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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.