Winter time
The winter time does not have to do anything with the winter. Separate is generally considered as standard time. That is nowadays easily forgotten. Consequently the summer time has to do nothing with the summer. And must logical-proves as Nichtnormalzeit to be understood. As wrong time. Between them, between the standard time and the wrong time the so-called time conversion lies. It lies. Stands. Rests. Opens unfold. Or too. Runs backwards. Hastet forward. Jumps in the circle. Or in the square. Depending upon Design. Spirit of the time. Or personal preference. In the kitchen over the table usually a circular clock hangs. Over it already nearly as much was sinniert as over the hereditary sin. The time hangs the conversion in the kitchen and belongs to the minister. Since on Sunday the time occurred again normality, and not into the winter, humans in this country pray. And o'clock an irresistible tiredness seizes to mine in each case against 19. I lie down then for a short Stündchen and the time become an active component of my Schlafes. That must have to do with Krakau, because in Krakau, Mr. Krakowski told me a while ago, I straight again had waked up, happens the most peculiar things. The statistics however mean that it comes on Monday to the time conversion to more accidents on the road than on every other Monday of the yearly. Therefore the Brandenburger put a holiday now on this Monday. And Poland on Tuesday after Monday after Sunday. So that neither on Sunday, nor on Monday, still on Tuesday, still on Wednesday on time must be worked. And nobody the danger exposes itself, from a according to plan overfilled streetcar over-drives to become. , I read, corrode myself bears before the winter peace daily up to a half kilogram additional body weight. The winter is thick and sleepy. The time does not have to do anything with the weather. The time is sovereign and body-temperature-independently. Into some texts undreamt-of outlines creep. As into raschelnde leaves in the park. It lies already knöcheltief. In the correct winter, under a thick Schneedecke, the time will have finally lost nothing more. Ice flowers are not umlauts. And naked branches no second hands. Yesterday I was not on the cemetery and not one word all day long wrote.
