Okay, here it is: the mail of the week section.

It had to come.

Subject: absolut
   Date:  Thu, 02 Sep 1999 16:15:07 +0200
   From: justine@digitron.teuto.de
     To: philipp.hofmann@uni-bielefeld.de

Ein Tag im All ist kein Alltag.
So far so bad.
Mein Zehennagel ist eingewachsen.
Jetzt ist es wieder gut.
Bleibt es bei Freitag?
Was soll ich alles mitbringen? j

digitron GmbH & Compania Media - Mühlenstraße 47 - D-33607 Bielefeld

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Subject: tonight
   Date: Mon, 23 Aug 1999 21:28:06 +0200
   From: Inga Westerteicher <inga.westerteicher@gmx.de>
     To: philipp.hofmann@uni-bielefeld.de

hallo philipp,

the day has become quiet now, quieter than it was this morning, quieter than it was all day long. i just want to let you know again. communicating is not easy when one meets every day so i let the machine do it for me. now that i am writing this down i fear, i know, this message will have some strange effects on you, because i don't tell you myself, because you cannot see my face, you will not hear my voice, you will not see me smile which would make things better, which makes things always better. this is not what i want, i don't want to trouble you. i just want to let you know.
i am feeling lost these days. life has become less computable since i moved away from my parent's house and into my small flat at siekerfelde. sometimes i wish i could go back to the times when i moved from my parent's house and into my brandnew small flat at siekerfelde - it was all mine. things where under control. memories of winter-mornings come upon me. when the light would not come on until nine in the morning i still thought it was nighttime. i can see myself still a little drunk from the day before as i swing my legs out of the bed, as i crawl out of the warmth of the sheets. i can see the carpet with the pattern you did not like, 'too childish' you said. i walk to the window and open the curtains. there is heavy frost on the grass of the meadow on the other side of the street. i stumble through the tiny corridor into the kitchen. the kitchen is as cold as the morning outside. the window was left open all through the night. the pink and yellow sky comes in through the still open kitchen window. my breath comes steaming out of my mouth although i am not outside. my feet on the floor turn blue. i exhale only softly.
i walk to the window and close it. i turn on the heating which almost instantly starts radiating heat. it produces a silent noise, some kind of whisper, to tell me that everything is allright, to tell me that it works, as expected.
i turn around and see myself in the mirror that hangs on the wall of the other side of the room just above the cabinet. i gaze across the room and i see myself standing just above the cabinet where i store my shoes and other things. on the left hand side of the cabinet there is a rubber plant. i saved it from death and now i give him all my love, nourish him like a mother. but i did not dare to make up a conversation so far. living alone has got strange effects on people.
the heating behind me is really hot now. i walk to the kitchen door and two steps through the tiny corridor take me into the bathroom. it is all blue and it has got a bath tub. it is cold in there, too, the windows where open all night long. now i close the windows and turn the heating on. it is almost already warm. i look at the wall and i can see myself again. there is another mirror. i look straight into my eyes and i turn on the taps and let the water pour into the sink. the water comes out in myriads of warm shiny bubbles. they make the water look white. i wash. i dress. i walk into the kitchen again. it smells like an ash-tray. last night i smoked until two thirty and there is dust inside the heating that absorbs the smoke with its nicotine and its stench. i open the window again. in comes the cold air and the smell of winter. i fix myself a coffee. i think about going to the university. the clock ticks the time away. i can hear the same clock ticking behind my back now. i decide against university and go shopping instead. i turn off the heating. i walk out of my flat. i lock the door. i go shopping. everything is under control.
i know the way to the supermarket. i know where i will find the things i need. i know my way home. i know how to unlock my door. i know where all the goods go. i know how to turn on the heating. i know i will go to the university the next day and the day after, too. and it will be the same next week. i love to go shopping. makes things eezee like teevee.

i am sorry for bothering you. don't be afraid, i will keep on going.
i hug you


Subject:  xyz
   Date:   Fri, 20 Aug 1999 18:08:02 -0400
   From: Uwe Schwagmeier <USchwagmeier@compuserve.com>
     To:   "entropic.empire@bigfoot.com" <entropic.empire@bigfoot.com>

später werde ich nicht nach new york gehen
werde ich nicht nach new york gehen
was soll ich übers wetter schreiben
wenn ich sehe wie die regenwatte
vor meinem tintenfenster
den berghang
schwer - hinunterwälzt
ich scheue mich in diesem gedicht
meinen wohnort beim namen zu nennen
ich wollte allgemein sein
und gefallen
wortwitzig und schön
schwer hinuntergewälzt
ich warte auf das klingeln des telefons
und trinke weiße milch
später werde ich nicht nach new york gehen
aber denken
daß meine gedichte vor sechs jahren
schon genauso geklungen haben
schwer hinuntergewälzt
die frustration war gewollt
aber heute
ist mir die langeweile
die leuchtende linie
die feuerleiter in die zukunft
voll xeroxkoper stereotypen
kaminzüngelndem stöhntausch
und fallenden äpfeln
schwer hinuntergewälzt
schwer hinuntergewälzt
vielleicht steht der stuhl
den ich gestern weiß gestrichen habe
heute nacht
wieder in der sommerdämmerung
neben den rosen.