100 Days And Nights 1000 Years Ago

Rapidly written micro fictions accompanied by medieval motives found or created in the wayward course of researching a new novel about the dark ages—a part of the 100 Days 2011 project.

June 25th 2011

11 notes |#

« What is your substance, whereof are you made, 

That millions of strange shadows on you tend? »

      Shakespeare, Sonnets

A treasure from the past: ‘robot love’ started as a collaborative project with my daughter but was later appropriated by me which is why some of the content is not appropriate for all audiences. The row of robed men & women at the center are the federal judges of the German supreme court. There’s a reference to the Fluxus neo-dadaist movement of which I’m a great fan - it included artists like Joseph Beuys and Ray Johnson. Five years later, I wrote a story, ‘Men on Mars’ – prompted by the quote from a Shakespeare sonnet above - and even begun a novella on “robots in love”, which I haven’t been able to finish so far. But every once in a while, I write robot stories when I feel the Asimov and the Lem stir inside me like writerly ghosts from a past full of hope for our present.

#36/100 Days 2011. Photo: « robot love » (ca. 2004).

Posted at 11:18am and tagged with: Asimov, Lem, Robot, Love, PG, Men on Mars, supreme court, fluxus, beuys,.

« What is your substance, whereof are you made,  That millions of strange shadows on you tend? »       Shakespeare, Sonnets A treasure from the past: ‘robot love’ started as a collaborative project with my daughter but was later appropriated by me which is why some of the content is not appropriate for all audiences. The row of robed men & women at the center are the federal judges of the German supreme court. There’s a reference to the Fluxus neo-dadaist movement of which I’m a great fan - it included artists like Joseph Beuys and Ray Johnson. Five years later, I wrote a story, ‘Men on Mars’ – prompted by the quote from a Shakespeare sonnet above - and even begun a novella on “robots in love”, which I haven’t been able to finish so far. But every once in a while, I write robot stories when I feel the Asimov and the Lem stir inside me like writerly ghosts from a past full of hope for our present. #36/100 Days 2011. Photo: « robot love » (ca. 2004).

June 12th 2011

16 notes |#

Gisela felt terrified by fairy tales about other princesses. None of her girlfriends at the convent shared this torment. She was the only true princess among them. The tales were much easier on the average high born and on the commoner. They were hard on witches and wicked stepmothers. She prayed that God would not turn her into a wicked stepmother. She wouldn’t mind some of the magical powers of witches though. A charm to get out of work. A charm to hide a pimple or make it appear as a birth mark. She blushed, not because of the heresy of her thoughts but because she felt how meagre and limited her fantasies were: get out of work? Hide a pimple? As a witch, she could do better than that: make her grumpy father a happy man. Answer mother’s prayers. Turn the whole convent into a fun fair. Bring the heathens to their knees so that they took the body of the Lord in their foul mouths and drank His instead of their enemies’ blood. Laugh into the face of an evil witch who gave you a poisoned apple. Swim at the bottom of a lake and shake hands with the wild green man who lived there. – The abbess was wicked and wise at once. Everyone knew she slept with the choirmaster: this happened every day after Nocturns when nuns and novices made ready for bed and were dozy from lack of sleep and the day’s hard work. Gisela knew because her cell lay at the end of the corridor leading to the abbess’ quarters and because, at some point of their lovemaking, the abbess and the choirmaster would chant together in high tones. Muffled, supposedly, by the heavy bedspread given to the abbey by her own father showing himself and her mother surrounded by naked angels with trumpets. Perhaps the bedspread itself was charmed and made them do whatever they did? It surely was good for them and for the whole convent: when the choirmaster was away, the abbess’ face turned gray and she seemed suddenly aged. She was moody then and unfair, a wicked stepmother. Whatever the singing sorcerer gave her was a powerful potion.

#23/100 Days 2011. Photo: drawing by Taffimai: “The Delicacy Of Hands.”

Posted at 12:51pm and tagged with: abbess, convent, fairy tale, gisela, love, potion, sex, stepmother, witch, Taffimai,.

Gisela felt terrified by fairy tales about other princesses. None of her girlfriends at the convent shared this torment. She was the only true princess among them. The tales were much easier on the average high born and on the commoner. They were hard on witches and wicked stepmothers. She prayed that God would not turn her into a wicked stepmother. She wouldn’t mind some of the magical powers of witches though. A charm to get out of work. A charm to hide a pimple or make it appear as a birth mark. She blushed, not because of the heresy of her thoughts but because she felt how meagre and limited her fantasies were: get out of work? Hide a pimple? As a witch, she could do better than that: make her grumpy father a happy man. Answer mother’s prayers. Turn the whole convent into a fun fair. Bring the heathens to their knees so that they took the body of the Lord in their foul mouths and drank His instead of their enemies’ blood. Laugh into the face of an evil witch who gave you a poisoned apple. Swim at the bottom of a lake and shake hands with the wild green man who lived there. – The abbess was wicked and wise at once. Everyone knew she slept with the choirmaster: this happened every day after Nocturns when nuns and novices made ready for bed and were dozy from lack of sleep and the day’s hard work. Gisela knew because her cell lay at the end of the corridor leading to the abbess’ quarters and because, at some point of their lovemaking, the abbess and the choirmaster would chant together in high tones. Muffled, supposedly, by the heavy bedspread given to the abbey by her own father showing himself and her mother surrounded by naked angels with trumpets. Perhaps the bedspread itself was charmed and made them do whatever they did? It surely was good for them and for the whole convent: when the choirmaster was away, the abbess’ face turned gray and she seemed suddenly aged. She was moody then and unfair, a wicked stepmother. Whatever the singing sorcerer gave her was a powerful potion. #23/100 Days 2011. Photo: drawing by Taffimai: “The Delicacy Of Hands.”

June 7th 2011

2 notes |#

The blind king longed to share his beautiful purple crown that was covered with the finest emeralds, with a lady. He knew that it wasn’t his blindness or the size of his kingdom (it was small) that stopped this from happening, but his grumpy nature and his moods. These moods could last for months and made every one around him miserable beyond measure. – And in the very moment when he changed his attitude, an adorable woman fell in love with him just like in a fairy tale and he forgot all about his purple emerald-studded headgear.

#18/100 Days 2011.

Posted at 11:29am and tagged with: 100days2011, mood, grumpy, king, crown, emeralds, lady, love, court,.

The blind king longed to share his beautiful purple crown that was covered with the finest emeralds, with a lady. He knew that it wasn’t his blindness or the size of his kingdom (it was small) that stopped this from happening, but his grumpy nature and his moods. These moods could last for months and made every one around him miserable beyond measure. – And in the very moment when he changed his attitude, an adorable woman fell in love with him just like in a fairy tale and he forgot all about his purple emerald-studded headgear. #18/100 Days 2011.