Wednesday, 29
The only one
Everybody knows this: there is a lot of pressure on women – to be beautiful, attractive, sensitive, down to earth, clean, caring, looking for a solution always - on one hand. On the other hand she should not display an established knowledge explicitly to prevent that men in turn are going to feel weak. Nevertheless, more than that, there are kinda leader women who additionally force their sisters – no, it’s not just force, but with a compelling control they incite their sisters to fulfil men’s expectations of how a woman should be. Probably unconsciously, these women want strengthen the power of female attributes. I am fine with that, nonetheless every woman should free herself to be herself in a way she wants no matter what sisters anticipate or brothers desire. By the way, a man once told me that men appreciate having only one woman among them. Like a precisely defined goal. It is not about this woman, but about a game where the winner obtains that woman or girl. I've never really enjoyed being the only woman. It can be fun, because you feel somehow special in this male round, otherwise you feel also lost like you know as soon as another woman appears all the former particularity of your self will be shared or even worse slop in bulk to the other woman. That is why I often concentrate on women. They experience the same and give in for support. Admittedly, some of them fight - in case I am the one who is appearing secondly - for their singularity.

Tuesday, 28
DFB Pokal: FC St. Pauli - Borussia Dortmund

Monday, 27
Bye bye hormones, I have to accept my body is changing. The sudden sweating makes it difficult sometimes. I realised during the party on Saturday. I really enjoyed it, but then a lot of water came out of my body and I felt isolated like the people around me would realise and become distant to me. From far I heard a voice saying -hello Mama- did this person notice?

Sunday, 26
now an hour later my soul is lying spread on the floor, devoted, unable to inspirit my brain. all illusionistic renitency dissolved into nothingness. though the leftovers, my so-called body, an organic bunch of aging cells, is looking for words that won't ever find access to the world of a higher universe affected by them who are connected within a common consciousness of freely determinded unity. my humble self ejects every feeble attempt to be part of an intellecutal elite.

If somebody asked me what I liked to do now at 2.22pm I would answer:
fall asleep.

Since long time I've been at a concert - last night: Anthony B and Omar Perry. No photographing from my side - was too lazy, just wanted to have fun, dancing and contemplating. Hope I'll keep it in mind though.

Saturday, 25
Coming home from work I've found a small sized letter (postcard size) on my desk. No sender. My address written in a kind of clumsy type writer font; A-Post Swiss stamp. Have been busy, so I didn't open it immediately. One of my friends had sent a letter to me some days before, so I thought it could be her again. When I got time some hours later I opened it. What came out was a postcard from Beyeler Museum, an art work of Gustave Courbet - L'origine du Monde (1866 Paris, Musee d'Orsay). Nothing else, no greetz or anything. For those who like to share my experience of an anonymous letter here a copy of it.

Saturday, 18
I am happy. Today -Contemporary Architecture/ South Africa- has arrived. It is still shrink-wrapped, but the board bodes well.

an incident that has come to my mind spotting white eyebrow hairs in my face:
My grandfather and me were driving in his Ro 80; him behind the steering wheel. It was just after we left our weekend home - still on the dirt road. I don't know how old I was, but it was in my teens, around fourteen, I think. He examined me and asked very seriously: are you doing your eyebrows? ?? ? Boom--- no, please, how could he ask such a nonsense. I felt like I was my grandmother. - That question was too silly. I had been applying makeup since long, but never did anything to my eyebrows. He, who was normally so exact and wise, how, why he couldn't look at me but through a milky veil. Couldn't he see that it was eyeliner that I used?

Thursday, 16
Dreamt someone stole my new reflex camera. Along with two women I didn't know well I went to a second hand shop owned by an elderly, disgusting man. I put my camera somewhere on a shelf to be free for snooping around. After a while I wondered about the whereabout of my camera. When I returned only the lens cap was left. I started crying heavily so everyone could see that I was really very, very disappointed about the loss. Inside I knew that I had acted neglegently, but I wanted to tell the world - why is it that people tackle me incessantly.

Wednesday, 15
i live in a glass house and i throw stones - talk about stones the builder refuses
Thokozani Mthyiane via fb

A friend from art school to whom I've got reconnected through facebook proposed to me a crêpe business for my Africa immigration plans. Crêpes?? what an idea. She said they are cheap to manufacture. Just for the Sunday market. Well, I told her, no, sorry, I don't care about crêpes. Okay, then, why not a radio station? Hmm, I will think about that one, sweetheart.

Monday, 13
Last night we were talking about automatisms...his colleague had been complaining daylong when they should be working. He explained his colleague's behavior as an automatism - kinda compulsive act; he said what he had to say. For example seeing people with looks that didn't fit into his concept how a human should look he cursed them rudely, because he thought he had to.

This morning I've looked up automatism via internet and encountered the surrealist movement which had worked with automatism. I remember in art school I attended a class where we did automatic drawing. But it was already around 1980s, so it was just a remake. That time I did also automatic writing, but it was real to me. Just writing down what came to my mind, no censorship, no syntax. Andé Breton's Surrealist manifesto was a book I carried with me day and night for some time. What I got from Wikipedia now... 1924, the document defines Surrealism as "psychic automatism in its pure state, by which one proposes to express - verbally, by means of the written word, or in any other manner - the actual functioning of thought - dictated by thought, but in absence of any control exercised by reason; exempt from aesthetic or moral concern." (no references are given)

Saturday, 11
Titanic. Thanks to several hundred channels we receive by now I've doused into the sinking of this colossal vessel. Romance, tragedy and social drama. First class people easily survive in lifeboats whereas third class people have to attack fences they have been locked behind to be able to leave the danger zone, still drown and freeze to death. Anyway, I've enjoyed watching that giant production trying not to worry about social affiliation.
Earlier, on Phoenix, I've watched a documentation. Das Jahrhundert der Frauen. How women have developed to become equal to men within one century. Astonishingly, their believe in an inherent inferiority and the nessecity of a serving behaviour is profoundly rooted. According to statistical analysis women do 80% of the total of beauty surgery. Although they have already achieved same rights they maltreat themselves to stimulate being loved by men. Odd is that men don't judge women just by their looks. On first sight looks are important, but not later than by a third meeting they wonder about character as well.

Friday, 10
About nationalists
I don't like them. I don't lke nationalists. They are discriminatory like racists. They believe their culture the one and only to keep up and clean from others. They are not open and very narrow minded. They are not able to differentiate. They don't even anticipate what being sophisticated means. They are gloomy and spread stiffling vibes. They are blockheads. They are beasts that follow only their instincts, because they cannot comprehend their own emotions. For the better of my own health, I had to vomit out what makes me sick.

Thursday, 9
It happens that I feel the need to benefit no matter what. In this particular mood I am eager not to lose time by doing nothing. Even, after a deep inner struggle - should I go or should I stay - I haven't been to my Yoga lesson this evening. But, as I said, in order not to lose time I've done the shopping, cooking and dining instead. Afterwards, on my way back from the corner shop where I've bought my beloved Razac body lotion I passed a gallery called Dock. Inside I saw a lovely served buffet and some people hanging around. So, in my taking-as-much-as-possible mood, I decided going down again to see what's happening there. I thought it could be a talk, but it was an opening. Three installations within their exhibition series Artists' Window; Space tag - Alltag. In her speed speech Françoise Theis, an art historian, refined the audience's perception. I enjoyed - appreciating contexts can be a pleasure, I tell you.

Tuesday, 7
I've arrived at the conclusion that pain doesn't coercively mean disease.

at times i considered to die young the better option, because when you meet your friends there in the world of the dead you don't look old. now, i think it doesn't matter, because i'll meet them without body ¨there beyond -

first it had been my shoulder that pained me, then my wrists and heels. had to do something and asked for a haemogram. they said they said the result was within normal limits - just as well - yesterday i got the invoice... 419 Swiss Francs (a lot for nothing - sorry - or how they say here: they take from the living :-) eh? a confidence trick? because of the swelling i had to do an x-ray too. it didnt display any information about a disease. anyway, the pain is still there.

Monday, 6
this time I haven't been the driver, at least, thank God, but vital momentum? ??

For the lucky people emigration as a topic isn't relevant. They are living at their beloved place, do traveling as part of their work or they have their pied à terres. Switching places for them is part of everyday life. For me it is relvant. In my life I've made three professional trips. That's it. Everything else was holidays what means limited in terms of resources, time, spirituality, recognition. I need an essential change in my life to give myself respect. I need a project to think about makes me feel complete sustainably. I know talking too much is no good - actions count, not words. Nevertheless, making notes is preparation to be sure it will be done.

Sunday, 5
Some minutes ago I've found out that Etu Ndow, an artist from The Gambia passed away half a year ago. I didn't know. His last entry at facebook, about his stay in China, I had seen and liked. I didn't realise. I remember vaguely seeing some posts of his friends after, but never thought it was about his death. Some days ago I started drafting messages telling him about my plans of emigration. But after, I let it be, because I considered writing to him was not the right time yet. Concerning my emigration people often ask me about artists in Gambia. I always mention Etu as an artist I want to meet and work together, when I'll be living there. Hey, I am so sorry and very very sad. Etu Ndow

Saturday, 4
Do I survive this day, my heart is running too fast. Again writing as a cure. A lost day - headache. I couldn't share the blithe celebration of coming winter's herald. The night already freezing cold. A lot of talking, laughter, and a music that didn't reach my soul. A lost day of low energy. Let me paint a picture where I become absorbed in colours of beauty and nature.