I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...
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Kris, du und dein Ampelmännchen.
I remember that I registered in Blogger in November 2008 to comment to your first post with the Ampelmännchen.
For us Ampelmännchen is kult, too. Something positiv, left from the DDR. (It was not only in Ost-Berlin, all over East Germany).
I grew up close to the border on the west part (Zonenrandgebiet). And we were able to watch DDR TV. A figur in the childrens TV was Sandmännchen. I watched it. It is still present. Sandmännchen is giving sand in your eyes, so that you can sleep. Maybe you know.
Me, Ampelfrau is trouble.