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Gustav Falke machte ab 1868 in Hamburg eine Lehre als Buchhändler. Lieber wäre ihm ein Studium der Musik und Literatur gewesen, diesen Wunsch schlug ihm sein Stiefvater jedoch aus. Ab 1903 konnte Falke sich ganz der Schriftstellerei widmen, da ihm die Stadt fortan ein Gehalt auszahlte, um seine schriftstellerischen Leistungen zu unterstützen. Falke lebte von 1853 bis 1916.
Liebster Doktor!
Wie vermisse ich Sie, Sie Ausreisser. Nach wie vor führt mich mein Berufsweg zweimal in der Woche an Ihrem alten Heim vorüber, und ich werfe betrübte Blicke nach dem Eckfenster hinauf. Wie sch?n war's da oben: ich auf Ihrem breiten etwas eingesessenen Sofa, Sie mir gegenüber auf dem Stuhl, zwischen uns auf dem bücherbeladenen Tisch eine Tasse Kaffee, ein Glas Bier oder ein Aquavit. Und dann ging's los, über Literatur, Kunst und tausend Sachen.
Und Ihre alte Wirtin, die Frau Obersteuerkontrolleurswitwe, der man diesen imponierenden Titel nicht ansah, mit ihrem roten Gesicht, ihrer etwas waschfrauenm?ssigen Hausuniform und ihrer hastigen, stossenden Sprechweise.
Und das einzige Lik?rglas, das kleine blaue Henkelglas, worin sie einer ganzen Korona Aquavit kredenzte, von Mund zu Mund:
"Is nich'n hübsches Glas? Is aus Travemünde. Hab ich selbst mitgebracht.
Hübsches Glas. Ist es nich? Aus Travemünde. Hab'n Schwester da, wissen
Sie. Ja, 'n Schwester."
Sie l?sst bestens grüssen. Sie hat jetzt ihre beiden Zimmer an einen
Z?llner vermietet, einen jungen "soliden" Menschen. Sie wissen, die Frau
Kontrolleur gibt viel auf das Solide.
Na, in Punkto Solidit?t. Unsolide waren wir nicht. Aber der Z?llner wird uns über sein.
Ich vegetiere nun schon eine ganze Zeit lang so hin. Kein Vers, keine Zeile. Lyrisch alles tot. Was Sie über meinen letzten Roman schrieben, hat mich sehr erfreut. Ja, es steckt viel Beobachtung darin. Aber es ist doch nichts mit diesem nüchternen Realismus. Ich m?chte nun endlich mal schreiben, was Sie meinen Pan-Roman nennen.
Mich auch mal lyrisch ausgeben. Stimmung. Psychologie. Alles m?gliche. Solche Dreiecksnatur, Sie brauchten den Ausdruck einmal, so ein Portr?t von Ihnen, Liebwertester, ein Individuum, das sich zwischen den drei Punkten Weib, Kunst und Natur aufreibt, seine Ringk?mpfe mit sich aufführt. Ihre gef?hrlichen Anlagen potenziert, so dass ein Ungeheuer daraus wird.
Aber geben Sie mir einen freundschaftlichen Stoss, dass ich kopfüber in die Tinte schiesse, sonst wird's doch wieder nichts damit, und es bleibt alles beim guten-Willen darf ich's gar nicht mal nennen, denn wie gesagt, es sind tote Tage bei mir, Nebeldruck, Müdigkeit, Stumpfsinn, wie immer, wenn ich eine Arbeit hinter mir habe und eine neue sich erst heimlich vorbereitet wie das Saatkorn unter der Wintererde.
Pan, ja Pan! Sie sitzen nun mitten drin, haben alles, was ich ersehne, liegen auf dem Rücken und h?ren die Mittagsmusik des bocksbeinigen Gottes, w?hrend ich hier Staub schlucke, Federn kaue und Kindergeschrei anh?re.
Hier etwas, was ich aus dem Papierkorb für Sie wieder ausgrub, weil es gerade hierherpasst. Etwas B?cklin-Nietzsche mit einem Stich ins Scheerbartsche. Nichts Urgeborenes, also der Vernichtung geh?rig.
Herzlichst
Ihr Gerd Gerdsen.
* * * * *
Tanz.
Pan bl?st. Lass uns tanzen, du und ich. Auf der Sommerwiese, in der
Morgensonne lass uns tanzen, wo die weichen Winde sich deines wehenden
Blondhaares freuen werden.
Komm auf die Wiese!
Blumen werden sich unter unsere Füsse dr?ngen und aufgescheuchte Schmetterlinge unsern Tanz umtanzen, weisse und gelbe Schmetterlinge, leuchtend in der Helligkeit des wachsenden Lichtes. Pan lockt.
Wir wollen tanzen zu diesen T?nen. Und die Wiese tanzt, und der Wald tanzt, die schwarzen Fichten mit dem roten Morgenkleid aus Sonne und die br?utlichen Birken mit den jungfr?ulichen Gew?ndern aus Silberseide.
Und die weissen L?mmer auf der blauen Himmelswiese werden hüpfen, umeinander hüpfen, leichtwolliges Sommervolk, zu der Fl?te des Hirten.
Und die Sonne wird tanzen, die lachende Sonne, dass ihre Strahlen auseinander wirbeln, uns umwirbeln, ein flimmernder, blitzender, glitzernder Schleier, in dem wir uns im Kreise drehen, du und ich in unserer nackten Sch?nheit und in unserer nackten Freude.
Komm, komm! Pan bl?st.
Die Bocksfüsse übereinandergeschlagen, hockt er im Fichtenschatten,
Zottelbart, Waldschreck den Furchtsamen.
Wir aber tanzen vor ihm, nackt, über Blumen, zwei weisse Schmetterlinge, trunken in Lust, trunken in nackter Lust.
Rena got into an entanglement with a big shot when she was drunk one night. She needed Waylen's help while he was drawn to her youthful beauty. As such, what was supposed to be a one-night stand progressed into something serious. All was well until Rena discovered that Waylen's heart belonged to another woman. When his first love returned, he stopped coming home, leaving Rena all alone for many nights. She put up with it until she received a check and farewell note one day. Contrary to how Waylen expected her to react, Rena had a smile on her face as she bid him farewell. "It was fun while it lasted, Waylen. May our paths never cross. Have a nice life." But as fate would have it, their paths crossed again. This time, Rena had another man by her side. Waylen's eyes burned with jealousy. He spat, "How the hell did you move on? I thought you loved only me!" "Keyword, loved!" Rena flipped her hair back and retorted, "There are plenty of fish in the sea, Waylen. Besides, you were the one who asked for a breakup. Now, if you want to date me, you have to wait in line." The next day, Rena received a credit alert of billions and a diamond ring. Waylen appeared again, got down on one knee, and uttered, "May I cut in line, Rena? I still want you."
"You're mine, little puppy," Kylan growled against my neck. A soft gasp escaped my lips as his lips brushed my skin. My mind screamed at me to push him away-the Lycan Prince who had humiliated me again and again, but my body betrayed me, leaning into him before I could stop myself. He pressed his lips against mine, and his kiss grew more aggressive, more possessive as I felt my legs weaken. What was I doing? In a split-second, I pulled away and slapped him hard across the face. Kylan's eyes darkened, but the smirk on his lips exposed his amusement. "You and I both know we can't fight this, Violet," he said, gripping my wrist. "You're my mate." "And yet you don't want me," I replied. "You told me you were ashamed of me, that l'd never be your queen, that you'd never love me. So please, accept my rejection and let me go." "Never," he whispered, his grip tightening as he pulled me closer. "Soon enough, you'll be begging for me. and when you do-I'll use you as I see fit and then I'll reject you."
A sudden twist of fate connected Helena to a prominent and influential person. To onlookers, she appeared as a naive bimbo. In truth, she was a top-tier specialist, shrouded in layers of hidden identities. Charlie declared, “She’s quite delicate and easily hurt. Cross her, and you’re crossing me.” The elite families, outwitted by Helena's prowess, kept these truths from him. Helena eventually broke free from Charlie, sending him on a frenzied worldwide hunt. To him, she was a bird with dazzling wings, and his goal was to help her reach new heights.
There was only one man in Raegan's heart, and it was Mitchel. In the second year of her marriage to him, she got pregnant. Raegan's joy knew no bounds. But before she could break the news to her husband, he served her divorce papers because he wanted to marry his first love. After an accident, Raegan lay in the pool of her own blood and called out to Mitchel for help. Unfortunately, he left with his first love in his arms. Raegan escaped death by the whiskers. Afterward, she decided to get her life back on track. Her name was everywhere years later. Mitchel became very uncomfortable. For some reason, he began to miss her. His heart ached when he saw her all smiles with another man. He crashed her wedding and fell to his knees while she was at the altar. With bloodshot eyes, he queried, "I thought you said your love for me is unbreakable? How come you are getting married to someone else? Come back to me!"
Sheila had her back against the wall when her family tried to force her to marry an awful old man. In a fit of rage, she hired a gigolo to act as her husband. She thought the gigolo needed money and did this for a living. Little did she know that he was nothing like that. One day, he pulled off his mask and revealed himself to be the world's top magnate. This marked the beginning of their love. He showered her with everything she could ever want. They were happy. However, unexpected circumstances soon posed a threat to their love. Would Sheila and her husband make it through the storm? Find out!
They don't know I'm a girl. They all look at me and see a boy. A prince. Their kind purchase humans like me for their lustful desires. And, when they stormed into our kingdom to buy my sister, I intervened to protect her. I made them take me too. The plan was to escape with my sister whenever we found a chance. How was I to know our prison would be the most fortified place in their kingdom? I was supposed to be on the sidelines. The one they had no real use for. The one they never meant to buy. But then, the most important person in their savage land-their ruthless beast king-took an interest in the "pretty little prince." How do we survive in this brutal kingdom, where everyone hates our kind and shows us no mercy? And how does someone, with a secret like mine, become a lust slave? . AUTHOR'S NOTE. This is a dark romance-dark, mature content. Highly rated 18+ Expect triggers, expect hardcore. If you're a seasoned reader of this genre, looking for something different, prepared to go in blindly not knowing what to expect at every turn, but eager to know more anyway, then dive in! . From the author of the international bestselling book: "The Alpha King's Hated Slave."