H O E X T E R H O L O G R A M

Westphalia, Nov 2013

 
Ho Ho Hoexter…what a pleasure to return to this little enclave of ease and comfort after such a while. Last time we were all strangers expecting strangeness, August sun and carnival, this time we´re happy to meet people dear to our hearts, to face sounds dear to our heads....

But at first historical twilights, digging in the muddy dirt of an alleged correctness. The evil and the sun, Sorath and the frisson of reading between the lines...occvlt observance...
Quick time lessons and diluting art at Walhalla...six o ´clock and “I will walk you out” she says. Friendly assertiveness and doubtlessly we understand.

So one castle fades away and the next appears at the horizon...What a frequency of past! Appeasing to realize that nothing seemed to have changed here, except seasons and daytimes.
It feels good to be here. Noises and conversations, acquaintances and family relaxation.
Seeing the guys of Salvation AMP feels like never been away, like leaving for just buying some cigarettes, Reptyle´s way crossed the own more than once up to now (even in a personell-wise way for a while) and Sweet Ermengarde appeared firstly on our screen two years ago...at the edge of mercurian dawns. Stations in Bochum and he confessed “This night you won” contritely...

And the stable is filling and realizing certain faces it feels like being more than just guests in East-Westphalia. Minor geography and it´s intimicy. But the crowd is waiting now and the smoke machine is ready to serve...so... Ludi incipiant!

later...

What do I remember?
Mainly great songs I heard and an audience giving all it got. Not that usual frozen urban army (thin ice, I know!), but sweat and tears... analogously. And I remember drunken ghosts and colleagues named after islands (oh yes, there´s still a talk to be done if the ways are clear again!), dissappearing drink tickets and burning stars on a black cope, the coldness outside  and the celebration within. And the faces at the breakfast table reveal that it was the hell of a night. Tired soldiers, wrapped in the enemies´ uniform (whatever name the label bore...)

Farewells chilled through and the promise to return, sealed with coffee, beer and cigarettes. See you, Hoexter...you always meet thrice!

Hoexter, Nov 2013

 

H-A-M-B-U-R-G-H-Y-D-R-O-P-H-O-B-I-A

Hamburg, November 2013

Sequence one: a room full of people, young and stickily fashion-forwarded. They are starring on a screen, which displays water and waves, sun, skies and the tanned skins of more young and stickily fashion-forwarded people. Laughter and stickily fashion-forwarded mood.

Tilt: a band of people, pale and smoking...worlds colliding, blending of conditions...

The scent of the sea and the certainty always to call out the same places. Ships and tamed dreams, collapses and hill tribes, shame and resurrection, broken bones and reconstruction. We left a lot of footprints on this coast over the years, coming home to foreign land. Berlin seems aeons away already and the echo died away on highways. Strips and rates, vectors and the repeating joke of August Ferdinand M.

(And we´re crossing the space-time-bidges, followed by armies masked with seasons and empty promises, yelling chants of beauty and imbecility...)

“Are we there yet?” he´s asking and the lights go red, the ships leave the harbour and those, who are waving on the bank turn around and go abroad. An incantation reversed, the spell of an illiterate.

It is comfortable here, rustic as they say, corners and edges, alcoves and hideaways, just like the memory. A place for drinking, for sociability as they say...or for sounds and fog, like today.

Sequence two: a room full of people and one animal, post-war tiredness. Slowly the noises leave the heads and pave the way for thoughts. Lost opportunities, colourful conversations, torpidity in glasses and thoraxes full of souls. New days and old faces, new masks and old habits. Fingers run over spines of book and he tries to remember the last line....down and down and down and down...

Earlier:

The machines are ready, so as the people. Revolting sound waves and negligible geography and while watching and listenting to Lotus Feed, it feels like if we´re doing this for years together now. Songs from the past, happily rediscovered. I really like their energy, which doesn´t give a damn about ceiling heights and marine depths, about August Ferdinand M. and the people starring on displays later that evening. It just moves forwards...like that ship I know somebody waits for my waving on. But I rather stay here, rather dress myself in sound and fog and leave.

And we´re entering the peak, densely packed but inebriated by a free will and I like that feeling of being part of that organism, being part of that unity...dispersed on a handful of square centimeters. And then songs about devils and kings, about torments and vengeance and when the curtain falls we seem to have made it up with the sea and its inhabitants. Finally.

Conversations and change of scene. The set is going to be replaced and so the people..and the fog. Salutes and foreign languages, foreign colours and a screen outside...water and waves, sun and skies...

And facing the gap in the fabric we guess it´s time to leave. The war is over and post-war tiredness holds the door open. Just a few corners (which seem all rounded down for a late-night mind) and the bivouac appears some floors above. Time to get some sleep and time to run over some spines of books for recalling lost opportunities, reflecting colourful conversations, torpidity in glasses and thoraxes full of souls. A passing view from the railing and a turned away memory.

Don´t grieve over the waving one, who wasn´t there, who won´t be there at any day, just wish profoundly that he would go away...

Hamburg, November 2013