Once upon
a time ...

         ntouched afternoon coffee: ice-cold. The stomach
         roars, lunch time is over for a long while. Piles of
job-files on the desk. The calendar puts under stress,
congested with red deadlines.

The squawking echo of a perfectly suffering customer's
voice still in the ear, my senses cheeky tickled by cele-
brating, raging St.-Pauli-disciples down in the yard.
Immediately beside the wastepaper-container, the one
I successfully avoided for a hundred weeks. Am I in a
state of apparent death?

Life calls in a hoarse voice for me. Chained to the desk
by work, the slavery takes away my spirits. Beloved
spontaneity, where could you flee?

Nothing but foreign words in the brain and the nose
obscured by the turpentine stench of stamp-freshly
more saturated green office walls. The first career step,
I condemned myself for most mad reasons.

That undifferentiateable everyday monotony: You taste
strangely. Viscous and hard at the same time. A light
laisser-faire one, this is absent! Only the paint of the
walls seems to be responsible for a lastly little cheer-
fulness. How can this cage ever become gildet and lucky
to the touch?

And sudden: Grüne Grütze, nailed solid to the
forehead, exactly at this moment. Can you see it?

Sometime I want to surrender to the longing for freedom.
Unconditionally. Lost in wireless worldwide networking
to find myself again thus. That, what has been concealed
for a long time. Creative as a bird and free of feathers.
Digitally and with shining reflex I will indulge myself in
the everlasting passion of my heart, making some space –
it is its just due: Photography, here I come!!!
Floating near to you!

Big strong bouncing I shout it out loud from somewhere
in the world. Since this ode succeeds only from a distance:

Oh, native country, greetings!