46 Buch VI Nr. 36/2013 Mäander als Kunstprogramm eine Reise zum Muzej Macura, Belgrad ein Beitrag von Gerald Kolfer Nahe und fern gelten räumlich betrachtet als diffizil. Dies verdeutlicht der Mäander. Zwei augenscheinlich nahe liegende Punkte können nur erreicht werden indem man ein Vielfaches an Weg zurücklegt. Europa mäandriert. Man wird jäh auf diese Tatsache zurückgeworfen, sobald man auf der von der <strong>ST</strong>RABAG glatt gebügelten Ungarnroute Richtung Serbien unterwegs ist. Wie unendlich fern man sich trotz gut ausgebauter Verbindungsrouten wähnt, verdeutlichen die Grenzer. Kein Zauber dieser Welt bindet, was die Mode hier in Strenge teilt. Kein Augenzwinkern oder Zureden hilft, wenn der Pass nicht passt. Eine Mäanderschlinge zurück nach Budapest steht an, denn noch weilt Serbien nicht unterm sanften Flügel Europas und der Notpass der diplomatischen Vertretung in Budapest ist in solch einem Fall der einzige Schlüssel, der die Tür zu diesem Flecken anderes Europa aufsperrt. Die normalste Sache der Welt. Zumindest für den Grenzer. In der Natur gibt es keine Grenzen. Und keine Geraden. Der Wassertropfen wird niemals gerade fließen. Nicht mal wenn man zuvor das Fenster putzt und poliert. Ein Geheimnis der Hydrodynamik. Am Papier, funktioniert diese Art dritte Dimension nichtmal fiktiv. Deswegen ist sie im Denken der Technokraten nicht vorhanden. Viel Wasser ist schon die Donau hinuntergeflossen, zuviel um enge Kurven zu ziehen. Die Donaumäander beeindrucken durch den Verschub gewaltiger Erdmassen, die ihrer Landschaft Prägung geben. Vor Belgrad, auf der Höhe der Ortschaft Novi Panovci, zieht die Donau eine Linkskurve. Vom Wagram aus hat man eine weite Sicht, hinein in die Auen am anderen Ufer. Die zahlreichen Fischlokale werden gern von den Belgrader Flaneuren und Wochenendgästen frequentiert. Monströs anmutende Einfamilienhäuser, fast so überdimensional wie Hotels im Tirolerhäuslstil säumen, oftmals unverputzt, die Peripherie der Entspannungsdörfer vor den Toren Belgrads. Die serbische Binnenmigration hat hier ein Gesicht bekommen. In den Häusern leben die Großfamilien aus den periphären Provinzgegenden, wo „daham“ einmal gewesen ist – von den Mäandern der jüngeren Zeitgeschichte hier angeschwemmt. Fremde im eigenen Land, die hier, am Wagram vor Belgrad, eine neue Normalität suchen und irgendwann in einer anderen Welt, als der in Stein gefassten erwachen werden. Am Rande dieser pittoresken Wohnlandschaft der Zeitgeschichte steht das Museum Macura. Ein dunkler Kubus, der schon von der nahen E 65 her auffällt, wenn man danach sucht. Schon vom Grundriss her hat der Mäander hier Programm. Seine Existenz geht zurück auf das mäandrierende Schaffen der 60er Jahre, auf die Kunst des Kroaten Julije Knifer zurück, der für den Grundriss des Gebäudes Pate stand. Wenn man das längliche Grundstück betritt, fallen zunächst die Nebengebäude ins Blickfeld und der Obstgarten, dann der Museumstrakt von dessen Rückseite die Donau grüßt. Nicht alle Früchte hier am Boden gelten als Fallobst. Immerwieder stößt man auf Früchte des Schaffens aus den letzten Dekaden, aber auch auf Gegenwärtiges, denn Artists lieben diese Residence und die besondere Exotik dieses Platzes erst recht. Der Name der Künstlergruppe Gorgona stand in den fünfziger- und sechziger Jahren für unangepasstes Kulturschaffen im blockfreien Staat Jugoslawien. Man duldete, aber sammlete nicht das Mäandrieren dieser Künstler im alten Vielvölkerstaat Jugoslawien. Die Gruppe Gorgona ist aber dafür umfangreich vertreten in der Sammlung Macura. Einer der Grundsätze der Gruppe lautete, dass kein Werk als Resultat der Kunst erwartet wurde – es ging ums Prozessuale, um den gemeinsamen Austausch, ums Mäandrieren der Gedanken. Eine Idee, die bei Macura ihre Fortführung findet. Nicht jeder muss sich verpflichtet fühlen ein Werk vor zulegen, wenn der Austausch stimmt. Das Ergebnis ist ein Gesamt(kunst)projekt, dass sich stets von neuem erfindet, dessen Früchte manchmal im Gras liegen, als Inspiration mit genommen werden oder an den Museumswänden hängen bleiben. Das Museum Macura ist ein offenes Haus mit einem artist in residence Programm, geöffnet von Anfang Mai bis Ende Oktober. Es finden laufend aktuelle Ausstellungen und Veranstaltungen statt. MUZEJ MACURA - Vladimir Macura, Adresse: Zenit 1, Novi Banovci bei Belgrad fon: +43 664 423 0657 Fotos: Muzej Macura / Gerald Kolfer
Nr. 36/2013 Buch VI 47 Ausstellungen / Literatur / Freunde / Wegbegleiter Killing for a Bitch by Michael Buergermeister At the age of twenty-one Roland was still a virgin. He was a nice boy and in his eyes nice boys didn’t fuck; they waited for the perfect girl to enter their lives, married and settled down. This attitude had as much to do with Roland’s petit bourgeois romanticism as his seriousness. His religious education also played a part; Roland had been brought up a Catholic. There was something else though that influenced him: the fact that he came from a broken home and had been very close to and was now completely estranged from his mother. Women were sacred for him and the sexual act had a divine dimension. Added to that was his odd social life, his poverty and his driving ambition, which had made him such an outstanding student. He always dreamed that academic achievement and material success would help him find „something better“. He didn’t know what he wanted, he had no ideal image of a girl in his head but he knew what he didn’t want: to be like his father who had seduced innumerable women. His father’s adherence to Priapos had destroyed both his mother, who became an alcoholic, and his home. The last thing Roland wanted was to hurt another human being. Yet, ironically, this is what he was to do. And when he inflicted injury it was to excess. Freudians would have us believe that all is driven by our subconscious and that sex is the primal drive yet the truth is: what the Greeks and Romans called „the passions“ really do. We are both simpler and more complex than Freud ever imagined. Pascal was right when he termed fantasy the „dominant faculty of man“ and he was right when he defi ned our condition as being one of „inconstancy, boredom, anxiety“. Man is a curious bundle of emotions, sensations and nerves. Whether he is as wretched as Pascal portrays him is a matter of debate but his weakness and vanity are beyond reasonable doubt. Roland lived in a fi ercely competitive age. It was no easy matter to survive and his one governing fear and anxiety was that he would not do so. Social Darwinism, the survival of the fi ttest, was the ideology of the day. All that mattered was success and it didn’t matter how one got there. Criminality was the rule and not the exception and nobody in business or politics, the two had become interchangeable, paid serious attention to the law. The attitude that „only little people pay taxes“ had become a dominant trend. The result was that the poor subsidized the rich and not vice versa. The rich were above the law; they could literally get away with murder, while the poor were persecuted for their lack of ambition. It was perfectly acceptable for those in power to plunder the taxpayer and expropriate wealth. The world was governed by greed and a kleptocracy had slowly taken hold, much like a parasitic vine. Its tentacles were everywhere and its control complete. The poor were squeezed, trampled on, stolen from, humiliated and what was worse: told they were the authors of their own misfortune; all they had to do was „get on their bikes“. There was no alternative they were told countless times. Injustice, double-standards, and theft belonged to the natural order of things. AUSARTEN [ ] zeigte Das Exponential Die Gruppenausstellung des Kunstvereins AUSARTEN [ ] zeigte als fortlaufendes Projekt im Anschluss an die Ausstellungen 2012 (Glaube versus Wissenschaft sowie Stillstand und Beschleunigung) als drittes Projekt Das Exponential. Im Zeitalter der exponentiellen Entwicklungen, das technischen Fortschritts und des paradigmatischen Paradoxons einer unendlich wachsenden Wirtschaft zeigte die Ausstellung künstlerische Positionen, die sich zeitkritisch mit Ursachen und Auswirkungen des menschlichen Handelns auseinandersetzten. Die Erderwärmung, die Produktion von Plastik, die Treibhausgasemissionen, das Artensterben oder die Anzahl von Telefonen sind nur einige der Indikatoren, die als exponentielles Schema Repräsentatn einer Welt im Zeitalter des Anthropozäns sind. KÜN<strong>ST</strong>LERINNEN: Johanna Binder, Adam Bota, Peter Brauneis, Bernhard Buhmann, Depart, Naomi Devil, Christian Eisenberger, ekw14,90, Karin Frank, Thomas Gänszler, Manuel Gras, Maria Hanl, Siggi Hofer, Jochen Höller, Olivier Hölzl, Tatjana Hardikov, Karl Kilian, Stefan Kreuzer, Milan Mijalkovic, Milan Mladenovic, Mobtik, Alois Mosbacher, Max Peintner, Kurt Prinz, Jürgen Ramacher & Christian Einfalt, Enar de Dios Rodríguez, Martin Roth, Martin Schnur, Stylianos Schicho, Christopher Sturmer, Ubermorgen, Thomas Wagensommerer,Bachhofer / Rysavy / Wildenberg, Hannes Zebedin. Ort: Kuefsteingasse 15-19,1140 Wien / November 2013 KuratorInnen: Bastian Hörman, Denise Sumi, Katrin Knilli Assistenz: Franziska Hümer-Fistelberger AUSARTEN[ ] e.V. / Verein zur Förderung künstlerischer Interventionen und transdisziplinärer Vernetzung / www.ausarten.at All that counted, not just in Roland’s eyes, was to be „respectable“. Deeply insecure he craved the good opinion of others. Naturally vain and not a little arrogant he despised those who were neither good-looking, educated nor rich. Any attempt at criticism on their part was Communism and Envy. He was secretly pleased when he saw protesters beaten by police. His success and his place in „good society“ seemed assured. One day he had an idea born of arrogance and greed. He too could be, he fi gured, rich. All he needed to do was to pretend that he had kidnapped the son and heir of a wealthy family he had grown acquainted with. He need not even kidnap him. All would be pretence. The idea smacked of brilliance. Indeed he thought of himself a genius and believed himself simply misunderstood. The fact that he had cheated in his exams and plagiarized all his ideas was no matter. Thinking for oneself, independently, even reading was only for the lowly and ill-bred. He never had to do so, being much too refi ned for such matters. And education was but a veneer. All one needed was bluff. After all, so-called „good society“ was both stupid and ignorant. It was not diffi cult to fool, of that he was sure. He had bluffed his way into it with claims of having attended good schools and knowing people he had only ever heard of. Besides he was a consummate actor and that meant: he invariably got away with it. As so often with good ideas this particular one was forgotten. He smirked with the secret knowledge that he was capable of the perfect crime and that alone suffi ced to pamper his vanity. Everything changed when he saw Elisabeth. Elisabeth was a whore, but Roland didn’t know that. She was rich, beautiful, and from a respectable family. The fact that she didn’t have a single moral to bless herself with didn’t bother him. On the contrary: if he had guessed the fact he would have quickly ignored it. She was elegant, sophisticated, knew how to move in a party and was welcome in the best society. She had a bubbly, superfi cial sense of humour and he quickly idealized her as a goddess of divine perfection. Above all else, Roland thought, he would be very proud to have such a beautiful girl at his side: she knew how to dress, and, after all: what else counted? His vanity and arrogance were aroused. He began to scheme on how to get her but every concept had a fatal fl aw: they couldn’t be implemented for want of funds. His idea suddenly resurfaced. Roland’s fantasy took hold. He imagined putting his hand on her arm, kissing her hand, seizing her in his arms, tearing her clothes off and sexually assaulting her. The dream became an obsession. It haunted him night and day. If he had enough funds he could start his own business or participate in one of someone else as an investor. If only he didn’t have to pay taxes! If only there weren’t the irksome regulations of the state! He would become rich and successful. Of that he was sure. He would drive up to Elisabeth’s house in a Ferrari and she would seduce him on their fi rst drive. His sexual desires took hold of him and his absence of experience made them all the more keen. Everything seemed clearly mapped out and assured. What, after all, could possibly go wrong? Where would the harm be in a prank? If his scheme were to be discovered it would be excused as an excess of youth. If it went awry he would dismiss it as a practical joke. Didn’t anyone have a sense of humour these days? On second thoughts he would forgo the investment, the money would buy him a nice car, it didn’t necessarily have to be a Ferrari, and that, he knew from watching others, would be enough. Her knees would go weak and his hands would quickly wander. He would explore the hills and valleys, the peaks and troughs of her soul. All that was required was a certain lightness of touch and the fact that his actions were not strictly legal, well, what did that matter in this day and age? The child in question was particularly dreamy and gormless. It is a commonly held belief that intelligence and wealth go hand in hand but this child was living proof that the opposite is true. He was querulous and destructive and was commonly known in family circles as „the little monster“. Both nanny and guardian didn’t care for him and it was this absence of feeling, this complete and utter indifference that would prove fatal both for them and him. His parents rarely saw him and when they did it was usually to utter their disgust at the ineptitude of his upbringing. The fact that they were ultimately responsible for it invariably escaped their attention. Roland knew how to lure the little boy away. All he needed was to appeal to his impish, rebellious instinct. Wouldn’t it be fun, he sinisterly suggested, with faintly satanic smile, to be away the whole day, and not come back at night? His parents would go crazy. The little boy, Nicholas was his name, loved the idea. That, he knew, would get their attention and, best of all, both nanny and guardian would be fi red. He chuckled at the thought of the tears in their eyes. Freedom beckoned and Roland would be the agent of his liberation. Roland, he had long realized, was his best friend. Die ARCHIVE DES EIGENSINNS sind ein kurzweiliges Kompendium, zusammengestellt aus einer Auswahl von Reiseberichten, Betrachtungen und Erzählungen des Ende 2008 erschienenen und mittlerweile vergriffenen „Eigensinn Lesebuchs“, gekoppelt mit neuen, bislang unveröffentlichten Geschichten, einem repräsentativen Querschnitt durch das kultur- journalistische Schaffen des Autors, der hier – neben u. a. bei der LEIPZIGER BUCHMESSE vorgestellten Textsammlung - aus einem reichen Fundus an Publikationen, vom „Boulevardmagazin“ AUGU<strong>ST</strong>IN (Wien), der Literaturzeitschrift MONTAUK (Graz), der Print-Publikation SCHRIEB (Erding/Bayern) und dem Literatur-/Kunst- und Politik-Magazin WIENZEILE die ihm nahestehenden zur Nachlese anbietet, abgerundet durch zwei fragmentarische Textstrecken, die durchaus Seltenheitswert aufweisen. Im folgenden Projekt, angeregt durch das Alternativ-Label SEXTANT MUSIC, geht er auf die Herausforderung ein, gemeinsam mit verschiedensten Musikern seine Prosa und explizit Lyrik zu vertonen … „Herzlichen Dank für die elektronische Übermittlung der ganzen neuen Ausgabe der WIENZEILE. Ihre Besprechung der „Struktur der modernen Literatur“ passt da phantastisch hinein, zumal sie auch sehr schön aufgemacht ist. Zu ändern gibt es meinerseits nichts mehr. Wo Sie meine Vorschläge übernommen haben, da haben Sie das perfekt gemacht; wo Sie bei Ihrer sprachlichen Fassung geblieben sind, da haben Sie von Ihrem Recht als Rezensent Gebrauch gemacht. Alles in allem ist es ein äußerst informativer, aber auch kurzweilig geschriebener Beitrag, für den ich Ihnen nur meine aufrichtige Anerkennung zollen kann.“ Professor Mario Andreotti (CH) ISBN 978-3-9503114-2-6 Wolfgang E. EigEnsinn • DiE archivE DEs EigEnsinns W As Roland waited for an answer to his ransom note he half dreamed and half remembered his last meeting with Elisabeth. There had been something wickedly beckoning in her smile when she had invited him in for a coffee. She had ignored the fact that he had practically forgotten her during the performance. She had ignored the fact that he had behaved like a fool and had been hopelessly inept in his courtship. She still had wanted to fuck him and he, incapable of seeing the fact had blindly thought it the beginning of a great and long romance. She would be the woman of his dreams he had told himself. They would marry and have children. The fact that she could have slept with a dozen boys a day, if she had wanted to, was all the more reason why she would fi nd him different, he told himself. Elisabeth, unlike Roland, had no illusions about herself. She was rigorously honest. When jealous and spiteful girls called her a whore, she laughed at their faces. She didn’t have a problem with the fact. In fact she took a Babylonian pride in the scope of her sexual empire: the three dentists, in three different towns, who invited her for expensive holidays, the various students who did so, her long list of admirers: managers, lawyers, doctors, businessmen, who begged for her time of day. When girls talked of „going for walks“ with their fi ancés she laughed outrageously at their pretence of innocence and hypocrisy: she knew that all they wanted was to get laid. Had Roland realized the fact that he had lost his one chance then and that it would never return he would never have done what he did. du If Roland’s lack of experience, cheek and arrogance had been the key to his initial success: Nicholas had believed him because of his glibness and insouciance, it was to be the cause of his downfall. If Nicholas had taken considerable pleasure in the discomfort he knew he would cause his parents it had quickly been replaced by other, more urgent emotions. He became diffi cult to handle and Roland soon realized that he was out of control. In addition to that: the machinery of justice swung into action and what Roland had learned in theory soon became fact. Killing for a Bitch by Michael Buergermeister At the age of twenty-one Roland was still a virgin. He was a nice boy and in his eyes nice boys didn’t fuck; they waited for the perfect girl to enter their lives, married and settled down. This attitude had as much to do with Roland’s petit bourgeois romanticism as his seriousness. His religious education also played a part; Roland had been brought up a Catholic. There was something else though that influenced him: the fact that he came from a broken home and had been very close to and was now completely estranged from his mother. Women were sacred for him and the sexual act had a divine dimension. Added to that was his odd social life, his poverty and his driving ambition, which had made him such an outstanding student. He always dreamed that academic achievement and material success would help him find „something better“. He didn’t know what he wanted, he had no ideal image of a girl in his head but he knew what he didn’t want: to be like his father who had seduced innumerable women. His father’s adherence to Priapos had destroyed both his mother, who became an alcoholic, and his home. The last thing Roland wanted was to hurt another human being. Yet, ironically, this is what he was to do. And when he inflicted injury it was to excess. Freudians would have us believe that all is driven by our subconscious and that sex is the primal drive yet the truth is: what the Greeks and Romans called „the passions“ really do. We are both simpler and more complex than Freud ever imagined. Pascal was right when he termed fantasy the „dominant faculty of man“ and he was right when he defi - ned our condition as being one of „inconstancy, boredom, anxiety“. Man is a curious bundle of emotions, sensations and nerves. Whether he is as wretched as Pascal portrays him is a matter of debate but his weakness and vanity are beyond reasonable doubt. Roland lived in a fi ercely competitive age. It was no easy matter to survive and his one governing fear and anxiety was that he would not do so. Social Darwinism, the survival of the fi ttest, was the ideology of the day. All that mattered was success and it didn’t matter how one got there. Criminality was the rule and not the exception and nobody in business or politics, the two had become interchangeable, paid serious attention to the law. The attitude that „only little people pay taxes“ had become a dominant trend. The result was that the poor subsidized the rich and not vice versa. The rich were above the law; they could literally get away with murder, while the poor were persecuted for their lack of ambition. It was perfectly acceptable for those in power to plunder the taxpayer and expropriate wealth. The world was governed by greed and a kleptocracy had slowly taken hold, much like a parasitic vine. Its tentacles were everywhere and its control complete. The poor were squeezed, trampled on, stolen from, humiliated and what was worse: told they were the authors of their own misfortune; all they had to do was „get on their bikes“. There was no alternative they were told countless times. Injustice, double-standards, and theft belonged to the natural order of things. All that counted, not just in Roland’s eyes, was to be „respectable“. Deeply insecure he craved the good opinion of others. Naturally vain and not a little arrogant he despised those who were neither good-looking, educated nor rich. Any attempt at criticism on their part was Communism and Envy. He was secretly pleased when he saw protesters beaten by police. His success and his place in „good society“ seemed assured. One day he had an idea born of arrogance and greed. He too could be, he fi gured, rich. All he needed to do was to pretend that he had kidnapped the son and heir of a wealthy family he had grown acquainted with. He need not even kidnap him. All would be pretence. The idea smacked of brilliance. Indeed he thought of himself a genius and believed himself simply misunderstood. The fact that he had cheated in his exams and plagiarized all his ideas was no matter. Thinking for oneself, independently, even reading was only for the lowly and ill-bred. He never had to do so, being much too refi ned for such matters. And education was but a veneer. All one needed was bluff. After all, so-called „good society“ was both stupid and ignorant. It was not diffi cult to fool, of that he was sure. He had bluffed his way into it with claims of having attended good schools and knowing people he had only ever heard of. Besides he was a consummate actor and that meant: he invariably got away with it. As so often with good ideas this particular one was forgotten. He smirked with the secret knowledge that he was capable of the perfect crime and that alone suffi ced to pamper his vanity. people If he had enough funds he could start his own business or participate in one of someone else as an investor. If only he didn’t have to pay taxes! If only there weren’t the irksome regulations of the state! He would become rich and successful. Of that he was sure. He would drive up to Elisabeth’s house in a Ferrari and she would seduce him on their Everything changed when he saw Elisabeth. Elisabeth was a whore, but Roland didn’t know that. She was rich, beautiful, and from a respectable family. The fact that she didn’t have a single moral to bless herself with didn’t bother him. On the contrary: if he had guessed the fact he would have quickly ignored it. She was elegant, sophisticated, knew how to move in a party and was welcome in the best society. She had a bubbly, superfi cial sense of humour and he quickly idealized her as a goddess of divine perfection. Above all else, Roland thought, he would be very proud to have such a beautiful girl at his side: she knew how to dress, and, after all: what else counted? His vanity and arrogance were aroused. He began to scheme on how to get her but every concept had a fatal fl aw: they couldn’t be implemented for want of funds. His idea suddenly resurfaced. Roland’s fantasy took hold. He imagined putting his hand on her arm, kissing her hand, seizing her in his arms, tearing her clothes off and sexually assaulting her. The dream became an obsession. It haunted him night and day. stars, szenefiguren, akteure, musen, schreiber und querdenker und mehr fi rst drive. His sexual desires took hold of him and his absence of experience made them all the more keen. Everything seemed clearly mapped out and assured. What, after all, could possibly go wrong? Where would the harm be in a prank? If his scheme were to be discovered it would be excused as an excess of youth. If it went awry he would dismiss it as a practical joke. Didn’t anyone have a sense of humour these days? On second thoughts he would forgo the investment, the money would buy him a nice car, it didn’t necessarily have to be a Ferrari, and that, he knew from watching others, would be enough. Her knees would go weak and his hands would quickly wander. He would explore the hills and valleys, the peaks and troughs of her soul. All that was required was a certain lightness of touch and the fact that his actions were not strictly legal, well, what did that matter in this day and age? The child in question was particularly dreamy and gormless. It is a commonly held belief that intelligence and wealth go hand in hand but this child was living proof that the opposite is true. He was querulous and destructive and was commonly known in family circles as „the little monster“. Both nanny and guardian didn’t care for him and it was this absence of feeling, this complete and utter indifference that would prove fatal both for them and him. His parents rarely saw him and when they did it was usually to utter their disgust at the ineptitude of his upbringing. The fact that they were ultimately responsible for it invariably escaped their attention. Roland knew how to lure the little boy away. All he needed was to appeal to his impish, rebellious instinct. Wouldn’t it be fun, he sinisterly suggested, with faintly satanic smile, to be away the whole day, and not come back at night? His parents would go crazy. The little boy, Nicholas was his name, loved the idea. That, he knew, would get their attention and, best of all, both nanny and guardian would be fi red. He chuckled at the thought of the tears in their eyes. Freedom beckoned and Roland would be the agent of his liberation. Roland, he had long realized, was his best friend. As Roland waited for an answer to his ransom note he half dreamed and half remembered his last meeting with Elisabeth. There had been something wickedly beckoning in her smile when she had invited him in for a coffee. She had ignored the fact that he had practically forgotten her during the performance. She had ignored the fact that he had behaved like a fool and had been hopelessly inept in his courtship. She still had wanted to fuck him and he, incapable of seeing the fact had blindly thought it the beginning of a great and long romance. She would be the woman of his dreams he had told himself. They would marry and have children. The fact that she could have slept with a dozen boys a day, if she had wanted to, was all the more reason why she would fi nd him different, he told himself. Elisabeth, unlike Roland, had no illusions about herself. She was rigorously honest. When jealous and spiteful girls called her a whore, she laughed at their faces. She didn’t have a problem with the fact. In fact she took a Babylonian pride in the scope of her sexual empire: the three dentists, in three different towns, who invited her for expensive holidays, the various students who did so, her long list of admirers: managers, lawyers, doctors, businessmen, who begged for her time of day. When girls talked of „going for walks“ with their fi ancés she laughed outrageously at their pretence of innocence and hypocrisy: she knew that all they wanted was to get laid. Had Roland realized the fact that he had lost his one chance then and that it would never return he would never have done what he did. If Roland’s lack of experience, cheek and arrogance had been the key to his initial success: Nicholas had believed him because of his glibness and insouciance, it was to be the cause of his downfall. If Nicholas had taken considerable pleasure in the discomfort he knew he would cause his parents it had quickly been replaced by other, more urgent emotions. He became diffi cult to handle and Roland soon realized that he was out of control. In addition to that: the machinery of justice swung into action and what Roland had learned in theory soon became fact. Wir wünschen dem <strong>ST</strong>/A/R Magazin auf diesem Weg Alles Gute für weitere kreative und inspirierende 10 Jahre. Pecha Kucha Night Vienna www.pechakucha.at der nächste <strong>ST</strong>/A/R erscheint März 2014 und wird alles und jeden zum Star machen ...
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