Frankfurt am Main - August 2012

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“Won’t You Try / Saturday Afternoon” (Paul Kantner)

Won't you try
won't you try
find a way to need someone
find a way to see
find a way and need someone and the sunshine will set you free
won't you try
with love before we’re gone
won’t you try

Saturday afternoon
Saturday afternoon
when your head is feeling fine
you can ride inside our car
I will give you caps of blue and silver sunlight for your hair
all that soon will be what you need to see, my love
won't you try
won't you try
I do care that you do see
Is it time to leave, my lady
yes it is I know
round about and everywhere sunshine instead of snow
times can't change that what I say is true

I’ll come through for you
and I’ll come through for you, my love
won’t you try
won’t you try
Saturday afternoon
yellow clouds rising in the noon
acid incense and balloons
Saturday afternoon
people dancing everywhere , loudly shouting I dont care
it’s a time for growing and a time for knowing
Saturday afternoon
Saturday afternoon (wont you try)
Saturday afternoon ( wont you try )
wont you try (saturday afternoon)
wont you try ( saturday afternoon)
wont you try

From the album “After Bathing at Baxter’s” by Jefferson Airplane (1967)

 

 

Technical Data:

Camera - Leica M4

Lenses - Elmarit-M 2.8/28mm + Summicron-M 2.0/50mm

Film - Agfa APX 100

Developer - R09, 1+50

Date - August 2012

Location - Frankfurt am Main, Germany

Scanner - Epson 4990

 

 

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Bandeira Nacional

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Talvez um dia me torne vítima de uma qualquer moléstia que apele aos meus brios nacionalistas mais primários.

Se tal mal porventura me acometer, possivelmente me encontram também por aí aos berros, empunhando uma bandeirinha nacional, num qualquer acesso de patriotismo bacoco.

 

 

Até então, sinto alguma vergonha − ou será asco? − de ver certos tipos que por aí se pavoneiam com ela na lapela.

Lá estão eles, coitados!, apinocados sob as luzes da ribalta, nos seus inflamados discursos – oscilantes entre o inócuo e o malévolo −, pretensamente patrióticos.

 

 Pobre bandeira que te esvais em vão por essas calçadas cheias de amargura…

 

 

 

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You Are Leaving the American Sector: West- und Ost-Berlin, März 1986

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Leica M2 und Leica M4-2

 

 

 

[…Ein paar geliefert Umrisse, denen durch geschickt hingestreute Punkte eine gewisse Richtung gewiesen wird, erlauben viel mehr Freiheit als die so heftig begehrte absolute Freiheit, die sich der Phantasie des einzelnen ausliefert, dem bekanntlich nichts, gar nichts einfällt, dem ein leeres Blatt Papier soviel Anlaβ zur Verzweiflung bietet wie eine leere Stunde, wenn plötzlich die Bildröhre streikt…

(...)

…daβ dieses Erzählwerk wirklich eine reine Idylle werden soll, in der Kloakendüfte dieselbe Funktion haben wie anderswo Rosendüfte, in der die Auseinandersetzung mit dem Krieg vermieden oder zumindest sehr reduziert wird, die Nazi-Angelegenheit wie etwas zwischen Schnupfen und Schwefelregen abgetan werden soll…]

 

Heinrich Böll – “Entfernung von der Truppe” (1963/64)

 

(Als der Krieg ausbrach – Erzählungen – Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag)

 

Technische Daten

Kameras: Leica M2 + Leica M4-2

Objektive: Leitz Super-Angulon 3.4/21mm u.a.

Aufnahmematerial: Kodak Tri-X

Entwickler: Kodak D-76

Aufnahmeort:Berlin (West- und Ost-Berlin)

Datum: März, 1986

Scanner: Epson 4990

 

 

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Germinal

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« C’était la vision rouge de la révolution qui les emporterait tous, fatalement, par une soirée sanglante de cette fin de siècle. Oui, un soir, le peuple lâché, débridé, galoperait ainsi sur les chemins ; et il ruissellerait du sang des bourgeois. Il promènerait des têtes, il sèmerait l’or des coffres éventrés. Les femmes hurleraient, les hommes auraient ces mâchoires de loups, ouvertes pour mordre. Oui, ce seraient les mêmes guenilles, le même tonnerre de gros sabots, la même cohue effroyable, de peau sale, d’haleine empestée, balayant le vieux monde, sous leur poussée débordante de barbares. Des incendies flamberaient, on ne laisserait pas debout une pierre des villes, on retournerait à la vie sauvage dans les bois, après le grand rut, la grande ripaille, où les pauvres, en une nuit, efflanqueraient les femmes et videraient les caves des riches. Il n’y aurait plus rien, plus un sou des fortunes, plus un titre des situations acquises, jusqu’au jour où une nouvelle terre repousserait peut-être. Oui, c’étaient ces choses qui passaient sur la route, comme une force de la nature, et ils en recevaient le vent terrible au visage. »

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“It was the red vision of the revolution, which would one day inevitably carry them all away, on some bloody evening at the end of the century. Yes, some evening the people, unbridled at last, would thus gallop along the roads, making the blood of the middle class flow, parading severed heads and sprinkling gold from disembowelled coffers. The women would yell, the men would have those wolf-like jaws open to bite. Yes, the same rags, the same thunder of great sabots, the same terrible troop, with dirty skins and tainted breath, sweeping away the old world beneath an overflowing flood of barbarians. Fires would flame; they would not leave standing one stone of the towns; they would return to the savage life of the woods, after the great rut, the great feast-day, when the poor in one night would emaciate the wives and empty the cellars of the rich. There would be nothing left, not a sou of the great fortunes, not a title-deed of properties acquired; until the day dawned when a new earth would perhaps spring up once more. Yes, it was these things which were passing along the road; it was the force of nature herself, and they were receiving the terrible wind of it in their faces.”

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“Era a visão vermelha da revolução que arrastaria a todos, fatalmente, numa dessas noites sangrentas desse fim de século. Sim, uma noite, o povo em torrentes, desenfreado, correria assim pelos caminhos, gotejando o sangue burguês, exibindo cabeças, semeando o ouro dos cofres arrombados. As mulheres gritariam, os homens abririam suas queixadas de lobos, prontos para morderem. Sim, seriam os mesmos farrapos, o mesmo matraquear de tamancos grosseiros, a mesma turba assustadora, suja, de hálito fétido, varrendo o mundo caduco com a sua irresistível avalanche de bárbaros. Arderiam incêndios, nas cidades não ficaria pedra sobre pedra, regredir-se-ia à vida selvagem das florestas após o grande cio, o grande rega-bofe, em que os pobres, numa só noite, extenuariam as mulheres e esvaziariam as adegas dos ricos. Não sobraria nada, as fortunas e os títulos das situações adquiridas desapareceriam, até o dia em que talvez desabrochasse uma nova sociedade. Sim, eram essas coisas que estavam passando pela estrada, como uma força da natureza, e vinha delas o vento terrível que lhes açoitava os rostos.”

Émile Zola – “Germinal” (1885)

 

 

Lisboa, Portugal, 1980

 

(but it could be

yesterday,

or today,

or tomorrow,

or the day after...)

 

 

 

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Lisbon - City of Light, City of Pain (II - 2012)

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Technical Data:

Camera - Nikon FM

Lens - Nikkor - S Auto 2.8/35mm

Film - Agfa APX 100

Developer - R09 (Dilution 1+50)

Scanner - Epson 4990 Photo

Date - July 2012

Location - Lisbon, Portugal

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