"Hit the road, Jack"

Yours truly has earned himself an unusual reputation as a professional driver: no speeding, no matter what, no honking of the horn, no matter what, no risky overtaking etc.

His colleagues sometimes get to ask him curious questions, such as: heast deppata, kannst du net schnella, oda wüsd net?! The answer is quite easy in all of those cases; it's the latter.

Still even I get to hit, not the road, but the curb with one of the hand brushed light alloy rims with a low-section tire on a company car, just about once every 180,000 miles driven on the job. And I hate it.

My boss has one routine question in such cases: "Well, I know, s*** happens, but all those drivers never seem to hit their private cars' wheels, just the company cars'. How come?"

The answer is quite easy: nobody drives even half as much in his private car as he regularly does on the job.

And in my case it's even more easy: I don't have a private car. – You sure, dude? – Yup, and I don't own a TV either. – Ah, where you from? The moon? Belarus? The monastery of a weird sect that's refusing regular consuming habits? – Nope ;–).

I have met people who seem quite ordinary blokes otherwise who don't own a car or a TV. And I even have a friend who also has neither of both.

Still both of us would refuse to accept any personal responsibility for the current economic crisis. Sorry.

"Und Zuckererbsen nicht minder"

Es wächst hienieden Brot genug

Für alle Menschenkinder,

Auch Rosen und Myrten, Schönheit und Lust,

Und Zuckererbsen nicht minder.

Ja, Zuckererbsen für jedermann,

Sobald die Schoten platzen!

Den Himmel überlassen wir
Den Engeln und den Spatzen.

Und wachsen uns Flügel nach dem Tod,
So wollen wir euch besuchen
Dort oben, und wir, wir essen mit euch
Die seligsten Torten und Kuchen.

Ein neues Lied, ein besseres Lied!
Es klingt wie Flöten und Geigen!
Das Miserere ist vorbei,
Die Sterbeglocken schweigen.

Heinrich Heine: Deutschland ein Wintermärchen. Caput I a.k.a. 'Lied des Harfenmädchens'

In reaction to the death of one more 'Schubhäftling' in an Austrian prison, Mr. K. (see below), an almost violent discussion broke loose in the forum to the respective article at derStandard.

Many posters voiced an opinion that to go on a hunger strike was just a 'simple' means to blackmail the state into releasing a person that is staying in Austria illegaly. Among those many seemed to confuse the reasons for imprisonment: whoever is taken into 'Schubhaft' was not convicted of a crime, he did a simple regulatory offence that never justifies a criminal trial or even ensuing imprisonment. So 'Schubhaft' is just a means to put a hold to people that the state would prefer to get rid of until the legal procedure is completed.

Some posters voiced sadness about the death of the young man from India, and one put a few stanzas from Heinrich Heines "Wintermärchen" into one of his posts.

Voiced in the first half of the 19th century Heines credo remains a utopistic belief, even though we KNOW there is enough bread or rice or roses or sugar peas for all God's children on the earth.

Combustion & Hydro Power

"a gentler, kinder, a machine gun hand"

Neil Young, Rockin' in the free world

This is in memory of Mr. Gaganpreet Singh K. who died in an Austrian prison this morning.

See orf.at.

Mr. K. was not the suspect of a crime, he was an 'unfriendly alien',

he was treated to what the Austrian minister of the interior likes to call aufenthaltsbeendende Massnahmen.

Here I will not speculate on the causes for Mr. K.'s death; these will have to be determined by an Austrian D. A.

Mr. K. is not the first human being whose 'stay' in Austria

ended by death.

Before that, he is reported to have been on a hunger strike.

Like with the suspect of a crime before conviction

in a court his last name is not given in full by the media.

As concerned citizens, and as human beings, let us not forget that

the Declaration of Human Rights is a part of the Austrian constitution.

Time

There's a place where time stands still

When you keep takin' these little pink pills

Elvis Costello

Und eine Frage des Blog-Theoretikers: ist der sprachlichen Verfasstheit des Unbewussten mit Mitteln des Strukturalismus beizukommen, mit Segmentierung unter Zulassung suprasegmentaler Elemente, syntagmatischen und paradigmatischen Reihen, unter steter Berücksichtigung eines surrealistischen Bildes 'mit' Nähmaschine und Regenschirm, dabei niemals vergessend, dass eine Pfeife manchmal nur eine Pfeife ist, das Bild einer Pfeife jedoch niemals eine solche? Ätsch.

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First signs of travel sickness high above Lago di Garda ...