Nice topic. Anyway. I wrote one of those before in the morning. Anyway. What happens to deleted stuff? Do you think it all moves to a parallel universe – there all the brilliant and lost thoughts have been catched, collected and realized. The things we loose make them happy. I hope so.

Otherwise loosing would be to sad. And a pitty.

Today I totally don’t feel like writing at all.

So just a one question: Where has purity gone?

Anyone who knows, please send answer to:

Hans Zkar
Berth 76432
U.S.S. Roosevelt
Atlantic Sea (currently)

Even good Saint Antonius has no clue, I just met him the other day on board. He just smiled and turned away. Ups different song. But that ones lyrics, oh man.

Posted in Uncategorized ]]> http://zkar.wordpress.com/2009/11/01/what-happened-to-my-draft/feed/ 2 zkar http://zkar.wordpress.com/2009/10/18/about-the-fragility-of-luck/ http://zkar.wordpress.com/2009/10/18/about-the-fragility-of-luck/#comments Sun, 18 Oct 2009 19:14:02 +0000 zkar http://zkar.wordpress.com/?p=165 ]]>

Hm, I really can’t tell. I went to a different planet this week. Sorry I forgot the name. The world there, as stupid as it might seem, was at one. I myself was the total moment of the surf, the zero, in the middle of myself, the center of universe. Everything I did, made sense. My actions, intended or unintended, lead into a direction. Had to be as they were.

I felt in this big bubble. Walking down streets became showbusiness. Being at my place became the adventure for a lifetime. Small negligibilities grew matter. Hm, hard to describe. Imagine a big glassy blue wave of happiness.  Myself in the center of it, I managed to do the surf, and took everybody I met with me, at least for a little second. My plans and ideas became true immediately.

Wednesday, a stupid Wednesday. 24 hours of stupid o’clock. The wave broke down. I didn’t bring it myself. It was like somebody (I know the somebodies, they are really close to me) threw a huge pieces of detergent into the wave.  I felt like a water strider. The surface tension went away, I was sucked into the wave which turned out as a nightmare. Fate changed, like a flipped coin. Nothing but myself had changed, but this means everything changes. The relations and moments that brought me pure contentedness seemed somewhat unsatisfying and wrong.

The question is how to avoid this. Well I suppose, in a way this is impossible. And if you would be on a wave your whole live, would you even recognize that you’re surfing? On the other hand, these days were so sweet, man. I want to get them back. Can expulsion help if solution is not possible? I hope so. Stupid anyway.

Oh dear, but enough of this, but what I did this week was listening to absolutely superspecial music. The climax was reached on Saturday: Soul and beats can change the world. So check out this for one hour of sweet smiling vibration and soft head banging.

To think of lyrics might be hard. A song I liked these days was this one, by uncle Jan, whom I missed, damn:

Glaub mir es gibt fast nix was ich besser finde als
Milch und Honig und Schmetterlinge
Und auch wenn ihr mich jetzt n Weichei nennt
Ich lieb es wenn der Himmel voller Streicher hängt
und komm mir nicht mit Kehrseiten von Medallien
Denn alles ist frisch und duftet wie Pinienwälder
doch dann irgendwann tappst du in die Minenfelder
Und dann macht es Bam
und es macht Bam
Und du denkst “Oh Mann so n Scheiß verdammt”
Und du sagst wieso muss denn immer alles so anstrengend sein

Und egal wie schön du bist,
wie schön es mit dir ist
Ey, was hab ich davon
Mann ständig bin ich gepisst
Ich sag: Wieso muss denn immer alles so anstrengend sein

Und die Tür knallt zu
Okay so was werd ich nie mehr sagen, nein
Und ich hab meine Ruh’
Aber die wollt’ ich gar nicht haben, nein
Wär lieber hier mit dir
In trauter Zweisamkeit denn wieso muss denn heute so’n verdammter Scheißtag sein
Ey wieso kann denn nich einfach mal alles einfach sein

Nein es macht Bam und es macht Bam
Und du sagst Au Mann so n Scheiß verdammt
du sagst: Wieso, muss denn immer alles so anstrengend sein

Und egal wie schön du bist,
wie schön es mit dir ist
Mann, was hab ich davon,
wenns mich von inn’ zerfrisst
Ich sag: Wieso muss denn immer alles so anstrengend sein.

But, since that one is in German, there is this one that I totally fancied, but that doesn’t have real lyrics: so that’s a compromise, german lyrics and french melody. And, folks, really please check out the link, currently I’m listenig to it for the third time.

Posted in fragility, Luck ]]> http://zkar.wordpress.com/2009/10/18/about-the-fragility-of-luck/feed/ 1 zkar http://zkar.wordpress.com/2009/10/11/personal-reminders/ http://zkar.wordpress.com/2009/10/11/personal-reminders/#comments Sun, 11 Oct 2009 22:11:58 +0000 zkar http://zkar.wordpress.com/?p=162 ]]>

Just one thing, not to let this consequent sunday trend happen:

First: Walk into a forest these days. Today I went there, only for 10 minutes, involved into an conversation, and got a stroke due to the beauty of the moment. Almost. Personal reminder: Diane, that’s one of the pictures I wanna see right before I die, in the “Life of Zkar”-Trailer.

Second: Also personal reminder: I should make this tiny little treasure box of secret, funny, moving pieces out of my life. I’m going to keep them in a mental box. That box will be opened in weird moments – when I’m in a fight with somebody or if ever again my lunch box gets stolen guy from the senior class. No more sitting and muttering, reminding and smiling will be expected.

A song, a song, a song – no idea what would fit.

Maybe this is somewhat of an recurrent theme. But I guess an important one.

Yesterday, I had one of the most beautiful evenings this year. But the auguries for this evening were horrible. I was invited to a friends flat to play boardgames. (Settlers by the way, hail to great Klaus Teuber) The flat of a girl and a boy. The deficit: they are a couple.

Dou you know those evenings you spend with old friends who bring their partner. The moments when they call each others unstandable pet names. Or when the want your opinion about an weird thing they argue about. Like lynching somebody who drinks milk right from the pack. Tiny little twinges, that sum up. In the end, you look like an somebody who walked through a spiritual swamp. Horrible evenings. Even worse: double dates. (Sorry for this negative paragraph)

I did not expect something like described above: Since I deeply respect the ponytailed friend who invited me. But quite the opposite happened. It was marvellous, outstanding, superspecial. Not one twinge, maybe one ore two ironic hints who were in fact charming and magic. We had fun, talked, listened to music and ourself, “damn good food” and moments of intimate silce. There was something in the air, that I saw just once before in my life.  Real respect, but no greed or jealousy. I couldn’t sense any mistrust. I was tired. But I didn’t want to leave this shelter.

Therefore,  let good uncle Bob sing:

‘Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I’ll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death and men who are fighting to be warm
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved Nothing up to that point had even been resolved
Try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes an’ blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile ravaged in the corn.
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin’ there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully, and took my crown of thorns
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

Now the bonds are broken, but they can be re-tied
One more journey to the woods, the holes where spirits hide,
It’s a never-ending battle, for a piece that’s always torn,
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

Well the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it’s doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a feudal horn
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

I’ve heard newborn babies cry like a mournin’ dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love
Do I understand your question, man, “Is it hopeless and forlorn?”
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

Now there’s a wall between us, something there’s been lost
I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed
Just to think it all began on an uneventful morn,
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an’ she gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

Well, I’m livin’ in a foreign country but I’m bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.”

Well after all summer took longer than I expected, and gave me more than I hoped for. It was like one of those summers that you spent with 16.

You spent the last days in school, see your mates, who at the time are more brothers or sisters. Two months after you come back and there they are again. Old faces, with nice tans white teeth and new clothes. Some of them might have changed their haircut, some of them girlfriends. But the real changes were the ones deep inside.

Often I felt sorry for myself. At least a bit. When I recognized, that after all progressed like spaceship travelling with lightspeed, while I took a ride on my bike through the outer world.

I judged friends. On autumn parties – which are by the way the best parties of the year, since there is so much to tell – the “What did you do in summer?” question was my not very elaborated tool of categorizing.  The more I wanted to change, the more I did in summer.  Of three months, I spent two-and-a-half  abroad. Searching conversations, new experiences.

This year I wondered: nothing, not the slightest voice in me wished for travelling. When I listened to my inner choir, consisting of hundred different voices, not one asked me to travel. Not one asked to run away. Even Mrs. Wanderlust was silent, seemed to sleep for a while. The literal translation of wanderlust from German would be “Desire for distance”, I know this sounds ugly. Maybe Mrs. Wanderlust longed for a summer at home, since it happened to be the most distant thing for me.

And listening to this inner desire, I got more than I could wish for. I understood my family, like I never did before. Wishes and fears. I found out that the lack of friends at home existed just in my mind. They were one phonecall, one night away.  One remains: The mystery of women from the countryside that I descend from is still gargantuan. A mystery that never will be solved, what enables bumblebees to fly?

And the weird thing happened. By staying home, by finding out about myself at the place that created large parts of me, I understood, partly. I understood until inanition. Frightening, bewildering, and depleting things. Sometimes beautiful, incredibly silent and pure. Now I’m tired like the hands of an old man. But also I’m back to rest.

I really don’t know which song to pick. Summer was five million songs.  So there we go, for a nice try:

So there we are. Almost two months and half a summer later.

I really chilled, I really relaxed. Leaving Graz behing became somewhat of one large holiday. Everything I do here seems more deliberate, more independently chosen. I don’t know how come. But anyway it has always has been fun.

So let’s choose a topic for todays post: “The loss of principles when coming old”

This seems maybe to be a boring, serious topic, not made for the summer but hej, this is so untrue. Summer is the time when principles come to fall and new ones start to rise.

Very often your self chosen principles and rules of life keep you away from great fun. When I was 16 years old, I was buried in principles – what to do or not to do. I had a huge book in my brain, a book I wrote myself. Maybe this is one of the highly valuable ideas of youth. That you see the world  your way. Do things your way, neither time or other people can stop you. That you decide how the world should be and that you try to realize your ideas. When growing older, the adaptations to reality force start to change yourself.

One the one hand the loss of these principles is a large shame – as well as a natural process. Some of your ideas turn out to be wrong and childish – you change them. Some of them are right, proud and altruisitic. But you break them: you break them, not because of reality, just of your own weakness and wish for conformity. Because they are to hard to keep.  This summer I recalibrated my principles. I wrote a new book. Erased those that I regarded to be wrong, reastiblished old, forgotten, but good ones. And created some new ones. This was an intense process. This made me – after the contemplations about arrogance a better person – I hope so at least.

Summer is the only time when you can do this. I don’t know why. Maybe you’re more free than before – less things to do. Less contacts to keep.

About my list:

I got the longboard and love it.

I finished Barack – but Adam got me.

I do quite ok at my internship.

I almoust wrote all papers – there is one more to rock.

No motorcycle licenses in Salzburg – too expensive, have to do it in G-town.

Decided what to do after: or arrange the ideas.

And: Have no clue about how to develop pictures. This keeps me going. Anyone with a cheap Enlarger out there?

P.S. Funny fact – I get interested in photography, while Annie Leibowitz goes bankrupt. Good timing.

This weeks picture: I personally regard him as the coolest man on the planet, his gestures, his calmness and self confidence – but he is for sure the fastest. How does it feel like no human on this earth is faster than you? Let’s walk one mile in his orange sneakers.

Usain Bolt, seconds before the start:

“I’m ready. Are you ready? Let’s go’ “

Ok, I did so much stuff this week. I met a bunch of persons, had amazing conversations, so therefore I will present something like a best of, which should express a mix of summer vibes and represent the time I’m having.

I also decided to write more often: How come? Since there is enough to write about.

One of my favourite guys this week was the supercool guy on the end of the phonethingi. I called in Switzerland, a intern with a superfunny accent picked up the phone: “Indian Skateboards. Gruezi” which is only funny if you’re able to speak german. I imagine him perfectly relaxed. Doing his summerjob, making skateboard on his own, always with a fine spliff in his mouth and nice music coming out from boxes above his had. There are guys cutting the wood, some pressing it together others giving it the fancy high edged design. They are like christmas elves, with sharp ears, funny shoes, baggypants and emerica-shirts. Working in the little factory somewhere on a mountain top in Switzerland producing stuff to make people happy.

On Saturday I was on a party where I praised the longboard, told the story, I suppose I must have been annoying. But people smiled, and I almoust have a gang to ride towns and hills. There also I was bedraggled by people, so there will be the thoughtfull part of this weeks story:

What is it you call home? The people there are closer to you than everybody else, in the same moment the seem neglecting your personality and individuality and not at all understanding who you really are. But to great measures, it’s your own fault. You hide yourself behind the mask that you built when you were a child. Either you’re not willing or not able to take it off. If you think you’re great in what you’re doing (to cite Naruto who said: “This is happens to you when you’re skillfull: you get arrogant and lonely) just get home as fast as you can. Speak to the person who knew you when you were a babyboy who peed in his panties or a teenager with the crush on the superpretty girl, but busy to fight his acne and his doubts about himself, you just can’t be arrogant anymore. You’re then one who you were when you left. This might be cool, this might be horrible. But at least it tells you who you are.

Please imagine badass people, real stars, at home in a family people. It makes you first smile about them, and finally about yourself and your family. Have fun doing it.

“This is what happens to you if you’re skillfull: you get arrogant and lonely”

(But never ever at home: except you’ve never left it for a long time)

Finally the funny months started. The months when you’re project and all the rubbish that are loaded into your brain all over the year can be realized. Ok, ok. I know that I’m the one who keeps preaching: “Realize your ideas, do it. NOW!” But to be honest sometimes it’s superhard.

But not these months. I have moved away from Geetown. I live where I once lived. Between the foxes and lions (check the Macchiavelli quote), I read books and try to realize some ideas. As a promise, as a plan for these holidays some of them shall be announced here – I have three months time to realize them. From time to time I’m going to report on the progress.

1 ) Decide what to do in second term next year/after next year.

2 ) Get a longboard and become a fairly good rider

3 )Do this journalist tasks I found online:
http://www.10000words.net/2009/06/journalism-grads-30-things-you-should.html

4 ) Develop some OWN pictures.

5 ) Get outside as much as possible

6 ) Read: “The wealth of Nations”, “Dreams from my father” and, yeah, “Erec”

7 ) Get my stupid motorcycle driving license

8 ) Be/become an good intern.

9 ) Write and rock outstanding papers.

I think this is enough – any suggestions are welcome. And please visit me in the burrow. We can talk and ride our longboards.

Holidays are nice
Holidays are fun
Holidays are wonderful
If youre the one
Thats leaving on an airplane
Sitting on a train
or just wasting time
Watching the clouds take shape

And God I wish that I was running
Somewhere with you today

Everythings lovely
Yeah everythings fine
I’ve got more than I need most of the time
But still something seems missing
Like theres a crack inside
If we could just get away
And leave what divides us behind

AND ONE FOR THE BURROW:

Au! Der Magen knurrt wie Sau
Ich hau ab aus meinem Bau
verschließ die Tür,
ziehe durchs Revier
markier’ hier und da mal, dass ich da war
höre Gelaber,
schleiche gerade über die Promenade
bin Zeuge einer großen Maskerade
Große Buchstaben, grelle Farben, die mir sagen, dass sie Kabelfernsehen haben
Gestiken von Gerngesehenden, aber jeder Fuchs weiß,
dass ähnliche Garderobe heute leider nicht mehr Schutz heißt
Deshalb schnupper ich, was befindet sich da
drunter
immer auf der Hut wie Udo darunter!

Jede Nacht, jeden Tag auf der Jagd, denn das Rudel tollt, wenn der
Rubel rollt!

Eine Pfote am Mikro, eine auf den Tasten
ein Auge auf’s Geschäft, eines im Plattenkasten
Ein Ohr für’s Rudel, eins für den Gegner
ein Tanzbein und ein Arschtreter.
Ein Fuchs muss tun, was ein Fuchs tun muss, Luxus und Ruhm und
rulen bis zu Schluss.

The last two days I was around with people I can’t really stand. Some of them. In an advertisment for the University of Iceland I once read: Talk sense or be silent. Well silence was a word that didn’t exist in the tiny universe of these guys.

So I became silent as an upcoming storm.

I spent the whole day together with these people. In a lunchbreak  – it was outside, raining in a mountaineous forest – I took my seat a little bit distant from the group. Not to look for isolation (o.k., maybe a tiny bit – I do this more and more recently, hm…) but for a dry spot and some calm moments. So I sat down in that little cave, very moisterous, from where I could watch the whole group.

And after a few moments of silence, since the cave was somehow isolated from any sound – magic cave, wow, i thought – everything changed. The faces of my disliked  companions turned into beauty. When minutes ago there was just the wish in me to scream all their hypocrisy and narrowness at them, now sympathy awaked. I saw smiling faces, bodies shaking in laughter, people sharing food in empathy and growing bonds. This made the day easy.

Well, me, I’m lying here, with nothing in my ears
Me, I’m lying here, with nothing in my ears
Me, I’m lying here, for what seems years
I’m just lying on my bed with nothing in my head

First: I’m sorry. It’s really late, and I’ll not have the time to read through this again.  There will be many mistakes (as so often) I hope, my dear reader, this wont stop you understanding.

Recently my life starts to move upside down. The responsibility post was a first signe. There are more.

Number 1) In my head now: Love and attachment: This is a hard topic. Let’s  approach the question Yoda-style (O.K. – This is nerdy) the chain of arguments is as follows:

Love leads to attachment, attachment leads to fear, fear leads to anger, and anger leads to hate.

Does anyone agree? Disagree? I like the line. Right now, I keep on trying my old style: loving and not attaching. This is somehow not working. I don’t want to be jealous, fearfull or angry. How can you solve this? Almoust impossible. Next week more on this – the second thing is much better

Number 2) I thougt about passion. Passion is not loud.

It’s supersilent and in the beginning of an idea it’s nothing but the whisper, which, if spoken out to loudly flies aways- Passion is following your ideas and maybe values (what an horrible word). Following until the end, and sacrificing anything for them – even yourself. Everybody who believes passion is represented by salsa-dancing guys with white opened shirts or in a shouting and screaming fight with your boy/girlfriend, is – sorry to say – wrong.  Shouting and screaming can be an expression of passion, of course, but they are not passionate itself.  Passion is silence: a guy that is doing his job with intimate love for the detail, quietly but stubbornly. Passion is the guy who works to make his living and cuts sleeps to get to his hobby. The girl who follows her ideas even if her family and all her friends hate her for doing so.

Austria is not a passionate country – but not because people don’t scream or show there emotions.

Austria is not a passionate country,  because people don’t follow their ideas to the end. And before they even try, they fall in compassion for themselves.  Statistics say: “This wont work” was the most used phrase in this country from 1938 until today.  People see stones on the way  or cliffy passages as problems, never as chances.  They are afraid to loose the tiny nothing in their hands for a new experience.

For the lyric lovers: Lyrics about passion – to be honest – listening to the song is much better – and they don’t really fit the text.

In diesem Freibad, das sie Leben nennen
Lernt man als Bademeister praktisch jeden kennen
Bevorzugte Stile sind Brust oder Kraul
Doch auch dafür sind viele zu lustlos und faul
Machen die Boje, lassen sich treiben
Würden bis sie schrumplig sind im Nassen drin bleiben
Ich hol’ sie gern raus, doch kann das nicht entscheiden
Außerdem kommt noch dazu kann ich Wasser nicht leiden
Und sollt’ ich doch einmal ins Becken springen
Dann nur, um dich aus dem Schlamassel wegzubringen
Ich hab’ unterm rechten Arm ‘n Rettungsring
Und mit dem linken mach’ ich einen auf Schmetterling
Egal wie fett es klingt, es ist ‘ne starke Droge
Und davon loszukommen bleibt ‘ne harte Probe
Ich schwimm nicht mehr, check meine Garderobe
Da findest du alles, nur keine Badehose

Ja, ich schwimmte, schwamm und schwomm
Bin endlich angekommen
Hab endlich wieder Land gewonnen
Endlich Nichtschwimmer, schmeiß an den Song

Man könnte meinen ich hätt’s jetzt erst gerade entdeckt, tja
Doch Chlorwasser hat immer schon so fade geschmeckt, tja
Ich sitz auf meinem Turm, hab’ die Lage gecheckt, tja
Und fühl’ mich dabei wohl wie die Made im Speck, tja
Ich sag es direkt: Auch ich hing im Wasser rum
Es klingt unfassbar dumm doch bestimmt ist das der Grund
Dass mir die Sache heute stinkt wie ‘n nasser Hund
Ich bin endlich Nichtschwimmer, tschik-e-tsching derassabumm