Out of all misery... - 2

We have always known, as Bert Brecht put it, "the womb this crawled from is still going strong." We have known that those who do not value diversity, and are bound to what they are already familiar with, who are too cowardly to explore the unknown unless they conquer it, afraid they might lose the little they call their own, those who make their lives so small, that they are still there, that they still exist, hidden, and more or less silent, maybe muttering their homemade lies to themselves.
But now they can be heard again, they are no longer hidden, they even claim a voice.
Not this time, though. From now on, we will not fight in their arenas any longer. This time, we will be using completely different weaponry. Oh, yes, we will fight back in unison for freedom and humanity. But we will be using very special sinews such as politeness and humor. And, as additional support, we will execute spontaneous and silent acts of minimalism that may not be suited as revenge, though surely they will serve as satisfaction. (For once, we will get it!)
Therefore, recently, a young Asian woman answered the hateful phrase "Go back to China!" ever so politely with "Oh, I am so sorry, but I am from Korea!" And my Trinidad friend redeemed the racism of a man who would not even take his change from her hand, as if his attitude was not filthier than her hands, by rubbing the special bagel he claimed in the bakery's backroom across the sole of her shoe before she carefully bagged this piece of pastries for him.
Come on out of your hidyhole, you fascist disregarders of human dignity, you racist political die-hards. We will get you without you even getting it. Everyone of you. Everywhere!


© 2016

Die schönsten Geschichten schreibt bekanntlich das Leben. Urlaub in Marokko. Ein Freund von mir hatte sich ein Auto geliehen und passte sich den ortsüblichen Verkehrsteilnehmern an ohne dabei auf Geschwindigkeitsbegrenzungen zu achten. Nach einigen Kilometern jedoch wurde er aus einem Pulk an Fahrzeugen von der Polizei rausgewunken und bekam mitgeteilt, dass er 300 Dirham wegen Überschreitung des erlaubten Tempos zu zahlen habe. Missmutig überreichte er das Geld, umgerechnet etwa 30 Euro.
Plötzlich fragte der Polizist unvermittelt: "Bayern München? "
Der Freund schüttelte energisch den Kopf: "Eintracht Frankfurt!"
Daraufhin gab der Polizist ihm die 300 Dirham zurück und ließ ihn weiterfahren. Die Eintracht war offenbar die richtige Währung.

Have you ever asked yourself why, after all, your system is still running? I always do that - watching House M.D.

I swear I can feel my blood running through my veins. And through my arteries, for that matter.
I can hear my heart beat. Much too fast.
I feel a little dizzy. No wonder!
I am definitely sure that I caught some nasty desease, something that cannot be cured, and it is not lupus.

What will I do, where will I find help, since there is no real House M.D.?

But in the other hand, would I really want to be his patient? The term's literal meaning is taking on a whole new dimension. And I am not the right person to cope with his kind of patience. I would rather die.

This is eventually going to happen.
Sooner or later.


© 2015
to dream

I wanted to stare at him. It was the first time we truly met. I wanted to stare at him, right into his face, as if it could tell me anything I wanted to know about him. But we are taught not to stare, so I didn't. Instead, we shared a few anecdotes, and a few laughes. Just, I didn't know were else to look but in his face, and that made me nervous.
She was nervous, too. Laughed and talked in a jittery way and spilled some of her coffee. What if we didn't get on? What if I didn't like him?
That was not my concern. I knew I would, if she did. I was afraid he might realise that stupid urge of mine to stare, hidden in tiny glimpses that took his face into focus, again and again. But that is definitely dangerous. Who stares cannot hide, and will truly be recognized. The eye sockets become open windows into any depths. If there are any, that is.
On the other hand, while he might find out everything about me, I was never going to learn more about him this way. Should I have asked him what kind of films he liked, what kind of books? Tell me what you read? Or maybe politics? Not a good idea, most of the time. What about a game? Should I have asked him to play with us? A perfect way to a person's true nature. Can he lose? Will he be fair?
Of course I didn't ask. And luckily it had not even occurred to me, then. As if those two had nothing else on their minds!
I was just sitting there, trying to be as easy going as possible, while not making a complete fool of myself. And maybe I managed. Because in the end, leaving, me saying bye-bye, and enjoy yourselves, and be good, and all this, he gave me first one of his transient, and then a more and more radiant smile, and so did she. She hugged and kissed me. Can't have been too bad, after all.
I guess he never realised the stare.