Twelve blue delivery trucks.

They were lined up neatly,
twelve blue delivery trucks.
Filled with human cargo.
Men, women, wearing uniforms.

It was surprisingly cold that day,
particularly after this hot month of May.
The pouring rain was working it’s way,
into the pale skin of these men and women.

Self-assured lips, halting faces,
beneath far too large helmets.
As they stood in front of the blue trucks,
silence, only raindrops and random coughing.
The game would commence in three hours.

I found the dog.

There were unforgettable regrets,
torturing moments of hatred.
Not sure if anything else was there.
But there is no need to care.

The uncontrollable grief,
Eaten by a big mouth of relief.
Relief of hanging up,
clean laundry in a manner,
that made her throw up.

Frauen mit Geschmack I.

Ein Regenguss fegte an diesem Tag über das friedliche Zehendermätteli in der Aareschlaufe. Die schwüle Hitze wich einem frischen Windchen. Nadine Stirnimann präsentierte zum Hochzeitstag eine blumenbestickte Jacke aus der Chinesischen Sonderzone Shanghai von MA. Darunter ein knielanges, unschuldig weisses Kleid vom fruchtigen Mango. Abgerundet wurde der elegante Auftritt mit offenen Sandalen von einem unbekannten Designer aus Bangkok und einem strahlenden Lächeln aus Eigenbau. Die Trauzeugin freut sich auch.

Bubble gums.

They are the virgins of the night. Wearing bracelets of gold and paying checks with double-headed coins. Light-headed and thin-bodied. Occupuying early barstools and smiling thighs. Trees like lungs. Glitzy leafs reflecting the spotlight. Spinning into dizziness. Reddish eyes are closing and brains fade away. Not used to pursuing. Projecting confidence and crying under the eyelids. Constantly fighting the many legs of the spiders. But despite that zoo, they continue to exchange bubble gums.

Good stuff.

Ein langer Tag am See, an den Seen. Seeländer Wasser im Mai kann ziemlich kalt sein. Aber glücklicherweise gibt es Heizungen und wärmende Badetücher auf den Motorbooten. Leider schmeissen kiffende Banker das schöne Badetuch in den See, fast wie damals in der Höhle, mit dem Dreck. Pattern.

Am Abend betreiben Schuppen-Boys Kannibalismus und essen Artgenossen. Pochiert, frittiert, gebraten.

Und viel später, am Fluss, verpasst jemand hohe Schuhe. Wenigstens nicht äffig. Aber halt doch.

I love EBITDA.

Sure, we know, "live now". Who doesn't? Carpe diem until you vomit. Everything else is fanatic and probably wrong. Sure, sure, sure.

But it ain't easy. There are things to do: watering the plants, buying food, laundry, coffee in the city, read the paper (even if they are dying), plan the next week, read that report, report to the boss, boss your employees, clean the fridge, EBITDA, drink less, clean that spot on the floor, buy food, go to the dentist, pretend, exit, swim, skim, shim. Sure, we know, live now.

Something big.

Sometimes you are sitting in the middle of something big. Blackberries ringing constantly. Late night eMails. Disbelieve that this is happening. Angry, annoyed. You would like to share your thoughts, hear other opinions, but the door is closed. You can't talk to anybody, because it is a secret. Not a sweet little secret, one you giggle about. No, a big, fat bomblike secret. No escape, the fuse already burning. The profiteers already smiling and counting. Nothing you can do... nothing.

Schreibkunst.

Trotz der liquiden Besäufnisse ist Herr Häberli offensichtlich der Schreibkunst mächtig. Herr Yapi übrigens auch. Das freut uns sehr.

Die Mutter aller Würste.

Die direkte Konfrontation zwischen der OLMA-Bratwurst und der allseits beliebten YB-Wurst endete mit einem fairen Unentschieden. Die YB-Wurst konnte in der ersten Halbzeit dank einem überlegenenen Mittelfeldspiel einen markanten Vorsprung herausspielen. Das Fett tropfte munter in die Ritzen des Home-Grills. Die OLMA-Bratwurst dümpelte weiss und lustlos vor sich hin. Die schwarzen Streifen symbolisierten eher die Harmlosigkeit der Kalbsbratwurst. In der zweiten Halbzeit kam es zu einer Konsolidierung. Die OLMA-Bratwurst überzeugte mit einem munteren Kombinationsspiel. Aber die beiden Würste, teilweise mit Senf, neutralisierten sich gegenseitig. Ein Genuss der hohen Metzgerkunst.

Urge.

Never considered it to be a necessity.
How could we know?
Feel the urge. Care.
We live well without it.
Never want to leave.
Why should we? Everything is in place.
Leastwise all we know.
All we need to live a good life.
What we adored, whorshipped.
There was no need to fly,
to swim through the greenish water,
to pretend being someone else.

We never reasoned.

So we remained.

Early sun.

The room was entirly dark and musty. She walked slowly, afraid of stumbeling over the matters on the floor. Her hands reached the handels of the old window first. She opened it and then pushed down the bracket of the wooden boards. The brackets clambed for a second, but then she managed to open them with a brisk sound. Quickly the clean air and the early sun entered the room. She remained by the window, breathing in the fresh air. For a while she forgot, that behind her, a room full of memories had to be cleaned up. For the last years she had adjourned this necessity many times. But not know, she was ready to get down on her knees, forget those kisses and chuck away the old furniture.