ON STANDBY…

Sleepless nights. You wake up in an ocean of sweat and confusion. A cold shower is no comfort, since it dawns on you that will be the one good moment of the day. You hit the streets, your stomach knots, you want to puke the coffee. In the Underground, you wish you were dead. Stinks of sweat. The slightest movement or effort could be deadly, once one starts sweating, there is no turning back. No air conditioner in the office: 32 inside. Leave me alone so that I can find a dirty hole and die there. The sweat and my recently grown whiskers make look like Bruce Springsteen after a 4-hour gig. The heat wave hit Austria and is killing me. In Vienna, capital and showroom of the nation, the city centre burns, the means of public transportation closely resemble hell on earth and, in the night, the concrete keeps on beaming out fire. In Steiermark the railway tracks twisted and some trains could not go. I´m dying at the bottom of a pit in the blazing sun, torn and twisted at the foot of a burning bike… and the last thing I see is my heart still beating, breaking out of my body, and flying away. I feel sticky. I feel dirty. And a dirty boy is not a happy boy.

I´m cracking up.

Blank. Do not feel like writing. Bereft of ideas. I toyed a bit with the blog and changed the header. It rocks now, huh? Can anyone guess where I took the image from? Anyway, I´m out of words.

But I cannot resist the temptation of Count Orlok being in my blog. On Friday I was at Prater Horrorfilmfestival, open air, free cinema. I could not help but buy the poster, I am a marketing victim; a bit expensive, but back then I just knew I needed to possess it. The films were great throughout the whole festival (Jaws, Dracula, King Kong, Freaks, etc…) On Friday there was Nosferatu, with live music (violin, keyboard, and drums). Dusk, in the last rays of the setting sun and the Shadow of the Riesenrad. Ja, Nosferatu.

It was great. Kudos to Vienna for the organisation and good taste. No other city manages these things with so much savoir faire.

In Vienna, on Friday the 14th of July, 2006, at 21.20, The Rolling Stones´ palm tree and alcoholism Tour 2006 began by means of a sharp, loud and downright precise “Jumpin´ Jack Flash” that razed Ernst Happel Stadion to the ground, followed by a bit chaotic “It´s only rock and roll”. Is there any other group in this planet that can open a concert with two songs of such calibre? I think not.

After the initial apocalypse, Jagger greets the audience in German, or rather, Austrian: “Guten Abend die Madln, servas die Buam!”. He is in perfect form, totally fit, as he was on the 70s. He radiates energy. Impossible to believe he is older than 60. Keith, on the contrary, looks, maybe for the first time, truly and really used up, instead of simply faking that he is used up, as usual. Jagger is the idol, Richards the hero. With a cold audience already warmed up, “Oh no, not you again” slows the gig a bit, though it falls down fine upon the youngest. But then “Let´s spend the night together” turns the gig again into a party. Another song from the new album, “Rain falls down” takes the party atmosphere higher, due to its infectious funky rhythm. The ceremony is now in full swing but the pace is not as fast as one would wish. “She´s so cold” sorts that out completely; raw, unexpected, with Jagger howling, it catches us all off guard and the Stadium seems to be about to burst when, suddenly, it all goes down again with “Streets of love”. It is like a big dip, getting closer to heaven then down again. So it goes on, with a beautiful “As tears go by” that puts the audience in trance. The round of applause afterwards is deafening. Yet the audience is now cold again. The spell is broken.

It is only then that, apart from the adrenaline-charged opening, real magic begins to happen, via “Tumbling Dice”. That is perfection in progress. Impossible to go higher? Negative, for the next song is an old blues, “The night time is the right time”, a hommage to Ray Charles. It is not possible to describe the raw energy that beamed from the stage. Not possible, either, to help but think that they should do just that, play dirty, sweaty blues and forget all the new songs. It sounds like a whiplash. No other band could do anything so… bloody touching. It goes straight to the core of the bones. Awesome.

Jagger introduces the band, Richards and Charlie getting the loudest ovations. Keith goes to the microphone and sings “This place is empty without you”, one of those comatose slow songs he seems to love as of late. “Before they make me run” sounds better, but after the blues apotheosis, it does not suffice.

“Miss you”. Inevitably the gig goes further downhill for me. But, surprise surprise, they make it short and take advantage of it to show off a bit when a part of the stage takes off to the middle of the Stadium. A nice show trick. “Rough Justice” makes the people jump again. Return to rock and roll.

And then, it began to roar. The howling riff of “Start me up”, sharp and dirty as it should be finishes to wake up the audience. From then onwards that was not rock and roll. That was genocide, with a greater than ever Mick Jagger as king of the Universe and the band sounding almost like a group of punk teenagers, fast, loud and aggressive. They return to the stage with “Honky Tonk Woman”, whose end announces something different when all the lights go down, the big inflatable tongue-shaped balloon fails to inflate, the bewitched drums of “Sympathy for the devil” begin to sound and Jagger proves once again why he is the best frontman ever. He shows up, dressed in red, with the microphone attached to his face, begins to sing and holds the 45.000 people captive. All eyes are focused on him as he moves and sings. Nobody can manage that nowadays. He might be old, bur after all these years, he is still the definitive rock star. Searing eyes, powerful yet slender limbs, a mischievous smile. He oozes charisma. The flamethrowers belch as Richards then appears amid the smoke and lets his guitar howl. The solo sends shivers upon my spine. All the Stadium sings and shouts the “Huh-huh´s” , possessed by the primitive appeal of the song. As it fades, oriental sounds herald “Paint it black”, a song that never fails to trigger a joyful effect on any audience. Jagger is the embodiment of God. I am enthralled. No sooner had I recovered from the obscure last chords than the heaviest and most compact version I´ve ever heard of the much more direct and less elaborate but just as bigger-than-life “Brown Sugar” blows everyone at the show right off the floor. Almost frightening, the energy unleashed during the last 30 minutes.

The lights go down. They come on stage again 5 minutes later and play “You can´t always get what you want”, getting hold of the audience again. Nevertheless, great though the song might be, it feels like a cold shower after the 30 minutes hurricane and I can´t wait to see it explode again. It does. With an amphetaminic “Satisfaction” they shift again to overdrive and bid us farewell. It´s all there on the stage: three chords, the devilish rhythm, the basic riff. No surprise, no tricks. To put it in a nutshell: It´s only Rock and Roll. And I like it.

The world has yet to see another rock band that can match them.

The Viennese Fortune teller told me that something good would happen to me in June. Creepy! It did. On the 16th of June a guy from the EU phoned me. I got the formal confirmation two weeks later. I´ve been selected for a European Union Stage, 5 months in Brussels in the DG Trade, commercial relations EU-America-Persian Gulf, and Trade barriers. The contract and a lot of bureaucracy arrived towards the end of June. I sent back the signed contracts with all the due shite on Wednesday the 5th of July (certified, priority and with confirmation of reception… my paranoia with these things brinks on madness, I must admit…). Yesterday I got the confirmation of reception. So I suppose it is official now: It is mine and everything is sorted out already. I did not want to count the chicken before they had hatched.

I begin in Brussels on the 1st of October, which means that I´ll break my current contract, since I signed for a year. But I know what happens: I do not get the last month and must turn back a 1/12 of the money I got in advance, and that´s all folks! I have not yet told anything to my boss. I have never quit (not specially difficult, bearing in mind my incredibly wide work experience). I realise I´m a blundering fool for feeling as if I were about to betray somebody; everyone does it. Moreover, what the chuff do they expect? That I stay here forever doing the shite I do?

Well, there´s something to chew on in the whole thing. Opportunity cost, as usual. If they renewed me here (that is not sure), I´d get something that looks downright riveting: nice contract, 2000 € month, I´d live in Vienna, a great city… With the stage, I´ll earn reasonably well to live in Brussels without starving for 5 months and then, wham bahm! Straight to the dole. What I reject: nice contract, 2000 € month, security, Vienna. Is not enough? No, neither here nor now. It is not Vienna. I like Vienna, she´s got that quietness and indulgence typical of Mitteleuropa, it is perfect to live in and she´s beautiful. But I have not been capable of enjoying all that, I´ve got no time to enjoy all that. I feel like a stranger here. I do not belong. Nonexistent social life, lack of fun, no real friends, I´m far away from all the people I care for. Above all, I loathe my job. I earn good, that´s true, but, money? I´ve got it, and I feel alone and empty. One gets used to everything and now I hardly notice that loneliness, mainly because from Monday to Thursday my life closely resembles a desperate fucking race against the clock. Yet this is by far not what I want. I lack direction here, there is no point in going on with something that makes you feel so bloody unhappy. Should I be renewed here and decide to stay, I would do so out of fear; fear of seeing myself with no job and no money either. A trade off, hours of torment for money. It would not be honest. Nice salary, Vienna, successful firm. Poetry. Fuck on that. I´d be Judas if I accepted. 30 pieces of silver and a deal is a deal. A bribe, through and through. Slaves are made in such ways.

I hate money.

I´m accepting the stage. And I did not need to dwell on it, it was a decision that came from my guts. I´ve got to get out of here, I´ve got to break out. Nature made us wise, and what comes straight from the heart is normally right. This time at least, it is 100% right. I´m positive. I´m going to Brussels in October. I got a stage. Jolly good show chaps!

Summer. Dying in the scorching heat. Terribly humid. I live in an ocean of sweat and confusion. I cannot move the mouse, my arm is glued to the table. I could jump to the ceiling and stay there like the amazing Spiderman. I could go to the bathroom crawling on the walls without touching the floor. It is not that the temperatures are too high, but that the lows are too high. No air. I´m not used to that. In Burgos in summer in the night it does not normally go higher than 15. I´m used up. Alongside work (summer hours are not what I expected: from 8 to 16, one day to 17.30) I´ve got class everyday. I´m pretty squeezed from Monday to Thursday. Is it worth it? French is worth it, I´m beginner, so I learn. The same does not apply to German. Impossible, to grasp Austria. It took me blood, sweat and tears to find an evening course. Theoretically it is Oberstuffe (advanced level). Well it is not. There are not enough people, so the school mixes guys with very different level, they say it is Oberstuffe and they cash in. Up to now, despite the fact that some of the guys could barely utter three words in a row, it was good, due to the teacher. He saw that the levels were very different and taught us mainly vocabulary and conversation (anyone can profit from that). Last month we were 4, it was perfect. I did learn.

Now I´ve been fooled again. The new teacher is a nightmare. He is A PHILOSOPHER. A week ago, he explained us the different theories of time. He believes in the Buddhist theory “time is a circle, everything comes back”. I believe he could lick my arse and that I do not give a toss about that. I do not pay to hear that. Furthermore, we are now 10 people, and some of them have the German of a 6 month old baby. I learn ZILCH. The other day he taught us the difference between als and wenn. Bitte!! I knew that in Bielefeld after having spent 4 months in Germany, and when I arrived there I could not say a word in German.

That and the heat, and I´m sick of my German classes. From a certain point, it is very difficult to improve, I know. I´ve reached that point. My German is good, but it is a long way to the top. And I progress painfully slowly. Besides, one cannot take official exams of high level in Austria, and there are no books for Oberstuffe, so the schools can teach what they want, as nobody will do the exam and they must follow no book. I think I will relax a bit and stop. Also, I´ve changed my strategy. I no longer read the long thrillers I like (Robert Ludlum in German… buff). I bought Harry Potter instead, and I´ve devoured the first one in 4 days. It rocks. And I learn much more than in the course, whose level is really low for so clever a guy like me, that even writes and auto publishes short stories in German.

Well, only one. I was motivated. If you speak German and want to read my disgraces on the road, here it is: LENKRADS BLUES. Steering wheel´s blues, a real story, by ME. As all real storys, it is a sad one.

There had been no brown bears in Germany since 1835. Until Bruno arrived there in 2006. And they go and shoot him. Arseholes. Bruno rocked. He was Italian, young and dynamic. Full of hope, he crossed the Alps some months ago then decided to roam the German-Austrian border. He was the embodyment of a rock star. Optimistic, he just took whatever he wanted, like a little child, and did not care about the rest of the world. He just focused on being happy. Then again, a bear must eat, and Bruno, who did not fear men (poor bear), began killing dozens of sheep, ransacking honey farms (isn´t that sweet) and venturing into chicken stalls. Many people actually saw him. Some even took photographs. But the farmers did not like Bruno, not one bit. He must be finished off, although he never harmed any human (I want to believe he liked us). But he was smarter. Bavarian Prime Minister Edmund Stoiber declared Bruno a “problem bear” and gave hunters permission to shoot to kill. They called it a “search”. It was a hunt all right though. People running around carrying automatic weapons, that is a hunt. What else would you call it? Yet Bruno was smarter.He dodged all the hunters the Bavarian Governement set up against him. Then a group of Finish experts with their hunting dogs and state of the art equipment hopped onto the stage. In vain, Bruno outfoxxed them all. Finally, Bavarian snipers put a bullet into Bruno. They could have tranquilised him and taken him to a zoo or a reserve. Yet they murdered him.

How sad. Nowadays there are brown bears only in Slovenia, about 400 and in mountainous areas like the Pyrenees (Hope we and our French neighbours to the north are not so cruel and silly), the Alps and Central Austria (20 to 30). Brown bears (the only kind in Europe) were plentiful here 300 years ago, but human expansion and hunting dramatically reduced the population. In Germany, the last brown bear was killed 1835. I am not one for animal rights, but this issue is bloody outrageous. He was a sweet big bear with a taste for honey. And they could have caught him alive. There were means to. In fact, you can try to doze Bruno here: Bruno der Bär. Besides Bärenjagd (Bear hunting – but you only doze him), now you´ve also got Brunos Rache (Bruno´s revenge) and Nacht (night version). There´s also a blog “in memoriam” and you can even buy Bruno´s t-shirt online.

They shot him in cold blood and killed him. But Bruno´s revenge has come upon swift wings to the bastards who committed the crime:

• The Bavarian village where he was killed, Rotwand, is an idyllic place were many people go on holyday. Crystal-clear lakes, mountains, clean air, breathtaking scenario. Now they are sufferin a touristic boicott, many people cancelled their holiday in “Scharfschützewand” (Snipers´village). The tourism industry is not to blame, but… Poetic Justice.
• Two days ago, Bruno avenged his death on the nation that killed him. His spirit was inside his Italian countrymen as these trounced the German Selection in the World Cup semifinal. Poetic Justice again.

I´m glad.