Indeed, in the other – in what I recognize – I recognize myself, my own world, along with it.

Breakdown after work. I carry my bike up the stairs, injure myself. When I examine it in the bathroom, I black out and fall to the floor, calling emergency service with my head lying on the tiles.

Distance, I didn’t take it seriously. Thought it was something bad. It has not only a protective function. It is even necessary, and perhaps the elementary essence of love at all.

Perhaps love could be described as a practice of pleasant closeness and distance. And that love, when it becomes painful, loses this nurturing rhytmics; oscillates painfully and arrythmically.

Perhaps there is within us, or outside of us, something like an inherent logic of love, of attraction. A celestial clock-beat of togetherness. And when we leave this logic, it becomes hurtful.

But distance is not just baked into love as essence or necessity. It is also essential to us as persons. We can’t just be in a group. We must also always practice our separateness, our deviance. We must seek the outside of groups, our solitude, or whatever, to retroactively enrich the group.

And so, perhaps, there is always a need in us for an outside of relationships. Something like the baked-in infidelity, the baked-in desire, the baked-in flight. We want to run, we want to be alone, we want to give up all these responsibilities. That’s part of us, and it will never go away.

The ultimate love requires rejection, death, rupture.

Ultimately, every confiding is a vow. A Throwing-Into – which itself already shows the trust. Whether it is answered and held or not.

I still haven’t reached the bottom.

And as long as I take the Western money, I cannot see any truth there.

You can recognize confident people by the scars on their faces. They have fought with wolves and they do not bother to smile.

She said it doesn’t match. Actually, she didn't even say that. It would have been good if she had at least said that.

It is a strange mixture. When clothing produces sex, it artifies the given and makes of it a unity. When I wear a dress, its purpose collides with a biology. It highlights my body, and points out that it doesn’t fit.

Gender roles are made. But it is not so easy to say we are a blank sheet of paper and could be anything. Because in our idea of gender, sexus matters.

It is much more the case that a biological characteristic is amplified and emphasized. Gender roles put the body in context.

You need calm and time for everything in life, otherwise it isn’t beautiful.

I don’t write enough for myself. Not honest and true enough. That is it, what we all lust for.

People want truth, they want to be taken seriously. It is our greatest basic need: honest communication. To be taken seriously as what we are, with what we have to say and what we think.

And around us: the world, nature – an unaltered look at it. An honest look at it. To name things as they are. The violence, the injustice, the hatred, the unlovingness. Not to alter what we say and think in favor of a false self-protection, a false protection of others. This is perhaps the central theme: false protection. (Denial, disavowal, violence.) It strips us of ourselves, it strips us of a shared world, of the world itself. We have fallen ill of it.

And in every human being dwells the good. I believe in it, I have seen it. That’s why we hope and love at all. Because we know it. We are driven to push aside the false protection in ourselves and others, to overcome it. To create community. Honesty.

And beauty, too. Because in truth we will prevail. In truth, we will come into light.

I am father, love, desire, similitude.

In these moments, we are quite common. I am her, and she is me. We are one. We are the same, we have the same problems. We radiate in the same love, and this love leads us to our twofoldness. We are destined to walk the future path together, to be together. As equals, as a couple, as a family, allies, body swappers. We are equals.

In our difference we found an identity. Here the new is revealed. In your desire for me, in what you see in me, my future path becomes truth. You show me, you tell me, you love to me what I am. You love upon me to show what I will be in your words, in the movings of your mouth. You tell me, you show me. Your body shows it to me, the throbbing and desire of your veins.

It ceases. It was, it breaks. This is the point of breaking: this closeness, this definiteness, this concreteness. It remains, and it comes – only destruction. There is no substitute identity, no plan B. There remains only a rejection, a destruction of this attempt, of this idea, of this hesitation of the familiar. And that’s where it runs out. There it comes to a halt, there it is no more.

An old one wins. An insignificant, an unclear. The absence of a showing, the absence of a life.

The love of yours becomes here. An old love that becomes new. In our loss I live in it. I burn in it as a gap, as a ceasing, as the non-communicating. I hear her thinking of me. As a loop, as an ambiguity, as the background noise of a possibility. As the condition of what has been.

I form the rim: the boundary of a nowness that remains blurred. It rustles along. I am a name, a memory, a point of orientation. An anchor that is not attached. An anchor that flickers in the water. And which has never fleshed out its actual grounding.

Showing my art more broadly is the most intimate and loving act I can enact. Nothing hurts me more, nothing makes me more vulnerable.

It is the most beautiful feeling to love a broken person in whom you see yourself.

So, you could cast the timeline of life into an animal, grant it the form of an animal. Just as you could describe your own mood with a sun or a cloud. And then you see how powerful this animal is.