Bukowski means a lot to me. I first discovered him when I was 16 or 17 (and read Post Office first, of course) and he impressed the shit out of me. Compared with the German authors I was reading at the time, he was a giant. A dead giant, but still he was someone who had dared to write about drinking, fucking and loosing with all its bleak reality – no other author I read before had dared to do so. I read his words and poems in their German translation first, so after a time he became a bit boring. To be honest, some of his poems are crap. Some of his stories even more. So for a couple of years I stopped reading Buk, until I started reading English books more often. And decided to give his stuff another go. And what an epiphany it was: whereas in the German translation it was merely the story and the setting that fascinated me, in the English original his simple words really hit it home. All the depravity, loneliness, boredom of our meager existence on this planet captured in a few words, knitted together to form poems and stories without real structure and rhyme.

And another great thing about this dirty old man: even though he must have known that some of his stuff was crap, this never stopped him from publishing more and more. I think this is a thing that every writer and blogger should realize: don’t waste your time sitting there starring at the screen, trying to come up with that one text/book/post, put. Stuff. Out. There. You’ll get better along the way.

Maybe this is why I had the last lines of “How is your heart” inked into my skin. Anyway, here are some words to make you sad.

For Jane

what you were
will not happen again.
the tigers have found me
and I do not care.

image via.

Und jetzt habe ich genug über die Frau nachgedacht. Zeit für meine toten Freunde in den Büchern.

“Ich befahl mein Pferd aus dem Stall zu holen. Der Diener verstand mich nicht. Ich ging selbst in den Stall, sattelte mein Pferd und bestieg es. In der Ferne hörte ich eine Trompete blasen, ich fragte ihn, was es bedeute. Er wußte nichts und hatte nichts gehört. Beim Tore hielt er mich auf und fragte: “Wohin reitest du, Herr?” “Ich weiß es nicht” sagte ich, “nur weg von hier, nur weg von hier. Immerfort weg von hier, nur so kann ich mein Ziel erreichen.” “Du kennst also dein Ziel??” fragte er. “Ja”, antwortete ich, “ich sagte es doch ‘Weg-von-hier’, das ist mein Ziel.” “Du hast keinen Eßvorrat mit”, sagte er. “Ich brauche keinen”, sagte ich, “die Reise ist so lang, daß ich verhungern muß, wenn ich auf dem Weg nichts bekomme. Kein Eßvorrat kann mich retten. Es ist ja zum Glück eine wahrhaft ungeheure Reise.” ”

Franz Kafka, Nachlaß

Galactica/Beastie Boys “Sabotage” Mashup. Epic. Via El Nerdcore.

Or: a rant.

I swallow. I have to take a deep breath. I have to close my eyes. Otherwise I would start screaming and shouting. Screaming and shouting and showering the two Germans standing in front of me with spit. The two Germans who blocked the check-out in Lidl for 10 minutes. The two Germans who just realised their German bank card is not working in Ireland, after shopping 35 kilos of supplies without cash.

I would start screaming at the four fat Nigerian mamas and their 28 brats. The 4 Nigerian mamas chatting away as if they’re the only people in the world, while the queue at the grocery stand at the market is getting longer and longer.

I would start screaming at the three blokes in the last row of the bus. The three blokes who all purchased the same mobile phone model, the one that comes without headphones and only plays Scooter at maximum loudness.

I would start screaming at the drunken Polish idiot in the pub. The drunken idiot who thinks he replaced his local in rural Silesia with a Dublin Pub, without realising and acknowledging that he has moved to another country.

Surround me with people. Surround me with people who don’t think that Poe is a new supermarket chain. People who do not define their taste in music via ringtones. People who have read Joyce instead of Gazza’s autobiography. People who take life as it is, because one day we all will die a cold and lonely death. People who do not fill their live with numbness and meaningless colourful things.

But don’t make me scream.

Image via.

Today we celebrate World Book Day here in Ireland and over in the UK. And what better way to declare your love for the written word than to wear it on your skin. So today I’m going to purchase one or two T-shirts from Out of Print. Here’s what they do, in their own words:

“Out of Print celebrates the world’s great stories through fashion. Our shirts feature iconic and often out of print book covers. Some are classics, some are just curious enough to make great t-shirts, but all are striking works of art.

In addition to spreading the joy of reading through our tees, we acknowledge that many parts of the world don’t have access to books at all. We are working to change that. For each shirt we sell, one book is donated to a community in need through our partner Books For Africa.”

So I’m not just going to wear the original cover of some of my favourite books (1984 and A Tale of two Cities, if anyone’s interested), I’m also helping some kids to discover the joy of opening a (printed) book and browsing through the pages. Beats a Kindle every time.

Image via

I’ve stopped thinking about making music – at least for the moment. Instead I’m trying to convert everything Rock’n'Roll that’s left in me into words a.k.a. writing. Or will fail miserably and become a janitor.

Therefore I’m really thrilled when a band of friends of mine is going through the roof, while raising the horns high. In this case I’m talking about Killtribe, brainchild of my long-time brother in arms, axe-wielding Malik (of Sore Seven Reflex and Barracuda fame). He has joined forces with his shouter from Hell, Thomas (slaying it with 10 Fold B-Low and Trick or Treat before), Max Widdra on bass (who used to shred with Unblest) and completed the gang with Wunderkinder Max Sonntag on drums and Hendrik Kröger on the second axe. And as Malik is a declared admirer of happy and cheerfull bands such as Meshugga, you can guess what type of sound this wild bunch plays. It’s heavy as a truck full of bricks. Or beer-cases, for that matter. Here’s a taste:

And as I know that Malik is still a believer in banners on websites, please click here to make him happy:

You can of course follow them on Twitter or become a fan on Facebook. Even when you live in Japan or the States.

“Last night, I spent a few hours writing you a letter, asking you to move to Iceland with me. I don’t have the money yet, but I wanted to write the letter because I couldn’t sleep. The best line: something about how I want to live somewhere simple and beautiful and when I think of things simple and beautiful I think of you. It is not as good as some of the other love letters I’ve written about the world burning and my wanting to give you big-eyed children, but this is okay. My honesty isn’t very eloquent anymore. Truth is, I want to go somewhere where my sadness won’t make me unhappy. I don’t know how to tell you this because I think you’re happier now without me. When I finally was able to sleep, I dreamt you ate the earth, bones and all.”

Found here. Incredible.

And here’s my first (and biggest and greatest and most incredible) project/colaboration of the mighty year 2010: I’m going to Iceland. Yes, fuck yeah ICELAND. Well, not permanently, but at least for a couple of weeks in May/June. And I’m not going alone: I’m with my friend Kai, a.k.a. Stylespion. And we also have an evil plan: we are going to share our travels with you. And you. And everyone else on the web who wants to see, hear and read about it.

I am interested in Iceland ever since, but especially the music that comes from there fascinates me: Sigur Ros, Bjork, Mum, you name it. This is why Kai and I are not just spending a holiday there, we are going to dig deep. We really hope to meet the Icelandic people, to see how they live, work, play and of course how they create their music – and how the country and landscape is connected to all of this. Our plan is to document this in written form and visual: Kai is a gifted photographer, and this visual aspect will be accompanied by texts in German and English and videos. All our material will be incorporated in a website – to show everyone that Iceland and its music really is that sublime.

And now I need your help: What do you think? Do you know any Icelandic bands that no one has heard about? And most important: I am still searching for the Irish link to Iceland. Especially one that is a bit fresher than the monks that went there about 600 AD.

Somedays, it all sucks. You feel every month of the 32 years that fate has already heaved upon your back. Hell, stone age people did not get older than 30. Your stomach churns, and you curse every Jägermeister that made Saturdays party so enjoyable. Your throat aches, and another 20 hours of sleep seem like a perfect alternative to whatever the world has planned for you. And even on these days it’s great to also have a soundtrack of sorts. My soundtrack for today is Solstafir from Iceland. Sounding like Kyuss moved from the dessert to a glacier and hating the winter, these guys helped me through the day. To help you through yours, here’s a little uncomfortable video for “Love is the devil”.