dave's away

PRATER UNSER: Erlösung durch Strom.

2010-07-12T07:04:00.000-07:00

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

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

2010-07-02T04:36:00.000-07:00

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.
Itchy.

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

2010-06-29T19:13:00.000-07:00

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!

cheers,
dave
(now oficially an old wanker)

Prater Unser: Heretics, Hellfire and Heavy Bass

2010-06-27T00:33:00.000-07:00

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

dave's away VI - parades, pastafari and pirates

2010-06-25T10:54:00.000-07:00

dave's away VI - free parade from David Horn on Vimeo.

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

2010-06-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

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)

UGE: PRATER UNSER - Dancefloors, Heilige und Hedonismus.

2010-06-17T22:12:00.000-07:00

(Das PRATER UNSER Festival findet vom 8.7. - 11.7. in fluc, pratersauna und planetarium statt. Aber auch diesesmal war die Sauna heiß.)

Es ist halb Fünf.
Die Sonne steht bereits kurz vor dem Aufgehen, und der Himmel leuchtet herunter. Die Terasse wurde eben erst geschlossen. Das Lokal ist zum Bersten gefüllt.

"I sold my soul to the company store
A hot coloured woman made me off the line
Step aside"

Here come the Holy, the converters of the unbelievers.
Tatsächlich war ich diesen Abend vollkommen als Gesandter einer höheren Instanz tätig.

(Ich schreibe diese Zeilen gerade als sich ungefähr fünf Zentimeter vor meiner Nase die wohl schönsten Ärsche im Blues wiegen. Ich hoffe meine Leserschaft weis meinen Einsatz zu würdigen. Denn Schreiben muss alles transzendieren!)

Und obwohl ich an diesem Abend wohl fast 80% der Anwesenden aus eigener Hand mit Hostien versorgt hatte (wahlweise in den Mund oder in die Hand, je nach Ritus) war ich nach dem Ablegen meiner Kutte und dem Kreuz für die Anwesenden wie ein Fremder.

Ja, ohne die Symbole meines Amtes erkannten mich die Schäfchen nicht als Ihren Priester, der Priester des Universellen Praterismus, PRATER UNSER, wir geloben alle dortzusein.

Begleitet von der wunderschönen und äusserst heiligen Schwester Anna, die tatsächlich eine bezaubernde Nonne abgab, verteilte ich das Allerheiligste: Wahrer Flyer und Wahre Hostie des Praterismus. Mit den Worten In Nomine Prater Unser et Filii et Spiritu Sancti gab ich die bedruckten Oblatten aus, und die Reaktionen waren durchwegs grandios. Von "Beste Idee ever!" bis "Find ich Scheisse" war alles dabei. Das letztere war wohl eher ein Grafik-Snob, der sich über das Logo äusserste.

Backstage in der Pratersauna ist übrigends so ziemlich eine der gemütlichsten Locations Wiens. Wir waren zwar nur zum umziehen und Oblattenflyer aufmagazinieren dort, aber auch der kurze Eindruck genügte: Die Saunachefs haben Geschmack.

Es begüßt einem nach einer Stiege und dem zukünftigen Main Floor (Derzeit Concert Stage) eine Halle mit Ping-Pong Tisch, Busk-Graffitis und Artwork an den Wänden, ein abgespaceter Sci-Fi Sessel wie direkt aus Star Trek. Und dann das Büro.

Ich gehe hier jetzt nicht ins Detail aus Gründen der Diskretion, aber es ist durchaus sehr gemütlich dort. Social Networker und Graphic Artists, Modedesigner, Tänzer, lebendige Skulpturen - alles tummelte sich in der Sauna. Von den Outfits war alles dabei - von knappem Schwarzen über gewagte Gesichtsschleier, Lila Irokesen an Glitzerjacke und hautengem Codpiece?

Bei Zehn Euro Eintritt waren die Cocktails auch oft anzutreffen. Treffenderweise war der letzte Song von "A Clockwork Orange" (or was it Barry Lyndon, or even Zardoz? Yes, definately Zardoz.) - Ein junger Adonis, eindeutig professioneller Tänzer, in einem hautengen Etwas tanzte ergriffen mit einer jungen Dame. Leider schlossen die Securities um Fünf den second Floor - Am Main gings immer noch ab.

Summa Summarum: PRATER UNSER, wir loben dich.
Geheiligt sind die Dancefloors, denn sie werden gerockt werden!

Prater Unser, rAmen, Hare Krishna, Insjalla, shalom - Prater David

P.S.: Beste Frage des Abends:
"Magst du kleine Kinder?"
Antwort: "Nicht so wie manche der katholischen Kollegen es betreiben."
- Richtige Antwort!

Holterdipolter: Titten, Bier und Traditionen

2010-06-10T14:21:00.000-07:00

Manche Dinge macht man nur einmal im Leben, zumindest im Regelfall. Der Polterabend vor der Hochzeit wird wohl dazuzählen, den gibts wirklich nur einmal. Also muss ein solcher auch nach allen Regeln der Kunst zelebriert werden, und wie es die Tradition verlangt mit alkoholischem Exzess gewürdigt werden. Also wurden die Fässer geöffnet und das Bier floss in Strömen, wie es schon unsere Vorväter uns vormachten.

Nach Etablierung eines akzeptablen Pegels gings ab ins Fischerbräu, einem Centimeter-Lookalike neben der Übersetzungsfakultät. Beer is good - more beer. Dazu Deftiges in Kasnockerlkform, und der Abend kann beginnen.

Der Bräutigam hatte im Verlauf des Abends einige Aufgaben zu erfüllen, und die wichtigste davon war definitiv die Kollektion von 15 roten Lippenstift-Kussmündern auf seinem Event-T-Shirt. Ein goldenes Mascherl und eine Krone halfen dem so ausgezeichneten Bräutigam sicher bei seiner Anbahnung - wie auch kleine alkoholische Geschenke für die Teilnehmerinnen.

Die nächste Station der bereits sehr besoffenen Meute war das Charlie P´s, ein "irish" Pub das ungefähr so irisch ist wie der Arsch eures werten Autors. Ein schwer übergewichtiger DJ versuchte mit Slipknots "Wait and Bleed" das Häufchen Feiernde zum Karaoke zu überreden - es gab dann auch Einlagen von Nirvana (the Groom smelled like teen spirit) und den Beastie Boys (Fight for your right, headbangend vorgetragen von dem Mensch hinter den Tasten).

Und dann, die obligatorischen Titten. Das Beverly Hills im 1. war das Etablissement der Wahl - folglich gabs auch das gleiche zu sehen wie am FKK-Bereich der Donauinsel, kombiniert mit jüngeren Damen in Lingerie und mäßigen Tanzkünsten. Junge Banker, Diplomatensöhne und alte Säcke in Sakkos beäugten fasziniert das Fleisch, das es auch im Internet gratis doppelpenetriert zu bestaunen gibt. Alexa, Natasha und ihre allesamt englischsprachigen Kolleginnen versuchten alsbald erfolglos uns auch noch den letzten Cent aus der Tasche zu locken - DJ Ötzi rülpste "Hey, Baby" - und die Atmosphäre entsprach so gar nicht den wunderbaren Visionen Frank Millers. Wie so oft ist die kulturelle Rezeption interessanter als das Geschehen per se. Shaggy animierte die jugendlichen Übergewichtigen Profiteure irgendwelcher Ostblockländer ihre flaumigen Rotzbremsen um 45 Euro an den käuflichen Brüsten zu reiben - Höschen runter, that´s all, folks. Weiße Grüsse aus Belarus.

Auf diese soziologisch doch recht interessante Exkursion folgte die Hölle in Club-Gestalt - das unweit davon gelegene Loch das sich "Bettelalm" nennt. Ouch. Hier kann man sich auch noch den letzten Rest Gewissen wegsaufen, Kapitalismus in seiner eskapistischsten Ausprägung. Die Damen des Beverly Hills wurden zumindest für ihre Anbiederungen bezahlt, doch dort werfen sich jeden Abend junge Mädchen freiwillig in die Arme sozial unfähiger Bankiers die unbeholfen zu der schlechtesten Musik des Erdballs etwas wie Tanzen emulieren. "Wir lieben das Leben, die Liebe und die Lust" - bei dem Publikum kommt einem einfach nur das Kotzen.

Tatsächlich findet meine Abscheu nach kurzer Zeit keine Worte mehr. Ohne die Anwesenheit Jaffa-ähnlicher Securities hätte ich wohl randaliert. Ausbeuter, Zecken und Schlappschwänze zelebrieren dort ihre systematisierte Unfähigkeit zur Reflexion. "Do what you like" - and whatever you can afford to buy.

Eine solche Karikatur des wunderbaren Nachtlebens von Wien hatte ich noch nie erlebt - und werde ich wohl hoffentlich nie mehr erleben müssen. Manche Dinge macht man tatsächlich nur einmal im Leben - und der Besuch des wohl schlechtesten Lokals von Wien gehört definitiv dazu.

soweit vom dave.

AV+: dynamite, cocks and puppets.

2010-06-09T08:33:00.000-07:00

This is an entirely new section I'm trying to establish here. It's about the thing we love most, besides sex, that is: audiovisual entertainment. There are even statistics out there that some people prefer the boob tube to actual boobs. But hey, I'm not one to judge. As a wonderful recently said: There's nothing better than rubbing one off each day. Wank, masturbate and have sex, people, as much as you want, with whomever consenting adult you want, and with as much dicks and pussys as you crave.

Okay, let's not forget the public service department.

But where was I? Oh yes, dynamite. There's one mean mothafucka out there that will smack you up if you sell smack - and his name is feared on the streets. You know what I'm saying? Black Dynamite gets the girls, the money, the car and serves a smackfull of kick-ass right with it. This is blaxploitation like you knew it once, excellently rendered an artful hommage to those movies of ancient times, when niggas were still niggas (to any person of african descent, please pardon my improper use of the once racist terminology). You know what I'm saying? Well now you do.

Now that the world is saved by this guy even Chuck Norris would run away from - let's continue to the finer arts. Ah, yes, music. Richard Cheese, Richard Cheese, Richard Cheese.
The champion of the loungy arts is only surpassed by, of course, Weird Al Yankovic .
But hear and see, ye people: There is a new star on the horizon. There is one musician to top them all in both cheesieness and offensive content. The comparison with the two aforementioned artists is a bit wobbly - as he cannot be compared. Except to god, perhaps. With a giant, glistening shiny rod of justice.

Thank you, Tim Minchin, that was what we all needed to hear. Ezekiel 8 is only surpassed by Ezekiel 9:6, by the way. And as for good Tim's message, I do hope we can all agree. I mean, seriously. Even if it feels great, even with your cowboy mate? The pope has his own piece of trouble.

As to the puppets: Do take a look as this wonderful 2009 animation project. "9" is both deep and artistically marvellous, and shall surely enter the annals of great storytelling and moving characters - that are magically animated puppets with screwed-in eyes and an interior body compartment. Anyone thinking of Bender right now?

So far from the d. - and now, it's time for a serious bacchanal, as my good pal Chris is getting married on Friday - so we're getting wasted today. In case you want to join, just look for the 8 crazy people hollering through Vienna.
adios, arriba, andale - dave out.

(probably until tomorrow, 14:00 at the least)

dave`s derivative dump - women, woes and despair.

2010-06-06T18:05:00.000-07:00

Let's begin with the despair, shall we? I just spent half a night and a wonderful afternoon layouting a 30-page wedding journal for a good friend of mine. But just a while ago (I had to get through a bit of a cursing streak first) fucking freehand MX busted on me while exporting. And me with no fucking save file for the last three hours.

In short, this is what despair looks like: When you realise that once more, like Sisyphos, you must return to the climbing of the mountain, shoving a huge rock before you. Life is like that sometimes.

Nobody said it was easy, but we're here and so we better fucking make something out of it. So, it's back to work for me, after venting my stress by screaming at the virtual void. Seriously, readers, how about some comments? I feel a bit unread, even if the statistics say otherwise (thanks for the 300 % increase in the last month.. )

To the woes: We all have them, the little pet peeves that make your day a bit worse. For me, that's a certain religion I won't name any closer because of legal concerns, but I might mention that they allegedly have something to do with the following story. Down with Xenu, that's their (allegedly alleged allegational) agenda. His thetan is surely lurking around there somewhere. Perhaps it's even mine?

So, apart from that fucking bullshit, there's the women, and for me, they currently combine woes and despair. But I'll not go into too much detail on that - I earned a lot of it myself, so I can take that like a man.

And to that one special someone, waiting out there, or perhaps not waiting at all - I'd sure love to write to you, for you and about you. Get in touch.

And now I'll get back to work, because as a Milanese friend of mine said: "If you work good, then everything will resolve itself." rAmen.

cheers, love, blessings,
the d.

UGE: raw 3 - baseline meets ass.

2010-06-03T21:10:00.000-07:00

Ein Fronleichnamsnacht mit viel Konkurrenz - Die Prater sagt fuck art, im flex gibts Drum n Bass und das Urban Art Forms zieht viele Elektroniker an. Um halb eins wird erstmal gemütlich oben gechillt, wo Country und Lyrics wie "Why can't I get just one fuck?" auf den Abend einstimmen.
Doch schon um Eins ist die Wanne prallvoll und wohltemperiert - Cueing, Quallen und RAW. Mindwipe ignited, hier gehts um die fucking baseline.

"Are you out of your mind?" Yes, please.

Eine Guy Fawkes-Maske scheint wie ein Symbol der Hoffnung auf den Screens der Visualisten, blutrot wie ein Versprechen, dem Himmel entgegenblickend. Raw rückwärts ergiebt übrigends War.

"Bitch ass cunt nigger fuck shit"
Take the tape out now
this is not a pop album
and by the way

suck my motherfucking dick.

Es folgt Pornokaraoke: Oh yeah, Oh yeah und weiter Gestöhne, SM oh yeah Ahhhhh...
Kryptische Muster im Dreieck harmonieren mit einem meliodiösen Break, der in einen sehr smooven Übergang mündet. Dubstep at it's fucking finest, mates!

Die Organisatoren, Stefan und Stefan, verdienen an der ganzen Sache nichts. "Rein aus Spaß an der Freude. Es tut uns einfach gut. Wir investieren alles was wir einnehmen in die nächste Party." Es wird weiterdiskutiert über die Vorzüge von Dubstep zu Minimal House.

Die Message von den Bildern gefiel wieder mal sehr gut:
The idea is to keep you indoors so that when you challenge opression you will find indifference in yourself.
Wondering....
Should I play it safe and stay on the pavement or should I go into the street?
"Thoughts create reality" - wie wahr, wie konstruktivistisch.

Um 04:30 folgt die Morgenpizza an Sonnenaufgang mit extrem viel Tabasco.
Merci, raw, wiedermal reife Leistung.

UGE: Don't mess with the BLOCKWERK - eclectic electric disco funk vom feinsten

2010-06-03T04:17:00.000-07:00

Der Leadsänger posiert und hüpft wie Zohan in Höchstform. Neben ihm windet sich in den Windungen der Melodie eine Frau in Rot, barfuß und gelben Neonsocken. An der Gitarre ein Mensch ohne Haar, dafür mit um so mehr Bühnenpräsenz, während sich Percussion und Schlagzeug ein Rennen um den Rhythmus liefern.
Dubstep, Reggae, Ska, Drum N Bass, traditionelle Türkische Klänge, und of course Disco, Disco, Disco! So fetzte das Blockwerk über die Bühne des wunderbaren Ostklubs, wo sich sonst Shantel und Kusturica Gute Nacht sagen. Doch mit unserem bekannten Bukovina hat Blockwerk wenig zu tun - hier geht es um die Transzendenz der World Music, das ist vielleicht eher als "New Rave" zu bezeichnen, Österreichs Hot Chip heizen ordentlich ein.

Wie üblich war der Ostklub voll (selbst mir als Raucher ist das Rauchverbot im Bühnenbereich nicht unangenehm - da wurde es früher schon ordentlich stickig) - doch das Österreichische Publikum ist wie so oft nur in den ersten zwei Reihen, wo die getreuen Kohorten und extrovertiere Autoren stehen, zum tanzen zu bewegen. Denn tanzbar ist Blockwerk auf jeden Fall.
In den Lyrics wird auch schon mal Babylon abgebrannt, dazwischen geht es um den Sound, der die Gier besiegt, dann wird wieder auf türkisch geträllert (Keine Ahnung worums da ging - klang aber super). Indeed, der Leadsänger hat eine Stimme die auf die Bühne muss, sonst währe es ja schade drum. Die weibliche Lead überzeugte durch Auftreten und Interpretation - gute Optik, gute Akustik.

Der Bass slappte funky durch die Gegend, der Synth dudelte seine Retro-Sounds runter, und alles in allem gab das eine zwar sehr eklektische aber durchaus harmonische Mischung aus allem was man wahrscheinlich schon irgendwann mal gehört hat. Blockwerk ist vieles, aber garantiert nicht unoriginell - Bei 2000 Jahren Musikgeschichte was tatsächlich neues zu fabrizieren ist eine reife Leistung. Und noch besser: Es gibt auch ein Album dazu!
Hier muss man wiedermal sagen:
Die spontanen Streifzüge sind meist die besten. Danke, Claudia.

(All pictures (c) Simona Turriziani Colonna )

dave`s away - republished

2010-06-02T00:02:00.000-07:00

Dearest of publics! As a special treat, I`ll repost the previously vanished episodes of dave`s away.
Although, if no one comments on this vid, I´ll let it be. So, your choice.

Dave's Away - enlightenment from David Horn on Vimeo.

HGB Hüttegaudi - world domination for dummies, the domestication of d.

2010-05-30T10:41:00.000-07:00

Am Anfang war der Link. Diffuse Koordinaten irgendwo in den Bergen südlich von Judenburg wiesen uns den Weg in die richtige Richtung. Im alten Mercedes meiner lieben Tante cruisten ich und mein Cousin also voller Gemütlichkeit in Erwartung von Alkohol, Party und Nerds. Um den Degree of Nerdieness (DoN) näher zu beschreiben: Ich sag nur iPad. Und am nächsten Morgen sitzen vier iPhones und ein Android (w4nk!) mit Kater am Tisch, schlürfen Kaffee und browsen.

Denn was sich dort in der Einsamkeit, umhüllt von Nebel und Wald, zur fröhlichen Kollektivorgie traf war nichts weniger als die Creme de la Creme der österreichischen Tech-Elite. MTD02 auf Klausur und Formatierungsfeier, eine Mischung aus Barcamp, Einsiedelei und Bacchanal.

Was schreibe ich: Von den unmengen an konsumiertem Bier zu berichten ist ja fast ein moot point. Die härteren Alkoholika wurden gar nicht angerissen, denn schon Hopfen und Malz genügten den meisten um sich fröhlich ins Kom(m)a zu saufen. Neben guten T-Shirts und schlechten Witzen wurde gleich auch noch die Weltherrschaft geplant.

Die libertäre gelbe Fraktion konnte sich am Anfang aus dem Geschehen herausziehen, die Truppen aufbauen, um schließlich mit einem finalen Verteidigungserstschlag alle vom Tisch zu räumen und ihr Ziel zu erfüllen. Unsere Fraktion, The Green Hornet, schlug sich wacker mit unserer Festung auf Thule (Island) und einem gefinkelten Zangenangriff auf die schwarzen Horden Nordamerikas.

Noch drei Runden mehr, und wir hätten unser Ziel in der Tasche gehabt, doch Gelb war schneller. Zur Erklärung: Risiko.

Die Verschärfung (für jeden gefallenen Soldaten ein Getränk) wurde abgelehnt, sonst hätten wir heute alle nichts mehr getan ausser sich vor Schmerzen windend den Schädel gehalten. Alles mit Maß und Ziel - auch wenn um Vier Uhr früh noch massenhaft Käsekrainer und Berner Würstel verzehrt wurden, niemand ließ sich das Genossene nochmals durch den Kopf gehen. Erfreulicherweise.

Ein polnischer Hühne namens Mitch (the Bitch) schlug mich im äusserst männlichen Armdrücken (mein rechtes Gelenk will sich nach wie vor nicht recht besänftigen lassen), und die wunderbare Nadja und Manu domestizierten diesen durchgeknallten Schreiberling durch die Erfindung eines genialen Systems: Die Performance.

Es ist sehr einfach: Wenn sie mit einem Dauerperformancekünstler unter Alkoholeinfluss zu tun haben, so muss man diesen gelegentlich darauf hinweisen, dass nicht alles immer eine Performance sein sollte, und das es vor allem auch manchmal für andere Menschen auch schön ist, zu Wort zu kommen und keine Gesänge, Schreie, Interpretationen, Philosophien, Religionen oder sonstigen Bullshit serviert zu bekommen.

Die Regeln des Spiels:
Sobald eine Aussage eine gewisse Dauer und Lautstärke und Provokanz übersteigt, so ruft ein erster "Performance!". Dies gilt als Warnung und sollte mit einer Performance-Pause gewürdigt werden. Wird dieser Ruf sekundiert, so zählt dies auf das Performance-Total. Der Counter wird arbiträr mit einem Cap ausgestattet (in diesem Fall würde es nach 10 validen Performances in die Ecke vor die Schreibmaschine gehen, die beste Art und Weise mich zu beschäftigen).

Es gibt dann auch noch Ausnahmen, wenn jemand mitmacht so ist es keine Performance, und wenn sie gut genug ist so kann sie auch durchgehen. Zu kurz - auch eine gute Strategie. Kurzum, ich konnte den ganzen Abend in Gesellschaft verbringen (unter anderem auch von Frauen) ohne irgendjemanden so auf die Palme zu bringen dass er (oder sie) mit mir nichts mehr zu tun haben will. Also ein Erfolg auf ganzer Linie, auch wenn Team Grün beim Risiko ziemlich abkackte.

Zum Frühstück gabs iErspeise, iBread, iJam, iCoffee, iPot und iGinandtonic.

Urban Gold Exile: English. Sauna, Fauna and Powa.

2010-05-27T23:20:00.000-07:00

Deutsch, hier klicken.

Like any blogger that has any reference to Hunter S. Thompson, I managed to pull it off as well: I shocked and disgruntled my fellow human beings, and thereby, in the manner of Fear and Loathing, validated my existence. Short version: I drink, dance and flirt, therefore I am. Also: I write.

This time I arrived a bit earlier at the Pratersauna than usual - the problematic queue in front of the door was thankfully spared this time. As expected, the beginning was rather laid back - the Wing Tsun Specialist Jakob described the advantages of the Sauna accurately: Each floor has a different mood. And so it was. Achitecturally as well as in the lighting installations, the environment says 60ies - from the cubist lamps on the wall to the green and red lasershow, from the coloured water to the couloured glass bricks.

Hidden in the still functioning sauna on the premises was the personal birthday party of co-organiser Misha. Heat, sweat, and the focal point of the party is established. And then things begin to catch on fire.

It's important, in order to avoid heatstroke, to periodically leave the sauna to cool down - be it with beer, the pool or a deckchair (preferably in companionship, as a wonderful lady in red and black demonstrated remarkably, using the original USP of a short skirt), cool down and relax, that was the contrasegna. Rest, breathe, kenny watch the stars, and then the bass calls you back to the floors with a vengeance.

Behind the old, magnificent trees of the prater, the old mafia-pool lies tucked away like an island in the jungle. Where once Proksch and Sinowatz said "Freundschaft!" to one another, the young students jump around to the beat with jolly well nearly nothing on.

My beloved Gin Tonic turns out to be a budgetbuster - 9,50, sorry, I´m going to keep my change. I can pay that much at the Hotel Imperial, no problem there. With these prices, even the good Queen Mum (rest her soul) would stay sober (probably because she can hold her drink, too).

The pool attracts bare-bosomed teknovikings that dive into the freezing and shallow water with death-defying multiple backward salti. Nearly naked nymphs in bikinis giggle past, throwing their scantily clad booties on the floor.

And the main floor is really worth it: The Pratersauna stays just to it's fame, the place is busting as Justice's "Dance" hits the speakers, followed by Fat Boy Slim's classic "Praise You" - wonderful openers, garnished with good old gnarly "Crazy". But then, my personal moodkiller (just my two cents): "I push my seed and I push for life". What the hell? Is this some kind of cryptocatholic bullshit? I wrote about that recently, anyway.

The second floor is still quite depopulated at half past one, playing passable straight house. The main continues the "Jolly Good Life", and at Misha's private party, the best asses of all Vienna begin to undress shamelessly, in order to get a good sweating at the sauna. Sweat really is dropping from the walls.

Push me, Pull me, until I get my Satisfaction - housy, but faster, more lyrical - followed by "Fettes Brot's Schwule Mädchen" (what else?). Half past three, and the second floor follows with dope beats.

The private room was played by Itsun, student of history for 7 years and a faible for tekkhouse meets minimal-progressive. Very smashing indeed, you'll sweat much easier. Excepting a few couples making out (or, at least, doing something between kissing and oral sex), the party was gone at 4, and at 4:20 the garden was closed, because of the cops or something. Either that, or they guessed that the people would simply stay there and party on otherwise.

Summarising I'd like to say: Long live the Sauna! Sauna, Fauna and Powa! and of course: Don't forget to cool down.

p.s.: Last song on the main floor: Dr. Greenthumb by Cypress Hill. Why not, even Brad Pitt wants to legalize Ganja if he ever gets elected President of the USA.

Urban Gold Exile: Saunieren, studieren und schwadronieren.

2010-05-27T22:44:00.000-07:00

For an English version with links and a picture, click here.

Wie es bei einem Blog nun mal so ist, bei dem man sich auch nur in Ansätzen auf Hunter S. Thompson bezieht, so ist es auch mir gelungen: Ich habe durch exzessives feierverhalten meine Mitmenschen verstört und so in bester Fear and Loathing - Manier meine Existenz validiert. Short Version: I drink, dance and flirt, therefore I am. Also: I write.

Diesmal etwas früher an der Pratersauna als sonst - die berüchtigte Schlange vor dem Gebäude blieb mir diesmal erspart. Wie zu erwarten war der Beginn eher lau - der Wing-Tchung-Spezialist Jakob beschreibt die Vorzüge des Ambientes gerne so - Jeder Floor eine andere Stimmung. Und so stellt es sich auch heraus. Sowohl die Architektur wie die Leuchtelemente (Kubistische Lampenapplikationen und Lasershows exzellent ausgeparralaxt, beleuchtetes Wasser und Farbglasziegel) erinnern an die 60er.

Hinten in der tatsächlich noch funktionellen Sauna findet sich die Party von Mitorganisator Mischa - Geburtstag und so. Die Hitze steigt, der Schweiß trieft, und bald ist der Brennpunkt der Party etabliert. Und dann fängt alles nur mehr Feuer.

Bevor die Gäste allesamt einen Hitzekollaps erleiden muss man beim saunieren immer auf die Abkühlung achten - ob mit Bier, Pool oder Liegestuhl (vorzugsweise zu zweit, wie eine nette Dame in schwarz-rot, bei der der eigentliche Sinn eines Rocks wieder klar zu verstehen war), immer wieder runterkommen, so lautete die Devise. Verweilen, Verschnaufen, Sterne betrachten, und dann ruft der Bass ermbarmungslos zurück.

Versteckt zwischen den alten, mächtigen Bäumen des Praters liegt das alte Mafiosi-Bad wie eine Insel im Dschungel versteckt. Wo sich einst Proksch und Sinowatz "Freundschaft" sagten, hüpfen jetzt grandios leicht bekleidete Studentinnen im Takt durch die Nacht.

Mein geliebter Gin Tonic erweist sich als Budgetsprenger - 9,50, Pardon, da heb ich mir das Trinkgeld auf. Sowas kann man im Hotel Imperial auch bezahlen, ohne Probleme. Bei den Preisen würde selbst die gute Queen Mum nüchtern bleiben (wohl auch, weil sie einige bräuchte).

Das Pool lockt barbrüstige TeknoVikings an, die sich todesmutig mit multiplen Rückwärtssalti in das kalte und allzu flache Nass stürzen. Noch nicht ganz nackte Nixen im Bikini kichern vorbei, um sich auf den Dancefloor zu schmeissen.

Und am Main gehts ordentlich ab: Die Pratersauna wird ihrem Ruf gerecht - Justice "Dance" gefolgt von Fat Boy Slim's "Praise You", wunderbare Opener garniert mit "Crazy". Doch dann mein persöhnlicher Stimmungskiller "push seed mary bla bla rocknroll" Bullshit. Kryptokatholisches hatten wir ja schon.

2. Floor um halb 2 noch entvölkert bei passablem Straight House. Am Main geht das "Jolly Good Life" weiter während sich bei der Privatparty die schönsten Ärsche Wiens schamlos entblättern um mal ordentlich in der Sauna zu schwitzen. Der Schweiss tropft tatsächlich von de Wänd.

Push me, Pull me, until I get my Satisfaction - housig, doch schneller, lyrischer - daraufhin Schwule Mädchen (was will Mann mehr?) Um halb 3 gabs dann schließlich auch am 2. Floor Kabinenparty vom feinsten.

Im Private-Room legte Itsun auf, 7 Jahre Geschichtsstudent mit einem Faible für Tekhouse meets Minimal Progressive. Saugeil, da schwitzt man gleich viel lieber. Bis auf ein paar knutschende (bzw. alles zwischen Zungenkuss und Oralverkehr ausübende) Pärchen geht dann um 4 nicht mehr viel ab, und auch der Garten wird schließlich um 04:32 zugesperrt wegen den Kiwara. Entweder das, oder sie wissen dass sie die Leute nicht mehr wegbringen würden wenn die ersten zum Frühstück kommen.

Fazit: Es lebe die Saua! Saunieren und Studieren! und of course: Die Abkühlung nicht vergessen.

P.S.: Last Song on Main: Cypress Hill, Dr. Greenthumb. Warum nicht, sogar Brad Pitt will als Präsident der USA dann Ganja legalisieren.

By the Way, here's Vox Populi!

2010-05-26T03:07:00.000-07:00

Two pages still missing (Cover and Back) but I hope they'll correct that error eventually.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/31660524/cgr24h-David-Horn

Vox Populi is a satire, based on the work of Frank Miller and Genndy Tartakovski. My own visual style is erratic at best, lazy at worst, and I value my words very much. You'll find quite a few cultural references dropped, and the odd bit of curse, sex and death. But hey, all in a days work, right? :D

cheers,
dave (very much away, very much in Vienna)

Every Sperm is Sacred! Never forget!

2010-05-26T02:08:00.001-07:00

Someday, bloody Sunday.

2010-05-26T00:54:00.000-07:00

Forensisches Gutachten: Operation erfolgreich, Patient tot.

Forensic report: Operation successful, patient dead.

Resultado forensico: operación éxitosa, paciente muerto.

"davesaway goes Wild - Vienna Visionaries on the Road"

Ja, der sonntägliche Abend bewies nur eines: Die beste Party steigt auf
davesaway - oder sie steigt nicht.

Nach einer wunderbaren Arbeitssession und furiosem Geschreibsel im
WerkzeugH machte sich fast die ~~gesamte Chefredaktion~~ me and the three auf den Weg, die Party zu suchen. Und nicht nur
irgendeine, nein, DIE PARTY zu Pfingsten hätte es werden sollen.

Doch Volksgarten - Tote Hose. Digital Konfusion - We where confused.
Keine Sau da, und ungefähr drei Leute wägen sich sachte im Takt von
irgendwas.

Weiter, unbedrückt und mit Bus, ins schöne fluc. Wir kommen an, und uns
empfängt unsympathischer Techno. Muss nicht sein, auch wenn viele Leute
da sind, von uns wird nicht jeder Krocha rezensiert. Nur jeder zweite.

Intermezzo Club Planetarium. Etwas russischer Bullshit aus meinem Munde
versaut die Stimmung (generell entwickelt sich euer geliebter und angebeter Author zu dieser Zeit zu einer erbarmungslosen Verbal-Diarrhoe-Nervensäge).

Aber hey, weiter. Das gelobte Land ist nicht fern, und in der
Pratersauna gehts immer ab. Immer. Garantiert immer.

Wir kommen an: Scheiß. Nix. Nada. Tote Hose, und zwar toter als Campino
auf Vicodin.

Nachtbus in Richtung Heimat.
Ich schnorre Tschick was das Zeug nur hält, von jedem
inklusive den Obdachlosen, der mir schon seine Selbergwuzelte anbietet
weil ich so lieb frag. Daweil bin ich nur süchtig, Nikotin, alles ok.

Hey hey hey. Geiler Abend. Die Party war bei uns, und doch war sie
nirgends.

Die Quantentheoretiker in der Gegenwart dürfen jetzt raus und Comments
posten warum das überhaupt möglich war - Ein geiler Abend, der doch ein
Desaster war. Hey: Gödel rules, der Scheiß steckt immer im Detail und in
der allzu großen Schnauze des literarischen Köters hier hinter den Tasten.

Be a happy Buddha!

2010-05-25T18:13:00.000-07:00

http://happybuddhatraining.blogsport.de/

Be a happy Buddha!

Found this site on the net, sounds like an interesting technique.

As a wise woman once said: Fucking Buddhist.

no more urban gold

2010-05-25T14:44:00.000-07:00

Hola. Les quiero escribir esto en español.

Espero que los portugueses me entienden también, si no que algiuen lo traduzca.

No voy a escribir más para el blogzine urbangold.at, y continuo mi trabajo aquí.

Ojala le guste, mucha suerte.

Dave

Deutsch:

Nix mehr urbangold.at, ich schreib jetzt hier. Dreisprachig.

Ich hoffe es gefällt.

Dave

English:
I´m no longer working for or with the urban blogzine urbangold.at. I´ll continue to write here, in three languages preferably, and therefore train my parallel language capacities.
And the fun thing is: you only get this post if you know all three.

Dave's away again.
But I´m also here.
(at davesaway.blogspot.com of course)

cheers, for the queens of this world, women.
dave

24 hour comic day. Against the right. Introducing "Vox Populi"!

2010-05-09T08:52:00.000-07:00

There are lots of things you can do in 24 hours. Eat, sleep, have fun, smoke -
or draw comics. In this peculiar case, the idea was to produce a comic criticising right-wing extremists.

I responded by creating a crazy mix of Tartakovski with Frank Miller, throwing in a bit of Punisher, Lobo, Deadpool and Samurai Jack. Oh yeah, and King Mob`s gas mask. (Or was it Casey Jones?)
At least that was the idea. The comic is only 14 pages long, but you can read the whole story right here, after the break.

At least the first ten. ;) Sneak preview.

"So, a nigger and his jap whore. Did you have a good time with Mr.

Monkey Dick here?"

"Dude, fuck you. You`re just jealous, man. By the way, what`s with the

dumb stick?"

"Oh, I´ll show you what`s with the stick."

"Boys! We got ourselves a few playmates here. Why won`t you come out

and say hello?"

4 panels, of two guys each, brandishing different weapons and clothing

styles. One classic skin, another neofascist,

a ku klux klan member, a guy in a business suit, a guy in traditional

"Burschenschaft"-Garb, another in a leather jacket

and biker outfit. Finally, a uniformed Nazi and his blonde, slender

secretary and bodyguard. 

3)

The uniformed guy speaks:

"Well well well. If we haven`t got ourselves a double case of treason

against the human race here."

The black man protects his partner with his arms, while looking on his

assailants defiantly.

"You just made a lot of noise back there. Do you know my old

Grandmother can`t sleep properly at night?" (walking back and forth in

front of them)

"She`s 93 now. When she was a young girl, the fuhrer himself gave her

the cross of excellent motherhood."

"And now you fucking nigger have the balls to fuck your little

slit-eyed slut right in front of her window?"

(closeup of his face and spit as it rubs against the black mans face)

"I think you woke her up, ape-man. You woke her up, and that makes me

very angry."

(pulls a baton-warhammer in the shape of a nazi cross)

"You won`t like me when I get angry. You won`t like me at all."

(black man steps in front of his girl)

"Leave her alone. If you want to fight, I`ll fight you, man to man.

Send your own monkeys home to their mothers, so they can

sing them to sleep. If you have a problem here tonight, you`ll sure as

hell find it`s not a small one." 

4)

(closeup of the nazi fuhrer grinning).

(His left hand, unarmed, rises in a mock hitler salute)

"Oh, there is a problem all right."

(closeup of deep-set nazi eyes, glaring out from the dark)

(closeup of goggles and a gas mask half-hidden by the shadows)

(Nazi general swings his baton) - "But I´m afraid It`ll be..."

"Yours!" (closeup of the hakenkreuz hitting the stomach of the black man)

(closeup of the black man spitting blood) 

5)

(rapid closeups in sequence)

Face of man being hit by batons,

(tries to evade, hit back)

fists,

(staggers, throws another punch)

knees to the groin

(goes down, clutching his cojones)

knuckledusters

(jaw cracks, spits blood)

and finally, feet.

(low thunk, blood on the pavement)

Lies on the ground, gasping, in a pool of own blood. 

6)

General looks up, glint in eye. (halbtotale)

Girl holds her face with both hands.

"Now, there there, my dear, we`ll be make sure you`ll never be alone again."

Stupid skin with baton bawls in.  - "Yeah, we`ll fuck you fucking

pregnant, bitch!"

Ku Klux guy "You´ll be honoured by the sperm of the master race. Never

forget that!"

Business suit guy "And if you suck my balls real good, then I`ll only

hit you a little"

Burschenschaft guy "Yeah, but first you will take my german spear in

your tiny little yellow ass."

The blonde secretary brandishes a fierce-looking metal whip. -

"Careful, don`t spoil her."

(closeup lips) - "I want to play with her for a long time..."

Biker guy creeps up from behind and grabs ass. - "Hey, this plum here

is ripe for plucking"

Girl shrieks "No! Stop, you fuckers!" No!"

She reaches for a can of mace from her pocket, but

a swipe of a stick knocks it out of her grasp

"So you want to play rough, do you? We can all play that game as well.

Now just cooperate,

and you`ll enjoy it more than that half-man you just cavorted with.

And perhaps we`ll even let you live." 

7)

"The lady doesn`t like you. You better bug off, or I´ll pound your

nazi shrimp dicks into a bloody, sticky pulp."

"You´re gonna get whupped so bad you`re gonna beg me for more."

Closeup of goggles again.

Closeup of gas mask.

Closeup of Katana handle on back.

Out of the Shadows behind a trash can, the hero strides. Dressed

half-japanese, half-punk,

with a crazy assortment of knives, guns, explosive devices and

electronic equipment.

"You picked the wrong town to be stupid in, eggheads."

The fascists look at each other, bewildered.

One of them gets out a knife,

another starts brandishing a club,

yet another finds a beer bottle. 

8)

Skin: "Fuck, that guy is packing."

Nazi General: "Nah, it`s just toys. Kill the motherfucking hippie with

a deathwish, then let`s take care

of that little sushi cunt over there. Go, boys, go!"

The brutes scream and start charging towards

the lone guy, who leans against a wall, seemingly unfazed.

The first assailant is dispatched with a downwards strike of the katana

that changes to a horizontal

to the middle of the body

and hits the fascist straight in the stomach.

Nazi guts spill out as the guy

brandishing a stick doubles over,

clutching his entrails and spitting blood.

"Don`t eat shit all the time - gives you indigestion." 

9)

A quick turn,

a fast blow on knee-level,

and the second attacker is on the ground, both legs amputated,

bleeding rapidly.

The other three guys start to hesitate as the get sputtered by the

blood of their "Kamerad",

who is rapidly executed with a blow to the neck.

"Who`s next?" The Katana guy asks, grins, and lights a cigarrete with

a lighter built into the handle of his katana.

The three look at each other, think about running,

but the leader guy pulls a large machete from his jacket.

The other two get automatic knives from their boots.

"Okay, Hippie, you`re going to wish that your bastard jewish whore of

a mother never squeezed you out of her ass."

(closeup of NG with Cigar in mouth)

"You`re going to die slowly, for blood and honour, in Thors name!"

(mouth half-open, spittle showing between the teeth). 

10)

"We`ll see about that, you limp-dicked chickenfucker."

(sheathes Katana)

"Let the righteous flame of the people`s voice quench your pain!"

(neck thrown back, fists in the air.)

"Really, it must hurt being as thick as you. I guess you even wipe

your ass with the hand you eat with."

(draws the two Kukhris) closeup left, right

"Dude, you`re history and staying there."

(throws pose and stance)

rooting back

2009-10-16T08:18:00.000-07:00

Coming back to Vienna, to th house of my parents, is a shocking experience in itself. On the one hand, I wanted to kiss the ground of Viennas airport, just for seeing my home country again - I longed for the harsh rains, the incessant wind, the wholly unfriendly climate of mi patria. Sitting in the shade because the sun´s too hot for any kind of movement - that was once my vision of paradise. Travelling through Nepal, and especially the Phillipines, has taught me the value of a good cold environment - and the public spaces we managed to install in these. The contrasts are refreshing.
I enjoy the comforts available here - most of all I enjoy meeting old friends and colleagues again. That´s what the solitary traveller truly misses - a good friend of mine called the state of constant online communication while being far away "alone but connected" - a phenomenon not restricted to travellers.
Getting back to Europe is getting back to a society I used to criticize a lot - a society I can now see through completely new eyes. Defining my role in this one, after having spent such a long time on my own (in environments beyond my control) is not easy, but manageable - the whole flurry of opportunities paralyzed me at the start, but as the circumstances become clearer, the feverishly hazy view of my dengue-addled physique subsides - and life is back to it´s splendour.
I need to find a spot where I can continue my training and hone the skills Alexis so patiently taught me - A few options already have materialized, but a definite yes is still a bit away.

I´ll continue to post prose here, the travel-relation might subside - so turn in or tune out, at your leisure.

the conclusion.

2009-10-05T07:33:00.001-07:00

Here it is, because it needs to be written.

The late after effects of a dengue infection got hold of me in Manila, and I saw the need to return home the quickest way possible. So I did exactly that, with a lot of help from the Austrian Embassy and my parents.

Short story, all true, and more will follow, more on the lines between prose and poetry, between fiction and fact. Stay tuned, dave´s away in Austria at the moment, and will stay there for some time.

sayonara,
the d.

art. what it is and what it is not.

2009-09-21T21:31:00.000-07:00

The Kukuks Nest, my humble abode for the last two months, is also the home (and source of income) of the writer, actress and painter Bambi Beltran. Being surrounded by art and it´s beauty is something I´ve experienced throughout my life, growing up in a house filled with the innumerable sculptures of my father. The pictures, statues, remind me of my childhood.

I´ve come here to understand life - I´ve followed the example of my father in looking for the unconventional, gathering impressions that then need to be condensed and remixed into works of art in order to transmit their essence.

I also happen to enjoy good stories, and Bambi´s telling of the Dream of Euleuteria Kirschbaum is one of the best I´ve read in a while. Told from the naive perspective of a Philippina of humble origins, it describes her plight as she journeys to Germany in hope of a better future. Her fears and hopes crumble when she comes to realize her suitors true nature: An alcoholic jobless overweight that lives with his mother.

What makes this story so touching is its reflection of the truth. It´s a story that happens all the time, again and again, not only here in the Philippines.

Copulating Monks in the Philippines

2009-09-17T23:32:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately I couldn´t be there, I couldn´t film that, truly, it might have been worth becoming a monk just to get those images:

The friendly holy guys at the shrine of the holy mary of virginity and whatnot actually spent most of their time buggering each other, in a wide variety of ways. They even held a drag beauty queen contest in the church! Or so the local papers report - in an image that plays on our perception of the virtual, recalling a similar plot imagined by an italian writer, a lone monk was cast out of the order (reportedly for leaving without notice) and then decided to blow a whistle instead of dicks.

The quotes given in the newspaper have such wonderful ingredients as "Other monks pray all night, we used to count our money". The shrine makes a ludicrous amount of cash every day from the devout pilgrims that believe in the wish-fulfilling properties of the holy.

And, as is customary in the holy mother church, the superiors reprimanded the banished ex-monk for not using the appropriate channels of hierarchy - And of course for tainting the good reputation of the shrine. I´m sorry if I´m too obvious here, but this needs to be said: How hypocrite can you get?

Perhaps you´re aware of the fact that in the middle ages, many convents were considered "bastions of sin", where those who swore to be celibate fucked everything moving. Keep your sons and daughters away from the convents, people! They knew it a thousand years ago, but somewhere in the middle a great number of people apparently forgot it. (See K. Deschner for further reading on that).

I would love to interpret the monks happy life on the money of others as some kind of emancipatory act - but its too hard to bullshit stuff like that. Their religion preaches commandments that cannot be completely fulfilled by anyone, anywhere, and therefore creates a constant torrent of self-loathing (because of the weakness in the sight of the divine), and the sadomasochist stockholm syndrome teaching of the all-forgiving and all-loving cajoles the faithful into also presenting the other ass cheek.

so far, so nice, so there
d.

prose on food, language and alcoholics. Also, Nietsch.

2009-09-16T02:36:00.000-07:00

Siopao. A white bun filled with stuff no one dares to question, and occasionally a bit of egg. One of the tasty snacks the pinoy cuisine offers on the street, with other varieties including delicious Buto (or Boto), a wonderful rice mixed with coconut milk, many different kinds of small fish (mostly dried), and a complete and utter lack of ortography.

Yes, even in Cebuano, the language of the island I´m on, as the educational authorities not only do not teach that language, they also ban its use, fining kids one peso for each word uttered in their mother tongue. Most people are not sure about their own grammar and vocabulary, and lots of words that were once spanish are now borrowed from the American. Actually, the argot commonly spoken is nearly intelligible to a decent speaker of English and guesser of meanings as myself.

It´s truly a quite striking fact that so many expats here are alcoholics. I´m guessing it´s not just the cheap beer - they genuinely seem to drown their every action in alcohol, in order to forget about the reality they should be confronting themselves with. No, even more, the reality they see and the actions they perceive would be necessary to change this produce a profound escapism, a flight into cheap liquid oblivion, anything but risk their (oblivious, comforting) lives (as everyone who tries to truly change the world does) doing what they see must be done. So much for the reason, a cure is to be found in self-awareness and the realisation of the necessity for doing something, anything, to give life on this planet a reason (a true one, not the lies of those preaching the doctrines of deities that are long dead, have never been alive anywhere except in the heads of their followers).

Thanks to the unending glory of the FSM at this point for showing me the one, true piraty way and giving me the option to lampoon religions without having to throw blood on curtains like our old actionist Nietsch (not to be confused with the german philosopher of a similar name).

Indeed, I strongly assume that that guy´s actually just attempting parody - whether he knows it or not doesn´t matter that much.

now, mens insana in corpore somewhat sano, I´m off to training (late as always)
cheers,
the d.

Paradise lost, the videos we need

2009-09-13T08:50:00.001-07:00

So, with confusion in my head and a smile on my lips, here I sit again, 45 minutes away from what many would define as paradise. So did a certain german world traveller, who, after 10 years on the road and the planes and the ships, settled down on Olango Island. He also voluntarily died there.

His vinyl collection includes Wolfgang Ambros ("irgendwaunn bleib i daun durt") and Ludwig Hirsch, Die Schmetterlinge and other stuff from that period. Strangely enough also two plates with "Fideler Volksmusik" (Austrian/Bavarian marching bands playing marches). There´s something about that combination that makes sense, but too much of it doesn´t.

Hundreds of books line the walls where the guy known as Raimund spent the latter part of his life, Time Life collections, Brehms Tierleben (ironically, eaten by ants), a DDR tourist guide from 1990 (they included the information that, as the wall had just fallen, all the information regarding entrance to the DDR was no longer valid, open borders and all).

All this in the context of a yacht shipyard, which produced three yachts, of which two and a half were sold, and two still sit in that shed by the mangroves. Ants, bees, hornets, crabs, termites, all incessantly (and successfully) try to invade the human dwellings, and again I asked myself: Why try to preserve nature when nature will try to eat you with guarantee?

The final thought on that place on the island that was one mans dream, a dream I once shared as a boy: No more. Isolation in that sense is not at all what I want to do with my life, not even eventually when retiring. And Europe is the country where I belong, where I can do stuff that is actually useful to some extent.

To videos and their content:
What we don´t need are more images that tell you how lucky you are to be at the top of the food chain. We don´t need more videos of the fishermen, their ramshackle houses, and the mansions of the landowners right next to them, we all know these images, we know them by heart. We don´t need more pictures of children in torn and dirty clothes begging for money on the street: We know all that, we know.

The elites here in the RP, that see these images every day, don´t care a bit more for their country because of them (A politician here in Cebu had a great idea for alieviating poverty: He actually put up christmas lights in the slums, so the people don´t feel so poor). And the people in Europe are powerless to change anything, clueless about the sort of change they could effect, and are simply paralised in their ikea chairs, without any possibility for action.

But there are possibilities, my friends, there will always be. Escape to paradise is simply not one of them, confrontation with reality is the only prerequisite for all the others.

Dengue, Fassbinder and Coffee

2009-09-09T06:03:00.000-07:00

Aedes.

These damn little buggers bite anyone, everything, all the time, and transmit dengue. Fortunately, I got a really nice and well-mannered strain, that apparently doesn´t do all that much harm besides greatly raising the seriousness of the second infection.

The days spent in my small room at Kukuk´s nest where - interesting, a natural psychedelic experience, so to say, with feverish vision finding fantastic shapes and forms in the water-stains on the ceiling, contemplating the utter majesty of common cockroaches (superiour beings, the next big shot for civilisation after we´re gone, oldie, moldy and goldie-ish). And I also had the complete works of Rainer Werner Fassbinder to assist my recuperation - that wasn´t perhaps the best idea.

But yes, a state of altered mind is conductive for the understanding of RWF (or at least adds to the experience), he might have been thinking of Dengue in some of his films, especially the utterly absurd "Satansbraten".

Now, I´m not sure if I can, or should, write more about RWF here - I´m basically just at the beginning of that sojourn into old german cinema - But I think that lunatic would enjoy people without a clue writing about his movies, far more than any learned discussion about the metaphorical content of the same. That stuff he created is not entertainment, it was rather something rarely seen in our times, cinema that tries to scramble your brain and produce thoughts, rather than just soothing wake-sleep-dreams and pacifiers.

After a night of non-stop RWF, walking down the street seems like an experience no one has ever tried before, and the normality of life is an image of the underlying madness, with sugar on top.

Coffee helps to overcome the post-dengue lethargy, so choose a chain at random (the coffee bean, in my variation) and spend time here, guzzling the beverage that´s so rarely found outside of the shopping centers. Damn you, Nescafé!

adios, read you soon,
the d.

Culture Clashes and Bruises

2009-08-22T04:12:00.000-07:00

Videoke.

Songs in all midi-synth-shades of bad, or worse, and videos atrociously made in the 80ies in the Netherlands (which have nothing to do with the song in question of course) - this, accompanied by good Green Tea with Gin, some mushrooms (no, not what you think) and happy people makes for suprisingly good entertainment and a fun time.

As an absolute newbie in all things sing-along, I was a bit challenged by the whole affair: Especially since I knew only a tiny fraction of the diverse and interesting ballads from the 70ies, 80ies and 90ies. I saved myself with a bit of Frank Sinatra, and failed miserably at Elvis and Jackson (mainly because the midi was so mangled I had troubles recognizing the songs. But hey, my excuse.. I can´t sing anyway. )

But yeah: Pinoy karaoke is not the public humiliation we all know from Europe or Japan, but rather a variant of Singstar without the playstations - you get a room, and a machine, and you sing all you want for a few hours.. All-you-can-sing, practically.

I personally think the pinoy fascination with this electronic campfire is a hint at an earlier tradition of singing and poetry that must have been impressive indeed... But yeah, I think I did enough heavy history rants in the older posts.

Currently, I´m battered, bruised, destroyed and yet happy: Adrenaline does that to you. I had the time of my life in a padded-stick fighting session behind Matias Eatery (sic!) with Juno (a wonderful stickfighter and griller of diverse edibles, also on sticks). I really enjoyed it, and have taken the beating well enough (as I got a T-Shirt and a stick). But this session has really shown me my limitations: Even though I might have some idea of how to use the stick, and how to step, I´m still a tortoise to Juno´s hare, and when I get around to blocking something, I have allready taken in about 5 strikes to the hand and belly. Yay!

But yeah, speed can and will be trained: There´s nothing more motivating than landing a few yourself.

cheers, the d.
(Yay! I can still type.. a bit.. )

Atrocities in the Name of God: The Spanish in the Phillipines

2009-08-05T03:36:00.000-07:00

If you know a bit about the history of South America, you will be able to guess at the policies the Spaniards, or Kastila as they were called here, imposed on the natives. But your guess will be far off.

The peoples subjugated in Mexico and the Andes were somewhat more used to having a centralised ruler, and once the Spanish had taken out the respective monarchies, resistance from the common people (who just had a different royality imposed on them, often using the same administration) was scarce.

The Phillipines, however, were populated by a wide variety of very warlike societies, not at all used to give tribute to anyone, and they fought the Spaniards at every step. The history of the Phillipines is a history of unspeakable atrocities comitted by the frailocracia, the name given to the de facto rule of many religious orders. To give you some idea of the nature of the tributes collected here: besides paying annually a sum of ten reales per household, the natives were also press-ganged to forced labour for forts, construction of churches, shipyards, woodcutting, in adittion to numerous personal services that more often than not where not even paid. Aggravating their situation, the majority of the communal lands, the basis of their former subsistance economy, had been taken over by haciendas or the orders. The tribute to be paid remained the same.
As if that wouldn´t be enough, the crown exacted a forced sale, at ridiculously low prices, of grain, chicken and pigs, even where the populace was already suffering from all the above.

The people died like flies. Smallpox and tuberculosis ravaged the malnourished and overworked, once proud, people of the Phillipines. Many towns burned all their livestock and houses, and fled to the mountains, where resistance against the opressors continued throughout the Spanish occupation. Rebellions arose again and again, in spite of retaliatory policies that consisted of burning a whole village for each Spaniard killed.

After the initial military resistance had been quashed, many adopted a suicidal tactic I have never heard of anywhere else in the world: The inhabitants refused to sow, killed their livestock, and thus, by starving themselves, sought to starve the Spaniards (who they observed to do no work except killing).

Unconquered until today, Mindanao and the Sulu archipelago regularly sent retaliatory strikes against the spanish shipyards, where the expansionism of that utterly mad and criminal regime was quenched again and again.

It is such a history that has produced the Phillipines we see today.

It is in the spanish legacy that the modern exploiters of women put themselves.

Such disgraces against humanity as were witnessed by this paradise - A better proof for the absence of any kind of god can´t be provided. Yet, the Pinoys retain the brainwashing that centuries of monks installed in their battered bodies: Miracles happen, the "true" paradise awaits you in the afterlife.

The liars continue to profit.

-d-

Cebu City Status Quo

2009-07-28T05:18:00.000-07:00

It´s noisy, it´s dirty, it´s still a lot of fun. I´m hanging out here in the Kukuks Nest (you guessed it, a now dead Austrian founded it) and training each morning from 6 to 10. That´s why the rest of my days are mainly filled with sleeping, eating, reading and generally not being tooo active. 4 hours of stick-swinging Eskrima can do that to you.

So, there are no giant big new fascinating news at the moment, but I decided to write up the status quo as I see it anyway.

It´s apparently traditional that the opposition burns an effigy of the current president at each SONA (State Of the Nation Adress), and Mrs. Arroyo has clearly one of the worst tastes for dresses ever conceived by the human mind. Can you take any dic.. ah, politician seriously who runs around in a pink monstrosity?

In other news: Journalists tend to get killed here. In a variation of a classic drive-by shooting, a political commentator of a national radio station was dispatched expertly by several gunmen, uniformly armed.

But yeah, what the hell. Taking things easy is a very pinoy thing to do, and that´s what everyone is doing around here. My trainer (Alexis Villarente) is a wonderful person, who even arranges food and water in the morning (which has not destroyed my digestion yet, yay!), and I´m looking forward to the next session tomorrow (although my natural tendency is to sleep veeeery long).

Down at the Kukuks Bar, they´ve been playing the same Bob Marley CD (burned, of course) for at least the last year or so (as my swiss colleague affirms). "Stop that train, I wanna get on"..

cheers,
the d.

Cebu City: I´m starting to see a pattern here.

2009-07-21T21:22:00.000-07:00

Well, it is quite obvious, isn´t it?

People here earn the equivalent of three dollars a day, and consider themselves lucky to be earning that much. So when the Princes from the Lands across the Sea arrive, more often than not quite old, a bit on the fat side, and sporting a moustache a walrus would envy, many Pinayas consider themselves lucky.

Or, better put, they continue the battle started by Magellan and Lapu-Lapu so long ago with their own set of beautiful weaponry. The three expats I´ve met so far have quite similar stories, two of them kids, and none of them seems too happy about the extended family. Obe of them got attacked with a broken bottle the other day, by the mother of his two children. Another Englishman seemed rather happy, in a I-no-longer-care sort of way.

These scenes begin right at the start, in the plane to the Phillipines, where beautiful young women travel to their motherland with husband attached. Now, perhaps it´s just me, but I have a hard time imagining tales of true love on sandy beaches between men the age of my granddad (mostly quite ugly) and women the age of myself (stunningly beautiful).

Seeing the eyes of these young women, who undoubtedly have to endure the clumsy advances of their legal spouses from time to time, I saw pain, resignation, and a certain stubborn pride.

They´re not the only ones fighting for survival in this paradise lost: The Moros in the southernmost islands have resisted conquerors since the spaniards arrived. The USA, the Japanese, even the independent Manila government never managed to really take control of that territory.

Fighting has a proud tradition here, and Lapu-Lapu, the chief who killed Magellan, was just the beginning: Guerillas fought bravely against the Spanish and the Japanese, and continue to do so even today, although with different enemies, ideologies and goals.

And that´s what I´m here for: to learn the ancient art of Eskrima, the fusion of indigenous swordsmanship with spanish techniques, which, until recently, used to be essential for survival on the streets. The old-style lethal duels known as "Juego Todo" still exist underground, if the rumours are correct, and every Eskrima school has it´s own stories and legacies of their Grandmasters and their mostly violent deaths.

But that´s of course not what I´m looking for.

martially yours,
the d.

SecurityFAIL: Escape from Mumbai

2009-07-11T19:43:00.000-07:00

Singapore: There is free WiFi. Yessssss! It makes you want to shout out with glee! As soon as you step out of the plane, the soothing waves of wireless bliss surround your very existance, caress your sense for information, and, of course, cater to the net-addicts. Ahhhh.

But, I digress: Actually I wanted to write about the sweaty ordeal that I knew nothing about 8 hours ago.

When you get to the Mumbai airport, the full extent of the paranoia prevailing in a city that just suffered some terror hits you like a truncheon. Pillboxes line the taxi drop-off cue, nice big german shepherds fan air to their keen noses in the brooding head, and policemen with moustaches who have absolutely no technical capability to control the validity (or even plausibility) of your ticket will still refuse entrance to the airport (to the check-in counters) to anyone not bearing a printout with lots of numbers on it.

Yes, that was new for me. Normally, these e-ticket things tend to be a bit too easy: you walk there, show your passport, and that's all anyone will ever ask of you, anywhere in the world. Except India.

Okay, so I'm standing in the humid heat of a typical Mumbai night, and trying to keep my inner barbarian from ripping out. The paradox is that, of course, there is no airline office outside of the hall these moustached machos so jealously (and absolutely senselessly) guard. As Terry Prattchet writes "Guarding is in the process of happening." A guard may not question the utility of his or her placement, because that's simply not something guards are supposed to do. But in case someone comes around without said printed piece of paper, the entry to the hall were such printouts could actually be procured is denied.

It took some screaming and agressive walking, followed by some more rational conversations with different people, and finally a clerk at an exchange office pointed me to an elevator that led to the secret hideout of the airline offices. By this time I had realised that such a situation just screams for utterly civilised behaviour and at least some sign that you have money and are therefore important. My Boss jacket, brought along for exactly this purpose, did it's job quite nicely. Guard convinced, printout procured, and a lengthy and sweaty running around was about to end.

The policeman at another entrance checked my Pieces Of Paper Granting Admission (with lots of numbers on them) for exactly 0.4 seconds before waving me through.

Finally IN the sacred halls, a young guy from Singapore noticed my jacket (the rundown flipflops and the old backpack seemingly ignored) and reduced my further waiting time decisively, waving me through a few other security checks and at the end cheerfully asking me if I could mention his good behaviour to his superiours. Ahhh, the appearance of wealth at the right time can be quite helpful.

So far from the wonderful airconditioned terminal one of Singapore Changi Airport, where they sell wonderful coffee and have free WiFi. Bliss!

--
d.

Bhutanese Refugees III - Resettlement

2009-07-09T04:46:00.000-07:00

And yeah, there's video.

Bhutanese refugee camps look far better than Mumbai slums, though.

There's more material where that came from.

d.

I was held hostage by terrorists.

2009-07-09T03:08:00.000-07:00

Yes.

And the main terrorist had breasts the size of Pamela Anderson's, muscles too big for walking. My two co-hostages were quivering, crying, while I sat on the couch with defiant anger, mixed with a healthy dose of fear.

The terrorist, his greasy long hair combed back, munched on three cashews, dialed a 10-digit number, and then proceeded to announce to an unknown interlocutor:

"Heeeey India TV! Muahahahahahhaaaaaaaa! "

Yes, I am now oficially part of the actors guild. Bollywood called, and I roared an answer: "Total Ten", a movie which takes quite a lot of liberties with the terrorist attack on the Taj Mahal Hotel, will forever be recorded in the history books as the first appearance of ME, the D., on the big screen.

Tomorrow will be another day, another performance, and perhaps a bit more dancing. I hope for a more challenging role than lying on the ground with blood on my head and a sobbing New Zealandette next to me.

The profit ratios my agent gets are not bad: Apparently, the studios pay around 2,000 rupees per white guy or gal, and the agents dish out a meagre 500 rps to the tourists in question.

But hey, you get food, chai, conversation, and an insight in the world's biggest and fastest film industry. Yes, the fastest: The movie I mentioned before is being produced in three months, A-Z. In Austria, you wouldn't even produce a short in that time, let alone a feature.

This is Bollywood, so the terrorists can hide behind glass windows, and be born evil, and look ugly, while the heroic commandos are the image of bravery and goodness. Every story here has basically an intrinsic moral and mythical context, where the cheesieness is NOT optional. Having an overweight baddy with eyebrows the size of shrubbery is just what you need to captivate an Indian audience, apparently.

But hey, who knows, a new breed of actors, directors and producers might be just around the corner. In order to get around that, however, they need to break with these age-old traditions, and perhaps even change the society as a whole.

Jai Ho!
el dji.

Mumbai > Opposites attract. Or do they?

2009-07-07T03:16:00.000-07:00

Hello again, World.

Mumbai greets the weary eyes of the train-borne traveller with the images we all know now. The slums.

Imagine a city in which every space that is not explicitly walled in, fenced off or protected by automatic weapons is used as living quarters. Or farmland.

The camps of blue plastic (even cheaper than the tin, apparently) crop up wherever space exists and the people haven't been beaten away yet. Just 5 minutes from the Taj Mahal Hotel, the monument to luxury erected by the Parsi industrialist Jamseti Tata, you can find seafront housing of the basic kind.

The "beaches" consist entirely of plastic, and the blue roofs behind it fit in perfectly. I guess at a high development value of this peculiar abandoned wharf.

Back to the trains: Travel in second class sleeper cars is absolutely up to european standards, if not a bit further up the scale. The friendly (tip-coveting) wallas pamper one with free food that's ages away from the fare airlines serve, and the air-con is a good reason to bring a fleece jacket to India. All in all: Quite an enjoyable experience.

Even more enjoyable when, looking out the window, the normal kind of train passes your island of comfort, commuters literally clinging to whatever surface they can find. (The roof is no longer used, probably because of the high casualty rate)

so long,
the d.

Dehli. Thanks, bye.

2009-07-05T23:07:00.000-07:00

Dearest Readers!

After a long time of scarce (if not totally absent) posts, now commences a time of many words, of interesting observations.

And no, my camera was not yet stolen, but I simply decided I could write a bit more often. Not a bad notion, I hope.

SO, here I am, in Dehli. New Dehli, to be exact. The temperature outside is about 10 degrees above the workable limit, so the only option I have to bridge the gap between my successful ticket purchase for the train to Mumbai (I still admire myself a bit for that achievement, explanations will materialise soon.. )is to write.

The Yellow House in Kathmandu was Paradise, with a capital P put there for a reason. Wonderful food, cheap, clean rooms and really nice staff top off the groovy, sometimes a bit freaky, crowd hanging loose there and savouring the vibes of Nepal.

Indeed, I have to say it might have been a bit too good, and contributed thus to my long absence from the keyboard. Blogposts entitled *it's wonderful here and I'm loving it* are not the kind of message I would want to read. Thus, writing them is even less of an option.

But yes, as I am now in New Dehli, that moloch breeding with heat and hustlers, there are far more interesting phrases to be formed.

This society demands a basic distrust of everyone, especially of those who happen to earn less than you do. Trickery is abundant, a spanish girl I met while trying to purchase my ticket managed to be conned 5 times in the short time she had been here (since today in the morning, three o'clock).

So, the following week will be interesting: In which traps will I fall? Will I manage to get to Singapore with my pants still on? And, perhaps, upload a video while doing it?

It's understandable why Hinduism is polytheist: A single god could never cope with such a seething mass of humanity.

cheers,
the d, alive as can be.

Life in the Camps - Part two of the Bhutanese Refugee Series

2009-06-19T00:27:00.000-07:00

"have fun" is not an appropriate greeting in this context.

"have thought" perhaps.

el d.

Dos pandara minut pashli - ready huncha tarkari.

2009-06-18T10:37:00.000-07:00

Here's the first ever cooking vid made in a one-room appartment.

Have fun, enjoy the curry,
the d.

bhutan - what have you done? Part one of the Bhutanese Refugee series

2009-06-17T09:08:00.000-07:00

Refugees in the Himalayas. Bhuddists driving out an ethnic minority.

A series of interviews taken in the camps in southeastern Nepal, where about 108.000 people still live without any citizenship.

This is explicitly not "dave's away" but something else entirely, as yet nameless. Any suggestions?

cheers,
the d.

Return from the Non-Blogosphere

2009-06-17T08:38:00.000-07:00

I'm back. Haven't been anywhere in particular, but I managed to collect humongous ammounts of video in the last few weeks and have since been fighting with my urge to let it be and just enjoy life. But my good old spartan won, thanks to some motivational techiques I will leave undescribed as of yet.

Here's the first vid of a whole new series, something completely different and yet same same. Hopefully, you will enjoy these more mundane productions in the same way you did the first chaotic pieces..

Have fun,
the d.

Sube que baja

2009-05-31T04:36:00.001-07:00

Yet another song by Aris Garit. "Sube que baja" is a love song of a different kind.

Enjoy, more stuff from Nepal coming soon,
the d.

[cuba] Aris Garit - Mi vieja guitarra sucia

2009-05-22T10:01:00.000-07:00

this was filmed while I was in Cuba, and not published yet.

So here it is. Click with glee. Aris Garit, tu trova me encanta.

[picpost] Bhutanese Refugees

2009-05-21T02:48:00.000-07:00

Back in the Thamel. Again.

Coffee, power, all of life's necessities, wrapped up in a concise little place called Thamel. Touristy as it might be, it's simply what the people in (post?)industrialised countries take for granted and consume every day.

Bhutanese Refugee camps are a whole different story.
And it's not a pretty one.

Driven from their homeland in southern Bhutan 18 years ago, 108.000 people currently sit without any citizenship in the south-eastern provinces of Nepal.

There are a lot of interviews, and I want to provide you with an accurate translation before going into detail.
Summarising the translations I got from T.P. Mishra (founder of the Bhutan News Service and perhaps the only internationally active refugee journalist without a citizenship):

It wasn't ethnic cleansing in the classical sense, but it got quite close to it.

The religious aspect was present, but not central. The holy threads were reportedly cut from the Brahmans, Hindus were forced to kill cows. Quite serious, actually.

The people there basically haven't been able to work legally since the early 1990s.
Resettlement to third countries is hope and possibility for many, but it remains a half-baked solution.

Culturally, the southern Bhutanese have lots of rituals, "puja", offerings, equipment, stuff they can't reasonably leave behind because of their spiritual beliefs.
Actually, these things are a bit to heavy for the planes, though. And the money to afford an additional luggage charge is neither available of affordable.

I'll be working on the video for the next week or so, so expect few updates, and another dave's away with true content and message.

cheers,
dave out.

AFK : going to Jhapa.

2009-05-13T01:57:00.000-07:00

Yeah, really. Now it's time to pack that backpack again and get out there in the wild, wet and hot southeast of Nepal.

Yeah, still Nepal. I like it here, so I decided to stay a bit longer (End of June, actually). Manu, you knew it, didn't you?

I'll be back with lots of tasty footage and a new vid in a week or so. Wish me luck and absence of strikes (at least not too many).

dave out. (and away)

dave's away V - Why so serious?

2009-05-09T23:31:00.000-07:00

Well, dear followers, readers, watchers and snoops,

here it is, the official version of dave's away V. I haven't published it on my blog yet (because I was waiting for anyone to get seriously pissed off), but that hasn't happened as of yet.

So, here it is. My own good self is mainly keeping my mouth shut in this one, and I let people speak who have a closer relation to the whole situation. (Namely, Ben Peterson and an anonymous student).

As to the current situation: It's all progressing peacefully. The opposition has produced a leaked video which seriously questions the Maobadhi's democratic commitment. It has clearly been around for some time (It's from 2006) and the fact that it got aired one day after Prachanda stepped down indicates the opposition had this ace up their sleeve and just waited for the right moment to play it.

Well, enough background, here's the vid. To the honourable CIA members and employees reading this: Have fun. (The US still labels the democratically elected UCPN(M) a "Terrorist Organisation" so I have no idea how much trouble I can get in just for posting some pics. )

cheers,
the d.

dave's away IV - hippie concentration camp

2009-05-04T06:23:00.000-07:00

Freak out, you flower people! Here's the fulfillment of the 3-day plan: Another vid, some facts and enough (bull)shit for everyone! Enjoy, take a deep breath, and dive in.

dave's away III - preach, run and live.

2009-05-02T08:52:00.000-07:00

Here it is: dave's away III - preach, run and live.

Enjoy, ingest, vibrate.

2 Videos in 3 Days! Praise the FSM! Arrr!

2009-04-30T06:10:00.000-07:00

Yes, that is the great leap forward! I will attempt to produce 2 Videos in 3 days.

The FSM, in its unending glory, has delivered my bowels from their wavering consistence.

Pasta Nobiscum,
Pasta Infinitum,
Pasta Arrabiatum,
RAmen.

As I'll continue my travels soon (towards the east, Jhapa) I'll have to finish my work before that. So I shall work like the madman that I am for the next three days, and deliver 2 (two) new episodes of that all-time classic, dave's away. Orrr I'll be beaten by reactionary power shortages, but hey, that's what generators are for.

So, I'll write no more and get to work!

cheers,
dave

Production Delays - yet again

2009-04-25T09:42:00.000-07:00

Ahrgh, part two of the video was supposed to be nearing completion about now. But I´m missing my own deadline because, apparently, a few Amobea have found my belly to be nice living quarters.

So, at the time, I´m a bit down and out and not all that productive. The Antibiotics will prevail, however, and I´ll be up and running in at least two to three days. (Not 23 days, hopefully).

Hasta la victoria - ¡Siempre! you bloody white bloodcells.

Get on with the fight and kill! Eat! Absorb!

dave down

*and out.

dave´s away EP II : The Journey to Enlightenment

2009-04-23T01:59:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, dear followers, friends, family, freaks, felons and other interested parties:
The DAVE has been enlightened.

And he will share his wisdom.

Yet another happily bullshit-filled episode of dave´s away. Footage taken from the mountains between Trisuli and Ghurka, Nepal. No Bulls or Goats where eaten during the production of this video, but they where interviewed and slightly annoyed.
We had some chicken, though.

Madness. Fiction, Reality and Bullshit.

2009-04-22T07:09:00.000-07:00

Well, I got bored after some time at the festival, so I decided to write some fiction.

Currently to be viewed at The Dave Continuum (Click at your own risk).

If I feel like it, a second mini-chapter/aggro.stream might just materialise.

The reality there was, for many of the participants, blurry at best. Look out for that vid, coming up in 2 weeks or so... Will be fun. But first, I´ll finish episode 2 of davesaway, of course.

Other news: Diarrhea thwarted, Back´s still hurting from sleeping in a tent.

These festivals do give you a whole new outlook on life. Like, how beautiful it all sounds when a 50 kw soundsystem is NOT massaging your eardrums for a while? And how nice to know that you were in one of the buses with newer tires? (On two others of the party caravan, the good rubbers noisily evaporated after a steep downhill drive. Those drivers sure know when to plan a rest stop.)

And yes. Thamel doesn´t feel touristy anymore. The organizers had the whole crowd of consumer hippies herded to the feeding station, three times a day. Only. Three. Times. A. Day.

Yes, fixed feeding times.

(I just decided to cope with it by not eating there.)

The happily participating minority of (mostly male) Nepalis had a good time between admiring the glorious european feminine fashion ideal of wearing next to nothing while bouncing up and down, and selling bullshit as hash to the stoners.

Yes, actual, dried, bullshit. I think that´s where the expression evolved from.

enough BS for a comeback,

d out.

Off to the mountains - is this Madness?

2009-04-18T06:41:00.000-07:00

No, this is psyyyyytraaaaance!

No idea what to expect from it all, it´s a little electronic festival, and as I quite like many forms of electronic music, I´ll be going there to report on the current state of affairs on all things goa.

Orrrr I´ll just run back screaming as soon as possible. Let´s see what it´ll be, shall we?

The next vid is almost finished, but will still need some time. Unfortunately, post production takes a LOT more time than filming all that stuff in the first place. So, I´ll be gracing the world in another episode of dave´s away in about a week or so.

So, I´m out for the next three days,

have a good one,

read ya, el d.

EPISODE ONE - Kathmandu Kaos.

2009-04-16T02:00:00.000-07:00

Here it is, the first audiovisual product. Have fun.

All footage from Kathmandu.

My personal bullshit is not to be taken seriously (except at your own risk).

By the way, the 50 megs of this thing took 4 hours to upload.

aaaaand I´m out,

read ya,

el d.

production troubles.

2009-04-15T05:12:00.000-07:00

Yeah, it´s quite difficult getting a clear shot if the damn kids are always in front of your lens. Expect to see lots of kids in the finished vid.

By the way, all my visa troubles are now over. Hopefully, this will mean I can get more stuff done tomorrow.

cheers,

dave

sex throughout the ages, previous pics (!) and luxurious lines.

2009-04-13T20:37:00.000-07:00

I´m writing from the cozy, somewhat thamel-y New Orleans Cafe (kisses for that hint, my dearest!), which offers free WiFi, real coffee and power. Yes, power! (The nepali word for electricity is "line", by the way.)

So, this place will be my main place of residence the next couple of days. Got the visa sorted out yesterday, by the way, and will hike to the nepali immigration office later today.

Now, for some pictures, for those of a more optical inclination:

Yes, this is ancient chiseled graffiti, found on the stone steps of some trail in the mountains. And yes, it says "puti", or "f*ck". Apparently, ages change, but peoples basic interests (and forms of expression) don´t.

This is yours truly, on the top of a mountain (quite foggy, one hell of an ascent) next to a Stupa donated by a Peter Steiner (A sibling of the anthroposoph fascist?) of Germany. Most of the people in this region are Hindu, by the way. On the way up, as I was struggling with the steep steps, heat, moisture and my own aching knees, a whole school class of local kids strolled casually up the mountain, hollering and cheering all the way. And this on a trail any school in Austria would never consider for a hike (because of the probable high body count). Somewhat demoralizing, that.

And now, Sex!
Ah, isn´t this refreshing? Apparently, Shiva and Parvati decided to incarnate as doves, and happily proceed to procreate in the Ghorka temple/fortress.
This is the dark side of Phokara: Bitumen, anyone? There´s practically no public recycling system, other than the occasional roadside burning of plastics.

so far, so good/bad/ugly - dave´s away.

the cult of "refresh" - frantical clicking for the win-gods

2009-04-13T05:52:00.000-07:00

When going to a Nepali internet cafe, frantical clicking ensues. And it's not the porn sites that go into hiding, or even online crack (such as kongregate.com, for example. The net
is simply to slow for that here). No, it's a ritual rarely seen in our western hemisphere:

The cult of Refresh.

The mac users out there might not remember it, and the vista users probably as well, but there's a feature in Win XP that allows you to integrate websites into your desktop. So there's a small item in the menu that says "refresh".

You have to see it to believe it. Nepali "hardware computer teachers", as close to trained professionals as you can get here, are right-clicking and left-clicking at speeds too fast for the untrained eye. And now for the wtf!?! of this>

They actually believe this will make their computer go faster. It says "refresh", right? So the computer will be fresher, and will go more quickly.

Seriously.

rotfl, dave out - happy tibetan new year 2066 everyone!

by the way: wosIsig's "Atheist" is now available with english subtitles!

Kathmandu Blues - generator, sweet generator.

2009-04-12T03:51:00.001-07:00

I spent about 8 hours today just walking through the crazy, smoky streets of Khatmandu. Getting the flight to Dehli changed was easy (and cheap). Even finding the nepal immigration office (in order to get my visa extended) cost me two hours and lots of sweat. Tomorrow will be a day of fun cueing at the Indian embassy.

Argh. If you haven´t got a reason to be for the abolishment of all nations, after a normal embassy crawl you´ve got lots.

But yes, now I´m back in Thamel, and here, the world revolves around the tourist must-haves, like 24-hour internet access, food and gift shopping. The warm hum of Kerosene-powered bliss envolves your humbly writing geek.

I hopefully will be able to work in peace for the next few days (besides the embassy stuff) and will provide the first episode of "Dave´s Away" at the end of this week.

so, read ya, loving the comments,

el d.

Phokara-Land. Normality and Insanity.

2009-04-09T07:42:00.000-07:00

When you´ve spent some time in Nepal, coming to Phokara lakeside really makes you wonder what country you´re in. You actually do cross a police checkpoint, and the impression couldn´t be any stronger.

Lakeside Phokara is like a really big amount of hotel-and-restaurant architects (sometimes with less, sometimes with more skill) were given a free playground.

Oh well, it still isn´t Las Vegas (or Thamel, for that matter). It´s still somewhat quiet, relaxed and not too bustling with tourists (now´s not Anapurna season, by the way).

Somewhere between the tourist who told me happy tales of (comparably) gigantic bakshish payed to the indian police, and the fact that, in the current season, I´ll probably be wet all the time (especially in the south, both from monsoon and sweat), I decided going to India isn´t such a good idea after all. Hey, just one month. For a subcontinent that size, you need about a year. Minimum.

Tomorrow´s back to Kathmandu, and change my flight, get a visa extention, check my indian visa, and then stay another month in Nepal. I kinda like it here.

Food, by the way: Momos. Whether veggies or chickens, buffalo or cheese: Momos are a wonderful variety, with some ties to Newari tradition. The name´s tibetan, however, and a lot of exiles are here and selling stuff. To tourists, mostly.

Getting back to the well-trodden trail has it´s ups and downs: On the one hand, you´re no longer the center of all attention wherever you go. Very relieving, actually. On the other hand, the kind of attention you attract is guaranteed to at least start some attempt at selling something. Anything. Be it a blessing or a bracelet, just buy.

cheers,

el d.

Location Update: Ghorka

2009-04-08T04:58:00.001-07:00

This...

is...

Ghooooorkaaaaa!

Ah, yes, Ghorka. The ancient seat, palace, temple etc... of the dynasty that ruled Nepal until just a year ago. Just got here, and was again convinced of the fact that Hindu temples are really boring. All the statues are hardly recognizable because the devout smear them full with red paste. Apparently, the gods like that.

Other than that: Found some rests of an ancient martial art in local dance traditions. Will check that out in Phokara, tomorrow. The Brits (especially their Ghorka regiment) are about as helpful as a brick wall. Quite polite. but not budging one inch.

From the lush green palace gardens, you have a wonderful view over the local dusty favela architecture. Especially from the helipads. You have to give that to the Maoists: at least they got rid of that King.

cheers,
el d.

Mountains of Ramblings, Ruminations and Ramen.

2009-04-06T03:42:00.000-07:00

Very well, dear fans, friends and family,

welcome to the reincarnation of Dave.

After a week in the mountains, nothing seems more luxurious than some meat, power and running water.

This is the f!§"ing middle ages here, people. Yes, some houses have electricity, but 93% here still survive on what they can farm.

No, you eco-freaks, this is not a good thing.

The life of a farmer here is as hard as they get. Which means: Work all day, go to bed early, get up as soon as the sun rises. No, wait, half an hour before.

One good meal a day (dhal-bhat, rice and lentils, some meat maybe once a month), the rest is just toiling away, beating and shouting at buffalos, oxen, wives, kids or other relatives to work faster...

And yeah, there´s nearly no rain (once the monsun has gone, that is). Once a day, mostly in the evening time, a few drops come down.

Something like the mac book I´m writing on now (and have lugged across the frickin himalayas, here) could as well be from an extra-terrestrial civilisation.

They know that something like that exists, but it´s as far out of their reach as the stars themselves.

Coming back to a favorite topic of mine: Food.

The Dhal Bhat in the lower, non-touristy areas is quite spicy, often with a hint of ginger. As you get further up in the mountains, everything starts to get blander, as well as more expensive.

My personal recommendation (and diet plan) for all of Asia: Get the pre-packaged noodle soup (RAmen!, oh ye faithful, RAmen!). For less than 20 cents, this is not a bad deal. Especially if you add some vegetables and more chilly. Yum! This is the safest possible way to eat, and one of the most nutritious as well. Other than that: deep-fried Samosas for less than 5 cents rule.

As to a fitting drink: Why pay about 2€ for a liter of warm beer, when you can get a glass of the local "wine" Raksi (home-distilled corn/wheat/whatever) for much less? Less than 35 cents, that is.

And if you buy outside of Khatmandu, you just might get a quality that doesn´t cause a headache the next day.

Water can be a problem, if only a small one. Basically, if you have it boiled, it´s okay. So the local chai is a good drink on the road (tastes universes better than warm coke and costs less than 10 cents).

This rough price guide only applies to the non-touristy areas (meaning everything except anapurna circuit and everest base camp). If you on one of the big two, expect to pay a lot more for less quality.

Some highlights of my sojourn so far: Scrambling almost straight up for 6 hours (without my 10k backpack) and then stumbling down again. 800 meters of height difference isn´t half bad. Another bright idea: Walking/climbing/freestyling down an unknown canyon with my trusty camera (didn´t get good shots though) and then wading barefoot through the rice paddies.

Ah yes, being a caucasian with a beard, I´m the main attraction at any event I attend. Funny, but can be somewhat bugging if you can´t get those frickin kids to go away and leave you in peace. At the Tirpura Sundari festival, I was the center of a very big group of kids wherever I went.

To my original plan: Finding anything here somehow related to the ancient warrior culture that surely at some time must have existed here is, well, impossible. The farmers simply farm, about the same way they did about 2000 years ago. And the noblemen that possibly once practiced some form of martial art have gone extinct, which is not wholly a bad thing. I did find a wonderful Kukhuri today, though. Forged by an ancient smith in his .. ah, shed (compared to which the old hammers of the Ybbstal where I´m from also look like the frickin Starship Enterprise) and bought for less cash than you normally spend thoughtlessly on fast food.

I´ve not given up on my plan, however, and still want to visit a British training camp and perhaps interview one of the officials there, perhaps even get a demonstration.

Oh, we´ll see, shan´t we?

Now, back to food. Apparently, it´s a question of honour for the farmer here that a guest staying at his home shouldn´t leave the table if he´s still remotely able to ingest anything. The servings are huge, and it´s considered polite to ask for seconds. I mostly ask for halves, and still can´t move a muscle after a decent Dhal Bhat. Strangely enough, my stomach hasn´t started the usual travelers rampage, hopefully it will stay that way.

As this post is far too long anyway, that´s all for now, folks!

I`ll try to have the first episode of my audiovisual work ready in the next week or so. (If I can find a suitable place to edit. Probably Pokhara.)

Namaste,

el d.

day four.. or five.. was it six? Ahmmmm...

2009-03-26T01:30:00.000-07:00

Hello there, again.
Nepal isn´t Cuba, that´s for sure. Getting anything done here is even more of a hassle. About 10 hours in the last two days were spent with trying to correct an error the Indian Embassy in Austria made. Un-frickin-believable, the ammount of time they take to do anything.I know my passport number by heart now. And all other details.
Other than that: Hippies still exist in Nepal. And they´re somewhat fun and somewhat freaky.. (yeah, what else) But, nonetheless, their mongolian overtone singing sessions are really fun. Good vibes.
By the way, what cheered me up after exiting the Indian embassy today: "Rape me" by Richard Cheese.
One completely loses touch of time here. What day is it? No idea. People go to bed at nine, mostly. And the power goes on and off, and on again, whenever the gods dictate. Otherwise, Kathmandu´s good to me. I got a place for 250 rupees, about 2 euros, per night..
Well, I´m heading up into the mountains tomorrow, although I did try to avoid it for some time, this is apparently what I have to do... A non-touristy route from Khatmandu to Pokhara.. So, probably no new posts for twenty days.
I´ll try to finish my first vblog entry later today, and perhaps even upload it, too.
cheers,dave

Kathmandu, day 2- Cubas internet is faster.

2009-03-23T02:56:00.000-07:00

You won´t believe how slow this net is. Basically, on the first 2 attempts, blogger refused my connection due to inactivity. Yay!

Otherwise: Flight was fine, I´m alive, everybody, and I´m looking for a cheap hostel for tomorrow (paying way too much at the moment)

As the power is off about 100% of the time, recharching my camera etc.. is going to be nearly impossible.. as are further posts.. I´ll try, from time to time, but I guess the bulk of my Nepal material will be posted from some posh lobby in India, as soon as I get there..

So, Namasteee everyone,

dave out.

dave's away. for a year. right now.

2009-03-19T16:34:00.000-07:00

This is it. The last post from austria.
Friends, family, peeps, colleagues..

Cya, read ya, hear ya. (gotta get me one of those skype thingies that I'll actually use.. )

Up, up aaaaand away! At 6:50 I'll be departing from Bratislava!

adios,

el d.

7 Days to go. Hello World.

2009-03-12T16:37:00.000-07:00

Well, dear reader, you have just stumbled upon the first post.

7 days to go, 7 days to stay. 7 days left in Austria.

Then, a day in London, and a long trip. 365 days, to be exact. (Which, at this point, I can't be, of course.)

Nepal, India, Singapore, Thailand, Phillipines, Bali, New Zealand, Rarotonga, L.A. and then into Mesoamerica/Cuba. Back again in march/february 2010.

Videos, pictures, text: What more could a blog want?
Yes: a concept.

My concept, my basic idea of what I'm going to do in this year:

Learn any language I come across.
Practice the martial arts I know and learn new stuff from everywhere.
Produce 3-minute entertaining international subcultural travel videos.
Keep in touch with people I love, like, or find somewhat entertaining.

Yeah, basically an exercise in international multimedia networking. Has been done a lot (wherethehellismike) but not in the way I want to do it.

We live in a century, a decade, of change. The economic system is not working like we used to profit from, and most conventional TV stations are really having problems finding an audience.

New niches emerge. New possibilities for small-scale, high quality content providers. A brave new world, perhaps not all that dystopian.

Well then, so far, so few things done, so many to do.

I'll be back.
-dave