This afternoon, I spent half an hour waiting for a tram. It was raining. Six people waiting for a tram. Five trams going the other way. No tram going this way. Increasing feeling of, well, estrangement.
I was calm, listening to some music on a mobile music listening device, browsing through Vienna’s city magazine, occasionally looking up to check whether that damned tram might not finally grace us with its material presence.
Suddenly there was this photograph on a page. Like a passport photograph: a young woman’s face. I knew her name. I’d met her before, I’d talked to her before. A few times.
She’s dead. The text surrounding her picture was an obituary. Pascale JeannÃ©e, 26, best known for her engagement with a social/political art project in Austria called “Wochenklausur”, died last week in Stockholm. So the article said.
Fuck, I hope this isn’t true.
Fuck, I didn’t like her projects.
Fuck, I didn’t think she was very smart.
Fuck, I liked her.
Fuck, I didn’t know her that well. Not at all.
Fuck, she’s dead.
Fuck, the net doesn’t know yet.
vorschlag: setzt doch bitte auch ein suchfeld auf die hauptseite, ich habs erst jetzt auf der archivseite gefunden. unpraktisch.