R2007b Matlab License

On the coast the sea

Jackson Pollock and the meatballs

the sea. Where exactly? Somewhere along the Baltic coast, places and names I do not find important and orientation is difficult for me - or vice versa. In order to get familiar with the area, I had chosen a route that passed through the small-town pedestrian zone on the beach promenade. Mostly I used the early morning for my walk on the still deserted beach, which was later occupied in the morning as well as the pedestrian zone of spa guests. Crowds unsettled me. I was forced to hold their breath when I passed by the Standing and Holding your breath will get you horn brass jaws, and at some point we would certainly in the air as before, the HB-male Bruno. And I would certainly not go into the air, I had a fear of heights, not even lean out the window I could.
With shoes in hand, I wandered up to the end of the beach. A wire fence kept out the tourists from a military installation. I looked at the ramp of the Torpedo Experimental Station, threw stones into the water, sat on the swing a starfish belonging to the hotel playground, flew over the horizon of the sea until I felt sick and ran into the sand. Apart from Polish workers who collect algae, and met some stray dogs to me no one. Mostly.
One morning I met a sickly looking man with a herring tail hair and slippers. He greeted and asked if I was also a guest at the sanatorium. I saluted back and shook his head. 'm Here to make art, I said. Aha, in an artistic institution. Institution Institute is so great is the difference and not even if more artists would leave therapy, there would be less safe, "he muttered. I nodded.
He told how he was nearly hit by a geranium pot, the woman had become of a window. Fighting the petty bourgeoisie, had shouted that he himself feared.
flower pots throw out the window he was stupid, "he said and asked if I would consider him a philistine.
No idea, transitions are fluid and towards the end brochures for all I said and complained that land grants solely to probably were intended to test the young artists to survive. Or simply to wipe out the young, to reduce the competition. Best without electricity, I continue to bleat. Exactly, he snapped and beat each one his own direction.
Shortly before the determination to torpedo Laboratory sat a woman and developed a man-high wooden structure. The individual stele they had with dried seaweed wrapped and intertwined pillars dug in the sand. They, quite absorbed in their work, shook from time to time, probably to check their stability, on the pillars. A large spoon of lime wood hung in the middle of the construct. In a bucket beside the woman was a pile of ground beef. On the other hand, they had wood piled up to a warehouse fire, which they now stood beside her, I, ignited.
I sat in the sand. The woman shaped large meat balls, put into a spear, grilled them and put the balls on the linden wood shedding spoon. Let the spoon back and grab the meat catapulted into the sea. The meatballs shattered if the ejection force and speed, fell into many small pieces into the water.
After some time the woman turned to me.
Did you see the meatballs, if the break, break it with speed, particles released from the whole, just look - they operated the catapult and again - as they disintegrate in the air, the meatballs! ... Like a painting by Jackson Pollock, but say in the modern statement! And they are fluid, the transitions, "she said in a tone fullest happiness.
I nodded. And watched, until the woman ran out of ground beef.
Berliner Zeitung, Feuilleton / bottom line of 29 5. 2006