Mart-deBlog

"Essay deadline, Saturday at noon." It is Friday night and my maturity boots are waiting impatiently to enter the Magnet club. Ingmar (my cousin) leans against me and I trip past the bouncers. I am inside. A girl with wolfs' ears chases a guy with a red hood and a girl with red rubber bands in her hair stairs at my pants. They are my bad-taste pants. A German rockets at me but then jumps into Ingmar, it is his roommate. I walk to the wardrobe with my arm scraping the red brick wall. The floor is also red and liquidish. A tiger's tail whips my knees and a pair of red stockings pass by me. The bass takes me on trip and time is forgotten. The German roommate pulls me up, and screams some German at me. I nod and get a spliff in my hands. While I am guided to the courtyard I take a puff and the world starts spinning. That fucking dizziness again. My legs trip over other legs and my right shoulder does not leave the walls. The rough bricks are my only guide. I straighten my neck and see only colors. Everyone is gone, away in the blur. I lost it. A faint focusing of "toilette" draws my attention and in slow-motion my old leather boots carry me. With a sigh I sink onto my knees and stick my fingers in my throat. I do not feel anything, only the lumps that pass my swollen tongue. With my head against the spray-painted wall, I close my eyes... But the darkness makes the world spin away so I force my eyelids open. And I focus. I focus on a little mushroom drawn beneath the handle of the toilet-door. I raise myself slowly and smirk, remembering the 8 hrs of nonstop writing on heroism in the Iliad. It seemed so far away now. Straightening my shoulders and fixing my eyesight on the narrow point that was clear enough to recognize things, I open the door. A bunny stood right in front of me. She pointed the way. Screaming pinks flicker at me. A continuous stream of make-up masques. Waves of heads in front of me. With my arms I part the mass of neck-ties and upright collars, exploding yellows and starry skirts. Like a cowboy I calculate every step. My boots never forsake me.

Then I am on my black bike again, zigzagging I passed the half-empty bottle of wodka that I had left there in Knaackstrasse. I kicked it over and captured Troje.