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On August 16th 2010 I made acquaintance with death in form of a collision with a train.
I was on the way home from work with my bike and overlooked the red signal
of a railroad crossing.
5 weeks later I woke up from an artificial coma.
At the beginning of my rehab I wasn’t sure if I could ever sing and play guitar again.
My fingers on the left hand were hard to control and my right shoulder
had restricted mobility. After months of bodywork and therapy I was able to grab my guitar
and started to play. Initially in a very restricted and simple way.
In this mood I began to compose songs and after a nice summer with garden work and housekeeping 11 songs were ready for production.
The questions which came up next were how, when, where, with whom and last but not least why?
“Why does Sisyphus roll the rock up to the mountain top?”
That’s the way he feels alive!
The rest of daily life’s ballast blows away and the big rock of existence becomes a much lighter one. He is able to push the rock up to the top of the mountain and gravity doesn’t match a role. But gravity demands its right and brings the rock down to the valley. And if you want that mighty feeling of self conquest again you have to start the game a new. In this action acts the rebellion of mankind against a cruel, grotesque, pointless and finite world once built by unknown long gone gods.

Keep the rock rolling.

During my coma I dreamed about an unknown singer songwriter who lived on the coast of a natural American landscape. The singer suffered of a rare disease and out of his head grew horny monstrous tumors. He wrote the perfect song every songwriter longs to be able to write but no music company wanted to produce an aborning monster. He wore a big hat to hide his horns. He gave me the right to sing his song and it became a big hit. Later I wanted to thank him for his gift and spent him a part of the money I made. But the singer had passed away and I stayed there in the place where the singer once composed his song, beneath a dead tree and I fell into a very sad but lucky mood, remembering the singer singing his perfect song.
In another sequence of my dream I needed a special platinum credit card and the one and only owner of that card was Bob Dylan. I needed the card to get out of the dream and so I searched for Bob. I found him in a big luxury hotel room somewhere in a big American city. Bob told me he didn’t need his card anymore and he just indifferently gave it to me. I put the card in an electronic locked door and stepped out of the dream.

design und programmierung: helmut feichtinger