(Prologue) KIDS
There are three types of kids. The first of the are real kids who enjoy 'nen Wolf three days on just take a huge, fucked up festival. The second of the variety are kids who are not more kids (because too old, too fucked up, professional drinkers), but behave as if they belonged to the first kind, but also look forward to. The third type are kids who are no longer kids and know it and also do not want (more) be three days, such a huge, fucked up festival. The third variety of the buy daily tickets.
Part I: Grapefruit
None of the old crew leaves more little surprise. No desire, no time, too old to ... whatever. So I jump with a bottle of cheap booze and a day ticket on the passenger seat. There is an old VW bus with flower garlands, Jimy Hendrix portrait, refrigerator, mattress and beer. Lots of beer.
In the most German of all cities, there are no parking lots more, so seek out the desperate a weak security, simply drive past him to put down somewhere, where there are no one may and can, unforgiving and brazen. While we make a cheese sandwich, the dust bunnies decant in tetra packs, follow the path to festival grounds, we do at the ticket tent and patiently at the security check queue, I drink two beers, maybe three. The Busbesitzer six or seven. "I know because on the way, a cocktail stand, because we can drink later, perhaps in vain one!". "Fat". "The sleep perhaps in our bus." Ringing alarm bells My Date, but what the heck, is after his bus ride and my first morning back by 9 Our separate ways, he goes to the big stage, I think of the small ones. Cold beer for him,
warm vodka and grapefruit for me.
in such Week's reunion with the most unlikely figures. Faces from days when we all counted them the first kind. Today they are all children of the second, yes I have a day pass. The usual, pathetic small talk: "Hey how are you?". "Yes, super and you?" (Pissed 'you, you moron). Blah blah blah ... my grapefruit is low.
The rock dinosaurs is late at night from the stage down, and I'll get the super good rock lesbian bride (she knows the Busbesitzer) on the forced march similar path back to the bus. It gives me a beer, gracious as she is adorable, but it's so far and at some point am I alone have on the Nazi party rally grounds on the road, where
just played Rammstein .
Digression: Left, two, three, four
Three hours earlier: Kotzreiz-Deluxe! Hitlerloge, Zeppelin Field, Rammstein play with a huge black, red and ugly banner on the stage 6o.ooo mainly German visitors. All bawl and walk in "Links 2,3,4" she behaved with.
"I can not eat as much as I want to puke."
(Max Liebermann, Berlin, January 1933).
Part II: "ROCK PARK"
My beer goes grad still so up to the bus, the driver for hours no trace. Sliding door open to get a cheese sandwich and a beer from the bus. Since the driver is on the extended rear seat. "He's ready," I thought to myself and crawl to Brotzeitbox, which is at the foot of the Busbetts. Hmmm. Four feet, not two. A blond young man next to the driver. "Fortunately, at least they are ready." I thought to myself, with beer and cheese sandwich in his hands. Yet cozy, the beer and make the empty dump all breathe a bissal festival atmosphere Assisting in the campground, which I definitely do not want to do tonight society. Back to the bus, sleeping bag out, ear plugs to sleep inside. Eyes, the window a crack to (choke would be nonsense), Tekkkno in. booms.
A few minutes later, when the eyes start closing slowly soluble in the bus shaking. Really, forwards and backwards. "The two drivers!". Ear plugs out, and the sounds tell from the back seat: the two do not really fuck. Fellatio, at best, in any event after the sound. I'm flabbergasted, quasi-stoned wary, amused.
Even as I me fairly drunk, pelleted from the sleeping bag, which is calling behind me handkerchiefs, the side door opens, I look, at last, free to the back. The blond young man is startled visibly surprised that someone sitting in the passenger seat, the driver laughs loudly, shouting my name, leans forward to the stereo, turns it on. HEYYY, WHAT GOES DOWN ?!?!? WE CELEBRATE THE NIGHT Yippie Yippie Yeah sooooo RIOT AND 3 DAYS OF WAX. The hell is smiling at me. With music and people at festivals, it's like the shit and the flies. The driver puts on ne pants, pours a beer purely in itself. The first pilot is a woman even brought vodka with ice tea in the 1.5 Liter tetra pack and will beg in this starry night, nor to "down". (We have nothing, of course. Only beer.). The second is a big Rammstein fan, he will throw up an estimated two minutes on the right rear tire, until only bile comes. The third looks like Michael Mitter Meier, and he will say anything the whole night and offer to each song in the Buslautsprechern the moves of Michael Jackson leather jacket, stupid grin. The fee for his performance is beer, what else is a freaky drug courier / DJ / bartender from the club Henry Klein to various corrosive pus pimple on the face, full of drugs and drunk, and he the blond young man (who has his date presented a very different way) will declare that same-sex desire, "full Okay" and thereby destroy some boxes "Inger bulk export". And the driver pours and pours and the sun rises anyway. "Someone of you knows HEADS crazy as it gets to the central station?" - My question will remain unanswered as often as it is made. It is the latest five, four hours till my train goes. The driver makes several minutes nap, allows himself a beer between them, so I've been after all the music. But the vomit stench and the flies are numerous: departure.
heavy heart I leave chair, rest of cheese bread and sleeping bag in / on / under the bus and shuffling with a moderate wide side of the nearest S-Bahn station. "Issssdasssssrichunnnghauptbahnhof?". A guy with purple sunglasses answers on the platform (it's very, very awake) "Yeah!" And so ... . And so I sat down, a warm beer in hand and the last cigarette between his fingers, to the platform. An orange fantasy figure comes up to me, shovel and broom in hand and asks: "Rock Park" - "Yes-Rock Park" I say smiling and throwing butts and cans in the bag, he offered me generous as he is, worthy of adoration. The warm morning sun shines in the face. The train comes.
PART III: "comatose, BUT ON THE LEGS"
I bahne my way through the well slept Seniors (hiking, I think) to the ticket counter at Central Station, my ride is only two- three hours. NERD with a ponytail, black jeans, alas, all NERD-textbook in a person stands there. "You are going to determine Buxtehude , me too, I have my day off today because I'll buy the new iPad. We still have a place on the group ticket free! ". three tra quaint, but less nerdy men stand around and do obviously, and I ask them not to iPads, iPhones, iShits, I could not even the thought makes me giddy to have a conversation. . The train goes in six minutes. "Jeh'm on board.".
me in the side sits a TGW perhaps two years old girl screaming and crying and the father / grandfather scolds "You're probably kidding me? FINALLY BE STILL! ". I give him the look of death. Figure is up to Buxtehude anderndhalb hours drive time but at best anderndhalb minutes of sleep. Arrive, Central Station - Tram Car, I'm the bum, I'm the scum and let them feel me, all well-bred to work or go to the Prosecco breakfast, it's Saturday morning. "You pathetic sheep!". I then make a stink.
My roommate Heidi sits with a large glass of whiskey with water to the couch, ready to go to work, as I shrink. She hates me for it and it falls down.
showers, bed, but the noisy bar downstairs: again nothing to sleep! To
Work? To work! Oh Foook.
I drive to work for nothing, for bursts of time, ie from home. Whether I go with him tonight? "Of course!". Two vodka Mate keep me on the run. clock in the morning I get up at three in the bar and tell a Very handsome all. "And then you stand still here?".
Jai guru deva John Lennon. Across the universe.
Today we were at the "Rally to Restore Sanity" in front of the Capitol Austin. Our signs have even made it to the Huffington Post 
