Translated Show originalShow translation
A married couple consisting of a prospective auditor and a woman from a middle-class family usually doesn't develop any sudden cravings to quickly convert to hippies at the end of their twenties just because that's what it's all about - and I wasn't an issue anyway. In this respect all this movement, like that of the 68ers, has left my family background more or less untouched.
And Hindu Grass doesn't really get me any closer emotionally. This is supposed to be an olfactory reminiscence of the hippie era? I don't believe that. I smell a rich layer of woody patchouli, the dusty Duro wood is not far. A chocolaty hint gets stuck in the base, a sour-leathery, probably tobacco-supported twist gets a little better, especially with more courageous use of the brew. That's still pretty dull, muffled, one-dimensional. Not free, to put it maliciously.
Grass, or hay - the more gentle the application, the earlier it arrives and smells relaxed, about as exciting as the sun-dried heaps in the garden behind the terraced house in Borstel-Hohenraden after mowing the lawn. But primarily wood-dominated patchouli rules. Strong sprinkles of our spicy-bitter-sour (pronounced: unsmoked) tobaccos are also heard in the progress.
That's it, that's it. The fragrance glides through the day unexcited and definitely on this side of the border to the unadjusted. In the afternoon, an idea becomes rounder, a hint of sweetness from the hay/tobacco-coumarin line can be guessed at on request; but can just as well be a nose web. After barely eight hours Hindu Grass says goodbye nasomatto-untypically early.
This is all quite neat, but in view of the claim I would have expected, for example, something more conscious or flower-powerful. Again: This is supposed to be a reminiscence of the hippie era? In its cautiousness rather a look into the today of yesterday perhaps. There is of course little to be said against a row house in Borstel-Hohenraden as the resting point of a once supposedly non-conformist. After all, old ideals sometimes undergo far stranger changes: I remember how, years ago, two thousand and one boss Lutz Kroth mocked the fact in his catalogue column that people with whom one had demonstrated in front of the Foreign Ministry at the time were sitting in it today. Of course, he spoke of the Green Gentleman who later even made the lobbyist for various "multinationals".
Another example: An occasional guest at general meetings was a certain Klaus Zapf (or one of his Adlaten), a late relocation entrepreneur from Berlin. An old linker - which had not prevented him from one day entering the business of lawsuits against corporations. Such lawsuits can be life-threatening if they deliberately delay remediations. For this reason, such approaches are often quickly settled by comparison. A rogue who then calls the amounts paid differently than "expense allowance" or "attorney's fees". The same applies to the...we say: "non-appearance bonuses", vaguely disguised as fees, which sometimes flow in advance.
Well, somewhere along the way, the old ideals must have shattered. Tapped-out. Disillusionment. I find a terraced house in Borstel-Hohenraden more sympathetic. Or Hindu Grass because of me. Peace.
I thank MisterE for the rehearsal.