the end of artfully mantled egocentrism
2 shifts in music history
my version of the usual "this was 2007" list [yeah, i know. freaky year, not only for me]
ice ice baby




...although by far not so elaborate, an interesting reference to aphex twin suiting the preparations on new year's eve [although i was tempted to take this version of course]: in the face of the exodus...why not a bit of exaggeration? - loathing? secrets making circles in chinese whispers? nourishment? haggardness? excitement? adventures? exorbitance? pretty much 2007 i'd say.

jan 31 2007: hangover after saying good bye to my parents with true gallons of olive oil & wine at one of my fave restaurants, plus celebrating my sis' birthday dancing salsa.
feb 31 2007 = mar 1 2007: constantly eating in the streets of bangkok. i just have to stop every 10 meters to get another snack for 10 baht...
mar 31 2007: actually eating thai again. the only rainy day in NZ, cooking a curry on the shore of lake te anau, having nightmares sleeping in the woods.
april 31 2007 = may 1 2007: only one shop on the whole island of tongatapu? and it sells strawberry jam, tinned mackerel and coconut milk? i rather survive on kava instead...
may 31 2007: shiatsu massage from a CS host in chile to activate my endorphin pathways.
june 31 2007 = july 1 2007: spitting out coca leaves to choke down lama, 13.000 ft, -4°F, bolivia...
july 31 2007: los feliz/silverlake/echo park. i do like LA still, esp. being the only person walking through it, and seeing things that car drivers won't see [and make LA secretly fun], 95°F.
august 31 2007: pretty hot day too. i borrow free spirit to Y. i meet stupid austrians at 10 o'clock. energy [drink]. double rainbow. too many people dancing at the opulent temple.
sep 31 2007 = oct 1 2007: fighting w/ the wind at the great sand dunes. drinking beer, running down the hills, driving to boulder, being confronted with assumptions over my well being.
oct 31 2007: i haven't eaten in 3 days. R thinks the cure for an aching tooth is melted chocolate with chili. it soothes the mental, not the dental pain, i feverishly sleep 4 hrs on a floor in hackney before i have to catch a plane to vienna.
nov 31 2007 = dec 1 2007: london again. you've been reading about that here.
dec 31 2007: realizing: quite a year. the only question i ask today: fluc or flex? house? minimal? dubstep? electro? nurave?

...the later probably the most interesting development in the music scene this year - crossing the boundaries between genres, transgression on the dance floor: former condescending indie rockers with hairs parted sideways now pin well known symbols onto their leather jackets, whilst swinging their glow sticks. unabashed euphoria, hysteria unites styles & people in ecstasy. should i feel insulted then, that earlier this year i was teasingly called a raver girl, and an old friend states [regarding my return to old behaviours] that i am actually too young for a midlife crisis?!

- probably i should feel flattered, and attracted to this new phenomenon, as it combines two important preferences of mine. although: my knowledge of indie music is pretty antique, probably stops here [the last lie of the year. of course my eclectic interest in music could let me write about nice videos, but that's 4AD of course, i could tell about fires that shine so bright that other stars from the indie skies are fading, but that's the montreal-phenomenon of course, broken social scene being the outrider, followed by many little ponies, causing/legitimatizing today's entry subject line.]

...where was i?....all female band....riot grrrls.....ah ja, kathleen hanna jumping around in a sonic youth video, although heavily occupied with killing bikinis before she formed le tigre - actually a good connection: from punk to the more electronic performances, back in my black & white ivory tower from last week, sepulcher indie passing over the doorhandle to electronica betimes before too many nancy boys in tight jeans started walking the line to a broad mainstream called alternative rock. [exactly, now i got it. placebo of course tries to protect me from what i want, my sis telling me that i heard those lines through her, she being a fan for years, raving about b. molko's usage of kohl pencil, no way for me, even the thickest make up can't make him taller, my appreciations goes as far as a collab with bowie and a cover from the smiths. so definitely no way to placebo 2007. nice lyrics though.]


...can i have some brain bleach please?
my intertextuality is dyeing my mental fabrics in too wild patterns...
i've been told that my writing is unbearable to a few, entertaining to some others, and from one assiduous student i know that my texts are treated like homework: reading with a dictionary until its internalized. some don't say anything at all. the absence of the red pencil, literally, is quite freeing sometimes, but this freedom can easily turn to borderless boredom in readers, as the topic always stays the same: me & you, and everyone we know.
...therefore: shall i change my concept in 2008? the rules of this poetical afterlife? overthrowing myself once again? honestly, i don't know into which direction i could go else: but am i doing anything different at the moment than walking into the nowhere on thin ice (mov, 388 KB)?

[the boy zone packed me and my gauche skills, the biggest, warmest and ugliest outdoor clothes, tea and cookies for this sunday's salvation army-entertainment. mood changed, had fun.]

after all, i admittedly like my concept here: planned word chaos about my current chaotic plans for life, picture of the week, turnover to the recipe of the day. which would usually go smth like this:

...driving into the gray, blurry vastness of a frozen sea, the perfect place for my empty mind, i don't pay attention to a disruption in the ice crust...to the beat of my aching heart i hear the sudden cracking, seconds before i break through to the other side... swimming in the same deep waters as you is hard, but at least i catch two trouts. i shiver and shake from the cold, but get warm as i cook the carcass with white wine, pepper corns, onions, bay leaves, garlic to a fish stock. meanwhile i prepare a dough out of 8.8 oz flour, 4.2 oz water, salt, 1 tablespoon of oil, which i let rest for 1 hour. i use this break to cook a puree of 8 oz mushrooms, cut brunoise, sour cream, and the usual flavorings. additional: take one of the trout fillets, blend it with 4oz icy cold double cream, 1 egg, lemon juice, salt and pepper. after rolling the dough into thin squares, i alternately fill it with the mushrooms, the fish paste, and a piece of fillet. let it bake at 400°F for 15mins. i take the prepared fish stock, cook it up with vermouth, white wine, 4 oz double cream, 2 shallots, lime juice, 1 tomato, a hint of salt, sugar and pepper. blend it with cold butter and serve the little fish parcels with it...



...anybody still hungry? if you out there are still graving for more of my current concept of indigestible-but-low-in-fat-literary-snacks : give me a reason, send me a postcard...!


safe travels into the new year everyone, i'm now finally off for a little trip - not onto slippery ice but into the night, onto the dance floor....

ps: last song of the year, before i'm taking a ride [without horse, in many meanings]:
hell, if you'd just make it a bit faster!

1 advice: skip this & scroll down.
1 morning run into the cold
winter solstice/feast of lights//julfest/korochun/meán geimhridh/christmas....
the wish to be a serigraph of a. warhol




R states that i reflect myself constantly in extraordinary proportions. do i have to worry that i am [despite all that self doubt] a self-centered megalomaniac? or isn't it a sign that i ain't just satisfying my basic needs and try to figure out [mhm, nice phrasing, literally] what separates me from other mammals? hell, i am a scholar of deconstructivism after all...!

...no, its not about you and the sun today.
if i have that here mentioned last wish for this ending year, than it is to take another [the last, i need a new concept!] glance at this spinning wheel, the circulating orbit, the never permanent, the always borrowed & blue every me...


...many things not mentioned on that pseudo-scientific list, such as: dyslexia. especially in terms of directionality a true problem since my childhood: what means left, what means right, what is east or west, top or bottom, if i am constantly circling [around the world, around the same issues, around myself] like a greek wedding dance?

what j. butler calls performativity, the constant repetition of norms to produce a meaning, turned into the statement backtracking to move forward at some point in my case. [appendix: meager veda of a graduate. just realized that this sounds very much like back to the future. and i thought i was unique!]

- done again, on friday. my place still crammed with boxes my parents stored whilst my sister was (mis-)using the appartment: accidentally they brought some of my old youth stuff from the cellar too. yeah, exactly from the era starting with the last week mentioned radio programme, ending with my first big journey through europe '97: berlin, amsterdam, london, dublin, paris, you name it. and whilst i don't even dare to open old letters from that time, as my embarrassment threshold is pretty low, i definitely go through the pictures....



...looking at myself sitting in my ivory tower of desperation at a indigo painted desk back in steyr, the other place where i grew up, surrounded by my b/w pictures and weird pencil paintings i did on my walls with 17, i immediately hear myself listening to weird [back then still so-called] jungle&goa, see myself drinking far too much red bull too call myself a vegetarian....



...pathetic but true: whilst i admittedly took pictures on cemeteries with 17 as well as with 27 [just because i like to roam through a silent atmosphere], i wonder if i'd still flip the bird towards a crucifix with...lets say 38...like i rebelliously did with 15?! [and no. this picture definitely stays unpublished, just like the one where one couldn't tell me apart from a white wall]


summa summarum: same eye make up. same political attitude. still able to dance/read/write whole weeks through. but more fun, more friends, more sophisticated taste in shoes, clothes and interior design, not such bad grades in english anymore (?!) - and now i can even do some simple calculus!


e.g.: for approx. 60 biscuits like my great-grand-mother did them at this time of the year, i need 10.5oz flour, 7oz butter, 3.5oz sugar, 2 egg yolks, 1tablespoon milk, vanilla, 0.2oz grated nutmeg. of course i work fast to combine all the ingredients to a shortcrust, let it rest before i shape the cookies, then bake them for 8 mins at 400°F. i cover them with rose hip jam and an icing of half a lemon, mixed with sugar to a smooth paste and sprinkle pieces of unsalted pistachios on top.
if mimi, my ancestor, knew of the euphoriant and energizing impact of nutmeg and rose hip? - i for sure know why i always loved them, why they turn out to be the only cookies i make this year.



...and before the shooting star shaped cookies get a chance to turn into crumbs in their box, me and my house boys had them with coffee on dec 24 after eating the [un]traditional fasten soup, after taking a walk into an overwhelming japanese-style gelid sunset, before the cooking marathon, the intentional wrong-singing, the too-much-red wine-until-the-morning-drinking, the feast of lights: celebrating another full moon, signifying that days are getting longer again, and with that: depressions and uncontrolled blog-writing hopefully stops soon [!!].









for those celebrating this turnabout from darkness to wonder, i scatter some of those last sternschnuppen throughout the world, encouraging the fruition of your hopes & wishes.
...i ate 12 at least, one for each upcoming new month, although maybe only with one wish on mind.

feliz navidad, near & dear ones, old & young, and all that jazz...

my first brunch invitation
no sleep at all
a random web identity






...its the third week of not being able to sleep.
i keep myself awake with listening to all the tunes that make me feel quite blue......tiefblau.

interests:
words, dancing, eyes, movies, art, food/cooking, music, traveling, nature, people, pressure & strength, languages, peaches (fruits & artist) visual & aesthetical phenomenons, learning, unexpected make up, snowboarding, politics, FLUCTUATING BODIES, olive oil e.v., self-portraits, the exaggerated (camp, flamboyancy, burlesque, harajuku...), the subtle (looks, wordplays, silence, humour, unrealized beauty...), fashion design, los angeles/berkeley/sometimes: san francisco, sweat, outdoors: hiking, running, biking, strawberry fields / indoors: pilates, yoga, kitchen marathons, strawberry jam; wine, defiance, singing (although i rarely let people know), fog, poached eggs with spinach and nutmeg, laughter, sun on unclothed skin, theories & philosophy, twilight, proper coffee, three colors: black/mauve/petrol, tokyo, crying, consciousness & responsibility for this planet and its people, sticky leather seats on shaking buses somewhere between thailand and bolivia, aspiration, extensive brunching, thinking about the metaphysics of 'water' can drive me insane, intensity, walking (cities, forests, hills, deserts), borderline experiences, cold rivers & hot bathtubs, inspiring odors, scarfs and scars, dust,...

bodies - a transitional moment in time. my shifting desire: needing to feel it under extreme circumstances or wishing to get rid of it. [regardless of the first, recently discussed w/ R as more spicy than sweet...]: why this concentration on a physical coincidence? i totally disclaim any reference to a yet vivid, but still culturally constructed appearance. beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and not a quality to build an identity upon.
...you wanna refer to any particular part of my body? - enjoy the image, but don't bother me with your superficial comments. you think i am a nice soul? - i start listening to you. you refer to my writing? - i move a bit closer. you think i have a glowing personality? - tell me more about it. you have the feeling i'm not stupid? - you won my heart.

interests:
words, dancing, eyes, movies, art, food/cooking, music, traveling, nature, people, pressure & strength, languages, peaches (fruits & artist) visual & aesthetical phenomenons, learning, unexpected make up, snowboarding, politics, fluctuating bodies, olive oil e.v., self-portraits, the exaggerated (camp, flamboyancy, burlesque, harajuku...), the subtle (looks, wordplays, silence, humour, unrealized beauty...), fashion design, los angeles/berkeley/sometimes: san francisco, sweat, outdoors: hiking, running, biking, strawberry fields / indoors: pilates, yoga, kitchen marathons, strawberry jam; wine, defiance, singing (although i rarely let people know), fog, poached eggs with spinach and nutmeg, laughter, sun on unclothed skin, theories & philosophy, twilight, proper coffee, three colors: black/mauve/petrol, tokyo, crying, consciousness & responsibility for this planet and its people, sticky leather seats on shaking buses somewhere between thailand and bolivia, aspiration, extensive brunching, thinking about the metaphysics of 'water' can drive me insane, intensity, walking (cities, forests, hills, deserts), borderline experiences, cold rivers & hot bathtubs, INSPIRING ODORS, scarfs and scars, dust,...

i listen to my fave austrian radio , friday night: a feature on the olfactory power. whilst i am filling the room with odors of a grated orange cest, i listen to the programme i hosted myself 13 years ago [i was bloody 14 years old only!]: and whereas i talked about the aesthetics of destruction and the suicidal tendencies of young people of vorarlberg, the place next to switzerland where i partly grew up, they ask their listeners today, what influences odors have on their lives.
- and fuck yeah, they do have an impact. a trigger to memories, as this sense is hyper-sensitive in my case - probably thanks to....ah, don't mention it again, m.
...i follow the discussion, if the smell of sex is only perceivable for the lovers themselves or sticks on you like an obvious perfume. probably the first, that's why one thinks the second....
- anyways. it took me exactly 6 weeks until i finally grabbed my very own perfume for the first time in months - and it was a contradictory moment: feeling invaded by something alien, but at the same time embraced by myself...

me, myself, my interests:
words, dancing, eyes, movies, art, food/cooking, music, traveling, nature, people, pressure & strength, languages, peaches (fruits & artist) visual & aesthetical phenomenons, learning, unexpected make up, snowboarding, politics, fluctuating bodies, olive oil e.v., self-portraits, the exaggerated (camp, flamboyancy, burlesque, harajuku...), the subtle (looks, wordplays, silence, humour, unrealized beauty...), fashion design, los angeles/berkeley/sometimes: san francisco, sweat, outdoors: hiking, running, biking, strawberry fields / indoors: pilates, yoga, kitchen marathons, strawberry jam; wine, defiance, singing (although i rarely let people know), fog, poached eggs with spinach and nutmeg, laughter, sun on unclothed skin, theories & philosophy, twilight, proper coffee, three colors: black/mauve/petrol, tokyo, crying, consciousness & responsibility for this planet and its people, sticky leather seats on shaking buses somewhere between thailand and bolivia, aspiration, EXTENSIVE BRUNCHING, thinking about the metaphysics of 'water' can drive me insane, intensity, walking (cities, forests, hills, deserts), borderline experiences, cold rivers & hot bathtubs, inspiring odors, scarfs and scars, dust,...

...the programme finally changes from talk radio to la boum deluxe: in its beginnings a strict techno programme, now the homebase for every thinkable electronic music in austria.
as i am staying home after having a beer with bestest friends tonight to do some cooking, it definitely is the best background entertainment i can think of: patrick pulsinger with a life set of nice minimal tech, me beating double cream for a mousse de poisson in the same rhythm. at this point i still think of saturday's brunch as a decent invitation for friends, whom i want to cherish for their soul warming support throughout the last months with some homemade soul food.
...i continue with baking bread, dancing.


...but of course, a couple of hours later in the afternoon, dignified becomes hemingway-esque: we raise glasses on everything from condemning dichotomies to the advanced alcoholism we all suffer, whilst emptying plate after plate: of spicy cardamom tomato soup with vodka, an orange-ginger-lemonade, certainly poached eggs with spinach, petits fours de fromage, rucola cream cheese, roasted potatoes filled with bacon, sage and anchovies, the mentioned mousse, for the second time self made pate with a orange-ginger-red wine gelee, and for the first time: self made croissants. the conversation turns towards old children tv-series, brunch turns into dinner as i start making pasta with tomatoes, mozzarella and pesto, which is so salty [again.............] & hot, that it surprisingly encourages spontaneous dancing. - how could i expect anything different than an orgy when inviting the most outrageously wonderful sis/bro-couple A & J, my brother at heart M and my boys D & H from the house? no one else would turn the atelier into a time machine moving with signor rossi from the 60s to the austrian 80s, to an almost too balearic club of 2006 [c'on, it's just for fun...], and finally, after 3 hours, back into the 70s with some simple but nobel prize-worthy lyrics....



...i can't remember how i spent the few hours between us moving all together to the electro gönner where i almost fainted because of the smoke, and suddenly sitting at my grandparent's listening apathetically to their usual conservative moaning, my mouth crammed with cheap greasy meat, not to nourish me, but to avoid any obstreperous backtalk - "you finally gained weight whilst traveling, miriam, look at your full cheeks!" - damn, let me swallow and i tell you how much i always dislike your concentration on my appearance. "did you change your mind and will finally think of having children, and getting a proper life, miriam?" no fucking way, at least one person has to keep up a deviant lifestyle in this family....!
...don't know how i got into this situation, which is a drastic contrast to saturday [not only in terms of intellectuality] and obviously makes me swear too much. my parents, whom i met there for the first time after our first reunion, save me from this duty visit to bring me back to vienna for more champagne, before i start this sunday night web-monologue....

blame it to the dancing, blame it to hemingway, blame it to the beloved guests, blame it to brain-emptying grandparents - but i seriously can't recall any of the recipes to the dishes mentioned above. especially not the one for the 6 hours preparation wonders, my first croissants: buttery, sexy, crisp & soft, highly addictive. just guessing: bit of flour, yeast, lotsa butter, even more love, and pressure & strength to knead the dough 4 times....



...but probably i'm just bitchy and want to keep my secrets as long as i finally have you, readers out there, sitting on my table to indulge together my passion for extensive brunching...

1 song i totally adored when i was 13
a slovenian logged in from austria
2 oz wild flower honey to soothen voices
1 email that keeps me going but isn't further mentioned here




play a part in a greater scheme
try to live the dream on a wider scene

...interesting that i dreamt of sweet harmony already 15 years ago, just about to be aware of the person i might want to develop to, making first steps out of my teenage angst vault into direction dance floor: probably still caught within a disproportionate relation between wanting and permission to fulfill this want, and great insecurity of my braces/too tall/weird eye colour/the only one not having a boyfriend/did i mention the "n-word"-appearance, but with an enormous urge to move [& shake the world]....has there changed much?!


- definitely. instead of the original, i now listen to the remix whilst thinking of a coming together on last weekend. which, of course, included dancing...



although just seen each other in london, but not willing to resist temptations: Š jumped into a car in ljubljana, jumped out of it in vienna, and entered as the first person i crossed paths with "out there" my afterlife, which is obviously so bewildering, that i need to discuss it in public.
[alienation is the key word, if you might sense a shameless self exploitation here!]

...not so alien to the both of us: cycling through cities. if its black rock or the austrian capital: the only difference is the amount of clothes we are wearing. i take her for a ride -

...and with her eyes, i see my birthplace new & again: from the ambrosial markets where i go on saturdays, to my fave neighbourhood: 50 feet [50 feet? what the hell are 50 feet? absorbing random expressions like a sponge...!] , ok: 1 block containing almost everything what makes my life - an indie movie store, a puristic florist, 2 galleries, 3 cafes,1 fancy eatery, 1 second hand store, a cooking book shop, 1 bohemian kiosk for late night hunger, a chocolate boutique for a weekly G&B, couple of young fashion designers.

...continuing: escaping from tourists and a procession of a catholic mass/mess - my former way to university, to one of the most progressive departments in one of the most conservative and bourgeois areas of vienna.



Š at least tries to look impressed. more impressing: viennese fast food. even people with strong rules of not joining the massive percentage eating in chains instead of home, can't resist the seduction of an egg in 21 varities. eat them so slow, that you are still able to pronounce the name with full mouth....




before shops close at 6pm, i rush her past the heldenplatz, away from the obtrusive beauty of the ring, towards one of the million kitsch stores which make postmodern, urban hippies want to spend money.
i must be totally wasted to want what they sell - instantly: gay accent, understanding for modern art, permanence of love, believe in god, childhood memories....



...after these hours of splendid conversations on bikes, we decide to warm up with hot alcohol: the choice, of course, is not the pseudo-alpine shack selling rewarmed chateau migrain in front of the 2 biggest museums, but my beloved installation refuges in the museumsquartier: a cup of rum with ginger, honey, allspice and apricot later, catching accidentally 2 concerts [one balkanized dub, the other nerdy electronica, supposedly from finnland], a thai dinner back "home", deciding for the sake of our fading voices to miss another opportunity to dance: nevertheless an upbeat night.


....we stare into milky green glasses and the sky was pink....


underneath that sparkling heaven, the earth is moist, brown, fruitful: i dig at least 10 jerusalem artichokes out of the soil and rinse them in water. after peeling and cutting them into chunks, i start roasting them in olive oil until they catch some color. i add 2 cloves of garlic, finely sliced, 3 bay leaves, salt, pepper, and a dash of white wine vinegar. put a lid on top and let cook for 20 minutes. remove lid and bay leaves, and season with fresh sage leaves. to support the earthy smokiness of the artichokes, i fry some slices of pancetta in the same pan before eating with sour cream.



winterish carbohydrates to calm sour muscles, warm the soul and nourish me until the next time...
...hvala - for coming. for being. for letting me explore anew!

5 nights = 26hrs sleep
coming in from a sunny thursday with a rainy heart
1 new skirt [ J. Crew, size 6, black, long & slim cut gord ]
being called bitch-ass by a blond girl on the toilette
fetish 69



i am lacking words.
...its not that i ran out of them [which would be rather surprising], as my mind displays them blurred, fast and associative - like flipping through a dictionary, it exposes vocabulary such as whimsical, derailing, licentious, affectionate, provident, candid, unrelieved yearning ...

lack of time too.
...it flies when fun is dictating the speed. starting in slow motion: thursday 3am, cranberries in my glass, quesadilla on my plate - the girl shows me once more how much she knows me. her counterpart in crime: brave enough to get up from sleep to take me into her slovenian arms, and lulling me into a dusty & dizzying cloud with her smoky voice.
...running through the rain on friday evening, once again behaving like a citizen, to finally catch a wonderful piece in black and white - not only to dry jeans, but to warm the heart strongly recommended...



...saturday and sunday. passed with the button for fast forward pressed down....
if somebody would ask me, "what is a london decompression party like, anyway?" - i couldn't give an honest answer. because, apparently, i'm lacking words when things are too intense....
[or, alternatively, i run away when its too good, or i compensate through - well, what about moving, art, cooking, writing?!]
- and how couldn't be these hours anything but divine, in this (amongst others) company?



a plane way too early to ljubljana, advices from another timezone, a boiled over pot of chicken in the kitchen, later on omega3 in form of fish against the emotional hangover, rice to recover cells from free-radical (self expression?) with antioxidants, courgettes roasted with garlic to support the metabolism - back to life on monday.



...changing clothes to an over knee skirt and a woolen pullover, changing make up to simple lip gloss - just the mind won't change, as i am strolling from soho to shoreditch, where me and miss higher force play sophisticated normality with a glass of wine in our hands.

- discussing what i wrote one week ago: clairvoyant i've been, of course. lies, nothing but lies.
it certainly is a lie, that a night of whatever-you-wanna-do-with-it, in my case dancing & socializing [as done with that charming blond english girl], that this night will set you free from pressure.
a glass of a (french-)viennese souvenir on the next afternoon makes the decision: if that default world approaches us with pressure, why not facing the world with ecually significant acts of empowerment?

michel foucault said once, that "power" is not necessarily negative, but in its effects productive too....

...the power of good bye, therefore, finds its productive outlet through heavy tears....


...but if words only do harm: why is it so good then, to find a letter as i am returning to vienna, containing thoughtful wishes, warm words, with cordial conviviality and pictures that simply make me smile?!

a handwritten letter (nowadays)! from the US of A (so far away)! from san francisco (so close)!
to me (to whom none writes mail wrapped in envelopes, except of the bank!)



- this shall end now all arguments fellow europeans stated lately, that us-americans tend to have superficial out of sight/out of mind-friendships only...
princessa, you made my day/night/week/and probably it lasts for the whole december too...!


i am opening the envelope, and surprisingly (well, the letter went over one ocean!) some scallops still stick to the christmas card. i take about 10 of them and clean them in cold water. roasting onions, leek, cellery stalks, zucchini in - here's the word - olive oil, adding plenty of white wine, some tomatoes, dill, salt, pepper, garlic, bay leaves. fill up with water. let cook until veges still have a bite. add as much of your favorite fish [devil fish in my case], prawns, and of course scallops as you like. add some butter to make the fish soup smooth and creamy. i served it this afternoon to 3 charming friends of mine with a simple baguette, but of course i had to cook smth with the other ingredients of the envelope from SF, too: ginger, apricots, vanilla.

let these 3 components cook with a bit of brown sugar, add a small cut mango. let it cool. prepare a shortcrust of 100gr sugar, 100 gr butter, 100 gr flour and cardamon (please do the conversion yourselves this time) and crumble it over the fruits. let it bake for 15 minutes on high heat and serve with sour cream [or alternatively, as i will be doing for saturday's thai dinner, with a coconut panacotta - substitute cream with coconut cream and vanilla with cardamon, add maybe a hint of lime cest and don't add too much thickening agent], and espresso macchiatto...



...it needs a couple of minutes to let cool down the fruit crumble, therefore i open my mails in the meantime to receive the following message: "miriam! too tempting - i'm coming to vienna tomorrow!". if i might have thought on the 4th of september of this year, that i have to learn how to survive in an ordinary world - i tend to think since...well, the 5th latest, i guess [another lie] - that i rather make my own way, even if its crazy, as some might say, or contains listening old pathetic songs, as i do a lot, obviously, lately.

...therefore, spelita, can' t wait for you to bring some new beats, fill the vacuum of my heart a bit...!
- and higher force, are you taking the plane on tuesday?

1 little bag
a decision between 50ies high heels and dark boots
2 waiting girls


Stars- The night starts here (dir.Jonathan Vardi)

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...the night is already advanced here in wien, as always i'm at the peek of my productivity past midnight. my mouth is sticky of metaphorical honey after eating the viscous hours of this day in waiting position...ambiguous nourishment: more than ever shifting between ecstasy and melancholy, more the later - although for no obvious reasons, quite the opposite.

...and still more of that sluggish time to kill: nevertheless i am standing already with my warm winter coat and gloves by the door, a bag full of flamboyant & camp summer clothes in one hand, an e-ticket to london in the other hand. wait: no shoes on, but 0°C outside. which pair shall i wear?
- sure, these boots are made for walking. but i'm gonna dance [hopefully not to such 90s music though]! - the b page 50ies stilettos then? but i'm gonna dance in an allegorical desert!


...i kick melancholy's ass with my high heels and remind myself of the upcoming days:
- long yearned for this concentrated eastern european craziness:




and this picture, which the following weekend will refer to, explains probably the very reason for my ambiguity [in this case]: whereas this trip to UK's capital promises something like a return to the "out of a suitcase"-life; being back on the road, where my home is and finally: decompression...
- the saddening part is in fact, that this is a lie.

its like getting hooked on that vibe again. i know already that instead of fleeing from the pressure of the default world, i will feel the force of an unknown future in the present once more, the absence of a corporeal past is more compressing than this gray world out there is depressing.
...summarized: it puts pressure on my shoulders as i know how perfect life could be, with no people wearing unsexy jeans, but nothing or tempting skirts.


speaking of tempting: i should get some tasty proteins before i leave for the upcoming days.
i open my fridge, and after the dust storm coming from its insides finally stops, i pick a package of smoked salmon, couple of eggs and butter. i prepare thin omelettes and roll them immediately into clingwrap to keep them elastic. meanwhile i blend cress with lemon juice, sour cream, salt and a bit of white pepper to a sauce. unwrapping the omelette, covering it with the salmon slices, rolling it up again and serve on the cress dressing. some vitC with it - and off i go...!




....the life starts here!

1 full moon
me, msk, 27, gender: several, family status: arguable.


- miscellaneous combinations discussable (depends on perception): female/unmarried (*yawn*), humanely/assigned, androgynous/doting, neutral/observant, temporary/transitional....
- undiscussable: the full moon returns cyclic at least once a month, appears fully illuminated by the sun.

how adequate, that the lunation name for november is hunter's moon. and yes, i agree on travel moon for october (couple of miles, actually) and harvest moon for september (what a crop this year!), too. but: what about august, which i will all full moons now associate with, like i'm doing on this early saturday morning?

- the doubtful ways of knowledge suggest sturgeon's moon.
...hm, to me it was rather a dry month....

although, coming to think of it: it actually included a fishing line, and whereas i won't be alluding to the catch, which would be a more than cheap phrasing, i should mention the more poetic element air, which is undeniable contributing to the state of the sea:
- therefore i almost dare to say: it was the moon of mystic crystal revelation...
[anyone being able to follow this train of thoughts will receive half of the trophy money of my future nobel prize for literature]



...looking at a picture i took wearing turquoise tights, a bikini top and hiking boots, remembering sympathy and trust abounding: i have to get back to my encyclopedia of identity of last week. trying to reconstruct a list i started on a full moon night in utah, discussed on a full moon night in london, lost somewhere afterwards - but still on my original records...plus 3 alien southern/middle/eastern european contributions:

- artist. austrian, not german. [tbc]
- b. [see below]
- cooking.
- dancer. drinker. driver. [not necessarily in that order]
- eyes. eating. [much. at 2.45 a.m., too.]
- fashion. [don't care about appearance though.]
- g. of everything. [may this be my new last name, please?!]
- hairs. hair. hairs. hair. hairs. hair. hairs. who cares?!
- intelligent. [fair enough]
- j
- k
- legs. [as i proofed a couple of times: they let me run away.]
- miriam. [of course. what a name.]
- n. [the forbidden word.]
- o
- powerful.
- q. [......]
- r
- strong. soft. skin.
- truck drivers get scared by me.
- useless. [thanks for the input again, homme français! an homem portugues suggested unique today, obrigada.]
- v
- w
- x-mas. [better than. R, you should fill in the missing links.]
- y
- z


and as august showed, there's a dark side of the moon, too [although: light & dark are pretty much the same colour in my case]:

- bitchy. [in the kitchen]

mentioning the kitchen, what a bridge passage - maybe not as smooth as usual, but excusable, as today's focus is on a hazardous topic: the dragon fruit.
not quite sure what i'm gonna do with it, after opening it moments ago, smelling its distinctiveness and flashing back to thailand [yes, odors are an emotional trigger for me].







after reading in a couple of her bibles, the juice queen finally had a plan...



...why not picking up another keyword to bring this entry to its end: smooth?!
after finally managing to run today for the first time after my accident, i sure deserve something i learned to appreciate in HOT!HOT!HOT! california:


i am peeling the pitahaya, blending it with 1 banana, 1 tablespoon of honey, some lime juice and 1 cup of chilled coconut milk.









...leaning back at my secret place behind curtains with that smoothie, thinking of all the full moons i still will have to watch, making me as hysteric and literally lunatic as today's...

1 drunk film festival director
17 lb parcel sent from bangkok
1 insult at dawn
the usual machinery of war


...returning late from a birthday party in one of my favorite bars in town, a place where R would snuggle with the red walls. me, instead, i am bewildered by the welcoming amiability of my friends, all of them united there - fortunately L/M (another couple being pregnant, of course) and T/F are there too, talking empathically about their experiences after returning from "outer space".

...nevertheless: a neurotic viennese evening like in a freudian book: quasi film celebrity hurch does what R should do, guys in black give me traumatically speechless looks through sunglasses, sweet 20ish emo-girls examine & comment my height, M is asking me if i really dare to compete with him doing a doctorate (yeah. you're not the only one writing stuff that needs to be read 5 times to be 'still not understood'. i know that the last days of mankind are just around the corner!) - i drawn my wailing inner child in straight vodka. business as usual....

Y suggests across the oceans sex with strangers as a solution for my current state of mind/heart. as much as i appreciate usually this person's input, this time i found a better possibility of output: making prehistorical minced meat of my life....


...as predicted, the freshness turned into decay.
after an accusation this morning of being mean and useless [merçi beaucoup for extending my identity encyclopedia with the letters "m" and "u", dearest B! fortunately someone else blocked the more flattering letter "c" already by calling me better than christmas...] -

i approach my wardrobe with an ax to slaughter the past.
what i'm doing with people, i can do with clothes a fortiori.


was it me wearing the same jeans and a loose green shirt i found in the desert for weeks?
- how could i forget that fashion is my passion?
...avalanches of skirts collapse over me...no need to wear them over jeans, i put them straight away over my injured head.



i take my sword to make a clean intersection between foretime and me. instead of opening the same old wounds, i precisely cut open my thorax, to glance at my bleeding heart...
slashing my way through the coppice of tights before they struggle me....turning the music louder, my legs wander through plains of letters never formed into words, step into sentences too often repeated, dance to lyrics sung a million times.




hope comes with letting go i read in NYC, a subtitle of the supposedly unimportant movie "things we lost in the fire".

..."fortitude comes with getting rid of stuff!", i scream, thinking of the things i won with the fire, throwing tons of clothes out of the cupboard.




i pull an old mauve undergarment i still might wear out of the heap, and at the same time i pick 4 oz shitake mushrooms growing down there in the shadow, too. i cut them in halves.
in 1 litre of water i cook a piece of galangal, 1 red chili, 1 kaffir lime leave, 1 stake of lemon grass and 2 shallots for 5 minutes. i add 2 tablespoons of tom yam paste i just unpacked of my thailand parcel, the mushrooms and 5 oz of fresh prawns, grown on a sustainable farm and bought at my local fishmonger. let it cook 2 more minutes. season to taste with a fair amount of nam plah and fresh lime juice to give the tom yam gung its typical hot/sour/salty flavour. before it lights my fire for the day, i sprinkle leaves of cilantro over the soup, which i learnt to cook 9 months ago in central thailand.





sipping this sexy liquid, coming to think of Y again: how much more exhausted would i feel, if i wouldn't have battled with my ancient robe, but followed her suggestion instead?

1 dj not knowing how to make me dance
3°celsius
1 maturing brother
1/4 pound of gingerbread and eggwhite glue
2 best friends

...monday evening, remembering a person telling me that weekends are more fun than weekdays. in my opinion: they're equally melancholic. maybe the fromer case promises a more generous use of sex, drugs & hildegard knef.

following the rules of that classical holy trinity, i am supposed to spend sunday afternoons in the kitchen with my best friend H, whilst bestest friend D is burning the sugar for us.
...additional yesterday: roasting 8 pounds of meat and building our art deco house out of gingerbread with cloudy eyes. an architectural disaster, but not a culinary one.

but rewind, rewind....
...as i am someone who knows how to find fun wherever i go - well, someone living in a theoretical bubble, trying to move through this cold, cruel world, i shall here tell about a weekend that tried hard to burst the bubble with neo-realistic mundanities.

it was friday - whereas i was holding my head on monday, stayed in bed tuesday and wednesday, starred on walls on thursday, my brother visits me for a glass of вода and a fair & hurting bit of philosophizing about my return. as if i wasn't already convinced that he's my 10 years younger visual alter ego with a beard, he now even tries to steal my place on the pedestal of dialectics.

astonished i follow his remarks why i am still not able to unpack my stuff, why i still pick fresh clothes each morning out of bags rather than out of my wardrobe. the point of freshness of course, is that it has a natural end. i start thinking of what i'll be wearing on the first real saturday's night out....

...being monitored by the usual art university fashion police.
...heavily controlled by the expressionist free dancers of vienna, if there's enough drama in the moves.

- extraordinary dirty, artsy new venue. the organic beer is surprisingly cheap and good.
still, it can't belie that i am as always the most censorious person, feeling more alienated than ever:

seriously, are you still wearing the viennese uniform of 1. skirt over trousers and 2. broad black framed glasses, 3. smoking in the clubs and dancing to...4.uninspiring house? [yes, doing 1. too . but definitely not 2 , 3 + 4]



after, i have to admit, a nice genderfuck-performance, a first re-encounter with the excited custodian professor of my MT, and a couple of repetitive small talks how brechtian my life seems to be here, i get my bike and try to remember the last time i returned home on a saturday already at 3.30...


...where are the feasts / we are promised / where is the wine... we need great golden copulations!


- what i don't need: snow. not on my 5th expedition out of the bubble building on a sunday morning on my way to brunch; not in damn-its-the-worst-month-coming-to-austria-november and definitely not when i'm thinking of deserts.
[only thing in common: i get lost in whiteouts here like there, left alone with cogitations and the courage to find my way alone.]



...heavy flakes falling. i catch them with my tongue, let them mix with mascara and tears.
calmly i stand on the street and feel the weight of the snow on the bubble surrounding me.
keeping myself warm, it starts melting, first dripping, than running in streams, washing away the once more upcoming pain...

...i catch approximately one litre of the melting water, disregarding the sediments of desperation, aspiration and alienation, i heat it up with a bouquet garni of allspice, cardamon, cloves, and cinnamon. cut a hokaido squash into big pieces and let it cook in the broth til tender. i blend it with as much of the spiced water, as it needs to become a creamy but drinkable liquid.
whilst the squash is boiling and absorbing my emotions, i cook a caramel of 2 teaspoons honey, a vanilla bean, 6 tablespoons of balsam vinegar. for serving i take a big drinking bowl, drawing threads of caramel over the pumpkin boisson hibernale. right before drinking it, wrapped up in my purple kashmir blanket, i top it with a spoonful of double cream.



...i wish i could bath my mind in this liquid, as its healing qualities for an undercooled body are truly magical...