monday, may 3rd, 1999
david byrne is looking cross-eyed from the postcard U. gave me saturday
night. it's a b/w photography, he wearing a hat and a black suit, his hands
folded. He's looking very calm and very sane. How photographs can fool
you.
I'm restless this morning, too may quick thoughts rushing through
my brain. about my life and my future and my ability to influence both.
writing is good. writing feels warm and familiar. We have the keys to our
new flat. and it's a ruin! we've been tearing down the old wallpaper the
past couple of days and now we're waiting for the craftsmen (is this the
right word for Handwerker?) to fix what can be fixed. There's a couple
of weeks full of work until we can actually move into the new flat.
Then there's the American Studies deadline which is coming closer
and closer. I still have to work through a couple of texts and some of
them are still missing... (Brian Massumi, if you read this, send your article
N O W!)
And there's the Chaos/Control:Complexity hypertext which i still
have to do and i'm not very inspired. and the term paper for linguistics
and literature. and the work in the mediothek.
and then i'm reading a review this morning from someone on undertow
about a show last night. (and now it's time for a picture, finally...)
she was playing a small venue in NY yesterday night. an acoustic
set. just voice, guitar and bass. and it must have been brilliant - and
suddenly i remembered that sisv is on the way to ny, that it might
have arrived already and i thought of all my high hopes and of all my low
hopes and that i want too much from life that i want too much : i mean
that's all i ever wanted to do: playing playing playing. being independent
and playing and writing and giving in to that constant craving i have when
i'm listening to those songs which tear my mind out of my body and throw
it towards you, towards a sun, towards a source which is untouchable and
which is the only reason to move, the only reason to walk, the only reason
to run.
Perhaps she's reading it this very minute. Maybe she's listening
to it this very second. the thought should make me proud but it makes me
sad. |
|
One life is not enough to become good enough - at least for me. i'm
still crawling where others are walking, running even.
Sometimes I feel like a Becket character. and i wish i was so my
life would have *any* meaning...
may 10th, 1999
it's monday again but everyday is like sunday, everyday is silent and
gray. we've spent all last week renovating our new flat. i hadn't thought
that it is so much work. we listened to a morrissey cassette yesterday
afternoon while we were wallpapering - and there was that live recording
of "Now my heart is full" and i lost everything that second i remembered
how Rob and i were driving to rehearsal that one day and he played the
song on his car stereo and turned up the volume and was so enthusiastic
about the music and he said: listen to this, listen to this at this point
the bridge sets in and isn't it great! so this music was playing and Inga
turned away from the trestle table and stretched her back and rubbed her
neck and said: this spot here is really bad and she pointed at her
neck: the pain won't go away anymore and now my heart is full and
i thought yes, you're right: it won't now my heart is full it won't go
away and I just can't explain so I won't even try to and then i went to
the next room because i did not want her to see me crying.
the week has just been flying by. i'm still anxiously waiting for
an answer from Suzanne or Lisa. some ugly faced little demon is stirring
in my brain whispering: now here you are...everybody around you has made
it: Reverend Jones got a record deal, Markus got a record deal, you're
neighbor's son has been touring the states with his hip hop band for the
last three years. and where are you? here, looking up, still looking up.
and not even two people are coming when you're playing.
Sometimes and more and more i feel that he's right, that it isn't
an ugly faced little demon but the naked truth. maybe i'm just not good
enough. maybe i just suck. this would explain quite a few things after
all.
how i dearly wish i was not here.
wednesday, may 12, 1999
no news from new york.
just a couple of lines because i'm really worn out. we've been working
in the new flat all the time besides studying, working in the mediothek,
rehearsing and organising the recordings tomorrow. yes, we want to make
a new demo-cd. so reiner has organized all kinds of equipment and tomorrow
we'll record four songs. should be fun... on monday night, when rehearsal
was almost over, i started to play the opening chords of small blue thing,
and the others set in - and it was simply overwhelming. we never had such
a delicate and soft sound. it was g r e a t and i wish i had taped
it, I wish i jad had put it onto sisv.
but still it's very disheartening (should sucha word exist)- we've
sent off a couple of demos but no response. absolute silence. what is this?
are we so bad? are we really so bad?
my head is emptyx now. i wish i could write. i wish i could write
anything else than complains.
U. talked about H's new job in cologne and about future chances
and that we're sort of up against each other - but i don't want to compete
any longer. that's what i want to have written on my t-shirt: i do not
want to compete.
i'm a whimp.
monday, may 17th, 1999
she posted today - but not to me and without any sisv content.
so many things happen so fast... my application for the job at the
university has been accepted - at least by Dr. Schumacher. now i have to
talk to Prof. Braungart, who does not know me: consequence: i'll have to
convince him that i am the right one for the job...all this led to predictable
harsh self-criticism and doubt during the last few days. i always fear
the worst and i always feel like not sufficing
i have been working on the articles for "american studies", especially
on Dan O'Hara's one which i had to scan and which was full of scanning-mistakes.
Plus i had to do the bibliography all over again.
words like
occasional
drops
from a tap
that does not close
any
more
well, well, well - a fine line of high-school poetry...
wednesday, may 19th, 1999
Dear Friend,
i'm confused and uncertain what to do: i'm tired and sad which adds
up to: depressed. i'm sitting in the university and just two minutes ago
the guy refilling the coke-machine was whisteling:"I'm a big, big girl
in a big, big world..." and I had to think about the song i recorded for
Rob which started the avalanche again and the wish to write myself away,
to write myself into the sky, out of my heart into her eye - I was passing
another face and it looked amazingly like hers for a second and in the
disturbing way i was messed up again.
The longing that governed my life is the longing to get to the
I that is me, the passionate I, the illusionary I. as illusionary as the
wish to bring Rob back to life again. as illusionary as the wish to become
myself.
you once told me that when youwere depressed and going through a
crisis because she had left you, you went into the local church downtown
when there was no service and you sat down in the very last and very empty
row and wrote letters to god which you left there. without address, without
addressee - simply an angry letter to god. you did this four or five times
and you had no idea who found those or read them and what happened to them.
you never told me if it helped you.
And now i'm going to tell you why i'm writing all this: because
you don't know it yet, do you? I have applied for a job at the university
- it's a student's job only but still it would be quite an important one
since it's about working with and for Eckard Schumacher, who is "a good
one". the problem is that it's not him who is going to decide about my
application but Prof. Braungart. he does not know me and I do not know
him. he asked me to see him for a job interview tomorrow. I got the letter
yesterday morning and i'm in a state of restlessness since. i'm really
afraid of it for some strange reason. it's like applying for something
that i do not deserve...
so these thoughts are rotating through me mind this morning and
that's why i have this writing fit. but maybe it's also because of the
lack of sleep and the damp feeling in my brain which has put me into a
trance-like state in which words float onto the surface too easily or pass
through the interface too willingly and too quickly.
An hour an a half later: still tired, still nervous. and still it's
not that I have to say something but that i have to say something.
Dear friend, have you ever noticed that there is a backing voice in "lovesong"
by the Cure which is far on the right, far behind, repeating the verse
like a ghostly echo? I know you do not listen to songs like i do - you
listen to them for fun. i'm doing it to learn, it's hard work. listening
to them, analysing them and leraning from them.
i'm running out of paper...will you ever believe a single thing
i have written? will you ever take anything serious you've read from me?
any of the fear? any of the pain?
I wish I could write into the sky
I wish i could rearrange the stars so they spelled out her name.
I'm all liquid inside, kept together by a thin skin and always flowing
through myself and myself and myself only. one day i'll take the knife
and cut the skin and I will be free then, free then ...
I'll have to function tomorrow. I'll have to compete. wish me luck
may 23rd, 1999 (sunday)
so... what happened on thursday. i was standing in front of the office
of Prof. Braungart. there were three other students who wanted to seem
him. and one of them said to the girl in front of me:"You're also here
because of a term-paper?" and she answered:"No, actually I'm here because
of a student's job..." and i thought: great! that's it, and then the door
opened and i was called in and i said:"Hello, my name is Philipp Hofmann..."
and he looked at me briefly, smiled quickly and said:"Oh, yes, Mr. Hofmann,
we want you to do the job..." and he continued to speak and speak and speak
about how to proceed now and about what i'll have to do and about my exams,
("do it quick! don't hesitate!" the sooner, the better...") and then it
was all over and i was standing there with a new job and i hope i'm only
half as good as they expect me to be.if I
tuesday, may 25th, 1999
back again. no time to catch breath.tomorrow U., C. and i are going
to Cologne to the conference on the American 60s. We'll return on Thursday
night and Friday morning Inga and i will do the last works in the new flat.
On Saturday we'll move
no time to breathe, no time to think: which is good because I have
too many thoughts lately. bought the tickets for Suzanne's concert in hamburg.
no news from n.y.
Eckard Schumacher sent me a mail with what has to be done for his
Blockseminar next month, and one of the items was the organization of a
panel discussion and one of the members of the panel will be Jochen Distelmeyer,
which gave me a sharp pain because, i don't know i will meet these people
which i admire and i will meet and meet them but i don't want to meet them
i want to BE them !!!! Does this make any sense? there are those people
and they have made it, they have lived my dreams, they have fulfilled my
wishes. they are what i want to be and i will meet them which will prove
that they really exist, that IT IS POSSIBLE TO MAKE IT and why haven't
you? those people are not much older than you and they are there, zum greifen
nah und wahr und warum gehörst du nicht zu ihnen sondern krebst immer
noch hier vor dich rum, and this makes me wonder: am i doing the right
thing? shouldn't i concentrate on what i want to be and strive to be it
instead of going on half-heartedly on two ways: one becoming a scholar
and simultaneously trying to be an, and the word almost makes me laugh:,
artist? Is there any chance in going two ways? will it work, will it lead
somewhere? i want to write. i want to sing. i want to design. but i don't
do it. instead i just think about it. instead i just write about it. instead
i just discuss about it.
Because I don't have the guts to do it. i'm a loser, baby ...
