Ich bin ein ungeheuren Ungeziefer. Since I read Kafka’s Die Verwandlung for the first time, at the age one must read it (young) ‘for the first time’—since one cannot come back enough to it, I remember somebody telling me that the word with which we translated ‘Ungeziefer’ in Spanish wasn’t exactly the same. That is: Ungeziefer is not a cockroach. Also, was ist das?
Ungeziefer: nt, kein pl. pests pl.
Gezielt: well-directed, specific. (und ‘gezielt fragen’: to ask questions with sth mind)
zielen: to aim.
Un-ge-ziefer—perhaps I’m not aiming here correctly or I still cannot translate it. Or perhaps it is precisely what one cannot aim correctly at. Or it is the action of not aiming correctly—the past participle that becomes adjective (Nietzsche’s claim of the illusion of transforming the action into a thing, of splitting the action into a thing affected and an affecter). Vielleicht das ist (Ungeziefer) was man kann nicht zielt auf. Wenn man hat keine Zielen. When one errs. Wenn man durch die Strasse (sich) irrt.
Thus, with die Verwandlung in my pocket (perhaps since the beginning, before I had bought it) I arrive to the station. Ja, hier sind wir im Savignyplatz.
Thoughts of das Unheimliche, of the platonic reminiscence: “… et j’ai cherché un endroit où je puisse trouver ce repas dont je suis particulièrement friand, des cervelles fraîches”. (As I was writing this, my Grammar-corrector-machine transformed ‘friand’ into ‘friend’. Yes, in some way I have always been fond of anthropophagy, especially of the friends—and the brains). Das Gehirn, das ist lecker. Also, early in the morning and eating my brain I go through the city, over the city.
The view of Berlin, a view of nowhere else—remembered with the sound of the word, of the name. The feeling of seeing it all (alles alle) at the same time. Im Bahnhof, always with your ticket ready, where—it seems—everything departs and arrives. Immer.
Uber alle, jeder Morgen.
-What is your favourite film?
-Der Himmel uber Berlin.
In der Nähe meines Herz—“Herzlich Grüsse von Berlin.”
Erste Nacht. The first night out, as pre- post-celebration of having been born. Geburstag. Mitte. Mitte der Weg meines Leben. The bar that I left yesterday at 3am said in the door—wirklich!—“Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate!”
Thus I leave all hope, and become hope or its realization. Träume ich noch?—still every morning I ask myself that. Nein, das ist wirklich Leben.
“Take out his eyes
He never needs to see
How they eat you alive
In the city
(…)
Streets of Berlin
Will you cry out?
If I vanish
Into thin air…
Into thin air”
“Streets of Berlin” by Philip Glass sung by Ute Lemper.
“Warum bin ich ich und warum nicht du?
Warum bin ich hier und warum nicht dort?
Wann began die Zeit und wo endet der Raum?”
Peter Handke
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