Recently I had the chance to take a shower in the catacombs of the Olympic stadium in Munich. Since soccer club Bayern München moved to the new "Allianz Arena" in 2005, nothing seems to have changed - except for the water drained from the whirl pool. Even the assigning of the coat hooks is unrevised, and an eerie association of a neutron bomb having set this place into impassivity haunted my mind - an association counterpoising perfectly the light, optimistic attitude of the world-famous tent-roof. Anyway; among the architectural monuments of the early 70s, this Olympic stadium clearly stands out. Every single detail, as in this wet cell the brave order of the yellow tiles conjure up a smile to my face. Although in the original version the tiles probably had been orange. Very orange. Orange like the phlegm of a carthorse suffering from bronchial catarrh. But the yellow is gladdening, too.
Distracting to hide. Cover with emptiness, emptiness. Shout nonsense, not to suffocate in silence. Beautifully broken but disturbingly perishing, too. When did the quiet voice of hope lost in you? Quick, hide it! But what happens if someone sees? Can you heal blinding?
ReplyDelete