Posted: September 17, 2014 in Uncategorized
1 bar cheap white chocolate
2 bars cheap dark chocolate
150 g butter
150 g sugar
a little milk
150 g self-raising flour
handful ground nuts (optional)
Mix 150 g butter and 150 g sugar, add 5 eggs and milk, then a bar of lukewarm melted chocolate. Add 150 g self-raising flour and a few ground nuts if you have some.
Pour in cake dish, bake for 40-50 mins at 170-180 degrees. Perform expressionist dance.
When cool, divide the cake horizontally. Spear apricot jam in between the layers.
Cover with white and dark chocolate.
Posted: September 10, 2014 in Poems
Tags: busking, cat, dog, friend, gig, tobacco
A ton of Schwarzer Krauser hides beneath my bed
Since I returned last month I have not spoken thee
I fear you may have caught some Hepatitis C
Or pig pest, chicken flu, whatever else may spread
Your busking pal Ärrn told me: ‘His mobile’s dead’
And to my urging question, ‘Where the fuck is he?’
He counted up some towns and places by the sea
Which – I admit in shame – I did at once forget
If you are well, I do not worry where you’re at
Listen my friend, without you time is hard to kill
And I protest that I have not met your dog Cat
On Saturday I have a gig I cannot handle
(Short of musicians, put myself upon the bill)
Alas, if you were there you could prevent a scandal
“We, today’s youth, we the new artists, the modern artists of this time think: No!
We consider ourselves to be the antipole to the emotional belly farting of any movement and past eras, culture or else.
If we are the after-wit of history, we demand to be able to wholeheartedly laugh about it.
We don’t count the deaths any longer; we can no longer beat our brains sore with the statistics of horror.
We only react.
We only have a single cultural artistic possibility, the possibility of appraisal.
I would even go so far: we can only be archivists for a lost future.
We consider our feelings, our fears, with a cynical, with a destructive realism.
Yes, this is how I would like to express it.
This radical lack of emotion
Is apparent from these lines: ‘Jolly good, jolly good. Carry on’.
This self-devaluation in the perverse repulsiveness
‘I am your wonder-wall’
Concerns us in our deepest and closest family circle.
We want to make all that clear to the politicians,
Our inner monologue,
Our fears, which we no longer have.
Life is serious enough
For one to take it too seriously.
More fun with demise!
And as for this conceptual art
I will play a song.
I am the useful idiot
(That is not the name of the song,
That is I).
And this song is about bursting borders
That we all wish for.
Namely the spatially, three-dimensional
With a 4th dimension – time – implemented.
The 3 minute egg.
[sings:] Egg egg egg egg eggeggeggegg egg egg […]”
text derived and translated from ‘das 3 minuten ei’ by lorenz lorenz
Es tönte aus einem Kinderwagen
Da fing ich an zu Hinterfragen:
Ist das nicht Tierquälerei?
Als ich dann ein Baby fand
Meldete sich mein Verstand:
Das Kind ist nicht vom Schwarzwald
(Denn das wäre kurios)
Das Kind wird hier am Hafen alt.
Schwarzwaldkinder ‘eulen’ bloß.