bartleby's Diaries
Print Story Advent, Advent, ein Lichtlein brennt
By Bartleby (Fri Dec 07, 2007 at 11:55:53 AM EST) (all tags)
erst eins, dann zwei, dann drei, dann vier -
und wenn das fünfte Lichtlein brennt,
dann hast du Weihnachten verpennt.

Christmas season again, eh? Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana.

(6 comments, 1141 words in story) Full Story

Print Story "Isch 'abe gar keine Auto."
By Bartleby (Thu Jun 07, 2007 at 09:59:05 AM EST) (all tags)
Holy dam(n). This land lacks butterflies. Mysterious Mormon missionaries. Je rate une occasion de me taire. Mascha Kaléko.

(8 comments, 918 words in story) Full Story

Print Story Ein himmelblauer Trabant
By Bartleby (Wed Mar 21, 2007 at 06:32:15 AM EST) des mensonges en musique (all tags)
After posting this comment in BlueOregon's latest diary, I foolishly went and actually read the wikipedia entry I linked to, as well as the German entry on the same headwort. Now I'm stuck with an Ohrwurm, an old Schlager from the GDR. Help!


It’s what might have happened to popular music if Chuck Berry and his buddies had never invented rock and roll. And, finally, the best description I can give: if Barry Manilow and Paul Anka sang in German, they would sing Schlager.

(8 comments, 1017 words in story) Full Story

Print Story Maanantai.
By Bartleby (Mon Mar 12, 2007 at 12:03:03 AM EST) (all tags)
Went to the laundry parlour this morning to see a note posted on the washing powder dispensing whatchamacallit that said the thing had been vandalised and that customers please bring their own powder until it was replaced. On to the other parlour across town -- which was closed for repair. Back home. 7 a.m., riding a bike that's kept afloat by rust and dirt and my nostalgia for the good times we had. One hour to go till shops open, no washing powder, no coffee either, my life in shambles, nobody loves me, boohoohoo.


Hymns, cycling, Universal Phrasendrescher.

(587 words in story) Full Story

Print Story Vu et approuvé.
By Bartleby (Sat Mar 03, 2007 at 08:22:50 AM EST) books, bugs, doodles (all tags)
About half-way between Frankfurt and Cologne, on the Rhine, there is the city of Koblenz. Castellum apud Confluentes, the place where the rivers Rhine and Mosel meet. In 1812, Coblence was a garrison town on the eastern border of Napoleon's empire.

Near the triangular wedge of land between the rivers, a short walk up the Mosel side, you'll find yourself on the square in front of St. Castor basilica. On the square there is a fountain, erected in 1812, that looks like a monument's pedestal whose statue has gone missing. It has two inscriptions in French. In the original one from 1812, the French commander of the city honours the victorious march of the glorious Grande Armée into Russia. The second inscription was added by his successor St. Priest in 1814: "Seen and approved by us, Russian commander of the city of Koblenz".

This story is not connected in any way to the content of this diary. Inside: Pynchon, Pelevin, König, myrmeleontidae.

(11 comments, 1446 words in story) Full Story

Print Story Après moi le déluge.
By Bartleby (Sun Feb 11, 2007 at 07:22:19 AM EST) (all tags)
Hurray for Sundays. Watch me waste it in a nerdy fashion. Engage lecturing mode, and full steam ahead.

Prompted by the thread starting here, a tiebreak of sorts:

dopotopnyj - vorsintflutlich - antediluvian
dopotopnost' - Vorsintflutlichkeit - blank?

The more I think about this whole thing, the more my mind jumps, as they say in my home region, von Hölzken auf Stöcksken, from little twig to little stick. I'll try to stay the course...

(4 comments, 1740 words in story) Full Story

Print Story This is Radio Orchid.
By Bartleby (Fri Feb 09, 2007 at 03:50:12 PM EST) (all tags)
Listen and cry.

This quote inspired by the intro to BlueOregon's 2007.02.08 diary. Which I don't get, by the way. The significance of the part about Fury in the Slaughterhouse, that is.


Inside: Things That Amuse Me, or With My Sense Of Humour It's No Wonder I'm Depressed.

(9 comments, 1229 words in story) Full Story

Print Story The Martians could land in the carpark and no one would care
By Bartleby (Tue Jan 23, 2007 at 08:23:48 AM EST) écriture semi-automatique, écriture semi-automatique (all tags)
Yesterday morning I was about to start a diary remarking how it oddly felt like the first spring day of the year, even though it was noticeably colder than the weeks before. It's a good thing I know better than to trust my premonitions.

(5 comments, 592 words in story) Full Story

Print Story Colpa è vostra, oh Dei tiranni
By Bartleby (Wed Dec 20, 2006 at 02:07:16 AM EST) (all tags)
Holidays are looming, today's my last chance to post a diary before the internet will be cut off.

Director's opera. Against the Day. Measuring the World.

(1263 words in story) Full Story

Print Story J'ai perdu mon Eurydice
By Bartleby (Mon Dec 11, 2006 at 09:18:02 AM EST) (all tags)
Rien n'égale mon malheur;
Sort cruel! quelle rigueur!
Rien n'égale mon malheur!
Je succombe à ma douleur!

Phantom limb pain where my bike used to be. Self-pity warning level: Santa-Claus-on-dope red. Moderately strong language, no nudity.

(9 comments, 644 words in story) Full Story

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