got this Polish bakery stuff - it took me a long time to choose - no credit minimum I’m out of cash rest of month - so picked a billowy bread loaf - and said ¨oh my mother bitching stars¨ I think this was a waste of energy - bc, I walked form Clinton Hill to Queens to Nassau Street - I said I’ve failed. Bread with cheese in the middle.

Now it was like that though – what wasn’t there you had to - no, could - drive 200 miles, distorted expectation at an age where irrational interaction with the biological wasn’t developed (well well well Tubs) enough yet - near xmas time. Misty wet cold, trading football cards - the QB  card - Dallas not the starter I never heard of him, the visual, full body in action scene, mud on uniform (white away uniform) overcast atmosphere - art. Afraid of alone, not spirits - even if awareness of biology organism still underdeveloped, rational was already intuitively settled - but influence of common half belief in angels’ proximity too strong so I was scared alone, ghosts ancestors Indian and Anglo. What load of crap - to think of the energy wasted, my cock. The closet - a dead relative I never met. "Deflector shields" "Where, where?" "Fuck the shields?" “Never mind.” If you still ain’t resolved the above kind of things you’re useless in a sociological (humanly soc) world, but still maybe not worse off than me. Depends on your non-denom faith or idk what. A future past reference to a present future incident or state is logically impossible, therefore hopes, dreams, etc, in the non abstract sense, the concrete state, can’t exist.

Gain in precision what I lost in recall. Better decisions but fruit fell so many things are over. I loved all that even though it was largely unsubstantial - it’s the act of loving - and/or childish excitement that is substantial. Now there’s new more intense conceptions and expectations of loneliness and/or claustrophobia. The addition of lack of control makes them not only more real but more threatening and prevention more dire. And that prevention-need causes restrictive thinking, irrational (fear) decisions and under achievement. So that I wish I was a machine. Ma-boobies. Emotional discourse with useless concepts, mostly visual natural phenomena acting on material substances or [ang?] on snow and such. But I saw my football cards and sorted them repeatedly by various categories. But actors act and I lose. Perform, no. Wait, and so lose. The material is evil, makes you ponder on insubstantiables. Acting and performing feels good if you know how. I feel better everyday during the last 4 years or so. The sociological world is a correctional mental institution so just live in it, it’s therapeutic.

One cock and two thermoses

It must’ve been the lipstick. It must’ve - no [I] mean logically would have meant - the lipstick - my Hurt haircut - cut my ear - get a date? Not considered a possibility you shit.

You´s bullshit man, bullshit!

Look at that cornice decoration, up, the window. It’s one thing to look at it - like in a foreign city - you see the street. Set stage, you own a time and place, it seems only, because it’s new - someone lives here a long time, doesn’t feel, doesn’t think they want, possession, but, they do have, and want, possession. That all, that’s one thing - but / for posterity - a type of ownership / of life - need looking IN the window, with you in the window / documentation that you own[ed] a place, and experience. Yes, / critique today is, what it always was: 50 years behind./ and says / what it had always said: earlier in the past, it was / but no longer so.

"Buy you a drink" is such contentlessness, it means social bluberdy block into maps - nothing everybody buy your own drink - you know what you want to drink. Ass.

The waiter left, and Tamara became silent. The youth and even the sun brown skin, that Herman had noticed when he came in, seem to have faded. Shadows and the first signs of puffed-aged eyes were noticeable under her eyes. ¨Have you seen this boy?¨ she said. One more minute and would’ve been a pile of ashes. Tamara laid on the bed and Herman was resting on the Clapp-liege.

"Because I find that comforting – who do nice things, everywhere. Clinton, I’m gonna ask you something - what I wanted to ask you earlier. Can I? Of course. You’ll tell the truth? Good, yeah. It’s about your diary. You’re writing what I say, right? Sometimes. OK, then when you read it again, do I come across as a dumb woman? No. I don’t think that I’ll have nightmares often about Echo, about the accident, about Berry-berry and the tree. People dream things and cry a lot and shit, and then gradually they don’t cry about such things so much. Of course I ain´t no specialist. I’m only writing based on my own experiences.

How many times do I have to watch this fucking bull drag its crank across my tv screen? D.M. on M.L.

Kopenhagen in the spring, Paris of the north, but empty as the moon, not a single Dänin appears, a life in Kopenhagen must be unbearable, but the main thing is that she has recovered. Kopenhagen also rainy, no news about Philemon, on the other hand, a lot of Lela - delayed a trip to Hamburg out of understanding, sympathy - exclamation marks, hope for a Gastspiel in München. Question mark, hotel four season, sometimes this letter rushes thru Copenhagen and gets lost before a message arrives, but the person, a ghost who wants to take its own life, thus fake address, time, advice comes, much clever about film comes, agreement across 1000 miles, Kopenhagen is a metropolis, but the only person that understands is in Kopenhagen and the way to the main post office, where nothing has arrived in days, seems to be lined with no houses.

A: Isn’t it a little bit early for it?
B: For what?
A: Both beer and Schweinebraten
B: Not for me
A: I noticed that
B: What it’s too early and too late for is only object of social agreement or, let’s say it like if it’s ok that such total morons breakfast here till 5:00 pm then it should definitely be ok to order Schweinebraten at 11:00am
A: I’d prefer to put it the other way around. Since the world is so full of assholes who breakfast till 5:00 pm, then why do we need big shots that eat Schweinebraten at 11:00am
B: What’s the big deal about making Schweinebraten? It’s there left over from yesterday anyway, so you just cut a piece off, a little cold sauce on top and into the microwave, I know how it works, don’t need to fucking tell me.
A: Ah, so, don’t need to tell you
B: No, don’t need to tell me.
A: And if I told you there’s no Schweinebraten here left from yesterday? What then?
B: Then I’d say that OK maybe it’s only quarter after 11am but from now till 12:30 the normal lunch time bullshit lets loose and then you’ll need Schweinebraten anyway.
A: And if I told you that I’m also not from yesterday, and that the Schweinebraten is already in the oven, and that it still needs an hour, and that until then you can also have at best a shit breakfast like all the other losers here - all these roll munches with their shit wurst and their shit cheese and their whole pile of shit that’s put on tables here, so - if I told you that at best you can have any such crap and that, if you´d like to eat Schweinebraten then maybe about 12:30 – when, as you seem to know, the lunch time lets loose, you’re welcome to come calling again, but politely please, and then maybe you can have good proper Schweinebraten, if not the Schweinebraten of your life, but by then you might be too drunk to even notice - if I told you that what would you say then? smart ass fucker.
B: For example, I’d say, if I were so asked, that things here on Sundays start off at 10:00am and that the kitchen staff, of which you are certainly a part, is definitely already here at 9:30, and that, if you prepare a Schweinebraten at 9:30, then the Schweinebraten must definitely be far enough along that one could cut off a piece, and fuck the crust, not to even mention the dumplings, fried potatoes are also ok and you have fried potatoes on hand anyway for this American breakfast, so, that the Schweinebraten would already be far enough along that a small piece even if it’s just the edge could be cut off for me, doesn’t matter if the crust is crispy, I couldn’t give a shit about that, anyway I think the crust is overrated - that someone could throw in a few fired potatoes, you can always find some sauce somewhere, and the dish is complete - that’s what I’d say, smart ass fucker that I am.
A: OK, so, the crust doesn’t matter.
B: No, the crust doesn’t matter at all.
A: To you in general?
B: I couldn’t care less about IN general?
A: Are others here like you?
B: No.
A: Well, then ok
B: OK then I’ll wait a little while. It’ll be 12:30 soon.

Among people pigeons
Pigeons in circles like cyclone out the window, what is it with windows - windows, what is it windows memory and melancholiness don’t even need to imagine the trajectory, can see it. What was it I thought I could see out a window, pigeons in a cyclone pattern and brown buildings in November late afternoon sun? It’s nothing. Only actions and reason are substantial.

Realize tendencies, wishes, plans - make possible this seeking of leisure places without losing their distance - with the ability to construct sentences as they believe sentences should be constructed as Robert builds sentences while he effortlessly speaks them. Then again unusually short sentences, which restore the balance of thought, speak in uninterrupted control of reason and the body in relation to the central focus, bring observations to silence, obvious, make oneself real with still-full consciousness. T.B.

I wanna know, how many people here like to take a taste of alcohol! I know it always gettin so hot outside and you always need something to cool you off, there’s gotta be some people out there that like to drink tequila.

A greeting card from Hölderlin
The pleasures of life I have tasted in full
The hours of youth past so long, so long ago
June, July and August long since gone by
I’m nothing anymore, no longer care to be alive.

Basically, from whatever vantage point we view it, the world consists of Unerträglichkeit. The fact that we cope with the Unerträgliche is the life- and misery- and pain-experience of everyone. A few ironic elements in each person is the only substance, everything else is defamation.

On many days nature is nothing but reportage while the brain is a feuilleton expression in nature. T.B.

First of all, love, is a joint experience between two persons - but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the 2 people involved. There are the lover and beloved - often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored up love which has lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. Feels in the soul that love is a solitary thing. Comes to know a new strange loneliness and it is this knowledge that causes suffering, so there is only one thing for the lover to do - must house their love within self the best they can; must create a whole new inward world - a world intense and strange, complete in oneself.  

Maybe, shit too - maybe the easiest way of making a town’s acquaintance - balls! - is to ascertain how the people in it work - how they LOVE, and how they DIE. Camus.

Took paths - safe in changeability - because I mistook perspective for essence - just a part of essence - maybe. Shit, I spent some cash to go where plants look different and the shape of women’s faces look different (likely - not guaranteed because those genetic things are incalculably complicated to account for.) I got drunk - sunsets fulfilled expectations - not later I see. Underachiever, my balls hurt, think balls when need work, inadequate compensate for work when I need my balls. I’d love to see some people again. I had a dream about two of my grandparents during this exhibit. From different parents grandparents. Mom’s dad, dad’s mom. Same age. Both in same dream. There was an uneasy and self lacking homecoming feel. Stress or I’ve missed something.

Oh my stars and guarders. Shiiiaaaat.

OK, just flip me over and go down on me you fucking pussy.

World’s major languages series number 1#:
Very symmetrical phoneme inventory; lost most of the inflectional morphology characteristic of its relatives; very complicated system of combining tense and aspect markers for signifying Generic, Specific, Definite, Indefinite, Topical, etc properties -- OR -- the Erker Corner, with a rug and three windows, from which staring inside are people I worry I might have insulted, from the left One on purpose, long ago when I was ruder, from the center One by accident, because I was drunk or just not thinking before speaking, and from which other is staring inside a copy of all the factors that make me not want to do anything, any work - nothing - OR - hot apartment on a street in a boring part of the city where alternation of being alone and not doesn’t coincide with needs of my nerves and attitude.

When I was a fucking kid we used to burn garbage in a barrel / in the backyard, plastic and cans and everything went in. I used to roast marshmallows and hotdogs over the fire.

Shifts in the symbolic meaning of eating and sexuality. Von Der Hausmannskost zur Feinschneckerei: The disposition of the inward led person to eating portrays many variations of course. In the most recent American past, it’s different of course among the foodies of other nations - puritan and non puritan circles combine the meals with their social agendas. For invites to homes or inns there were somewhat irregular menus, what stood out were particularly uppity meat dishes, generous sides, and rich accoutrements. This was all in the women’s corner; in many circles it was rude to make eating table conversation.  David Riesman, aahh yeah bitches, give it up. The comfort culture coming at you. Shiiiit.

Is working an Identity? or / work to do outside work did they do that outside work - Love did it let them be sexually human? Die? Shit IDK - not past perfect (imperfect) discussed yet. Yoooo I want sexual things with other people.

Ya, tether-pole reasoning. Misleading in 2 ways - first, the ball appears to fly free for awhile- 2nd, when the rope’s limit does force change, the movement and direction appears unpredictable due to direction velocity speed or what - a physicist could account for and explain but who listens to a goddamned fucking physicist - the change in speed direction velocity is in any case being influenced, bound by, a dogmatic pole -a fuck-stain pole - all faulty ill reasoning in administration, proprietary practice, the whole driving of social whatever is an analogy to tether-pole reasoning. Bite my nads.

Mich schmerzt die Balls

You must want to fuck me. Why no sir I don’t. Well then lay the sprockets bare.
You must be a post-modernist. Why no I’m fucking not, I express myself materially.
You must be kind of pretentious you bitch. Well maybe but I do like literary arts and an uncannily special meal occasionally.

There’s one area where is more advanced than the adult the child. (if most adults aren’t at this stage, at least the important ones are): it’s the situating of oneself relative to the other being - WHEN IT´S SUFFERING. Whereas the kid in this respect either feels (almost always) Schadenfreude, or some primitive benevolence, which is nice and shit, but is in no way of substantial value. Could also be a few other positions: nursery self importance, ie vanity; and fear, especially when the misfortune hits an adult. But what’s missing in the child is the only social position that exists: to rationalize yourself in the other. And in the other important things (art, intellect - (INTEGRITY), invention, work methods) the child is on par with the adult. Only in the above-said is it lacking. L.H.

The tools a human is ausgestattet with to tell if another is lying  - let alone that - even more disingenuous with propositions, utterances - even more - attitudes, postures, indications - the latter few proposed measurable examples here of course not necessarily implying intention from the observed - so fuckin again! - the human is not equipped to discern this shit. The senses were meant for survival - indicating that bc the above-said don’t work, then its bullshit. Don’t worry - youll get your relationship, soul mate, laid, friend, what-fucking-not. But stop trying to read people - it’s a game for psychologists’ reading distraction - and even they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.

A fucker. A fucker. Some fucker. At a certain point, you see, feel, biologically instinctively feel, not merely rationally feel, your limits. What used to be could-be´s without accountability, they disappear quite suddenly, as irrational impossibilities. It’s kind of functionally helpful, the ridding of what’s unrealistic - but it’s also a flat-panicky shock to a human’s self centered system. Your former creations, experiences, which at one time seemed seminal, predestined, paradigmatic - now they’re exposed as random phenomena, data in an organism’s incidental existence. Tracey Emin said something to this effect on turning 50. I figured it out at 45 - she probably did too but just said it in her interview later, about being 50. It’s a rounder number.

A future present reference to a future past phenomenon is, for reasons I don’t care to move myself to figure out, logically impossible -- consequently hope, dreams, don’t exist. Is why later life evaluation of past, young, imaginations, assumptions, plans and the type of shit - that’s why its all so flat, empty, unsatisfied, per F.N.: The fruits of youth are gathered in later life -but that precipitates thoughts of autumn in a spirit that wanna live in spring forever - But an eternal bud yields no fruit of thought labor.  - Is naught but to wither.
The plea "It was none of us men did this wicked deed, but one of our young female prisoners" was hardly one which could be submitted to a jury.

When people bring me presents I think Ahhh shiiat - I work with words not materials.

No, a farm humid morning won;t do it anymore – won’t work. If it’s so - what? Now, you know, that....

I don’t want him to go I really don’t like him. The fucker. I must not have thought of you (an Sie) in a long time, but what’s that mean? Thinking about someone, it’s either involuntary, in which case it means something substantial; or it’s for myself.

OK, geriatric commercials on TV during an old show from the 80s - not old to you - and the geriatric ads, these ones anyway, weren’t on back then. Why does it make me feel comfortable? Because gives a sense of permanence, stability. But no one really wants to get old. I guess you’re gonna, so you comfort yourself with compensations geared for the inevitable.

“The price is high when you keep the score” – that’s some fucking words to a Quiet Riot song, the line popped into my head the other morning on the bus on Myrtle Avenue. It struck me immediately as the kind of proverb which, while it might or might not have high one-to-one proverb-to-life value, is super functional and drives multiple components of a life plan. It wasn’t until the next day that I was embarrassed by my mistake, it’s just a combination of 2 clichés into a novel relational arrangement which in this case created an idea with such high generative power and low precision that it’s barely even a proposition. It’s the typical crap from pop songs and, if not for the lack of Ph.D.-level aesthetics words, artists’ statements. My judgment must’ve gotten tangled in the confusion – the sun was coming up behind Myrtle and flooding downtown Brooklyn and all the lame new buildings that weren’t there when I moved in and creating a visible span between them and the old structures that have been there the whole time, and the recently renovated facades and newly empty lots; it sent me in a spiral of nostalgia and regret, typically a good despair-making brew though this time it didn’t get to me that much. Still, I did run back through the unconnected reasoning, the irresponsible and the lazy decisions, failures to secure or to finish, dread, lack of determination, indolence and self-induced lethargy, in general the lack of respect for the severe effects of time and impermanence; then also the insensitivity, the assumptions, close-minded self-assurance, cowardice, the spots I’ve painted myself into. I assumed that I’ve taken care of a good number of these issues partially, probably none of them completely; there’s a few of these issues I’ll never fix. When some fucking words to a Quiet Riot song pop into your head, the right thing to do is take them strictly for what they are – some fucking words to a Quiet Riot song – and don’t stop to think about them. 

A: I’ll tell you what - all this delineation of types of care, love - facets of empathy - that’s far too discreet, unnaturally chipped, for the nature of life, humans, physics, and biology. Modernists had it in art then lost it with their discourse. Post-modernists too. What’s the use - all a waste.
B: As for appropriate-level I’m not making judgments, only giving info based on my perception of customary behavior. We all gotta die sometime - but at this moment, No

From a distance betrachtet, it’s all imbued by your psychological history’s hue. But, up close, all unmasked, like everything else - people sell fish, sex each other, and print photos or other such things onto various physical substances - and the typical other shit we do - much more real than psych imagination but more boring.

Those who have no clue about literature and haven’t read anything, might not be so bad - but those that got no clue about literature and have read a lot...[unfinished].

The greatest property of a wise writer is that they don’t talk about their work too much   

Whoever says "why" more than 3 times in a row is either Socrates or an idiot 

And, in the greater scheme of things: if you only do something in order to do something else - it’s not useful to you 

The people that ain’t got no taste gladly emphasize that there are many kinds of taste. What do they think, this kind of observation can be useful to them? 

Only moments of [nearness?] exist. 

Ehrlich St[unreadable] 

What Hamsun and Lawrence have in common is they both believed themselves to be thinkers, but put out senselessness, as long as they left a narrow space of their particular strengths. In this respect Hamsun is purer. Lawrence is more essential. 

Of the holy festivals, the only one that’s still holy is Fasching.

A fucker who hasn’t considered death, their life isn’t worth much.

An intellectual says a word, the pharmacists hear it, it confuses them, and they say something similar which is totally different.

My father had seen Ungenach as a prison. Everything was changed here. My guardian, even more my stepmother, is changing everything.Ungenach is becoming an immorality. 

So, the park is empty. My room is, fatally, unchanged.

"Tragedies that are unnecessary" if one could only call them tragedies! [unreadable text]  

In most faces there’s nothing but stupidity - and in all these faces, stupidity can be intuitive or seen or understood as something other than stupidity.

Can I leave you my key. 

Job in an office work at night, blinds pattern against city in a chair doesn’t have a lower back legs-ish thing - can get stoned, your experience and settings - memories will save you and what you lost well for 20 years ish then it calculates as waste. Ah shit. 

Sexism or sage-prejudicism? You make the call. She can’t have that much fun sexually AND be competent in such an important job. Biological-cultural injustice - or some such psychological nonsense. 

I’m old enough to know - if you stand back from a spiral it turns into a circle.And if you need to know more it’s a spiral again when you get close again. Only a dogmatic war monger or a kid doesn’t know that. And fuck you, you dicker. 

DH Lawrence believed (should be emphasized that he, unlike others that fell into a similar intellectual direction towards end of their lives, was totally honest) - he believed that power and certain-conditions-fulfilling-coitus (a fancy way to say fuck) alone could save a person. (That all else is not true life). 

The enemy is the effect of the old familiar struktur. When the old structure is dissolved then you can recognize a fucker that has something to say. 

Is it? No. Peanut butter, gross. Creepy - no everybody wants some. Idea the essence the experience not delivers, Abuse? No. 

Warm straight windless rain. A last errand - future. Time remaining. An imagination can come experience. Impossible, failure later. 

It’s all about the base, about the base.

"You fucker."

Hi Guy, my name is Gleen. I like to keep my peter clean.

A cross and my ass hurts.

A Lithuanian cross - a fucker named Skuadas that plays football, HS, in mid America - I have to decide whether to send kid Am Skuadas to defend his ancestors from Putin - or not? An unreal dilemma - I’m old enough to know.
Book fucker.

Used a rational process to create and assert what I believe. When the clock’s run down then what to do? Makes me wanna give up on rationality but that’s what I deduced I believe.

T'okki tickets.

Sembiotics in my ass.

Lying like a fuck.

5 days after Murphy’s disappearance on Dec.3 1956, Tanto visited the U.S. consulate and arranged Visas for his father, Vicente de la Maze, and his young sister Olag.  

Without explaining the cause of the patient’s wound... or even IDing him, the 2 men were halfway back to Juan Toḿas´s house when they realized they had left Mirito the driver at the clinic. 

Material restrictions for the arts don’t exist, since the material in and of itself has no importance; the essence of art is something completely different, and the material never holds dialogue with it.
To have an idea of the nature of everything, a solid and fixed idea, you have to be a total dumb fuck.
They say he has no more love; that he, since he doesn’t want to suffocate in a Köhlerhütte two meters wide, has lost love. But isn’t there any love outside anymore?
The characteristic traits of the _______ are: exactness, stinginess, and ugliness. Exactness - to be taken as specific kinds of industriousness that thrive in _______ : then the mail - it’s everywhere, but in _______ is also reliable. Stinginess: which, of course, leads to the greatest exuberance of a being. Ugliness: only recognizable when you’re coming from another country. The country is rocky, unfertile, narrow, without ocean.
An endeavor of many people: comparing a dynamo machine with a field.
The pharmacist had read almost nothing that has any value. But so that a certain harmony isn’t lacking, the small amount of valuable work he did read he didn’t understand.
What is a dignitary? Someone who carries dignity positively and as a burden? Or only a rack that people hang dignications on - ones they no longer need - like old clothes?
Who has yet spoken sufficiently of nearness and people?
When people bring me presents, I think: I work with words, not material. Aaah Shiaat.
In the tone of a party-subscriber for my own person of course - everything is incomprehension. because nothing can be made comprehensible anymore, where nothing is naturally logical anymore, which is why I can’t sleep anymore.

What’s exciting, says Moro, to dunk your head in physics, then in metaphysics and so alternatively in the physical and then in the metaphysical way to get old and deteriorate.  

In most faces there’s nothing but stupidity and in all those faces stupidity is to be seen, perceived, understood as something other than stupidity.  

Take it. Don’t give - take.

Cock and balls with diamonds.

Thank god that you wasn’t there, said grandma. In the middle of the night - three of em. They wanted our motor bike jackets. Thank god it’s all in the past, said grandpa. They said I was the leader, but I didn’t want to do it. What? Asked P. That they all died, yelled grandpa. All 11 boys the youngest was 10 the oldest was 13. Only that I made it all the way to the English. But the youngest was 11 the oldest was 13. A fucker on TV with black hair put on a blonde wig and kissed a fucker with red hair.  

And bite my nads - [unreadable] Field - road, washed over the Bosch of the tar covering the previous. A flood had washed out a massive chunk together with the runways lined with ground lights, darker than other facilities of civilization. How dark such an airport can be.  


BIBLIOGRAPHY of Quotes, Restatements & Rehashes
Bernhard, Thomas. Ungenach
Bobrowski, Johannes. Erzählungen.
Böll, Heinrich. Gruppenbild mit Dame
Camus, Albert. The Plague (original title: La Peste)
Diederich, Bernard. Trujillo: the Death of the Goat
Petriak, Nina. Ein Sonntag (in Dückers, Tanja & Carl, Verena (eds).. Stadt.Land.Krieg
Herlihy, James Leo. Ich und dieser Berry-Berry (original title: All Fall Down)
Hölderlin, Friedrich. Das Angenehme dieser Welt  
Hohl, Ludwig. Notizen oder Von der unvoreiligen Versöhnung
Hughes, Richard. A High Wind in Jamaica
Faulkner, William. Light in August.
Frisch, Max. Mein Name sei Gantenbein.
Handke, Peter. In einer dunklen Nacht ging ich aus meinem stillen Haus.
McCullers, Carson. The Ballad of the Sad Café: and other stories
Musil, Robert. Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften II: aus dem Nachlaß
Naipaul, V.S.  A House for Mr Biswas
Nietzsche, Friedrich. Werke in drei Bänder. Dritter Band (from the Diaries)
Regener, Sven. Herr Lehmann
Riesman, David. Die einsame Masse: eine Untersuchung der Wandlungen des    
     amerikanischen Charakters (original title: The Lonely Crowd: a Study of the      
     Changing American Character)
Singer, Isaac Bashevis. Feinde : die Geschichte einer Liebe