Corona pandemic: Anja Kampmann on the corona crisis – culture

It is certainly for the best that others are making the plans for us, writes Anja Kampmann. But it makes her uneasy. About the question of freedom.

I often think these days of the song that made the British band XTC famous in 1979 and has often been covered since: “Making Plans for Nigel”. I think about it when I drive through cities in which there are no museums or theaters for the next few months and not even a dive bar where people’s worries stick to walls and curtains. The libraries are open, which for me is the biggest difference to spring. I was already thinking about it while the lights were changing and I was watching the US elections on the live ticker. And if young Nigel says he’s happy, he must be happy, he must be happy in his work.


Lights on: Hans Hütt on the Corona period – culture

Last week I decided to take part in a study with a well-known vaccine against tuberculosis. Maybe it strengthens the body’s defenses until a vaccine against Sars-CoV-2 is available. The doctor said, “I’ll randomize you now.” The next night Sars-CoV-2 appeared to me and I dreamed this speech.

“May I introduce myself? You remember my step-uncle Mers and Sars? You did not understand their message. The two were my heralds. They served me as scouts, as surveyors. They checked your defenses, they tested our antidotes, and…” they devised lists of how to bypass their defenses, while I was getting impatient with the bats after a long time of waiting. I’ve always longed to change my regular host. You know that? I was getting bored with the bats. In the bat I floated through the night and came close enough to you to smell what is so tempting about you. You are the ideal breeding ground for my reproduction. You guarantee me immortality. Every opening in your body (every!), Every opportunity that you use to party, eat, drink and dance, every time you get too close, every unwashed hand with which you pick your ears and noses, rub your eyes, wipe your mouth wipes or pulls a thread of meat out of your teeth, it serves as a gateway into the Garden of Eden – your body. I’ve studied your defenses long enough.

Every next generation in which I multiply (for you it’s milliseconds, for me it’s eternity) accelerates my propulsion. If I get far enough over your mucous membranes, you will notice that I have arrived in you. Hosanna, I now whisper to myself! Whatever you do now, sleep, drink, sweat, take refuge in home remedies, a liqueur, an aspirin, it is unsuitable. Are you sweating? The easier it is for me to zoom up and around you. Do you mobilize your body’s defenses and your T cells? They serve me as lunar shuttles in your space. You serve me as a fire accelerator, as a breeding ground, to conquer the world with and against you. If you think I’ve left you again, I’ll be waiting in a pupal shape for the next opportunity to torment you, tomorrow, in a month, maybe in a few years. I will turn you into fit sick people.

Now comes the fortissimo of my song of praise to you people, now there’s another round on the house!

No organ that I have not long since explored, no cell that did not serve as a sleeping and breeding ground for me, I will stay with you. Because I have a mission. If you can’t manage to destroy yourself yourself, I’ll take the helm and do the whole job. If a gush of fresh blood comes, I cling to every bend (you have lots of bends inside too!), I clump up a few blood vessels, they are still too small to be discovered, an ow for me, soon an ow for you. You have enough to do with the swelling supply of fresh sick people not to waste your attention too much on those who have recovered. Your rehab experts have understood this because they are confronted with so many symptoms that they cannot classify or that they have no remedy for. But now comes the fortissimo of my hymn of praise to humanity, my favorite host, now there’s another round on the house! The virologists are still groping around in the chiaroscuro of their findings. In the crowd, as my best accomplices, you yourself ensure that I prosper and become unstoppable.

Covid, Covid, Covid a superhero is screaming and pretending to have overcome me. The madness it spreads makes you ready for my next wave of attacks. In your midst, a milieu thrives that neither wants to hear nor feel, that defends a freedom that once constituted the social fabric that made you so strong, but which could now tear, the fabric that held your society together. No longer touching yourself, no longer being allowed to come close, awakens in you an insatiable longing for exactly that. This is how you defend your freedom and blind to the consequences, to my plan to harm you. You misunderstand distance laws as encouragement to mock compassion and mindfulness for your own kind. What you have called your cohesion is now experiencing an ordeal, which I am working towards so that you, through your own efforts, with my help, will finally perish. Have the honor!”

I woke up. Ever since I was randomized, I’ve had to pretend I’m positive because my roommate was tested for related symptoms. The result “will be available soon”, it said. So long we avoid each other in the shared apartment, we disinfect everything we could have touched, we sniff our own breath through the FFP2 masks. The weather is late spring. Good for bitch Lola and me. It is my daily consolation and it is the source of my resilience to endure the unbearable even without a double-blind study. Your fur has just been de-felted, hosanna, we can smell and taste!

The publicist Hans Hütt, born in 1953 on the Lower Rhine, lives in Berlin. Michael Althen Prize for Criticism 2014. Most recently von Hütt was published by Dudenverlag: “Wild Years, Kühne Träume – Language through the ages”.


Lights on: Lola Randl on the Corona period – culture

Then suddenly it was dark again an hour earlier, and it was very clear: We live in a small Nordic country.

The cranes gather in the depressions, at first there were only a few dozen, but now there are hundreds who sit there and moan. When I moved here, to the country, I didn’t even know where the screeching was coming from, and actually I didn’t even think about it. Now I know that it is the cranes who are gathering to get out of here in a joint action.

They are still flying back or forth in groups of 50 or 100, but actually they are waiting for the one sunny day to come, the day when the thermals are right. They will feel it when the day comes, and they will screech, a little more excited than usual, and they will infect the others, and they will screech too. And then, just after noon, when the soil will have warmed to the maximum, as much as it will never warm again this fall, then they begin.

The first rise and draw low circles over the group of others. But that makes the others too nervous, they have to mount too, they all have to mount, and then they feel the updraft under their wings and they know that this time they won’t land again to nibble on some more corn. No, this time they want to know. The thermals carry you up in spirals, thousands of birds, so far that you can no longer see them, until even the black dots that they are at the end disappear. And then they’re gone.

Actually, I should also travel to the south, I think. Two weeks, maybe three. Or even a few months to India. But it’s a pandemic. Even if you could go anywhere, there would be a pandemic.

My first therapist knew how essential escape is, at least for us modern individuals, who without escape are left with depression if you fail to attain mindfulness. The next therapist said I should face the problems, escape would be no way out. I’m thinking about making sauerkraut for the winter this year. The lactic acid fermentation preserves all vitamins and also drives uninvited guests out of the intestine. Actually, it’s not so bad that it doesn’t make any sense to think about fleeing. Whereby sauerkraut is also an escape.

Our Chancellor said that if we all stick together now, that we will have a nice Christmas with our loved ones. Meanwhile everyone knows that one shouldn’t raise that way, with threats. “If you are not good, then insert bad idea here.”

I ask the lover if we want to keep sheep in the meadow behind the lover’s house. Then we would have a common task. We could plant an oak grove and grow truffles on the roots. If we put them now, the first truffles could appear in five years. And the sheep graze upstairs. In autumn the new goats are slaughtered and the women graze and graze and have new children.

The man from whom we get the oak posts for the fence says that we have to be careful that the wolf doesn’t fetch the sheep. He saw the wolf running around the field in the middle of the day. The wolves drive the game in front of them, he says, and as soon as the wolf is in his territory, i.e. in the oak stake man’s territory, there is no more deer, no wild boar, nothing. You won’t even see a rabbit then, he says. Everyone fled from the wolf. And whoever is afraid is also hungry, which is why the game eats everything now. Such small pine seedlings, he shows with his hand, everything has been eaten away, they are all wolf damage. But he is not afraid of the virus, has fallen ill without symptoms, what is that supposed to be?

However, the swine fever worries him, he sells wild boar for one euro a kilo. African swine fever occurred in Germany for the first time in September 2020, I read later on the Internet where I actually wanted to order truffle spores. It is a viral disease that is transmitted from animal to animal. The animal then feels battered, exhausted, has a fever, cough, blood comes out of the anus and nose, after less than 48 hours the animal is dead, the mortality rate is one hundred percent.

So if I do, I don’t buy truffle spores, but a tree seedling that has been inoculated with truffles. The truffle is a mushroom and lives exclusively with the roots of a tree or bush. The truffle gives the root salt and water and the root of the truffle converts light into energy. The two of them cannot live without each other and do not question that further.

The mushrooms have a global mycelium, and their spores fly for miles. They are in constant contact with each other and only now and then do their fruits break through the forest floor and stretch their hats into the atmosphere. The lover says he’s in a bad mood because of the whole thing with the virus, and he doesn’t want to go anywhere anyway, he has already fled here. He tells the hunter that the city people love the wolf so much because they love nature, but the hunter says there is no nature here, there is only culture.

I don’t care now, I go to the woman who always brings vegetables from Poland and ask about white cabbage. I need: 8 kilos of white cabbage, 160g of salt, bay leaves, caraway seeds, juniper and a 10 liter fermentation pot, nothing more. The lactic acid bacteria occur naturally on fruit, vegetables and healthy intestinal flora.

Lola Randl, born 1980, is a director and writer. She lives in the Uckermark and published her second novel “The Crown of Creation” in autumn.


Trump at the election rally protests: “Turn on the TV and nothing else is heard, only Covid Covid Covid Covid Covid Covid”

US President at Rally in Lumberton, North Carolina | CorriereTv

US President Donald Trump protests with the media. He does so at an election rally in Lumberton, North Carolina: “That’s all I hear now. Turn on the TV and you don’t hear about anything other than ‘Covid, Covid, Covid, Covid, Covid, Covid’ “. A word that the head of the White House repeats 6 consecutive times like a refrain in front of a crowd delirious for him: “Well, after November 4 you won’t hear this word again”