First there was excitement.
– Ok. It´s my pleasure!
Then there was time, plenty of… endless, stretching, as long and deep as you can´t retreat.
But oh wait?! I –
A national park northwest of Bali.
A parked nation of waiting.
Waiting for the shuttle bus.
From the lodge to the beach.
From the beach to the lodge.
Waiting between to prepare.
For the sunburn.
For the menue.
For the answers, replying the same questions,
the same pleasantness, certified by the tiny golden nameplates on the staff´s labeled white poloshirts.
The same fucking reactive and radioactive pleasantness every day, hundred times per day, again and again. – Yes, I am fine and I know you are as well, so we are all fine, let´s have some fun and enjoy some finest silence. Don´t force me to be here, just let me be here. Ask me why, but not if and if I am not please, leave me peeing in your dried forest. Be kind, pity! Spit in my soup or masturbate in the ceramic bottles of conditioner.
Poor trainees, under the reign of a manager – sorry for treating your species so bad during school. You are the king. Hail your introduction, hail your leaving, hail fatty white amphibian!
The two stored safari shuttle bus, wild as luxury.
Always waiting for us.
Waiting manufactures waiting.
Decorated with flowers and a fresh juice and feet waiting for you to leave.
Loop of waiting.
Waiting for the same you already waited for after before expecting the same during waiting.
For the same menue.
Freezed, cooked, neutral, clean, even the polished spoon seems to be bored, mirroring my extreme impatiently face.
Where is my sticky laminated menue, disgusting modeling food, shaky tables, tiny stools, basket of chili, sauces and cup of chopsticks – Where are my chopsticks!
Waiting, until leaveing to wait.
At the same restaurant, under the same stars, the same sun, the same sky, the same blue, the same paradise, every day.
Waiting for the shuttle.
From the restaurant to the lodge.
Even sleeping seems like waiting, wait to wake up and return to wait.
Captured with allies.
State of pleasureism.
“Hallo. Guten Tag!”
Do I look like… ?!
No, I don´t like to talk german, with germans, with you germans or about your holiday, and not your holidays, trips, traveling and I am far away from being interested in your habits, your mentality or behaviour, no I don´t want to moan, with you. I am better in moaning lonesome and not about you. – They are doing their best, having holiday, so I can do my best, ignore them, relax, exhale, inhale…
“Good night, german.”
– Yes, why not talk to them? You never know? But why are they greeting in german? What the temple is wrong with you, you grim blinding white with your highclass attitude adoring your trashy dinning dress.
A bomb, ticking.
Ticking and waiting.
After three days starting to greed the germans, hailing their relaxation, their balanced habits… I surrender to the camp.
Wild driving wild.
Captured with enemies.
State of resortism.
Get me out of here!!!
After 5 nights we left, we left the wild, out of the wild, into civilization. all of us felt a deep relief as the car hits the road, the proper road, tared and guiding far away. What I remember is, a perfect dive at Menjungan island, supposed to be and I suppose it is one of the most beautiful spots on earth. And, of course, sharing the wildness with my beloved family, my german family, a supreme side of german. My german culture, just, my state of home.
Before I end, I would like to apologize, I am not a racist, but actually, I am a misanthrope, depending on what kind of species you belong or would like belong to. You see, I am very tolerant, but actually I despise to be tolerant or tolerant men, tolerating means categorizing your racism. So. I am a not racist, but still I would like to be a misanthrope without being your bogeyman, just don´t hang around on my road. And I promise, I will never book a stay at your resorts, I prefer more to watch you from the outside.