Surtsey

Oh Iceland where are you? Sometimes I just think I can go out an imaginary door, again stand in front of askja-building, lighting a self-rolled cigarette. Icy wind blowing in my face. Around me only darkness and the greenish shimmering light of the ten-eleven store on the other side of the field. 

Sometimes I just think about the term “Seltjarnarness” and my endless attempts to pronounce it perfectly. While driving with bike, against the wind, it was ALWAYS against the wind! Saying it loud “SELT-JAR-NAR-NESS” FASTER! “seltjar-narness” BETTER! “seltjarnarness” HARDER! “SELTJARNARNESS” AHHH --- PERFECT! 

I think about these “for a minor reflections concerts”, these sounds, which just made me feel to be at the exact right spot at the exact right time with the exact right people. I think about all this shit, about these fucking cheap beers at Kaffi Grand. About leaving in such a hurry, that I just realized what is happening when I saw the people at BSI waving after me. Fuck, I was drunk! And still I remember one tear running down my cheek.  At the same time smiling and laughing. It is like this paradox physical condition when a material is solid, liquid and gaseous at the same time.

Iceland made me reach my triple-point. And under all this pressure, everything erupted. Everything was buried underneath a huge layer of tephra. There is just black sand. No paths, no footprints, no plants, no orientation, just nothing I could refer to. I was happy and sad. Free and captured. Everything is familiar and still distant. I am sleeping with open eyes. Was it all just a dream?

Oh mighty nature you have spread your power by wind and birdshit. And I begin to realize that every goddamn lavafield will soon be vegetated again. Oh gentle spring will come, rising toward the sun, and soon there will be fields of moss, to lie on. Watching the sky changing its colours with open eyes. Surtsey has proven it.

Boots made in Germany, bought in Iceland, meet Austrian Alps!