Sarah's journal August, 16 2017

Pigeon carcass on pavement this morning.

When Rorschach writes something similar, there is something poetic about it, although in a very dark way. At the very least reading it or hearing it spoken in the movie. But there is nothing at all poetic in reality.

Haven't eaten or drunk anything for the last 12 hours. Eating wasn't the problem. Even though after this time I did get a little bit hungry after all. What really annoyed me was not being allowed to drink because of the blood sampling. Because it was for an allergy test, I'm not even sure I really had to be sober at all this morning. The woman asked me, if it was for the allergy test. I told her yes and asked her, if there's a difference to other blood samplings. Of course, I thought immediately, stupid question. She confirmed to me then that other data would be checked.

Thought for a moment of going back home and writing to the city about the pigeon. Also thought of taking the pigeon and bringing it to the park like on New Year's Eve with the blackbird. Drove straight into the city in the end. Sometimes others don't matter, it seems. The pigeon was dead anyway and nothing that could have helped it. First got a bit of money, then to the bakery. Two Franzbroetchen (puffy pasty with cinnamon) and a hot chocolate. The bakery is in a shopping mall with lots of shops. At about 8:30 when I arrived the exit I wanted to take was still closed. A man who wanted to take that exit before me informed me that it was closed. So I took another way out and passed a contruction area. People already working there. With a noise volume that I turned off my mp3-player until I was half way down the escalators. I looked at the time scale of the mp3-player: 1 minute and 07 seconds. I hadn't heard a single note from “The Sound of Silence” by Disturbed although I had the volume full up. So much for the sound of silence, I though on the escalators.

On the middle floor a young woman was in front of me with a jacket that had in all capital letters “DON'T TALK TO ME” on her back. I resisted the temptation to tell her “I'm sorry”. She didn't seem aggressive in any way and was friendly enough to stay on that middle floor to have a smoke, unlike so many other people who go down to the smoking free area to smoke there. Not my style to start a talk with strangers.

Rorschach's Journal: October 12, 1985:

Dog carcass in alley this morning. Tire tread on burst stomach. The city is afraid of me. I have seen it's true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout, “Save us!” and I'll whisper... “No.“

The blackbird

Dear reader,

I just wanted to get some lettuce for the guinea pigs and walked the footpath, when I noticed a dark pile very close to the road. When I came closer, I saw that it was a dead blackbird. One wing was spread. Possibly hit by a car in flight. I knew right away that I had to pick it up and bring it to the park across the street. But I didn't want to touch it with my hands and it wasn't cold enough for me to have my gloves with me. So I first went shopping and at first I picked a small bag from the fruits and veggies section. I stuffed it in my jacket pocket and grabbed the lettuce and paid at the check-stand. I put the lettuce in my backpack.

On my way back I turned the bag inside out and put it back in my jacket pocket. A crossroad away from the blackbird I noticed someone walking behind me. I didn't want someone to see me, so I walked a tiny bit slower and the person passed me a few steps later.

When I was close to the blackbird, I looked around me quickly, if someone was close. That wasn't the case. I kneeled down and in turning the back again, I attempted to get the blackbird in the bag carefully. I held one hand under the blackbird and the other arm and hand around it on the side. I went back the street a bit like that to reach the crossroad and waited at the traffic to get to the other side of the street. I walked the big steps up to the park and noticed just how very untrained I am. Someone more sportive than I am, would have found it easier to walk the steps, even though I wasn't out of breath. At the top I kept to the right. I passed the playground. I wanted trees and something smoother than the path to lay the blackbird to rest. Only few people out and about. I would have expected more people taking their last opportunity for a walk in the old year. A couple walked far behind me. I didn't want them to see me putting down the blackbird. I wasn't sure what others would think about me placing a dead bird in a park. So I walked a bit faster to get more distance between me and the couple. Shortly after a bridge there were several trees close together. That seemed like a good place. But I needed to be quick. I kneeled down and carefully folded the sides of the bag down, so the bag was only under my hand now. That way I was able to place the blackbird on the ground. Farewell, blackbird. May your death be the last in this year. Get up fast now. The bag with me again. But I held it crumbled in my hand now. The couple was close. Have they seen what I had done? I walked fast a bit back and then the path to the right. Have they seen what I had done? Still no calls. Actually, it didn't matter anyway. The blackbird belonged in the park, not picked up by the garbage collection to be burned in an oven or whatever happens to dead animals.

Back to the park entrance. The bag ended in the next trash bin. I didn't feel like waiting at the traffic again, so I used the entrance down to the underground to get out on the other side of the road again. Back home again. Hopefully the blackbird would be the last death this year.

Until next blog,

sarah

What a way to start a year...

Dear reader,

the first couple of days of this year must have been what conspiracy theorists have been waiting for: Ian Fraser “Lemmy” Kilmister died of cancer on December, 28 aged 70. Followed by David Bowie on January, 10 and Alan Rickman on January, 21, both aged 69 died of cancer. Okay, Lemmy Kilmister was 70 years old, not 69 anymore, but close.

I didn't know who “Lemmy“ was, until I heard of his death and David Bowie never fascinated me as much as he did masses of other people, who are now more or less openly moaning him. For many young movie fans Alan Rickman on the other hand is probably mostly known for the role of Professor Severus Snape from the Harry Potter. Older fans probably deride that, because for them one of his great roles is more that of Hans Gruber in “Die Hard”.

The social media seems very much divided, especially about the moaning of David Bowie. For some a world fell apart. Others however insult those fans and demand, that they pull themselves together. They were “only” fans and regardless of their obvious grief, they don't feel as much a loss as the family and relatives of the deceased. I think that grief of fans truly is different than those of relatives. However I also think that there shouldn't be understatement of how much the artist meant for the fans. Especially when it comes to people like David Bowie, who were active and present for huge parts of their lives sort of accompanying them. Regardless of all the controversies whether or not fans should moan, I like it that there are some also writing about different ways of grieving and about death.

When my mother died a bit more than three years ago, there were increasing discussions about death, dying and related subjects around the time of the last Sunday before Advent commemorating the dead (in Germany celebrated as “Totensonntag” - Sunday of the Dead). I liked that these things were openly talked about. In earlier times it was natural for a dead person to be lied out in a coffin in the house. The person was openly moaned, often with black cloths. These days black cloths are most often worn by metal or gothic fans and there are hardly, if any talks, about death and dying. Most of all Hollywood, model casting shows and series or documentaries about cosmetic surgery want to make us belief that juvenility, beauty and looking thin are important and desirable even at old age. Especially at old age! Death reminds us that our time will pass.

I didn't choose the following quote deliberately, because it was something Alan Rickman said, but because I think it fits. It's from the movie “Mesmer”, where he plays the doctor Franz Anton Mesmer, who is present at a party in that scene. A woman approaches him mocking a man, who reportedly keeps people at two arms length when they have the faintest spot, for fear of a disease. Mesmer tells her, “We're the only animal who knows its going to die. And we're also the only species that has some faint sense of perfection.”

Until next blog,

sarah

It's over

Dear reader,

on monday at about 5:30 the phone rang. At the very first moment I thought a certain friend of my parents might be calling. He wakes up early in the morning. But he wouldn't call at this hour. It could only have been the hospital and it was. My mom died.

I'm happy for her. My mom was french and had the accident when she was on holiday in france. She rode her bike a lot and had the accident on her bike. My dad was with her and a couple of good friends, too. The weather was great. apart from the shock of falling, I think, she was happy at that moment. When my dad arrived at the accident, she was already in a coma. I know, there's lot debate even among doctors, how much someone in a coma still senses. I'd like to believe that she at least didn't sense much after the accident. Her final conscious moments were happy anyway and that makes me happy for her.

Until next blog,

sarah