I kind of forgot this blog exists. It’s weird. I remember how clever I felt when I came up with the name. I was living in Leipzig and sat on our porch with my roommate. He didn’t really get it but he was nice enough to complement my idea anyways. Tumblr was still a huge deal so I put the whole thing there and only much later was able to afford a URL.
Thinking about how long ago that was and how much has changed over the years, the nostalgia hits really hard. There was a time, when we felt so safe in the internet that we put every thought on to our blogs and tumblrs and lifejournals and MySpace pages. It was therapy. We made new friends. We did put so much trust in these platforms to keep us safe. Then the money came and fucked everything up.
Many were smart enough to recognise the fact that the only space you can control and own, is the one you pay for or at least host „yourself“. I open my blogs today and I am so greatful that everything is still there. My memories are still alive. The brand that owns them is a person. It’s me. The more I think about this, the more I feel like this is much more real than any picture I posted on Instagram or Tweet I ever sent.
Whats next for this website is very uncertain.
When I read some of Katrin’s Posts on Steady, it reminded me of a much better time for the web. We wrote about our feelings and thoughts in more than just a few words and gave our posts a bit more time. When we put real effort into telling people about our grand ideas. Even the really shitty ones. I’m not going to promise any continuity or value. As I accept that I love to hear myself talk and I overestimate the value of my thoughts, I find this safe space in the little corner of a web that we hold so close to our hearts. I know that every thought we put out has value and we should be proud of that.
Especially on our own spaces where we are in control.
Reminiscent of ye olde hipster guides to stuff surrounding film photography by André Duhme and me, I will now tell you and your line drawn tattoos about pizza. The amazing, filling, glutenous, beautiful, Italian (New Yorkian) dish that will not only feed you but will make you think that you should stop shooting film and invest all your money into an artisan pizza place. If you’re unsure if you actually want Pizza, watch a few episodes of „The Pizza Show„. You’re hungry now? Great. This recipe will give you two beautiful pizzas.
By the end of 2017 it became very clear to me that I hate facebook. I dont hate the company. I dont hate on people making money. I dont hate Zuck. I just hated the product. It didn’t give me joy or add any value to my life. The amount of advertised content became ridiculous and my stream was full of stuff I „might like“ or my „friends“ have liked. Value was given to the posts that generated engagement, instead of the stuff that was interesting to me. As I scrolled through the endless timeline of cats, tasty posts and bullshit „news“ I pondered why I did this.
I couldn’t give you an answer, even now. Maybe to feel alive, to feel something. Maybe because of the fear of missing out. I told myself I only use Facebook for it’s great chat app, but even that was a lie. After staring at the blue abyss for another day I decided it was time to let go and delete the account. I informed my friends with a few weeks notice and on christmas eve I sat down at my fathers MacBook Air and pushed the delete button(s). Facebook would hold my account for another 4 weeks, if I maybe would decide to come back. 4 weeks went by and it was gone. I checked out all my data beforehand. Facebook lets you download a nice little bundle with all your pictures and posts so you can reminice about the good old days and then forget about it in some backup folder.
So, what’s changed?
Nothing, really. I don’t feel an epic sense of relieve or my stress level dropping to zero. It’s more of a sense of general calmness about the whole topic. You stop doing that thing where you type an „f“ into your adress bar, go one down, hit enter and immediately regret doing it, because someone dumps a huge bucket of acid into your eyes. It’s a bit like stopping to smoke. It’s just gone and then you move on with your life. There is the occasional look back in disgust. You DO feel sorry about your peers being trapped. But there’s nothing you can’t do and you dont want to come off as this dick who is so much better the them because you jumped the shark. Shit, some people even love facebook. And it’s right and good for them, but it just wasn’t for me.
It’s probably all part of the whole re-evaluation of values in my life I’ve got going on right now, but that will be another post. If it helps you make a decision, here’s the link to the delete page. Good luck!
I hate sports. Its exhausting, dumb, bro-tastic. It’s annoying to watch and stupid to do. Earlier in 2017 I decided to do something stupid: „I want to ride from Berlin to Dresden in a day.“ Why would I do that: because I hate sports, but I absolutely adore cycling.
I always rode a bike. As a kid I rode to school until I was 18. Then there was some downtime driving cars. When I moved to Leipzig (and lost my drivers licence – don’t ask) I continued riding bikes. I bought some beat-down crossmachine off eBay for way to much money. A few months later I found my first vintage road bike. It was some 1990s ugly Raleigh that was rotting away in some backyard. I fixed it up and took my first test spin around the block and… oh my god, was I in love. I’ve never been so fast, it was so light (pff) and nimble. The thin tires made me feel like I was flying. The first time shifting on the downtube felt suicidal. It was so much fun. Eventually that bike got stolen.
I bought another vintage road bike and ever since then, riding a bike was not only a necessity to get around town, but also gave me a decent amount of exercise. Strava became a fun motivation. Exploring Hamburg and Berlin on two wheels felt perfect.
This year, things changed. I dont know why or what it was that pushed me. I wanted more, than just riding around to and from work. I wanted to ride farther and faster. I rode 40 km, 60 km suddenly, a hundred kilometres. It felt great even though I put almost no effort into it. I rode harder and faster and in some delusional state I decided that I should just go and visit my mother on her birthday. So I bought another waterbottle, a new jersey and rode 177 km from Berlin to Dresden. It crushed me. I never felt so down on energy and strength after I didn’t finish the whole way through. I absolutely overestimated what I could do to my body and didn’t take proper nutritional care of myself. After my father picked me up, 15 km before the finish line, I almost threw up. The next day I never felt better.
I didnt make it, but I fucking rode one hundred and seventy seven kilometres in a day. For fucks sake. I felt dead but the motivational push after that was amazing.
I rode more. I rode harder. I made new friends, even when it was cold as fuck. I got new and more gear. Cycling is the first thing that really, really makes me want to save some money and finally get a proper bike. I want to gain power, endurance and win all the KOMs. Next year I will do the trip to Dresden again – and return. I want to race the cyclassics in Hamburg and the Velothon in Berlin.
I want to do all that because I hate sports,
but I love cycling.
…and all you get is this lousy blog article. But let’s back up a bit. How is this even important? Lots of people visit the US every year.
The thing is that, even though I turned 30 this year, I’ve never really left Europe all that much. Most of my friends and even family members have been all around the globe, but I have never been able to save some money and go. That’s largely attributed to my inability to handle money well. Earning a bit more and trying to be a tad more responsible with my spending finally started changing that. Now here I was, deciding with my girlfriend where to go in our big 2017 summer holiday.
Our trip took us from New York to Philly to DC to Charlottesville to Knoxville to Nashville to Cincinnati to Pittsburgh to Stroudsburg. We covered close to 2400 miles with our rental car and stayed at 8 different Airbnbs.
I came to the States with certain expectations; to see a land obsessed with itself, with heritage and nationality; with capitalism and getting shit done. What I got to see were people that made me understand these prejudices. Roads, towns and cities, that told the story of an americana so modern and yet so set in its own history. People that were hospitable and reactionary. Strangers showing genuine interest within a nation obsessed with smalltalk. Young and old folk that loved to tell stories and explain themselves and their views on a nation that is still so young in comparison.
Hey, you remember me talking about my Ricoh GR1s and how I loved it and all that? If you read the „review“ you might also remember that I wanted to get the flash fixed. Since when I published that article, the camera survived a drop on concrete from a considerable height that left the winding mechanic sounding like shit. After going through 3 films, hearing these painfull noises after every shot, I finally considered getting it fixed at Ostkreuz. The very friendly and understanding professional told me upfront, that I am 15 years too late. Here’s the conclusion of my 1 minute call:
The Ricoh GR series is basically dead. There are no more parts available to fix my problems (flash circuit board and plastic gears).
If you know someone who can reverse engineer and print circuit boards or gears, you might be able to breathe new life into these cameras.
So here is an Update to my review: The Ricoh GR series are super awesome, but don’t buy them. They will break and if they do you can’t fix them. As sad as it sounds, this is the reality film lovers will have to face.
Seit dem Jahresbeginn, sind 51 Tage vergangen. In dieser Zeit habe ich etwa einen halben Film voll gemacht und eine viertel Seite kreative arbeit geleistet.
Irgendwann am Ende des letzten Jahres habe ich mir vorgenommen, im Jahr 2017 meine Freizeit mit so vielen kreativen Dingen zu füllen wie es geht. Eine der Hürden war, den riesigen Backlog an Filmen zu entwickeln, der sich über das letzte Jahr angestaut hat. Die Hälfte habe ich erledigt. Weitere fünf Filme schimmeln in meinem Kühlschrank vor sich hin. Um die Arbeit schneller erledigen zu können, warf ich endlich die ranzig gewordenen Rodinal-Reste in die Tonne und kaufte auf Matt’s Empfehlung hin Ilford HC Entwickler. Seit Tagen sitzt dieser nun unangetastet unter der Spüle. Ich habe zig Kameras im Schrank stehen, von denen weiß Gott wie viele, angebrochene Filme in sich haben. Die Ricoh müsste dringend mal repariert werden. Seit Juni plane ich einen neuen Schreibtisch zu kaufen. Mein getipptes Journal hat seit ende Dezember keinen neuen Eintrag gesehen. Das letzte gekaufte Buch heißt „Irre“ und seit Mitte Dezember habe ich etwa 30 Seiten gelesen. Seit Juni möchte ich eine Dunkelkammer einrichten. In 5 Monaten werde ich 30.
Ich wollte nie ein Sammler sein. Für mich sollte praktisch alles was ich besitze eine sich selbst innewohnende Funktion erfüllen. Eine Kamera muss fotografieren, eine Schallplatte muss klingen, eine Schreibmaschine muss schreiben. Die Annahme, dass ein Gegenstand eine pure dekorative Funktion erfüllt, oder sein Dasein durch das bloße Besitzen rechtfertigt, finde ich persönlich absurd.
Für Sammler ist das oft anders. Selbstverständlich trägt man durch seine Leidenschaft auch der Erhaltung der Objekte nach denen man trachtet bei. So kann der Sammler einen fast museologischen Beitrag leisten. Doch oft ist das Gesammelte einerseits nicht der Öffentlichkeit zugänglich und des weiteren trachtet es viele Kollektoren eben doch nur nach dem Aspekt des Besitzens. Wie sollte es einem normalen Menschen auch möglich sein, seine 400 Kameras oder 150 Schreibmaschinen so oft und ausgiebig zu nutzen, dass der Besitz der jeweiligen Objekte, einem Menschen wie mir, angebracht erscheint.
I always wanted to do some Severin Koller style blogposts. That means, an unthemed, unsorted but half-chronological collection of pictures I took between now and then. Here’s the first batch from god knows when. Lets just start with (very) early 2015 and go from there. Enjoy!
On the Ferry to Denmark. Loved the Frank Ocean vibe.