Hardly anything

There is more to this whole charade than a kind of succinct observation of how the mask got drunk then and now. Looking back, I seem to have been born to endless reflection as a teenager; what I could have become with the right support is one of the points that I therefore push so much in the here and now ejaculation in mentorship and coaching.

But as an introduction and in the conquest of the meanwhile cultivated field of opposing disgraceful provincial but intelligent and sometimes strong-nerved Austrian

Contemporary provincial narrow-gauge literature

I can dare to do this.

In this country, toads often cook with stale water, so I no longer have to hide in student dormitories and council housing indifference, I am easily welcome in the club.

And I also see things less angrily, in my revaluation, my Nietzscheanism, my Rimbaud-like flight to Africa, thirty years later I can love a thousand times more things, on the one hand because there are a thousand times more things worth loving, on the other hand because this dull Austria may still exist, but fortunately has to share its place in the sun with a Mediterranean Austria that celebrates the art of living and thirsts for knowledge and sustainability, which sometimes just lacks doing the right thing at the right time.

And not to let the small-town, soup-clad clown of the crony economy-farmers' cathedral country win again just because he controls the funding drip. Where the opium of the liberal Green artist's heart and do-gooder(s) quickly creeps into the moneykink of bicycle courier service satisfaction.

Where are the audible voices of our younger generation of writers, my age? Are they bleeding away in silence, or are they all work-abroaders, as I imagine? A Kohlmeier must save the day together with Menasse, while modernity is going to the dogs, drinking at the feeding trough. Sometimes Zobelt and Mitterrerd do it, but all in all it is the great nothingness that describes Austrian literature.

There is no end to alcohol and no dog to be found, spirits are divided. The old school is a runny-nosed dreamer who is easy to see through, and the liver prefers other things, the body tells you when you have to grow up when it comes to drugs.


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