Ariman, the 14-year-old son of a Kurdish family who lived on the third floor of an apartment building, turned around on his trials bike as usual. The only strange thing was that Martha Gruber, the bitter old lady on the first floor, had not yet expressed her displeasure. Until now she had never let a day go by without taking advantage of every opportunity that presented itself. After all, she has something to complain about in everything. „Don’t drive so fast“ or „Don’t be sore if you hit something“ or „Don’t make such a lot of noise all the time“ were some of the verbal attacks against the boy. „Remember she only lost her husband a year ago,“ Liloz, Ariman’s mother, would remind him every time he came home saddened by such attacks, „Now she’s all alone and Christmas is coming up.“ She was right, Ariman had to admit. He had his family, mom, dad and two sisters, only the old woman had nobody. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was Cora, her Golden Retriever bitch, who was also elderly, and with whom Martha Gruber went for a walk twice a day, always at the same time, always the same route.


Donations for Pakistan

Pakistan has been hit by the worst floods it has seen in a long time. However, the last time was only 12 years ago – an event that under normal circumstances only occurs around every 100 years. These floods have caused enormous damage. Almost 750,000 people no longer have access to safe and adequate housing. In addition, large areas of agricultural land have been flooded, destroying crops and threatening food supplies. Around a third of the country is under water. This triggered a crisis of unimaginable proportions, because the infrastructure was also affected accordingly, resulting in significant obstacles to rescue and relief measures.


The Panda Bear has a hard time (2)

The agent kept a lookout. Finally, she thought she could walk a few steps upright when she heard a noise no doubt made by heavy construction vehicles. Again, part of the forest was cleared, because more living space was needed, more arable land, more space for entertainment and shopping centers, more and more, claimed by people. „If the forest is cleared bit by bit,“ she thought, „the space available to the wild animals will become smaller and smaller. They get closer together. Single individuals meet and the transmission of pathogens is facilitated. If there is enough space and an animal fall ill, then it keeps to itself and dies. The pathogen goes down with it.”


Blood, Blood everywhere

We sit in the cave and stare at the wall, not tied up, at least not by physical shackles, but held by conventions, social agreements and apparent inevitability. We do not move so that we can give ourselves the illusion that we are bound by shackles. Only when we moved would we notice that there are no shackles. Illusion of a perfect world in view of the downfall, because the pictures tell us. No, it’s not bad, it’s good. We just have to keep going like we did before. Do not let yourself be distracted from the previous path that was successful. All live in prosperity. All have a refrigerator and a car and a television. If you don’t have it, it’s your own fault. A path of success if you just sit well and stay true to the illusion.


The real Corona-Victims

Corinna was the most wonderful dog you can imagine. She was four months old when she joined the Maier family, consisting of a father, mother and two children. „We’re getting a dog now,“ said the father when he was put on short-time work because of Corona, „Then we have a reason to go out and it’s not that bland.“ The children were enthusiastic because they also had home schooling and the dog would be a great compensation for the lack of contact with their friends. Only the mother used a weak veto. „At some point this strange corona will be over and you will go back to the company and you to school. In the afternoon you will want to meet your friends. Then you will want to go on vacation again and what will happen to the dog,“ she said, but until then it would still take a lot of time, everything would work out, said the rest of the family.


My Street – My Rules

Wilhelm Wurst was a good driver. At least he thought he was. Since he was a little boy, he dreamed of big, high-horsepower cars. He worked hard to be able to afford his dream car, a neat little house and a nice lady. But the most important thing was and remained the car. The house was there so that you could put your feet up in the evening and be served, the garage to be able to park your beloved car in it and the mistress on the front passenger seat. „I’m a happy man,“ he said when he entered a room with at least one person with a swollen chest that showed the half-open shirt. Casual, masculine, a gift for women, he was convinced of that.


Go to Work!

„You can work something!“ Or „They haven’t worked a day!“ I hear such and similar sayings at every demo or protest. Apart from the fact that none of those who puff themselves up, perhaps sitting casually in the coffee house or going on a nice day of shopping, knows what who of us is doing, it seems to be a foregone conclusion that one does not have to comply with this request when one drinking coffee or shopping. You know from yourself that you can recover from a strenuous work week with these activities and, above all, support the economy. Working and consuming are the cornerstones of our capitalist system. Anyone who disobeys, even prevents the poor, intimidated consumers from indulging in their well-deserved spending craze at a demo, cannot hack anything themselves.


We Love Pandemics

Exactly one year ago today, the first lockdown was implemented in Austria after a general announcement and countless meetings that helped to spread the virus quickly and vigorously. Who remembers, all shops closed, except for those that were supposed to satisfy basic needs, restaurants, schools and the people for whom it was possible worked in the home office. If you went shopping, then only with a mask, disinfectant and the baby elephant. Because of the distance, it was who remembers. It was downright spooky on the streets. Back then, the restrictions were taken very seriously and toilet paper and pasta were hoarded to be on the safe side. Nobody knew why toilet paper, but after someone started using it and some copied it, everyone had to do it at some point. According to the motto, “I don’t know the reason, but if the others do it, then there will be one and until I discover it, there may be nothing left for me.” Because first comes self-sufficiency and then solidarity.


Every single minute of the day

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, horror reports of abuse, misuse, rape, and all other kinds of suffering reach me.

Not every day, but every single minute, it is present because it is happening, now and now and now and now, because it is so encompassing and omnipresent.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, if you still have at least a little sympathy, you want to despair of all the human-made horror that happens everywhere, yes, maybe even next door.

Not every day, but in every single minute of the day, one stands uncomprehending in front of the incomprehensible stupidity that floats of species-appropriate and pain-free, meaning a little less suffering or a quick death.

Not every day, but in every single minute of the day you want to scream, for all those whose screams no one hears, because they are well hidden, in dark, crammed, closed, and who wants to look it gets to do with the legislature, the property more important than ending the suffering.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day you want to cry, a tear for each creature, whose torments you and you and you, and probably also I blame, because I have to let it, because I cannot help it.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, one wants to be there, a living admonition to let life live, in freedom, in happiness, in lightheartedness, to leave it untouched, because no one can own life except that, it belongs.

Not every day, but every single minute, it is present, also right next to me, on your plate, and you whisper to me 100,000 times something of tradition or that you cannot do otherwise or some shit that I do not want to hear anymore, cannot hear anymore.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, I see that there are people around me who also feel, think, see, despair, cry, scream and fight, who help each other out when they think they cannot go any further because the sorrow depresses one.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, I see the commitment and willingness to intervene for the abused, abused, raped, and ill-informed of this world, regardless of their own lives or their own reputation, for those who commit their lives will be repressed showered.

Not every day, but in every single minute of the day, I live life with all devotion, in all passion, live the love, colorful and intense as life itself, lose myself, surrender, be lost and let surrender, for that very reason and despite everything hostile to life.

Not every day, but in every single minute of the day, I want to celebrate the little moments of happiness that I get, in exuberance and pure disrespect for the correctness and decency.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, I want to be the freedom that I wish for all others, the freedom to shape your life in such a way that it is yours, that it is full of possibilities and privileges.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, life should be just life. And it needs no further justification.