fragments
hammered into the sky outside, inside I'm sitting on your netbook and write the epilogue of my book. Afterword ... as that sounds. After a farewell speech and grave, but also for non-going-to-let on the other. And yet, an incredible feeling. Done. Done. Completed! And even more: that the whole thing goes to press, is as good as certain. Publisher Edition, ISBN and reviews included. And this is strange at the first attempt. This was almost too easy. Others send manuscripts around for years and then end up at worst, a Books-on-demand service. I call my name and my band, two very different texts will ship and already I am in negotiation and a seemingly intelligent man suddenly wants to invest money in me. Either I've just incredible pig or I'm not yet aware of my options right.
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's pale light as dust falls from the top
dances interwoven in the beam
gray walls do not ask for time
Pale cloth, the breath is regend
bleaching spun gently moving threateningly
form and enclose puffed far
suspects include the eye, the lines
beads gently caress the edge
My hand took the cloth and pulls the strings here
angels take the souls there
vicious grind
wooden carved Fortune can be seen
is Leipzig's arsenal, as the name would suggest actually, not a former medieval weapons cache, but exactly what it says literally: A house full of stuff. Three industrial-storey old building full of junk and antique furniture. Mazes carved out of dark closets and dusty mirrors. Bizarre chair sculptures up to the ceiling, heavy iron stoves and old pianos, the keys to hand barely able to resist. Another room is full of old medical instruments. Long out of medical fashioned scalpels, swabs, flashing in the display cases, stuffed animals and pickled organs in formalin turn yellow in the scant sunlight, a (real) human skeleton hanging limply on cast iron stand and hang from the ceiling old prosthetic legs. Rooms above rooms full of this old stuff
It's perfect!
The windows had to be something left behind, we need headlights with filter masks, a fog machine and of course a good camera. This is great ....
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diving under difficult conditions. The lake is cold (my computer says 12 degrees) and I wear a wet suit. The visibility is no meter and I have trouble to see my guide. In the green-brown flat water we bob up there, I consider myself close to the yellow stripes mark his scuba tank. After 12 minutes, the planned exercise buoys in deeper water. In almost 0 visibility in 7 meters depth I fummle the buoy out of the bag, detach the cord and drop the plumb line. The cord unwinds and I unrolling of the red plastic Schlauchboje. As I look forward again, I can hardly see his face, so sadly it is. Slowly, my partner back in the darkness will disappear, as if he'd sucked on a flow of it. I can not follow him, as I said in my previous unfurled the mooring line and we lose ourselves. A gross error in turn, dive, because he will actually take care of myself. I am doing the only thing that remains for me to grab, after my second controller and fill the hollow body of the buoy Air. Brav it shoots up, the line whizzes through my neoprene gloves. Since I do not want to have to roll up the lead weight on the surface, I pull myself blind on a leash down. Only the water is blood red from mud, then black. My computer whose luminous numbers are only read if I keep the console in front of the mask, nasty show at 8 degrees and I quickly rummage the lead weight out of the mud, I can not see. Once at the top of the buoy my guide is waiting for me at least. Who has something for which the Red Sea is a walk ...
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"In lighter color represents the forest" is a beautiful song so that it also the acoustics of the Finals can not mess up. Moreover, it is my personal song of spring, because lights are usually color not only forests. M. dances next to me, we are looking at us and think the same. "I live!" I cry to her. Laughing, we embrace between the dancers.
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