Kerouac singt Rimbaud / Digitale Fotoarbeiten von Detlev Foth

Der Kuss II

 

 

 

 

Nicolas Poussin und  ein Nudistenpaar verdoppelt bitten unser Atelier zum Tanz

 

 

 

 

 

Fremde kommen ins Atelier und sind ratlos

 

 

 

 

Ein kleiner Ausflug in die Stadt

 

 

 

 

Das Buch

 

 

 

 

Charles Bukowski revidiert seine Jugend

 

 

 

Wenn der Tag geht

 

 

 

 

Rimbaud

 

 

 

 

Hippies in Unterfeldhaus und in Woodstock

 

 

 

 

Jane Birkin

 

 

 

 

Kritische Universität

 

 

 

 

Benno Ohnesorg

Anfortas
Schnee im Schädel da ist Schnee
Der Pfad hinab ist kalt – gefroren
sind die Gesichter
Geronnene Gedanken hängen in den Ästen
Kalte Füße blutleer setzen
In vergangene Spuren – erstarrte Blumen
Die dünne Haut
Gläserne Flächen spiegeln Wolken
Das Lid versperrt den Singsang der Tage
spannt über Mauern
graues Tuch – ein Hundston
würde dunkel Stämme zerspalten
Wo ist das Zittern lösender Schreie
die große Schmelze Wort

Benno Ohnesorg

 

 

 

Waldweg, Selbst und anbrechender Abend

 

 

 

 

Arthur Rimbaud

 

 

 

 

Die gestärkten Hemden

 

 

 

Der Vogelhof

 

 

 

 

1968

 

 

 

 

Der Kuss

 

 

 

 

Kommune1

 

 

 

 

Kerouac singt Rimbaud

 

 

 

 

 

Keith Richards

 

 

 

 

Jack Kerouac

 

 

 

 

Großer Kopf Selbst

 

 

 

 

Nudisten erobern unser Atelier

 

 

 

 

Kerouac Text gezeichnet

 

 

 

 

Bob Dylan

 It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)“

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fools gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proved to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.

Temptation’s page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover
That you’d just be
One more person crying.

So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to you ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing.

As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don’t hate nothing at all
Except hatred.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their marks
Made everything from toy guns that sparks
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the President of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.

An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it.

Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.

You loose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand without nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.

A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.

Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.

For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despite their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platforms ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God Bless him.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in.

But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him.

Old lady judges, watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn’t talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony.

While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer’s pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death’s honesty
Won’t fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me ?

And if my thought-dreams could been seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only.

Bob Dylan, Bringing It All Back Home

 

 

 

On the Road

 

 

 

 

Fred II

 

 

 

 

Fred III

 

 

 

 

Investmentbanker suchen folgenlosen Zeitvertreib

 

 

 

 

Atelier Atelier

 

 

 

 

Nachts im Park

 

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