Friends, I suffer – from the feeling that Jonathan Franzen’s autobiographic “The Discomfort Zone” is completely boring. Am I the only stupid, ignorant, and non-attentative reader out here who feels like this?

Well, in his book, Franzen tells us about his childhood, namely about his mother, father, brother, and house to sell. Wait, he also elaborates on boring youth recreation trips and – linked with everything else – his continuously present feelings of inferiority.

Yes, I know that Franzen has won the National Book Award – and is seen as a Great American Novelist by the Times magazine and others. However.

Maybe I have read too much of David Foster Wallace “The pale King”, lately, with this explosive, overwhelming sentences and characters with paranoid anxiety neuroses, shooting us from day-to-day-situations into the endless universe of imagination.

Maybe I have also gotten used too much to Ian McEwan’s brilliance in the last couple of weeks, e.g. in Sweet Tooth or On Chesil Beach. Both books simply thrilling, draw you into the action, the flow, as well as into the minds and anxieties of the characters.

So how does Ian McEwan brings the magic whereas Franzen is compiling a boring sauce? Is this because of “McEwan’s skilful circling back, his ability to make everything that happens matter one way or another” – as C P Howe writes?

Possible. In conclusion – and how embarrassing to admit – I could not even finish Franzen’s “Discomfort Zone”. …maybe I should give Franzen another chance for his controversial “Freedom”.

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God in London – SMML 6

After John had bought the silicone mask from Dean – the mask that showed the face of a fat white guy – he stumbled out of the garage into the streets of London. Dean’s basement studio was close to Piccadilly circus and John could not get the scent out of his nose. He ran into St. James Church, found a seat, and stared at the glass windows.

“What is happening with me”, he thought. “Honestly, I am becoming a maniac because of this urge to find this woman, and you just sit there, do nothing, and wait.” He looked at the shape of the man in the glass window, sitting on a chair, with arms wide open, observing him calm and knowingly. “What are you doing with me? What do you want from me? It is completely impossible to find this person – unless the Argentinian police finds me – completely impossible. And you asshole just sit there, watch my misery and enjoy, or what? You can’t be true. I do not even understand what you want me to do in this very minute. You know exactly what is going to happen. You know exactly, how my future is going to look like – you asshole, on your chair, with your arms balancing the whole universe – why do you not just tell me what the heck is going to happen? Why do you not just tell me?” John took a deep breath. He slowly calmed down, folded his hands and started to pray: “You asshole. Sorry for this. Here I am…I am in your hands. At the end you murder me. I simply do not understand this… and if you murder me… why the heck do you need to torture me – torture me with the desire to find this woman and put myself onto her, into her, penetrate her, with my tongue, my fingers, and my cock. This is completely ridiculous. It does not make any sense. I am getting insane.”

Sex in London – SMMGL 5

“My name is Leila Schmitt”, said Leila and looked the Argentinian police man into the eyes to read what was on his mind. He took notes. An attractive man, she thought- oh no – stop it!
“I was there, three days ago, in the morning, when Mister Ribeiro was killed. I did not see who killed him, I was in the bathroom.”, she said.
“What was your relationship with Mister Ribeiro?”, the police man asked.
“Well, nothing. I mean, just sex”, said Leila.
The policeman stopped talking notes and looked at Leila.
“I am not a professional”, Leila said.
I am always to bloody direct, she thought – this guy now sees my long blond hair, my short skirt, and of course, he thinks that I am an escort girl. Silence in the little room. The guy cleared his throat.
“So, what is your profession?”, the police man asked after a little while with his Argentinian accent.
“I am investment banker, working in London”, she said and watched his sparkling dark eyes, his sportive body, while he ran with his hand through his black hair and took notes.
Do you want to get laid here on the table, in the police office, right now? – she thought and smiled – without saying a word.

Later in the evening, after the interrogation at the police station, she met him, Giovanni, for a drink and tango – and sex. He turned out to be a passionate and hot lover. She got dressed, and made her way to the airport before he woke up. On the flight back to London, she repeated her lines “I did not see who killed him.” – and thought “Oh yes, I saw him – I saw the killer – and this endless coolness when he closed the door of the balcony and moved over the balustrades with the smoothness of a cat.” Leila asked the blond and assiduous steward to come over and serve her a couple of drinks – until she felt high.

 

Sex in London – SMML 4

3 days later, John was back in London. It was a rainy, windy day and John visited his friend – or almost friend, Dean- who was a master in manufacturing silicone bodies, silicone masks, silicone toys, basically silicone everything. It was over ten years back when John landed by accident in Dean’s basement studio and discovered the ingeniously artistic pieces of work. Dean, back then, still studied economy and worked in the evenings as entertainer, doing card tricks in bars.

“This must be an incredible fat man” – John said to Dean, who showed him a new piece, a pale, heavy face of an unhealthy, German executive manager, with bald head, probably a wife and grown-up kids at home, somehow dissatisfied with life, just going on and on without exactly knowing, why, sometimes using escort ladies to work off masochistic desires – or not even having the balls to letting this out – just masturbating in the toilet of his company with a guilty conscience when everyone else was already out.
“Yes, this is Heiner”, said Dean and grinned broadly, “I can make you a fat-suit again for your body to fit Heiner’s face.” – “No, no, no, never again”, said John, “I hate these fat-suits, I had it once, simply hell. Never again. I tell you – you’d rather make this face thinner, or…” – Dean interrupted him with a loud laughter – “I know, man. Whatever you need these costumes for – I do not know… but here you go.” He took off fat-Heiner’s face from the rack – and underneath the first mask, another deceptively realistic human face turned up. “Sweet”, said John and looked at a thinner version of Heiner’s face, “this is still one of the most unsexy men I have every seen, exactly what I need.”

When John pulled the mask over his face, he suddenly had the flashback from himself lying in the room in Buenos Aires, three days ago, and smelling the scent of something that incredibly turned him-on. “Shit. I cannot jerk off again”, he thought, “I was sex maniac in the last 36 hours, a complete lecher, just thought it was over…”
“Man, what is happening!?” – Dean shook John’s arm. “Are you alright, pal? You look like you wanna kill someone.”

Murder in Buenos Aires – SMML 3

“Shit” – John forced himself to tear away from the pillows, and the scent. He silently slipped away from the bed and stood up. “Hello, room service. Hello?”, a woman said with a rolling “r” and strong Spanish accent and knocked again at the door.
John knew that he had exactly 10 seconds to either reply or leave the room – then the maid would open the door with her room key. He moved with two large steps to the balcony door and decided to leave. The escape route was simple, the same way that he had taken to come in. In the same moment that he closed the glass balcony door behind him, the room door was opened and a neat Argentinian maid in a white dress entered the room. “She will experience the most shocking sight of her life”, John thought, “in five seconds when you find the shot man. May God help you.” He slipped away from the balcony – and again, there was the irregular feeling that he could not explain, neither clearly capture in his mind.

When he turned away from the glass, from the corner of his eye, he saw how the bathroom door was opened and a female hand appeared in the frame.

Murder in Buenos Aires – SMML 2

The man, most probably with billions and billions on dozens of bank accounts, all over the world – stared at the gun. “This must be a present from my friend Julio”, he started to talk again. “Come on, tell me at least, who the fuck sent you – was this fucking Julio? Or who the fuck…” -he could not complete the sentence. John calmly pulled the trigger and shot a bullet through the man’s forehead. The man fell to the back, and blood came out of a small wound between the brows, nothing else – a silent death.
John closed the eyelids of the dead body with his silicone gloves. No traces, no noises. However, when he looked around in the room for a final check, and wanted to finish-off his 255th job routinely, he noticed two irregularities. First, there was this smell. He could not help but feel the smell of a female body next to the dead body – or at least the smell of a female perfume – as if a female body had been lying next to the man just before John had entered the room. In addition, John could not even think about what the second irregularity was. It was a feeling, just a suspicion, nothing tangible. The feeling, that someone or something was watching him.
John leaned over, right next to the dead man, and inhaled the smell. He felt dizzy right away. The sweet scent rose to his mind and turned him on at the same time. The pillows needed to come close to his face, he embraced them and buried his nose into the smell. “I need to jerk off” – he thought. “If this is the smell of a woman, I need to either fuck her or perish.” In this very moment, it knocked at the door.

Murder in Buenos Aires – SMMGL 1

The man knew that this was his end. He was clear and composed, and observed John, who walked calmly through the room with his gun, touching the newspaper on the sideboard. “So this was it”, the man said. He sat naked in his bed. “I know that I did fucking shit in my life. I fucked around with too many people, too many Russians, mafia from China, Italy and Mexico….” John watched the man through the eye slits of his silicone mask and did not say a word. “Now you come here and are looking like fucking Antonio Banderas. I hate it. A fucking mixture between Antonio Banderas and Javier Bardem”, the man said. “This is definitely the least I wanted to experience – dying through the fucking hand of fucking Antonio Banderas”. The man laughed bitterly. It was not only a funny joke that John had chosen this mask that made him look like an Argentinian gaucho. Instead, in the beautiful city of Buenos Aires, this appearance was the most unobtrusive.
“Fucking shit – at least tell me who sent you. My latest friend from Italy? Or China? You are about the fucking age of my son. Who sends you?”
– “Stay calm – I don’t even know you or your billionaire friends from Italy. God sends me”, John replied.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
– “I will tell you.”
John took a seat on the bedside of the man. He felt like a father who tried to calm down his kid that does not want to sleep. In his right hand, he felt the coolness and weight of his gun and the black and long silencer on top of it.
At the end, you murder // You have a force that no one can understand // At the end you murder what you created // Beyond any human comprehension // I want to – and cannot – defend // You love and will murder me, at the end“, John murmured calmly and raised the gun.

 

At the end, you murder

You have a force that no one can understand

At the end you murder what you created

Beyond any human comprehension

I want to – and cannot – defend

You love and will murder me, at the end

Thanks world for this beautiful day

Honestly, this man has taken stop watching movies way to seriously and now provides us with a scathing review of the newest Scorsese movie… Have you seen the movie? Any thoughts?

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