Late again, sorry. Over the weekend I fell in a vegetative state of consciousness, or un-consciousness if you prefer. I felt no inclination to communicate, to read or talk, not even music. I slept a lot, lay around and sometimes looked out of the window enjoying the lightning, the thunder, and most of all, the rush of strong rain that blanked out all other unnatural sounds. For a few moments there was even silence – silence !
Perhaps it was an uncontrolled, sub-conscious preparing for that what was to come, the start of work again. Monday morning I got up, put the working gear on and there I was again. But I was not steeled enough for the raw onslaught of sheer dumbness I encountered when my convalesced co-driver entered the cabin, sparkling from racist bigotry, half “understood” news & bloated egoism, and started the malice litany of her mishaps (of course all caused by other, jealous people), things that are wrong (basically everything), and disgusting details of her illness (baaarf !).
After some time I simply switched my brain off and decided that the jabber is just background noise, nothing else.
Read a book in those days without work ? ” – ? [gawping]” Heard some interesting music ? “Volxmusik.” – Of the humpta genre, no doubt. Did something interesting ? “Nöö, kein’ Bock …” In the end she yelled at the neighbourhood kids, pestered family members & took offense. This person is brain-dead.
And (of course ?) “interested” in soccer. And not in the game as a game, but only when “we” do play. “‘We’ ?” “Doitschland !” Not homo ludens (Ger., Eng.) but pure nationalism.
So she brought a package of tinnef (best translated as rubbish trash) containing a plastic flag of Doitschland, to clip into the car window, and two guirlandes, perhaps to strangle someone with. I stood in awe when she clipped that crap into the upper edge of her window, which in turn can not be opened anymore, because the holy flag would then fall off. This is pure humiliation. It’s the epitome of Proll, I am not sure how to translate this. Accidentally the shit fell off when I had to evade being rammed by a bus and hence had to swerve into the greenery, a compassionate branch … Let’s see how much she’s ready to spent on this.
Enough of the driver’s burden.
Last evening I was looking for a Sunday Music and stumbled upon takes of a blues singer called “Jazz” GILLUM (Ger., Eng.). Nothing special, at first hear. Mr GILLUM plays harmonica and is accompanied, among others, by Lee Conley BRADLEY (know as Big Bill Broonzy (Ger., Eng.) ; he needs no victrola, March 14th 1938).
AND a very young man on the electric guitar, called BARNES : Yes – the George BARNES (Ger., Eng.), sixteen years old ; still in the cage of the traditional blues form, but ready to jump. Together they make a little bit of history.
Hope you enjoy the music played 78 years ago. And may your co-driver be a reasonable, person, or – at least – stumm.