schwadronation

[schwadronation]

299.792.458 meters per second

Without listening to the entire message, I drop my phone on the bed, fall back on to the sheets, sink deeper and deeper into that fucking void that starts so mercilessly to enclose me; melting into darkness. When death comes, death is always stronger than anticipated. As in, we all theoretically know death, but when we experience its presence in our closer circles, its intensity is always unprecedented. No stoicism in the world can prepare me, every time, I’m taken by surprise, every time I’m feeling the same helpless agony wallowing up in me. What has been set once into motion cannot be undone. I cannot stop a shadow from falling. 

O enters the room, only a towel around him, “what happened?”

I look up from the bed in terror, “I cannot stop a shadow from falling.” 

He comes over, sits down next to me, hugs me, hugs me tight. We both fall back onto the bed. With his finger, he’s picking up the first teardrop that is running down my left cheek. Raises his finger, the sun, shining through the lush backyard of the Luxx Langsuan, shining through that lush greenery, right through our window, the pool downstairs glimmering, shining onto O’s finger, the light breaking through the teardrop, casting a shadow on O’s finger, his hands, the wall behind the bed, having thrown the shadow before I was even able to perceive. Casting a shadow at 299.792.458 meters per second. 

O starts kissing me, the sun keeps on shining, and with every second, its light is moving 299.792.458 meters further away from Q’s death having happened. 

I get up abruptly. “I’m running late for my meeting.”

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2nd of September (not really about us)

All relationships are transient. all experiences are. back in 10th grade i was so sad once the Chileans had left Germany after three weeks. I kept on listening to Yann Tiersen’s “Comptine d’un autre été” and wouldn’t want to meet my friends anymore since the main action had clearly subsided. I was - to some extent - grieving a loss. i keep on chasing these momentarily, transitory, peak events that bring other humans together.

A conference week.

An art residency.

A co-living.

A vipassana.

A blockchain cruise.

They are all part of the same experience chasing, intensity game. The friends I make during these times always feel so real and raw. And they hardly ever stay longer than a year or two afterwards in my life. The only way I see all these people ever coming together would be if I was to celebrate a gigantic wedding or birthday. But then it’s also odd to invite people I haven’t spoken with in years only because I vibed hard with them a decade back.

And that brings me back to the point. All relationships are transient. Especially with this strange hobby or special interest of mine: events.

What is an event? It’s a brief moment in time where a lot of things come together, where the second law of thermodynamics gets exercised on a multitude of planes over and over again. After the event is over the action subsides. Calm.

I cannot endure this calm for too long. I have regular friends, and I have event friends. I cannot lie I like my event friends more. But that’s because they are all just short, intense relationships that last between a day and a month. It’s like a one night stand but just on the platonic level. It plays with the fantasy, it goes through all the commonalities, the potential and then it’s over.

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Besonders.

My youth. Berlin. Lukas. Techno. 

Drugs. Ame. Alle Farben. Never enough. 

Darkness. Winter. Harry. Sonne. 

Never again. No more clubs.

Never again through the night.

Alone.

No more toilet fucks. 

Die Nacht. Stadtkind. Alien. 

How easy everything was back then.

And how old I have become.

Will I ever see a club from the inside again?

Heart racing. morning after. three day hangover.

filmriss. 

Als alles noch besonders war.

Als alles noch besonders war. 

[schwadronation]

Half Red Moon Rising

The half red moon rising above the rice field, 2 8 1 4 playing in the background, a candle lit on my desk, three palm trees on the right, a frog just got trapped in my room, I had to rescue him and I wish I could do that with spiders too, but they are too fast, so I end up killing them with sun lotion instead. Four lines of coke, two for each of us, we fuck half-heartedly but high enough. You come, I don’t. I scream with your dick inside me. Looking over the dark rice field. The moon hasn’t risen yet. You need to leave. High alone. High alone looking over the dark rice field three palm trees on the right hand side watching, the red moon rises, the half red moon rises over the dark rice field, whilst the little frog climbs into my room, you long forgotten. But you still remembered. Whenever I see a red moon rising I think about our phone call last year in Spain. I was in Spain. You were in Berlin. I’m sitting on my rooftop in Palma, my rented airbnb rooftop, where I stayed with Judie, the ex-wife of a famous British cannabis dealer. Several tons he had smuggled at the height of his career. I’m sitting on her rooftop, the rooftop of the apartment she had bought with the money of writing her husband’s biography, I sit there and decide to give you a call again. You still love me. I still love you. The red moon rising over Palma bay. The red moon rising over the peninsula in Porto Pollenca. When my mother and my aunts would sit late into the night on the terrace, drinking gin and tonics and playing scrabble. One night they all cried over the early death of their mother. My mum was only 13. It’s always the same moon. 2 8 1 4 playing in the back. I’m dreaming of being in North East Asia. Tokyo. Osaka. Shanghai. Hongkong. Maybe Taipei. I’d go even to Bangkok. The crickets are roaring in the background. Soon the frogs will start. They usually go off past midnight. 

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Meer

So geil einfach allein hier sitzen zu können. Aufs dunkel Meer zu kucken. Mir flossen spontan, leicht angedichtet zu kaufen. Morgen wird geschnorchelt. Ich will mich mit dem octopus hier am beach vorne anfreunden, wie in der Netflix doku. 

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Infinite Visa Run 🏃🏾‍♀️

We would spend full days entirely together without having a single conversation. Running from attraction to attraction in O’s self guided Roller Coaster Tycoon drama. In moments of silence he would make cute sounds without conveying any meaning and I would chime in to fill the void. I was fucking high. High on fucking, high on hormones, high on this endless rush of searching paid-for adventures. O’s theme park, O’s circus, O’s spiel and scheme and play. He was always naked lounging with his ice cream in one of the many hotel beds we slept in watching Japanese YouTube. He called that work. Digital nomads all the way from CNX to DPS. Lounging, chasing, rushing, one yoga pose at a time. No clue who O really was.   

[schwadronation]

I want to start drinking and smoking again. Fuck being healthy. In a perfect world corona would end tomorrow and the airports would all open. My parents and aunt would go on holidays, I’d have the girls fly in, invite some people from around here, B would also show up. We’d start day drinking, someone would order a pool on Amazon, which would arrive via drone delivery an hour later. There’d be good coke. We’d have whiskey sodas, beers, “spring drinks”. We’d barbeque, no one would have to worry about climate change or animal rights. It would all feel like summer 2012 just with new people. From there we’d charter an airplane, the house in spain would be still in my family’s possession. We’d listen to heavy, euphoric techno and gangster rap while lounging in designer bikinis for everyone on display on the terrace. Life would be injected with one last massive money-printer-go-brrrrr-bailout before everything turns up in flames. 

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It’s 2:07 am and I’m flirting on Linkedin. 

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Kein mut für gar nichts.

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from 2017

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It’s sad but it really seems that true freedom can only be found in soltitude. I haven’t seen or experienced a counter example yet. And eventually freedom is always more important to me.

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Vielleicht werde ich auch einfach zu einem konservativen Arschloch?

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Replacing one elite with another one. Today i heard for the second time that we’ll be all billionaires. Newspapers disappear. Tv will be finally switched off. Perell’s what the hell is going on VCs as the new messiahs, the new intellectuals. But this time with money. No more art. Art is the rich man’s wife’s hobby. The last: hey we all gonna die. Where is home? On the train between cities. Between years. WHERE THE FUCK AM I? Smooth. Riding till the end of the world. Keep on, keep on moving.

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Subzero

Subzero. 5ter stock, after hour bei Linus. Linus kommt aus Hamburg und hat ein ungewöhnlich großes Apartment für jemanden der noch studiert und nebenher nicht arbeitet. Man kann gut auf dem Boden liegen wenn man total fertig und weggespacet ist. Damals haben wir 4FA und 2CB genommen. Irgendwelche research chemicals. Und koks. Ich wohne nur drei Häuser weiter und einmal hab ich es geschafft Pablo nach der after zu mir zu schleppen. Wir ficken nicht, aber halt alles andere drum rum. Trotzdem nicht auf meiner Liste. Sonst wäre die ja noch länger. Dann wären da auch die costa ricaner drauf und die Frauen mit denen ich nicht penetrative Sex hatte. Pablo ist danach eingeschlafen, morgens war er dann verwirrt darüber wo er gerade ist um dann wieder zurück in den fünften Stock, zu neuen Drogen, neuem Sound zu flüchten. Schnell.

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June 2019 on the night train to Barcelona. Rushing through Paris. Straight from the second EU parliament in Strasbourg. Why ffs do we’ve two parliaments? One night in Spain another on the water. The waves are stormy. A Korean women fell into the water. She wore pink Pyjamas and was never seen again.

[schwadronation]

Ich kann mich nicht daran erinnern, wann das letzte Mal war an dem ich eine Woche am Stück im gleichen bett geschlafen habe. Selbst jetzt wo ich genau eine woche in Berlin war, habe ich meinen Schlafplatz einmal gewechselt und bin vom großen ins kleine Schlafzimmer übergesiedelt.