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    When I'm not here, I'm in the Augarten

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    finds more and more the justification of the letter, with the re-opening of the model country, which I cuddle here and also a little with all my heart, and would only, half disdainfully, exchange for New Lake at best.


    The chirping aunts sing to me, I have little nests here and on all sides, my coffee brunch, the picnic blanket. Once again I correct and praise old enemies. A few vipers for a new bay isn't a bad trade.

    The

    Suderanten finish stop

    , which will now be there for you in my quality standard. This brings new wonders, but also a lot of tinder.

    May, the year all of this has arrived, I get drunk with Urbock and invite a Russian woman who promises to taste like Bortsch where I want to taste it.
    It's still a bit of a fence over there, but you're starting to believe that the Resign(!) will be prettier than the people who live here.

    It is to be hoped that, as is often the case in a neighborhood, Jakomini is and really needs it.

    There is grunting coming from the windows when you listen in the evening while walking with a stick, looking for life. So the bay is still a pink theory, and all the cordoned-off areas force far too many people whose pieces of sky on their heads trigger a grin.


    And Mr. Nagl isn't at the tailor yet. Let alone out. But like everything else, in these brilliantly condensed times, one should prepare a small cash collapse for what was previously left and right, what was previously green and red and good and evil. And even if it's something to look at on a very large scale, it also needs to be taken into account on a small scale.


    Of course, living next to a power plant takes some getting used to, but the charm of endless pubescent scribbling that thinks it's anarchist can't be valued any higher and if we're honest, the really important people, the ducks that swim here, are fine with the reservoir.


    And Cesar madness has also confirmed its goodness again and again, like every visit to Rome.

    I sigh as a morning disco-ironic wishing the street food trucks in advance through the gasping fog and simply suggest that the progressive power of this city be channeled into electoral success instead of bleeding to death in petty wars.

    And by the way, just because a drinking party of the most disgusting nature is organized by the SPÖ doesn't mean it's worth any predicate. If the final sum of the changes to what we do in common is to reduce the drunken lies a bit, I can handle it for another decade without vaccination and being tracked.


    The trend in the meantime is, of course, in both districts and global fatalities, the efforts of the unmasked to dump another round, the garbage into the ocean, the short one into the brain-dead flesh.


    The young smart students there have brought their cats with them where children normally play, it's damn peaceful, spotting the difference is easy to play, it's time to end the dictatorship of cars in the cities, of course we're with the master of the citizens, but it's still the citizens who drive, not him.
    Well less so, and how much one hopes that this will last.


    I smile at the hijab-wearing great-grandmother with due respect for the elder who survived. And mentally formulate a brilliantly brutal message to Amanita regarding Swedes and mass murderers that I will hunt down in the Covid files. On the one hand, these are ideal for a journalistic breakthrough, but there is more to it. And it would be appropriate at the very place where Greta Thunberg began her everything-changing journey to show what kind of crime was and is still being committed in some countries against the oldest generation.

    The Augarten

    was one of the reasons for my choice of apartment, there was a bit of a poker in it. The Mur construction site is taking even longer. If you hike down to the soap factory and endanger yourself by ignoring the prohibition signs, a self-important security guard will be there in about a quarter of an hour and you'll finally get something to do for your money.


    But that is the tradition of the cozy lick me but and in the end and effect Graz is a little closer to the sea that I am singing about here with this power plant farce. The persistence of suddenly making sense of an already bad situation when it changes to something else bad because you are not the one who determines the money and its use is understandable. Loud is usually or never correct.


    And beyond symbolism, it's about rebounds and meaningful resistance with reason, there's even a reference to this in the word in German.


    To be honest, the hut that is up for lease and a few substance-impaired people in the back just in front of the Museum of Perception, whose Samadahibad I most long to return, are not going away, they are mostly FPÖ voters and/or overpriced dealers.


    Graz is a sleeping beauty that lost touch after the annexation and is now looking for even more identity as an art capital for a while.

    There are hardly any jobs for social marketers here and one of the upsets I watched with amusement was the touchingly embarrassing digitization of supply chains when stores had to close.


    Which ultimately consisted of achieving a web standard from the previous decade and we are now smiling happily towards the Reininghauscity dream. 

    I hope this Sunday vortex, which is slowly getting cooler, is a worthy editorial for the spin-off of the Blog into an independent magazine as planned before Covid.
    All of this benefits me much more than many people who are itching in the head and neck, but please let's leave the drama queen in Greenwich Village and in Season 3 of Pose.

    Who stole my sun and why do I keep forgetting to defrost the bread are the far more important questions of the day.


    Having your own cat, finally again, would be something worth planning. And the complex decision as to whether I want more Natur Pure, Yes Natural, from Denns or from Matzer and which regional providers offer what I need.


    I'm looking forward to the Mangolds delivery service and will round off what will remain a surreal experience for two months by bringing the ice cream parlor back into my house, in style with Eternity before it becomes another super spreader.

    Summer will be different, perfect for someone who hates the crowded outdoor pools and beaches.


    A little danger and sensible caution does this world a world of good.


    For the last person out there who didn't put enough ass cards on the poker table because of climate change. :


    The party without paying is over. And for the really last ones in this story: celebrating the party without having set up anything is special.

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