Everybody Knows Somebody Who Died

I often think about Jörg – a German stage director I met in 1997. A friend of mine worked closely with him for some years and we met here and there around Europe – in Copenhagen, London and Germany. In 2000 he committed suicide in a hotel room in Portugal, a big schock for all of his friends. Why kill himself? He seemed well established in life and his theatre was finally having success. I didn’t get it. I guess I really didn’t know him that well.

(Jörg trying on a whig I bought for a party in 1988)

The reason I often think about Jörg is that I keep thinking about all the things he has missed out on since 2000, good or bad. And how happy I am that I’m not the one who’s dead.

He never got to know WordPress, Facebook, HDTV, Blu-ray, Netflix, The XX, Lana del Rey, True Detective, Orange Is The New Black, Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, Cathi Unsworth’s fabulous books, David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive, Amy Winehouse, Ryan Gosling’s introverted acting in Drive and The Place Beyond The Pines, iPhones, WiFi, Spotify, the delicious mince and cheese pie at my favorite café. He didn’t share the past 15 years with friends and family, followed nephews/nieces/friends’ children grow up. He never got to drive a Mini Cooper in the new design and he wouldn’t know what The Hunger Games is. I could go on forever.

Life is so full of … life.

My last 15 years have been filled with ups and downs, with good and bad experiences, fun, tears, friendships developing, with growing older, kisses, feelings, compassion, with music, books and films that went under my skin. Not always easy times but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything in the world. Gosh, I am so happy to be on this planet, I can’t express how grateful I am for having this (my) life…

When I was a depressed teenager, I thought a lot about dying (or disappearing). I wrote narcissistic existential poems and wallowed in sadness and pain, walked around with my head down for days and weeks and months. In a way I can understand why someone would want to take his own life, that it can feel like it’s the only option, but at the same time I cannot.

Everybody knows somebody who died. Mums and Dads, grandparents, friends and colleagues, musicians and filmstars, pets. I know that Death is part of Life, that our time is limited, but I don’t think I will ever understand Death completely, that when you’re dead you’re gone forever. When I sensed the weight of my dead mother in the coffin last year, for a short moment it became “real” and I realized that I would never hear her voice again. But still, Death is beyond my comprehension.

I was never angry with Jörg for what he did, I was not close enough to him to be. I have always thought that everyone is free to decide for himself. Selfish or not. But you can crush other people by making such choices. I didn’t see it like that earlier.

I think Jörg made a huge mistake by killing himself. He missed out on so much in life.

If this was a jukebox from beyond, my mother would have picked Andrea Bocelli/Sarah Brightman: Time To Say Goodbye. Sorry mum, I can’t go down that line, so Jörg, this one goes out to you, wherever you are…

Nevermind, Use Your Illusion! On Music Education and Wild Nights.

I love to think back on how I got to know all the music that has been my ‘passenger’ through life. If I would have become a musician myself, I would have talked about these artists as my inspiration and perhaps role models. In my case they didn’t inspire a creative process but surely did inspire my life as such.

When you’re a kid you really have no idea about the size of the world, generally speaking. I will never forget the moment I understood that the small town I grew up in was not where my life was supposed to take place, that there was a big world waiting for me out there. It was in 1987 when I heard The Cure’s Why Can’t I Be You on the radio for the first time. I was 14 and in an instant understood that all I had to do was to grow up very fast and get the hell out of there. What a relief! It was the first song that changed my life.

It was friends that inspired my musical education and taste the most, particularly two male friends I spent the most of a year with when I was around 19. I shared a flat with one of them and the other friend was mostly around. My flatmate was an audiophile and lived for music and high-end HiFi. His record collection was massive. From this moment on music was mainly consumed sitting on the couch standing exactly 232 cm (my guess!) from the huge speakers worth more than ten grand. It sounds kind of high society but it wasn’t at all. It was simply a matter of priorities.

It was 1991 and Pearl Jam – Ten had just came out. Metallica’s Black Album as well. Followed by Nirvana – Nevermind and Guns’n’Roses – Use Your Illusion I and II. What a musical year – one of the best I ever had! In the daytime I went to school and my two buddies to work, in the nighttime our place came alive. Every night we sat in the living room with the music turned up loud. Our place attracted the local lost youth, most nights people dropped by. Party every night. Neverending booze and (soft) drugs. Paradise City for the young. We were fooled by the thrill of independence and felt so alive, but honestly I don’t remember many details from this time in my life.

(1991. One of many mornings after a wild night. To the right one of the badass speakers)

I haven’t touched any drugs for more than a decade now but have to admit that the music came alive inside me when I was high, I could physically feel it in my blood, in my organs, in my gut. It was sometimes painful and sometimes indescribably beautiful. Slash’s guitar solo on Estranged, Eddie Vedders vocals on Oceans or Alive. Kurt singing about Polly. Ray Manzarek’s Hammond on Riders on the Storm and so on.

The last year I lived in my hometown, I pretty much only hung out with my two buddies. We had a threesome without sex, and I felt such love for them. At some point they started dealing drugs in the flat and that drew even more odd people to our place. There was a guy around 45 or 50 who showed up quite often. He talked with a slow drugged voice and always brought a guitar along and some glas hash pipes. He had long straight hair and looked like he was right out of 1968. His stories about his youth as a hippie doing LSD trips and living in a Commune was fascinating for us three youngsters, all longing for the times of Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, convinced that we had missed out on the most important moment in (music) history.

When I got fed up with all the mess and all the young men hanging around at our place, I made them clean up and do the dishes. Some kids we sent to the supermarket to shoplift food for the empty fridge. The neighbors were furious about all the running up and down the stairs and soon the police showed up. That ended the dealing business.

I have never met anyone again in my life that inspired my music taste as much as these two friends, to a certain extent we shared the same interests. Probably it was also just being young: we were all hungry and dying to get to know more about life. I remember how surprised I was when I realized that not living with my parents meant total freedom – for real. If I had an idea I would just check out how it went and not wait for anyone’s approval or declination. Once I didn’t wash my long, curly hair for 3 months because I was convinced that nature would supply me with what my hair needed. I guess I’d had a joint too much around that time…

When I moved away from my hometown in 1992 it was a goodbye forever and a crazy period of my life ended. I knew I was never going to come back and live there again. I don’t go there very often but have occasionally met my old friends again. Although we’re all grownup now and live serious lives, there is a feel to it like in the old days. At the same time the 20+ years between now and then make me feel estranged.

What I would never have thought earlier is how strongly the experiences you make when you are young influence you throughout life. I often go back through the music, listen to The Cure, The Smiths, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Afghan Whigs, Guns N’ Roses, PJ Harvey, Mark Lanegan…

This one goes out to T. and G. – I am thankful as ever for the music I got to experience together with and through you!

I Saved You (and Then You Died)

Dear little Friend,
when I saved your life the other day, I thought you were going to pull through. I had planned to feed and spoil you until you felt better and then set you free again, hoping you would always remember how well I treated you and that you’d be welcome in my garden as long as you didn’t ruin my plants (as your species does – I am actually quite tired of your wild family digging channels underground).

When I picked you up from the ground, you were so weak that you didn’t even try to run away. I wrapped you under my t-shirt and gave you a piece of apple to eat. You ate slowly and sucked the moist out of the apple. It was a hot day and a root vole like you would normally only come out at night. You weighed almost nothing, less than a letter, and your heart pounded very fast, I could tell. It was nice to feel your tiny feet on my skin, your claws rather soft and not scratchy at all. You were only a child and I wondered what had happened to you: did you get lost, did your mother abandon you, were you sick?

After eating the tiny apple piece you looked better and more lively. I let you sit on my table and continue your lunch. I felt such compassion for you, little friend.

I put you in a big box without a lid, and filled it with plants and food for the night. Now your condition had declined again, you laid down on your side, all sluggish and absent. Now and then you had a cramp. On google I read about similar cases, some stories ended well, others bad. When I left, I tucked you in and put some food right in front of you, hoping you would make it to the next day. I was so worried.

When I got up the next morning, I hesitated to drive to the garden house, I was afraid to see what was waiting for me there. A part of me was convinced that you had died in the night.

You sat in the corner of the box, your tiny body extracted to a ball. I could tell you were dead. Sweetheart, I hope you were not hungry or cold when you died. We only knew each other for a few hours but I want you to know that you died being loved.

Song for Dolly, the little mouse, who travelled alone to mice heaven:

Boring Post #1

What I can’t stand about Facebook is the self-staging. Some people can’t handle having a forum that encourages you to put yourself in focus and where “friends” can respond to your wherabouts. I sometimes surely wish my life would be more sensational. But everyday life is not like that.

A lot of people use Facebook to tell the world how great and interesting their life is, how well they are doing, how adoring their kids are, to how many fantastic places they have travelled, how interesting and/or funny their thoughts are and so on.

In Facebook sensational style my last Saturday would have looked something like this:

8:35AM
Shelby Lynne shared my blog post on Facebook and it now has more than 500 likes!

15:55PM
Hello sun. Hello blooming trees. And hello F. – thanks for cooking yummy Schnitzel in my garden house…

2:23AM
Just bruised both knees, my elbow and my head dancing to some chart song… I’m getting too old for this…

How cool I am! And funny! You can read it right there!

I would rather say that life takes place between the (head)lines. Here’s what really happened that day. If you should fall asleep, dear reader: I’m sorry. Should you wish not to follow my blog after this: I understand. But thanks for stopping by – it was nice while it lasted!

Here we go (I recommend reading in a monotonous voice):
I got up early at 8.30, boiled an egg for breakfast and made a cup of tea. During breakfast I checked my emails (mostly newsletters I never read and spam promising hot sex parties and big titted ladies) and checked what’s up on Facebook. I took a shower (was too lazy to wash my hair) and got dressed. Before I left the flat I watered the tomato and sweet pepper seeds growing on the window shelf.

I unlocked my bycicle and went on the 15 mins ride to my garden. Heard no music on the way, had a small headache from last night where I went out with some colleagues. At 11AM the general meeting of my garden society started with a minute’s silence in commemoration of a diseased ‘garden friend’ as they call us. I didn’t know him. Most members are 65+. With my 42 years I am one of the youngsters.

I then sat in the sun for an hour or two before I started the garden work, getting the garden beds ready for sowing. A friend came by and we had a late lunch together. It suddenly started raining heavily and we ran into the house. We saw a rainbow.

I went home, took a shower and went to a friend’s birthday party. Had some beers and some liquor and did a lot of foolish things on the dancefloor that do not fit with my age. Went home at 3AM and fell asleep instantly.

That’s it. Would I have written down what I did yesterday, one line would be sufficient: woke up at 7.30, had breakfast, went to work, worked all day, went home, had dinner, fell asleep in front of the TV.

I kinda like boring – it can be so liberating and satisfactory. Ahh…

Song that goes with this: