Friday, 7 July 2017


During the night from Tuesday to Wednesday I dreamed of bombs. I was in a house or flat and cowering at a wall and I could hear bombs falling outside. The dream was dragging on. Sometimes I did something else and had almost forgotten the bombs, because none had fallen anymore. But then the next ones came. That repeated itself several times. Nothing more happened in that dream. The building where I had been never got hit. I don't remember anymore if I had looked outside a window. In reality I probably would have stayed away from windows, because of the danger of bursting glass. Although a bomb fire is much worse, of course than flying glass pieces.

In the morning I checked my e-mail inbox and only read the first headline of the e-mail from The Guardian. It seemed like North Korea has launched missiles ((The Guardian today: North Korea missile test a 'new threat to world', says US amid show of military force: North Korea missile test a 'new threat to world', says US amid show of military force). A test. Great. Especially after my dream.

As I was waiting for the train, there was a proverb on the screen. Proverbs first are shown in pictures, before showing it in writing at the end. This morning had: “to break a butterfly with a wheel”. In German it's literally: to shoot with cannons on sparrows.” Cannons are not bombs, but it's kind of close.

A co-worker told me on our way to work that she had heard on the radio this morning that 2 bombs were about to be disposed today in our city.

A somewhat “bomb loaded” week this one...

I will wear my t-shirt tomorrow, which I obviously have bought almost 2 years ago: “Bombing for peace is like fucking for virginity” (A probably valueless statement).

Wednesday, 28 June 2017


One of our assistant doctors has a cherry tree (actually his father) and he already came the past days with cherries. I told him I'd take a larger amount from him to make jam from it. Of course he'll get a jar, too.

Today he brought me a basket full. I weighed it at home. Basket and cherries: 10.1 kg (22.3 stone).

A very dear colleague helped me getting the basket to the park deck and called a cab from the main entrance to me. It was easiest that way, especially since it's been raining on and off today. A few steps from the cab to my apartment weren't that difficult.

I took a couple of hand full and put them in the kitchen sink, added water and washed them. Then taking off the stems. Of course the stones had to go, too. I don't have any tool to do that and I used the easiest thing to do it in the end: my fingers. Before I really got started, I had the idea to change my grey t-shirt for an older orange one. Good idea. Before I placed everything in a meaningful way, the floor was the first to get some drips, followed by the wall, my t-shirt and my fingers, of course.

I wondered, if larger amounts of blood than just a simple cut would stain that much, too. I discarded the thought of asking one of our doctors though when it occurred to me that they are using gloves during surgeries.

Question: Why do doctors wear gloves during surgery?
Answer: So they don't leave fingerprints.

Actually I thought about Rorschach from Watchmen while taking the stones out. The Comedian gets killed. He's got a badge with a yellow smiley. The smiley gets a distinctive blood stain during the killing. The smiley, changed that way, is one of the most famous signatures for both the book and the movie. Although the smiley from the movie is stained a bit different from the book. Rorschach finds the smiley and goes to his colleague (may we say friend?) Daniel Dreiberg with it. Daniel is not at home, so Rorschach effectively just breaks into the home and also eats a can of baked beans. When Daniel arrives, Rorschach shows him the smiley, which leads to the following dialogue:

Rorschach: Daniel, look at this.
Daniel Dreiberg: Is this bean juice?
Rorschach: Human bean juice. Badge belonged to the Comedian. Blood, too. He's dead.

Monday, 26 June 2017

Knock knock!

Guy comes into my office this morning and goes, "Knock knock!" So of course I answer with, "Who's there?" But he in return just goes, "Company shredding." I'm not even sure, if "Shredding" is the name of the company that shreds the sensible data we store in boxes or whether he meant to say that he is from the company that comes to collect the sensible data from our box for shredding. He seemed happy and in a good mood, but he wasn't exactly on the ball.

I wrote that to a couple of friends. Two of them wrote back asking what I had expected. Well, something clever or funny. The other day for example I read something in English that I found quite funny and unusual:

Knock knock
Who's there?
Little old lady.
Little old lady who?
I didn't know you could yodel.

I wasn't on the ball myself though. I should have told him that he should think of something to reply for the already hinted Knock knock joke.

Do you know any good Knock knock jokes? Write them in the comments!

Tuesday, 20 June 2017


I'm laying in bed and should have been asleep a long time ago. Should have been in bed a long time ago. The light is out and a humming starts. The unmistakable humming of a mosquito. 'You've got to be kidding me', I'm thinking and turn the light beside the bed back on. No joke. A mosquito. Still flying at the bed in the corner. The very corner where the spider is, too, although without a visible web. The spider goes to the mosquito, but doesn't quite get it. Turns instead to some other tiny flying creatures that came in through the window drawn in by the light. I help the spider a bit and blow the mosquito just once away from me and towards the spider. Now the spider gets it. It weaves the web around the mosquito. I turn the light out again. Only once I hear a soft humming from the mosquito. Then it's quiet.

Friday, 16 June 2017

Muscle memory

So I've changed the number code on my cellphone to unlock the keylock about a week ago. I only changed it a bit actually. I know very well the combination of the new code, because it has more meaning for me now than the old one did. Hence the change. But it took me about four days or so to not type in the old code just out of habit. Four days! Although the new code has more meaning! Four days and repeated false entries.

It's not just habit, which to me seems more a head thing. It's also muscle memory. In my head what I type is numbers as well as letters. I couldn't for the life of me tell you the "pure" numbers of the code, because I have no idea what numbers I'm typing for the letters. I know the letters though and my fingers know which keys to hit.

And for two days or so now I type the new code without failure. Interesting this habit and muscle memory thing.

Friday, 26 May 2017

Disturbed: The Sound Of Silence

A new version of a classic. Thanks Lisa, for making me aware of it.

Here is the link to the official music video to it:

 The Sound Of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

Fools, said I, you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence

Sunday, 21 May 2017

A joke

Rorschach in "Watchmen":
I heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Life seems harsh, and cruel. Says he feels all alone in threatening world. Doctor says: "Treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town. Go see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. "But doctor...", he says, "I am Pagliacci." Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.