|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
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.
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.
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.
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.
from a tap
that does not close
well, well, well - a fine line of high-school poetry...
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
Because I don't have the guts to do it. i'm a loser, baby ...