nothing hurts

“Nothing Hurts”, Falk Richter, 1999


Studio, at night.

Sylvana, in an empty space that could be her studio, is writing a text on a computer, partly saying it aloud, the words becoming visible on a screen. All around her are young men and women putting on records, lying around on sofas, consuming liquids, sleeping with each other or filming themselves and the objects that are lying around with a video-camera (what they film becomes visible on the screen). They approach her, touch her, then distance them selves from her again, join her in speaking the text. Dance and fall to the floor again.

Yes, it was winter.
Very cold, inside and outside, and motionless, and..
as if someone had torn out my soul and...
and I was now observing myself,
or, that the crash...
Suddenly, someone points at me and laughs: “Total wreck” and I’m off, asking anxiously: “Tell me? How do I look?” – “One can tell you’re not feeling to good. But that doesnt matter. It’ll soon pass”...
Such cheerfulness hits out at fear...
or are despair and total desire mingling at the thought of hitting
the ground running again, somewhere –
don’t know –
a feeling that I had to move, dance non-stop,
dance desperately fast and,
and, and...
and when I fell to rest,
there was such a rushing in my head
in all colours, like a smash, a crash, what d’you call it? but very, very slowly, crashing down very slowly.
No, nothing at all in my head crashed into a wall.
Blue, red, alternating
The music moulted, melted, what d’you call it?
who else was there?
(I’d rather be in a soft place now and melt with the bodies around me, warm and soft bodies and music”)
how come that nobodie’s interested in me,
that I’m sort of alone, casually glued to the wall – cool, tragic – or glued to the floor?
And that my energies, completely unfocussed, are flowing through my body and the space –
as if they wanted to hurl themselves out of me,
move right through me and then, together wih me, get out.
I feel that it’s snowing inside of me,
Now that’s no metaphor,
no, I’m not speaking in metaphors now,
inside of me there’s snow falling, and that’s very pleasant, takes the heat, takes the red-hot glow out of my body, freezes over the wounds, puts my
longing for another body
on ice for a moment.


For the first time on my life I notice this, this, well, what d’you call it, this closeness to death, that one can also just simply go away, that that also is quite simply possible and that one can simply take them all with one, yes that that is possible that that actually interrupts the loneliness, just like that, and then the others feel the wounds not I, hmmm


For the firt time in my life I’m noticing this closeness to death, and that one must decide... and that suddenly my energy is running out, that I haven’t got any more energy, am simply empty, am watching myself, noticing how I’m continually just repeating myself, not moving any more, just repeating: Yes, I’m thinking, O God yes, all these people, I don’t love any of them, I work with them, I think, yes, I think, all of these things I have already felt very often.


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