ans der Dröppelmina, Schlossplatz, Solingen (24th Jan 2010)
The waitress placed a small porcelain saucer on the white tablecloth under the tap of the coffee pot, in order to catch the drips, it was explained to me, in case the tap leaked, which it might since the well scrubbed metal coffee pot was old, and the tap likely worn after years of use. The metal coffee pot called a Dröppelmina was like a large pear, perfectly round at the base, and supported on three curved legs which ended in small claw feet. Later, I lifted off the bell shaped lid, which fitted exactly over the base of the pot, and looked inside. It was nearly empty, the residue of coffee smelled cold, and I observed that on the saucer below the tap there were the dark marks of dried drops.
At that moment it seemed entirely possible to believe that Walter Benjamin might have also considered the refusal of his academic career at Frankfurt examining the interior of a Dröppelmina here, or somewhere very like it close by. This thought related not so much to a death anxiety, although it is true that the sense had arisen in me, as I had enjoyed the traditional Sunday Bergische breakfast together with my younger friends, that it was probable that I would be the first to die among us, as to an abject feeling of conformism I was experiencing, the same feeling which Benjamin and the other philosophers of the School of that city found so horrifying and also considered so deeply.
How come that I would accept so meekly this 'good death' which was being prepared for me? Why would I like Benjamin so readily bow my head to accept the strong opiate when it was offered to me?