LEATHER COUCH
By

Oscar ’’Dr. Wizard’’ von Fraunhofer

Im Freiburg, 24/04/2016
Englisch Prefüng

There are many things I think about now when I sit and I’m restless and sweating in a fucking warm leather couch in a 80 degrees warm townhouse in the slumbering province in Baden-Württemberg where I grew up and ran away from and like many other provinces seems to be of people whose lives consists of days structured about:
When you eat and when the children shit
When cross eyed hairdresser Karnel Jennel on the square has holiday closed
When the weather is on the news and here on if you get yelled or not get yelled which is almost obligatory under every forecast:
That they don’t promise what they say that they don’t know what they are talking about that they could fucking come with some better weather than heatwaves and rain and sleet and crap with crap on and even though you already know that the weather host no possible way has a divine finger in the game that should make him able to

pull any weather across the country that suits him and even if he had such a creepy divine weather finger then you already know that he won’t hear shit about what you yell at him because you sit and yell from your leather couch in Freiburg against a careless electronic box in front of the wall in the living room as standard equipment doesn’t have a microphone built in that would be able to send your complaining directly out through a giant pair of speakers at the canals in Berlin where the weather is being send from.

There is a lot of things I think about now when I just payed 15 euros. for standing up and getting mad with nausea in an half hour in a shit smelling and baby crying DB-train and finally be able to step out and fill the lungs with some almost fresh air then for walking down to the 80 degrees warm townhouse in the slumbering province in Baden-Württemberg that I grew up in

and escaped from and as many other provinces seems to be of people whose lives consists of days structured about:
When you are going to cut your hedge or when the neighbor is going to cut the hedge you share just a centimeter to much and then when you now are going to stand up and complain so unspeakable loud over the neighbors evil murder on the hedge and on the entire privacy life mostly because it’s just about having something to complain about out here apparently the closest you get on a feeling of a feeling of a feeling of a higher purpose.
At least that’s how I think about the province right now but I also think about that it isn’t entirely fair to think like that not fair to the province not fair to my hometown not fair to my childhood, my youth or my family

totally not to my mother
I really apologize for that mother
I just think it’s me that there is something wrong with and not the province
Maybe my sister but I also still need to find myself on the top of a mountain in Nepal therefor I haven’t reached to the part of my life where I think it makes sense to have a hedge, that needs to be get a cut once in a while
I think it’s all DBs fault you really get mad in the head at DB.
At least that’s how I think right now where I just sat down in this fucking warm sunlit leather couch in Freiburg with my 2 year old cousin wearing a blue ‘’Monters, Inc’’ –t shirt he looks at meet and tries to shape the first half and whole sentences in his life and still look a little bit confused in his glass blue eyes mostly because he mother went missing out of the door and left him with his neurotic cousin that left the family in Freiburg in favor to a sublimating adventure in the big Stuttgart cocain utopia of self-realizing ideals, metro noise

fear of terror and venereal diseases in the megacity.
My cousin though isn’t any more confused than he already knows himself that I am the man that need to take care of him meanwhile his mother went missing and therefor I am also the man with the magical divine fingers that are able to magic all kinds of worlds on a black flat screen on the wall by putting a circular round mirror with a hole in the middle on a squared tongue that comes of out a squared mouth with my divine weather fingers that can magic all kind of weather.

He already knows all this of course on some really weird way because he looks at me and says:
‘’Pat’’
and I understand that I must find the Postman Pat-DVD and I show it to him and he looks at me and shake his head

and says ‘’Bob’’
I nod and say ‘’okay’’ and I find the Bob the Builder-DVD and he looks at it and says ‘’no’’ and then says’ ’Tractor’’ and I understand that I must now find the Tractor Tom-DVD and he looks up at me and grins and says ‘’no’’ then I say
‘’Decide goddammit!’’ then he gets quite in some seconds where he afterwards looks up at me and says*
‘’Pat’’
Alright, Postman Pat.
The entire first season considering of 13 episodes which is enough to get both a good and round acquaintance to
Postman Pat and still though get to think about what a borderline psychosis is about how fucked up Postman Pat and his universe really is.
Already under the first episode it isn’t hard to think:
That Postman Pat maybe talks a little bit too much with his cat and that it maybe is worse for Bob the Builder that goes and talks with his garden tools and his machines specially his tow truck

I also think:
That it is weird, that Postman Pat is in such a damn hurry all the time that he has to go out with the ‘’packages and letters in large stacks’’ every fucking day in a town where there maximum lives around 25-30 people
I think, that I have maybe overseen something here but still though it’s not hard to not think about who the fuck sends all these letters and packages.
All this doesn’t really seem to confuse my cousin he is completely lost in Postman Pats action-packed province universe and he looks as much excited every time
Postman pat again and again and again and again saves the day and the town as an example:
By removing the stack of hay that blocked a road or by catching an escaped bird that has stolen a pair of glasses or by unraveling so agonizing mysteries like: To find out who has eaten somebodies blueberry pie.

Even after 4 episodes
I am about to get completely insane:
Maybe isn’t Postman Pat

even a real postman
Maybe there is nothing written in all these letters
Maybe are all the boxes empty
Maybe Postman Pat got left in the city by the parents you never hear about in the series
Maybe they found him as an infant crying in a basket in the cities river with a little note rapped around the foot which said:
‘’Take care of him, he is born with a morbidly long head and he thinks he can talk with cats’’
Maybe are all the letters and packages in reality planed by the population of the town that made an agreement to have Postman Pat caught in an illusion about, that he is an important Postman with a regular and indispensable daily routine in almost regular frames because Postman Pat is in reality an half autistic maniac that every second is able to explode if he doesn’t have anything to do and doesn’t feel just a bit important that would probably explain why he in the theme song is being described as a ‘’very special man’’ that would also explain why everybody always breaks out in an exaggerated collective euphoric cheer

every time that Postman Pat as much raises a finger:
You are simply enough just afraid, that Postman Pat will break down before there goes Charles Manson in him.

I also think to myself:
That there are never, anybody that play smart in Postman Pat
That there are never any kind of evil arrogance or selfishness never any galloping megalomania never any condescending comments in yellow jealousy over the neighbors well-maintained clay garden or over that Postman Pats immeasurable way to always save the day you never hear anybody say:
Look me, I get more letters by Postman Pat than everybody else in the city or
Look me, I get more attention by Postman Pat than everybody else in the city and you never hear Postman Pat proclaim:
Look me, now I have again-again saved the day
Look me, I am the city’s most important man
Look me, I am an importantpat
Look me, I have an extremely long head
Look me, I can speak with cats.

That also makes me think:
That you often use the phrase ‘’ Look me’’ in a sarcastic and condescending remark about someone, that plays smart about something

but rarely uses the expression ‘’ Look me’’ about something that is sincerely hard to play smart with or be jealous about like: Look me – I have seen my mother being red wine inebriated dancing ugly and alone to DJ Otzi’s Hey Baby to a 50 year anniversary
Look me – my face is convulsion like crazy because I try to listen and sincerely try to look interested while my history teacher tells me about the opportunities by plowing with a plow while my mother dances ugly to Dj Otzi and laughs at me with a red wine colored dentition
Look me – I'll drive the car home
Look me – thanks mom
Look me – I love you mother you know that right?
Look me – It’s alright to be drunk, mutter
Look me – I walk into the cross-eyed province hairdresser Karnel Jennel on Freiburg square and asks gently if I can get a mohawk but comes out and looks like a young Peter Schilling mostly because Karnel Jennel don’t know what a mohawk is

Look me – I try to look careless, while I walk through Freiburg with my new Peter Schilling hairstyle and an even more curly confidence
Look me – I smile to the prettiest girls at my school with my new Peter
Schilling hairstyle and finds out that I have spinach in-between my front teeth
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I can’t take to live in the province anymore
Look me – I escape to Stuttgart and get a new hairstyle
Look me – That didn’t help either
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I write ‘’das Man’’ with my semen on a lawn in a public park in daylight among sunbathers and families with children mostly because: you don’t do that

Look me – I try to hide a seizure of super-anxiety after I have consummated intercourse without condom
Look me – I have aids-scaremongering campaigns from the
80’s flying around in my head and a disappointed mother in the ear from a conversation we haven’t had yet
Look me – I cry to Philadelphia when Tom Hanks dances to an opera song and later then dies from Aids
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am Tom Hanks
Look me – I am not Tom Hanks
Look me – I am Tom Tanks
Look me – I am Tractor Tom Tanks
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I also want one of your Reisen but not some of your newspaper definitely not the sport

Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas
Look me – I choose Whiskas but only to blend it with rat poison and kill Postman Pats cat

just to see Postman Pat go crazy in the town with a newly cut mohawk and an infinite urge to avenge the worlds evil and injustices with a sawn-off shutgun
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am a distant to myself
Look me – I am about to get insane

Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am a distant to myself
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am about to get insane
Look me – I am a distant to myself
Look me – I am a distant to myself
Look me – I am a distant to myself

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

Look me

LOOK AT ME!

I stop before everything I’m doing says that I seem done because my phone rings and my sister asks how it’s going with looking out for him and before I’m going to say ‘’fine’’
I see that our cousin no longer sits in the couch besides me and the first season of Postman Pat is just done and something is being trashed out in the kitchen and someone knocks on the door and I stand up and sees that it’s the Postman he has a long head and a package with him.