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on the screen, those monotonous doors, too, and the neon
light, the apathetic or overexcited faces, the silhouettes
lingering by the windows – the whole disturbing yet
quintessentially German erotic system, from which you
expect at least a little more chaos, but no. All of these tiny
elements pile up like obstacles, speed bumps against
accelerating sensitivity, and instead of awakening more
excitement, they arouse thought above all. And in the end,
maybe even some pangs of conscience, and a little fear.
>>>
Hamburg, early or late. Love is already laid out on the
autopsy table. I'm becoming more and more alarmed. Am I
ruining my life? Just a month ago, even a week ago I still
could've turned back. But now I've made my move, I’ve
rolled the dice. I think some parts of my body are rolling
around with them, my head definitely is. Somebody else is
calling the shots and making decisions instead of me,
someone who looks like me, but in a different form and a
different phase, somewhere in the past. That’s why I’ve
started to trust that somebody more. But if it turns out that
the path from here on out leads me to some final abyss, the
figure of that somebody won't be solid enough; it will
disintegrate, leaving me disagreeably alone. Whom will I
blame then, who will be the guilty one?