ab jetzt we appear camouflaged. Since last autumn we have worked under cover in the Norwegian woods. Inspired by the cleanness of nature, we are led to a political turn. Quite contrary to Helmut Kohl’s statement, that Norway will join the EEC in the end of 1995, we’ll echo the words of Edith Cresson: Keep Norway hidden.
as in the real world, the wall is removed, the scene looks more like a garden of pleasure that will be fulfilled during the act. This sounds like a dreamworld, but it isn’t. The Norwegians will act like subjects. In Norman O. Brown words: “To show oneself, is to show ones genitals, to fascinate, to make to audience into a woman.”
we are on the road, eliminating Scandinavian sentimentality. For ourselves we couldn’t bear to stand up in the morning, if we didn’t understand the harsh reality. “When Cain Able, he killed himself.” Pure thoughts which unite the Turk and the Russian, the Persian and the Frenchman, can never under any circumstances loos its sense of beauty.
things happen in Norway. People are brought together and being made fun of in quite peculiar ways. For instance, the recent theft of a National Art Monument [Sinnataggen] made people gather around the severed foot. Because they love wounds, some says, this made them happy. Good old showbiz makes all the suffering worthwhile: The whole cast comes out, singing and dancing, as if their lives depend on it, vulgar and stupid as their costumes.

In Amsterdam we will present the third attempt, especially made for the occasion “Deutschland in Europa in Duitsland”. On stage: BAK-TRUPPEN

Norwegen-Funk. Norwegen Sperrstunde. Gesundheit. Das Vaterland.
Ski-Sprung und unser König.
What do you want?
I … I … nothing.
You did call, didn’t you?
I? No. This is the end.
Achtung. Achtung. Anfang vom Ende.
The breathing of freedom was somewhere else.
Outside of space, inside of time. This song came out and sang:
no eser – et nabo – numiniani – et niamini – maniamaniamini – uma
and while we were still ourselves
I was no body
nor intact
nor free
nor action
which are beautiful, we do believe, the big social problems are
nothing much
next to a certain physiological irritation
for this is no rage of the mind, not even rage of the heart, no
we don’t

and this is the end
is the end
quoted by the doors
and they – why, didn’t you come? Don’t you know it’s poison?
They all got a fuck out there.
Give me time, give us more time, it’s awful.
All the language,
no one can touch me. Look at me
all the time we speak about opium it means war.
Sing: Cicciolina the motherless cunt
fucks the absolute soul
of Jeff Koons. It’s no
modest middle class orgasm,
it’s realized.

The text was written in Oslo and Berlin by Baktruppen, 1992. A version in four languages was printed in “Gedanken (BAK-Truppen)”, Theaterschrift 2. The Written Space. Publishers: Kaaitheater Brüssel, Hebbel-Theater Berlin, Theater am Turm Frankfurt/M., Felix Meritis Amsterdam, Wiener Festwochen; Marianne Van Kerkhoven (Editor in Chief), 1992.