Manafonistas

Es war Sommer
Und DU hattest immer noch die Cahiers von Simone Weil in deiner teuren Eastpak Ledertasche
Im Schwimmbad
Sagtest DU es gebe wenig Gerechtigkeit und Engagements in der Gewerkschaft
Am Beckenrand
Nahm ein magersüchtiges Mädchen seine earphones raus.
People want to hear songs about love
Auf der Liegewiese
Hast DU in die Sonne geblinzelt und leise gesungen: You never know what the future holds in the shallow soil of Monsanto
In der Umkleidekabine
hörtest DU wie ein Mann schimpfte: Jetzt bekommen die Bauern nur noch 17 cent pro Liter für ihre Milch, China nimmt keine mehr ab
People want to hear songs of love
VW betrügt uns
People want to hear about love
Südkorea stoppt Verkauf von Volkswagen
People want to hear about love …

wenn ich komme, ins tiefe sauerland, im september, sind alle sonnenschirme aus den strassen verschwunden

You can transform a piece of prose into a theatre play and it´s even easy if there´s a story line. But what about a saucerful of poems with a deliberately chosen chaotic structure? As a theatre manager you might pitch your own version, choose some pictures, leave out what doesn´t seem to make sense, mix it up and put it together. What seems to be kind of central idea you take as a stage setting. So, in this case there were hundreds of hand-folded paper ships on the stage. A woman in a transparent rain coat and a cowboy hat stood under a waterfall (or did she just imagine standing there?), she unrolled a pell and read aloud a message. There were others around, nobody listened. Time travel, place travel. Loop me in, could you? Since I was a child and a spotted the first graffiti I remember (which sayd: I was here) I´ve always dreamed of writing a message on a lamppost. What did it mean to be here, anywhere? There was no dog, no barking. I can´t choose what I would remember. It´s all about taking part in something you don´t know. This as all a digression. There is no centre. That´s not what I wrote. I´m not like the picture you might have in your mind. No more stars at the end of the night. I recognized those poems and I didn´t. It was part of my life and it wasn´t. I read everyone was a mixture of the five most nearest persons in his or her life. This is not a matter of time or place. I nearly didn´t dare to breathe.

Thanks to Jan Wambsganß