Introduction in English:

A good thirty years ago I had a partner who had strict Catholic parents. She had four brothers who married in the strict Catholic spirit during the time we were together. 
I loved the free, unbridled, wild dancing at that time. But at those weddings, any passion was contained in a rigid religious call-and-dance ceremonial.   
My "salvation" was Bosza, a Croatian woman overflowing with warmth, cordiality and impetuous liveliness. She was the wife of my then partner's uncle, who himself had fled to Berlin decades ago from the all-suppressing Catholic morality.
And with Bosza I danced half the night away at the weddings. Most people hated us for it. But we were passionate soul mates.
After I separated from my former partner, I lost sight of Bosza for the last ten years. 
Until I received a year ago over a brother of my ex-partner by WhatsApp the message that Bosza had died with not even seventy years. 
When I received this news, I had to cry spontaneously. And out of this sadness, but also out of gratitude for the great living time together at the otherwise dead weddings, this tribute to this wonderful woman was created. A woman who burned from both ends of the candle, and like most who do, do not grow very old.

Lyrics (for those, who don`t speak German)

Bosza

Shaved grass
Orgies of order in excess

Everything symmetrical
The cleanliness fetish

The compulsive cult replaces pleasure and fun

I come there to such a festival
Where they leave farts in gold seals

On the dance floors brooms
Heart-decored straw creatures

The atmosphere is arctic chilled

There you just jumped in brazenly
Loud, exuberant and soft

Created a little warmth niche
In this enchanted ice princess realm

Oh Bosza, Oh Bosza, Oh Bosza
You Know!

Fish grette leftovers at the cat table
On my lap a spoiled quiche

The life in bottles
With permanent stop tabs

The children are domesticated

The meeting train on a railway track
On which is written "Untraceable travelled"

No door handles
The eye salute empty

A glass bell lies on the sea of people

Through you came healing cracks
The gowns mutated into a dress
Stock fishes began to wag
The mood of forbiddance deflated

Ooh Bosza, Ooh Bosza, Ooh Bosza
You know!

Deutscher Originaltext:

Bosza

Kahlgeschorenes Gras
Ordnungsorgien im Übermaß

Alles symmetrisch
Der Sauberkeitsfetisch

Der Zwangskult ersetzt Lust und Spaß

Komme dort auf so ein Fest
Auf dem man Fürze in Goldplomben lässt

Auf den Tanzflächen Besen
Herzentkernte Stroh-Wesen

Die Atmosphäre ist arktisch gekühlt

Da bist Du einfach dreist reingesprungen
laut, überbordend und weich

Schufst eine kleine Wärmenische
In diesem verwunschenen Eisprinzessinnen-Reich

Oh Bosza, Oh Bosza, Oh Bosza
You Know!

Fischgreten-Reste am Katzentisch
Auf meinem Schoß ne' verdorbene Quiche

Das Leben in Flaschen
Mit Dauerstop-Laschen

Die Kinder sind domestiziert

Der Begegnungszug auf einem Gleis
Auf dem steht „Unauffindbar verreist“

Keine Türklinken
Der Augengruß leer

Eine Glasglocke liegt auf dem Menschenmeer

Durch Dich kamen heilsame Risse
Die Talare mutierten zum Kleid
Stockfische begannen zu wedeln
Die Stimmung von Verboten entbleit

Ooh Bosza, Ooh Bosza, Ooh Bosza
You know!

Bosza

Boza

Introduction in English:

Recently I met a friend who spent a month in Crete earlier this year. 
As he told me about his wanderings there, I again remembered a drastic experience I had during my stay in Crete thirty years ago. 
During my expeditions through the bare Cretan mountains at that time, I met a young man who had been living in a cave for some time, completely isolated from the world. 
We walked together for a while. He told me that he suffered from psychotic delusions with inner voices torturing him. 
The secluded life here in the mountains would help him to deal with these powerful and alienating voices. 
Nevertheless, he longed so much for a release from this "voice terror". 
When I wanted to visit him again the next day, he was nowhere to be found. 
In all these years I thought of him from time to time, especially since I also meet people here in Berlin again and again who suffer from similar psychotic confusions. 
With this song I try to put myself in the place of these people who suffer so terribly and are still largely misunderstood

Lyrics (for those, who don`t speak German)

Voices in the head

Voices in the head
Eat me up

Controlling me
Beat on me

Persecute me, torture me
Incapacitate me
Condemn, despise, devalue, laugh at me 
They make me down, drive into all my limbs

Are always there, invade me
Come when they want, never leave me alone

Come through the walls, no wall can stop them

Hate, shun, move masses of vengeance 
They cause me pain with relish, they light stigma-candles inside me

I've made up my mind 
I'll be calm, because I know I can free myself from you
Yes, I can free myself from you!

The last thing I have left is to lay a hand on myself.
With my dying, I'll give you my last escort.

Then I'll cast you off like a garment of shadows

Your blasphemies, your bullying, your poison, your envy

Flow with the water and the blood from me
Disappears in the drain, far away from here

Emasculated sadists, coreless egoists, seedless fascists, 
You all can't nestle in me anymore

Float away
You stay behind

Your power is now completely null and void
A hollow space remains unnamed

I now lie in my hand

Deutscher Originaltext:

Stimmen im Kopf

Stimmen im Kopf
Fressen mich auf

Bestimmen über mich
Schlagen auf mich drauf

Verfolgen, Foltern mich
Entmündigen mich
Verurteilen, verachten, entwerten, verlachen, 
Machen mich nieder, fahr`n in all meine Glieder

Sind immer da, dringen in mich ein
Kommen wann sie wollen, lassen mich nie allein

Kommen durch die Wände, Keine Mauer halt sie auf

hassen, schassen, bewegen Rachemassen, 
Bereiten lustvoll Schmerzen, Entzünden in mir Wundmal-Kerzen

Ich hab’ mich entschieden, 
Ich werde ruhig, weil ich weiß, ich kann mich von Euch befreien
Ja ich kann mich von Euch befreien!

Das letzte was mir bleibt, ist, Hand an mich zu legen
Mit meinem Freitod gebe ich Euch letztes Geleit

Dann leg’ ich Euch ab wie ein Schatten-Kleid

Euer Lästern, Euer Stänkern, Euer Gift, Euren Neid

Fließt mit dem Wasser und dem Blut aus mir
Entschwindet im Abfluß, weit weg von hier

Entmannte Sadisten, Entkernte Egoisten, Samenlose Faschisten, 
Ihr könnt’ Euch alle nicht mehr in mir einnisten

Schwebe hinüber
Ihr bleibt zurück

Eure Macht ist nun ganz und gar null und nichtig
Zurück bleibt ein Hohlraum unbenannt

Ich lieg jetzt in meiner Hand

Stimmen im Kopf (Voices in the Head)

Stimmen Im Kopf (Voices In The Head)

Introduction in English:

Last year, my wife and me bought a cottage on the Baltic Sea. It was to be something like our retirement home for the next thirty years. 
Unfortunately, this vision has so far been thwarted by our increasingly resentful neighbours. Consideration is a foreign word for them. They let their children play loud basketball as long as they want; they grill foul-smelling meat as long as they want and they party as long as they want. 
If you ask them nicely to be quiet, you will be dismissed with slogans like "We don't give a shit", "Move away if you don't like it" or "We'll do what we like".
In my helplessness and speechlessness over this dissocial stubbornness, I came across an old Beatles song called "Not a Second Time". Of course, it was composed by John Lennon in 1963 in a completely different context.
But its lyrics fit just as well with my desperate and so far largely unheard plea for more neighbourly consideration. - In particular, the lines: "You're giving me the same old line/ I'm wondering why/You hurt me then/ you're back again/No, no, no, not a second time“ sum up our current plight with these self-centred neighbours.
And as always with covers, my aim is not to get as close as possible to the original, but to transform it into a Karlit-O-Kay sound design.
The picture cover for the song is by German artist Markus Schuke.

Einleitung auf Deutsch:

Letztes Jahr kauften meine Frau und ich an der Ostsee ein Häuschen. Es sollte so etwas wie unser Alters- und Ruhesitz für die nächsten dreißig Jahre werden. 
Leider wurde diese Vision bisher von unseren zunehmend renitenten Nachbarn durchkreuzt. Rücksichtnahme ist für sie ein Fremdwort. Sie lassen ihre Kinder lautstark Basketball spielen, solange die wollen; sie grillen übelriechendes Fleisch, so lange sie wollen und sie machen Party, so lange sie wollen. 
Bittet man sie freundlich um Ruhe, wird man mit Sprüchen wie "Ist uns doch scheißegal", "Ziehen Sie doch weg, wenn es Ihnen nicht paßt" oder "Wir machen, was uns passt" abgefertigt.
In meiner Ohnmacht und Sprachlosigkeit ob dieser dissozialen Dickfelligkeit stieß ich auf einen alten Song der Beatles namens "Not a Second time". Der ist natürlich damals 1963 von John Lennon in einem ganz anderen Zusammenhang komponiert worden.
Seine Textzeilen passen aber ebenso gut zu meinem verzweifelten und bisher weitgehend unerhört gebliebenen Bitten um mehr nachbarschaftliche Rücksichtnahme. – Insbesondere die Zeilen „You're giving me the same old line/ I'm wondering why/You hurt me then/ you're back again/No, no, no, not a second time“ bringen unsere derzeitige Not mit diesen egozentrischen Nachbarn auf den Punkt, 
Und wie stets bei Covern geht es mir nicht darum, dem Original möglichst nahe zu kommen, sondern dieses in ein Karlit-O-Kay- Sounddesign zu transformieren.
Das Bild-Cover zu dem Song stammt von dem deutschen Künstler Markus Schuke.

Not a Second Time

Not A Second Time (Lennon/Mccartney)

Introduction in English:

On a Saturday, 9 June 1989, I receive a phone call from my mother at around 6 am. She seems to be laughing. But as it soon turns out, tears are bursting out of her. At first she can only say one sentence: "Your father is dead". Then her voice fails. I, who has just been roused from my sleep by the ringing, at first think it's a bad joke. My father, not even 55 years old, dead, who had been so full of energy in the last few months? With whom I had spoken lively on the phone just a week ago?
Then my eldest sister comes to the phone. She speaks like a robot, as if she has frozen all her feelings inside herself.
She confirms the sudden death of my father from a heart attack and urges me to come immediately from Berlin to southern Germany (800 kilometres away).
Much of what happened after that - from the last encounter with my father in the morgue, to the years of vacillating between feelings of liberation and sometimes massively frightening "I'll bring you to me in the realm of the dead" nightmares after his funeral, to finding a deeper inner peace with him in the last few years - I wrote down and sang about in the following song "My Father in Heaven".      
However, the song lyrics are not chronological, but set in 2011, in which I am all alone on a beautiful summer day in the cemetery where my father's grave is located. From this day I start a retrospective and an outlook.     

Lyrics:

My Father in Heaven

What a beautiful day
All alone in the graveyard 
Come to visit you
Without a grudge

It's unbelievably quiet
Hear the dead deep asleep 
In an beyond harbour
Be with you soon

I hated you sometimes 
Had you so gladly touched,
You're gone too soon 
Left me alone with the dirt 
Of this life.

Wanted to tell you so much more 
You can't sneak away like that
A moment ago you were still there  
I felt quite close to you,

Now only 
A cold hand in the morgue
Nothing more moves

My father in heaven, 
I miss you very much, 
With wistfulness my heart sometimes
Becomes so heavy

When you were suddenly dead
Many things seemed easier, 
I moved forward in life, 
I looked free

but when I slept at night,
you'd come into my dreams, 
trying to pull me over, 
to the land beyond.

You didn’t let me go for so long 
Lying like a black mourning box
On my chest and belly, 
Felt like I was in a tube 
Trapped by you.

Often couldn’t defend myself
Felt completely without power 
When in the deep of the night
you came to my room, 

without a body, 
pure soul contact,
worlds still unknown to me.

Father in heaven,
do you hear me now,
I speak to you in peace, 
I am no longer hurt.

Your grave is newly decorated,
I've picked a bouquet for you, 
I sit down with you, 
I surrender tot he silence
peaceful silence. 

I am here now, you there
even if the wall separates us,
we see each other invisibly, 
You always stay close to me, 

I'll go on now, 
Stay here, 
I'll be back soon

Father in heaven
I think of you often 
You are indispensable, 
Come with me....

My Father in Heaven

My Father In Heaven

Second part of my father trilogy.
This song is based on a dream I had a good 20 years ago with my father, who had been dead for some time. 
I am in a dimly lit room. It's just me and somehow my father's energy body. At some point, this invisible energy body comes towards me. Then we embrace. It is a merging embrace. Something deep inside me releases and makes me cry. It's not so much a sad cry, but a liberating, soothing cry that pacifies me completely. 
Since this dream, the grudge I harboured against him for a long time has largely disappeared.     
Somehow he has been there inside me since then and I can sometimes visit him (even in dreams) when I want to talk to him.

The arrangement of the song is deliberately minimalist (just vocals, guitar and violin, hardly any effects) in order to emphasise the tremendous intimacy of the encounter between my father and me in the dream described above (there is no longer a "leaf" between us).

My Father  (Lyrics in English)

Would so like to talk to you
Break through the walls to the hereafter
Meet you in a moon cafe
On chairs that stand here and there

You died before the Berlin Wall came down
My son was born on the day you died
Never saw my beautiful wife
Although you had aimed 
For a hundred years of life

You only reached half of it
Life was rarely really easy for you

You were often too close to the stars
Underestimated the danger to your life
Had so many visions
Wanted to live in castles in the air

Then you were all there again
So clairvoyant, wise and clear

Would love to have you with me now
My father, I would love to have you here now 

The dividing wall to you is now open
I haven't met you for so long
You're waiting for me in the moon cafe
I see you in the soft twilight

I want to tell you so many things
What happened after you left
You still wanted to experience it all
Your early death did not grant you that

You were so torn, the demons, they tore at you
You loved the rush, had little sense of yourself

And yet you were in deep distress
My ever-protecting boat
My steadying hand
The lighthouse in my land of chaos

You gave up the shirt off your back
That ultimately cost you your life

Would love to have you with me now
My father, I wish you were here now


Mein Vater (Deutscher Originaltext)

Möchte so gern mit Dir sprechen
Die Mauern zum Jenseits durchbrechen
Dich in einem Mond-Cafe` treffen
Auf Stühlen, die hier und dort stehen

Vor dem (Berliner) Mauerfall bist Du gestorben
An Deinem Todestag wurde mein Sohn geboren
Hast meine schöne Frau niemals erlebt
Dabei hattest Du 
Hundert Jahre Leben angestrebt

Hast grad‘ mal gut die Hälfte davon erreicht
Das Leben war für Dich selten wirklich leicht

Warst oft den Sternen zu nah
Unterschätztest die Lebensgefahr
Hattest so viele Visionen
Wolltest in Luftschlössern wohnen

Dann warst Du wieder ganz da
So hellsichtig, weise und klar

Hätt‘ Dich so gern jetzt bei mir
Mein Vater, hätt‘ Dich jetzt gern hier 

Die Trennwand zu Dir steht jetzt offen
So lange hab‘ ich Dich nicht getroffen
Du wartest im Mond-Cafe‘ auf mich
Ich seh‘ Dich im zarten Dämmerlicht

Ich will Dir so vieles erzählen
Was so geschah nach Deinem Fortgehen
Du wolltest das alles noch erleben
Dein früher Tod hat Dir das nicht vergönnt

Warst so zerrissen, die Dämonen, sie zerrten an Dir
Liebtest den Rausch, hattest für Dich wenig Feingespür

Und dennoch warst Du in tiefer Not
Mein stets mich schützendes Boot
Meine mir haltgebende Hand
Der Leuchtturm in meinem Chaos-Land

Hast Dein letztes Hemd hergegeben
Das kostete Dich letztlich Dein Leben

Hätt‘ Dich so gern jetzt bei mir
Mein Vater, hätt‘ Dich jetzt gern hier

Mein Vater (My Father)

Third part of my father trilogy.
The father trilogy ends with my naïve and youthful attempt, at the age of 23, to break away from my father, who seemed overpowering at the time, and stand on my own two feet: 
To move as far away as possible from my provincial hometown, to throw myself into a Berlin that was completely foreign to me at the time and completely overwhelming. 
My saviour at the time was my oldest friend, who had already been living in Berlin for a few years and took me under his wing like a big brother.     
But even with his help, I soon had to realise that the attempt at a radical inner "patricide" could not succeed in any way. The early imprints he had left on me, the demons I had 'inherited' from him, were all still there. No matter how much I turned my outer life upside down, there was no escape from the central patterns and beliefs that I had learnt from my father in the first 10 years of my life.
In this respect, the song title "The Singular Man" is a "Mission Impossible". It was only three years later, and especially after his early death, that I realised more and more that a lifelong confrontation with my inner father images could lead to a closely linked dialectic:
An ever deeper and visibly more reconciliatory bond with my father and, at the same time, an ever-increasing self-realisation    
 
The Singular Man  (Lyrics in English)

Run through streets crooked and skewed 
The bridges criss-cross

All around me the stink of the city
An army of people everywhere

Turn in somewhere now
Fall in at your door

You are alone
Your corridor infinitely long
Your walls high and wide 
Your front door broad and welcoming

You push me through the corridor now 
At the windows the siren-
song

I get scared and bang 
Am I still
Your catch of fish
Your silhouette
That only plays at being free

And yet I have escaped you 
Escaped!

I take off all hinges
Hang out the windows
Make me a magic wand
Grey Berlin becomes a colourful bouquet for me 

Ride on a peacock wheel
Take a foam spring bath in the Spree

All light 
Time thrown into the air

Pain-free in a glittering dress
An ecstatic feeling of life

But something pushes back
Under the carpet lies the hanging rope
The spider's web is
Still there
The old danger

I only know about her now 
Keep me out of her more 

Oh man, the singular man
Man Oh man, the singular man
Man Oh man, the singular man
Man Oh man, the singular man


Der Singuläre Mann (Deutscher Originaltext)

Lauf’ durch Straßen krumm und schief, 
Die Brücken kreuz und quer

Um mich herum der Großstadtmief
Überall ein Menschen-Heer

Bieg' irgendwo jetzt ein
Fall’ bei Dir zur Tür herein

Du bist allein
Dein  Flur unendlich lang
Deine Wände hoch und weit 
Deine Eingangstür willkommens-breit

Schiebst mich jetzt durch den Gang 
An den Fenstern der Sirenen-
Gesang

Mir wird Angst und Bang 
Bin ich immer noch
Dein Fischfang
Dein Schattenbild
Das das Freisein nur spielt

Und doch bin ich Dir entflohen 
Entflohen!

Lege alle Scharniere ab
Häng' die Fenster aus
Bastle mir einen Zauberstab
Grau-Berlin wird mir zum bunten Strauß 

Fahr auf nem‘ Pfauenrad
Nehm‘ in der Spree ein Schaum-Frühlingsbad

Alles leicht 
In die Luft geworfene Zeit

Schmerzbefreit im Glitzerkleid
Ein rauschhaftes Lebensgefühl

Doch etwas drängt zurück
Unterm Teppich liegt der Häng‘-Dich-Strick
Das Spinnennetz ist
Immer noch da
Die alte Gefahr

Kenn‘ mich jetzt nur mit ihr aus 
Halt mich mehr aus ihr raus 

Oh Mann, der Singuläre Mann
Mann Oh Mann, der Singuläre Mann
Mann Oh Mann, der Singuläre Mann
Mann Oh Mann, der Singuläre Mann

Der Singulare Mann (The Singular Man)

Der Singuläre Mann (The Singular Man)

Help!

Introduction in English

Sometimes I have to smile a little when I think about the fact that John Lennon was only 24 years old when he wrote these lyrics. 
He certainly didn't know about the cries for help that come with ageing from 60 plus. The experience of gradual physical decline and the increasing dependence on the support of other people. The gradual loss of autonomy, which is so important for one's own dignity. And the subliminal threat of retirement and nursing homes approaching, which then temporarily pulls you out of your increasing mental derangement by singing old Beatles songs.
But apart from that, he certainly already knew a lot about the hardships of being different, of not belonging; the longing to experience something like love in the worldwide recognition and at the same time having to suffocate and drown in this wave of adoration. 
In the pop era of the time, his desperate cry for help was reduced to a tolerable two minutes
I turned it into a leisurely three-minute waltz. And tried to express my increasing need for help in certain areas of life in different ways: shy and fragile, desperate and humble, angry and almost accusatory. 
And towards the end, I find myself in an almost otherworldly limbo in which a part of me comes to peace with the cry for help and finds its own new dignity in it.

Einführung auf Deutsch
Manchmal muß ich ein wenig schmunzeln, wenn ich daran denke, dass John Lennon erst 24 Jahre alt war, als er diesen Songtext schrieb. 
Da wusste er mit Sicherheit noch nichts von den Hilferufen, die mit dem Älterwerden ab 60 plus einhergehen. Die Erfahrung des allmählichen körperlichen Zerfalls und die sich zunehmend anschleichende Angewiesenheit auf die Unterstützung von anderen Menschen. Der allmähliche Verlust von Autonomie, der für die eigene Würde so wichtig ist. Und das unterschwellig drohende Herannahen von Senioren- und Pflegeheimen, die einem dann mit dem Singen von alten Beatles-Songs vorübergehend aus der zunehmenden geistigen Umnachtung herausreißen.
Aber abgesehen davon wußte er sicher schon viel von den Nöten des Andersseins, des nicht dazu gehörens; der Sehnsucht, in der weltweiten Anerkennung so etwas wie Liebe zu erfahren und zugleich in dieser Verehrungswelle geradezu ersticken und ertrinken zu müssen. 
In der damaligen Pop-Zeit wurde sein verzweifelter Hilferuf auf allseits erträgliche gut zwei Minuten eingedampft.
Ich habe daraus einen gut dreiminütigen gemächlichen Walzer gemacht. Und dabei versucht, meine in gewissen Lebensbereichen zunehmende Hilfsbedürftigkeit auf verschiedene Weise auszudrücken: Scheu und zerbrechlich, verzweifelt und demütig, wütend und beinahe anklagend. 
Und zum Ende hin befinde ich mich in einer fast schon jenseitigen Zwischenwelt, in der ein Teil in mir mit dem Hilferuf in Frieden kommt und darin eine eigene neue Würde findet.

Help!

Help! (Lennon/Mccartney)

TROCKEN is Odesa based tecno Dj. He opened his passion for techno in early 90th, when it was possible to hear it only from abroad radio stations or from horrible quality cassettes. He listened to everything he could reach from techno but never played this music. So his taste remained pure. After decades his love for tecno doesn't left him and he decided to play it, despite everything aroud. He is playing elements of his soul and his filings. And yes, they are Hard and Acid. He opens his view to this world by choosing every track and every sound. Come listen to his inside and feel the Techno 🖤

w/ TROCKEN - Podcast #291

DOWNLOAD HERE: https://hypeddit.com/fms-dnb/fmssouthparkdub

My viral flip of the South Park intro theme is out now!! Big ups for all of the support on this one! 

FMS xx

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FMS - SOUTH PARK DUB (SOUTH PARK DNB)

RAXEL is an Ankara based techno artist who has proven his talent in Turkey's underground scene. His sets include Acid, Hard, Hardcore and Industrial techno genres.  Having shared the stage with many artists such as 6ejou, Afem Syko, Laren and Fantasm, the artist recently took the stage as a headliner at a party in Odessa.

w/ RAXEL - Podcast #314

Miami Drive (Original Mix)

Long explorations across countless genres and musical directions led the project Thy Psybot! to the conclusion that rigid boundaries are pointless. That’s why each track stands out with its own unique style, whether it’s retro-futuristic vibes of the '80s or modern EDM genres. Forget boundaries — that’s my message. I hope you enjoy listening as much as I enjoy creating these tracks. From Ukraine with love <3

Miami Drive (Original Mix)

Thy Psybot!

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