Writer to Writer

And the award goes to...

nobody@vox.com(Nikandra) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 06:13:16 -0700

While sewing a new blouse, last weekend, I followed the Ingeborg Bachmann Preis live TV coverage.

The Bachmann Preis in Klagenfurt (Austria) is probably the most famous literary prize for short fiction and excerpts from novels in German speaking countries.

14 writers had been submitted by 7 jury members.

It is a huge event, broadcasted live during two and a half days in Austria, Switzerland and Germany.
The participants read their texts in front of the cameras, a studio audience and, of course, in front of the jury.
After a reading of max. 30 minutes the jury discusses their story for another 30 minutes.
With the writers sitting between jury members. The writers have to - and probably prefer to - remain silent during discussion.

What a stressful situation!

Rumor says, only very highbrow textes are presented at Klagenfurt. It was a positive surprise to me, how well the "arty" part was balanced with more entertaining elements. I really enjoyed to discover new talents and stories.

Probably it was even the bigger treat to my mind in contrast to the non-stop football/soccer talk in all media during the last weeks (The Euro Cup is over now! Hurray! Germans are wearing black today, they lost the final to the Spanish team).

Having not listened to all readings, I caught up on the missing textes via video stream on the internet site.
It was there I discovered, that for the first time, all texts were tanslated into six languages for an international audience. What an astonishing elaboration.

So, if you'd like to discover upcoming literary talents from Austria, Switzerland and Germany, you may forage for them here.

My three favourites were: Tilman Rammstedt (who won the main prize and was chosen the audiance award), Clemens J. Setz and Patrick Findeis. I hope, the translators did a good job and you enjoy their work, too.

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Unconditional: I wrote this before I was a member of Vox. Afterwards miracles happenned.

nobody@vox.com(BLUESTARLET) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 15:04:00 -0700

The unidentified tears for love makes it obvious
That everything is gonna make its way to what’s gonna happen anyway
At times when nonsense things cause to run in my mind in a sincere manner
I make up a lie just to let them say ‘ No it’s not that way’
Finally they stop speaking
And I am a lier right at this point
Duma Duma Dum
Da dan dan dan dan
I am in a state of ignorance at the beginning
I mean they’ll post me poetry
No
It’s not that way.
Like it is in the instant mails
Are we reading it the moment it’s written
After midnight
In the time tunnel
I can not create a series of beauties that doesn’t seem to fit in my mind
What if someone who will sigh that poetry
Gets the slice touched by a lie
I would not be nonsense if I named something nonsense as nonsense
The evidence of the ones who left boredom would tire out
Turning a sigh into a suffering life style
Poisoning the beauty
Before taking a big step into a pleasent dream
Not to choke inspiration with a quarrel
I write
I don’t know who’s voice this is
Not to break a nice moment with a vileness
Keep on
Although mercy is a shelter
It is not conditioned to being merciless
Like this is the treating aside
If I could cover a good moment
Out of the game
I will return to life and tell
He is like that
He is not ignorant
He only wrote an ignorent one
With respect to knowledge
And ignorence that knows respect
I’ll send myself into such a situation that doesn’t raise difficulties of possession with it’s liberty
After the affections of rented marriages asking one another
How did you get so destitute
Joy found without the connection of suffering or cure
Hopes
If I swallowed already what’s hard to digest
I will hardly digest
Thank you

I will have difficulty in effortless information
Rebel is of my nature
The ones that know no shame
And our morning joy the news papers
If I thought of all this before I read
For no reason in such manner
How many writers
If I invited them to the game before I wrote
How many would write, how many writers
If I mentioned less
The ones that do not insist on knowing about what’s speculative
How many writers
If I don’t fall into an invented trap
How many
If I’m indepted even with my own dreams that I enjoyed
Run away
Runaway
Although a nonsense thing can prove itself to a good alternative
It is not dependent on a good alternative
It just treats itself slowly
How I don’t say everything that I need to say
Although a word does not make a great difference
We can not ruin our springs
It may be summer
Right on this time
We will not estimate the weather
When spring is blowing fall
We are closed to wrong estimates
When countless ants walk in my head
I nourish feelings to ants to
These days I smile while watching them
Sometimes I guide all these feelings to the queen ant
All of a sudden
Beautiful love stories
Why not
As a matter of fact it shoud cause a good reason
So improvised courages are full of love and lovers
How I do not say all that I will say
Baseless ascriptions
What an armour
Give my share of words
Without getting the love in me fainted
The more you say nonexistent
Nonexistence exists here
Neither greed
Nor anger
Neither revenge
Nor damage
Utility
On its own
Pure
Utility
Like in the dictionary
While reaching to differences of meanings
From resemblance of words
Unconditional acceptance to be
A slave of happiness

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Independent From Nothingness

nobody@vox.com(BLUESTARLET) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 10:56:30 -0700

They kept hearing a big and spoiled 'NO' answer

I only asked once for a chance for my career

As far as I could put the words together

They kept repeating a big and spoiled 'NO' answer

I beged in my dreams to make it my own way

I only asked once trying to be polite enough

As a child with a couple of words I had in my mind

Thanks to those who broadened my life story

Yet I had the same answer for all my life until now

I don't expect anything from my family no more

WAW!!!

I must be an independent woman

I just want to be independent from nothingness

All the words that belonged to all those others

I am thankful

So are they to mine I believe

The way I defended myself was for fun

That could have been anyone

I am independent from a 'NO' answer

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Surprise Party

nobody@vox.com(BLUESTARLET) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 07:11:32 -0700

Who knows what they may be doing with what they've got

I may only, looking from many angles and drawing circles, applaud

No surprise is a big and nice party

Yes it's a surprise party

Oh it's a surprise party

I was silently informed about

The small cake I would have had any way

But there must be more to taste

That’s gonna be a nice surprise

The wrong messages I have got

And a couple of dirty lies

I must be ammused with

What comes next

So all these crystallized

All my friends and others have a nice way to stay away today

That must be a surprise

Closest friends of mine and even my parents act like they are not aware

It's my birthday today

That must be a surprise

That they’ll find me tonight

Yes it's a surprise party

Oh it's a surprise party

I was silently informed about

The small cake I would have had any way

But there must be so much more to taste

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Like a virgin...

nobody@vox.com(IrishLuckyLass) — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 10:53:59 -0700

I was eight years old when I learned about the "birds and bees."

It was a sunny afternoon, I had just dropped my backpack down at the front door and went straight to the kitchen for a snack. My mom was in there getting some stuff ready for dinner, I could hear my little sister in the back room playing with her dolls.

"Mom, what's a 'virgin'?"

She looked up from the stove at me with wide-eyes and then slowly narrowed them, spatula in the air. Her shoulders slumped and she said, "Give me just a minute here and we'll talk about that. Where did you hear that word?"

"I was at Bible Class today and they kept talking about 'The Virgin Mary'. Why did they call her a 'virgin'? ... Oh and I heard it on a T.V. show the other day too, but that time they were talking about a guy at their school."

She quietly finished making dinner, set it to the side to stay warm and told me to come sit on the couch in the living room. She brought a pencil and a pad of paper with her. Man, she meant business. This was not going to be any explanation.

Curiously I looked at her as I sat down, feeling a bit apprehensive at her seriousness.

A few diagrams later she had thoroughly explained the female reproductive system, the male reproductive system and how they delicately worked together to make a baby. Following that was a stern lecture about how this process was meant by God to be an act between a husband and wife that loved each other.

And then she began to cry.

Tell an eight-year-old little girl that a penis goes in a vagina to make a baby and THEN start crying... and you have pretty much engraved the moment into her mind forever. And possibly scared the living day lights out of her.

The reason for the tears was soon explained. My mother put her hand on my shoulder as tears streamed down her face and said that sometimes people who weren't married fell in love and made babies. That it was NEVER a mistake, it just wasn't the way God intended it and made it much harder for everyone involved.

A light bulb began to go off in my head. I realized that most kids probably don't remember their parent's wedding day like I did. I remember it because I was 3 years old on that day. And the man I now called "Daddy" didn't actually meet me until I was old enough to know I was the only kid in nursery school that didn't have a daddy.

I looked at my mom and I started to cry too. "Who is my daddy?"

She hugged me and told me that someday when I was old enough to know, she would tell me more, and if I wanted to meet him, that she would be okay with it. For now, my Daddy was the man that came to every school program, that took us to the zoo, and who was the only person I wanted when I fell off my bike and skinned my knee. She said that making a baby didn't make you a daddy... loving a child like they were your own did.

Finally I sighed and wiped my tears, looked back down at the drawing my mother had made me. An hour or so had passed since I had gotten home from school. From the drawings I looked back at my mothers face, eyes rimmed red with tears, but with a soft smile on her face.

"But, I still don't know what 'virgin' means."

At that, my mother started laughing and so did I.

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Dreams cont. - Sunday

nobody@vox.com(Beauty) — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 14:31:56 -0700

"Hey baby." Bryce greets Nicole with a kiss. "Is Teresa here?" "Yes, she is finishing up." "Good." "What did you say baby?" "I said I am tired." "Oh. Well I will see if Teresa is finished in there." Bryce grabs Teresa from behind and embraces her. "Will I see you later?" The doorbell rings. Nicole yells. "I'll get it!" "I don't..." "Teresa, someone is here for you!" Nicole stands at the door greeting the gentleman. "Come in. I'll see if she is ready." "Bryce!" Walking toward his wife. "Yes honey." "Would you please let Teresa know her friend is here." "Sure." Teresa." "I know. I heard. So I hope you like your office. Here is my card in case you need something." "I just need you." "My ride is waiting." "Bryce, please ask Teresa to see me." "Teresa, Nicole is in the powder room waiting for you." Teresa enters the bathroom where Nicole is drawing a bath. "Did you want to look at the room?" "No, as long as my husband is happy." Nicole stares at Teresa. "So how was your weekend?" "It was fine." "Here is the balance. Are checks o.k.?" "It's fine." Staring a knowing stare. Waiting for her somehow to indicate that she had been sleeping with her husband all weekend. Nicole hands Teresa the check. "Thank You." "Sure." Teresa's boyfriend stands as she walks in. "Are you ready honey?" Bryce looks at her. "Yes. Bryce this is..." "Honey we already did all that. All right Bryce. It was nice to meet you. I hope my baby didn't drive you crazy this weekend with all this interior design stuff?" "No, no. She's cool." "Good." "Let's go honey." "See you later man." "Yeah, see you."

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Dreams cont. - That night

nobody@vox.com(Beauty) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 14:57:31 -0700

Teresa staring at Bryce and twirling his soft curls with her finger. "You are so handsome. I have never done anything like this before, but somehow it just feels right. I know it's not, but your are irresistible." "You too baby" "What about Nicole?" "What about her?" "I mean where is she? She has been gone an awful long time." "I don't know. I have a message on my cell, let's see if it's her." "Hey honey. I am staying at Lisa's for a few days. Let the decorator in and tell her I will have her check when I return. Love you baby and I really hope you like the job Teresa is doing. Bye." "She won't be home until Sunday. Can you spend the night with me?" "Yes."

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I Believe

nobody@vox.com(BLUESTARLET) — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 09:36:03 -0700

I believe in my country

Not war

I believe in cultural richness

Not what's wrong

I believe in the world

Not lies

I believe in myself

Not disloyalty

I believe in love

Not hate

I believe in unity

Not divisibility

I believe in man as far as I can trust

I believe in love

Not hate

I believe good is existence

I trust in presence

I believe in respect is not hard

Untroubled days are not difficult

Trust in my past, knowing today, writing tomorrows

For better and better generations

Wishing happiness

To be a useful individual

Simply staying away from trouble

To begin now

Forgive harmful thoughts

Before they cause anything wrong

While creating benefits for myself

Never troubleing others

I will exist

Empowered by art

Forever

Life is art

For all those who live and make art live

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Love

nobody@vox.com(BLUESTARLET) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 20:49:24 -0700

I want to know what I will do

I do not want to know what I will not do

In my mind

Love gets embarrassed

Since, evil and good has no difference

I have known too much of others

It has been no use

Apart from enjoying the game

Only in my mind

But enough is enough

I want to know what I will do

I don't want to know what I will not do

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Impossible Is Nothing!

nobody@vox.com(R.G. Ryan) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 05:20:50 -0700

Once again, RG is up way too early.

How early?

Like, four AM early!

Like 0-dark-thirty early.

Like getting up half an hour before you go to bed early.

And I don't know why.

Well, that's not entirely true for I'm pretty sure I know the culprit.

Truth is, I know him quite well.

It's that relentless, gray stalker that dogs my steps and drives me down the days.

His name is doubt.

Hooks where there should be hands, sunk deeply into my soul where they remain embedded in spite of tireless efforts on my part to extricate and dislodge.

He whispers, "You're too old." "It's too hard." "You don't have enough money." "Quit now and save yourself the embarrassment." "No one will buy your books." "You can't do this...it's impossible!" "Wait until the circumstances are right."

You know what the problem with that is?

Circumstances are almost never "right."

There will always be a good reason not to attempt the impossible.

I can't tell you how many times I have heard someone begin a sentence with, "Well, under the circumstances..." and have wanted to say, "What are you doing under there?!"

We are meant to live on top of our circumstances, not under them.

I've been thinking a lot lately about a recent advertising campaign for Adidas.

I'm not sure if it makes me want to buy their shoes, but it is revolutionizing the way I look at life.

The voiceover for the pilot ad said, "Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they have been given than to explore the power they have to change it."

To that is added:

Impossible is not a fact, it's an opinion.
Impossible is not a declaration, it's a dare.
Impossible is potential.
Impossible is temporary.
Impossible...is NOTHING!

Now when I hear the simpering sibilance of doubt telling me how impossible this endeavor is, I throw my head back, laugh and say as loudly as I can, "Impossible is nothing!"

Try it.

"Impossible is nothing!"

Feels pretty good, doesn't it?

RG...out!

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