away. once again.

Why hello there dudes and dudettes of the internet.

Ye olde dave is back again, and he's back with a vengeance. Or actually, back with a phone that now has the same picture quality that my camera used to have four years ago. Now, I'm definitely fatter, but working on slimming, ideologically wholly unperturbed by any thoughts of changing the world, but actually just wanting to find a place where I want to stay. Perhaps it will be Austria again, perhaps south America, or perhaps my journeys will take me to another place entirely. Which is quite possible.


PRATER UNSER: Erlösung durch Strom.

Wahrlich, Brüder und Schwestern: Ein Wunder hat sich zugetragen. Gott hat dem Prater Unser-Festival den leicht blasphemischen Promotion-Wortwitz nicht übel genommen (oder wir Atheisten haben recht und er existiert einfach nicht). Auf jeden Fall war das Wetter wunderbar, und die Stimmung fantastisch.

Leider kann ich vom sicher auch superen Nachmittags-und Vorabendprogramm nicht viel berichten - in alter Wiener Tradition geh ich erst aus dem Haus wenn die letzte U-Bahn fährt. Es ist sowieso erst um halb 1 etwas los, und die Headliner starten meist eine Stunde später. Durchmachen ist ab 9 auch viel zu anstrengend.

Aber wo war ich: Angefangen vom Uffie-Abend in der Sauna, DJ Koze ebenda und Kode 9 im schönen fluc - durchgehend extrabassig und sauschnell, blasphatantisch und sacrilicious. Auch planetarisch wurde man gut bedient: Psycho-Paranoia Visuals (You´ll see what government can do), fetter straight minimal und gemütliche Couches im Garten - Spass für die ganze Familie bis um 6 Uhr früh.

Diese Zeilen wurden zum Teil in der Prä-Afterhour im Lifestyle geschrieben, während sich die Sauna für den nächsten Aufguss vorbereitet. Oh yeah. Was ist schöner als eine durchnächtigte Gartenparty voller Freaks und Freakettes?

Anyway: Der markige Kennspruch des Lifestyle, "Deine Eventlocation für Veranstaltungen jeder Art!" (sic!), wirkt nur auf den ersten Blick etwas abturnend. Doch bei genauerer philosophischer Betrachtung gibts eigentlich nichts besseres: Wir wollen ja an unseren Abenden generell so manches veranstalten.

Leider wird euer werter Author öfters von schwulen Kellnern angebraten und von wahnsinnigen Ravern angeschnorrt als von schönen Frauen aufgerissen - also gehts weiter mit der selbstauferlegten Beziehungslosigkeit, dem kreativen Zölibat - und dieses Hochfest des prateristischen Hedonismus, Prater Unser, war es wahrlich wert.

By the way: An der Schlange vor der Sauna um 8 Uhr früh spielte sich noch ein Drama der gewalttätigen Art ab - In dem Haufen von Freaks die zur Afterhour pilgerten befand sich auch ein besonders dummer Kerl der die Freundin eines anscheinend etwas gewalttätigen Typen anbaggerte und prompt eine Flasche an die Schläfe bekam.

Lustigerweise war der Verprügelte so dicht oder so beschädigt das er einfach wieder aufstieg und versuchte weiterzukämpfen. Ja, es gibt wahrlich Vollidioten die´s nicht anders wollen, anscheinend. Da konnte man auch nicht mehr dazwischengehen: Vor allem nicht in meinem durchaus betrunkenen Zustand.

Noch kurz zwei Zeilen von der After Hour: Chillende Leute, tanzende kleine Blondinen im Spandex-Anzug, Anarchisten, Glatzköpfige schwere Jungs, Sonnenbebrillte blasse Nachtschwärmer - alles mögliche. Um 12 schließlich Aufbruch: Irgendwann muss man ja schlafen auch.

cheers, Prater Unser,


dave`s derivative dump - corners, thrones and women.

The best place to have lunch, or late breakfast, sometimes even some early dinner, in the 15th district of wonderful Vienna, not far from the great castle Schönbrunn, is right in front of a supermarket. Right across from a bank, next to a Chinese variety shop selling all kinds of junk. Next to the bank is a small nail makeover shop.

Speaking of nailing: On the very same corner where I now sit, everyday from 6 in the evening until 5 or so in the morning the poorest of Vienna´s prostitutes will offer a blowjob for thirty, a fuck for fifty and they´ll nag you for free.

"Hey, Schöner! Willst du was machen? Gemma ficki ficki!"
I don´t suppose much needs to be translated.

The tramway passes like a red, black and gray shuttle in some 80ies sci-fi show. Right on the corner diagonally opposed to my comfy seat on faux marmor and glass portals lies a fishmonger. He tempts me with the smell of kelp and brine, of oysters and crabs. How I long to see the sea again.

Waves crashing mercilessly on rocky shores. Jumping from cliff to cliff, always knowing that one haphazard jump, one wrong step will cut up your legs or worse.
A few scratches.

Like green dreadlocks, like emerald noodles on salty soup the Chilean Cochayuyo floats on the submerged crags, softly swaying in high tide, flaccidly collapsed in low waters.

Don´t step on the green stones. They´re slippery.

Lessons learned at the right age are seldom forgotten.

Several quite beautiful ladies wander past my lofty throne on the streets. Most will probably respond when asked about their occupation by saying they were studying (some of them might even be), others will work in customer relations.
I´m quite sure though that unfortunately a large percentage of these women can be found every night in the more expensive bars, seedy coffee-shops and whorehouses in the area.

The clocksmith´s display watch says "Eterna" - and yet it´s but an instant.


birthday bash: soviets, smoke and screams

Yes, tovarishi, this evening I was once again in action. The variety this time: Crazed russian musician that tries to improvise free jazz on a fucking chainsaw.

My arms hurt from all the impressive antics I performed with the fucking heavy piece of equipment, I missed most of my own possible birthday party because of the session, but still it was worth it.

On the one hand, there's nothing I enjoy more than acting. Except, perhaps, acting as a crazy soviet chainsaw maestro.

The whole deal is a promo for plemplem that I expect to go up sometime today, so stay tuned for a link. It was quite fun - my colleagues, however, were not quite as loquacious as yours truly. As some of you might imagine, I stole most scenes that the director hadn't yet given me, as I was the only one with performance blood on site.

It was fucking hard to get them to respond to anything I did, unfortunately. Some of them just sat around most of the time, doing nothing. When asked to say something, they'd answer: What should I say?

So okay. What you do in these situations is to make up some impro-theater rules on the go so everybody can play and it's simple. We broke it down to simply saying "I want to play" in case nothing else occurred to us. But unfortunately, the crew couldn't even handle that.

So the spot will mostly be me, shouting, screaming, laughing, throwing tantrums, monologues and fucking duke nukem gasoline-powered chainsaws around. Fun for the whole family!

After that I (my mobile) was all out of battery, and I tried to meet someone, but failed (unfortunately) and succeeded simultaneously (quite a nice coincidence, really). In fact I had a very interesting discussion with two different groups of people that even might lead to something beneficial for all parties. And I'm always one for that, you know.

So now it's 04:10, I'm still writing, and I'll continue to do so until approximately 07:15 in the morning. I need to translate, write poetry and prose, concepts for videos and concepts for moderations, scripts, books, novels - An author's work is never done. Yay!

(now oficially an old wanker)


Prater Unser: Heretics, Hellfire and Heavy Bass

Fags die, god laughs. Thank god for dead fags. Beware of the fags.

Those were only three of the posters, on neon backgrounds, that spewed hate and prejudice against homosexuals. When I first noticed them I just was, like, what the fuck. Seriously. They were about as eyecatching as a bloody metal hook.

Of course I reckoned it would be some kind of extreme ironic artsy project, but I do think in this case, the project failed. What should have happened was that the first spectators tear the posters down and burn them in the courtyard - but in this aspect, the pratersauna crowd failed miserably.

At it's side, also adorning the entrance and requesting reverence like some crazy fucked up gessler hat was the image of a guy without pants, stroking his erect penis. But the people generally didn't seem to mind. The image of a priest and a nun handing out the true flesh, blood and flyer of Prater Unser wasn't that unusual in that context, and the partygoers remained unperturbed.

This is one of those moments when it really comes in handy (ha, pun) that this blog is adult only. Otherwise I couldn't continue to write much more.

The main visual feature of the evening, which continued non-stop until late morning, was a giant projection of the hardcore-porno "Josephine Mutzenbacher". As dicks pounded pussys and eager mouths gobbled up meaty bavarian sausages to the rythm of the progressive house and electro from the floors, the crowd went wild well until the break of dawn. The hardcore sex attracted about as much attention as a lava lamp at a hippy jam festival - only about one in ten actually gave the screen the occasional look.

Take this literally: Even at seven, when they finally decided to close the sauna, both floors were still active, half-full and the terrace was well occupied.

I was once more mostly present as my Alter Ego, Prater David, Bringer of the Holiest of Holy Flyers, the only edible promotional article to ever come with blas-tastic and sacridelicous varieties. The role of crazed reverend is truly one of my favourites: I strode up and forth among the unbelievers, heathen and heretics and preached the words of the one and only Prater Unser, the only true electronic festival in Vienna.

Our two locations are: The fluc, the pratersauna and the praterdrome. No, our three locations are: The fluc, the pratersauna, the praterdome and the planetarium. Our four.. Okay, I'll come in again.

In a sonore voice I chanted the holy syllables, handed out the holy cookies and kept the very holy and beautiful Sister Anna from being ravished by the drunk barbarian hordes. Indeed, I used English so much that evening that I'm writing this article in that language now: Otherwise, most of the guests wouldn't be able to read it.

Two lovely loony fairies from the plemplem collective tried to enchant us with mystical earth spells (they had wands and everything), but even though they wished me straight to hell (our edible flyers were more popular) we managed to defend our holy faith of universal Praterism.

So me and Sister Anna fed the poor and starving crowd (about 100 - 150 people) in front of the sauna, waiting for hours on end to get in. We were offered a shitload of bribes if we could only get them in sooner. At three, however, the place was full and the line was gone. We continued our sacred procession indoors for a bit, but then soon continued to the more festive part of the evening.

The crowd was a bit edgier than last time. We had a few more Christian fundamentalists and general promotion boycottees. Some didn't even bother to watch my crazy antics as I chanted and gestured like the pope himself.

The sound on both floors was marvellous, and the people were dancing like it's the age of the apocalypse. The bass was heavy, and the lines were straight, dirty and full of funk - one couldn't help but shaking one's booty to that beat.

To whomever decided to keep the terrace open until 7: I salute you. That must have been the best idea humanity has come up with, right up there with the weel and fire. Thank you for a wonderful night and morning, Pratersauna. Prater Unser, Brothers and Sisters, Prater Unser.

Pie Jesu Domine, Dona Eis Requiem.

- rAmen,
Prater David


Exzess Total: Free Parades, Free People, Free World.

Okay, people, I'm sorry I'm late. Normally, I like to update this stuff right after the party, in the morning as the sun rises, with a good hot coffee and some breakfast. But this time, it didn't stop there.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we? The anarchist mob that was the Free Parade (really very harmless techno-kiddies mostly, no Black Bloc in sight) can always be counted on leaving at least an hour late - this time, it was 1,5 hours. So that explains why we're still waiting for that revolution of theirs.

I hoisted the black banner of the Pastafari, and strode forth into the fray, aiming to convert a few unbelievers to the one and only true way of INM (It's Noodly Magnificence). And yes, the people cheered and danced and smoked and drank and danced some more. Sometimes even a few people noticed the flag I was waving around with one arm like a crazed rural orchestra conductor.

And yes, I also produced a new episode of dave's away. Now it's time for part II, people: Dave does Europe. :D A few hints: There will be half-naked people dancing their butts off, more scarcely clad people, butts, music, dancing, more butts, and of course yours truly.

I was accompanied by my trusty cameraperson, Tom. Unfortunately he was about an hour late - didn't matter, he made up for it by leaving 10 hours early.

The free parade was great - I even forgot to meet an old friend of mine. When I did realize I was too late, I went into the wrong direction and tried to find him for about an hour or so. We decided to meet some other time, a brief and fiery intermezzo at the Karlsplatz, and then off to the fluc it was!

All the people there are really great people. That's something you realize right away. There simply are no stuck-up assholes in the fluc, and if there are, the trusty security staff (most of whom are really quite okay people-wise and not the hormone-driven gorillas you see at the usual suspects'). And the Dubstep was fucking great.

The fluc was pumping, the people were jumping, and the sweat was flowing like water in spring. The first row was occupied by three young heroes that stood there, glistening like pearls, wet as a drenched poodle, and danced like there was no tomorrow, yesterday didn't matter and today would be over soon.

There was one girl that struck my eye - she was wearing a fur coat! Really! But I think it's a wonderful statement to all those wannabe do-gooder anarchovegans out there - Fuck you! We eat meat, we kill animals, we wear fur! Why? Because we're fucking omnivorous monkeys that tend to expand our territory and use resources, that's why. And we'll continue to do it until they all get stuck in a Zoo, a farm or on a mantelpiece.

Great discussions about Nietzsche, the world, the people, the music - lots of stuff. Even got a few interviews. ;)

As I gleefully ingested a morning pizza with a great group of people (Ecuador, Chile, Austria) the sun was already shining - and as I went home, with the firmly set idea to start writing and editing, I met another three people on the way to the subway.

We decided to go to my place and have some wine for breakfast. Las Pitras - delivered as promised. The Chilean red gave the discussion some glow, and we unraveled all the mysteries of god, philosophy and higher mathematics. Well, a few, at least.

Now it's monday, I have a lot of stuff to do, and the video might not be finished until the end of the week. So be patient, ye faithful! There shall be sound, and images, and they shall be arranged in such a way as to make viewing pleasurable for the whole family.

Cheers! - d -

(Most-used word in the last 96 hours)