Out of pure ennui, a rich
English noblewoman had the whim to do something for the poor. So she gave a
great sum to her administrators to use for charity. Once, she travelled the
continent for a few months, and upon her return found out that instead of the
familiar grimy hovels of her beneficiaries, there now was a construction site
where they built houses a school and a hospital. “Mon Dieu! What have they done
to my beautiful, quaint slum!”, she exclaimed.
On a freight ship, a veritable floating coffin, from odorous HK to haughty Shanghai: two friends and I had been drinking the previous night with two Russian sailors. As it usually happens on such occasions at least one out of three will be utterly destroyed. That time it was our comrade Kurt's turn. In the morning when we prepared to go up for breakfast he just couldn't be roused.
The petit dejeuner was truly abominable and seeing the whitish-grey porridge and the thin, watery coffee, my other compatriot, John Wanker, had the idea of mixing those two ingredients up, taking them to Kurti's bunk and pouring that concoction into his underpants that he was still wearing.
In our town there is a large bridge over the river Danube. The other night we had to cross it to get from one bar to another. Some of us were in a car and two on a motorbike...
Some days later, the owner of the car got a speeding ticket with a notice to report to the police, so he went to the station to make further inquiries.
When he asked why the fee was so unusually high, the officer on duty simply said: 'Come with me, Sir.' Thereupon latter showed him a picture: on it was a guy from our group leaning his upper body out of the car backdoor-window in the process of passing a beer-bottle to a guy we call Sexmachine (cause he looks a bit like a certain character from a movie) who was driving the bike greedily anticipating the generous offer with an outstretched arm.
I grew up
in a small village at the fringe of the city of Vienna; when I was little, I came to believe
that many older people were ‘bad’ cause of the way they looked at me. It was
only much later that I heard that most of them had actually worked for my great
grandfather and were consequently only looking at me in a strange condescending
fashion so to gloat over the decline and downfall of my family’s fortune. My
grandmother told me that, true, the Russians after the War had blundered lots
of our stuff but that, were one to look into the homes and houses of that
village, one would find at least as much of our furniture there as the
occupation army had taken for spoils.
"Eine Ausbildung durchlaufen wir mit dem Ziel, etwas zu können. Wenn wir uns dagegen bilden, arbeiten wir daran, etwas zu werden - wir streben danach, auf eine bestimmte Art und Weise in der Welt zu sein."
"Der Gebildete ist ein Leser. Doch es reicht nicht, ein Bücherwurm und Vielwisser zu sein. Es gibt - so paradox es klingt - den ungebildeten Gelehrten. Der Unterschied: Der Gebildete weiss Bücher so zu lesen, dass sie ihn verändern.[....]
Das ist ein untrügliches Kennzeichen von Bildung: dass einer Wissen nicht als blosse Ansammlung von Information, als vergnüglichen Zeitvertreib oder gesellschaftliches Dekor betrachtet, sondern als etwas, das innere Veränderung und Erweiterung bedeuten kann, die handlungswirksam wird. Das gilt nicht nur, wenn es um moralisch bedeutsame Dinge geht. Der Gebildete wird auch durch Poesie ein anderer. Das unterscheidet ihn vom Bildungsbürger und Bildungsspiesser." http://www.hwr-berlin.de/fileadmin/downloads_internet/publikationen/Birie_Gebildet_sein.pdf
Mr. Schleberger, author of a very practical book on Hindu iconography
The taxonomy of mudras and godforms (postures) within this work is not only very revealing from a cultural-historical viewpoint but also applicable to the mystic: merely try to focus some 'qi' or mental or emotional energies in any given situation of your life through these channels and see what they will effect for yourself! It is great fun indeed. There is also an equally recommendable corresponding work on Buddhist iconography to be found here.
The crazy discipline of art-history is a multi-refractive sort of humanistic speculation on the highest cognitive and aesthetic level; it is also quite useless like poetry culture and life so naturally I am infatuated with it. Here are some interesting books and worthy authors for your most esteemed consideration:
e.g. Sedlmayr, Belting, Warburg, Wölfflin, Alpers, Didi-Huberman, Panofsky etc.
The combination of new and good sounds like an oxymoronic expression but from the range of more recent perfumes- not considering such all-time favourites and classics like Penhaligon's BB, Creed's Green Irish Tweed or Knize 10- this is one of the better ones! (not better than e.g. Acqua di Parma, but still quite good...)
Recently I went to the new Hilfiger store in Vienna on a Saturday. I wore very old fucked up clothes: a 20 year old washed-out red polo shirt by RL, some tailored navy corduroy trousers and old dark brown suede moccasins from Timberland, some too stodgy and already unfashionable auburn-coloured Ray Bans.
Until a short time ago I had thought not too favourably of TH but both the new line and the nearly impeccable behaviour and manners of the employees at the shop have changed my mind. I finally bought some bordeaux red Weejun loafers and while I waited, some nice assistant not only offered me a drink but the friendly vendeuse-upon returning with yet another item to show me- also shoo-ed off the persistent society-photographer who wanted to take pictures of me (they had some re-opening celebration at that day with several models and I obviously fit 'in'). I'm extremely shy and dislike any such public stuff and would I have known, I'd never have come there, but as I said: the girl who sold me those shoes was highly professional which unfortuantely is a rare phenomenon nowadays. Good company, there.
As anyone who enjoys fictions knows, it is only too easy to immerse oneself in alternate worlds. The difficulty is not to suspend disbelief in them but contrarily consists in not completely losing ones belief in so-called reality. Because there is always something alluringly true about the reality of illusion that makes us want to become irreconcilable to that which is real.
There is danger in this way of thinking, yet this ability of multi-refractive reflection is the greatest chance of our self-initiated evolution.
Imagine this scenario: there is this superpower whose armies march across the earth, its aircraftcarriers, planes, drones, spies are everywhere, it converts and infiltrates other cultures with its ideas, ideals and memes and as a peak to that all there is that (partly staged) little self-righteous activism it allows itself- marginal, nearly pointless on a global scale but yet another piece of the propagandistic puzzle whose expanding 'truth' its participants can tap while they believe themselves to be rebellious and alternative.