Ode To Filmbühne

Ground control lost contact with Major Tom years ago. We are no longer heroes. We don’t build castles out of sand. The only thing I ever managed to do was to get it on the toilet door of the new film stage. Today I’m standing in front of this door again and see a sticker in front of my face: Down with the manhood craze!

Nobody is playing the doctors on me today. No circles are closing. It’s like always, and always means: reading too much Bukowski doesn’t work, just too much limping after the same dreams. The theatre people scattered all over the world years ago, and with them all the magic of nights that I will always praise.

What remains? Why am I here? It started with the will of the thick skull: No, this is just a phase, good times come and go! After a few years, the disillusionment: the fact that the bad times stay is almost better than the fact that sometimes you almost feel like you used to. Magic is unique, all hope of repeating it in the same place is futile.

I am. We are. Here. The golden age is over. Who said that talk is silver and silence is gold? That’s bollocks! DJ Holzbank, DJ Baumstumpf, the moon, you and me! Dykes break right, or they don’t. And I don’t give a shit if two bottles of wine are to blame. The main thing is that they still break at all!

Judith talks to Moni and I talk to people whose names I should have known for what feels like decades. My back is broken and my spine sticks out into a sky that simply refuses to turn from black to grey to red
to light. Shotgun Sister! I would like for you to hear that we are happy now.

It’s not the spotlight. It’s the little things that you keep noticing in between – almost by accident. Honestly, if it wasn’t for these little things, I would have left long ago.

I just have a problem. Even if these little things make up life: Then where the hell is the cursed masterplan that I never had a clue about but always had unconditional faith in? Comments appreciated…