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Postcard #5: Songs for the Sleepless

by entertainment for the braindead

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She's a very broken camera Her lens is out of focus Is this too close was that too far? Everything is blurry, patterns merge together You can't see the lines, only vaguely Tell black from white,  darkness from light He's a very broken bicycle His chain is turned and twisted Wheels crooked and creaky, the brakes of no use You should wear a helmet or You will risk an accident Don't go too fast, don't go too far Off the beaten path And I am a Heisenberg particle Once you've found out where i am You wont know where I'm going Being an electron orbiting 'round you Don't blame me for being so Negative He's a bulky piece of furniture Won't fit in the corner or next to the window Or Behind the door Anywhere you put him he remains an obstacle, Blocking the way or just taking up too much space But too good to be thrown away And so we all are flawed and worn out and frail Some keep trying to hide it, but alas, to no avail we could quit the masquerade, could reveal it openly Tell me your secret and I will tell you mine If you can't read between the lines: That you are my Heisenberg particle Once I've found out where you are I don't know where you're going Leaving me here in uncertainty What can I do but observe And wait and see If you'll orbit back to me
there's no reason there's no sensible cause no empirical explanation why there's no mistake there are no visible flaws as my confidence leaves me high and dry I demand my right to feeling wrong with the brittle ones, baffled ones, the broken ones and if it is my task in life to long for peace of mind in vain, at least I'm not alone it's been two months without rain coming down clear and vivid and empty was the sky how I marvelled at its immaculate blue didn't care 'bout the rivers running dry when storm is rolling in and hell breaks loose I'll be torn and terrified but I will not complain when all things clear will once more get diffused I will yield my crown in peace and let the chaos reign and believe me, this darkness of yours isn't darker than mine and I want you to know that we'll fall back in line we'll demand our right to feeling wrong we're the brittle ones, the baffled ones, the broken ones and if it is our task in life to long for peace of mind in vain, at least we're not alone
The Trees 05:31
see, the harsh wind bends the trees violently tearing off their thinning leaves they bow down but never break though it seems this force was more than they could take remind yourself of this, my dear right now I know you don't want to hear… but you know deep down it won't last forever though I know right now there is no end in sight and you know that this won't last forever though right now for you there is no end in sight there is never any cure to this kind of agony you must endure and you think you can't be saved but we'll try to keep your head above the waves remind yourself of this, my dear somebody else still needs you here and you know these aches won't last forever though right now for you there is no end in sight and you know your pains won't last forever though right now for you there is no end in sight and just like those trees, you're shaken and bent, you're abandoned and bare and these winds these wind these winds they blow so cold and strong and you might lose all your leaves, it might break off a branch, but remember your roots your roots your roots are still there to hold on hold on remind yourself of that, my dear that we still are and will be here.
these days I feel like I'm your tax declaration, I'm your dentist appointment, I'm the battery in your smoke alarm that you need to change. you're avoiding it, procrastinating every chance of contact that we might have, ain't that a bit strange? tell me where the blissful days went when I was more than a redundant little trinket on the sideboard of your life, a speck of dust on your floor. I'd be the needle and the yarn if your heart required mending, be the paperclip when all important documents were lying loose, just turn me into something neccessary, something like a knife or a cup or a bandaid - something you can use. and then tell me where the blissful days went when I could feel more like a gift than than like a burden, more a blessing than a curse, a hope that old scars could heal. but don't you dare to say I still could change your world for the better and then go and make me feel as useful as a sweat stain on a shirt, as important as the caps lock key when you only type in lower-case letters.


This summer.
No other I remember has ever been as vibrant and brisk with life. And there is hardly any better place to experience a summer than the glorious city of Berlin. There‘s the balmy evening air over the Landwehrkanal, bike rides through alleys and parks. There are breakfasts among neighbors under chestnut trees and talks between strangers on trains through the country. There are sleepless work nights and relaxed bar evenings, won and wasted time.
You‘ll take naps in the park between long work shifts and after journeys, sing lullabies to friends who are in pain and fall asleep with their hand clung to yours, you‘ll rediscover and appreciate old and find new ones and for the first time feel truly embedded and held by that increasingly dense net of people around you. You have nothing left to hide and everything revealed will be in good hands.
And you start writing songs not for yourself but others, as you learn that they can be not only diaries but medicine, if applied with care to the right ears in good moments.
There is a new magic to friendships, to music, to life. There‘s a sense of new beginnings, of truly being at home. And if there weren‘t all those little proves of your existence prior to this date you‘d swear you just had been invented. This very summer. In Berlin.

Berlin, summer 2012


released February 12, 2013

Everything was written, recorded, mixed and mastered by Julia Kotowski in 2012/2013





entertainment for the braindead Berlin, Germany

Julia Kotowski, based in Berlin, weaves her sonic universe from shy song lines, small instruments and field recordings, carefully wraps them in paper cut-outs and serves them with home-made ginger cookies. And coffee.

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