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theatre companylala lunascraic in a rockMYTHS REVAMPED

Posted: January 20, 2015 in Uncategorized


Posted: December 19, 2014 in Poems
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Frieden auf Erden wünsch ich mir
Wenn das neue Jahr anfängt
Außerdem bin ich dafür
Daß die Bahn die Preise senkt
Brot statt Böller, ist doch klar
Doch da wär’ noch zu verkünden
Wir werden jetzt ab diesem Jahr
Böller anstatt Bomben zünden
Behoben würde jeder Zwang
Verboten würde jede Kette
Urbi et Orbi spräche dann
Vom Vatikan die Suffragette

The Church Thing: C of E

Posted: November 30, 2014 in Stories

Sermon started at 10.30. I arrived a little late, but was allowed in by a well-dressed wrinkly white-haired gentleman. I chose to sit in the second last row next to a man who occupied a lot of space of the church bench. As I sat, I humbly looked down and reflected that the skirt I was wearing was of blasphemous length. But then I remembered that I was in the Church of England, and I was sure that I was going to be OK.

The old ladies around me looked back and greeted me with great interest. We sung a song. The words were projected on a canvas at pulpit height, so I was unable to read it, because of my short sightedness. I had been looking forward to the singing. A kiddie rock band that was stashed away in the corner accompanied the community. It was a catchy song, filled with syncopation and pretty metaphors. People were swaying, and some clapped their hands. I began to feel uneasy.

The priest asked if anyone wanted an early Christmas present. Subsequently about ten children came running to the front. However, the dastardly priest would only give it to one child, and he did not pick one, to relief the others from their fear of disadvantage. Instead, they huddled around the priest like a pack of dogs that is teased by a tiny rasher of bacon. This terrible situation was drawn out for at least ten minutes, in which the aged folk in the church laughed at the children and the priest’s patronizing remarks. ‘Well, you just have to wait’ said the priest in the end, ‘and do you know why that is?’ One clever child answered, and saved her pals from further humiliation: ‘Because it isn’t Christmas yet’.

The kids toddled off – only to experience another letdown, which was, that the present (one of those ‘extraordinary amusing’ ugly Christmas jumpers from Primark) was given to the sacristan, who, according to the priest, ‘at least deserved it’. The children were taken advantage of a few more times, before they were allowed to escape to nativity play practice.

A seemingly random woman presented the sermon, and I was pondering on whether the priest’s duties solely encompassed the patronizing and ridiculing of defenceless children. It was hard to grasp what the argument was about, but in the end the aim of the sermon became quite clear: Read 66 chapters of Isaiah, he’s great.

After another song in which I could not partake, we were to express some human warmness to the people around us. I know this handshaking ritual to be done with up to three people that are immediately around one, but here everybody got up and scurried around to shake each and everybody’s hand, whispering: ‘Peace be with you’. My hands were sweating, and my face burning. In the crowd I saw an old acquaintance, a thief and piss-head, and I was happy and at the same time embarrassed to meet him here. I gave him a hug. I thought it was ironic that the biggest sinner I know goes to church, yet it was conclusive; and maybe this phenomenon portraits the most exciting paradox of the establishment.

We prayed for the queen and for people in the authorities. We prayed for soldiers. The lukewarm feeling of casual lightness I had had throughout was shattered. I felt betrayed. I did not like the ‘we’. I did not take part in the Holy Communion, because I was not in the mood to receive a blessing.

The two old ladies in front of me and the man next to me kept me in an inescapable triangle and asked questions and told stories and wanted to know if they will see me again next week. I saw my only chance to escape by telling a lie.

Homecoming Queen

Posted: November 28, 2014 in Poems

Die luftige Fisch tut mir so gut.
Mein Alkohol ist voller Blut.
Das katzenhafte Bordsteinlein
Schmiegt sich im Slalom an mein Bein.
Jetzt tür ich meine Schließe auf
Und silb’re an dem Dreheknauf.
Der Kopf ist schwer wie tiefer Schnee –
Klar, dass ich da nie Mäuse seh.
Oder fraß sie gar die Bordsteinkatze?
Sink ich noch denkend auf Matratze.
Ich gotte Dank dass es gelang
Den Abend glimpflich hab verbrang.
Ich lache die Gehöre wieder
und äuge meine Schließelider.