A letter to my (slightly fictionalized) father. At some point, the chords for Sleeping Dogs, the opening track of my first album Foundation, make an appearance, 11 years before the song's set to release. Same themes, then and now.
Screened at the launch of the "Youth Academy of the Arts of the World" in Cologne, 2013.
I was sent by my father to document some land
he's interested in buying.
It takes me one hour to get there.
I'm not used to driving in such conditions.
I hardly leave the neighrborhood.
Maybe that's why he sent me.
The experience of the road.
He bought me a car as a kind of prize
for being accepted into college.
Since then, I've only left the city once,
to a uncle's burial in the suburbs.
I'm thinking about selling the car.
I could use the money.
In order to leave the city
one has to cross the industrial belt.
They've recently started to assemble
iPhones here.
Some years ago, the road smelled
of roasted coffee beans.
It was good.
The roadside advertising tells me
I should take a break.
Rest.
Have a warm cappuccino.
Think of landscapes far from home.
I drive on.
My father will quit his job
and move to the countryside.
He's saved for that.
He hasn't been producing much.
Why should he keep on working?
But today, he's at work.
He sent me on this journey
because my day's vacant.
I can give him a share of my day.
This is indeed a place to end one's life.
I can see him reading and writing
on the porch,
getting inspired by the conrfield.
Even the air here is of better quality.
This will cure him from his asthma.
I should move here too
once my own congenital diseases
manifest.
We'd heal together and we'd be
mutually inspiring.
Maybe solitude is what he's after.
No neighbors close-by.
I have to zoom in a lot to see
what the nearest houses look like.
Many rooms. Family house.
He won't be disturbed by them.
A half-built soccer court is only
a 100 meters away from the house.
Maybe that will be the trigger,
what will make me visit him
every other weekend or so.
We could finish it together, dad,
and play on it.
Or we'll have the servants do the job.
I'll drive around the villages and recruit people.
I'll provide the working force.
Having seen this place,
my opinion, as your broker,
is to go ahead and buy it.
You know, with the communist-leaning
land law that we have,
if you don't cultivate your corn,
the government will let the landless peasants
invade and settle here.
Maybe you could hire me
as your servant and keeper.
You've invested enough in me.
It's time for you to rest.
I'll work out there on the field
and protect you
while you read your commentators
on early German romanticism.
I'll bring you sweet corn cake in the morning
and warm soup at night
I will light the candles that keep the bugs away.
I'll sit on the porch all night
smoking your cigars
watching
keeping you safe.
I will listen to the birds singing.
I will try to locate them
sleeping in the bushes.
I will think of all the sunsets,
I will count on all the sunsets
to end my days.
