Morning Stories

If there’s a question, it’s not a trap — it’s a letting go. What pretends to be a quote here isn’t one. Or not yet.

Ah, how soothing melodies can be when they wash through both ears into the sensorium, spreading pure delight. To lift that delight to higher spheres, technology long ago gave birth to a word — and a wonder — called Stereo.

Ouch. That wasn’t my intention. And I truly mean that. But somehow, the headline slipped through my fingers — effortlessly, almost mischievously. I can’t quite explain how. And perhaps it’s better not to try.

The woman looks at the two powerful men without batting an eye. She knows exactly who they are. She also knows what her duty as a journalist is.

The path of least resistance is hardly worth mentioning. It’s forgotten the moment a new object of curiosity comes into view. Or, to put it more bluntly: the path is gone.

Those three little letters — PRO — sound like a declaration of approval. Pro Paganda almost seems like something positive, as if one were for this kind of communication. But that’s an illusion. “Pro” is neither good nor bad; it’s merely directional — for or against something. Nothing more. No judgment, no virtue, no quality seal attached.

Television formats have flooded our screens for decades—some inspiring, others instantly forgettable. Light entertainment has a peculiar talent: it lulls its audience into a gentle, lasting slumber.

Some words are born with heavy baggage. “Decision” is one of them. When a word carries that much emotional mortgage, life is hardly sugarcoated. And to make matters worse, even the word itself can’t hold together.

Does intelligence need a PhD? Or is it enough just to be inventive — to find solutions where others see walls?

“This surgeon really messed up,” someone in the audience said. “And what about that nurse? She’s even worse!”

“Don’t play with the dirty words!” That’s what the German singer-poet Franz-Josef Degenhardt warned sixty years ago. Back then, he wasn’t talking about words, but about the so-called Schmuddelkinder — the “grubby kids” of society.

There are certain words that never sound good to teenage ears. Tradition is one of them.

Once upon a time, there was that one story — the one where a camel was told to pass through the eye of a needle. Clear as mud, right?

I don’t see stumbling as an accident — not when it makes your feet lose rhythm or your routine take a detour.

The word justice carries weight. It’s a heavy one — serious, loaded with consequence, never to be handled lightly. When you fall into its machinery, you’ll either pay the price for what you’ve done — or finally receive the fairness you’ve been waiting for.

Words don’t always like being taken apart. They claim it’s an invasion of privacy — at least, that’s what a few words from the Ministry of Justice have been whispering.

I don’t remember the exact moment, but I do remember the feeling. It happened one morning when I checked the weather. 29 degrees — feels like 34. Excuse me?

“Wanted: a dynamic, focused individual to lead…” Dynamic and individual? What exactly is this company hiring? Dynamism sounds energetic, powerful – something’s clearly moving. But what, exactly, is moving?

Ah, look at that: a two-seater word. “Believable.” It splits neatly into belief and able. That’s what I’d do—believe, I mean. Or at least, I think I would.

“Don’t say that!” “Hey, you can’t say that anymore!” Remember when free speech was still free of panic? When talking came with a hint of manners, maybe even ethics?

The first word that appeared to me this morning, around half past five, lingered only for a few seconds before fading again. The word was “Hunger.” Not the kind that growls before breakfast, but the raw, existential hunger—the kind Palestinians and, lately, Americans are starting to feel in real life. I’ll write about that another day.

When a German word meets an English one, they usually start with a polite little “Hallo” or “Hello.” Then, naturally, they study each other: What do we have in common? And where exactly do we part ways?

Signs of the times? Yes, that too. But signs were probably the first messengers of language itself. Just ask the ancient Egyptians — they told their entire history in symbols and painted walls.

Politics? No, Thank You. Few professions today suffer from a reputation as battered as politics. Once upon a time, it was used-car dealers, insurance agents, and investment brokers who carried the public’s mistrust. Now it’s politicians — too often seen as the self-serving representatives of a few citizens, rather than the responsible stewards of all.

The call “Women to Power!” sounds brave, catchy, even romantic — but let’s be honest: it’s not the full story. Using gender as a battle cry may feel righteous, yet it’s only half the truth.