Autumn is coming | No bed in the cornfield

Finally nothing going on outside again. Autumn is approaching. Photo: Antranias!/Pixabay Of course, many Berliners today are talking about the election results as if there were nothing more unpleasant to chat about at the beginning of the week (e.g. global warming, war, microplastics, fascisation, extinction of species, water privatization, world hunger, Ulf Poschardt, etc.), but the election in the capital should not interest us at this point. We want to leave their evaluation and analysis to the political journalists, who today and in the coming days will explain again and again why those people who voted for the neo-Nazi party are not neo-Nazis, and will break down in detail which of the mathematically possible coalition governments will probably be the ones who will in future oppress people in Berlin, allow the city to continue to become impoverished and cut down on funds in the social and cultural sectors.

Instead, let's focus on a much happier topic: the end of summer. How long did we have to endure him patiently and defenselessly accept his cheeky capers? Even before the first gentle rays of sun reached the ground in the morning, there was a commotion and nagging of birds, making a disaster alarm siren seem like a Bach cantata.

Anyone with a keen sense of smell can smell the pleasantly bitter smoke of the first coal-fired ovens that were put into operation among the car exhaust fumes.

Then you had to endure the unbearably long bright days when people stayed outside late in the evenings, rambled around uninhibitedly and stubbornly refused to go home. On every poor patch of grassland that still exists in the capital, people gathered every day to burn and eat parts of animal corpses for hours ("crickets"), and when their disgusting ritual was over, they left nothing behind but scorched earth, ash and packaging waste.

At so-called street festivals there were unsightly crowds of people who voluntarily allowed themselves to be accompanied by fourth-rate amateur musicians who performed ominous-sounding horror versions of "Lambada", "Geronimo's Cadillac" and "A Bed in the Cornfield". As soon as you left the four walls of your home, you constantly had to endure the sight of half-naked, sweaty men lounging on ugly monobloc chairs in the scorching midday heat, talking into their smartphones and clogging up the sidewalks or parading through the streets waving beer bottles until late at night.

The incessant screaming of the human beings that came from the nearby outdoor pool drilled into the ear canals and from there directly into the nerve fibers. Already at midday, because the desire for silence became overwhelming, people longed for the darkness of night. Because there was usually no other option, as a sensitive person, you crouched in a lightless corner of your apartment during the day with the doors and windows barricaded and counted the hours while you desperately waited for the sunset.

But soon we will be released from the torture of the summer months, that nightmarish season in which, in crowded buses and trains - because people had to stand so close together - our noses were buried deep in the woolly armpits of those next to us and we were defenseless against the streaming, acrid sweat of strangers that wet our lips.

Autumn is near. You can already smell it. Anyone with a keen sense of smell can already smell the pleasantly bitter smoke of the first coal-fired ovens put into operation among the car exhaust fumes. The bawling children, three-quarter cargo pants men and stroller women are gradually withdrawing from the parks and streets. And with them, the poisonous green of the senselessly overgrown trees and bushes, which torments the eyes, and the bright, tormenting daylight disappear. Already in the early afternoon, a calming darkness falls over the city and by the evening it thickens into an impenetrable darkness that allows you to breathe a sigh of relief, at least for a short time, and forget the existence of your so-called fellow human beings.

Thomas Blum fundamentally disagrees with the prevailing so-called reality. He won't be able to change her for the time being, but he can reprimand her, admonish her or, if necessary, give her a beating. So that the bad retreats. We stand in solidarity with his fight against reality. Therefore, from now on, “The Good Column” will appear here on Mondays. Only the best quality for the best readers! The collected texts can be found at: dasnd.de/diegute

During the day, with the season now approaching, you can finally safely venture outside on foot and enjoy Berlin's natural colors, which are now visible in all their splendor now that they are no longer almost unrecognizable by the merciless sunlight. They now appear in all their diverse shades: pale brown, clay brown, mud brown, sepia brown, black brown, dust gray, ash gray, cement gray, stone gray, black gray, gray brown, brown gray. The autumn storms whistle through the streets in a pleasantly cooling way, the refreshing constant rain successfully flushes the last painful memories of the terrible summer from our heads.

I'm not sure that in a better future it wouldn't have to be November all the time. In any case, one thing is certain: the most wonderful time of the year begins now. Enjoy it by letting passing cars spray you to your heart's content with the muddy, dirty puddle water that collects next to the curb.

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