I like Halloween. I always have.

Of course, there is no such thing as a

Halloween

tradition in Germany. There never was.
The kind of

HALLOWEEN

that I celebrate these days (and by "celebrate" I mean

"

think about

,

fondly

"

) is an entirely

theoretical

one.

Growing up in Germany, I only knew about

Halloween

from American movies and TV-shows. Like most people did, I suppose.
 
I want to say that

IT'S THE GREAT PUMPKIN, CHARLIE BROWN

may possibly have been my first exposure to this concept, but I am really not sure anymore. All I remember is watching the cartoon on TV at some point in time (I always hated that stupid beagle … I still do), and completely accepting it as an "American thing". A fact. Like baseball, I guess. My mind just went "OK" ... and that was it. I had no further questions.
 
I never wanted to participate, and thus I never felt sad that we didn't have anything like Halloween here. I simply enjoyed seeing it on television and appreciating the symbols and colours of it … and, over time, I developed a feeling of "nostalgia" for

Halloween

. Albeit a nostalgia for something I had never

actually

experienced myself. A romanticised false memory, if you wish.

The closest thing to

Halloween

that Germany had, was

Fasching

in February ... and that was a very

different

and altogether

unpleasant

experience. The entire concept was (and still is) completely disgusting (if you look at it closely).

 
Though kids would wear costumes on this occasion as well, there was never any beauty or poetry to any of it. Boys would always "dress up" as

Cowboys & Indians

(meaning they would put on a stupid hat and maybe a vest, while the occasional Indian wore a headband with a single feather in the back) and then they'd run around, shooting guns at each other ... sadly, no-one ever died ... while girls would be

princesses

. (Well, or

squaws

, if a girl had a less pretty sister … because, by gaaawd, there could only be

one

princess in the family).
 
Those were the popular options.

I was a

clown

.

Always.

All throughout kindergarten and elementary school. My costume consisted of a

bright yellow blouse

and a

blue pair of pants

. Both discarded clothes from mother.
 
The blouse had the name "August" written in blue roll-pen across the back (for which she had used a stencil), and, I think, she had sown one or two patches on the pants, which I wore with suspenders. The only store-bought items were a cheaply looking, tightly-curled,

bright-orange wig

and a

red plastic nose

with a thin rubber-band (which I had to "empty out" constantly, because breathing would turn into a puddle of condensation).
 
Later a bow-tie, a thin, blue bowler-hat and a large, plastic pacifier (that didn't honk, even though people insisted on squeezing it) were added.
 

All of this is gone now, except for the

orange wig

...

I always painted my own face, trying to copy the clown-sticker on the cover of the make-up kit. In my stupidity, however, I believed that one had to

mimic

the facial expression one wanted to achieve as the end-result.
 
So, naturally, I did my best to

smile

, while painting my mouth. Of course, this only turned me into a very

sad

looking clown. It took me a few years to figure out, how to fake/paint that smile correctly. Oddly enough, people would still say that I looked sad. (Go figure).

One year I came home after dark (after running around outside all day), carrying a small, square, flat, yellow plastic box with me, which I had found lying empty on a wall next to a hotel/restaurant.
 
I thought, it looked pretty.
 
When mother saw it, she became furious and insisted to know, if I had

used

what was inside.
 

"No, it was empty"

, I said, not understanding her anger.

 
She then proceeded to declare that it was something

men put on their penis, so they cannot have children

. (She didn't say "penis", though, but used a word that translates to something like "little sparrow", which was her

special name

for my genitalia).

I didn't understand what she was talking about.

There was a thing in a box that would forever (and, most likely, very painfully) attach itself to a man's body, so that he would never have children???

What does that mean?

And why would she think that I would do this???

After all, I wasn't even a man … and I had

always

known that I would NEVER ever have children, anyway. And how could I possibly do

anything

to my body in secret, when mother would

always

wash me in the evening (aggressively), where she would most certainly discover everything???

None of this made any sense to me.

I was five.

 
(Of course, mother didn't believe a word I said and kept accusing me. But that's a different story).

Anyway, fuck all that noise.

AUTUMN

is finally here (thank goodness!), and the weather outside is

finally

matching my inner,

every-day-of-the-year

HALLOWEEN III

celebration

!

 
The new SOPOR album will officially be out in a few days, and  - admittedly -  I feel kind of nervous about that. I had it all to myself for so long, I am kind of afraid to let others hear it.
But, then again, that's nothing new...
 
 

Happy Halloween.