I arrived in Cadiz yesterday night – bunk – slight dizzle – now straight to the port Amerika, show my sailor self, do some fancy knotwork, ahoi capitano, vas a Gran Canaria?
Song of the day: Creep – Radiohead (Gare du Nord Version)
x fingers, will you?

Well shit, this text just gotten deleted due to lack of caffeine while editing the 22nd century version of this post. Sorry guys, just copy paste the German version into google translate…

Schoengeistiger Input: der Goldene Mittelweg ist heute zum Mittelpunkt eines Gespraechs zwischen Judith und mir geworden…

Due to the fact that the first post was only for the Swiss facebook-hate folks (yes, we are not all and always that neutral, you know!), I tell you about my real day, because the before mentioned blog was merely an apologize (and teasing a little, because Facebook is no evil, nor is the Internet, it is the user…blabla sort of adult talk).

Well, you cannot really explain the whole thing. Is it the day, the weather (Sevilla feels shitty with 25 degrees, there has to be at least 33 degrees that people don’t even go out of the house), the approaching full moon (hope this is not the reason, or I’ll go apeshit on the 23rd of September, all Sevillians running around

You can’t play on broken strings means as much as: go out in the morning (after a delicious breakfast… yeah, I keep telling that, but it is delicious. No, not the…, well yeah, too, but, you know, …ah, forget it!) having a Tom Waits-scruffish …

Today, after another splendid breakfast with my dear Judith (dude, think what you want, right! 🙂 I spent the afternoon together with Luciano at a SQUAT-lunch provided for families and friends. 2 Euros a meal…

Episodic memory in stream of thought: late morning wake after a night of charging batteries – beautiful breakfast with Judith – shaved my head again (without shaving foam, I wouldn’t recommend this method) – off to a birthday party of Eva, Judith’s dear friend – coffee – el Corte Ingles (suxxxxxx) – on Luciano’s roof garden

Who am I to guess what happens when you pass a door in one of the many “calliers de Sevilla”. You “hola” a girl and she “hola” ‘s back. What is on your mind right then, after a short look into a very beautiful Spanish face, sitting on the threshold in front of a great wooden door, long colorful skirt over her knees, which are bent to the body…