The Sand Journey

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Berlin, Denmark, Mozambique, Germany and over. A travelogue measuring the decades.

THE SAND JOURNEY (c) Heiko Friedlein

Heiko Friedlein

THE SAND JOURNEY

"The hero can not live in tubes. He is the wide and beautiful land." Heiko Friedlein

THE SAND JOURNEY

Berlin. I am carrying out the last procurements.
The train comes crawling like a caterpillar.
From the S-Bahnhof Jannowitzbrücke to the Alexanderplatz.
Too expensive at Kaufhof.
I will go to Woolworths.
Moving from the Alex to the Zoo.
Meanwhile it is 9:30 a. m. — one hour has passed and I have not reached anything. To avoid fare-dodger cotrols, I take the bus.
9:45 a. m. The sun burns. Line 100 struggles hard, passing a museum.
Both sides "Unter den Linden" are crowded with tourists, or better...
populated. Japanese, American, European and African.
A mass of sun hats, light T-shirts, short trousers and sandals.
Flowers, printed on dresses, handbags of leather.

Politeness, very open minded for news and sights.
They are like ants.
The bus is a green house.
The sauna effect increases, because there are nearly no possibilities to let fresh air in, since the panes can not be opened and moved in those double deckers.

Sweating and remaining motionless up to the last point.

Work to install the computers, that will be the main tool for now.
Talking must appear a bit clumsy, because the English that I speak — it
is the only language everyone here can use — has to get going first.
I am writing down facts about the country of Mozambique.
Portuguese lessons first time, the computer works and I am
about to start bringing a system into the notes.
Meeting in the auditorium of the school.
Since the budget needs expansion and the Danish
government can not provide any subventions or support, us students take care for the schools ourselves.
Once per month a weekend is used where all the necessary maintenance is done, the houses are cleaned and the lawns are cut.
A guy from Norway and me meet before sunrise on the meadow. Darkness and fog give the whole scene a creepy atmosphere.
We have got the task to improve the volleyball square.
Until now the volleyball yard consisted only out of two wooden posts,
one net and line materials of scattered down, white chalk.
The surface to practice on was a smooth lawn.
From now on there will be a sand parcours with professional lines,

made from special material that is more dureable than the chalk.
We take those lines from the former tennis square, tear them out of
the ground and plug them into our building site.
That "small repair jobs" turn out to be heavy work.
Until we can mark the field with the lines, our group has to move over
six cubic meters of sand.
We take the earth away.
Before this we clear the grass brine.
I was fetching a tractor — the only chance to finish everything until
Sunday evening.
We cover the digged up area, the intented pitch, with white sand.
The smoothening of the surface is manual work.
Finally we anchor the lines to the ground.
Dinner now, tomorrow lessons as planned.
When I am leaving for a longer time, I fling open windows and skylight.
Often I smuggle myself into the dily table community and prevent
sitting, standing around.
I would be pleased to build a school during my perspected time in Mozambique or have the chance to work there as a teacher.
Two very different projects on the first glance. But the need of schooling
and education in the destinated area is immense.
A standard European does not have to go through a yearlong
specialization until he or she is able to help. It is ok, if you know the official language of the country and some features.
It IS possible to carry through a project in cooperation
so the infos I got.

The people are very open minded and grateful for every kind of support.
Everyone, even if the sum should be just 20 $ to buy a second hand sewing machine or, maybe 50 $ for a bike to transport water and wood, can participate. This community capitalism is rooted in the iron belief, that the smallest unit of our dia o dia (= daily life) will

always be money to trade with, look and work for.
In all existing cases it is the small investment which means this positive change for an entire family or village.
The ownership and the ethnical basis lets every borrower of the peergroups think of the investment as his or her money.
Additional parnerships and agreements make each member care
for time of re pay.
When two farmers decide to buy one parcel of land and laranja trees that mean a supply for their local market which was not known before, a tailor might decide to settle down, too, using the higher frequency.

Our team does an excursion.
We agreed with some people from Mozambique, employed at a Danish Travelling High School at the moment, to meet today.
I ask to organize such assemblies straight before our journey to Africa since my experience says that most of the questions will appear the day before our way to the airport.
I get advice to get in contact with some of the teachers, since they are the ones who got through similar programmes and will look forward to answer my questions.

Attaining knowledge per computer essential.
Like I mentioned above, computers are just a sidetool for our puposes. It would be better for us, to use conventional books.
We waste too much time for handling the machines and updating them. Learning could be endangered to become a side effect.
Spectacles between human beings. (mine).

Sometimes I am off to Berlin.

Once I found a young couple with a weekend ticket.
They invited me, since it is possible for up to five persons to use it. They were fascinated of my story.
The ferries.
A Finnish driver in his german car.

The team informs me, that the rest of the group went to a place near Holstebro, not far from the west coast, taking the LandRover and the Synchro.
They went to do some kind of project with some computers.

400 km away from here for the whole next week.
They mean I should hitchhike the 400 km from Copenhagen to the Westcoast.

Hitchhiking to the west coast:
I start at 8:00 a. m.
A short walk to the bus stop.
To Hillerod by S-Bahn. (Planned). To Hundested per Lorry / car.

Delete everything on the tape.
An elder man takes me with him in his lorry.
To Hillerod.
Dense fog at this time on the roads of Denmark.
Write as start up of the day:
8:30 a. m. as I get out.
10:05 a. m.
The 153. car stops.
3 more km.
The driver explains the best way for me to Holstebro:
From Hundested, that will be my next station, per ferry to
Rorvig.
From here per car to Kalundborg.
From here per ferry to Juelsminde.
From Juelsminde per car / lorry to Holstebro.
10:15 a. m.
The 21. car, 10:25 a. m.
The young driver with his sunglasses lets me out of his smoky Ford after 10 km.
Some kind of Hippie songs in the radio.
10:40 a. m.
Number 80.
A woman from Germany.
Up tø the Harbor of Hundested, where it is easy for me to catch
the ferry to Rorvig.
-r-o-r-v-i-g the correct spelling.

11:15 a. m.
I am waiting at the harbour.
A worker tells me, that I can buy a ticket on the ferry.
It arrives at 11:45 a. m.
12:20.
Rorvig.
12:50 p. m.
A bus stop at the harbour of Rorvig.
Line 601 takes me to Nykoping,
from here to Jyderop.
Says the plan.
Now the dictating machine becomes useful.
1:05 p. m.
Nykoping.
The next bus driver asks me polite, if I would like to join, to reach Jyderop while going over a station between it and Nykoping.
Of course do I like to join him.
1:18 p. m.
On the countryside of Denmark.
I go into the bus Nr. 64.
The last driver told me, it will bring me the way to Jyderop.
The next bus driver does not allow me to drive for free.
I wait for one hour.
I decide to take the train.
I am in Hoiby Sj. now.
-h-o-j-b-y-

From here to Svinninge per train.
The train at 2:13 p. m. to 2:48 p. m.
The controller passes about eight times.
From Svinninge by bus to Kalundborg.
Bus Nr. 12.
The bus leaves at 3:03 p. m.
I did not spend a single coin until now for the whole day!
The god-blessed person of a busdriver brings me safe
to Kalundborg after 45 minutes.
Not possible to go to Juelsminde by ferry, not enough passengers any more.
From Kalundborg to Aarhus per ferry.
Departure 4:30 p. m.
Arrival 6 p. m.
It is in my sense, since this is the shortest way.
40 Deutschmarks for the passage!
I am in Aarhus now.
The bus to Silkeborg will leave Aarhus at 7:15 p. m.
I use the time for 1.5 l of mineral water.
The people are observing me while I brumble my sentences into the dictating machine. I observe them, too.
Going without pay not possible here.
I am walking 2 km. Through the city of Aarhus to Silkeborg vej. 7:45 p. m.
A Shell petrol station at Silkeborg vej.
I decide to ask the car drivers that stop here.

If they do so.
Nearly nothing going on.
I try outside the station.
130 cars passed.
8:25 p. m.
The 140. car takes me 5 km out of the city.
The driver lives in Denmark for meanwhile 12 years, but
has family in Berlin Kreuzberg and was born in Italy.
8:35 p. m.
A quarter before nine.
32 cars passed.
8:50 p. m.
Take me with them for 5 more km: Young people in a bus. Hippies.
9 p. m.
20 cars passed. The night comes.
Only street lamps and traffic lights.
93. car.
I decide to wear a white T-shirt, because I think, I do not look so invisible with it.
110 cars have passed now.
I freeze. I change my clothing again. Weather proof, but dark pullover. Forget the night!
9:45 p. m.
A 45 year old man in his transporter has pulled me out.
He drove to Silkeborg and talked a lot about the good franconian beer and whine of Germany.

He was a development aid worker himself. In Kenya, 20 years ago. On the crossroads behind Silkeborg.
The 10. car has passed.
The 64. will leave my route before Herning. So I renounce to join. 65., 66., 67....

10:20 p. m.
78 passed. It was a mistake:
I should have taken the 64.
From now on I decide to take what comes.
The 210. car! Now 11 p. m.
I am on the Herning side of Ikeast.
The half way back to Silkeborg.
Was the second last driver a corpulent man, the one
beside me is the exact opposite. A thin, wiry person that wants to find out about my work in a style of interrogation.
Efficient for me to go on.
A sign says: 11 more km to Herning.
11:30 p. m.
The 44. to Herning. A young farmer: "Normally I don ́t take people with me when they hitchhike, but I trust you."
I tell him about my work.
Midnight.
Pause.
Tuesday, Sept 2, 1997:
I am at the west side of Herning, direction Holstebro.
1 a. m.

24 cars in the last hour.
Very poor.
Tiredness. I walk around in a circle to warm up.
2 a. m.
A 30 years old Danish resident takes me with him for the final way.
The complete route from Herning to Holstebro.
He confesses that he was hitchhiking down to Egypt, when he was young. His house is not far away from here. The study center which is my destination is famous because of it ́s immense size.
A place for more than 1000 students.
A very calm person. He knows what is important for a hitchhiker and
helps in the right moment. Perfect!
I express my thanks and move into my room at exactly 3:03 a. m. in the night. Single room.
Shower. Sleeping until 8 a. m.

The "lightened" part of the day:
The center consists of many wooden houses that are put together
in a campus-like structure.
Buildings to live, to study, for maintenance and supply.
High tech in recycleable packing.
We hear the report of a student from the United States. He tells us about his work in Angola.
Problem erosion.
There is always the danger to be shot down from soldiers or policemen on the streets.
corruption with the police. They imprison every white man who can not

show a valid passport. Controls have to be expected at every time of
the day. Whites have to pay to be taken serious if they have any request. Landmines everywhere.

I handed out pamphlets in Copenhagen. And collected contributions.

Mo., 22.9. 89 dkr

The result four hours 2:00 p. m.

Tu, 23.9. We, 24.9. Th, 25.9. Fr, 26.9. Sa, 27.9. 350 dkr 750 dkr 790 dkr 1020 dkr 235 dkr

on Saturday is so low, because I was only fundraising for before lunch. Rest of the week from 10:00 a. m. to 1:00 p. m., to 5:00 p. m. and 6:00 p. m. to 9:00 p. m. (per day).

Collecting
It is important to inform the people. Not to persuade, but to convince them. It is drizzling all the time — I dodge into the S-Bahn subway.
The dossers and scroungers are my rivals.
My loud yellow raincoat sets me apart from them.
Saturday, Oct. 18 Last day of fundraising: 250 dkr.

Permit to stay in Denmark (opholdsbevis) must be organized. Once the starter of our car packs up and we have to
give it a push start.

I will start as a teacher in a Sport school in Beira / Mozambique!
To educate young people who otherwise would have a life without education or regular jobs!
Living on the street or in the countryside — totally dependent to others, without any kind of education or employment and with the perspective

contributions. Again Noerreport, Copenhagen.

of getting none.
We must introduce the children to the life at the school and prepare them to an active future by making them pass exams, get a good knowledge about sport, get basic knowledge to practical activities and manage a school environment that is organized and includes good activities for the spare time!
I will become a role model for a group of young people and my example will have great importance on the pupils.

Plan to get in touch with sev. newspapers/magazines in Maputo cancelled, since they don ́t respond.

Dec. 17:
The first vaccinations.
To prevent Meningitis, Diphterie, Yellow Fever, Hepatitis+++
Therefor short trip to Copenhagen, Vaccination center for international purposes.
All in all five injections into the upper arms and shoulders.

Dear readers!
Beira! The best location, the best climate, the best view.
Everything just beautiful, as Europeans may tend to think at once.
A trade city on the coast will provide wealth and open-mindedness and let you forget all your sorrows.
False.
This is an error!
Like everywhere in Mozambique you will see poverty among the locals, child labour, low rates of schooling, illnesses and diseases, low traffic-

density, scarce means for communication.
Little economic power, while birth rate and child mortality, growth rate
of the population, number of employed people in agriculture and percentage of farming considered to the GDP appear to be very high.
The rainy season is from October to March. This means good luck for
me, since I neither have to care about the huge flooding nor bear the heavy rain that falls in a monotonous and steady patter.
Back to the warfare.
As the war found its end, up to 500 000 people have become fugitives
in neighbouring countries and 250 000 children became orphants.
The population is now ethnical and linguistical mixed.
There are about 10 different ethnical groups.
Portuguese is the official language which is spoken by 1/3 of the population.
Nevertheless there are about 20 more Banty-languages existing.
Makunga and Tsonga are the most spoken ones.
Radio is important. They send in Portuguese, English and several
African languages and you can receive it all over the country.
Even if you are a farmer far away from conurbation — get an old
car-battery and a cheap transistor radio — at once you will have your
very own information service!
After the peace the media, the press included, can work independently
and have got extensive freedom to critizise the government.
A team member argues:
If you want to teach, start with health care; Children an youths
can easily go to their own families and show their relatives how to

prevent aids. They will be spread around
themselves what they have learned at the schools.
"You forgot to mention drug abuse".
It appears mainly because of the lack of companionship by those who have been killed during a war,
by poverty and sickness or because of sev. other fights.

d;)

In the first plane in front of me three chatting persons, I change dkr
into US$, different time in Lisbon (+ one hour).
Landing with no difficulties in =Maput= as the Portuguese say respectful.

a) At ABCD als Zwischenstation zu Gast
usually 35 — 45 dgr. in Map., in Beira Cholera reported.
Boil all water, danger high.
Install provisoric mosquitoe-nets for this stop.
Erste Eindrücke: Viel Mensch + Möglichk, wenig Material... Horrible heat, sweat heavily. The wetness goes through the cotton. The wetness sucks into the paper I write this notes on.
The notes are endangered to become destroyed.
The local people friendly.
After some routine in speaking P I will be able to teach.
Even at midnight the air is so wet + hot that it ́s difficult to
breathe.
I try to ignore.

b) Sweat. Heat day and night. Beispiele für Armut in Maputo: Disabled moving on hands and knees over a main street. In front of the market hall. Her whole body
is white, because she survived a severe fire...

c) Fr. morning, 7.30. Sweat less. Seem to get used to the climate of Maputo — but this has only been a stay for days, as planned. Beira is more Africa.
Pack things at 10:50 and leave at 11 to the airport.

When we have arrived I will be the only white person among some thousand black locals.
The plane is unplanned late, is said 11:30 in the airport building.
It will be hours.

Waiting with Coke for 1 US$.

Coca Cola = currency.
The sun is burning.
Flight TM 102 to Beira, 15:40.
For sev. ballpens I may pass the guards control at the entrance. With no further difficulties.
15.15: The waiting hall has become crowded. It appears in the same style as the buildings in the former socialist German Democ. Rep. do, I see nuns, businessmen, indish, asian.

15.42: The LAM-Airbus, Linhas Areas de Mozambique, departs. You notice the swamps around Beira when looking down from the planes windows.
Beira is surrounded with river-deltas and the ocean.

An exciting and interesting dark-green landscape. 33 dgr. C. Landing 16:52 in Beira.

My flat in suburb PALMEIRAS.
On my way I pass many cars with people and wooden crosses on.
A mass-funeral.
The cholera strikes for meanwhile one week ==> 1000 +.
Always taking care of thieves I visit the township.
There ́s an army quarter, a nice restaurant, steady wind and sun and lots of swampy ground, the reason why the disease spreads like a bushfire.
The beach of Beira bay with the Indian Ocean.
First rules: Peel fruits, boil, desinfect water, keep hygiene,
wash hands all time.
Malaria.

Together with a Mozambiquean I visit the most important specs
and necessary sights of the suburb. By chapa (the local small-
bus transport system) we travel around in Palmeiras. He shows me the local hospital and at the same time buys some Malaria-medicine for his daughter — from the money I borrowed him.

We walk around the beach of Beira.
I jump into the waves of the Indian Ocean and remain in the salty tasting water for about ten minutes...
On our way to the next points to visit, those cars with the dead Cholera-victims and their wooden crosses on, pass us again.
As I still mentioned, the Cholera parasite spreads.
The victims start vomiting and get diarrhea from one day to the next.
"After 24 h you ́re dead" — I give him the advice to fly me to Johannesburg or back to Germany in case, he prefers to see me treated here, at once.

But I can ́t carry all the washing water up to my flat to keep a stable water level in my body, because it ́s really possible and nice to buy Coke, but for a long time I will get
sick of the sugar, so let ́s wait and see what happens!

My flat here in Palmeiras, a suburb of Beira, is on the 1st floor and can be locked from all sides.
The furniture was left from the former person that lived here — he or she left some Zimbabwean coins on the desk.

A rich flat in a city with many chances. There are paintings,
among them one imitation of Vincent van Gogh, and African originals, showing boats on a shore and women, sitting on a bench in front of a garden.
The electricity functions and I have a mirror, carpets, telephone, even some books that were left back.

Only the water makes problems. It comes from a well, is not Cholera- proof, which means that you have to put Chlor or "Javel" into it, means for desinfection, or boil it properly, so that you can use it for
washing and drinking water.

I can furthermore drink mineral water in hygienic-closed bottles, Agua vumba!

I have a beautiful view to my neighbors house with some impressive rubber trees in front of it and, on the front side,, when I stand on the balcony, I can see a football field with benches for spectators and a hall in the background.

Now it ́s 10 minutes past 18 and there ́s a match! Between two groups with many spectators from everywhere around the area.

You can easily compare urban Mozambique with former East-Germany: The style of the buildings is about the same — socialist, practical- modernistic.
Then there has been the civil war.

Some block houses with offices for the state, beton flats like
mine for the citizens, mixed with huts of clay, straw and metal parts

for the poorest residents.

As we walk through the township, slowly at first,
we somewhen recognize a huge, wide building
that consists of some halls, there are rooms in — and a wide, plane ground in front of them.
As we approach, we get aware that this is my sports school I, so to say, "take over" from the Socialists, to make it private together with my guide, who is employed to give me advice and help, if necessary.

I want to make this place accessible for European visitors and tourists from the United States and I want to bring the children of the city in here, to give them a chance to learn and do sports.
All looks improveable and it will mean a lot of work,

but if we cooperate and work constructive, we
will have success.
The friend shows me the whole building and tells me the most necessary facts. Meanwhile he has employed four teachers, that live near the
school, plus him; He lives here together with his family, today I ́ve
seen his son and his daughter and all of them are very nice.
There ́s a bar that serves Coke, so we buy some and sit down in the
empty aula to make the first plans.
He has to go to the state ́s offices alone to get a permission for using all the buildings. I think, this is ok. The more buildings we can take, the
better it is.
We return to the flat and agree to meet again
tomorrow at nine a. m.

Domingo = Lariam day. Feb. 8, 1998

6 o ́clock. Stomach problems. Since it ́s Sunday, I have no phone- contacts.
I decide to eat something and wait for vomiting. I take two Retardin.

But everything turns to be ok.

Segunda feira, Feb. 9
I travel to Nhamatanda, a village on the
country side direction west in the Beira corridor to Harare. Common tourist show up by chapa. I arrive back to the city of Beira at 5 in the afternoon and reach my bairro — Palmeiras 1 — at 6 p. m. In the late evening I see "Mini Golf", a well known restaurant.
I start to chat.
Nobody really wants to mention it, but the subject just appears: Cholera and Aids. The "sida", as Aids is called in Portuguese, has last year affected about 45 % of the male youth of Chimoio, a town near Nhamatanda where I ́ve been this morning.
I got the fact from a student who was born in Chimoio.
He still has a lot of connections to that place and answers my questions frankly.

The people say, if the dry and warm weather stays
for ten more days, the Cholera problem will solve itself, since
all the wetness and the water will disappear. I hope as well, the climate remains stable, but at 9 in the morning some rain comes.

Not too much. Hopefully of no influence.
Beira.
Beira is a silent city, as a friend of my guide explains.
My partner says, the authorities don ́t allow the use of the school- building.
There ́s nothing we can do.

I will return to ABCD Maputo the next days.
The Cholera epidemy here, which doesn ́t stop (the cars with the victims on them, driving to the funerals, become more and more) makes this decision easy for me.
I have a look at the title pages of Noticias, the most important Moz. newspaper. The headlines of the following days:

Numero de morros eleva-se para 72. Situacao da Cholera e grave Cholera ja mata na Beira
Doentes e obitos registam subida Cholera: Drama na Beira

Cholera alastra-se no pais
Situacao de colera vai de mal a prior na Beira

There ́s a plane going to Maput next Monday.

Jan. 28 Jan. 29 Jan. 30 Jan. 31 Feb. 6 Feb. 7

Feb. 9

I will agree with ABCD about further project and stay.
After 30 minutes jogging on the beach of Beira there appears a big, old, rusty shipwreck on the beach, the corroded bow in the

sand.
Children climb on it and the water splashes through the huge holes.

Feb. 14
If I shouldn ́t receive further information about the sports- school here, I will go back to Maput the next Monday and start to teach. There will be not too
much difference to the work I planned to do here, since the surroundings are the same and the job itself remains in my response.

Feb. 17
The sports school "EFG" with its campus is situated in Machava, a bairro in the suburb of Maputo.
The buildings have proper standard and the furniture is still passable.
Lateron no supply of drinking water — I fetch some from a well, 100 m away from my accommodation.
I buy some food in a supermarket, centered in Maputo and travel there by chapa.
On my way the atmosphere of the capital strikes me again:

Some residents, more rich, don ́t care about the poor. What else should they do? Frustration at first, then resignation. Finally one tends to say: "Well, that ́s the way it is. What a pitty! But what can you do to take those 5 years old street kids in dirty rags away from

the containers with the waste and the food rests in? They live from that! They sleep in their shadow"
What can you do to tear the 20 years old man with just one leg
out of his numbness, as he sits there at the side of the street,

leaned against a traffic sign with open, blooded eyes and doesn ́t make a move for hours?

It is strange, if you don ́t have time to participate in common events, like chatting or having meals. If you stay absent, you are serious: Not cool anymore. This way of social thinking is there -
just remember the Cholera cases in Beira.

White people who behave nice are called "Mulungi".
This word, is it Shona? means as well: "How are you?"
English speakers have better chances to get a job.
Discussions about sensitive topics like political situation or AIDS should not be tried. Many fanatism among the people and rumours spread easily. Of course formal teaching by means of theater plays, games or posters how to prevent the sida are welcome.
Every white person is meanwhile called "Dinamarquese". There are many Danes living in Mozambique and therefor the term is often used.
The locals, esp. the younger residents are very keen on receiving portrait photos.
If a tourist walks through a market place with an unhidden camera in his hands, he is expected to take pictures of all around and to distribute them.

A common custom meanwhile. It will remain.

Water supply functions again. I sketch the surrounding.
Wild vegetation. Dark-green areal out of lots and lots of different plants, crops, bush and tree when you look to the East. These are the "machambas", as the locals call their fields. Here they grow corn, potatoes, beans, rice, bananas and much more stuff.
In small parcels of, let ́s say five * ten meters average. Hard work, done by hands of women with the age of 20 to 40 years.
I greet them, they greet back. Now I ́m walking down the main road. To my left appear three side roads leading straight through the fields. They are useful when crops have to be carried home, which is done in the traditional way: In baskets and buckets, transported on the head. These three side roads are used by cars and lorries, too, since there are more and more small building sites started — the locals future houses, I guess — and therefor sand and stones have to be transported directly to the place of use.

Between the second and third side road, more to the east, there ́s a factory with a stable wall around it.
The factory building itself is looking proper, painted white with a
green copper roof. There are many black workers walking around in busy manner. The main road bends to the east, goes 600 additional meters in a silent bow, embraces 200 more machambas like the tracks of a model-

railway keep small, painted squares in a circle and finally, turns north again.
Here the ground is wet and swampy. The water rins down from a hill — an artificial one! Like an immense monument enthrones a large football- stadion in its top. Used for national sports events and owned by a private company, so I find out. Socialist style of building — gigantomany — with advertisements sticking on it.

The view in front of the entrance is impressive. Exciting glances
down on the flat carpet out of all tones of green. The machambas are patchwork.
The warm weather with some rain-hours every day makes them look like a beautiful botanic garden, fascinating for European eyes.

I describe one of the street scenes I watch every morning. The women pass my house, carrying heavy and large loads on their heads.
"This is typical! The best way to bring water and food!"
Often they take their babies with them, too. Carry them on the back like a rucksack.

The traditional form of clothing, used as well to keep the babies, is called "Kapulana". You can use this large skirt as
rain coat; Wear it to cover the body, tied under the shoulders or around the pelvis.

"Only the women wear the Kapulana?", do I ask. "Yes. The kapulana is an old herited form of clothing for African women. Nevertheless, European clothes are common in Mozambique, too, taken for granted mainly
among the rich residents."

"What do we eat for lunch?"
"Shima. Dried corn flour, cooked with water. We eat it with beans and vegetables."
"Is it baked like bread?"
"No, it ́s a raw dough."

The chapas.
A common expression for this kind of autobusses, often used by the Mozambiqueans, is "machimbombo".
If you see one of them, filled up to the top with bodies and bags
(if there are seats for 20 pers., you can be sure, that 60 are trans- ported), how it crawls through the waterholes of the city streets -
you will remain staring at it, your mouth and eyes wide open.
Since the craters in the streets are wet and muddy, the driver needs high velocity and impetus before the narrow tires press into the slushy ground with the population of a middle-sized village on the chassis they carry.
In general they manage to dig out again.
If only one side of the bus gets sunk, while the remaining wheels drive on tar or sand, it should be no problem.
Nevertheless is it funny to watch the vehicle, as it suddenly nearly tilts, tips over, but before the final capsize, the crash onto one of
the windowed sides, becomes upright and straight again, equal to the status of the road.
The Mozambiqueans sell a lot of stuff at their hand made shops they carry on ropes around the body.
Chocolate bars, music casettes, plastic pens and paper, little make-

up boxes, kitsch, posters and paintings behind glass, just the posters (the same printwork), just the glasspanes.

The people seem to realize the awful lot of chances for the
future, remaining in that system of our society that was created and is now handled by the banks, the knots in the global net of economic performance.

There are lots and lots of small birds in the trees on the machambas near my house.
They always start to make their riiiping sounds in the afternoon and morning that, once inside, stay in your head all the time.

Together with the blip-blip-blip of the mud frogs in the swampy ponds that you can find everywhere in and around the fields, I note a concert of amazing rapidness and excitement.
Deep brummmmmms and slow surrrs of the flying beetles, big bees and flies offer the bass notes.

School lunch with rice, fish soup and vegetables.

When there ́s anything to strike me to think about technology,
then the private planes and airbusses that roar over the machambas 2 or 3 times a day, so near to the ground, that spectators can see the single windows of the machines / passengers single peasants on the machambas!
The noise of the engines drowns out every kind of average sound sev. times 30 seconds, but nobody knows about some crash ever happened.

Sunday.
There ́s a soccer event in the Great Stadion on the hill happening
today.
Mozambique vs. Kenya.
We climb up the huge and wide spread steps of the monumentous
stadion after following three boys of six, seven years who know the shortest way through the machambas at the foot of the giant mound.
On the top a large crowd of hundreds of people is standing around
outside the arena, waiting for a cheap or expensive entrance card to
buy or sell, for some friends, mates, family.
Mainly women and young men offer Coca Cola, beer, sweets, potatoe- chips, peanuts and apples.
Our group remains in the queue in front of the entrance for some 15 minutes, passes the uniformed guards (policemen) showing the cards and, in a squeezed bunch enters, walking down the beton steps, finds
proper seats, sits down as group in the fifth row on the southern
long-side of the soccer field.
When the game starts at 15:30, there are only few spots left
among the numerous variety of all the colored shirts and caps,
the watching spectators.
Mozambique in green white, Kenya in blue yellow trikots.
Go!
While the game takes it ́s run, the spectators are steadily viewed by
all the sellers who carry their boxes around the body, ice, water
and Coke or beer inside.

Cartonboard boxes with chocolate bars and chips, bowls with the peanuts and apples.
There must be more than 100 moving around between the rows inside, offering the same selection as the equal number of concurrents does "outside".

Many Mozambiqueans come to visit the event for relaxing and meeting friends.
A welcome weekend activity for the whole family.
You develop better thoughts from daily life, meet new people, find reason and matter to discuss, to sing, to celebrate.

Soccer has always and is now more than ever seen as a common combat for a proud public.
Mozambique wins 1:0, the people are happy, some sing, while we all together (about 10 000) leave the stadion in groups and bunches.

Internet access is possible in Maputo.
If you live in Beira you might be lucky to obtain Internet access
by a private company — a large, new built supermarket or a big commercial office house.
It is more probable to get access to a server if you travel to Harare, the Zimbabwean capital, because more institutions with functions open for the common public are situated there.

In the late evening I finally start digging a hole of 2 * 2 meters with the depth of 8 centimeters into the ground close to our houses.
The shovel was lying uncovered beside the kitchenbuilding, the tem- perature not too hot any more and the sandy african ground, riddled

with holes, appeared loose and easy to move.
Soon the afternoon has come.
I smoothen the surface of the squares.
A colleague lives in Xipamanine, one of the cities poverty quarters, i. e. the poorest of all bairroes, close to the center.

Name "Xipamanine" derives from the word "pama", i. e. "rubber tree". There ́s one large, huge rubber tree in the middle of Xipamanine ́s main market. It must be more than 200 years old with branches, meter- thick and a stem like a house.

The bark loosens from the wood of the branches in an attitude of about 15 m and hangs down to the ground as rope.
Very impressive for my European eyes.
We cross the market square after a tour by chapa that took us half

an hour.
There ́s lots and lots of fruits, bread and clothing to see and buy. But you could have diamonds as well as weapons and drugs.
If you have money, Xipamanine is a paradise!
I discover a wooden table in a corner of the shady verandy, lacking the top.
The friend offers me to enter his home.
"You can have the cubus for 100 000 Mt."
"Do you live alone here?"
"Oh yes. I arrived two weeks ago and was very glad to find this accommodation, but I have no use for the wood. A table top is expensive."
"Then you are more europeanized than me. Two weeks is nothing!"

"Well... maybe in my head. My heart belongs to Africa!"
"I don ́t want to buy the wood, I just want to borrow it for the next days..."
"I see..."
"How much do you charge then? are 5000 ok?"
"No. You can borrow it for free. As long as you want."
Transporting the complete cube by chapa back home is not so easy, because there are many people in one bus as you, revered readers, do already know.
But I manage without hurting anyone or become hurt myself, store the new achieved building material in an unconspicious corner and advise the guards to take care of it.

For today there ́s a common trip to Xai-Xai planned.
We leave at 6:30.
I photo the rich, green landscape, poor little villages, large rivers
and grazing cows.
Xai-Xai. A small nice city, rich, wealthy.
Situated close to the beach like Beira is, the Mozambiquean country- side in the back means a catchment area from the whole province. Xai-Xai has shops, restaurants, workshops and official appearance, accommodating a police dept. and govt. buildings for provincial affairs. Unlike to the straw- and clay hut villages we ́ve passed on our way
---
(some look like old american wild west cities: One, two, eight pubs, kiosk, shop, houses and a dusty road going straight through, dividing the cowboy in two halfs...), Xai-Xai is situated on the hills.

They are some 100 meters high, grass- and bush covered, with roads maeandering up and down;
Good standard — tar! Connect all those holiday houses for the upper 1000 (high society) of Mozambique, living in Maput mainly, because there ́s their working place and travel here every two, three months for a week to go swimming, surfing, yachting.

We ́ve seen a lot of white people around in the city — their community in the open, terraced restaurants.
Xai-Xai is a sunny holiday home paradise, consisting out of white stone mansions that prove luxury and wealth.

As we ́ve reached an apted area close to the beach, we start turring up our two tents. Not afraid of rain but of Mosks.
The ground is loose — but not too much — and dark sanded — a dream for campers like us.

At the beach of Xai-Xai the water is more clean than at my former place close to Beira.
The Indian Ocean appears light blue now in front of me, greeting with white waves, 1 m high, loosing their turns when strolling up the sandy coast.

Here one ́s undisturbed for hours — you can swim or go for a run with- out having curious eyes watching you!
I use the day to stroll around in the forests among the hills, always taking care that no thornbush scratches too much — that I

don ́t fall on one! — and after 30 minutes discover a large monument, a statue on the top of the hill.
I leave the first mound behind, pass the valley and start climbing

up the rocky area which is covered by grass and sev. thorny bushes. Not too tight, so I reach the ridge after an other 25, 35 minutes. There ́s the statue: A huge two-meter-obelisk-block made out of beton. It may not be older than 50, 60 years, built to mark a viewpoint deep into the untouched countryside.

I walk down the sandy street, reach ABCD ́s armazem (= storeroom), sign my name for a wheelbarrow and now leave the ABCD quarter. As I return I transport one sack of cement (75 000 Mt.) that I store beside the table cube and cover with the wheelbarrow, turned

upside down over it. If it should rain this night.

Ingredients and necessary tools: 1 wheelbarrow
1 shovel
1 trowel

fine, loose sand
the cement, water, a bucket
the table frame and a lath.
Now I ́ve filled the wheelbarrow with 15 shovels of sand and tug the load through loose ground and along the improvement streets all over the ABCD area.
I stop.
I take one, two, three heaped shovels of cement out of the paper sack, that I ́ve torn open in a large line on one of the wide sides to make
it easy to pull the filled shovels out without loosing any of the
powder that smiles light grey, as everyone knows.

I mix cement and sand in the wheelbarrow.
The heat makes hard physical work out of that.
Water comes from a common tap — I carry it in a bucket.
Pour it slowly — not all the twelve liters at once!
Slosh after slosh!
In the next 30 minutes you have to mix that uninterrupted!
The first wheelbarrow took me, all activities added, 60 minutes.
My mortar.
I fill it in the box on the ground, it spreads up itself, because
it ́s so soft and smooth and fills every crack and ankle, every hole
and gap.
I mix four more wheelbarrows and pur them into the frame on the ground, again.
In the evening I can smoothen the mortar on the very surface, using an even lath.
I turn the wheelbarrow over the left amount of cement, in steady hope it won ́t rain next night and work with the trowel and a cord for 30 more minutes on the formed blocks which harden slow but steady.

My electronic existence in the first world lives for now 23 years. It will never be switched off again.
I have two lifes.

The mortar has dried.
A shiny steel blue surface awaits me in the morning, I smile.
It ́s easy for the players now to make out the 64 "black and white" squares of the chess block out of beton — one square is 16 * 16 cm.

Mercado Municipal.
An infinite sequence of actions within the central market hall of
Maput.
Municipalidade de 1901 close to the Banco Comercial de Mocambique, the building puts up a world of it ́s own:

At first there ́s the
want to
Then you
will find cosmetics
and onions, nuts, potatoes meat, fruits, tomatoes laranjas, milk, juice

coffee and salad.

A large arrangement of FISH, sea, salt-

central entrance + exit

on the other side there is

rice, salt, eggs, oil, crowds, carrots spices, curry
and garlic

tools for daily use. soaps and cremes.

to pass when you get in.

Coke and bread, bread bread, a bakery.

some cocos, some tomato
rice
eggs, potato

on one side vegetabl. Here are crabs, lobsters crayfish and mussels.

Fruits fruits fruits. Veget.cashewspotatoes Tomato in all size.
One single cashew table

Entrance 2

Flowers and cosmetics

Soap, serviettes
tooth articles, bags and

Souvenirs fruits souvenirs, veget. Batiques, cashews and

woodwork, capulanas and earrings.

and fruits
and garlic
and vegetables
Bananas, beans, gurks, tomato sugar white and brown, clove, pepperpaprikaananas.

And always a multitude of people in the center.

onions, Esp. a lot of eggs..

and nuts tomato + ata

shoecreme bags sugar tools

Entrance 3

Apples, grapes, butter, milk oils and candles.

A large, no a very large arrangement of fruits. Some spices like
sunflower pits and caraway.

Serviettes
oil, coffee, milk
cosmet. tools, soaps
and cremes, veget., bread and more food, fruits like

Baskets. Catgold. pumpkins. Wigs and domest birds.

Entrance 4

Just a glance.
Tomorrow everything is different again.
On the street the boys sell cigarettes, plastic bags, newspapers such as Noticias and Savana.
Some small electronic pocket calculators while policemen are patrolling and beggars are strolling...

For my european eyes the machambas look like front gardens, often sizing less than 5, 6 square meters.
The peasants have no machines and do the work on these small parcels with their hands and some tools.

There ́s no certain difference between what the men and women do — often you see the family bending down to the seed
and plants, hoeing, digging, plucking, sorting and sawing
and planting again.

Their harvest they carry on the shoulders or on the head.
Esp. the women use baskets and capulanas to transport the fruits and crops back home or to the market.
On the markets this is a common scene.

I pack a rucksack full of this and that, eat and sleep in the house for the last night and let the events approach that will catch up with the next week(s) passing by.

I start 13 de Maio 1998, choosing
a Bus company from Swaziland — Eduard and Bessie Express — all
the way up to Beira.
5.13 in the morning start in Maput (a large machimbombo).
Then it waits outside the gate for 2 hrs to get all passengers
and, finally leaves the square that much more equals a large
market of bread, bisquits and bananas.
At 7.35 we start.
We pass Xai-Xai 10.45.
Maxixe 14.25,
Beira 7.05 a. m. the next morning.
A stop and go adventure for 250 ct.
Chapa to Palmeiras.
Small machimbombo to Chimoio (30 ct.)
The islamic mosque, the central market, the chapa stop.
Small machimbombo to Manica. (10 ct.)
In comparison to Chimoio, Manica market, situated on a hillside, is a natur(e)al paradise of African originality.
300 000 Moz. Mt. ==> 400 Zimb. $.
At the Moz. border I jump out of the bus and, accompanied by a couple, into the car of the next Zimbabwean driver.
He ́s about to cross the borders now. Since it ́s 18 o ́clock, we may
only pass as the husband hands a Mt. note out of the window to make the guard open the turnpike once more for us.
Zimbabwe.
A country of natural wealth.

As the office woman from the post and her colleague left, tired from the day ́s work, they took me with them all the way to Mutare in their poltering car, nevertheless.
They drop me at a plain, small hotel in Mutare.

18.30, I say goodbye after many Thankyous.
Food & shower, 1st floor.
Roads here we call "Robots", First Robot, Second Robot, etc. Accompanied with a young couple from the US (MA) I depart at 5.45
on the way to the bus stop.
6.00 o ́clock. Kukura Kurerwa Bus Service Ltd. (PVT).
65 Zimbabwean $ to Masvingo.
The Americans both are M. D. s and the ice in my Coke for 8 ZW$ means no danger.
We ́re in Masvingo a quarter past 10, the friends drop off, I carry on. 10.30. It leaves to Rutenga. 12.00 it stops in Zvishavane.
The next one to Buchwa;
10 ZW $ for the half standard.
The people I ask now for the further way.
The 10 $ I don ́t pay and take the bus to Ngundu.
A hens-eggs-bags journey (20 ZW$) until now — one of the worst I ́ve made ever since.
17 o ́clock. At the main road to Masvingo.
New car.
For 5 Zimdollars and some coins from DK and D he brings me to the destinated location: The monument of Great Zimbabwe.
It ́s 20 o ́clock now, so I have to wait for tomorrows daylight but

unpack sleeping bag and matress and pitch and sleep at the monument. The tourist show up of my visit starts May 16 at 6.00 in the morning.

At 8.30 I hitchhike back to Masvingo, here take the bus to Roye. (10 Zim $).
And a further bus to Mutare that I reach at 16.30.
For 10 Zim $ to the border.

I get a lift by a catholic priest all the way to Chimoio.
For free.
I just tell him about my occupation and he ́s willing to support me in this way.
I arrive 18:30.
A weekend trip into a rich farmer ́s and miner ́s country where I lost my sun cap and my heart but found new force and friends.

Monday May 18; Mt. Maisvelho; "Old Man ́s Head". 1500 m and more. Close to the city of Chimoio. As impressive as the Shona stones but natural, maybe more monumentous. It sizes not meters but kilometers!

Tuesday, May 19: At 5.00 in the morning bus to Tete. It starts at 6 o ́clock, reaches Catandica 8.20.
Arrival at 12.00 paved by 60 ct.
Tete is Indish African.

Zambesi bridge, the fishermen.
Armed police control my passport, 10 ct.

Wednesday May 20: Ruina Fortalesa. (once a port. monument inside the city to shoot enemies arriving from the river. 50 * 50 * 20 m

Thursday May 21: In the morning bus to Songo, bus to the Cahora Bassa Dam.
I leave the area at Friday, 22. of May at 2.30 p. m. (same bus that brought me up goes down to Songo and Tete every morning).

Arrive in Tete at 7.00 a. m.
The place you have to wait for the machimbombo to Chimoio is called "Steia".
But the lorry from Zimbabwe comes sooner and takes me to Changara between 9.30 and 11 a. m.
With a second lorry I hitchhike all the way to Chimoio from 13.30 to 17.45.

25/5, 5.00 in the morning machimbombo Chimoio-Maput, 250 ct. stops in Maxixe aat 17.00 after an o. k. tour, incl jack-knived banana lorry
+ police control (the bags + the passports) on the way down the back- bone of rural Mozambique, stopping in every 2nd village to have

some laranjas + grilled galinhas for offer. (Chicken)
26/5, 13.30 tour back to Maput, finally, starting 5.30 in the morning after a rom. night on Maxixe beach under a bright sky of stars, undisturbed by police + protected from mosks, using the sleeping bag. The slight splashes of the water.

 

Heiko Friedlein 2015, 16

lines of natural

Und mein Held ist dabei, zu sterben.
Und man kann Texte lesen oder schreiben, während eine Standuhr neben einem tickt oder schlägt oder die Zeit aufschreibt.
Da war ein Mann, der etwas wollte. Er hat sich wirklich bemüht, etwas zu finden.
Er hatte kein sehr einfaches Leben. Es war eher hart und er entschloss sich, sich nach etwas umzusehen um aus seiner Verzweiflung herauszukommen.
Aber er musste warten und warten und warten.
Die Jahre gingen ins Land während nichts passierte und er wurde älter und seine Familie

starb und er wurde allein gelassen.
Er verlor alles obwohl er kämpfte über sein ganzes Leben hin um zu gewinnen.
Und er wurde ärmer und ärmer.
Der Mensch lebt von Erfolgen, aber wenn er sie mit niemandem teilen kann, so wird er manchmal stur.

XII Start

  1. I  Eine Stunde Zeit.

  2. II  Und wir sind auch schon im Geschehen.

  3. III  Es ist etwas passiert. Ein Verkehrsunfall und keiner weiss noch bescheid, aber

    man hat etwas gefühlt.

  4. IV  Der Notarzt und die Polizei sind an der Stelle, ein Aufgebot.

  5. V  Das Radio berichtet von einem missglückten Überholvorgang.

  6. VI  Die Beamten schreiben ihre Aufzeichnungen am Unfallort.

  7. VII  Die Wracks werden abtransportiert von Spezialfahrzeugen.

  8. VIII  Die Unfallstelle wird gereinigt und die Beamten verschwinden.

  9. IX  Im Radio nochmals Zusammenfassungen.

  10. X  Die Fahrbahnen sind wieder freigemacht.

  11. XI  Der Verkehr ist wieder in Gang gekommen.

Grau das Wasser blau der Himmel, Schwarzes Herz ganzer Schmerz. Ich sterbe

und erzähle Dir.
An einem wunderschönen Tag gebe ich diese Verzweiflung her.

Nach dem wreckage. Dort will ich hin, d. h. das will ich. Ruhe, Erholung, Frieden vom Stress.
Sich setzen an den Wegesrand, das Gras geht mir bis zu den Knien. Ich rupfe einen Büschel aus und werfe ihn in den lauen Wind, sehe in den großen, weiten blauen Himmel, bis ich es im Genick spüre. Im T-Shirt mit kurzen Hosen und Turnschuhen und weit und breit keine Menschenseele ausser mir, die mich beobachten oder stören könnte mit einer fabelhaften Aussicht A auf einen Waldrand, B auf ein stilles Tal, C auf die grasbedeckte, grüne Ebene hinter meinem Rücken.

Nach dem wreckage.
Aber jetzt sind wir noch alle krank und hoffen, dass wir nicht zu bald sterben
müssen. Wir beten.
Wie kann er das wreckage beenden und zur Blumenwiese gelangen? Er weiss es nicht, allein schafft er es nicht und es ist alles durchaus unsicher. Die Zeit ist nicht
auf seiner Seite und er wird oft geprüft werden. Beispiele fehlen mir aber
hier in meiner Seele steht mir das wreckage.
Joanne schickt mir einen Gedanken: "Du bist mein Held." Obwohl sie schon alt ist,
steht sie unerbittlich und riesig wie eine erhabene Göttin an dem Platz, den ich passieren werde, wenn ich zur Blumenwiese reise.
"Was soll ich bloss machen?" frage ich sie in meinem Gedanken zurück und sie ant- wortet mir nach etwas überlegen: "Sieh, es ist schon so viel auf der Welt passiert..."
in Ihrer Grösse, "... Du musst Dich doch nur an mich erinnern, dann lachst
Du sofort über Deine Problemchen" "Es ist nicht so einfach, ich sitze fest" "Du
wirst Dich wieder regenerieren, denk an die over 20 years, wie alles angefangen
hat, wie Du Deinen Weg gegangen bist — Du hast schon so viel erlebt, Du wirst
es auch jetzt schaffen, es erledigt sich von selbst, bleib ruhig." "Danke Göttin,
Du hast wohl recht, wenn nur das Warten nicht wäre, die Zeit hat mich gemartert

und hier in meiner Seele steht mir das wreckage."
"Das ist nur vorübergehend. Jetzt sind wir noch alle krank und hoffen, dass wir nicht zu bald sterben müssen. Aber wir beten ja und es hat sich immer wieder alles zum Guten gewendet." "Danke Joanne. Und ich habe ein Bild von Dir bei mir."

"Wie immer fühle ich mich mit Euch allen verbunden, aber ich bin vergessen. Aber ich weiss, das ist mein tiefes Ausstrahlen von Kompetentem und
Patentem und Verlässlichem, was eine Beurteilung unnötig erscheinen lässt. Wie sehne ich mich danach."

MUTTER TOD

(c) by Heiko Friedlein, Auerbach 2013

MATERIALS

Chapter 1

Plastics technology. I want a connection to plastics technology during the next year.
My patents are in general using plastics technology, especially one.
At least do they touch them: My ASR elements are built on the plastic armrests of crutches, the reep, if it still does not exist — I need plastic friction channels for it.

The greenOOn s you could (I mean the phosphorizing glass- and cup rims) instead of ceramics also bring into very dureable plastic, like building
the whole object out of it.
Very resistant plastic attachments for plastic rubbish tons and my improvement of their handling that I drew with just some simple lines in one of my

sketches.
The DSD of my feather is out of plastic anyway bearing a rubber element, too like the ASRs und then I have a sketch for my OE to find files in
physical archives fast. Here I bring the green diodes into plastic lines.
And my IomEG because I am very sure, that also in space industies plastic is of very big importance like with here to win electricity with this
invention outside the asteroid belt of our solar system.
And my greenSYSTEM, a small solar system in my spiritual spaces which is out of phosphorizing bowls and half bowls out of plastics. You could
think of lead — but who wants celestial bodies in space with immense gravitation that might devour all of us somewhen???

A sirene is blowing and I shoot a mobile photo while driving to pass the site.
Later it seems to me like a smeared pattern having to be wiped away from a kitchen floor.

There the kitchen machines could have emptied themselves through an uncalculeable explosion, a dozen of fallen trees at the streetsides
und firefighters at night who hurry and run in the lights of cars and trucks in tankport neon to get the ways free ASAP with motor saws and pull the branches with their trucks in the dark and heavy rain together with policemen and other helpforce.

My mobile foto shows me red and yellow lines of the carlights, because I had to pass in a hurry and so the result is all in all more a pattern than a photo of reality but I like it very much.

What do I want to say? I want to express a picture that is in me since
I can think of a time decades ago..
In green color do I see a young woman with brilliant black hair and a black dress to be close to a location with green plastic around her, maybe her flat or her kitchen or her living room.

She has a green piece of a half bowl or a glass — I am sure now that it is a half
bowl or a glass in her site and it helps her to keep her mood in the crowded and beloved clumsy city.
I see a situation there.
I see her bending her head halfway up to stare full of conviction about
me when she hears my lines that I read to her understandeable but not

too loud since I do not want to bother her with noise because I admire her deep down to my deepest soul.
"So you want to make money with your inventions."
"I want to patent three of them in Sweden. I get a Swedish agent." She smiles so I can watch her brilliant white teeth, she is astonished. "Stockholm is cool."

"Yeaas. I love to travel to Stockholm once or twice a year."
"Do you think you will be successful?"
"My ideas are brilliant new and uncommon right now and they are all so effective and nice. You avoid noise and work, you save liquids or glass
and you produce electricity in space. I want to patent my ASRs, the
greenOOn and the IomEG planetary Generator. I am convinced of my sketches and see a triple success when my agent had helped me. I have asked via postcard today."
"That is a good business for you. You ́re a freak."
"It is my life and I love this."

And Ida talks.
She talks to lights, she talks to sights, she talks to skylines,
she talks at night and she talks in ease, talks to the mirror, is at
her knees when she talks to me. Sits in her corner, her hands to seize and she argues me...
"I ́m proud of my work, my sketches, my ideas, my sketches in frames, six innovations and further two and a lot of design innovations. I need some official confirmation to feel a success again.
What is a copyright or an Urheberrecht? It is very scarce and not public

anyway. I will never be able to prove with them about my own work towards the people. I need this."
She smiles showing her brilliant teeth, looking amazed and it makes me happy again to forget about my recent distression.

"I wait for my agent now to re write. My plus is that I have time since
he knows the ideas already. I do not need to hurry and can therefor work diligent and detailed."

Ida tells me, I should not think out all those complications in my life.
"The world is easy. Just believe in what you see and what they tell you."
I gather her thought.
"It is all about what I think. What I think about appearances, visions,
the other ́s thoughts in their special worlds, what they might think
about me and how they think of situations and their customs in which I enter with mine."
When I write this, it cures me, I say. I provide a picture of my world
and also for the future. This future will be twelve times more brilliant
than my past.
I will miss nothing having her at my side and my plans and my young age of 38.
"How do you define it when you say, you enter other ́s customs?"
"When I get into an unknown surrounding that I could not enestimate
but had to enter or was driven to do so.
When I see unknown persons in a crowd and I come in single.
That can be stress!"
"Relax."

"Yeaa, cool."
"They will be friendly. Trust this and so you will."
"Aaahh. Thank you, dear."
"You have to work with this and you have to work it out until you
keep this in yourself."
I have often defined my situations. I was talking about my ways to handle thoughts and visions and I always was confirmed to know that they are in my convictions to be ok.
"But your evil distressions. I am so sad with them."
"I relax and think sober and positive."
"Please try. I know that you always think positive, but relax and think sober. At least among the surrounds. Do you still have the Publication Notice from the USPTO?"
"Yes, I am glad. The original notice got stolen but I have several copies also with my sketch form and the abstract. I will wait."

... And I do now live here in this beautiful small city
seeing the architectures of town which let me reckon and plan my own domicile in times all surrounded by nature and forests close to a city with
the airport that gives me my ways to Stockholm in Sweden, Scandinavia.
I am off to continuous smoking for days now. Today I had about four
provisoric self turned cigarettes and it is now the beginning of lunchtime.
I have no more money to spend for tobacco and accordingly I feel ungood but new considering the lack of the accustomed nicotine level in my blood.
To keep this will be my only chance to survive within the next decades:
I wear a Defibrillation tool for my heart and am under serious medication

after a heartattack last year.
What can I say? To quit smoking is always problematic cons. the new situations. I hope I can improve myself in the next time when I imagine a new life here
in this wonderful surrounds.
I will want to work on this continuously to be in better conditions, soon.
At the moment I feel better force in me though the disconsumptions writing these lines and an ongoing success in dcs will make me stronger and strong again like 12 years ago before I started to consume tobacco densely...
The 5th one at 12 lunchtime.
This will be my plan.
"I could think I already had six today."
"Say that you had six. This would be a new improvement. Make it all little
by little and work continuously on it."
"Yeas. My first goal is steadily no more than 12 a day to quit completely
lateron. I seem to like this plan — I missed it when I got bumped into the situation. Can you imagine how I felt? Miserable."
"I try to imagine it." Says Ida, my love.

About two hours later a seventh self turned one. I feel quite cool with this series and heard that my heart will be examined again in November so I want to keep this custom until then and see about any successes thereafter.
Our wonderful Beginning-September sun makes it rather easy and I feel enforced knowing that the Patent Offices in Stockholm are now about to read about my three ideas to patent, i. e. The ASRs, greenOOn and the IomEG.

(Several of the Generators on Io would be xIomEG and I will introduce this when I write to Stockholm again).
I have to come through this all or I will soon die: Forgotten, misliked, in pain.

4 p. m.: Cigarette number eight.
6 p. m.: Nr. 9.
7 p. m.: Nr. 10.
Ok. What do I write. I say: Institutional treatments if you do your jobs... There is no railway station here so buildings are cheaper and I appreciate the smooth go of the days so far cons. peace and quietness here in the country.

I will try to work some again, write and the offices, also in Sweden,
will help me to advance again, study and achieve good and admire all those beautiful houses in town.
They are not of wood like in Sweden but of stable white stone with contrasted edges and diligent ornaments. The local banks provide offers for objects
to buy around and I will follow these whenever I have decided to go for a walk into the middle of town to have my cigarette at eight and a look
at the special sights the craftsmen made in the middle ages.
Projected: 8 p. m. Nr. 11; 10 p. m. Nr. 12.
Reality: 11 ok, 12 ok plus one more at 10 p. m. so the total today was 13.
A good result and I feel quite ok with this.
Tomorrow the same — my work keeps me alive.
06:45 1;
08:10 2;
10:00 3;

10:23 4;
12 5;
14 6;
15:45 7 after working therapy; 18:24 8 after several studies;

I took a second printwork of my story "First Life Development" from
Danmark and Mozambique into personal things. My life documentations and treasures.
I want to keep them and also support the arts of St. Lorenz church in Nürnberg. There is my ballpen sketch of the medieval town of Nürnberg with the
14 pages of that travellogue. Copied, but still very aesthetic.

18:46 1/2 (don ́t enforce to quit);
< 20 9 1/2 | Did I have a dejavu right ago — I get accustomed.
< 20:30 10 1/2 | And still minutes until I get my medication...
I am sure when I tell the doctor tomorrow about my Strategy12, it will all be better to see again. Beautiful midtown stroll in the evening.

  1. 22  11 1/2;

  2. 23  12 1/2

6. 9. 2013

(7 1), (8 2); (8:15 3); (10 4); (12 5); (14 6); (16 7); (18:14 8); (18:52 9); (19:55 10); (20:38 10 1/2); (21:08 11 1/2); (22 12 1/2); (22:26 13);

7. 9. 2013

(6:35 1); (8 2); (8:45 3); (10 4); (12:08 5); (14 6); (14:46 7); (15:16 8); (16 9); (18 10 1/2); (19:55 11 1/2); (20:20 12 1/2); (21 14 1/2);
(21:40 15 1/2); (22:20 17 1/2); (22:42 18 1/2);

8. 9. 2013

(6:30 1); (7:30 2); (8 3); (8:17 4); (8:45 5); (9:34 6); (9:50 7); (<11 9); (<12 10); (12:10 11); (13:24 12); (13:31 13); (13:47 14); (14:44 15);
(15:08 16); (15:54 17); (17:24 18); (18:24 20); (20:15 22); (<22 25);

9. 9. 2013

(<7 1); (<8 3); (<9 5); (11 10); (11:30 11); (12:30 13); (16 19); (<17 20); (17 21); (18:37 23); (19:24 24); (20 25); (21:45 28); (22:30 30);

10. 9. 2013
(<11 9); (15:30 13); (18 17); (20:30 20);
11. 9. 2013
(<8:30 3); (9 5); (10:30 7); (14 12); (16:30 15); (17:30 17); (18:40 18); (20:45 23); (21 25); 12. 9. 2013
(8 2); (8:20 3); (9 5); (11 9); (11:30 10); (16 17); ++;
13. 9. 2013
(<8:30 4)
14. 9. 2013
(8 2); (9 5); (11 10); (13 12); (14:07 15); (15 17); (16 19); (17 20); (19 24); (22 28);
15. 9. 2013
(9 4); (10 5); (11 7); (12 10); (15:15 15); (17:10 19); (18:34 22); (21:38 27); (23:12 30); 16. 9. 2013
(8:30 2); (12 10); (15:30 14); (15:48 15); (20:40 26); (22 28);
17. 9. 2013
(8 3); (13 14); (16:30 21); (18:30 25); (20:30 29); (21 30); (21:44 31); (22 32);
18. 9. 2013
(10 5); (16 15); (18:45 20); (20:12 23); (21:20 25);
19. 9. 2013
(8:30 4); (16:37 19); (20:38 26);
20. 9. 2013
(8:30 5); (9 7); (16 21); (<17 23); (18 25); (19:30 27); (21 30);

21. 9. 2013

(<8 3); (10:10 8); (13:17 14); (15:35 18); (18:30 23); (19:19 24); (20:30 26); (21:30 27); (22:30 28);

22. 9. 2013
(9:45 7); (11 11);
Ok — a new schedule:
07:00 1
08:15 2
08:50 3
10:00 4
10:20 5
11:30 6 --- I am here now. 12:15 7 --- and in the new plan 12:50 8
14:05 9
14:20 10
15:30 11
16:15 12
17:15 13
18:15 14
19:00 15
19:50 16
20:35 17

Chapter 2

The moon is shining outside. I keep me with the trees, with the green, with the gold, with the wealth.
I could reach my things in the last about 20 years but now I have no money. The cities, the land, the street, the rooms. Rooms to learn, to study, to write, to rest, to talk.

The trains.
There was so much. Different countries, and I do now here see them as different though they once saved me and made me independent, working men, our young generation and people to care for me though some of them came into my life during the last two decades and went away again.
I was always on the move eating at tankports. I realized every call, every
start of a meeting and every discussion be it in an other room, in an other building in an other street or in an other city. I always fulfilled my promises, always received success and never could not pass any of my schedules, my lessons, my programmes and my work.
I dream of that object here. A cheaper house in the nature with
Nürnberg and it ́s airport not far away. I will settle down here and make my
life on the move so far quieter, more peaceful, less stressing, more enjoyeable and less hectic.

Less hectic is what I need:
Ich bekomme in fünf Tagen einen Defibrillator ICD mit Herzschrittmacher implantiert. Obwohl ich mich total gut fühle, aber das Ultraschall war eindeutig.
Countdown:
5 (Mittwoch)
Ich will, dass etwas von mir aufgehoben wird. Ich mache mir Gedanken über

meine Lebenserwartung und wie kam es zu der Situation: Stress und Nikotin, obwohl meine Lunge intakt ist und ich erst seit 12 Jahren rauche. Ich reduziere es jetzt ständig hahahahha nein: Mein Tabakkonsum ist moderat und der Infarkt war an einem Abend vor einer Prüfung im Umkreis Frankfurt am Main. Deshalb: Auch entstressen und bewusster und ruhiger leben.

Eine Vollnarkose für die einstündige OP erwartet mich am Montag, den 4. November. Meine Erwerbsminderungsrente ist mir sicher, es ist jetzt 3 Uhr 57 nachts.
Ich versuche, weiter zu schlafen.
4 (Donnerstag)

3 (Freitag)
12, 13, 14
2 (Samstag)
1 (Sonntag)
0 Montag
Ich muss jetzt ins Krankenhaus und denke an meine Stifterurkunde der Kirche
St. Lorenz in Nürnberg, als ich die Restaurierung des Riemenschneider Epitaphs finanziert habe.
So habe ich am Freitag geschrieben. Jetzt ist Mittwoch, der 6. November und ich bin seit gestern abend, etwa um diese Zeit, wieder in meiner Unterkunft. Eine problemlose Operation mit einer Elektrode in der rechten Herzvorkammer und dem Gerät unter dem linken Schlüsselbein.
Plastics technology. I want a connection to plastics technology during the
next year.
And I achieved it already now.

EIN SPIEGELNDER, RUHIGER FLUSS

I.)
Ich bin jetzt 38 und werde vielleicht noch zehn, zwanzig Jahre leben, eine Tablette brauche ich nicht mehr zu nehmen aber ich konnte es nicht anders hinkriegen: Stress in meinen Jobs und viel Fahrerei, auch auf Autobahnen, das ist Gift für
das Herz.
Dann sitze ich hier in meiner melancholischen Misere aber die Hoffnung stirbt zuletzt:
Ich habe noch einige Pläne auf Lager und ich weiss, wenn ich mich unterkriegen lasse, dann bin ich erst tot.
Aber so weit ist es noch nicht. Ich kann noch viel bewirken und das war es auch, was ich immer wollte.
Mein Leben ist jetzt durch die Erwerbsminderungsrente abgesichert und ich muss mir um meine Basisexistenz keine Gedanken mehr machen.
Ich werde sehen, was die Zeit bringt.

Draussen ist es düster und nass. Ein Sonntag zum Vergessen, ein Leben zu vergessen wie so viele Sonntage, wie so viele verschwendete Leben ohne, ohne Rücklagen, ohne Erinnerungen an sie?
Ich habe mich mit meiner neuen, schlimmen Situation noch lange nicht abgefunden, aber wenn ich mir den Text erneut durchlese, so zaubert er doch ein leichtes Lächeln herbei und mein Buch ist meine derzeit einzig reelle Hoffnung, noch etwas zu er-

reichen, das nach meinem Ableben bewahrt wird.
Und mein Zimmer ist trocken und gewärmt und meine Erfahrung sagt mir, dass sich meine Lebenssituationen kontinuierlich ändern, so denke ich an eine Veröffent- lichung und die Hoffnung gibt mir etwas Kraft.

II.)
Auerbach, Deutschland. Ich beginne mit der Geschichte. Draussen schlagen zu der Zeit die Glocken der Kirchen und am 24. November 2013 ist das Kirchenjahr vorbei, was mir an dem dunklen Herbstabend zwei Wochen vorher in den Sinn kommt und ich will in diesem Jahr auf jeden Fall noch einmal die evangelische Kirche besuchen. Ida wird mir nicht hierher folgen. Vielleicht ist sie schon gestorben, wahrschein-
lich hat sie mich vergessen in ihrem London der 90er Jahre.
Ich bin schon lange wieder in Deutschland, habe im Handwerk, in den Medien, im Lager gearbeitet und mit der Londoner Handelskammer eine Qualifikation bestanden.
Von Zeit zu Zeit denke ich an Leipzig und Nürnberg.

Ein anderer Nachtzug fährt los. Ich bin in Würzburg zugestiegen und sitze in einem Abteil mit sechs Plätzen und habe aufgrund der Geräusche die Tür des Abteils geschlossen. Ich bin allein in der Nacht und höre auf das Rattern des IRE auf seinen Schienen
nach Westen.

Ein paar Zeitungen des Tages liegen herum, im Aschenbecher befindet sich eine leere Bierdose, ich gehe in mich, sitze ruhig da und lasse die Zeit verstreichen. Kaum abgefahren, kommen zusätzliche Passagiere in den Waggon. Ein Mann mit

dunklerer Hautfarbe setzt sich mit in mein Abteil und wir machen Kilometer um Kilometer vorwärts, schweigend im Dunkel der Nacht.

Gnadenwelt wo bist du. Ich flehe um diese Situation eines Glückes eingeschlossen in meine Träume und Vorstellungen.
Ein hell scheinender Vollmond mit einer Skyline, die ihr Licht auf unsere Gesichter wirft, während Du, meine Liebe und ich uns umarmen und küssen.

Ein medikamentenfreier Körper ohne ICD mit dem ich jogge am Sandstrand von Maputo und den Kindern, die bei dem rostigen Schiffswrack spielen, zuwinke und
ein Kinderlächeln zurückbekomme, so dass ich mein Erfolgserlebnis verbuchen kann und beruhigt den Abend herankommen lasse.
Ein liebes Leben ohne Argwohn und Desaster. Immer erfüllt von Zuversicht und Freude am jetzt und hier, am geschehen und vorbeischlendern. Wir umarmen und küssen uns und lieben unsere Liebe wenn wir uns in die Augen sehen; Quellendes Glück umfassend und festhaltend ohne Reue über das davor und ohne Sorge, was morgen wird.

Ich kann Idris, dem 50-jährigen Mann in meinem Abteil, meine Träume nur abgehakt andeuten. Mir fehlt diese spontane, flüssige Sprache und Ausdrucksweise im Gespräch, die so vieles leichter macht und beeindruckt. Ich ziehe mich auch noch, wie immer, dann ganz schnell aus dem Gespräch zurück und es ist wieder so, als sei jeder für sich
allein auf seiner Reise.

In Auerbach in der Oberpfalz ertönen jetzt die ersten frohen Weihnachtslieder.
Der Tag und das Jahr 13 haben ihr Ende gefunden und mich verbindet ein tiefes, seelisches Komplement mit dieser Situation wenn ich das hier aufschreibe und be-

richte und dabei meine Stimmung fühle, die jetzt wohl behagt im warmen hellen
Zimmer wenn ich auf den screen und meine Zeilen sehe und sehe wie der Text zunimmt und die neue Zeile beginnt.
Ich mache mir keine Gedanken mehr heute. Ich sehe mich in einem fadenscheinigen Selbst ohne besondere Konturen und kann mir von mir aus keine aufprägen.
Ich schreie seit langem nach einem Feedback, einem Dialog zu meinem Werden, aber es rührt sich nie.
Wie immer fühle ich mich mit Euch allen verbunden, aber ich bin vergessen und verlassen. Aber ich weiss, das ist mein tiefes Ausstrahlen von Kompetentem und Patentem und Verlässlichem, was eine Beurteilung unnötig erscheinen lässt. Wie
sehne ich mich danach.

Idris fragt mich, wer ich bin. "I am the night writer." Antworte ich und draussen scheint ein Halbmond über den vorbeiziehenden Hecken und Bäumen.

III.)
The moon is shining bright.
When you look that scraper up.
See it standing up.
Those black walls.
The soft light in the sky.
You can feel.
They belong in one and this scene is real.

IV.)
Und Idris erzählt mir seine Geschichte, während sich unser Nachtzug
weiter nach Westen bewegt.
... it consumpts you for your lonely years, the New York Scrapers, the atmosphere of the city and over it all the soft light of the full moon — an optic
that you can only have in New York City — yeaas that comprises.
Very aestetic and amazing, the contrasts in the dark cold.
A lightened full moon stood at the sky directly over the scraper and together
they made a magic unit, a szene like from a video from the 80s.
I remember that szene on one of the lively streets, skyscrapers black of the night to which I looked up, impressed and freezing in the cold of that November decades ago.
When you have to work hard for your life, you are too exhausted to get into
real societies.
Visa from the employers etc. and so on and so on. All very chaotic. I still carry those damages in me until this day. Green Cards were easily availeable for
guys like me, I had a lot of that stuff since my education was good and they pulled all on that did not look like a vietcong or wore long hair and smoked
joints and I fell into that box.
Maybe one of that reasons why I could not be accepted.
I was always too exhausted.
"How long were you there?"
Not longer than six years. "And you got no passport?"
From time to time I was illegal for some days.
For one week.

"So you can not go under the people"
"Well, chaotic."
"Wow, lonesome in New York!"
It is hell. Just don ́t think when you ́re there once, you get accepted everywhere and are the first before everyone and everybody likes you.

Forget it.
You need much more than just your smile when you look for companionship. You need a good spirit and a good appearance and much power around you. You can get desperate and I got desperate and have not survived staying there for longer and you lack this as well.
You have no power like I didn ́t and I went to Germany because here it is
all a bit more cosy and not so sterile.
He gives me a card from his music studio in Frankfurt Main and I show that
I am impressed that he tells me more.
"Did you have a girl?"
"No money."
I put my head back a bit and lift my eyebrows to tell: "Yes New York — there is all different and you need money at once and for everything and an interhuman contact without special meaning is impossible..."
"Heiko. There is noting possible without money. And today it is the same here. They all see how rich you are. The first word you say is your report card. Education can mean wealth, too or your reputations or connections — all the synergies — but I bend away...
Yes, what could you reach in Manhattan — could you publish a record?
"Well, very few actually. But I collected a lot of impressions."
"People?"

"No, sir. Loneliness. It is hell."
I try to imagine.
I was there in my early twenties, just independent from parenthood and really free for the first time with tiny jobs and always some hunger in the stomach sleeping in brush chambers, outside the fire steps and inside all dark and
no space.
I survived somehow. Curier services, filling up in supermarkets, small jobs but my goal was my music.

"Wenn ich an meine Zeit in Berlin denke" oh.
Auch sehr einsam.
Ein sehr schönes Städtchen, aber mit zwei Krankheiten interessiert Dich Dein Umfeld oft nicht besonders und so habe ich mich auf mich selbst konzentriert, damit ich wieder weg gekommen bin...

How are you now? Well, I get around again. It was a hard time for me but my constitution did improve again. I could accept the idea to have a shorter life than average people and am quite happy with my past life and what I could achieve so far. The night writer is successful:

HEIKO BERND FRIEDLEIN Sol

Feel the warm air and spot the bright colours! Darkness is over and so is the cold!
New days of light and of beauty are waiting! Powerful growing in springsummer gold!

Bumblebees surring, grey parachutes fly.
Bird ́s sounds and voices -
a little child cry.
Girls wear bikinis, their grandmothers don ́t -
do you your sunshade, the grandmothers won ́t.

Numerous stories in books about sol, numerous poems of poets a whole. Numerous publications to read, numerous shadows and fire and heat.

You with your blond hair have lit me at once! Moment of light was the smile in your glance! Was it endarkened while time did advance? Warmth in their hearts make two sunlovers dance.

Watching a sunset.
A magical game.
All sky is covered in red burning flame.
To the horizon the fireball sinks.
Daylight is ending and temperature shrinks.

Leaving your nightshift, awakened from far — see shining rays showing you where you are. Morning provides you expectancies plain — sol brings you forces and sunrise again.

Heiko Friedlein, May 19, 02

V.)
Und dann sitze ich so an meinem PC und trinke meinen koffeinfreien Kaffee,
yeaas — I am in heaven:
What do I see in heaven? A white surface, maybe it is winter already there, too.
Many people have frozen on earth and apply for a visit. What else can we do than thinking about it and pray, so do all the visitors admit in one voice.
Steve, Annie, Ken and Ronnie, four of them. For them the winter in heaven mean
a challenge but there is nothing that can not be solved to an accepteable level.
Earth.
There is an automat, but the four of them were never sure, how to repair it and
never knew about the right tool to do this. Annie told me about their problem
that existed long before we met in heaven and I, since I have studied PLC programming, wanted to know more about their past living on earth.
Six years in uncertainty about their automat and how to make it re function.
"We need an other one" so Steve always.
"Maybe it is the wrong way to develop AI using a standard algorithm. Maybe you
need something else or more for it..."

"We need an other automat."
About the people on earth: "They are all wild animals." So Ronnie. "And unsolidaric". "Is not the whole world a wild animal in your universe of numbers?" asks Annie. Steve is breathing heavily.
Annie puts her head on his shoulder and sighs silently.
"Not so important."
"You never told me about your problem" Steve responds.
"Almost every night. I am caught."
"When?"
"I dreamt of a wild bull following me and kills all and runs all down to ashes
with his brutal weight und appetite for destructions" says Annie.
Now she is happy about the rhimes of Steves love poetries and she lays her head on his chest while they are both on the green grass of Central Park manhattan
and look into the blue sky while the birds twitter.
Flowerous words using. He tells her, how much he loved her. She puts her face down and laughs silently.
A lighted sun and it is Sunday. The New York, that all do like, sitting in the
middle of the park in the capital of the world and it invites us all to a love
poem.

2051. A global lunar age of time with a lot of possibilities. What about AI?
Annie cries loud as she hears the message that was always repeated on the radio and all the four of them pray together.
The moon was visible, a bit spoiled and the freight, a container, protected of crashes and shut safely, was lying on one side on the asphalt with the other one still on it ́s freighter. "Those accidents happen too often" — "much too often"

did all four agree and they cursed everything they could.
But there was no way to change it — private robots were the cheapest workforce. Blood flew out from the container.
"Open the container" did the party guests shout.
"Anyone seen whos inside?" Ken and Steve wanted to know. "Slaves" did Steve answer. "Slaves with black, white yellow and red color. All dead after the Crash. Their bodies were taken away already. The police did it. You have no chance:" Slaves were the cheapest workforce, not robots. Therefor AI research.
2051. A global lunar age with a lot of possibilities. Annie cried loud as she heard the news that all the senders repeated again and again. And Annie, Steve and Ronnie and Ken prayed together.
With an unbelieveable velocity did a speedfreighter crash on the ground now. "The soil must have shattered" so a tourist later who lived close to the accident that moment and he could be happy to have survived.
Or he went on with a trauma.

MATERIAL

"To convince you, sir..." — "No, it ́s ok" says my Swedish agent. "I like your ideas already. Interesting and important projects."

"My problem is, that I can not even pay the application fees at the moment."
"Your ideas will be considered official. Keep silence and come back when you can." Five years later:
"Good day. Here I am again. I have eight patent ideas." — "No problem, I help you
to apply." — "Cool!" — Done.
I get more and more wealthy through hard work and wise selections of investments.
I have an apartment in East Germany, good education and a company while I work
as a journalist the other half of the day now.
"Heiko, what do you write? Do you write about me? Asks Ida.
"No, dear. I try to get better in the text. Do you have an idea?"
"What have you written?"
"There was a time I did not know if you were dead or where you were."
"Yeaas — write about my return from England"
"Noo."
I was immensely frightened that time. Snow was on the streets and the lanterns
on when I saw her face again, framed by her brilliant black hair.
I come from London. From London to East Germany. You want to stay with me. Yeaas. She sits cosy in a chair, her attractive legs crossed. We make a good time together. Youre welcome. I know. What can I do. Just take it all easy. Sure. What about you
and so on.
"These contents are my psychological core. They are all parts of my past life and
parts of myself."
My life is built on them.
I understand. It is your soul.
Yeaas do I answer satisfied.

MUTTER TOD
Sie wartet auf mich.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Frankfurt Main leuchtet das Gold und Ostdeutschland ist meine grosse Hoffnung. Sonnenschein über den Straßen und Parks und das Gezwitscher der Vögel hört sich froh an, so empfinde ich es in einigen Jahren.
Und ich werde mich dann bei mir bedanken und Zeit, an einem Sonntag bei dir.

Ende — hf

I think of images of comic drawn this year and see it astounding — never thought of such a portrait.

There is much.
Lost in life in our lifes.
The long way in all areas via the ways of love and our desires for justice and upclearance...

I am yours and I cry when you

tell me, cry of love. We all hold nothing but faith in bulk but we are not well and noone tries to disturb with a single dime recovering in respect.

The sculpture I built could not talk but when I built it there talked our hearts. And now it flows out into the sand and makes it black so black roses grow on the soil and are making a close-grained crafted pattern.

http://www.zazzle.com/lluke153/

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