Inventory.2007

These are my clothes,

These are my shoes,

Here are my household appliances, cutlery and crockery.

Here is my bed, my desk, my seating,

These are my cupboards and shelves.

These are my plants.

These are my stereo systems, radios, playback and recording devices,

These are my computers, hard disks and software licenses.

Here are my files, tax returns, contracts, certificates and press archives,

Here are my bank account, credit cards and ID cards.

These are my records, audio and video cassettes, my CDs and DVDs.

Here are my photos, posters, prints and pictures.

Here are my books.

Here are my letters.

Here are my personal notes.

Here are my mementos.

This is my wing.

Here is my piano.

These are my electric pianos.

These are my synthesizers.

Here are my other instruments, mixing consoles and studio equipment.

These are my sheet music, my DAT cassettes, my masters and backup copies.

These are my memories.

Here are my dreams,

my principles,

my fears,

my commandments and self-prohibitions,

my anxiety,

my regulations,

my talents,

my inabilities and insecurities,

my joys,

my vanities,

my self-denials and self-assurances.

My crying and my laughter,

my darkness and my radiance.

These are my experiences.

My mistakes and illusions,

my wishes and expectations,

my ideas about life,

These are the roles I slipped into, practiced and tried out,

in which I thought I had succeeded or failed.

Here are my abysses, wastelands, aisles and stubborn contradictions.

Here are the small and large bundles of pure, experienced happiness.

Here are the shackles and gags,

the penetrations to the light,

sinking into the depths.

Here are the loads,

these are the gifts,

the tools and templates

the conditions and possibilities,

with which I was equipped.

Here is my gratitude.

Here is my anger and indignation.

Here is the immortal memory of the many who, with everything they had

set out to live and stand up for their convictions and feelings.

Here are the ones that gave me food.

This is my despair,

this is my esprit,

These are the wounds and scars,

These are my jealousies and small-mindedness.

Here lies the hope of a self-determined life,

that never ceased to exist.

Here are the apartments and the locations,

where I ate, worked and slept.

Here are the landscapes,

that I was allowed to be a part of,

These are the scents, the rain, the sunbeams, the snow,

the air that touched my senses,

These are the streams, rivers and seas,

the gardens, fields and forests,

the mountains, the plains, the animals;

These are the colors, the clouds, sky and stars.

Here are the infinitely varied sounds.

These are the people I have met,

that I had to face,

that I was allowed to meet.

That I loved and or

will always love.

Here are the people who deceived me,

Here are the ones I disappointed.

Here are the people,

who gave me and to whom I could give.

Here are the unmistakable, precious moments,

in which I felt that I was alive.

Here are the moments,

in which I loved,

These are the moments that I

will always love.

These are the things or the residues of things,

that I have felt, thought, said, done or made,

I have been or in which I have gone astray.

Here is the self-understanding that has grown in life,

to trust the substance

and not the objects.

Stroke.

Here is what I would like to be.

Stroke.

This is what I can be.

Stroke.

This is me.

This is where I live.

Here I am.

Now.

(December 2007)