Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition)


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So I lift my legs out of the sand And my breast likewise. My dress, away from my hips. Dances Man: … You soul, soul deeply bending towards you over the sacrifices of my blood — You, soft hand, you lilac, still garden of my outcast blood. So sang my dream — Woman dancing : … The flowerbeds bleed as if from broad wounds Their scarlet around my knees.

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There is a rattling From the sea and around my hips. In the clouds The curls in my hair turn to dust — Man: Now the storm bends the bushes apart and all the nests that are there for sleep and breeding — Woman: — In tones drawn out the light sings As it passes me by. Oh, sun, You mother of roses — come, you. Let us go Down again onto this warm sand made fertile by the sea. Man: What is this hairy breast, hairy thigh On skin covered with sweat and fat, a blood flowing womb?

What has this to do with you and me? Why do you now lie in the sand, you white flesh, Why do you not run and trickle into the sea? Why do there not come birds above you As they do above other flesh? Keep your folding still! Homeword bound! I now greet you, chewed away stones, And you, my blood, thrown down by the corpses of all the seas, you riveted land without fruit, that staggering, Stands on the edge of the earth. Ihr Freund arbeitet in der Hosentasche. Vielleicht handelt es sich um einen ausgetretenen Bruch. Er ist der Pionier der guten Sache. Er weidet ihre Lippen ab.

Lower down her arm, her thumbs, Balls of fat, are busy moving back and forth. She has brown skin, is motherly-looking and wants to kiss him. I like it, because this woman is completely unknown to me. Her boyfriend is fiddling in his trouser pockets. Perhaps they have just started to break up. The manager make sure that very one pays their way.

He is a pioneer of the good cause. His oversized toes make an attempt along with his ankles to escape from his boots. People are guzzling at the next table. I have never actually found one who has understood What makes makes wind mills turn. I record that as a statistic. He nibbles at her lips. Their bodies are playing together Unheard melodies.

Sauve qui peut. D-Zug Braun wie Kognak. Braun wie Laub. Reif gesenkt. In Sichel-Sehnsucht: wie weit der Sommer ist! Vorletzter Tag des neunten Monats schon! Und dann wieder dies Bei-sich-selbst-sein! Diese Stummheiten. Dies Getriebenwerden! Eine Frau ist etwas mit Geruch. Stirb hin. Du, ich falle! Brown as leaves. Malayan yellow. The Express train Berlin — Trelleborg and the Baltic sea resorts. Flesh that went naked, and tanned to the lips by the sea. Fully ripe. For Grecian pleasure.

And yearning for the scythe: a never-ending summer! And already almost the last day of the ninth month! Stubble and the last shocks of hay thirst in us. Unfoldings, the blood, the weariness. The presence of dahlias clouds the mind. Sun-browned manhood hurries onto sun-browned womanhood. A woman is something for a night. And if it was good, perhaps for a second!

But then, oh, again this being by oneself!

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These silences! This incessant propulsion! A woman is something with a smell. Die away. She contains the South, the shepherd and the sea. On each slope a pleasure lies. Lightly-tanned woman swoons onto darkly-tanned male. Hold me, you! I am falling. In my head, I am so weary. Oh, this feverish sweet final smell from the gardens. Kasino Menge war schon auf Kriegsschule ein Idiot. Ha, ha, ha. Ganz geteilte Auffassungen. Ne, Sie? Na Prost, Onkel Doktor! Heut Nacht! Ein Blutweib! Sagt: Arm kann er sein und dumm kann er sein; Aber jung und frisch gebadet. Auf dieser Basis fanden wir uns.

Lachen einigt alles. Although there are different opinions on this. You, the Junker, you can gee up with me when I ride. The still before the storm: Arnim, my dear fellow. You are quite incorrigible! Well, have you? It must be pretty interesting. The seats are supposed to be really small. A full-bodied wench! Rather less morality And a bit more of a fine leg. What sort of figures have you built on this common ground? Everyone saw the joke. Herbst Todstumme Felder an mein Dorf gelehnt.

Nirgend mehr Purpur oder junge Glut. Nur in der Georginen Sehnsuchtsaugen brennt noch des Sommers wundervolles Blut. Bald wird auch dies die Erde in sich saugen. The scattered chicory and scabiosa offer a little consolation. While the rangy twigs of a rose bush spread themselves, devoid of bloom, along a fence. No more purple or fresh glowing. Only in the yearning eyes of the Georgia does the summer still burn full of wonder. But soon also this will be sucked up by the earth into itself.

Morgue II I. Mit uns wird Schindluder getrieben. Soll ich damit atmen? Soll da vielleicht der kleine Kreislauf durchgehn? Alles was recht ist! Das geht zu weit! Na, und ich? Wie bin ich hergekommen? Wie aus dem Ei gepellt! Und jetzt?? Und das rechte Herzohr brauchte auch nicht grade aus meinem After rauszusehn!

Des Landes Lippe nagt: die Wand reisst ein. Das Fleisch verfliesst. Wo sass deine Kotfistel, fragt man sich?


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Vereinfachter Mechanismus. Ich bin aufgestiegen wie ein junger Adler. So stand ich: nackt, vom kalten Sternenlicht Umbrandet Stirn und Blut. They are treating us like rubbish. Who, for example, has thrown my brain into my breast cavity? Am I supposed to breath through this? Is my faint blood circulation supposed to flow through it? By all that is right and fair! This is going too far! How did I get here?

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As if peeled from an egg!! And now?? And my heart valve on the right side does not need to be poking out of my arse! That looks like I have got hemeroids. The lips of the land gnaw: the wind roars in. Flesh dissolves. And in the dark towers of the limbs Eternal earth cries out with joy.

Freed from my tear-drenched Cage. Freed from hunger and the sword. And as the seagulls flee in winter Over the sweet water: therefore: returned home. Where does my stomach start? Where can we find your excrement fistula, someone asks? A completely different constitution. The navel has been thrown overboard. A simplified mechanism. Back to nature seems the best way to go. Men, hairy and randy. Women, cowardly and deceitful, Driven out of your shit-lives, Whined around by human beasts. I have ascended like a youg eagle. And stand there: naked, brow and blood Lit around by cold star light.

Ich will ein ausgeschlenkertes Meer sein, du Affe! I want to push you in your shoulders. I want to spead myself over you. I want to be a sea at high tide, you idiot! Komm man mit. They are soft, white, large, As if from the flesh of the womb. But you are wearing a good English suit. You can come with me. But, of course, bring a solid gold coin. Europe, this piece of snot Europe, this piece of snot Out of the nose of a confirmation pupil. Wir gerieten in ein Mohnfeld Wir gerieten in ein Mohnfeld.

Everywhere bricks screamed around. Encase us in the tower of flames With everything that kneels before the gods. Ten naked redskin heathens danced around the edifice and bleated An ape-song to death: You are simply spraying around the dirt from a puddle And are squashing underfoot a mound of worms when You crush us, We are and do not want to be anything more than filth.

They have lied to us and deceived us With talk of God, purpose and meaning And gave you as a payment our sins. For us you are the enticing rainbow Stretched over the peaks of joy. Einer sang: … Einer sang: Ich liebe eine Hure, sie heisst To. Ihr Gang sticht durch mein Blut. Sie ist ein Abgrund wilder, dunkler Blumen. Kein Engel ist so rein. Mit Mutteraugen. Ich liebe eine Hure. Sie heisst To. Yes, as if made from a vessel All through summer. Her step cuts through my blood.

She is an abyss of wild, dark flowers. No angel is so pure. With mothering eyes. I love a whore. Feuchtigkeiten ein lauter Rausch. Ein Kind! O ja, ein Kind! Moistness, a pure intoxication. A child! Oh yes, a child! But how to get one and not — feel ashamed. I dreamt once that a young birch-tree Had given me a son.

A violet song from the heavens Sung to the buds of young roses. Oh, through the nights there sobs unto the stars My male blood. Da lobe ich mir den tiefen Alt des Mohns. Da denkt man an Blutfaden und Menstruation. I prefer the deep alto of the poppy. It reminds me of patches of blood and menstruation. Die weiche Bucht. Alles ist Ufer. Ewig ruft das Meer. Life and death, sex and procreation Would slide from our dumb seed. A piece of algae or a dune of sand: Formed by the wind and heavy at its base. Even the head of a dragonfly or the wing of a gull Would be too much, and would suffer too deeply.

II Despicable are the lovers, the mockers, Despair of all longing, and those who hope. We are such sickly corrupted gods. The gentle bay. The dark dreams of the woods. The stars, huge as blossoming snowballs and heavy. The panthers spring soundlessly through the trees. Everything is shoreline. Eternally calls the sea —. Get in there, into that stale Thermopylae!

Drohungen Aber wisse: Ich lebe Tiertage. Ich bin eine Wasserstunde. Wir wollen helle Haut sein. Meine Vorderflossen sind schon lang und haarig. In der ersten Nacht ist alles entschieden. Selbst so segelhaft. Du machst mir Liebe: blutigelhaft: Ich will von dir. Sieh: Ich.

I am a water-hour. In the evening my eyelids drowse off towards forest and sky. My love knows few words. It is so beautiful by your blood. My queenly vessel! My roaming hyena! Come into my burrow. Let us be bright flesh. Until the shadows of the cedars rear over the little lizard: You! Roses bloom in my hair. My front paws are long and hairy. Longing for the boughs of trees.

From strong thumbs you can hang down the whole day long. All is decided on the first night. I grip with my teeth the thing that I desire.

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Hyenas, tigers, vultures are my emblems. You are now crossing the water. So like a sail yourself. Fair skinned. Cool in play. And yet bitter red, the blood inside is dead, The mouth is a crevice full of screams. You, let us not land on a shore! You make love to me like a leech: I want something from you. You have cornstalks on your hat. Your back is brown from your Maccabee blood. Your forehead flows: you spent so long Looking over the stubs of hay for Boaz.

You hold it like a sea, so that nothing spilt in play Should moisten the earth. Now, look through your eyelids and steel yourself: See: the precipice approaching from a thousand stars away. See: the jaws into which you must pour all. See: me. Ich bin Gestank. Vom Rand der Erde komm ich her. Weil meine Mutter weint? Weil meinem Vater das Haar vergreist? Ich schreie: Ihr grauer Schlaf! Ihr ausgeborenen Schluchten! Mir aber rauscht die Stirn wie Wolken Flug. Wisch ihm eins! The Robbers-Schiller I bring plague. I am stench. From the edge of the world I come here. At times, there is something that runs together in my mouth: If I were to spit it out, the stars would hiss, And the entire cowardly boozy lot and the blood of Abel would go under.

Because my mother cries? I cry out: You grey somniac! You now impotent gorges! Pretty soon a few handfuls of earth Will be fertilising you. In me, however, the brain rages like a flight of clouds. And that touch of infection that trickled into my blood from the slime of a whore? A crumb of death is forever stinking in the corner — Sod it! Give it one! Who cares? Das Affenlied Ihr Spiel Gottes!

Du liebes Blut! Von meinem kaum getrennt! Durchrausche mich noch einen Tag! Ape song You jest from God! Heavens are the shadows Of the great forests around your fur. Sleeping, feeding, breeding quietly ripens on the Summer land of your blood. Your holy reapings! You, dear blood! From mine barely different! One and the same. Rage through me again for just one day! Look: hours, earlier ones, lived out, When we still blithely crouched by the river bank: There was the sea and there was the earth — See these hours once lived out, Oh, the return of all these longings Assemble around you!

Ich bin so hingesunken An dich. Und bin so trunken Von dir. Die Welt ist tot. Alles klingt In mein Herz. Madonna Do not give me back yet! I have totally expired on you. And am completely intoxicated In you. This bliss! The world is dead. The heavens sing stretched out against the stream of stars, bright and full. Everything is resounding in my heart. Deeply fulfilled and so beautiful sings the hunting pack of my blood. Das Fett wird ranzig and hat ausgepaart.

Wir aber wehn. O was in Lauben unseres Flesichs geschah! Verwirrt im Haar, in Meer. Over graves This one slaves away and bakes, bent throughout the night With rotten meat, following an old baking method. Finally the pig broke his legs. His fat became rancid and fell away. We, however, drift. Aegean are our tides.

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Oh, look what has happened in the foliage of our flesh! Tangled in our hair, in the sea, our breasts bleed in dancing, in the summer, by the strand and Ithaka.


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  4. Mai ist um die Harfe. O Sommer dieses Nackens! O Diese jasmindurchseuchte Ellenbeuge! O, ich bin gut zu dir. Ich streichle Dir deine Schultern. Du, wir reisen: Tyrrhenisches Meer. Ein frevelhaftes Blau. Die Dorertempel. In Rosenschwangerhaft Die Ebenen. Felder Sterben den Asphodelentod. Du Kranke, tief im Flor Der dunklen Brauen! May surrounds the harp. The palm trees redden. In the desert wind. Rahel, a slim goldwatch at her wrist: Protecting her sex and threatening the mind: She is the enemy! Your hand however is as if from earth: Sweetly-brown, almost eternal, wafted by womb. Friendly Earring turns up.

    The bright Easter lillies are so lovely: Their wide mouths yellow, with meadows at their feet. Oh blond! Oh summer ripened back! Oh These elbows drenched with jasmine! Oh I am good to you. I stroke Your shoulders. A wicked blue. The Doric temples. Pregnant with roses, The plains. Fields Expire into their asphodel death. Lips, bold and deeply filled like chalices, As if blood from its sweet place was hesitating, Roaring through a mouth of early autumn. Oh the sorry brain. You sick thing, deep in the bloom Of your dark brows! Smile, be bright: The violins are shimmering a rainbow.

    Sie friert. Der kleine graue Stock in ihrer Hand Friert mit. Wird klein. Will tiefer in die Hand. O Marmorlicht! These notes of piano which traces a path to nostalgia in the tumult and the rumblings of the opening of "Look up Your Eyes"!

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    As in Monument. As in Genius! Breaths of big horns caress this melody, bringing sequences which flicker in its furrows. A line of bass makes, sneakily, its notes pound while the percussions put more weight to the emotionalism of the atmospheres. And these tears of guitar which squeak in the soft staccatos orchestrations are cementing the rather dramatic film approach to "Look up Your Eyes".

    And what would be these textures without these ethereal voices which float as those of fallen angels and a passage of dark atmospheres wh i ch end in a crescendo of emotionalism with a furious guitar and its solos which pierce the senses? Here it is! You have the picture of the last Otarion album. And it's very plausible because we find here these same ingredients which fed the charms of Genius and of Monument; catchy melodies, poignant piano, guitars with heart-rending solos as well as the pompous and enveloping orchestrations on a marriage of percussions and sequences which built rhythms sometimes progressive andor symphonic rock and sometimes dance andor Electronica but always in a cinematographic temperament.

    The approach is similar to a ghostly rodeo which will explode for a good symphonic rock decorated with layers of old organ. Between its heavy rhythm and its seraphic atmospheres, the arrangements remain silky and the synth weaves a superb poignant melody which lead me back to those beautiful melodies that we heard on Genius.

    Heavy, dramatic and poignant! We are in the best phase of Otarion s universe. Layers fall as these leaves deriving from its tree and the sequences sparkle and flash with their shadows which draw a more sibylline aura. The percussions which fall create a suspicion of Electronica which becomes a reality when the sequencing pattern is wrapped by orchestrations' momentums and by a the greater swiftness of the percussions. We are in a good Electronica mood where the percussive perfumes of Jean Michel Jarre are peppering the harmonious orchestrations of Moonbooter beneath the soft sedative fragrances of absent voices.

    I liked it, even if it is not in my tastes! There is a little something explosive in this title, as well as in "Reverberation", an d its harmonious approach of sequences on a background of a rhythm of dance which does very Still Alive Adieu of Moonbooter. Of symphonic rock to cinematographic music while going in dynamic Electronica, Otarion takes pleasure to exploit these elements inside the parameters of time in each composition.

    It sounds a bit like Jerome Froese, although that sounds also like dynamite inspired by the excellent Jean Michel Jarre's Chronology. Rainer Klein keeps constantly on the alert and our emotions need to breathe, to redo the height. And it's there that the conclusion leads us to the very silky, but dark, "The Mysterious" among which the slow ambient breezes and these notes of a piano always so pensive as those of Vangelis seem to drive us to the next stage of Otarion. Sylvain Lupari June 22nd, gutsofdarkness.

    Songs of paradisiacal birds, rumblings of thunders and a layer of synth adorned of an halo as white as spotless, "Profligate Earth" infiltrates our ears with the approach of a survivor who scrutinizes his long road on horseback. The rhythm gets lively with a thin touch of Electronica with these percussions which click as clogs on a dry ground while the tears of the Lap Steel guitar paint the sky of a shade of a profound melancholy.

    We can hear noises of percussions and beginnings of rhythms, like in "Raku" which adopts marvellously the landscape of sadness of "Profligate Earth", but for the rest, the songs of flutes, the murmurs and the torrents of the winds as well as the meditative rhythms, tickled by shamanic percussions, fill the atmospheres of this last Robert Rich's opus. But it's not because it is quiet that it's not beautiful. Far from it! The sounds which decorate the atmospheres that weave Rich are intrusive. The song of the spectres sticks to our skin! Stripped of percussions, "Rhizome" remains all the same rather dark and intriguing, as a moonless night, where the noises of the fauna get lost in hollow winds and distant knockings.

    The ambient, although some percussions can sow doubt on its nature, structure of "Corvid Collections" reminds me of someone who looks for his shade under rocks and gets angry in front of his eternal quest. Beispiel einer Katastrophen- Nachsorge Download. Regierenden Herzogens Von Sulzbach Etc. Etc ePub. PDF Fabrizio Clerici. Disegni per il Milione di Marco Polo ePub. PDF Grundkurs der Mathematik. PDF Handelsrecht Stand 1.

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    Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition) Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition)
    Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition) Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition)
    Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition) Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition)
    Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition) Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition)
    Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition) Sternenzeit: Geschichten zwischen den Jahren (German Edition)

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