I once again geschmöckert in old diaries. Today, in a diary from 2003. There are often such as real Trifles in it that I get sick. Why I had to write it that I had with a man to whom I have long lost contact, I had a long hotkey press! About their disease and that afterwards I felt myself very ill, is beyond me. But then, I still believed I müssste sensitively listen to anyone who was ill or pretending to be sick. Not that I refuse to comfort someone. Everyone can use times. The point is that some people live for their illnesses, have no other subject and constantly expect to be the good place.
And then you cozy even moderately ill.
But I also other people knew, they were quite the opposite, have inspired me. Somehow, these acquaintances but had to go missing or they are dead.
Once I have noted down:
Sometimes I wake in the morning and I can not sleep again. I dream and think about my life .. I think: who am I, where I come from, where I go ...? I think that I have a past, like any man, but I rarely look back. Why not? If this unpleasant past, I have perhaps no more money to her because I've changed it since then, much? I do not know, but it is so that I actually only in the presence of live, and when I think back then that what happened maybe a year ago ... And the other day someone said to me, but I would have to be really a lucky person because I lived only in the present. .. That was me then also strange because the fact have been no reason to be happy or may be ...
Or is it?
When I read this here so after the event occurs to me that I have always enjoyed reading a lot of Peter Handke, and that this has probably reflected in my style.
Another time, I noted:
morning on the radio "flight to the box" by James Thurber is one read by Otto Sander. Not all of Thurber I like, but this story is one of them. Somehow it corresponds to what I think too often, and feel that I want to run away from all the hardships in a box to have my peace.
Thurber is very enigmatic.
This paragraph makes me in my diary that I think I must again read Thurber.
And then come before all my appointments with the dentist and that I had received a new bridge and that's again just blah.
But a poem I had written to me by Friedrich Hollaender:
If I do what I expected,
tantamount to me at a loss
what I should do for me,
a bad or good time.
If I do what I expected,
I'd be more happy
because once I were not such a happy ',
I would have nostalgia for the sadness. This poem has
me then and fell today. And I'm glad I wrote it trigger further.
And a visit, which was done in the year 2003, I think back fondly and have written it:
Visiting K. Rhododendron in all the colors in his beautiful garden. He plucked a flower and told me the different parts of the plant: Stamp, stamens, etc. at the top in his studio, we looked at each other's prints, they compared. He works very carefully, while often smeared on the edges of my graphics, because I gave too much ink on the printing plate. He showed me the stamps, which he had cut from a Linolplatte thought I should sign my work .
Or this:
The most beautiful moment of the day to me is the morning. When I got up and drank coffee. While I breakfast, I look out the window and watch the glow of morning light on the brick front of the house opposite. The normally dull-looking three-story box of bunk house is by the play of light and shadow very much alive. The red brick will receive a warm bright sound. I see the wandering shadows of balconies, trees and bushes on the wall, and then a feeling of happiness comes over me about all this beauty and that life is so alive.
all these paragraphs I read in my diary and I think it has really given too aufschreibenswerte moments in life. And by the memory because pickings, I experience it again.
But it was just still a single moment, only brief moments. And they were really rare, which was also normal, because no one ever can be in ecstasy.
I'm including on my tests written with the food combining and my skin rash and itching all over and I went a whole year to a medical practitioner and it has not helped, the whole vast amounts of tea that I drank and every morning I would always drink a glass of brandy to stimulate circulation.
Since I was intoxicated always in the morning.
This is actually the entire contents of the diary of notable in 2003, because the records only go up to July, and then I stopped to record something.
I will delete this diary on my computer because I'm cleaning up on anyway. But how strange it is to read it all again.
people, things, states, nothing is permanent, nothing is. So Buddhism says also that one should expect anything to stick well in advance anything.
The true reality is impermanence.
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