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lecturer who is denser?

These are not snowdrops, daffodils, but two, standing in a corner of my garden. Soon it will again swarm of them, in Hintelestal in Mülheim / Donau, as in the Lone Valley in Goldersbachtal and in many other valleys. We will now begin again soon, the swimming season, the kiosk owner and his wife are already busily at work. If not the winter with ice-cold fist again coming back!
In the bathroom, I had an encounter with my "old world". How would I want for now to Guttenberg and his resignation. Was it the upper ten thousand, the young or the soldiers in Afghanistan, who thought so highly of him and hold? What do my writing? Crime-you read in my old world is not, rather autobiographical. It must be very close, yes, the latest from Mankell, Arno Geiger, Herta Müller, respiratory swing. Now I know why I've never won one of those little literary prizes: because I was not close enough to write. So close that one must read every word twice. I write poetry, an editor, checked off, a reader of historical novels, bad I write. I had a beautiful writing style, is an agent said. He's just grown, grown like those daffodils, with a little planning and demolition. I sat my life always on the fence, perhaps, because I'm the middle of three siblings. And so I was writing workshops always cut from two sides, namely from the "literary" and the "entertainers". My role was always that of the tipper of the scale. And so I am now my own now tipped with a letter, which is one thing I wanted to fix all along.


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