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Engine w w w.m a g m a m a g.c h

a very war m welcome b y o . w 端 es t & j . s c h e l k e r

driving forces My interest in machinery mostly stops short when it comes to techy details; the curiosity about inner working wanes quickly. To me, the Why always has been more interesting and relevant than the How. The inner workings of oneself. Basically, the workings that lead to things like this nice magazine and its content. With a wish to create.


It‘s not what you do... Yes. It‘s how you do it... Yes! But it‘s also why you do it. To me, the why is fuel to the engine. Pleasure, enthusiam, love or ego — we will always be driven. No end in sight. But it‘s important to check your fuel every once in a while. Maybe sometimes the engine runs autopilot and the road is determined, due to how much or what kind of fuel we got. But, you can get far with every engine, if you are willing and choose your fuel wisely. Charge it up, dear reader. OW

e n g i n e

8 10 y e s — j o h a n n a b o ss a r t


o h s w e et f u r n a c e... — j o n at h a n s c h el k er


9 to 9 — y vonne good


quantum I — marco borromeo


t r y i c a r u s — o l i v e r w ü es t


ve l o c i t y — j o n at h a n sc h el k er


h e a r t — j o h a n n a b o ss a r t


quantum II — marco borromeo


bet ween roles — janosch abel


w h a t d o y o u s e e — o l i v e r w ü es t s n a p ! — n o e m i s p ie l m a n n

Johanna B o ss a r t



furn you

b so fier




burn rcely jonathan schelker

9 to 9

yvonne good

Quantum I marco borromeo

oliver w 端 es t

velocity jonathan Schelker


Johanna B o ss a r t

Quantum II marco



Ernesto, 21 years old. The observation of a part of his daily life is the central trace in this series. Instants were captured where his role is less essential and sensations become fundamental. The series shows the changes between roles, the inner preparation, losing and finding oneself.


Between Roles janosch abel

oliver w 端 es t

a s e r i a l o f co l l ag es by n o emi s pi el m a nn

Va l e nt i n F i s c h e r, M u n i c h , G e r m a ny w w l e nt i n f i s c h e r.c o m

the magmamag full of love, sus and mystery go

the Events of Black Rock Island

g story spense oes on

26th of september, 1967 „Baby, I don‘t do cheap“, Carmen said in a low, relaxed voice. „Either you got it and you got me, or you don‘t... Fine. We‘ll see if you can bring it on.“ With a grin, she put down her fancy red phone. It was not the only fancy thing around here. From diamonds to lipgloss, you could have found it all in her tiny, poster-filled room. Carmen gazed around. There were the shoes from Henry, all the dresses from Martin, a bracelet from Tony and Gavin‘s earrings. She grinned some more and put on her orange, wildly patterned blouse. Only lightly tied together to a knot, it would reveal just enough. Now some hot heels. Best thing about them was, that she was able to reach daddy‘s top shelf liquor easier. Just some sips. To get in the mood. She had been doing this for about five months now almost four times a week. Cigarettes, liquor and rich men. In fact, what else could she do than getting dressed up and cruise down the streets, now that Leila was gone. Women are complicated. Men easy to handle. And they pay. Ever since Leila left her a few months ago, after her 18th birthday, Carmen turned back to her old self-proclaimed bitch status. And she liked it. With each seductive step down the road, with each glance from strangers, when she swang her curls around, she felt alive. She felt that she was in control. This night, it would be the „Blue Canary“. Cocktails, swinging sounds and many lonely husbands... Normally, she drove daddy‘s car, but today she wanted to enjoy the breeze. So Carmen walked down Palm Street. Unfortunately it brought her quite close to Leila‘s place, but she simply tried to ignore her in every way. She saw her often enough, so once more would not have been any trouble. With firm steps, she headed forward. At the crossroad, where you can see over to Leila‘s apartment, Carmen somehow almost unwillingly stopped for an instant. It was almost impossible to hear her slight sigh. Maybe because the strange sound of the low hanging traffic light in the wind. She looked up. The mood was weird. Somehow dreamy. Not her cup of liquor. Carmen always preferred reality. For a moment, though, she became very thoughtful.

Just as she lit her next cigarette, she had this weird feeling in her stomach. What was that over at Leila‘s place? It was too far away to see it clearly but there seemed to be a colorful, flickering light. Maybe Leila was having a party? Hell, who cares! Carmen walked on. „Oh come on, Hank! Not that one again!“, Carmen screamed in a flirting voice. „Yeah Carmen, you have no choice. Show us your moves one more time!“, Hank returned. And a big „YEAH!“ filled the smoky room of the Blue Canary. „Alright boys. This is my good night to you all. Have sweet dreams!“ Teasingly slowly, Carmen got up and stepped on the table and started to dance as Bobby Vinton sang on the record machine. In tender movements, she pushed her hips in circles. Slightly lifting her light skirt up. It drove them crazy. Oh god, how she loved it! To feel all the eyes on her. In the blue light she looked around. Men, men and men. All of them cheered. Suddenly she noticed the handsome stranger in the back. All dressed in black, with a hat. He was the only one who seemed unimpressed. Carmen blew him a kiss. But since no reaction came, she moved on and dedicated herself to the more complimenting crowd. It was a good evening. No money income today, but at least lots of free drinks. Carmen tied together her hair as she walked out of the bar. It was a bit cooler now. The stars were up. In the silence oft he night she heard only her heels and her humming of Bobby Vinton‘s song as she passed the empty parking lot. So she was surprised and almost jumped when someone hurled „Nice performance...“ at her. Carmen turned around. It was the dark stranger. He was standing under a palm tree, having a smoke. „Thanks.“, Carmen whispered in a seductive, slow way, as she stepped over.

„Care for a light?“, she asked him and bend slightly forward with an unlight cigarette hanging from her lips. The stranger carefully lit her cigarette, looked deep into her eyes and said: „You are good at doing what you do, Carmen. Whatever it is that you do...“ „Oh, you know my name, Mr. Stranger. How come, I don‘t have the pleasure to know yours?“ „Mine doesn‘t matter. All that matters is what I‘m here for to tell you“, he replied back in a mysterious, but somehow charming way. „Oh, and what would that be?“ „Listen, something is going to happen. Right these days. To this place, to the people. I can‘t tell you more now. But whatever happens, dear Carmen, don‘t be foolish. Remind yourself of the days, where you were so selfless. And remember just one thing, just one word, never forget it.“ He deeply stared into her eyes and said „H-u-m-a-n“, then turned round and walked away. A bit puzzled for a second, Carmen yelled in an ironic tone over to him, „You should have better spent those drinks on me, Mr. Stranger!“ The man walked on and away without any reaction. Carmen shrugged and smiled, threw her hair back and went home.

to be continued...

contributions by j a n o s c h a b e l r un s o n c o f f e e , c o f f e e , coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee ... www. jan o s c hab m

m a r c o b o r r o m e o i s in s pi r e d by a n in f init e a n d e mpty w o r l d with o ut hum a n s , wh e r e e v e r ythin g h a s t o b e c r e a t e d a n d hi s t o r y n e e d s t o b e w r itt e n f i r s t , wh e r e a s in g l e th o u g ht l e t s a n e w wh e e l g r o w . m o o d s c a n n e r . b lo g s p o t. c o m

j o h a n n a b o s s a r t : h a vin g a pictu r e o f a m e m o r y wh e n th e r e i s a p a r ticu l a r s m e l l in th e a i r . w a l k in g in th e city l o o k in g a t e v e r ythin g a s i f I s a w it f o r th e f i r s t tim e . w a tchin g s t r a n g e r s im a g inin g wh a t th e i r homes look like. www. jo han nab o s sart.c h

y v o n n e g o o d i s p o w e r e d a l l d a y l o n g by a c o n s t a nt s upp l y o f c a l o r i e s .

j o n at h a n s c h e l k e r d o es n‘t r e a l ly m ov e th a t f a s t but thin k s a l o t a b o ut it . w r it e him i f y o u l i k e a t j s @ m a g m a m a g . ch

n o e m i s p i e l m a n n c o u l d n ‘ t b e b o th e r e d . i f s h e d o e s , s h e p o s t s a t frau s .tu m b m

o l i v e r w ü e s t l i k e s t o w a k e up , wh e n h e d o e s n ‘ t h a v e t o . in m o r nin g s un l i g ht , s i l e nc e a n d with a s h a r e d c o v e r . w r it e him i f y o u l i k e a t o w @ m a g m a m a g . ch

t h is issue o f m ag m a m aga z i n e wa s c r e at ed a n d ed i t ed by o l i v er w ü est a n d j o n at h a n s c h el k er. copyright for all works presented within still belong to the respective artist. feel free to visit us on or like us on

cover photography by oliver wüest.

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magmamagazine #3