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Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Autumn gently turns into winter

November 23, 2011 Leave a comment

We don't know where we are going to - but we bath in   the perfection of this moment.

Autumn gently turns into winter and the year is flowing by like a deep river into the sea.

A haze is rising from the waters which are warmer than the chilly air.

We don’t know where we are going to – but we bath in the perfection of this moment.

Categories: photo, Pictures, Writing

Do you see that bot sit

November 15, 2011 Leave a comment

I live in the internet world – but what a bot or a bit really are defies my imagination. Writing around that a bit … a bot …

Do you see that bot sit
on the little odd bit?
What’s it going to do?
I don’t have a clue.

It’s on or off or good or bad
it’s yes or no or happy or sad.
There’s going to be a decision
that’s the bot’s mission.

They sit and chat a millionth second
They’ll never meet again I reckon.
The song of the bot and the bit
And this is it.

Lyrics by Detlef Cordes 2011

Categories: Lyrics, Writing

Breitenstein is not an old man to me

November 10, 2011 1 comment

Breitenstein is not an old man to me, because I knew him 50 years ago, when he was in his thirties, always in a hurry, always looking like a CIA agent with his conspicuous hat, long black coat and the brown leather briefcase. I like that he didn’t change his outfit one little bit in all these years – except that he is unable to take the briefcase as he walks with a walking frame now. His back hurts badly and he is unable to stand erect.

But Breitenstein is still in a hurry as he is a writer and eager to get back to his typewriter, yes: typewriter. I hear him hitting the keys as early as 6am when I pass his apartment walking the dog. Typing, typing, typing for decades without ever publishing anything, apparently without any reader on his mind, any reader but himself.

Breitenstein, a configuration of remarkable energy, always under pressure, receding into the haze of time, leaving an apartment with shelves of paper, paper, paper.

Categories: story, Writing

The problem

Two young women are walking towards me. As they pass I catch snippets of their conversation:

“So the problem is: he lets his parents push him into being a farmer.”

“It’s very interesting you say that. I never saw it that way. I always thought that I am the problem.”

Categories: Writing

Human Nature

into human nature:

are you ready to accede your acre?

are you ready to succeed your faker?
are you ready to meet the maker?
are you ready to bow or
snow
throw

kindness?

Categories: Writing

the mystery of the union

on bin
under din
creating sin
you are the faker
lust is the baker
you relax a breaker, when the grunt is direct

Categories: Writing

The clock is right behind him

So then he is sitting there and I am bored. The clock is right behind him but I have to look into his eyes because he might notice I look elsewhere. The next time I dare to look 3 minutes have passed. I calculate that I have to listen to him at least 17 more minutes. I try to talk about something that interests me. There is always the toilet.

Categories: free association, Writing