Is THAT really art?!

Is that really art, when you go out at night time and you search for some nice shadows around you? You take some tape and "capture" them... Anyhow, that is what the Entourage was up to in the last nights! I saw someone doing this shadow thing before (on some blog) and just had to do it myself! Here are some of those "artpieces";-)

If anyone knows, who had this idea first just comment below so I can give this guy some credit

As always: We wish you the best and steady happiness!

The Entourage

The moment when glass expoldes against a wall

Mikael jumps out of an airplane - wearing no parachute.
There is a sudden feel of excitement, when the first dose of adrenalin rushes through his pulsing veins. His vision gets cloudy and it becomes hard for him to see the vague outlines of Moscow City - 10000 feet below him. He closes his eyes to clear his head when an old forgotten memory kicks in. Mikeal - being 5 years old - standing next to the little pond which everyone calls the "magic pond". People always tend to give stupid names to wonderful things, but Mikael is young and every word heard still rings like an orcheastra of a million bells in his innocent ears. Mikael's father sits just next to him and together they watch the water lilies blossom - all of them at the same time. Thats how the pond got to his special name, Mikeal's father had told the boy. The magic pond is a very unique pond, because all water lilies blossom at the same time between the 18th and 20th of May every year, since many, many years.

So, it became a custom in the Ru family - Mikael's family - that father and boy would go the that very unique pool every year for those three days in May. But after a very, very cold winter Mikael's father died on a foggy April morning - leaving his son and wife behind. Mikael cried for one whole month and collected all of his casted tears on a tiny, golden glass bottle. He planned to honour his father in a way only he could understand. So, came the day of May, when Mikeal would walk to the magic pond to watch the water lilies blossom. This time he was all by himself and his heart was overwhelmed by a deep, deep sorrow only a boy his age, who had lost a very good friend, listener and father could feel.

In the exact moment, when Mikeal arrived at the pool, he could hear that inimitable sound in the air, which is always followed by the simulataneous blooming of the water lilies. Mikael stepped very close to the pond's water egde, kneed down and carefully took his tiny, golden glass blottleout of his old-worn backpack. He opened the bottle's lid a little bit and slowly tilted the container of happily shared memories, which were spend by father and son in many, many years. When the first of his tears dropped into the water, Mikael was very surprised by its silver shimmering glint. He had been very careful in his time of pain that he would only think of good times with his father - tear by tear. Tear by tear dropped into the little pond, while the water lilies slowly started to blossom. Just as the last tear touched the water's surface all of the pond glowed in a light tear's silver and water lily's pink. Mikael walked away - a little smile on his face - thinking about one of his favourite poems, which says: "May our moments be like tears, to fill endless oceans"

Mikael flies throughout the endless skies like only a madman or bird can do. Moscow below him, a whole universe above. He cries out in joy like only a loving man can do. A man, who appreciates and loves only the moment and has no past or future. Every moment by itself dictates Mikael's life. He has spent many of them in pain or sorrow, but nevertheless all were followed by happy and loving ones. Mikeal understands the concept of quality - not quantity. He has not loved his own wife and son for 20 years - no - he has loved them every moment of that time newly with the totality, which can be only exist in a past and future free life.

The next year, Mikeal came back to the magic pond to watch the water lilies bloom. Since weeks, he had been so excited. He could never sleep nor think about anything else than those three days ahead. He wanted, wanted, wanted to see the spectacle now, now, now, so that he even missed to see a beautiful woman named Martina smiling his way on one of those regular train rides, which Mikael took every morning to work. He has even been to preoccupied by all his wanting of future events that he could not hear the sound of her heart - beating in the exact same rhythm like his and telling of the same desires as his did. When the 18th of May 2011 finally came, Mikael was the only one sitting on the small, wodden bench next to the long forgotten "magic pond". Peolpe had given it anonther stupid name, which probably told another wonderful story. Mikael sat there for just four mintues, when suddenly all water lilies started to blossom - all except for one. Mikeal could not believe it! He sat there - on this very same pond he had visited for over 40 years in a row - in total astonishment and confusion. Even after three, then four days of waiting the last water lily would still not open her delicious petals to reunite into the beauty of all others. Mikael was so, so sad and he was even angry, if you could be angry at a water lily, but he was! After the fourth day - just when a sad man wanted to rise off a bench on some random pond called the "magic pond" - a beautiful woman named Martina came by to see her special water lily blossom, which she had put their eight months ago, to honour a beloved friend, listener and father, who she had lost in the last night of autumn the previous year.

Having lost his past and not wanting to think about the future, Mikael finally managed to recognise her heart beating the same as his and broke out in tears by recognising the enormity of this very special and unique moment. Martina - knowing about his whole life - sat down and whispered in his ear: "May our moments be like tears, to fill endless oceans".

Mikael races through the clouds above Moscow City. His cries of joy filling the spaces of moments lined after each another. He twists around like he had never done anything else in his life. Flying on his back he can see his beautiful wife and son floating above him. All of them three not wearing any kind of parachute. Peolpe would call them mad and many do, but they have the strongest of all believes that they can fly. Who would ever disagree with them?

Hey beloved ones,
last week had been quite a ride as I visited Moscow for a job. As the pictures of the Kremel are pretty random and nothing special due to lack of time, I thought another short story would do the trick.

All the best and stay in the moment otherwise you'll never see.

Your Moscow - Club -Kicked - out - Tomato - throwing - Entourage

Charlie the policeman and the fay girl

Charlie has been a police man since he turned nine years old. He was the head officer of his first under squat at the age of 13 and it didnt take him much longer to become super chief of the police station of Starramp and therefore “wielder of the wierd gun” and “protector of the early dawns”. Besides all those mighty sounding titles of glory and importance, every criminal as well as every well-mannered citizen knew that Charlie was a good man. He never lied nor ever acted in rage as only lesser man would do. If a fox stole a chicken, Charlie would not kill the fox as foxes were forced by nature to kill the chicken and eat the chicken. Charlie would think of something more clever to keep the foxes away from the chicken, so no harm could be done anymore. All the other super chiefs from all the other districts were very sceptical about Charlie's way of handling the bad boys or the foxes. They believed that foxes – just as bad boys – could be “healed” from behaving the way the normally do. There had always been a huge discussion about what the healing programme should actually consist of, but the super chiefs had something to talk about and that made them very happy. Today, it had been impossible for Charlie to attend the weekly super chief's meeting, which he normally never missed, no matter if he was deadly sick or freshly in love with an early spring morning. But today, Charlie was really deadly sick. Ten minutes ago, Charlie had woken up in a futuristic, sterile looking hospital room. He had been all by himself. Unfamiliar with this new situation, Charlie tried to get out of the bed to call for a doctor or even a nurse. But it had been impossible. Now, the old police super chief looks to his left side and sees barely more than bloody blankets. His left arm and his left leg are gone. Still unsure, if this is just a dream, Charlie closes his eyes again and tries to think of better times. His mind races through his passed memories of a whole lifetime. He watches the little kid, who is cupfull of ambitions and dreams to become a strong and righteous man. He recognizes himself being an teenager, while serving his first years as super chief on the merciless and mind breaking streets of the one and only Starramp. It had been years of triumph and tears. He almost shot up the endless steps of the job ladder - his wife had left him. He drank for years, better himself and became known as one of the wisest, but most controversially seen people ever served in the police forces of Dovetown City. Flashes appear and Charlie dies a silent and noteless death. His last memory is one of a hot day in Grain land. He stands in the middle of an enormous corn field and looks towards the sky in hope to find a cloud, which he could give as a present to his seven year old daugther, whose birthday will be in seven weeks. A soft breeze touches his neck and whispers of wonders, which no words could ever describe. Charlie looks around and is quite surprised as a fay girl stands in front of him. She giggles shyly, but motions Charlie to come closer. By the time he stands next to her, she chunckles once more and then says in a humming bee voice: “ Thy wish for a cloud amuses me, but a wish so strange should always be granted. I will give you thy cloud, if you give me three promises: Always love even in hate. Always smile, although tears might cloud your sight and never die, when you should live.”
Yesterday, Charlie stood next to a half burned car, when its tank finally exploded. The riots of the first of May 2011 in Starramp will be recorded as “mainly controlled by the well-organized” police squats.

This story is made up in context to the left wing riots, which always happen on the public holiday of labour throughout the whole of Germany. Demonstrators try to bring attention to the miserable conditions of the underclass as well as the unproportional expansion and invasion of rich people into “arty/hip/trendy/although payable rent” quarters of the main German cities, which are normally inhabited by aritsts and free spirits. Good examples for such quarters, which are then “rebulit” to fit a cleaner image and therefore lose their unique character are: Kreuzberg in Berlin, Sternschanze in Hamburg or the Glockenbachviertel in Munich.

The “dream” pictures I took on a pretty cool job, which I did last week in Dassau/near the Eastern Sea. The girl in the pictures is one of my colleagues and pretty cool!

Always stay happy,
Your Entourage

The story of the boy who fell in love with the wind

Once there was a little boy called Petal. He lived in a small village on the far side of a little, tiny country in the north-east of a huge continent, which constantly swam on the surface of an even huger ocean that surrounded an even huger planet. All the other children in his village were scared of Petal as his eyes were silver and his hair was blue. So it came, that Petal was a lonely boy, because his parents had died years ago when he was still little. As the years moved on, Petal became more and more sad, sorrow filling his heart and soul. He did not like anything anymore. Not even the sight of the most beautiful flowers in his little, wild garden could make him smile – not even a little bit. He always used to sit on the front steps of his crooked house at the end of the smallest street, which led out of his tiny village, just to watch the flowers move in the wind. Stupid flowers - he thought - so weak. Why cant they be like trees? All strong and mighty! Flowers are beautiful, but useless. They blossom one day and disappear the next. Opposingly, trees grow over years and last for centuries! But then came the day, it was a Thursday, when a thundering storm swept over the whole country and in particular through Petal's tiny village. It was devastating! Cows flew through the air and people were hiding deep down in their cellars as their houses were ripped into pieces and their shredded bits carried far away until the landed in the ocean like wooden raindrops. The next day, it must have been a Friday, the village was a pitiable sight. Major Branson's house stood atop of Sergeant Muffter's and no one had seen Charlie's candy store even though everybody especially the children – spent long hours looking for it. The only house in the whole village, which was just the same as before the storm was Petal's. This was quite strange as Petals's house had been crooked in the roof and every soul knew that its wooden structure was not worth ha'penny. Petal was wondering about his house, too, but one thing made him marvel even more. All the trees that had always been so strong and stout were gone with the wind, but the flowers – so delicate in their appearance – showed no signs of harm at all. It took Petal many hours to figure out what had happened. The flowers – so weak and soft – had been able to bend in the wind. Instead of opposing nature's brute forces with resistance and stubbornness to move like the mighty trees would do, the flowers gave in to the superior powers of the wind and played merely more than a lustrous game with it. The same was true for Petal's house. Its crooked roof had navigated throughout the continuous attacks of the thunderstorm like a proud ship would do in the ocean. The poor wooden structure had made it possible to endure the endless embraces of the storm by adjusting its shape and letting bits and pieces of wind run through the many cracks and never fixed holes. At this moment Petal fell in love with the wind. Even though some folks might find this quite strange, it has to be said that Petal in his very nature was quite strange. The wind had shown him that all his anger and sorrow had made him very, very hard and stubborn. He now understood that – even though his life had been much of a trouble with many unfavourable circumstances – not strength nor power were the keys to happiness, but weakness and softness. For the first time in many, many years Petal started to laugh from the bottom of his heart! He roared with laughter so hard that all the other villagers finally took notice of him and his crooked – but intact – house. It isn't hard to guess that they were shocked at the side of both – Petal and his house. It took them not more time than it takes an honest egg to boil hard to count one and one to two. Petal, with his silver eyes and his blue hair must be a wizard of the most mischievous kind! He had summoned the storm and destroyed the entire village. It took all of them a few blinks of an eye more to form into a wild and thundering mob of outraged people, who had lost everything – even their morals. No one knows what happened to Petal on this day, neither has anyone ever looked in his eyes evermore. But there is a myth – only told by parents to their little children in stormy nights - about a blue haired boy, who is sometimes seen when a big storm forms in the endless skies. It is said that his laughter of pure happiness is even louder than the most boisterous thunderclaps.

with love,
the entourage (still in hamburg)

Soulfood or When the Master becomes the Student

You wake up one morning and realize: you have been run over by a train. It's getting even worse, when you also realize that this same train had been honking and making noise for quite a while before it finally hit you with such a surprising and devestating impact. You could have seen it from many kilometers away, but all along you believed that you have been sitting in this same train and you would be perfectly safe. But what you didnt get was your fall off the train some time ago, while you were fast asleep. You slept so immensely thight that you didnt feel all the rocks and trees breaking your bones whilst rolling down the hill after you had fallen out the last wagon of that same train. So, when you wake up at the bottom of the hill and see that same train is approching you from the distance, you are even ignorant enough to yell out its name in delight. You lift your broken arm to embrace it. It would never occur to you that you have fallen off the night before. But you cant move. The fall has broken all you bones and your outcry of love is nothing more then a whisper - unheard to that same train, which now moves at its own speed having a new conductor since a while ago. The moment before it hits you, you might realize your faulities, but the headlights of that same train are just to bright for you to see it clearly. All the same, the train has accepted its new course and speed, but its breakes dont work properly yet as breaking is more compilcated and difficult than accelerating. After the hit you might feel dead or whatever. That same train might have felt a bump at the bottom of the hill. It might feel sad, too. You still cant move. You always thought that ghosts are able to fly and move freely, but you cant move.

I saw the picture of the beautiful girl [above] at the Triennale of Photography in Hamburg. Out of all pictures I have seen around there this is the only one I had to take a photo of, which doesnt do justice to its beauty to be quite frank. The photographer's name is Thomas Schweigert – from Hamburg, Germany - and his website is called www.purephotography.de. He took this photo for a story about two peolpe living in a long distance relationship. The longing and love, the memory and hurt. So many differnt layers of emotion... so much inability to move. But why?

Have a good time my friends,
The Entourage

„If you – for example – come by at four o'clock in the afternoon, I can already start feeling happy at three o'clock.“ [the fox]

sunshine in the north

Hallo everybody,

I am writing these lines from the very north of Germany. The city I am staying in is famous for its bad weather, awesome fish, legendary curry wurst and its bad weather. Seriously now, the weather is really pretty "dark", but Hamburg itself wins over with its charming old-school architecture, the Alster - a river - and, of course, the closeness to the Northern sea, where once in a while some nice waves have been heard of rolling on the bitterly cold and windy shores.

It is a new experience for me to explore my homecountry's big cities as Hamburg or Berlin, as I have been always eager to get away away and away in the past years as you can see I my recent blogposts.

So far Hamburg has been quite a surprise! The waether is absolutely stunning and even though some folks might call the Hamburgers "reserved peolpe", I managed to get in colse contact with the locals fairly easy. At this point, I want to thank Jakob - my buddy from the Indo 2010 trip - and his roomate Justus for hosting me nearly two weeks. At the moment I live in a little "castle" at Münzplatz as you can see in the pictures.

As the best to all of you,

The Entourage