1 bike
1 woman with a strong image of summer on her mind
1 slippery road



...those were the first dangerous words in english, exactly 1/2 a year ago.


well, where did this bike, my fucked up bicycle with bad-working breaks and failing gears, where did it bring that woman with strong images on her mind? - it took her for a ride through her dangerous mind, along that slippery road lined with confessions instead of trees: a strenuous tour de miriam that now, as planned 6 months later, takes a well-deserved "end".

"an END?" - i hear it echoing across the world. yes, "end", the natural "closure" of a one-way street. and as someone who is always coquetting with radical transformation: i will be the only one breaking through the wall at this deadlock and leave you with the debris, the pieces of me - au revoir, "c'est fini". [and by all the importance in music history of the foregoing links, of course this is my ending. shot in black and white, slushy soundtrack, protagonist with a slight squint. oh oui! ]

...the road changed from slippery to dry, confessions became advices first, and now doings, the dangerous mind turned into a dangerous existence, which takes place off the online-world from now on: in the night, and in the sun, in trouble, and within LIFE!


so before both, the credits, and your tears start rolling: let me do my little oscar speech.
my gratitude goes out to your attention. not only confessions lined my way, but the interest of a handful of spectators: some of them cheering and encouraging, some of them excoriating, some of them watching quietly from the rear. with all of you i walked the line: a marathon through kitchens, pop cultural history, emotions, art institutions, platonic caves and childhood memories.
thanks for being the audience of my paper chase: it's me i found/won in the end.

- putting together the paper chips narrating the story: i told about my passion for "dancing", my obsession with "music", i wrote about my mania for "food", i told about the "vocation" that never lets me sleep, about my necessity to hide behind "trees" to give vent to my literally conflicting nature.
...anyone mentioned vienna here? jaja, i told about "my" city, too. - the metropolis i, heavily wounded, had to return to, the city which needed 6 months to reclaim its aspiration of being a home to me. a place which knows me "up and down", a place which suits me so perfectly because it combines both, the "monstrous" and the "seraphic" [in diesem saft die kraft, die wiener glut...].


...and like the blog header, a picture you became so familiar with, i will now turn my head.
turn my head towards the sun, entering another way of freedom, leading me not only east, but west [hopefully...], north [tomorrow!] and south [soon!]....




for this dry road, i don't need no bike. not even boots. i can go barefoot.
START WALKING...!








the events, groups, and people depicted and referred to in this blog were fictitious.
any similarity to any event, person, group, living or dead was merely coincidental.
no animals were harmed in the making of this story. i'm not so sure about people though.

rated: NC-17.
genre: slasher-romance-fantasy--comedy-film noir-musical-porn, ergo: grotesque.
director: MSK
story: MSK
producer: MSK
protagonist: MSK
setting design: MSK
cinematography: MSK
soundtrack: MSK
costume design: MSK
special and visual effects: MSK


dedicated: to a better tomorrow. und all jenen die daran arbeiten.

[ - denn natürlich gibt es ein sequel, dear german speaking ones. verkopften theorietransfer und visuelle referenzialitäten, also artsy diskursscheiße galore!
how to get there: ich lege euch den faden der ariadne richtung pandoras box aus, und freue mich, wenn ich die ersten über den hades schiffen sehe. folgt also dem orakel....

und kombiniert...
- die gängige österreichische abbreviatio für [vermeintlich? ja, natürlich! glaub ich da noch dran!] nachhaltig produzierte lebensmittel....
- mit der ebenso abgekürzten umgangssprachlichen bezeichnung eines stammlokals am berlinsken hippen unteren ende einer straße des 6. wiener gemeindebezirks [another clue: t. gottschalk pflegt den namen dieser stätte der intellektualität, des visuellen wie dionysischen vergnügens, gerne in seiner show auszurufen]...
- nahtlos daran angefügt soll der genitiv eines bestimmten artikel im neutrum stehen...
- und abgeschlossen wird das ganze von einem nomen, das sich auch im titel einer maßgeblichen erzählsammlung eines denkers der moderne, der am 10. september 1897 in billom geboren wurde, findet. das wort, welches sich in dessen - 1972 erstmalig deutsch erschienenen - sammelwerk als adjektiv verkleidet, bedarf nach der transformation in ein substantiv noch einer weiteren wandlung: eine internetkompatible zwiespaltung eines umlautes.

- das ganze findet, wie bisher gehabt, in einem "zeitgenössischen" netzwerk statt.

...und wer mir jetzt, nach diesem ausflug durch wien, die deutsche grammatik, und die französische literatur, immer noch folgen kann, der folgt mir auch tatsächlich: in die gefilde der transgression, in ein gewächshaus des grenzwärtigen. watch me gardening, auch falls es nur mit request for entry via email gehen sollte.

- i see you when you see me! -

on today's agenda: me, moi, miriam, for a change.

but no "how to...be miriam"-entry. i'd never suggest anything like that, for your own safety.
but an entry about miriam, moi, me and my surrounding. and how i finally ended up speechless on my personal anniversary of still being alive [i of course always flirted with the figment of the imagination "live hard, die young with 27", like all big stars, until i found myself in a totalled car in the middle of the new zealandian pampa on april 16, 2007. fuck yeah, i'm alive!].


usually in advance to april 16: melancholic depressions in front of the philosophical mirror image: "who am i?!" is the question i ask, "no one with a social network which would keep her from thinking she's not worth being celebrated!" the expected answer.
each year, usually, i tend to multiply those futility thoughts about my existence with a struggle against my beliefs, the ones of an incoherent identity, and end up going to bed on april 15 with the question "what sense does life have, if i, apparently, always stay the same?!
shouldn't life be sort of a progress, development, expansion?" but as much as i grow, and i grew pretty tall so far!: there never seems much difference to the years when i didn't know of self-reflection and philosophical mirror images....


- and although not knowing of the power of representation then, i always liked to dress up and bewitch my surrounding...




- i still am the same bigmouth and brayer.




- every once in a while i end up with flowers in my hairs....




- and obviously, i never reacted differently to black rocks than undressing myself.




- for sure i always tended to give strange looks, esp. if i don't get proper food.




- although i changed the wheels, i still enjoy going for an occasional ride...




- and of course it's nothing new that i love both, music, and big poser shades to hide behind!




- my company never really changed, too: tripping away, mentally and physically, and thinking that somewhere beyond that horizon, mentally and geographically, lies the answer for a better future...




- and finally, with y'all being witnesses: i still enjoy writing, although my nose, yes, changed a lot.





now: is my nose really the only thing that changed over the years?
and, even more important: will it continue to be the only thing developing and expanding during another year in life? let's ask some serious professionals about progress, future, me. tell me, oracle, what do you see for the future of the progressive miriam?




well well KT. you tell me some interesting things. big career changes? - working on it. group efforts, hopes & wishes? - jaja. friends help my dreams come true? - i guess so! taking care of my health? - KT....you just don't know all what you are talking about. get a lesson about the real aries first!






right, esther, got it. not only you show how i like to take care of my health, but you know laughing is especially healthy. but let's ask another self-ironic person, salvatore, just to make sure...



...tennis, hoover dancing, scuba? i don't think you are talking about me, gigolo!
- i should rather trust those who don't eat roses, but prickles for dinner....




have we met before, miss charlotte? do you happen to live in my antique wardrobe [yes, my color is black, real black] by any chance?! and as you obviously secretly watch how i make myself look irresistibly stupid, and how i dress up to keep up the illusion that i have my shit together [interesting wording. have i heard it before?], maybe you can tell me a bit more about my future...!




erm, yes. sweetheart, do you read my private email, too!?!
....

before i creep into my wardrobe to have some serious talks about data protection with charlotte, maybe another sensual creature should bring all perceptions together & sum things up:




good summary, thanks. finally, someone predicts dramatic changes! as long as she doesn't refer to plastic surgery, and i don't look like her by the end of this new year, i promise: i work daily daily daily on being patient. patience is smth for guns n' roses, but not for me...but the more days pass, the more patient i am, actually.


...so is this all that can be said? of course not, but how can i find an appropriate transition to something that made the initially mentioned usualness vanish....?! because progress, development, expansion actually happens. forget all those videos above. after an exclusive interview last week, a whole radio feature from a lithuanian broadcast station concentrated onto the œuvre of MSK, did a street survey, researched for a suitable background soundtrack and produced the only true and real proof of growth: a program on friendship & love. not available through youtube, saved uniquely onto my desktop, otherwise the world would succumb to jealousy. but let me tell you about the voices of this very world:

i never thought i could freak out because of joy by hearing a broad texan idiom....
chuckle as my ears are spoilt with an irresistible sweet west coast accent....
tear my hair as i recognize who is spreading good vibrations for me...from arizona, from france, from GB...
fall into laughter as i realize whose famous voice is telling me to be the official catering service to a trademarked company...
feel so unbelievably much warmth by hearing that loved and trusted schwizzerdütsch...
smile energized like after a double espresso as i receive peaceful poetic preaches from my personal coffee god...
scream with laughter at flattering love declarations from montreal...
get dreamy eyes as i identify another canadian accent that sounds like maple syrup to my ears...
trample hysterically as i hear one of my favorite voices ever telling about her slovenian saudades....
and finally, burst into heavy tears as i hear that québécoise singing....again. hell yes. it still got the same k.o.-effect on me. *no words*

24 blissful minutes of telling me that i am anything but usual. assuring me that its worth celebrating my life - held, protected and surrounded by the most beautiful network of friends, whose energy threads run around the globe, making it a better place.

alienation and alter egos aside: most of you are regular guests of this theatre, most of you coming weekly from far away. on my birthday, i had the whole world at my place, which impended to burst because of all these positive vibes. whereas my 970 sqft might be too small to host all of you, my heart is definitely not....
there might be a san francisco in guatemala, cuba, and ecuador because of a technical website-malaise, you might think you enter this city by reading its place-name sign on a british jeans jacket, or find an equally named place in a viennese bathroom because of californian licence plates and papers from DMV, 1377 fell street. ljubljana is called laibach by some people, and can be reached in either 4 hours by car, or 2 days via post service. it might happen that people have twin brothers in canada, although no relative entered these grounds before, and poland can either be a country, an energy felt through voice mails, or a kissing style. sometimes a desert becomes a metropolis, and a couch becomes a home....

...after all, space is just a construct that gives the illusion that we are separate.

- you all rock my world -


as i often let music express what i think/feel, when my [english] words run out, i wish i could find the greatest song in the world to cherish all that appreciation i received. i couldn't cut down my gratefulness to just one single song, so this is just a tribute:








ps: special things are scarce, and often happen surprisingly. my reaction to surprises are similar to the old lady's : astonishment, red eyes, laughter. as much as i am gesticulating here linguistically in a jack blackian manner, i seem not to find the appropriate words for a reply.
"one and one make two, two and one make three....." probably its destiny.

R.M., 24, london's exceptional investigator and future BA in journalism, freelancer for LT magazines and outstanding frequent online publisher, in dialog with the notorious austrian illusionist M.S.K. on the recent replay of her self-reflexive piece "how to...wash hands of".



APPLES AND CHEAP EAST END COFFEE ARE THE BETTER DENTAL HYGIENE
Why real writing and journalist skills are more fresh than vanilla and cinnamon, and how the shy and elusive MSK can be challenged with in-depth questions in an exclusive interview.
R.M.




















picture secretly taken at the celebration of the "how to...wash hands of" premiere.




RM: MSK, thank you for being here with me tonight. I have to admit that I wasn't part of the premiere of your latest piece, but fortunately, your work usually is accessible through its universality and general public. After watching the piece, I was surprised to be confronted with such an explicit rejection and debasing of smth many other people would call fun and reason for good mood. Now let me ask a person with 1.) a high awareness of social issues, and 2.) with an eclectic knowledge about music, or maybe more interesting: asking a person who usually preaches the sensuality and sensation of dance: why are you not willing to mingle with the lower classes for the sake of the outstanding music of Mr Hawtin?

MSK: A good question indeed, I may answer it with a counter question: If I'd believe in a traditional "God" - would I seek to meet him/her/it in "Hell"? I'm very willed to mingle with people of all ethnicities, genders, classes - but do I want to mingle with people whose IQ and EQ is anti-proportional to the horsepower of their cars? Besides, I neither have a white t-shirt, nor a jeans mini-skirt to adapt with the crowd, and I definitely know about the dangers how one looks "like" after encountering with Mr. Hawtin.


RM: Asparagus just now? In our theatreland, you can have it in September, January and April. Trimmed by Peruvian hands, of course, and shipped half-way around the world. But now I feel inspired to get some fresh organic seasonal ones and eat it on ciabatta with parmesan and whatever not. How do I grill it - is the question.

MSK: As you are very accurate in your research for interviews, you might know about my politics of supporting both local, and seasonal products. And although my theatreland provides the same Peruvian perversions - I strongly recommend to skip asparagus the rest of the year, and rather freak out on the first organic one each spring. Special things, like people, have to make themselves scarce...
As for your question: get yourself a decent "equipment", but more important is the smoky flavoring you want to give your asparagus: grind coriander seeds with some dried chili, cumin, maybe some hickory salt, garlic and olive oil. You can give fish, meat, vegetables a nice little treat with this mixture - either as a marinade, or as the base, together with green tea e.g. for a chinese-style smoked duck/salmon.


RM: Looking at the basil pot in one scene of your play, I can't stop thinking about my recent disillusion with fresh basil pesto. I have not tried a home-made fresh pesto in my life until I was given a jar of it recently. I have to confess that I've been very disappointed. The taste is very strong and grass-like. What is your opinion on that?

MSK: As you probably remember from previews interviews, I'm very appreciative of strong flavors. Salt, pepper, grass, you name it. But I know to which problem you are referring to, and as an addict of pesto, esp. home-made ones, I might have an advice for untroubled enjoyment.
As everything in [other people's] life, pesto is all about harmony. You need to balance the grassy taste of basil with the saltiness of parmesan, and the sweetness of pine nuts. Garlic will give all ingredients a nice kick in the (gl)ass, and the olive oil will contribute to the creamy texture. To prepare such a balance, roasting the nuts is a good trick to enhance the flavors, as well as adding a hint of lemon.


RM: - Majonnaise? You mean mayonnaise?

MSK: No. In this piece, I particularly refer to Majonäse. You know how important the Brechtian approach is for me, and like him, I intend to express my social consciousness with dialectic teaching plays. Therefore: as you expressed yourself congenially, "the purpose of your play is to inform and teach" - what more could I ask for, than the audience leaving the theatre with a new German word in their repertoire?! And by the way, whereas I wouldn't eat it with other typical carbohydrates like Erdäpfel and such, Majonäse fits perfectly with Brot, imho.


RM: Needle within hay = "needle in a haystack" is the idiom.

MSK: So you reckon everyone who uses the wording "needle within hay" is an idiot then? Next question, please.


RM: What makes the protagonist think other persons read something different from what she writes? I would like to clear this one first, if possible.

MSK: I would like to clear this one last, if you don't mind. Well, obviously this disbalance between writing and reading was already the case with you, as your previous reviews on my work showed. The reason that made me blush, as mentioned, and even lets me drop plays from the program every once in a while. But my intention with the latest self-reflexive play was to thematize this very mechanism - the differences of expression and perception - differencies which neither party can be blamed for, but is natural result of every dialogue situation. Simply given by socialisation, education, interests, etc pp - a "code" or "message" only exists in the relationship between sender and receiver, not as an objective "matter of fact-truth". The father of Cultural Studies, sociologist Stuart Hall, developed a very descriptive modell which you might want to consider for your question. The delineation behind this link [which doesn't want to work integrated into the text: http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sender-Empfänger-Modell] should answer it actually - and if your German doesn't reach beyond carbohydrates, Majonäse, Honig - simply think about the moment of japanese whisper and its dynamics. The message sent is mostly a different one than the message received....
True though, I of course play with misunderstandings and allusions. From the creative point of view: it's the very part I gain pleasure from - besides of writing my plays in a Möbius strip-like associative flow and encrypting the result with hypertexts, which make it even harder to declaim it onstage... a tricky paperchase online I enjoy being the only one winning, always. As it is a lonesome, but joyful chase, you may want to call my program autoerotic, but don't call it narcissistic.


RM: As far my narcissism goes, I think my glasses are perfect, I see well with them, and I would like to inform you that I could identify myself with one of the characters in your work.

MSK: Good on you. You and your sexy tropicalismo glasses thankfully found entrance to my world - all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players...I guess you are the second protagonist actually, the other one without exit from this stage - and our existentialist play: "Waiting for Godot"....


RM: As a final question: If not better glasses, do I need to acquire more cognition over the time to see the invisible in your work?

MSK: Actually I think you sometimes write your own texts into the space I leave open and vague for the invisible. Maybe we should rather think about combining your cognition/perception with my confessions/perfectionism?! Bringing together the two versions of messaging, which we both represent, for the sake of one mutual code...


RM: Here comes my narcissism again....
MSK, thank you very much for taking the time and giving me one of your rare interviews. I guess my paper can use one of your countless self portraits for the illustration of this article...!

MSK: Most definitely. Maybe you want to choose one without posing this time, where several cocktails force the protagonist into a post-celebrational fatigue slackness? And unless you are going to publish on Page 3 - the pleasure was on my side.


---
references & bibliography:
1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3O9xEZUEDM&feature=related
2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Rgbg0INRD4
3. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=10q96IPlm70

you may want to use some cold and clear agua,
maybe a bit of soap...
get a fleece to dry your hands....
= et voilà! you're bathed in innocence, comme moi.


..."someone" who gives mashed potatoes w/ lime & garlic, and life in general a name, someone who would rather borrow me a garter belt than a chastity belt, tells me about her latest perceptions in her role as a regular recipient in this splendid epic theatre. me, the director, protagonist, dramaturge, scenic & costume designer, and my own critic all in one - confronted with speculations of a season card holder, this loyal playgoer in the first row: she perceives naturalism, where i stage brechtian distancing effect, she sees me as raging medea in a grillparzer piece, where i play the prostitute jenny in the threepenny opera.

simplified: she reads something different than what i write. well, i guess that's the norm with the rest of the audience, who is sneaking in after the bell's ringing, too - the usual mechanism that stuart hall verbalised in his reception theory. i don't mind most of the sneakers. her cognition though, makes me nervous and blush with shame underneath my rouge. me? blithely blunt? explicitly suggestive? really? yeah but no but yeah but no but yeah. but. we all know that function follows form, ja?! i'd probably sell my soul for a savory wording, but the content is usually as harmless and disinfected as a toothpaste kisses. behind allusions and associations: nothing but toothpaste, soap and innocence. and if all, toothpaste, soap, and innocence happen to have a scent of vanilla, or maybe cinnamon, is it my fault? i didn't invent either of them!

true, sometimes i could do a bit more of straight talking and expose the ennui. but if i'd change the cadence, would i still like the sound?
e.g. "[...] why i have a massive problem with affirmative action these days [...]." <-- quite an academic sentence, followed by a dangerously characteristic blurry reference to my paragon of intellectuality, a personal description painted like a vague aquarelle. should i rather continue with "j.b., PhD, maxine elliot professor in the departments of rhetoric and comparative literature, berkeley/california, highlights with her appearance what she expresses with her trenchant thinking and writing. but whereas her militant outfit captured my interest only for a brief moment, it was her combative work that changed my life, and gave me answers [helpful approaches to a problem], where there were only questions before."

^ boring. boring boring boring. last week's lesson told us we are all not here for straight, and if i'm here in the limelight for entertainment, i, of course, want my piece of fun, too. and if it's only to make cinnamon taste like sarawak pepper, i definitely enjoy myself. and hope that the audience uses their opera glasses, watches carefully, reads only what's written.
- and that's usually nothing that leads to misinterpretations, nothing that would make me blush, worry about my dignity [ ≠ reputation] and make me hide chastely behind virginal trees....!



yeah, it's a maple. definitely the right moment to grow first leafs now.


...but maybe me and my ablushed cheeks are more safe behind a pink magnolia?




...honestly, to detect smth obnoxious in such an innocent place like this, would be like finding a needle within hay, or me within a mass of people in a park on a sunny day [hint: i might be found behind the camera, so put down your loupe].




- sunshine! did i mention it's finally spring? just in case i didn't: it is that time of the year i try to find a new recipe for asparagus each day [today: grilled with coriander, served with lemon-pesto-majonnaise, salmon, poached egg, parmiggiano].




yeah, that time of year when "good mood" is getting more tangible by each day....



- no, this is not my definition of having fun [calligraphy, and location both scream "plebs!", but this is vienna of course. where fun only happens in the graveyards and please, only laugh in cellars].


...mhm, i think i mentioned this before. time to literally spring up from the tombs, spread wings, and resist the tickling in the fingers to write ambiguous things...





- did i stage a fair amount of diversion now? enough distraction?
...or do people still think i'm a whore anyway?




whatever your perception is, audience, whatever theatre you think you visit here weekly: get your coat at the wardrobe, please, i'm closing curtains for today.
write your review on this whatever-play in a newspaper, in emails, in blogs, or nowhere, honestly you could put your opinion into a bag and throw it in a trash can. i still don't give a damn.


[just yours, skordalia-girl, i pull out of the bin, and think about the content, too much as always, as you can see, making a dramatic entry out of it, even. get some new glasses, i reckon, so that you might see better!]

end of act.