Crossing the Abyss Autumn playlist + journal prompts
Hallo, ween?
Wisdom from the 69th Dimension Instructions unclear
The Great He And another short story
Klage an die Sonne Kleine Sonnenblumensprache
Starring
Daniel MEHUS – Ongo Gablogian enthusiast
Daniel SCHENKELS – space jesus but a mad mage
Dorian SOUSA CALVO – thought fish sticks were chicken nuggets
Elise LACOURT – hit my head in the house of mirrors
Jacopo MOGLIA – chief contemplative officer
Jason BILLARD – sparkling sea
Kristina SHATOKHINA – woman of vision; high priestess
Margaryta ALEKSANDROVA – the witch
Nael NASSAN – super duper something
Sherley DE DEURWAERDER – token frazzled english woman
Sofia MILLER – entertains the primordial Hylemxylem
Stefan CAPITANESCU – Opium fragrance lord
Stefan DIAC – romanian vampire hunter
Umut UCAK – level 101 yapper
Valère GAUBE – none of the things I did was ungrammatical
Zoltan TAJTI – Eastern machinations
We are thankful to: Ramona Ventimiglia and the Office of Student Life, Veerle Waterplas, Margaly Monelus, Sonja Di Renzo, Antonio Tavan, the Repro Team, Espace Cultures, Anouk Wies, Karin Langumier, Bianca Pirrelli, Alannah Meyrath, Student Lounge Belval and all children of SAUL, Dalmat CoffeeHouse, Julie Toussaint, LLC, and Silvia from Café Saga.
Rhythm of Grief Poem
The Last Curtain Short story 28 Fall of a dreamer And other poems
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Find us at: campus buildings (reception areas, magazine stands), student lounges, chill-out-zones, Dalmat CoffeeHouse, and LLC.
Join us! We are looking for graphic designers, writers, artists, photographers, reporters, administrators and all sorts of sailors willing to (wo)man the good ship ROUX in the upcoming academic year!
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Cover hand-drawn by Sofia Miller on a photograph by Nael Nassan
Let a happy Halloween be hereby wished to all who retain blood-curdling memories from their Latin classes. To the others, it might seem odd to commence an October issue (and one, it seems, so distinctly predestined by its release date) with a quote from Vergil's Bucolics, that suavest work of the most suave of poets. Rest assured, however, that opening this magazine has not ensnared you to suffer the tyranny of our whimsy (even though we do, in ROUX, stand for the artist's right to whimsy), but that there is, in fact, a rhyme and a reason to all of this.
The academic year's start is always a bustling time for ROUX, as we fire up the old mag making machine from its holiday dormition: there are meetings to resume and events to attend, without even mentioning the semester's very first issue to prepare and publish! There is always somewhere to run, something to do: exhausting business, but rewarding all the more. However, nothing during that time is quite as exciting as welcoming new members on board; and new members we have received! This is the first issue in which they are able to shine, alongside pens and pencils you must by now have come to know. As usual, you may expect the magazine to evolve along with their growing involvement. In what direction, you ask? – Wait and see... For now, let them be thanked for all the good their presence portends. Spes gregis – the hope of the flock – indeed.
And now, we bid you to enjoy this issue's articles, be they Halloween-themed or not. Do check out the new members to encourage them and the old ones out of respect. Receive our gratitude, finally, for the astounding success of September's issue; many thanks to the new students who picked up their first copy, not knowing what to expect; and as for those who have been reading us for a while, they already know that we kiss them thousandfold.
by Valère Gaube
SPOOKY places in Luxembourg
What do an old cemetery, a rough neighbourhood, a shady dive bar, an unnervingly placed McDonald’s and somebody’s basement (?!) have in common? – They are haunted, or, at least, give good reason to think so. Their vibes are off, shall we say. They have some of that phantasmatic razzle-dazzle going on. And it is Halloween, after all, so why not grab your torch light and investigate these places yourselves?...
You are not convinced? – Oh well! Then, how about you just read about them here? Our writers have picked their brains to produce a list of locations that will make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Are they not a lovely bunch? (The writers, not the locations nor the hairs on the back of your neck.) You are seeking a thrill, and this is ROUX’s tourist guide to the spookiest places in Luxembourg!
CEMETERY OF ESCH-SUR-ALZETTE Rue du Cimetière, Esch-sur-Alzette
In the heart of the old town of Esch-upon-Alzette, nestled beside St. Joseph church lies a cemetery that holds a strange, almost magnetic pull. Its path lies between looming neo-Gothic mausoleums which sharp spires are reaching towards the sky, and the twisted branches of ancient trees creaking overhead. Dreamy statues keep silent watch over weathered gravestones, each a monument to lovely bones once dear, now forgotten. By day, the air here is thick with the scent of myrrh and damp earth, and the pines stretch their soft shadows. But it's at night when the cemetery truly awakens. When the solemn quiet is broken only by the crunch of your footsteps, you can’t help but feel observed – perhaps by the spirits of those laid to rest, or maybe by the trees whispering secrets to the wind. Though many avoid cemeteries, I find my solace here, comforted by the weight of the dark. It’s not the ghosts that I fear, but my own kind. Then, if you manage to cross unscathed, don’t forget to stop by the flower shop on the other side (1 Rue Jean-Pierre Michels). Sometimes, when I exit the cemetery with fresh flowers in hand, the pious near the church doorway watch with unease, likely thinking I’ve stolen a bouquet from the graves. Their weary glances amuse me.
– Kristina
UPDOWN BAR
28 Mnt du Grund, Ville-Haute Luxembourg
On a cold fall evening you have lost yourself in the city of Luxembourg, you are surrounded by ever growing buildings and structures, you are searching for an escape from this terrifyingly rigid landscape. Searching for a way to make this evening less worrisome. You’re stumbling into the elevator, or you pass by the terrace of Gudde Wellen and the national archive that leads you to Gronn. On your dreary search you pass a couple of bars and houses, your surroundings becoming haunting, houses stretching into the depths of the earth, built into the cliff’s edge. The starless night is lit up by street lamps and the eerie stench draws you towards a bar at the end of the road. The bartender already awaits you with an empty glass, waiting to fill it with your blood. Horribly good people getting morbidly drunk with their guts laying in the corner or on tables. Downstairs a pool table and darts and the occasional teenagers raving until the night dies. Good drinks to mend the chaos in your head and you lean against the natural stone wall that reminds you of our futile war against nature. What a terrifying night to be sober.
– Daniel
LUX GARE BY NIGHT
Place de la Gare & environs, Luxembourg
Not a district one would visit for sightseeing, even on the most radiant afternoon. Now, picture it after nightfall has undone the city’s lazy corset and wrapped even the homeliest silhouettes in a shroud of ambiguity. The whole town is like Swiss cheese, built upon layers of Roman ruins and mediaeval friaries that did not make it through the French Revolution. No rest, however, for these august, no peace for these pious remains: there is a world going on underground. Its denizens sleep a cast iron slumber during the day and creep out of steaming manholes at night. The heedless pedestrian who tumbles down one of these hell shafts, what sees he?... – A court of miracles, – a sewer to outrival Lucifer’s own banquet and bordello! A cacophony of faraway tongues and dice loader’s jargon; card cheats and cutpurses, latrine stall shankers and beggars of every corporation bartering their dubious goods, their peculiar skills, whilst hungry she-wolves breastfeed a crawling generation of small fry and street urchins with the black milk of vice. One day, these destitutes are going to raise a Romulus out of one of these little Cains... and what then? – Brown will flow the Tiber! ‘Twill be the court of the last emperors, Cloaca Maxima and throne room mouth to mouth, where filthy lucre flows between bejewelled hands and dirty fingernails, along with all the gold of Peru, Golconda, and the confounded leprechauns! That said, there are some good restaurants in the vicinity.
– Valère
MCDONALDS AT AIRE DE BERCHEM
The McRIP, Rue du Bois, Berchem Roeser
A rather secluded space, scarcely lit by the orange glow of an up-above streetlamp, rarely visited – if at all. Who might be the frequent visitors of this place? Well, those that are drawn to it, indescribably, by some higher, ominous force. Indeed, those that pass the short path of forest and nettle bushes, will find themselves peculiarly suctioned from the real world and dragged, as though in a daze, to a distant, yellow sign. On top of that, a welcoming (or is it really?) creak of a door greets those that walk up the steps and approach the wooden gateway to nowhere. Rumour has it that if you linger long enough in this liminal space between the grim bundle of trees and the highway service station, you might hear the squeaks of clown shoes, or swiftly catch the sight of a head of red curls. It seems so familiar, but chilling all the same…
– Sofi & Dorian
MY BASEMENT AT HOME IS HAUNTED
Someone is watching from downstairs, when the corridor is dark. I recognise this presence... the man who built this house, lived here for decades, and lost his battle against cancer a few years ago. The basement is a mess of bicycles and stuff for construction, gardening, laundry and house maintenance. I wonder how he lives down there. Sometimes, when I pass through to grab some delicious homemade jam in the cellar, I feel his hand rattling up my spine, filling my veins with a tingling shiver. And at night, when the liveliness of the house fades, he ventures up to the first floor. I hear him at my door... watching me sleep for hours.
– Jason
Summer came and passed, leaving in its wake a multitude of musical fragments. While I cherish criticism, particularly in music reviews, it's best not to hurt any soul. Thus, I share here only a handful of my favourite recent releases. Let's begin with an album that swiftly became so influential that it defined the summer of 2024 on social media: Charli XCX's "BRAT".
Where to start? The first thing you might encounter (if you haven't yet lent your ears to this album) is the minimalist, brutalist, and 2000s-inspired low-effort cover. It appears tacky and kitsch, yet represents the album remarkably well. Sonically, this electro pop album integrates many old, fat synth basses and melodies combined for the most part with more modern drum kits and patterns. Take, for instance, the Jersey Club Kick pattern on "Club Classics", followed by some wobbly bass with a nice automation on the low-pass filter resonance. Interspersed between dancefloor-shaking bangers such as the viral "365" and "Van Dutch", this rich album also contains numerous mellow songs. The excellent "So I" and "Girl, So Confusing" explore more meaningful themes like grief over loss and insecurity in relationships and bring with them emotionally charged melodies. BRAT is eclectic yet homogeneous as an idea, party-fuelled yet introspective. It redefines boundaries, combining elements from the present and past. BRAT is a statement and will stick to our minds for some time. I cannot wait for her follow-up album titled "Brat and It's Completely Different But Also Still Brat". Stay tuned for that one!
Magdalena Bay - Imaginal Disk
With our next album, we take a slight departure towards a project with a different attitude. I discovered Magdalena Bay with their debut album three years ago when I first started university, and I absolutely loved it. The crisp production and catchy melodies made it one of my favourite pop albums of the year. So it was no surprise that I was very excited about their sophomore album release. "Imaginal Disk" takes a different turn from "Mercurial World" from the start. We encounter an ethereal aura combined with more textured and noisy drums, complemented by additional sound layers and psychedelic elements of texture, delays, and modulation. While initially less catchy and entertaining, we discover an improvement in composition with more subtle variations and melodic elements added to fill the space. This opus is also more acoustic, leaning more towards neo-psychedelia than synthpop like its predecessor. Some highlights include the amazing and emotional "Cry for Me" with its 80s vibe and melancholic melodies elevated by the added orchestration, and "Death and Romance" with its superbly constructed chorus where all elements complement each other so well. Instrumentation and production on this album are top-notch, experimenting with sounds while remaining coherent from start to finish.
Charli XCX - BRAT
Jack White - No Name
To finish off on a more rock-and-roll note, I thoroughly enjoye Jack White. This album appeared out of nowhere, initially avail vinyl rip on YouTube. "No Name" transports listeners to an era never experienced, brilliantly combining hard rock with bluesy mixed as if it were created half a century ago. The album brims is incredibly fun to play. Its memorable riffs and revival atmosphere make "No Name" a true gem. While the songs were initially untitled, I'll refer to them using the Bandcamp naming for clarity. The opening track, "Old Scratc off the album spectacularly; very punk and bluesy with a simple riff. Jack White's voice fits perfectly for this type of vocal style. The following track maintains the high energy with a dirtier hard rock sound. that track are full of feeling, and the raw energy makes it mor it were cleanly executed and mixed. Another highlight is "Tonig Time Ago)", with its AC/DC-esque vibe. The interplay between gu builds tension effectively, making it one of the hardest-hitting tracks on the album. This release is a pure revival blockbuster that I could easily imagine playing in rock bars or serving as a soundtrack for classic act Name" showcases Jack White's ability to honour rock's roots whi unique touch. It's a testament to the enduring power of energet roll.
I have many other albums, EPs, and releases I wish I could disc further, but I believe these might be the most interesting and If I had to finish on a last note, I'd say that this summer 2024 was sooo
Embodiment of N
Nightmare
“
But
if nobody hears them, then it rises from the grave and the abomination takes form, wreaking havoc and bringing death to all forms of life...
written by Stefan Diac illustrated by Kristina Shatokhina
Crossing the Abyss
genre: alternative, metal tags: 90s/00s vampires, slowcore, ethereal, late night drive duration: 30 m [available on Spotify]
Music has always been a means of self-care for me. I am certainly one of those who change their playlist with the turn of a season, and for autumn, many melancholists’ favourite, I wanted to curate something special for you: a themed music playlist to get you through these stormy times.
My message is thus: the flare of seasonal depression needn’t be mean and soul-crushing. As the abyss opens within our hearts, we will try our best to take the beauty in and anguish through and out. The melancholy I preach with this playlist is gentle, its darkness soft and nourishing. As we begin, I urge you to invite yourself on a date to your favourite coffee shop, with a fresh notebook and a pen in your hand. Turn on the music and take your time to write about your inner and outer life, give your adventures and passions the recognition they deserve. And if you don’t know where to start, each song will include journal prompts you’re most welcome to use.
curated, written
and
designed by Kristina Shatokhina
▶ Kidneythieves - Before I’m Dead (Acoustic)
The earth draws its last breath before her departure into a long and cold sleep. Her breath smells of dry leaves, bonfires, honey and leather.
What are the things you long to do before the end of this cycle? What are the things you are grateful for? Is there anything else you would like to do before the darkness and frost fall on our duchy – to see, to touch, to feel?
Only those who are alive can fear death, yet I hope you’re in it for the love of living –I surely am.
▶ Saint Avangeline – Lilith
According to ancient Hebrew sources, Lilith is known as the first wife of Adam. Created by God at the same time from the same earth, she claimed her equality by refusing to lie beneath Adam during sex. Lilith chose to flee Eden rather than submit herself to her lover and has long been vilified for this misconduct. The God’s daughter grew into a demoness haunting crossroads, stealing children, and seducing men into death.
In astrology, in the House of Lilith – a black moon – lies one’s shadow, a Jungian term for the suppressed fears and desires that come back to haunt us. As the days grow shorter and the nights longer, try to explore your own shadow – a crucial step in fully accepting yourself and moving forward.
How do you handle anger? What are you afraid of others finding out about you?
▶ Deftones – Change (In the House of Flies)
What is so alluring about this song, besides Chino Moreno’s moans, is how it pictures the thrill of transformation that seduction brings. “Romance is a medium, a kiss is a portal,” writes Gabi Abrão. To commit to one’s destiny, one’s love, one’s calling, is to embrace the continuous and inevitable, often violent change. We are generally told that attachment binds us and makes us weaker, yet, as the ground hardens and the leaves crimson and burn into dust, I urge you to lean into the transformative power of love.
Deep down, what is your heart longing for? Is it open to receive?
▶
Soap&Skin – Me and the Devil
This bewitching cover of “Me and the Devil blues” tells a story of a musician who is visited by the devil. The song was originally recorded in 1937 by blues singer Robert Johnson, many contemporaries of whom believed that he sang from personal experience. It is said that Johnson was an awful guitarist up until he mysteriously disappeared for a couple of years, only to come back displaying a rare musical skill and talent. Rumours spread that Johnson went to the cemeteries at night to play his guitar and take music lessons from the Devil himself. Johnson’s tragic and poorly documented life fuelled such legends, while he in turn embraced the occult gossip, successfully integrating it into his music.
What qualities have you been shamed for? How could you use these to your advantage?
▶ Chelsea Wolfe – Fight like Gods
“What happens when the dream is better than the waking?” The borders between the physical and spiritual realms seem so harsh and self-contained that humans never cease to create a kind of antagonism between the two. The second verse of the song bears a reference to drinking from the Lethe, a river from Greek mythology believed to cause oblivion. The act of drinking the Lethe's waters is the act of seeking relief, a temporary peace. It is a longing to be freed from the constraints of human existence, to experience the true essence of the spirit. Wearing both the cross and the hammer, Chelsea Wolfe longs to transcend human limitations not through spiritual advancement alone, but rather through a sacred union of two realms into one.
Recall a dream or a fantasy that felt more real or fulfilling than your waking life. What part of yourself were you escaping in that dream? How could you confront this part in your reality?
A long buzzing sound Like a mosquito dancing A long buzzing sound Like a mosquito dancing above your head on a sweaty summer night, above your head on a sweaty summer night, completely killing your ability to sleep. This is completely killing your ability to sleep. This is exactly how Headache’s album begins. And that’s exactly how Headache’s album begins And that’s also probably how it will make you feel if you also probably how it will make you feel if you listen to it under a dark sky. You won’t wake up listen to it under a dark sky. You won’t wake up with itchy lumps behind your knees, but you with itchy lumps behind your knees, but you might wake up with one in your throat and find might wake up with one in your throat and find yourself maniacally scratching your head from all yourself maniacally scratching your head from all the bizarre thoughts, creative bliss and the bizarre thoughts, creative bliss and inspiration this album will bring to you. inspiration this album will bring to you.
It is almost indescribable how different and obsessive
It is almost indescribable how different and obsessive The Head Hurts but the Heart knows the Truth is. I can’t The Head Hurts but the Heart knows the Truth is. I can’t decide whether it makes me feel sad, happy, if I want decide whether it makes me feel sad, happy, if I want to dance to it in a field of buttercups or listen to it on a to dance to it in a field of buttercups or listen to it on a stranger’s couch at an after-party. However, in the stranger’s couch at an after-party. However, in the elusive weirdness of these eight tracks, something elusive weirdness of these eight tracks, something comes together in the most organic way I think it is comes together in the most organic way I think it is bbeauty. eauty.
Most of the music on the radio is like a loophole made of
Most of the music on the radio is like a loophole made of sound, allowing our brains to escape from questions to sound, allowing our brains to escape from questions to which we have no answer Music therefore becomes so which we have no answer Music therefore becomes so predictable that we can sort songs into emotion-themed predictable that we can sort songs into emotion-themed playlists, making our listening experience as unexciting playlists, making our listening experience as unexciting as a vegetarian dish at Belval’s food-lab as a vegetarian dish at Belval’s food-lab
But this album is different. It is more like a house of
But this album is different. It is more like a house of mirrors in a funfair, something you get excited to enter mirrors in a funfair, something you get excited to enter only to get lost in and enjoy the confusion, just like only to get lost in and enjoy the confusion, just like Headache himself, who walks into a lamppost in “That Headache himself, who walks into a lamppost in “That Thing With The Rabbit”, and falls off a boat in his Thing With The Rabbit”, and falls off a boat in his grandmother’s lake in “The Party That Never Ends”. grandmother’s lake in “The Party That Never Ends”.
Written by the mysterious Francis Hornsby Clark*, the
Written by the mysterious Francis Hornsby Clark*, the lyrics evoke the stream-of-consciousness style of lyrics evoke the stream-of-consciousness style of surrealist writers and the irreverence of the absurdists surrealist writers and the irreverence of the absurdists fListening to the albumront to back actually feels like fListening to the albumront to back actually feels like going through Headache’s entire process of accepting going through Headache’s entire process of accepting chaos, a bit like finding Camus’ forgotten secret diary chaos, a bit like finding Camus’ forgotten secret diary
The first song, “The Beginning of the End”, sure is a wee The first song, “The Beginning of the End”, sure is a wee desperate, with Headache looking back on memories of desperate, with Headache looking back on memories of Monica, who never wants to speak to him again, and Monica, who never wants to speak to him again, and remembering how he used to sit on his uncle Mario’s remembering how he used to sit on his uncle Mario’s knees when he was a kid, as he walks alone, staring at knees when he was a kid, as he walks alone, staring at people and finding the streets so dead. (Sounds people and finding the streets so dead. (Sounds dreadful, I know), but there’s something strangely dreadful, I know), but there’s something strangely endearing about Headache’s stories that makes you stay. endearing about Headache’s stories that makes you stay. By the third song, “The Pavement in my Pillow Talk”, he By the third song, “The Pavement in my Pillow Talk”, he starts to feel a whole lot better, progressively at peace starts to feel a whole lot better, progressively at peace with the surrounding mess. with the surrounding mess.
He ends up making many exciting plans in “Bucket He ends up making many exciting plans in “Bucket Listener”, including accidentally bankrupting the casino, Listener”, including accidentally bankrupting the casino, stopping to be cool and starting to be hot, and mixing stopping to be cool and starting to be hot, and mixing the blue with the yellow the blue with the yellow It all comes together in the final track, “The Party that It all comes together in the final track, “The Party that Never Ends”, when he says that the streets are dead Never Ends”, when he says that the streets are dead again, but notices how great they look in the moonlight again, but notices how great they look in the moonlight
After listening to all of Headache’s monologue, I was really
After listening to all of Headache’s monologue, I was really surprised and a little embarrassed to learn that the man surprised and a little embarrassed to learn that the man reading out the lyrics, with his slightly posh English accent reading out the lyrics, with his slightly posh English accent and his detached attitude, was nothing but a synthetic and his detached attitude, was nothing but a synthetic vvoice. oice.
I wonder if the use of artificial intelligence had a deeper I wonder if the use of artificial intelligence had a deeper intention here. To demonstrate the inability of machines intention here. To demonstrate the inability of machines to make the world any more intelligible, to show that it’s to make the world any more intelligible, to show that it’s almost impossible to distinguish reality from artifice, or if almost impossible to distinguish reality from artifice, or if it’s all just for the joke. Anyway, I guess I’ll have to keep it’s all just for the joke Anyway, I guess I’ll have to keep wondering, as data on the album’s creation seems to be wondering, as data on the album’s creation seems to be totally black-boxed… totally black-boxed…
Because of this lack of verified information, I’m afraid Because of this lack of verified information, I’m afraid you’ll have to rely on my interpretation So, here it is: you’ll have to rely on my interpretation So, here it is: Vegyn’s production on The Head Hurts is a mix of mellow, Vegyn’s production on The Head Hurts is a mix of mellow, underwater-like sounds and contrasting loops of engaging, underwater-like sounds and contrasting loops of engaging, raw, head-nodding drums Melodies and beats come raw, head-nodding drums Melodies and beats come together in a very recognizable and unique way I can’t together in a very recognizable and unique way I can’t quite compare to any other music. quite compare to any other music
After multiple listens, The Head Hurts still grasps my heart
After multiple listens, The Head Hurts still grasps my heart and fills it with peace, contentment, and light So much and fills it with peace, contentment, and light So much light. It might be the weirdest album I have ever heard, light. It might be the weirdest album I have ever heard, but after all it is just another love song compilation. This is but after all it is just another love song compilation. This is all that Headache is looking for In that house of mirrors, all that Headache is looking for In that house of mirrors, where he doesn’t even recognize himself, where nobody where he doesn’t even recognize himself, where nobody really knows much about anything, he realizes nothing really knows much about anything, he realizes nothing matters, but love, beauty, and dance matters, but love, beauty, and dance
This album is wonderful because it makes you want to
This album is wonderful because it makes you want to radiate the love, the beauty, and the dance. Although radiate the love, the beauty, and the dance Although introspective, this is the sort of music you want to listen introspective, this is the sort of music you want to listen to hand in hand, head over shoulder, certainly not as to hand in hand, head over shoulder, certainly not as background music, but as the heart of your shared love background music, but as the heart of your shared love
Because now you know. Because now you know.
The head hurts, but the heart knows the truth.
The head hurts, but the heart knows the truth.
*People have been wondering if this guy actually exist, but I have read Vegyn (the *People have been wondering if this guy actually exist, but I have read Vegyn (the album producer) say that Francis simply doesn’t have Instagram. album producer) say that Francis simply doesn’t have Instagram.
written by Umut Ucak designed by Dorian Sousa Calvo & Sofia Miller
The Great He
As long as She could remember, She wanted to be “great.” Great in her plans, deeds, and dreams. Every day, She had great plans, She took big steps and said loud words. In her world, conversations passed quickly. It had been a long time since She had stopped walking – She was running.
Once, She met the Great Him.
He had achieved everything in life. His actions, deeds, and mind were great. He impressed her with his small steps and slow conversations, She couldn’t understand a single word, as She could only comprehend fast speech.
“Tell me, how can I become as great as you are?”, – asked She.
“With small steps”, – replied the Great He kindly.
stories written by Margaryta Aleksandrova designed by Kristina Shatokhina
a House without a souL
e had always loved his home; it was his fortress and soul. His house was filled with beautiful furniture, books, and statues. He loved it so much that he never invited anyone over, lest they risk soil or spoil its purity. In the end, he even sealed off some rooms because they were so perfect that even he shouldn’t have gone there. And so, he lived and died alone, lying on the floor of the hallway to avoid staining the chairs with his body. Even when the angels called him, he refused, unable to leave his beloved home. His spirit wandered the house for fifty years, scaring off any potential buyers. The grand mansion stood abandoned, and the townsfolk avoided it. “That house is cursed,” the people said. And in the town, where there was not much place, still no one dared to buy an abandoned house.
HBut time flew, and the rains destroyed the roof, the winds brought down the walls, and trees intertwined with the statues. The house became frightening and desolate, and in the evenings, sighs could be heard, as if the ghost was crying or as if the house itself mourned its lost past.
Eventually, the Town Council started paying attention to the old house. They were about to open a music school, but there was no place for it.
“What a house!” said the town’s mayor. “It is a little bit old, but it can be restored! Remind me why it stands empty. Oh well, never mind. We’ll repair it quickly and give it to the children.”
Soon, the house was rebuilt, wild trees were transformed into a garden, and the mansion was cleaned and repaired. Children started coming there to study. The beauty of the music and the vital energy of life filled the old rooms.
No one heard the ghost sighs anymore; they were drowned in the sounds of splendid melodies. Even the ghost could not resist the spell of life, music and joy.
“It took me a lifetime to understand the beauty of the house. That was the way to live… and now it’s time to leave…”,- and thus the ghost ascended…
Klage an die Sonne
ein Minnesang
Flimmerndes Vergehen – hier
An warmen Sommerabenden, wo Wolken wippen, wuchern, wandern –wild, weich, weinerlich Gierig um dich ring’nd dich sie verschlingn.
ICH,
Doch nie bin ich allein –umgeben von Gesichtern, verwesen in deinem Glanz. alle flehen, alle sehnen, ächzen, lechzen, gezeugt unter deinem unbarmherzigen Schein. Sie recken sich dir entgegen, niemals beachtet, niemals ersehnt.
Doch du?
ich – steh! stark, stolz,
SCHÖN –
werf den Kopf zurück, schmelz hin, verlier mich ganz, gar gänzlich, in dir, in uns –
JETZT! HIER!
meine ferne Göttin–siehst du uns?
Dein Blick – so kalt, erhaben immer abgewandt, immer fort! Hungernd erflehen wir dich, – sachte schmachtend –in einsamer Stille, gekettet an deine Schritte an das ewige Flackern das uns verzehrt, ohne Ende.
Ich reiß mich hoch: die Pein! Wurzeln SCHREIN!
Ich z z z zitter, flimmer, du beißt, zerreißt!
Und ich wart...
auf einen Hauch, einen Funken deiner Gunst –doch nie, NIE schaust du zu mir.
Wolken toben, verwehen, verbergen dich. Du tanzt ~ ~ nie für uns.
Du fliehst, kicherst fern, wir kriechen hinterher, blind, verbrannt, dein Strahl trifft mich, kurz: Illusion der Gnade! dann
Z er f a l l l l
kurz:
In Liebe verweile ich, vergeh noch bevor du mich könntest sehn, noch bevor du mich finden, mich lieben könntest.
ICH – die deine,
DU – die meine!
Doch bleibt nichts, flimmernd, flüchtig –nur ein faules Geripp’ krepiert gen Himmel, wider Verstand, wider Natur –ich halt fest an dem, was nicht ist.
etwas bleibt: es leuchtet, es glimmt, es trotzt lächelt sanft im Verfall.
kleine sonnenblumensprache in Wort und Bild gefasst von Sherley De Deurwaerder
Ein letzter Gruß an dich.
In Liebe verweile ich. In Liebe verweilte ich. In Liebe
Ich.
The Last Curtain
Several times, he picked up the glass of water from the table, took a sip, and placed it back. His eyes scanned the room for the umpteenth time. There was nothing but the muffled commotion outside reminded him of the cruel passage of time and his need to move. The DJ’s sound had stopped, and he didn’t want to wait for someone from the crew to knock on the door. He didn’t want anyone to force him to get moving. He stood up from the chair, picked up the glass of water in front of the mirror again and, this time, drained it completely. He tried to focus on the last time he had stepped onto the stage. Half a decade had passed since that moment. Deliberately, he avoided his stare from the mirror to avoid comparing his current state with the version of himself from five years ago.
He heard the indistinct voice of his manager shouting something from the hall as the crowd’s noise intensified. Two people hurried towards his room. Without knocking, they opened the door for which he immediately rewarded them with a clear scowl, but he said nothing. He stepped out from backstage and, accompanied by five or six others, climbed the steps without haste. Before the house lights dimmed, he looked at the crowd before him, taken aback by the sight of thousands of people in a hall that was almost empty during yesterday’s soundcheck.
Without any introduction, he gestured to the guitarist’s note sheets, and the first song began:
by Kasra Karami
To Sivash, who walked the streets with us for years, traveled the roads, and accompanied us in dark rooms, without even knowing it — or wanting it.
‘'Iamthelastpasserbyonthislongstreet Icamelatetoleaveearly,don’tholdontomyvoice Oneday,inthesparkleofyoureyes,Iwillfindthe sun
Ohdarkandsilentnight,don’tlaughatmywish’
The volume of the crowd singing along was clearly louder than what the sound assistants had anticipated, drowning out the lower octaves in the hall. Yet, he still didn’t put the second earphone back in. He thought he should be drawing energy from hearing the crowd sing along, but it wasn’t stirring anything inside him.
'You who have never seen the rain, Youwhohaveneverpickedtheclouds’flowers, Youcomplainaboutthewetroadsofloneliness. Youwhoareasleep,youwhoareawake, Youwhoareintoxicated,youwhoaresober, Yousharethenightmomentswiththestars.’
The lines of the next song were longer, and his lungs couldn’t hold enough air to sing them all in one breath. The end of the notes got cut off and the middle ones came out distorted. He wanted to scowl at the backing vocalist, who was standing behind him on stage to support his voice, but he neither had the chance nor felt it was entirely her fault. He knew he was the one to blame. His vocal practice lately had been minimal, notwithstanding that even if he had trained sufficiently, his age and body wouldn’t have allowed him to deliver a flawless performance.
The sixth song drew to a close, and, despite continuing with the predetermined setlist, he decided to give himself a break. He raised his hand to signal the drummer to stop, and after confirming with a nod, the drummer glanced at the keyboard player. A look that seemed to say, 'See? I told you so.’ He felt betrayed. These young ones had seemed so eager when they were assembling the band for the last tour. He didn’t blame them. He himself had spent years in his youth as an opener for famous singers, waiting for a chance to prove himself. But biting the hand that had invited them on tour seemed unethical and ugly. He felt himself sink inward. Turning to the audience, he announced a short break.
***
For as long as he could remember, he had been depressed. Not the kind of depressed person who finds a corner to curl up in and cry – no. He was the kind who didn’t care about anything. Few things moved him. He started his route as a composer and was very comfortable spending long hours in the recording studio, mostly alone, but he was doomed by his hidden singing talent to go further. Forty years ago, he had once asked one of the famous singers whose songs he had composed and arranged to go on stage before him and perform. He went on and sang about love, sorrow, and separation, and the audience fell in love with him.
In the years that followed, he took great pleasure in hearing his pieces performed here and there. He composed and performed as much as he could. But he always expected that when he left the concert hall and walked out into the street, no one would bother him for an autograph or a photo. He wasn’t one for interviews with magazines or networks. He had grown used to solitude and didn’t like people shining flashlights into the corners of his life. And this was in stark contrast to being a pop singer. Life had pulled him in this direction, and he could no longer return to his days as a composer.
He began the second half just as abruptly as the first. He realized that during the brief intermission, the sound assistants had lowered his mic volume so that the music would cover him more, and that his mistakes wouldn’t be as noticeable. After this realization, he was so enraged that he forgot to sing for a few seconds. The audience, however, thought he was pausing to give them room to sing louder, and the ten thousand people before him continued the song at full volume. He doubted that anyone cared about how he felt about this move.
As he sang the next two songs, his mind was occupied with how he would voice his complaint.
Before the keyboard player could begin the next song, he broke the setlist and sang: 'Thirstylikethesun,morerootlessthanthewind, Emptierthanasong,asunmaskedasascream. I’mlonelierthansilence,brighterthanastar, Moreinlovethanever—singwithmeonceagain.’
The band was flustered for a moment but eventually began to play along. As the song neared its end, he glanced at the music sheet for the two or three remaining songs. He then suddenly turned to the audience and said, 'I love you all, goodbye.’ While the band stared at him in shock, he quickly exited the stage.
When his manager suggested a concert tour named 'The Last Curtain,’ he thought that perhaps stepping on stage again might relight the old excitement. He accepted the offer, hoping to feel that passion again, but it was no longer there. All that remained was anxiety and the bitter realization that he couldn’t repeat what he remembered of himself. ***
