MALOLA diary

Wednesday, 30
Susan Sontag 11/28/79
I am mad, quite mad - and perhaps one can write about that. No one has noticed. My prowess in disguising it. I wander about the apartment, slyly rummaging... No place is the right place for my feet. Time is speeded up. I lie down, I get up, I pace, i lie down, I sleep, i get up, and so on.
I wonder what made her mad.

Tuesday, 29
After that nightmare something beautiful should show up here. And I don't want it to be the immediate entry underneath my pictures. I am tired and the spirits are sleepy. Let me reproduce what is written on my Yogi Tea : Aimer, c'est s'élever soi-même.

Monday, 28
I should have known: chocolate and beer is not an optimum combination. As a matter of fact had a nightmare taking place in the underworld squired by a moralising voice that judged everything either as right or wrong - no explanation given. Crowds appeared to be queuing for transport that had come to a halt. One of my artist friends (who died some years ago) passed by driving a vespa carrying huge orange coloured fishbone constructions, like wings, on his back. We walked through several groups of chatting people, youngsters, greeted them and bandied some words on topics that made me feel unloved and isolated, because i didn't understand their connotation. Tall people swank paramilitarily in a defending stance while the waiting crowds were sitting on the floor. After we ended up in an empty restaurant, still dark and closed. Again unloving people dressed in leather emerged from all sides pestering us to join the people on the floor. My friend scraped his leg and I saw something that looked like blood appearing on his hands, but it was an ileostomy at his calf that had opend up and already left some piles on the floor.

Sunday, 27
beer and chocolate to get relaxed (from work)
----
My grandma used to say to me: Kleinchen, big cities are beautiful. Small towns (miropolises) are terrible, avoid them. People talk and they survey you always. You won't be doing how you like. Go for metropolises.

Saturday, 26
Have met Butch Butch on the fleamarket. Together with his wife, he has made the trip from Basel to Gambia by car. He said crossing the Atlas mountains in Morocco had been dangerous. He told me his wife enjoyed, but never would do it again. All my Gambian friends try to dissuade me from traveling over land.
------------
A new exhibtion at AM, what means more hard (physical) work for me. I've got 20% plus till end of March. Then finished the whole (letter of dismissal already sent) to realise my emigration plans. Der versunkene Schatz, somehow styled like exhibtions of contemporary art, video screens and mirrors, enclosing the sea feeling, like it. Contentual, I don't know, haven't read the texts, just rushed through.

Friday, 25
That one I have to get off my chest:
I think why political refugees are favoured over refugees of economic reasons doesn't derive from a humanistic way of thinking, but out of the calculationg thought that political refugees are more likely to be properly educated, probably not of a poor background and are those of a seemingly honest appearance, whereas those of economic reasons are considered gangsters who have nothing to offer - their reason to come (nothing to offer in terms of and in the mind of the possessing). Because they know in the so-called first world is a huge mountain of money and property around and the closer you are the easier to scale it. Hence their to me logical inducement of traveling (when your land is drained you have to find another place - by the way contrary to the impetus of Europeans in times of conquerers, colonialists and imperialists where the greed to mushroom led to a believe of megalomania) the present nomads, maybe, subconsciously hope to get back that gold and diamonds and culture what was taken from their country and whose ancestors' agony booted only those with a an overexcessive self. People in Europe are afraid that they have to refund, because they are a narrow minded society. Classifying refugees or any group with people of an anology in heritage is a further step in order to stabilise the capitalistic system and keep up classes to distinguish people by their property.

.

Sunday, 20
you, yes YOU, gave me the idea of nutmeg. almost forgot that spice i have never liked that much. i had to throw the fish - they wrote "haltbar bis 21.9.2015"- but the smell was too much. some poor veggies even sucked up the stnk. in my miso soup (i don't know whether Japenese would accept. but rather than minestrone) i suspected some fishy flavour when my thoughts went to you and the soothing nutmeg's soul indulged my senses. tomorrow i am going to buy some...

Saturday, 19
i don't get to do a lot at the moment, been feeling a bit sick since some days. living alone... at least cleared up the fridge a bit, which appeared to be horribly cold: champignons and pleurotus' almost went to seed; rescue operation by frying them in hot olive oil at last minute. half of a canary melon, a week old had to be cut and dipped during the day. some veggies are left and some things not worth mentioning.

Wednesday, 16
To toss and turn between the need of being silent and the longing for talk is a question of the counterpart evoking the one or the other. When you feel someone wants to listen or is interested into a conversation that is a real possibility for talk. However, there were times i just talked, put out my mind regardless if one was following or not. That were difficult times. I just had to articulate something that had been inside me. For my own health. Now is different. I learned to shut my mouth. Still sometimes i talk to appease and get people to trust me. That I am not an enemy or whatever. To reveal my fidelity as a non-challenger where no evil strategies to be find behind.

Saturday, 12
No chance I escape, back to blue.

Susan Sontag
“The art of our time is noisy with appeals for silence. A coquettish, even cheerful nihilism. One recognizes the imperative of silence, but goes on speaking anyway.”

diary > september 15

Paris Paris Wednesday, 30 Susan Sontag 11/28/79 I am mad, quite mad - and perhaps one can write about that. No one has noticed. My prowess in disguising it. I wander about the apartment, slyly rummaging... No place is the right place for my feet. Time is speeded up. I lie down, I get up, I pace, i lie down, I sleep, i get up, and so on. I wonder what made her mad. Tuesday, 29 After that nightmare something beautiful should show up here. And I don't want it to be the immediate entry underneath my pictures. I am tired and the spirits are sleepy. Let me reproduce what is written on my Yogi Tea : Aimer, c'est s'élever soi-même. Monday, 28 I should have known: chocolate and beer is not an optimum combination. As a matter of fact had a nightmare taking place in the underworld squired by a moralising voice that judged everything either as right or wrong - no explanation given. Crowds appeared to be queuing for transport that had come to a halt. One of my artist friends (who died some years ago) passed by driving a vespa carrying huge orange coloured fishbone constructions, like wings, on his back. We walked through several groups of chatting people, youngsters, greeted them and bandied some words on topics that made me feel unloved and isolated, because i didn't understand their connotation. Tall people swank paramilitarily in a defending stance while the waiting crowds were sitting on the floor. After we ended up in an empty restaurant, still dark and closed. Again unloving people dressed in leather emerged from all sides pestering us to join the people on the floor. My friend scraped his leg and I saw something that looked like blood appearing on his hands, but it was an ileostomy at his calf that had opend up and already left some piles on the floor. Sunday, 27 beer and chocolate to get relaxed (from work) ---- My grandma used to say to me: Kleinchen, big cities are beautiful. Small towns (miropolises) are terrible, avoid them. People talk and they survey you always. You won't be doing how you like. Go for metropolises. Saturday, 26 Have met Butch Butch on the fleamarket. Together with his wife, he has made the trip from Basel to Gambia by car. He said crossing the Atlas mountains in Morocco had been dangerous. He told me his wife enjoyed, but never would do it again. All my Gambian friends try to dissuade me from traveling over land. ------------ A new exhibtion at AM, what means more hard (physical) work for me. I've got 20% plus till end of March. Then finished the whole (letter of dismissal already sent) to realise my emigration plans. Der versunkene Schatz, somehow styled like exhibtions of contemporary art, video screens and mirrors, enclosing the sea feeling, like it. Contentual, I don't know, haven't read the texts, just rushed through. Friday, 25 That one I have to get off my chest: I think why political refugees are favoured over refugees of economic reasons doesn't derive from a humanistic way of thinking, but out of the calculationg thought that political refugees are more likely to be properly educated, probably not of a poor background and are those of a seemingly honest appearance, whereas those of economic reasons are considered gangsters who have nothing to offer - their reason to come (nothing to offer in terms of and in the mind of the possessing). Because they know in the so-called first world is a huge mountain of money and property around and the closer you are the easier to scale it. Hence their to me logical inducement of traveling (when your land is drained you have to find another place - by the way contrary to the impetus of Europeans in times of conquerers, colonialists and imperialists where the greed to mushroom led to a believe of megalomania) the present nomads, maybe, subconsciously hope to get back that gold and diamonds and culture what was taken from their country and whose ancestors' agony booted only those with a an overexcessive self. People in Europe are afraid that they have to refund, because they are a narrow minded society. Classifying refugees or any group with people of an anology in heritage is a further step in order to stabilise the capitalistic system and keep up classes to distinguish people by their property. . Sunday, 20 you, yes YOU, gave me the idea of nutmeg. almost forgot that spice i have never liked that much. i had to throw the fish - they wrote "haltbar bis 21.9.2015"- but the smell was too much. some poor veggies even sucked up the stnk. in my miso soup (i don't know whether Japenese would accept. but rather than minestrone) i suspected some fishy flavour when my thoughts went to you and the soothing nutmeg's soul indulged my senses. tomorrow i am going to buy some... Saturday, 19 i don't get to do a lot at the moment, been feeling a bit sick since some days. living alone... at least cleared up the fridge a bit, which appeared to be horribly cold: champignons and pleurotus' almost went to seed; rescue operation by frying them in hot olive oil at last minute. half of a canary melon, a week old had to be cut and dipped during the day. some veggies are left and some things not worth mentioning. Wednesday, 16 To toss and turn between the need of being silent and the longing for talk is a question of the counterpart evoking the one or the other. When you feel someone wants to listen or is interested into a conversation that is a real possibility for talk. However, there were times i just talked, put out my mind regardless if one was following or not. That were difficult times. I just had to articulate something that had been inside me. For my own health. Now is different. I learned to shut my mouth. Still sometimes i talk to appease and get people to trust me. That I am not an enemy or whatever. To reveal my fidelity as a non-challenger where no evil strategies to be find behind. Saturday, 12 No chance I escape, back to blue. Susan Sontag “The art of our time is noisy with appeals for silence. A coquettish, even cheerful nihilism. One recognizes the imperative of silence, but goes on speaking anyway.”