We were sitting gloomily at a table in the garden of a little café, watching the workmen while they dug the grave for a burial scene, when he decided to let me have it. Several weeks before, in Paris, he had met some friends of mine-- rich Americans with whom I spent every hour away from work. And he was angry: first, because he thought they prevented me from staying in Germany, learning the language, and becoming a serious actress, as he wanted; and, second, because he looked upon them as spoiled children who would amuse themselves with me for a time and then discard me like an old toy. "Your life is exactly like Lulu's," he said, and you will end the same way."

At the time, knowing so little of what he meant by Lulu, I just sat sullenly glaring at him, trying not to listen.

Louise Brooks, on the phropecy made to her by her "Büchsee der Pandora" director, G.W. Pabst. And he, of course, was right.

Bruno S.

Date of Birth
2 June 1932

Birth Name
Bruno Schleinstein

Mini Biography
The unwanted son of a prostitute, Bruno S. was beaten so severely by his mother at age 3 that he became temporarily deaf. This led to his placement in a mental institution; he spent the next 23 years in various institutions, often running afoul of the law. Despite this past, he became a self-taught painter and musician; while these were his favorite occupations, he was also forced to take jobs in factories such as driving a fork lift. Director Werner Herzog saw him in the documentary "Bruno der Schwarze - Es blies ein Jäger wohl in sein Horn" (1970) and vowed to work with him, which led to his major roles in "Jeder für sich und Gott gegen alle", "Kaspar Hauser" (1974), and "Stroszek" (1977). He was very difficult to work with, though, sometimes needing several hours of screaming before he could do a scene.

Trivia
Purchased a piano with his income from "Jeder für sich und Gott gegen alle" (1974) -- see "Stroszek" (1977) for details.

Has become involved in outsider art and an exhibition of some of his works was put on display in New York in 2004.

Director Werner Herzog once named him the "Unknown Soldier of German cinema".

information supplied by imdb.com

This film...

...has, for the moment, fucked me up a bit, and I don't know why.

A dream of a man, whose face I can't see,
coming up from behind
and me, bound, while he kicks at my heels
and the backs of my knees.
And I'm afraid of what I might be walking towards.
But I'm forced, all the same.

Sunday Morning Music.

Air: Moon Safari
Apparat: Walls
B. Fleischmann: The Humbuckling Coil
Blonde Redhead: 23
Eno: Discreet Music
Chromatics: Night
Colt: You Hold Onto What's Not Real
Deerhunter: Cryptograms
Dot tape dot: Tomevistas
Fridge: Happiness
Hexstatic: Rewind

I'm soooo lazy today. I should be doing lesson plans.

The Housework

His life was just so much more orderly, neater, before she arrived. In the mornings she wears fuzzy thick socks that leave wisps of themselves wherever she walks. In the mornings strands of her long hair are on the
bathroom floor and accumulate in the corners. She rubs sleep out of her eyes while making the coffee, the water tank of which she hasn’t cleaned in weeks.

He loves her so he considers his scrutiny unfair. She is not the world’s dirtiest person, after all. She vacuums and dusts and washes, gets down on her knees. She prefers no knicknacks, nothing with intricate ridges and scrolls where flecks can hide. Washes the windows and frets at the slightest streak. Cleans the oven and painstakingly scours the racks.

Sometimes he helps her to clean. He tries to catch everything she missed. Together, it seems to work. Secretly, he is grateful that she doesn’t allow annoyance to come between them. Is relieved when she calls him Mr. Monk. He is not quite sure if it all amounts to mild personalities, but he knows this answer doesn’t satisfy, because she is not mild. What to call it? Neither of them know.

Another Sunday Afternoon

Am listening to The National's "Mistaken for Strangers".
Was at home, sick, all week. Upper respiratory infection.
Now I'm healed. Just very tired.
Sun's coming through the windows and white canvas.
The gardeners came on Thursday.They took out the dead pine tree.
I like it better this way.
I need sun. All I can get, I'll take.
No snow in this part of Switzerland this year. I didn't mind it.
My mind is silent, at its most quiet.
I can't remember when it was ever like this.

Talked to my sister two weeks ago.
She asked when we were coming back this year.
I said we weren't.
She asked if it was a question of money.
I said it wasn't.
I said that coming home was too exhausting.
I said that the limits had been reached.
Had been breached.
I said, "It's enough."

Talked to my brother on Friday.
He asked when we were coming back this year.
I said we weren't.
I said maybe next year.
I didn't mean it.

I refuse to be manipulated by guilt strings.
Maybe this is why the noise in my brain is missing.
Or maybe it's just the drugs.
No matter. All I can get, I'll take.

Appropriate.

Past Pieces

I was filing some business papers away in the cellar. I have this big accordion file from Target; I bought it maybe seven years ago when I still lived in Ohio. When I came here, I packed it full of important files: tax forms, pay stubs, bank account statements, performance reviews from my jobs in the staffing and human resources companies I'd spent the previous 13 years with.

I was wasting time again. I pulled out the performance review folder and read bits and pieces of it. The reviews from the staffing company were high, very high. I'm not saying this to pat myself on the back. It does nothing for me. I feel extremely divorced from that efficient little machine that I once upon a time turned myself into. The reviews from the manufacturing company were initially high, then just average. The last was a 3 out of 5. I was the manager of a very overworked group of 2. My manager had criticized me for not spending more time in the plant (working more 3rd shifts and 2nd shifts connecting with the employees). I had to laugh when I read it. The last summer alone at that company, I had spent enough time on the off-shifts that I no longer could sleep when I was finally in bed. And worse, my adjusted schedules had caused small havoc at home, due to my mother's worsening but undiagnosed Alzheimer's. I never said anything about that to my boss. No; it would have looked very weak of me, as if I was trolling for excuses. As the only female manager in the factory, I couldn't make excuses.

It was also noted that I had failed to ensure that several key action points had been met-- not my own so much as one of my subordinate's. I was responsible for lighting the fire under her ass-- that had been made very clear to me. She'd made only minor improvements. I had to tell her in no uncertain terms to pull it together and show some progress fast.

Reading that last review makes me cringe. After years of being such a model and successful employee, I had become less than that in the space of 6 months on a review form.

I thought about how miserable those months had been-- separated from Rinaldo by 4,600 miles, trying to keep things as steady as possible with an elderly parent whose mind was going at an incredibly fast rate. Poked and prodded by my sister, who kept finding different ways to tell me how shitty and selfish I was for not giving more to the family.

My binge drinking made a reappearance then. I always had to have at least 2 drinks before I went home, when I worked regular hours. And when I had free time, which was kind of rare, I was out drinking or drinking at home with friends. Drinking and drinking and smoking myself voiceless. And I kept saying I was going to get it under control. I never managed it when I lived in Ohio.

Am I still that same person documented in those pieces of paper growing thin and dusty in my cellar? Am I better than that, or worse?

There's a question.

Survey Says:

I stole this from one of Maria McGregor's blogs, because I don't normally do surveys and this one just didn't strike me as being ridiculous. Besides, Maria's got good taste, so if I'm going to steal, it might as well be from someone like her. (You can find her answers on Bitches in Heat.)

1. What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before?

Umm. For me to know and you to find out.
Actually, nothing really.
2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

No. I resolved to lose 10 kilos, and I still haven’t. So that’s carried over, I guess.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Yes.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Yes.

5. What countries did you visit?

France for one day, and the U.S. for two excruciating weeks.

6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?

More determination. More focus. More peace in my fucking head. 

7. What date in 2007 will be etched upon your memory, and why?

The night of 31st December, in the woods by Verenaschucht. Stars and satellites.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

My teaching certificate, and landing a job without much effort.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Cleaning up my mess of a self, which comes in neck-in-neck with buying too much shit.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Yes.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Gosh. Certain CDs and books.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

My husband. He put up with so much shit from me, and he still loves me. And I can’t figure out WHY.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

My own, for starters. And then my family’s, when we went back to Ohio.

14. Where did most of your money go?

On necessary things: taxes, bills, groceries, car, car insurance; health, health insurance, and then teenage shit: clothes, books, music. I did need some new clothes, but the rest was just pure indulgent overkill. 

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

i-tunes, last.fm and Ikea.

16. What song will always remind you of 2007?

“The Ghost of You Lingers”, by Spoon, and "No Cars Go", by Arcade Fire.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you: Happier or sadder? Thinner or fatter? Richer or poorer?
In order: sadder, the same, poorer. And that sounds really pathetic.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Taken care of my body and my mind. I just kind of let myself go.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Wasting time, like I am right now.

20. How did you spend Christmas?

I spent the day itself with my husband, just the two of us. It was nice, no hassles. We spent C.E. and the day after with the in-laws. Also nice, no conflict.

21. Did you fall in love in 2007?

No. Well, I fell more in love with my husband. He surprises me in small good ways every so often-- I get to see more and more of what he really is, and he becomes more and more intriguing. But I did fall out of love with friends, family and acquaintances. I got sick of them in equal measure to the way I got sick of myself. If that makes any sense.

22. How many one night stands?

None.

23. What was your favourite TV program?

I'm ashamed to say it, but “Lost”. (Damn you, Lenny.)
 Normally I just don't watch TV. This was the sole exception.
24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Not really, although in certain moments I have a new level of disgust for my family that I didn’t quite have before. And I still struggle not to hate myself, of course. Nothing new there.

25. What was the best book you read?

I think Grotesque. It was really chilling, but also enlightening.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Rediscovering Joy Division, I think. I accumulated a lot of new music this year, and I really like Arcade Fire and a few others. But there was something comforting and deep about Joy Division again after almost 20 years of their albums sitting on my shelf.

27. What did you want and get?

Stuff. But stuff really isn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was a barrier and a wall against myself. And boy, did I get that, although admittedly things don't make a strong enough wall.
 Ever.
28. What did you want and not get?

Some inner reassurance that I’m not weak and that I still can deal with myself matter-of-factly.

29. What was your favourite film of this year?

“Eastern Promises” was good, I guess. All of my other favorites were from other years, not 2007.

30. What did you do on your birthday? How old were you?

I turned 37. And I honestly can’t remember if there was something small, like going to a restaurant, except that I’m sure we did nothing. I really find birthdays pointless, for myself, anyway.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?

Gah: H&M and Old Navy. Cheap.
 I shop cheap.
32. What kept you sane?

Rinaldo. Poor man.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

No one.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?

Bush’s total incompetence in all domestic and foreign-related issues. And add the beginnings of the U.S. presidential campaign, which just makes me want to vomit.

35. Who did you miss?

My mother.

36. Who was the best new person you met?

Some of my students, and some of my colleagues from the CELTA course.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007.

There are too many, but here:
It all takes more effort as you get older.
Beauty fades.
Love after “in love” is somehow sweeter.
There will never be an excuse that really excuses, and never any reason that justifies.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up the year.

Meh. PLEASE. No.

Analysis.

I suppose I haven’t been fully honest with myself, even after these postings. And how disgusting this is, to have to admit it.

The truth is, I’m just getting tired of writing about myself. I’ve been blogging for a year now. It was like a dare for me: Take the thoughts in your head and put them HERE. Develop them and try to regain whatever writing skill I once had. And now it’s time to review the results. Although some of the pieces have shown development, and some of the admissions that I’ve made—and some of the memories—have been released, the complete truth is this:

Blogging doesn’t make me feel any better, and it hasn’t made it more possible for me to get on with life. It hasn’t made me a better wife, a better person, teacher, writer. There are no revelations here to be had. The clarity that I need, in order to live, doesn’t come from what essentially amounts to mental masturbation. If anything, it reveals me to be drowning in myself. I let myself drown, more specifically. I’ve revisited moments and issues that I should have left alone, which I had in fact successfully left alone for years, having dealt with them and rehashed them before as succinctly as I possibly could.

I’m not a believer in ultimate resolutions of the psyche. Fucked up once is fucked up for life, but the only thing that stops you from being without a future is you, yourself. The problem is, I willfully forgot this very concrete and undeniable fact. And once I lost my footing, well. When you lose it, it takes longer to regain it.

I'm not sure if I should continue with this thing or not. If I do, I don't know where I want to take it. If I know where I want to take it, I'm not sure that I'm capable of truly and effectively making it happen.

In short, I need more time away from it to figure it out.

Halloween kommt.