spirit .” At these words, a shadow crossed his father’s face. The loss of those he had loved most had struck him deeply.
Filiz Dogan, German Psychoanalytical Association; Karl Abraham Institute Berlin When he wanted to address the assembled guests, his voice failed him. He heard his heart pounding, panic setting in. Everyone is looking at me, everyone is waiting for me to say something, but I can't, he thought, filled with fear. He felt hot and cold at the same time. Then he remembered his first session on the couch with his first analyst. After sitting for four hours and a two-week break, his analysis was about to begin. He had walked over to the chair, the analyst had pointed his head toward the couch, and he had stopped. “Pull yourself together,” the analyst had said, and he had promptly lain down. Pull yourself together, what does that actually mean? Hadn't the analyst given him the push, and hadn't he lain down because he didn't want to disappoint him? The old slogan, he couldn't remember which election: there must be a jolt through the republic, came back to him, and even then it was unclear who was supposed to jolt, can you even say that, jolt, jolt doesn't exist as a verb, he almost thought of it as a verb, that way he could remember better what a verb was. How should the jolt come about, who gives themselves or the other person a jolt? He began to read from the sheet, he managed not to embarrass himself completely, but had he now given himself a jolt or was he just doing what had to be done? Roland Zag WHEN HE WANTED TO ADDRESS THE GATHERED GUESTS, HIS VOICE FAILED HIM. He had prepared the speech for a long time. It would have been about the idea of cohesion, about the community that was so important to him. Or so he thought. Then came the text message, contemptuous and dry, just moments before. Marian got out. Marian. Partner for fourteen years. A reliable friend, one would think. An intimate confidant, business partner, buddy. The time they spent together in the filthy shared apartment in Hamburg, many packs of filterless cigarettes, fruitless flirtations, fruitless business deals. Between them stood nothing but an idea that inspired them both. It was hard to say who had come up with the idea of green concrete walls and bridge piers, moss-covered factory fronts and palm-covered flat roofs. It had just been right, they both knew that. They depended on each other: Marian, the nimble socializer, the communicator and disseminator of the idea; Wilfried, the thinker, designer, visionary. A dream team, even if for the longest time none of those they approached could see it. Knocking on doors. Applying for funding programs, drafting organizational charts, business plans. In between, the respective relationships, Marian sometimes with men, sometimes with women, a tragedy from Wilfried's point of view, who remained faithful and closely attached to Rosemarie.
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