I was living in a socio-therapeuting assisted living house which was way too loud, way to crowded. Desperately I was looking for my room but couldn’t find it anymore. While on the way I was spat on and beer was poured over me. I found an abandoned baby and searched for one of the few nurses. She said exhaustedly: ‘Oh, the little Syphilis!’, ‘Syphilis?’ I repeated dumbfounded, ‘yes’ the nurse said, ‘in order to rip a last one on the father’. Then she confessed to me that she would like to do more for the residents, even had ideas, but it was impossible here.
I continued my search for me room and finally found it. But even ther I was molested so that I insisted on moving out, talked about that with the nurses.
Finally it seemed that I had found an own flat, after all I was just sitting at dinner in a big homely dining room when further residents of the assisted living facility placed themselves at the table without being asked and unpacked their brought along dishes. They compelled me to try them. I didn’t have a chance, no authority whatsoever, so I gave in. I even accepted the snake stew the nephew of my ex – the one with the right-wing attitude – imposed on me. Only the yellow-black striped, little cooked and therefore clearly identifiable as a snake, I refused categorically.

I was sleeping in a huge bed in a huge sleeping room which were mine. A feeling of disquiet made me wake up. I kept my eyes closed when I noticed that there seemed to be people in the room. A woman and a man. The man was on the telephone and negotiated the sales of tickets for cultural events. I waited for a reasonably advantegous opportunity, so when they seemed to not pay me much attention, and – zap! - I was standing upright and had fished the baseball bat from the wardrobe. I built up menacingly: What’s your business here?
Somewhat intimidated they introduces themselves. They were a sister of the pastor who had a similar name of a school day friend of free church origins and a organizer of cultural events. They claimed they had only come in order to give me tickets for several events – for me and my little brother. My threatening gesture, as it was, was dissolving into nothingness when my arm prosthesis came off.

After I had gone to bed only for a short nap I woke up again pretty soon and went over to my desk as it constitutes my routine in order to boot the laptop and then make myself some coffee.
My laptop had been pushed aside, next to it was a bigger one. I wondered and tried to exert my brains: How did I come to this device? Had I had a black-out? Whoever could have borrowed it to me?
A sudden dizziness came over me, mild vertigo, I had to lie down instantly and fell asleep again. When I woke up the second time suspicion predominated and I pulled myself together and looked inside the bathroom. True, my ex boyfriend was hiding in there. He smiled at me in a friendly way. Then again dizziness, vertigo. My ex took me by the arm and led me to my bed where I fell asleep in an instant again.
At the third waking up the flat in unmitigated shambles, the bed box was drawn open, bed sheets were hanging over the chair at the table. Bed sheets I didn’t possess for sure. After all, now I was sure that I was in a tight spot and that I had been tranquilized. When again the vertigo seized me, my ex again led me to the bed, not without saying in a soothing friendly voice: But first we undress your pants!
After the fourth awakening I managed to get to the flat’s door, tear it open and scream for help vociferously with repeatedly dying off voice. I punched my ex hard but I didn’t have a chance. Then it was over with me. And then I really woke up, thanks God.

I haven’t experienced such a thing before. My highly metaphorical dreams full of detail always take place in an absurd distorted atmosphere. This dream felt absolutely real. The flat was clearly my flat except for the mentioned minor details. I haven’t been in a time loop before either, this is new.

As every week I had an appointment with a group of language students whom I instructed on getting command of German. Therefore I had rented a room in a rather old-fashioned communal building. When I met my students this time we all astonished to see that the building had changed radically. It had mutated into a giant flashing and blazing Disney World, not unlike a multiplex cinema or something.
‘No worries’, I said with confidence, ‘we will find our room somehow’. However, there was not the least clue where to find it. I only knew that our old room had been on the second floor. We wandered through elevators and escalators, the senses confused by all the flashing and blazing. Crowds of people pushed through the halls in which my group appeared out of place, almost neglected.
During our march through this slot machine casino, as it seemed to me, I was permanently munching on cookies from a bag because of my tension.
Finally I had to give up and felt ashamed towards my language group.

I went to the little village church just here around the corner in the city. The church was closed as there was a film team of students who shot a film about Nazi Germany. I was invited spontaneously to participate. So I acted as a deserter. Together with a group of others we were on the run, up a steep slope covered with woods, just behind the little church. We muddled through brush and undergrowth until we reached a first hideout. The camera always directed at us. There we were trapped by the Nazis and executed.

Take. I thanked for being part in the shooting, was fun. And declared that I now wanted to go home to play my saxophone.

One of the people surrounding me cries out: It smells like piss! Another person points his finger at me.
I say: Sorry, that I am leaky. I will have to have a husband stitch done.
Then I go into the bathroom. The structured window has changed into nomal fully transparent glass.

On another continent, in another country a special programme is offered, some kind of ‘amusement park’. The group of new arrivals observes how another person shoots an animal, an antelope. They discuss: “Yes, everybody receives a weapon. Whoever gets a weapon will shoot it’, ‘Not everybody will survive this’, ‘Whoever kills animals, has to do this with humans more than ever’. Some kind of Fight Club, some kind of Escape Room. In the savannah.

One man and another find each other, they sleep in the same bed. On the next morning one of them is looking for his partner, even looks down into a deep duct and doesn’t find him. A third man confirms: He is lying down there, he is dead. Faggot!

After days and weeks three men survive and are looking for the exit. They don’t find it. Like small children they cry and stamp their feet. The dictator himself shows them to the exit. And shows them the memorial for the killed, which is placed there. A nice holiday….

‘Another Mile’ is the name of the film, which yet has to be shot.

A female and male cop are on patrol in an underground station. An infamous fare dodger gets caught. He tries to flee. The male cop, a giant, is very fast. The underground runs on overpasses, behind an abyss. The fare dodger tumbles down there and remains lying on the ground helplessly, probably he has broken a limb. The giant climbs down after him, pushes the man to the ground an penetrates him anally. He leaves the man to his dying. Back on the surface a superior questions the cop couple. The woman reports what she had observed. The boss says: This has to stop! The giant: Ok.

A young man is fleeing from the police. He finds a hideout with his mother. The mother compells him to an incest. The police catches him there. He is still clinging to his mother. Some pals encouter him while being walked off and they laugh at hi

I walk from my flat towards the city. A group of three stops me. The woman: “Do you know what kind of institution this is around the corner?” “Sure. That’s the psychiatric hospital”. “Do you know what schizophrenia ist?” “Sure. I had been treated for this disease for 13 years until it was clear that I have a complex PTSD”. “So, the situation can change?” “With real schizophrenics, no.”

One of the two men disappears. The woman’s mobile rings. “No, no, it’s not your story!” She hands me the telephone. The man who had dematerialized , cries out: “This is my story!” I give back the mobile and say: “No chance”.

I learn that the sick man is a celebrity. I say goodbye and continue my way. Just in that moment a car rolls beside us: “An interview? We could have breakfast together?” “No!”

The healthy companion of the woman catches up with me, I follow him into a dark corner. “No”, I say, “Even for a penny I won’t talk to these muckrakers”. The man hands me a paper roll filled with handwriting, I surely could auction this off this one day making a profit. I say thank you and walk away.

Already, I hear the schizophrenic approaching. And I hear how he, with a deep distorted voice, sings a song in which the word ‘mafia’ drops, I hear how he tortures the other man, I hear the latter’s shrill shrieks until they fall silent. I am not sure whether I took the correct turn and continue to walk into the dark.