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april 2nd, 1999
blumfeld again - the end of a summer day. we've been sitting in the park for five hours: reading and talking and watching people. it felt good. it was warm. it's so strange how i am not by your side but nonetheless close to you.
 
  
april 6, 1999
strange day yesterday. it felt like in my childhood. like the last day of the summer-holidays. guess what! U. called me and he said that he had read this online diary and that he was very surprised. he really wasn't sure how to take all this: seriously or literary. i told him that this was a writing experiment, a sort of literary experíment with the journal-form. he seemd to believe it and was relieved.
I. is in Dortmund now. i'm missing her. that's why i'm eating the rest of the easter chocolate now.

later
it didn't help.
prepared more of SISV. twelve people have contributed to it up to now. and i've been working on it for over four months now. if i got money for all that work i do i'd be a rich man. but you only get paid for superfluous and stupid work. when i'm standing behind the counter of the mediothek for four hours with no customer and with nothing to do i get paid for it. but when i'm writing a song or making sisv (which is not art but perhaps as close as i can get to art...) i don't get paid but i have to pay.
i know. i'm complaining too much.

rosemary is almost finished, so is blood sings. i only have to record the vocals. then i'm gonna mix the whole thing and edit it onto sisv. i'm pleased with the result. I. listened to it the other day and she started crying. i wish she was here now. i dread the next year when she'll be in dortmund half of the week.

april 19, 1999
sisv is almost finished. i think it's quite good. At least i'm pleased with it - since a long time I have this feeling again: that i'm pleased with something. many hopes - as usual at this point. many hopes.

daily routine: i don't really wake up, stumble around. computer - letters and digits and background music. In the evening I.'s coming home and i asking her: what do you think? Is it any good? I can hardly write in complete sentences. going without knowing where to go is as scary as writing not knowing what to write.

I am a man of great wisdom. I frighten myself sometimes.