Watch these videos with the sound turned off while listening to this track:

grasshopper jump: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrx8AFcKtiQ

Chris Pratt - Super Mario Remake - FIRST LOOK Gameplay: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tChudJbooo4

The Grasshopper

Watch these Go Pro walking videos in New York City during winter with the turned sound on while listening to this song in loop mode:

Snowfall in Central Park, New York | Walking in Central Park in the Winter Snow: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kGJr1Nh-1CY

Snowfall in Times Square, NYC | Walking in New York City in the Winter Snow, 4k: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F8MN0o6RS9o

Also watch this video about a Super Mario Remake with the sound turned off while listening to this track: 

Chris Pratt - Super Mario Remake - FIRST LOOK Gameplay: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tChudJbooo4

And have a look at this video as well (Sound turned off):

Leavenworth: Your Winter Wonderland: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTyVydTNRqI

A pleasant Winter Stroll

Watch this video with the sound turned off while listening to this track: 

Chris Pratt - Super Mario Remake - FIRST LOOK Gameplay: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tChudJbooo4

Hey Mr. Bonga Oyonga

Confession

Introduction in English:

Germany in the 1960s was still very much influenced by the Nazi stink. Violence and black pedagogy still prevailed in families. Beatings and spankings were part of the natural educational repertoire of parents. 
Unfortunately, my father and mother also joined this then socially accepted community of thugs.   
In this often ominous and latently threatening time, Doris Day was for me the ideal projection screen for a world full of harmony, clarity and lightness. 
Since my parents basically loved me (they themselves had been traumatized by terrible experiences of violence in Nazi Germany and, due to a lack of suitable trauma therapies at the time, unconsciously went from being victims to perpetrators when beating us children), they took my childhood crushes on Doris Day seriously and at some point gave in to my urging to write her a (fictitious) letter from Germany.... 
As an adult, I distanced myself from my childhood crush on Doris Day for a long time, since critical film analyses tended to portray her as a representative of superficial, shallow and pseudo-harmonic acting and song art. 
Then I saw her again a good ten years ago at the „Berlinale“ in a documentary with Rock Hudson and his HIV infection at the beginning of 1985. Nobody wanted to get Hudson, whose HIV infection was diagnosed in Moscow, out of there and bring him back to the U.S. by plane. Most were afraid of becoming infected themselves. 
Not so Doris Day. She, along with several other actors, organized the flight back. And when Rock Hudson, who was already seriously ill with AIDS, stepped out of the plane after landing in the U.S., she demonstratively stood next to him and put her arm around him. Even today, tears come to my eyes when I think of this unique gesture of solidarity and loyalty. 
Since that magical moment in a Berlin movie theater, Doris Day has become immortal to me. 
And I can only say: I was not at all mistaken in my early love for her....

Lyrics in English

My Blond Angel

When I was a little boy 
Just a meter high 
I fell in love with your blond hair 
That always smelled like cinnamon stars to me

I'd watch TV in the afternoon and then I'd see you 
As you came on the screen
You were pure harmony, clinically pure, high polish
You exuded carefree elegance

No one believed I could fall in love like that
Little boys are supposedly not ready for that yet

But I suffered, I pined, I was sick with love
My blond angel from the faraway land

My parents told me she lives far away from here
In the great wide U.S.A.
Her name is Doris Day and she'd already have
A husband to take care of her

But I wouldn't give up
I cried and cried until my parents realized
They found out her residence and address
And after my continued insistence,

I dictated a love letter to them both
My father translated it for her

He threw it in for me, I was still too little for that
My blond angel from the faraway land

When I sat in front of the screen the following weeks
She looked at me differently
She looked quite in love, my letter seduced her
Since then I was her little husband

For a long time I was ashamed of this love
But recently I saw her
More magical than ever
For me she remains a shining light
I love her

Mein Blonder Engel (My Blond Angel)

Watch these videos with the sound turned off while listening to this track in loop mode:

Tomb Raider Anniversary playthrough: Egypt - Sanctury of the Scion (all secrets): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acmmomTChlU (You can switch the video sound on with a low level)

Skyward Sword Fire Sanctuary Walkthrough - Full Dungeon Guide Puzzles & Boss - Legend of Zelda: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skQwfzLNldA

Illusion of Gaia Part 28 - Hack Hack Hack: www.youtube.com/watch?v=06DvfDvIO3w

Skyward Sword Lanayru Mining Facility Walkthrough - Full Desert Dungeon Guide - Puzzles & Boss: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzayS5aFNto

Let there be Light!

A withered Past

Sontrack of a Road movie during summer 2022

The Journey

Don't Fall Asleep

Time Prisoner

The Pooring Reign

to drink the hue from the hue-man,

and grayling leave a sheathe,

that shallows for it's shepherd's shape,

in powdered time bequeathed,

sanity is now sickness,

only sickness is sane,

to the trudge of trudging trudgers,

caught within the Pooring Reign,

the folding man caved inwards,

and lo...he sunk down high,

and the low...the hingy ruster,

of his collapsible I,

fondlings lost is a forest,

of origami trees,

where folding is "of chorus",

for both the hands and knees,

and fold my filchy brethren,

knowing not root nor shoot,

embalming weave can never leave,

to bare a branch of fruit,

it drags it's bony bendings,

with it's soul a bloated flush,

all cellulose dimplings,

scrubbed off with a wire brush,

the coughin' of it's coffin,

a wheezles phlegmatic rasp,

the throaty thrum of huckled hum,

whence gills no longer gasp,

and shucks the shriven shriveled,

himself the remorse code,

whose secrets crack, a don't look back,

as loaded imps implode,

the gaunting hymn all hallowed in,

hymnself the molting mane

his druthers drenched in clench of stench,

that hench the Pooring Reign

for the Pooring Reign was glutting,

upon the common cents,

who were serving up a spittle soup,

in subterfuged offense,

and me...I was my hero,

and sometimes he was me,

and he sang a song of rite and wrong,

so we sung a song, we,

it went:

"the worm's name is consumption,

consumption is the worm,

and the folding trees of as you please,

are an outmoded germ"

the Pooring Reign was feasting,

their tables set to Set,

the simmer of the spittle soup,

was whimp-purring and wet,

and me...I was my hero,

and sometimes he was me,

and he'd kick a table over,

so we kicked a table...we,

but one table hit another,

with a shimmy and a shove,

till it all came tumbling down,

like dominos falling in love,

then I heard pop music as mantra,

and I saw what it had brung,

my future self, a wizened elf,

spoke in alien tongue,

"huegin Fuegin Mah-tootin"

is what he said to me,

it means "only the truth is noble"

Pooring Reign

Walking the row where the human tide frays,
and breaks on its shores like the nights on the days,
amidst all the gristle I happened to gaze,
an old woman walking lower east sideways,

upon fetid feet did she heel cross the haunting,
her clothing a loathing, a new day was daunting,
beneath the light's blight all her flaws would be flaunting,
back bent beneath of a wan wanton wanting,

the pale horse pulled rig, down the dirty dirt track,
that did lead through the need to the riddled in wrack,
and all in she'd fallen, down a smoking crack,
now the day seems to say "you can never go back"...

once long ago how her blossom did bloom,
and her sight did a-light the gutters glutted gloom,
now her petals hang hoary, like the panting of tongues,
that did drink from the brink of the song she had sung

She sang

"Innocence, innocence, all's beauty to ME,
for the heavens above they reflect in my sea,
from the stars strewn above to the slummings below,
Innocence, innocence , wherever I go"

She sang

"innocence, innocence, wherever you lead",
and in daring uncaring had she payed it no heed,
until wearing their staring, she drank of their need,
and little by little... agreed to a greed,

so they made her the Queen of a nape of the night,
they hung her a halo of jaundiced yellow light,
sowed a sign to her skin that said "Beauty for rent"
and she yearned and she turned and she earned every cent,

rank how they drank and they gorged on the gore,
how they knocked on the door of an opening sore,
She sang "come in, come in,oh come in one and all,
there is beauty for rent and an autumn to fall",

and this beauty she bartered, for powder and paper,
till her stars were just scars marred in ichor and vapor,
till a little by little belittling molder,
blighted her light, it ensconced to enfold her,

till the dopings and gropings would no longer glut her,
till her petals did settle to rot in the gutter,
for a fix-it-all fable and a flower's conceit,
immortal beauty became hand me down meat,

and a girl's eyes still glimmer behind a toothless smile,
growing dimmer and dimmer with each mottled mile,
and a sweet voice still stammers behind that growled grin,
sacred to me...she's suffered for our sin,

so sacred to me, her sepulchral spires,
wherein the suits loot in their text book attire,
her valleys of alleys, her mortified mires,
where the rags practice dying crying "lower is higher"

the cheap neon glint of her salable waste,
stored and adored by all the lower cased,
Vancouver, my city, they would call her a whore,
but I've witnessed her worst and I love her the more,

Our lady of the concrete, so sacred to me,
for the heaven's above still reflect in her sea,
though she hobbles the cobbles of lower east side,
with a hunch in her back that says "lay where you lied"

Our Lady of the Concrete, so sacred to me,
somewhere a springtime is still singing thy plea,
down on Hastings and main, in wastings and pain,
"innocence, innocence" refracts her refrain

Pooring Reign

face the music