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Life is too short for boring stories

I was so sure, so, so, so, so sure or was I just as sure as I am sure of myself, always just so vaguely? No, I was absolutely sure, as sure as I could be, that the moon would rise again the next evening, as sure as I could be sure that it would …

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I sat on the dock, on the dock again, that night. You left, sometime before that you left, into your world and left me here, here in my world, which we, speaking, snatched from the flow of chaos. Now that it was complete again, now you could withdraw. And I was sitting on the jetty …

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“You love me,” he thinks, “and actually you’ve always loved me. You just didn’t admit it to yourself, didn’t admit it. Like a light in the ailing darkness, a positioning in the midst of the vagueness of your poor, desolate life. But what, you must have asked yourself what if I had left you, if …

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What is it about, with this unrestrained and unrestrainable longing that is spreading in me, raging in me, like a rapidly growing ulcer that remains without healing and relief because there is no remedy for it? What is it, with this eternally driving restlessness that dwells in me, that takes me more and more into …

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It was just a word.It was just a word, thoughtless perhaps.It was just a word, like any other, but we had ignored the situation.It was no longer just a word, in this situation.It was a stone that we threw between us.It was a rock from which a rock grew.It became a rock because we could …

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I leave the bench behind me and follow the glittering blue that leads me to the bench on which you are sitting. My feelings are mixed. You seem absent, don’t pay any attention to me. I feel the desire to bring you here, to me, this desire automatically awakens, but at the last moment I …

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It is always up to me whether I choose fulfillment and thus the dying of longing, or whether I leave longing unredeemed and escape fulfillment. I follow the glitter of the blue flower and meet you on the next bench. You hold out your hand to me. Mine approaches yours and your offer spontaneously. But …

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The beauty of the moment is its blossoming.The tragedy of the moment is its death.Life takes place between blossoming and dying.Nothing will bring it back.Nothing will stop it.But I always have a choice. Every time again. In the rose garden the glitter of the blue flower appears, which shows me the way. When I wake …

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I would like to meet you, yes, but not in the hustle and bustle of the day, where you switch back and forth with your thoughts, where you cannot stay because actionism has got you in the claws and you cannot get by, if only a few minutes physically, but not mentally. You think of …

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Max Mehlich had spent the last 15 years of his life in prison. Now he had been released early because of good conduct, because he had been sentenced to life. And life-sentenced in Austria means 25 years. All in all, it was good business for him. The offense of which he was charged, and for …

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