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In Bordighera gibt es viele prächtige Villen und beeindruckende Architektur. Ein Gebäude sticht dabei besonders hervor, es fasziniert durch eine Kombination von Verfall und die in Roten Großbuchstaben beschriebene Fassade "ANGST". Ursprünglich sollte das Gebäude saniert werden (seit 2009) und 2011 wiedereröffnen. Zu meinem erstaunen war die verfallene Villa Angst noch immer das, was der Name verspricht :)
Hier ein toller Beitrag zur Geschichte von Hotel Angst:
Drastic
I feel the fear
I fear the fear
F E A R
Instinct is a name
Where do you come from?
Why do I fear fear?
HKD
When we are young, life is very drastic
Existential fear
Fear the world
Afraid of outside
Afraid of everything
Afraid of contact
HKD
Angst vor Angriffe
Angst vor dem Leben
Existenzangst
HKD
If you like see my YouTube Video:
"Dark Night of the Soul"
Wer zu Lebzeit gut auf Erden
wird nach dem Tod ein Engel werden
den Blick ‘gen Himmel fragst du dann
warum man sie nicht sehen kann
erst wenn die Wolken schlafengehn
kann man uns am Himmel sehn
wir haben Angst und sind allein
Gott weiss ich will kein Engel sein
Sie leben hinterm Horizont
getrennt von uns unendlich weit
sie müssen sich an Sterne krallen (ganz fest)
damit sie nicht vom Himmel fallen
erst wenn die Wolken schlafengehn
kann man uns am Himmel sehn
wir haben Angst und sind allein
Gott weiss ich will kein Engel sein
erst wenn die Wolken schlafengehn
kann man uns am Himmel sehn
wir haben Angst und sind allein
Gott weiss ich will kein Engel sein
Notwithstanding their many qualities, my parents were not persons of informed taste; indeed, I don't think I ever heard either of them express an "æsthetic" opinion. If probed, I expect they would have said that "all that sort of thing" was "not for the likes of us".
My father might be said to have been born at the very solstice of Western civilisation's confidence. Before he was three years old the first part of its suicidal civil war had begun. He was destined to be a combatant in the concluding second instalment. So, having lived through the ghastliest few decades of human history (so far) you can hardly blame my parents' generation for preferring a little less in the way of stimulation after the war. They painted their surroundings beige and listened to Perry Como.
By the mid 1970s things hadn't changed much. It all looks so familiar ...as though I could get up and walk into this room now. The only old ...or oldish... items to be seen are the clock and the figurine (once one of a pair, I think) on the "coal effect" two-bar electric fire. The various other nicknacks would have been recent junk shop acquisitions.
This house and its neighbour had originally been a single dwelling. The division into two properties had caused a number of geographical peculiarities. The house was on a corner and a new entrance had been provided at the side. Thus, our front door was not in the road of our address. This caused endless confusion to delivery men. The mantlepiece is obviously not as old as the house (1863) and the whole fireplace and chimney-breast probably dates from the division of the original house. Until about ten years before an open coal fire had burned here. Because the house had no thoroughfare you had to go through the living room to get to anywhere else. The stairs opened directly into the room. They are on the other side of the door on the right. The bottom step jutted into the room ...a favourite perch for my sister and me when we were children. Note the interesting Bakelite light switch, probably dating from the original electrification of the house in the 1920s. It was lost in a 1980s re-wiring.
My mother had smartened the place up for the photograph, which she wanted taken for an Australian penfriend. I tend to remember it as it was in the 1950s; stifling hot on a winter's night, darkness outside, Aertex vests and pants hung up to dry on a string across the room, the chimney overdue for sweeping and serpents of blue smoke creeping across the mantlepiece to combine with my father's cigarette smoke into a lachrymatory "fug". The clock slowly ticking, the slight clicking of my mother's knitting needles, the cat asleep on her lap. Suddenly a report like a rifle shot as a piece of stone amongst the coal exploded and sent fragments pinging around the room. How grateful we were for the 60s!
This was taken in my 20's when I still had a full set of hair, haha. It was shot on film. I still remember the digital cameras used floppy disk at the time.