CONJUNCTIONS: A Web Exclusive
HIGH PRESSURE/film shoots
Kathrin Röggla
Translated from the German by W. Martin


1. brandenburg sand

, and off the mark meadows tipped in in green, which should serve as a pattern here for figures, but the landscape doesn't know anything, just talk to it, though, and it'll give in at once. as always, first the horizon

the rest of the region turned down to low flame, only the grinning of trees here goes on incomparatively long, and even the airplanes overhead, how they divide the air in good and evil, painstaking eyewitnesses who in ground just want to be left alone, who in ground won't change anything

the bushes around here aren't idiots either, they stay right where they are, and still they move dangerously close to a line of flight, but where making headway is concerned, there is no ground for hesitating, there's no ground—the bushes aren't idiots either and don't hesitate to approve of all that, it's hard to say anything against them, but—

the horizon was no doubt too caught up to happen, so they pulled it right out of service, they even chucked the weather out, and the whole of the sky soon will follow—there's little to be felt of an open surface, only the air drives away with each moment, only the air

and no doubt the sun will interfere again soon, it's still far at lengths ahead of us, but even we're long past adhesive age, the entry into the food chain didn't get very far beneath the surface, but it still needs to be counted in



2. niederschöneweide

it's true, these days it doesn't take long to get to the loss of face, he'll just keep plugging away in the ever-thickening traffic at five o'clock you can't even write off the apartments here, but that's all anyone ever does—

so it's worth it to fasten the house-lines faster, because people come from houses and from people comes their passing-by, but to change direction is impossible in view of the houses, they haven't disappeared in their windows, more like in the course of time—

the afternoon's no draught-horse anymore, run right into the ground, the landscape, not starting up in the best of times either, run right into the ground, they say, even message stuffs stay stuck in mid-air it can't go on, as far as the rate of transmission goes, they say: prefab, where nothing else grows.

and it's already long been the west around here, and bus-stop by bus-stop the private gazes of people are watching their step, in principle, the entire passing trade this place hands over, or the east after all, where so much breaks in two, and where the rest stays hidden in the crossword puzzle—

in any case, material exhaustion through and through, everywhere something stays stuck, hearing-remnants, sight-remnants, one simply must see to getting ahead, one must see to driving on,

for now a windowpane got broken flat out like a man and the grass'll stumble in seasons over it, but the rest of the plants have their hands full to the brim, or one'll be able to watch again how the daisies drive out of their skin, or one'll be



3. AEG: schnellerstraße—adlergestell

, just a stone's throw away even the department store won't hesitate to go one more step, small gestures from the parking garage, too, that makes unmeasured love to the world and leaves nothing over for the rest of the neighborhood, "but after all we're not athletic fields, to stay put when need be."
"but nothing comes from nothing," only the sky in blind flight, and man acts toward the landscape like 1 sleeping tablet, that could have been figured out so many times before: as responsible for the region's toboggan-run down, nothing is expected from this side, for then how many a zebra's stripe could be called for what it is!
but the sun doesn't slide out that easily, oh no, only the all-day saturday fucks itself in the knee, but then the telephone booths slowly but surely'll get out of hand, and there's nothing to be done against the glass panes either, they start up wherever possible, push through

it's true, the glass panes push through entire areas, and already they're pulling themselves together, as a latchkey kid on its way up the street in hopes of crime and photography. it thinks of this as an institution that can be overcome with hands held high it comes out again out of the building, but still there's no one there to interfere, on the contrary: in front of it the street: the children play at railway, it can see this any day, the children play at atom bomb, it sees it then, the children play at silence minute-thick, but not today, not today.
and so it changes back into a dwarf, to be folded how many times before getting to the point, to be broken in two how often before it just can't go on like this, before no more comes out—

but the capsule makes the man, unequipped for the passage through, unequipped to collapse on a spot, more like assigned to constant extension, so only the fall's direction is left: from underneath for instance one doesn't fall at all, one splits apart, plants shoot right through you (homo clausus), from overhead the sky comes at you, already it's growing together, there's hardly any holes for breathing through, creeping out of,

notices it, ducks down
shoots through

but even on lines of flight not much can be passed on, it figures, it looks dumbfounded at the clock and gleans the time, just like the glass panes do and fall over, the children have raw meat in their heads and nothing else anymore, but what's alive lays it on thick, and then what? remains of multiplication?
but there are other questions for going after, the question after (the air in traffic lights, remains air, thick air?)



4. plänterwald—embankment path

afterwards instant animals surface left and right, move quickly across, that's twilight, hustling around, "that's us"—"no!"
"oh yes, always so nicely pushed off to the side."—"psssssst!" everything swells up, moves across and how someone's face gets changed into weight and the middle's invisible: "in animals, it's always impossible to locate the middle, it's never all there" the embarrassing silence never comes about so quickly with them, they never come out and just stand there, they always keep going, they're in their own employ. "with us, though, we need training"

and later on: it's all there, optical as ever, a private green, scattered garage ramps, inimitable, father's day! and us: yellower blooming, it has to be do-able. "quick, before the rain?"—"hey, you there!" blooming on one's own: animals seen in the carpet, pattern examples. microcosmos, "spaced out."—"it has to be do-able."

and already all the rest turns into nearestness, it breaks the overview, but gives reason to hope, but in the end one doesn't exactly feel at home in the pocket calculator, so everyone lives inside his animal, which doesn't exactly get rid of the vertigo. but quickly a floor-length arrived at everything, and ultimately the sun, seeps through in short thrusts,
                               and as always the horizon
has two sides, cuts one in itself in the end, "told you so," had a penetrating effect, "told you so."



5. remnant ramp

when the living room's put on weight now like nothing else these days everything takes up curtain room, with coffee served as well, as if it still could thunder, "the twisted budgerigars already noted, small fry!"
no one wants to know a thing about it though, but that's thick air, which people have been reining themselves in on for ages, industrious is what it's called here: but what was considered day-in day-out an office desk, revealed itself later as something else entirely, and even now she's reading the fine print again: how could i have missed it?

suddenly shelved in a present, even he stays seated a while with some kind of radio-thought coming out of the next room: "no one hides in his handkerchief forever, no one can get lost that easily just brushing his teeth"—"with me there's a lot coming out that has to do with back-breaking," he whispers the answer, since an account number never runs out well here in the province, he was just informed.

only the adventure of research holds its thumb out, it wants to keep moving on, wants to move on. these here are the children on the john: wobbling along, wobbling along with everything that comes close to them. but still not a mountain range in sight, "we already got it covered," bald patches sprout up quickly on the eyes, don't be in such a hurry, he says, take it easy—

but in ground the high pressure region shifted long ago, it shifted long ago the federal territory is once again free, they say, is all in all to be reckoned with now in a compass point's order of magnitude, "below which we won't even start!"



To see the original German, click here.