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Seven Seas 

King Bruno the Questionable was an innovative mind.  And so he decided already 400 years ago to put a woman on a ship as a captain for the first time. This woman had to sail around all seven seas and was not allowed to return to her home port until this was done. Why and what was her mission, her task? Did she return and if so, in what condition? What happened to the ship and the crew during the voyage? Everything is told in my music Seven Seas

There is also a score available on my sheet page:

Life and death  

This sounds like coffee and cake. Speaking of which, can I have another piece? No, that's not possible now and casual shenanigans are not in the right place at the moment. This is what the editorial director speaks in my ear. It's finally about - right: life and death. Sounds common as a combination. But when you look closer, questions arise: 

Life, okay: From its origin through a possibly joyful and lustful, if not ecstatic act (to which the neighbors complained afterwards) about the following serious event of birth, it goes purring to live through life with its childhood, adolescence, adulthood and finally old age. So far, so clear, this is life. At the end it will end by dying. Bonged. 

Let's get to death now. And that makes things weird. If you die, you'll be dead afterwards. Cut and end, but can also drag on. Anyway death happens with the death process and that's it. So seen a huge difference to life. Life goes through many decades. There is development. There is felt, loved, there is joy and suffering. There are events and decisions, coincidences and surprises. And even marzipan potatoes in the run up to Christmas. So a lot going on, what shapes you and what's going on about photos, movies and writings. Sometimes also pictures, poems and compositions. 

And then death. You're just supposed to be dead and there's nothing left after that? Why, you could say, it's good. There's a lot going on on one side and there's nothing left on the other side. So you don't have to do anything anymore, do nothing more, pass tests, overcome no more difficulties - you don't have to do anything anymore and have peace of mind. Great, let's leave it like that. So far it would also be appropriate to expressions like ′′ RIP ′′ and ′′ Eternal Rest". But you think so.

Now fantasies come into play. Understandable because some people can't or don't want it to be over like that and then nothing else. I find fantasies interesting in principle too. But some of these fantasies are called religions. And these are unlikeable to say the least. Because these constructs are working with reprisals and regulations in this world at threat of torture in the afterlife. So after passing away, you don't have peace of mind. Rather, you get to the recent court. And that's where it's decided: heaven or hell. In case of not so bad offences, you may still go to heaven, but you can only become a cloud shampooer there. Or you have to take care of the dirty laundry of the angels.

Then there's the imagination that death doesn't happen simply because of the insufficient functioning of vital organs. Rather, someone is assumed to get you: The Reaper. Creepy. But with further concerns, it's more sympathetic. Because when the time comes, I'd probably get my pants thoroughly first. But then maybe I'd manage to get him involved in a conversation after all. I could offer him beer and meatballs and address an appointment postponement if possible.

Here is my latest composition and recording, with deals with the theme. I made a video with an german text. Sorry for that, if you do not understand german. In that case you can also listening only to the music by following the second link:


Sexy Lover 

You can have one or keep one. Some pay for it. And there are even more possibilities: It does not necessarily have to be a human being. Ladies sometimes prefer the battery-powered version in the form of a small electrical device. This can be conveniently stored in a handbag and can also be used behind a desk or in the back of a bus when there is not much going on. The suspicious looks of the driver in the rear-view mirror only increase the attraction.  

Men on the other hand sometimes prefer an inflatable version. It is then lovingly folded up and then carefully stowed away in its place until the next time it is needed. In a family setting, one can also say: Hidden.  

That reminds me of the story my friend Torsten had to experience last year: As usual he drove home from work by car. When he turned into his street, he could already see what was happening on the grounds of his house. It was summer and his two children were playing in the pool and indeed - that's what shocked him immediately: With Nancy.  

Nancy in working condition, that is, filled to bursting with air. So they had found her, shit. He had thought the hiding place was very good, but you never know where the brats hang around everywhere. He knew that from his own childhood and youth. Now they were having fun with it. Even some of the neighbors looking over from the adjacent property cheered, the direct neighbors were filming with their smartphones.  

He drove past the driveway and stopped around the corner. Nervously he rummaged in the glove compartment, there must still be a pack of cigarettes. Yes, lucky, found, also the lighter.  

He had had Nancy in his company for a while. Still the first one, although there were newer models with some interesting technical innovations. He had got used to Nancy and had shot at her, had given her this name, too. He had always treated her with care and kept her clean. Now he wasn't even sure if she would survive unscathed, the way the children were just treating her.  

My goodness, he had sometimes talked to Nancy during and even after that. Well, actually, he had only talked. How he felt and how he saw things. Different things. Was that still normal? What does normal mean, after all, even between married couples there are longer word contributions, which in the end are only monologues.  

He was about to light his third cigarette when he flinched because there was a knock on the window. His wife. They already had eye contact when she knocked on the window pane again, because he hadn't opened the window yet. Now he finally put it down and she said, "Good morning, sir," waving the escaping smoke away with her hands. In the meantime he had turned bright red and only brought in: "I, uh ..." out. Whereupon she replied quite crabby: "Kiss mine." That seemed to be the end of the conversation, because now she marched straight back to the house.  

Don't you think that Torsten must be a pretty close friend of mine if I know all this from him? Or does this Torsten not exist at all and I made it all up as usual? Or is this Torsten my father and I was one of the playing children back then? In the end, is it even an autobiographical story? Critical questions that I will have to face one day. But not now, back to the topic:  

Still others only dream of having someone or something like that. Those are also completely satisfied with it, because in reality it would perhaps be too elaborate. Sometimes also too dangerous, risky and consequent: Many of us have been connected for many years, often with the corresponding circumstances in the form of offspring and shared home ownership, see Torsten. There is no need to put anything unnecessarily at risk.  

In addition, whether connected or not: Not everything that you dream of is even intended to be realized in real life. After all, you can also just let your thoughts wander while your skilled fingers do their job from sensitive to rapid. Maybe some of you still remember the hit line: "You are not alone, because you have your imagination ...".  

I have approached the topic - as I would like to emphasize at this point - exclusively in story and song form. I have worked hard to at least compress the lyrics to the most necessary, but listen for yourself: