Crambe repetita (44)
15 August 2016, around 6.11.
If you turn right, you’ll soon be able to catch sight of the garden arrangements in Frick the scrap metal man’s yard, in full bloom along with rusted kitchen ranges, ovens, and pipes, and then you’ll come to the black gates of the wholesale vegetable dealer Valentin di Lenardo, behind which one of those famous masked galas of cabbages, cauliflowers, kohlrabis and all their kith and kin from the kitchen garden could very well be taking place right now.
Should you go in the other direction, however, you’ll come after an uphill climb to another gate, this one belonging to Pagitz the fruit dealer, behind which a new Great Flood, this time of fruit juices, has long been in preparation, for which reason trucks are constantly driving into and back out of the courtyard, unloading wooden cases with empty bottles and reloading ones with bottles newly refilled.
You then make your way back downhill, past a tavern under the zodiac sign of the Hawke, and come once more to Bahnhof Strasse, where the sparkle from a gleaming tower catches your eye; it’s the Capuchin Church, enclosed by a black fence on which is mounted a showcase with the latest photographs of the Holy Father, the Holy Mother, the Holy Children, and most of the other kith and kin of the Holy Family.
—Gert Jonke (The System of Vienna, p. 14)
19 August 2016, around 12.45.
One might be tempted to think this is merely the result of a false sort of conjugation, something along the lines of: ‘I have taste; you have preferences; s/he has an unfortunate partiality’; except I would be the first to admit that I have no real taste – it has been rarefied out of me and I am reduced to mild predilection and even, occasionally, mere inclination.
30 August 2016, around 14.18.