Category: mago


Long & boring mid-life-crisis-blah ahead. Better skip it, there’s not even (slightly) interesting music in the links.


Not the best of ideas to crawl through youtube with a line of text in one’s head, like “Why don’t you take a good look at yourself and describe what you see, and Baby do you like it?”
I heard variations of it in my head, but it always was Mr Plant calling at me, and finally I identified it as a line from Led Zeppelin’s Misty Mountain Hop. “There you sit, sitting spare like a book on a shelf rustin’ / Ah, not trying to fight it.”
I looked into a mirror, and tried to describe what I see. It is not flattering. Maybe all this greyish non-colour is just a trick of the lightning ? The thinning hair – there is no real translation for the German word schütter that sadly describes it all too good ; the wrinkles under the nose and around the mouth, hewed in with a dull axe – thankfully glasses hide the bags under the eyes.
No, I do not like it.
“Misty Mountains” – ah ja, Flucht, escape. As if there would be a possibility to hide.
Why not go ? EH ?!

For the first time, since a very long gone & unhappy day, I feel alone. Not lonely – there are people, who are near me and to whom I am allowed to be near, people in whose life I am a part, perhaps even an important one – but a daily phone call is not the same like jump into the elevator, walk into the kitchen, cook a meal, spend an evening, living together.
Over time, over the year, über’s Jahr, I will move too. I do not want to stay alone here. Feeling left behind.
So I check websites for jobs in the area, for rooms to rent, try to imagine an other existence in a different place. Why not live in a village, work in the administration there ? What do I want ? What do I need ? What can I afford ?
All I know is that Led Zeppelin’s music does not help me here. I watched interviews with Jimmie Page, and all I could think is : Gosh, darling, you are old and frail – quit it, please. I then trundled to tapes with Waddy Wachtel, and Keith’s X-Pensive Winos – all old white dudes, who hide their bellies behind long black t-shirts, and play music from yesteryear. In Wachtel’s case at least with some furor that has to be admired.
So what has the tragedy of these men to do with me ?
The Stones, The Who, Gentle Giant, of course Steely Dan, achherrjemineh, all this was the soundtrack of my youth, and I wanted it to stay the soundtrack of my adult years. I stuck with this music, never developed a feeling towards Hip’n Hop, found Grunge laughable, like all what was pushed ever since, after Punk and NDW.
There is so much to discover in music – but I always returned to those noisy idiots from the late sixties to the early seventies, basically white dudes with guitars.

I always was too passive, I always allowed things to happen – what is basically not a bad feature – but I never found the “umpf” to make things happen. And that is not good, especially in the long run. Now I am in “the middle of my life”, what is nonsense – I am in my earl fifties, what means that I have, in the best case, another thirty years to live. I can not repeat what I have done, I can not go on repeating how I met situations in my life : I can not go on and react the usual way !
I have to change something. I can not keep on listening to old Stones records and assume it is going on this way, as it clearly never was – I must change.
A friend’s re-construction of life took a little bit more than two years. It was successful, hard and demanding, but successful. What teaches me (a) that such an enterprise is possible, with the correct amount of preparation, and a little luck of course. And (b) that the whole effort is worth it.
I do not want to end like Keith and other heroes of my youth, who seemingly endlessly repeat what they have started forty or more years ago. I can not stay in this dead-end job for the next – what ?! – twenty years ? I can not stay in this appartement that slowly kills me, until I finally succumb to the dust : At one point, not so far away, it will be down to “Breath” or “Books” – and I am not sure who’ll win.
But I know that I can lose.
And, as the last move showed me, I have not the power anymore, my body becomes weak.

Summa summarum : I have to collect my brains together, check out the area I wish to live in, search for a job there, and get rolling. And I have to get rid of old routines : I’m not Keith …


Sunday Music

In some situations in my life I felt that life in general, our whole earthly existence, yes the whole enterprise “earth”, at least as far as mankind is concerned & involved, may be absurd. Since I read this article I am inclined to accept it as natural.
“Absurd” btw is an interesting word. Georges’ (Ger., Eng.) trusted Handwörterbuch gives as first meaning “gegen das Gefühl verstoßend”, going against the feeling, especially sounding grating, unclean ; “surdus” (-a, -um) means “deaf”, taub. Further it is something without sense, against the ratio, something affronting.
I wanted to use some Fukitol© as antidote, but the outdated link I had stored brought me to this place – what really did not help. The original is nowadays found here.
Sometimes what we call “real life” is unbearable. I do not want to go into details, this would turn my writing into a rant, in all probability in one bursting from self-righteousness and (even worse) Larmoyanz, lachrymose self-pity, something I abhor in others and can not stand in me.
Turning my back to the worldly ugliness will of course not change it, but it will do well to me. There is always The Garden. I will trawl youtube and look for the “100 great paintings” (German NDR produced a similar series), possibly I’ll end up with Russian dash cam videos at Sergei’s.
This Sunday’s Music is Cal’s Bluedo by Carl TJADER (Ger., Eng.) – hope you like the music.
May we all have a peaceful week.



Just For the Record

The last time I said something about boxing here, in April when KLITSCHKO vs JOSHUA took place, I was terribly wrong.
In some hours Messrs MAYWEATHER & McGREGOR will cross their fists. As I understand this will happen on Sunday morning around six o’clock, Franconian Time. I am pretty sure that Floyd will wipe the floor with his opponent. And rightly so. I will sleep deeply and happily, hopefully dreamless, when this will take place.

The only aim of this short and rather pointless entry is to document that I really favourite Mr MAYWEATHER, one of the most complete boxers of our age. Now that the totalisator is closed, let the show begin. I’ll join afterwards.

BTW, tomorrow, and Monday too, will be pretty busy days, so please excuse when “Sunday Music” arrives not until Tuesday, sorry.

Looking At My Omphalos

Morpheus is a cheater. I wonder whether the Ancients knew of a goddess called Insomnia, or whether it is a neologism, an academic word creation, perhaps of the 19th century.
I became very tired and dutifully went to bet to rest my aching bones shortly before 01:00. Friendly sleep embraced me, I can not remember any dreams, as I prefer – and at 02:30 I woke up : This was it.
The air in my room seemed to be thick, the blanket tried to suffocate me, I kicked the garotting entity away. I pulled the curtain aside, grey light greeted me. Cool air outside, but it refused to flood in. So I opened the door to the balcony & laid down again, only to feel the rush of cool air over my aching joints and the first sneeze approaching.
I thought of sheep, but very fast I thought about shooting sheep with a large gun to bits, these animals should not be allowed to roam around freely in one’s head.
Image followed image, one association happily held hand with the next one, pulling it in the roundel dance of an unstoppable swirl. Next time I looked outside the sky was blueish, some birds started to converse over the latest gossip, what a neighbourhood. The first dog of the day felt the need to tell the world that he was still in existence, good for you, doggy ; good doggy ; oh shut up, will ya …
I heard the first jogger stomping over the gravelled path down the hill, maybe he wore a light on a headband. Slowly the first more technical sounds arose, like trucks on the distant autobahn rushing by, a train coming through, the first cars started to leave the village, going to work.
This reminded me of a morning maybe forty years ago. I was still a pupil, the Große Ferien, summer holidays, had started. I lay in my bed and watched sunbeams slowly coming in, I even remember the curtains’ design, and listened to the sounds of the awakening city. Single cars first, workers going through the narrow street to the works, the first bus, early clangs from the train yard, people’s noises in the house, a victorious sun finally coming up, chasing away all the night’s webs. Myself getting up and happily jumping down the stairs, feeling strong, going places. Later touring through the inner city, picking up my mother from work, a coffee and a fag, returning home around midday, all easy and carefree.
I hated to get up early, it always was a problem through school, but I conditioned meself, a mug of brew as reward, later a cup and a fag, and we coughed away over the kitchen table. This table I threw out only recently. My parents bought that thing when we finally all together moved to the city in 1969 ; it stood at the same place until I had to clear that appartement after my father’s death. I ate at it, drunk at it, slept at it, fell under it. Finally this plasticed piece of pressboard ended up on my balcony, until I could see it not any more.
It is not like abandoning a piece of “history”. It had a meaning for some time, was a reminder I did not want to miss, but things should not be overcharged with “meaning”, after all they are – and stay – things. Nevertheless I can not make myself part with the lousy kitchen table of my motherly grandmother, made from cheapest wood, in the thirties. Not yet, at least. If I had to get rid of it, I would like to burn it. I feel that this would be adequate.
I learned to like the early morning since I do this driving job. There is no rush, enough time to settle into things. Walking through the village to my vehicle I meet the regulars, now after two years (two years ! Herrgottsakrament …) one has a little chat, notices when the newspaper-man is a bit late, greets and gets greeted and noticed – a gentle routine. Very different from what I had years earlier when I returned from work in the early morning half dead after a night that was either spirit-killing boring, or filled with stupidity that resulted in unwanted & (un-)avoidable action. But there is always alcohol and bad intent. And an idiot called “security”.
Getting up recuperated after a good night’s sleep is a gift I learned to appreciate, but no such thing today. When I was ready to throw the towel in and get up, I miraculously fell asleep ; and slept and slept, through the whole morning, past midday. When I regained consciousness it was clearly after 12:00. Dazed & confused I searched for coffee, remembered that I had some tasks scheduled, and finally got going. Slowly.
I think it is not necessary to emphasise that my cellar spent the day undisturbed.