I do not work to pay the bills.
I do not work to fill the hours.
I do not work to please others.
I work because otherwise I would burst.
Because what flows through me does not stand still.
Texts, images, videos, thoughts, frequencies – they push their way outward.
When I hold them back, they build up.
Then there is pressure. Then there is fire.
And eventually, it consumes me from within.
Work is not a job to me.
It is survival.
It is my outlet, my fan, my breath.
Every creation is an exhale.
Every day is an attempt to make the invisible visible.
Childhood – “Normal” Was Never Normal
There was no ADHD in the GDR.
People simply said: “You are lively, bright, or precocious.”
But it never felt normal.
While other students read one page after another at school, my eyes jumped around.
I gathered fragments, pieces – and still knew what the text was about.
When tasks were designed to be thought through linearly, I found shortcuts, detours, entire new paths.
Back then I thought: Maybe I am simply impatient.
Today I know: Even as a child, I was already working with both hemispheres of my brain at the same time.
Logic and intuition. Order and chaos. Simultaneously.
To the teachers, it often looked like laziness.
To me, it was an inner storm.
I could not do otherwise.
Two Hemispheres – One Current, Not a Pendulum
Most people switch.
Left or right.
Analysis or feeling.
Language or image.
For me, both run simultaneously.
It is not back and forth. It is a current.
When I listen to music, I experience everything at once:
the melody, the rhythm, the emotion – and the structure behind it.
I could count the beats, but I do not have to. My body knows them.
When I write, I think analytically while simultaneously thinking in images.
I build structure while already being in the flow.
It is as if ten radios were playing at once – and I could hear every channel.
Not one after another, but in the same moment.
This is both a gift and a curse.
A gift because I can create on a deeper level.
A curse because it never stops. No switch. No off.
Frequency Reading – Words Are Only the Surface
I do not read like other people.
Never.
I scan. I jump.
And yet I grasp the core.
A text lies before me. I do not need twenty pages.
A few sentences are enough. I know what it is about.
Not because I have read everything, but because I read the frequency.
It is like hearing voices through fog.
You do not understand every word, but you know whether someone is whispering, shouting, or lying.
That is how I read.
I grasp the vibration behind the letters.
The tone, not the ink.
When someone writes a lie, I feel it.
When someone is honest, even a broken sentence carries truth.
This is frequency reading.
Not letters. Not grammar.
Vibration.
The Thing About Dyslexia
I used to be meticulous.
I loved language.
I loved spelling.
Every comma. Every little detail.
Then everything changed.
Suddenly letters began to jump.
Words were missing even though I had spoken them.
Sentences fell apart.
I often noticed it only later – when a video was finished.
And then it felt as though someone had struck me in the face.
A blow of shame.
At first it was unbearable.
But then I understood: My mind is faster than my hand.
I no longer write letters. I write frequencies.
What others see as mistakes are, to me, traces of a process.
Imperfect, yes. But honest.
Chaos is part of my system.
How My Videos Come Into Being
A video never begins with a plan.
No script. No sequence.
I place images. I add transitions. I scatter effects.
Everything according to feeling.
Then comes the music.
A few bars. A bassline. A voice.
Goosebumps. I know: This is it.
And every time it fits.
Beat, images, words – perfectly in time, without me ever having counted.
From the outside, it looks like coincidence.
From the inside, it is flow.
Left and right. Order and chaos. At the same time.
It is as if I am not editing, but flowing.
As if my hands are merely channels.
Writing in the Flow
The same thing happens when I write.
I type. My hands glow.
Sometimes faster than my conscious mind can grasp.
Words burst forth.
Sentences emerge that I never planned.
Sometimes I read them later and am amazed: There is more in them than I thought.
It feels as though I am not writing, but translating.
As though the text already exists – and I merely bring it into the visible world through my hands.
Everyday Life – Work Never Stops
My work does not end at the desk.
It is always running.
When I drink water from my copper pitcher, energy goes into it – and back into me.
When I cook, frequency flows through my hands into the food.
When I stroke my dog, he immediately senses how I feel.
When I walk, when I remain silent, when I meet people – everything is work.
I cannot switch it off.
And I do not want to.
Because work is not “doing” to me.
It is “being.”
A current that always flows.
Feelings – The Inner World While Working
When the current comes, it feels like an electrical storm in my head.
Tingling in my hands, pressure around my forehead, sometimes a wave that spreads through my entire body.
It is as though my senses overlap:
I hear colors.
I see rhythms.
I feel words.
It sounds crazy. But it is my reality.
And from this overlap, my work is born.
Sometimes it is overwhelming.
Sometimes it robs me of sleep.
But every time, it brings forth something that would never have existed without this flow.
Responsibility
Because my work is frequency, I carry responsibility.
A video is not merely entertainment.
A text is not merely paper.
A gesture is not merely movement.
Everything shapes spaces. Everything sends something outward.
That is why I consciously choose what I release into the world.
Not perfect. Not flawless.
But real.
The Truth
Many call it ADHD.
Others call it dyslexia.
For me, it is neither.
It is my way of being creative.
Left and right at once.
Feeling and thinking at once.
Order and chaos at once.
This is how I create.
Not according to a textbook.
But according to frequency.
That is why I work.
Not because I have to.
But because I cannot do otherwise.