.
my mom would never come along on summer vacation with us. she would come as a surprise, every time however, for a couple of days and then she left again, renovating our house and what not. After a few years the reason why dawned on me. For vacation meant, a vacation from US. And it was Daddy time for Daddy never had so much time for us in the daily routines.
the last couple of days have been deliciously vacation like for me. i felt as if i had found a little tropical island in the middle of a salty-teared ocean, i crawled on it like a castaway and found a soft breeze among the trees.
i called it my little pain vacation.
and now i see on the horizon how yet another storm is gathering, the dark clouds are threatening and the sounds of the thunder will be deafening and I shudder at the mere sight yet tragically fascinated.
This island is small and I am surrounded by this, only to my left there are a bunch of sun rays, sneaking through the clouds, dancing boogie on the water, mischievously beckoning me to come and join.
I feel helplessly trapped. No helicopters in sight yet. Well, what am I gonna do?
They say I act before I think and I have tried hard to prove them wrong. But the urge is urgent and the needle is hot there seems to be no way out of here but thank you very much it was nice to stay.
His voice trickles into my counscious, slowly like gold-fish poison. It's not like I am made of stone. Confessions pressed from my bleeding heart: no I haven't slept with anyone but not that it would be anybody's business but mine. This is all I have he says when I complain about him calling. And I don't really feel like taking away a child's only joy. It's not like I don't want it either it's just that it puts a strong and lamentful end on my long awaited vacation. Great, there we go again. Restless hours and minutes and seconds trying to flee the inevitable. Miss Missing says hello, riding on a thunder cloud. Nice to see you again.
It felt oh so good to have such a golden superhero shield to protect me. Ha. Whatnot. It felt good to not care in that way anymore. And I have to pay for my own weakness now, I have to pay for my heart to be too soft after all. I have to pay for all this shit. Fuck, man, but a modern woman pays herself. They say.
I've always fancied the old ways in a way.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
GRAVITY
The cosmic laws. Gravity. You might try and defy it, argue against it, say it ain't true, alas, to no avail.
Life is intelligence and no matter how much you wish you could be the one exception above the law, you aren't. That's the bitter truth and you might as well face it.
Letting go, after days and weeks and months of pain in the vast salty ocean of sorrow I have found a little island and although it might be a refuge I rather enjoy it like a hard earned vacation. I have a hammock and lots of cocktails in my imagination and the wind whistles in my ear.
This is when the laws kick in, something snaps and you don't have to do anything for the things you so desperately longed for when haplessly drifting in the sea. The problem, however: you don't really care. You look at the seagull that brings the supposedly good news and moonily smile, sweetie, I love the sun and I don't really wanna move not to speak of leaving this island. If you wanna see me, come here, and hell yeah, sure, you can stay here for a night, just be aware of the fact that we can't go to this place anymore. The waves clash against my little island's shores. Ocean making love to the sand, eternally. I smile, dreamlike and whisper: for a long time to come we will have to leave that up to them, my dear.
But, what if, I want to...I turn around and take a sip from my cocktail. It's fresh and delicious. Waking up next to me is all I can offer my love, it makes for a beautiful morning.
In actuality it makes for a good laugh. It is amusing, I can't help it. And I am very surprised about my new relaxed self. I say, 'hey, whats up ol' lady!' and grin like a little girl.
Guys. Why are they so predictable???
Life is intelligence and no matter how much you wish you could be the one exception above the law, you aren't. That's the bitter truth and you might as well face it.
Letting go, after days and weeks and months of pain in the vast salty ocean of sorrow I have found a little island and although it might be a refuge I rather enjoy it like a hard earned vacation. I have a hammock and lots of cocktails in my imagination and the wind whistles in my ear.
This is when the laws kick in, something snaps and you don't have to do anything for the things you so desperately longed for when haplessly drifting in the sea. The problem, however: you don't really care. You look at the seagull that brings the supposedly good news and moonily smile, sweetie, I love the sun and I don't really wanna move not to speak of leaving this island. If you wanna see me, come here, and hell yeah, sure, you can stay here for a night, just be aware of the fact that we can't go to this place anymore. The waves clash against my little island's shores. Ocean making love to the sand, eternally. I smile, dreamlike and whisper: for a long time to come we will have to leave that up to them, my dear.
But, what if, I want to...I turn around and take a sip from my cocktail. It's fresh and delicious. Waking up next to me is all I can offer my love, it makes for a beautiful morning.
In actuality it makes for a good laugh. It is amusing, I can't help it. And I am very surprised about my new relaxed self. I say, 'hey, whats up ol' lady!' and grin like a little girl.
Guys. Why are they so predictable???
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
stormy mondays
For me it's always monday. Everyday during the last past week I thought for some reason it was monday. I am that unaware of what people call reality. I long to play the blues like an old wise racoon and don't know what to do with my lack of ambition or sense of direction.
Everyday is a stormy monday except for I am in the silent spot of the hurricane. The quiet center. I look into the bathroom mirror into which I escaped from class to avoid an utter collaps of reality. there I am, still, good Lord, and just stare with a blank expression into my own reflection. I observe how eyes dwell up but it might not even be mine. It's a sad face, why is it a sad face? There is nothing sad in this clean and hygenic bathroom, I could have my lunch sitting on the floor. That's truly strange. Why is there a knot in my throat? What does it do there? Oh, see, it's gone.
I wash my hands and couldn't feel more indifferent about it.
How can somebody like you possibly turn into someone like me? he asked the next morning via email text message.
I think, oh well, I feel like am drifting away. I totally understand now how you could be disgusted by so many people. How you didn't really care anymore. How they annoyed you. How nothing really mattered anymore. I feel WHATEVER to become a powerful reality. whatever is, when nothing really matters anymore. Even not you.
Everyday is a stormy monday except for I am in the silent spot of the hurricane. The quiet center. I look into the bathroom mirror into which I escaped from class to avoid an utter collaps of reality. there I am, still, good Lord, and just stare with a blank expression into my own reflection. I observe how eyes dwell up but it might not even be mine. It's a sad face, why is it a sad face? There is nothing sad in this clean and hygenic bathroom, I could have my lunch sitting on the floor. That's truly strange. Why is there a knot in my throat? What does it do there? Oh, see, it's gone.
I wash my hands and couldn't feel more indifferent about it.
How can somebody like you possibly turn into someone like me? he asked the next morning via email text message.
I think, oh well, I feel like am drifting away. I totally understand now how you could be disgusted by so many people. How you didn't really care anymore. How they annoyed you. How nothing really mattered anymore. I feel WHATEVER to become a powerful reality. whatever is, when nothing really matters anymore. Even not you.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
midnight feast
First of all: don't you all agree that cereals is the best midnight snack ever? I haven't found anything that can beat that except for a cup of tea.
Secondly: where should I start? There was so much in my head, and I need to write it all down, quick quick, before it whithers away like roses in sand. Nothing is really important and so isn't this, don't be fooled. This is nothing. Of no importance whatsoever, probably even not for myself. But it feels good. Better than... ah wait, where to start again?
With the waiter from the French Room? How he was genuinly happy to see my sorry face in the middle of midnight-grey hollywood blvd? They were closing up and he said, oh my god, look at you, you are so pretty. That just, - bam! -, made my night because it sounded just so right. It was the right thing to say at the right time and there were no second intentions vibrating in his voice. Cockroaches hide when they hear that.
Or maybe how Brian says that he likes to hang with me because I am just 'chill'? and how Tomer says that I am always so hyper? and how Cris says that he likes me because I have a good vibe? Ha. Truth be told, each and every one of those masks they mean, are nothing but a polite form of indifference. I don't care. I don't talk to Brian much because I don't want to. I want to watch movies on his big screen TV. I am blunt and direct to Tomer (he thinks that is hyper) because I don't care too much what he thinks and I don't like to waste time. I have a relaxed vibe with Cris because I don't care. I don't care about his girlfriend, I don't care about having to push him away all the time or to tell him to fuck off. I don't. And the irony is, that they like it. And they all don't understand when I stand up and just leave. Why can't people fucking accept when you want to leave? Will they miss out? No, they won't because if I stayed I wouldn't say or do anything anyways. I would be in a bad mood. I don't understand them anymore.
Or should I start with the open mic? With all those people, those faces, those voices, - they had fun.
I am right up there with you, sweetie, nothing really touches me anymore. It's weird. i can't picture anymore how it feels like to actually dive into it and have 100% a good time. The momentary convictions that this is actually fun doesn't outweigh the indifference I feel most of the time. It's as if I was hovering above everything somehow, not in a good way, nothing can hold me I can leave at any time and I don't give a fuck really.
I look at the people and a distant memory of curiosity lies in the air like a whiff of lighter days. Archetypes shimmer through their faces like frowns that work their way through masks. Lovely I say to myself, and smile. I used to be in love.
They played Sinead O'Connor in the Yucca store and I sang along 'Nothing Compares To You'. It feels right. That's how it is. Nothing can take away this blues cuz nothing compares to you. But there are no tears no more. Only a really deep blueish-purple-ish velvet feeling of a hidden deep lake somewhere inside of me that takes care of the sadness. Up here everything is okay. I pour the flakes into the bowl, cut the banana, I even don't waste one little dirty thought on this banana which is highly unusual (well at least I did now), pour milk on my midnight feast and the blueish purple-ish feeling disappears in a matter of one eye blink.
It's just, it'd be really nice to be with you and share stuff with you.
When I was in the bathroom at the open mic thing I was surprised how good I looked in the blue-grey light that came from outside the window into the room. And every single time that happens, and when the waiter said how pretty I was, I can't help but say to myself: it's such a waste, it is, it is. That you can't behold it. That you can't see that.
Looking into the mirror I suddenly asked myself: Do I love you so much and like to be with you so much because you see me beautiful? Because I see myself in your eyes beautifully reflected? Do I love the way I am with you? Was I in love with myself around you? Did I ever really love you or anybody for that matter? Do I love the person that you saw in me more than the person you are? It's truly mind boggeling.
- Am I addicted to self-reflection? Do I actually like writing? I like climbing trees. I did so, I left for a minute the room and climbed on this tree in the parking lot. This guy in a parked car looked at me as if I was from a different planet. A cow maybe. I like writing letters. It's like this blog thing. I am a dedicated blogger and a dedicated letter writer but I don't really give a fuck about you guys either. I like to read your blogs, don't get me wrong, but I don't care about the rest of the blogger world. I am one ignorant fuck. I am hooked with you guys, you know who you are, and the rest... I just don't care anymore.
My lack of ambition hasn't got me far, that's for sure. Not music wise, not painting wise, not writing wise, nothing wise.
So you come to the point where you think, well it really seems to be true that you should do where you have most dedication. So I should be a fucking professional letter writer I guess because that's where I am most dedicated and concentrated and absorbed.
So, sweetie, isn't it a weird irony that the tangible, loving, embracing Emeralda has turned into this hermit now? into this indifferent, annoyed person? is that out of sympathy for you my love? I remember so vividly how you told me in the French Room many lifetimes ago, that you are never really here. That I am the only thing that gets through this veil and touches you. I start to understand...
they say you should go out and be with friends and what not. I do, I do, yes I do. I love it, when Miss Wonderful Amazing Amanda plays in my room her beautiful songs, that I love.
I love when my wife plays piano or blows smoke rings into the air.
I love to be out there in the night and hear the crickets play.
But I don't love concerts anymore. i wonder whether I ever truly did. Not everybody does. Not that kind of concerts at any rate. Flamenco or Faso, that's different. Or tango. I still like dancing I guess. But I just can't connect to that world anymore. I so can't. This guy was kinda cute and one hell of a good guitar player and singer. But he seemed so young. I can't give anybody a chance but probably they are really wonderful and beuatiful. All I ever think about is, how it felt to drive down Hollywood Blvd. with you in the cold winter nights. And the sound of the heater in the car. That was just fucking awesome.
Nothing really matters to me anymore and I guess I should just go to sleep but I can't help but wonder all the time what it is, that is my thing. Could it be that I am the vicitim of my fairy tales? Is mediocrity okay? Who the fuck am I? What is 'my thing'?
Clueless and indifferent
Secondly: where should I start? There was so much in my head, and I need to write it all down, quick quick, before it whithers away like roses in sand. Nothing is really important and so isn't this, don't be fooled. This is nothing. Of no importance whatsoever, probably even not for myself. But it feels good. Better than... ah wait, where to start again?
With the waiter from the French Room? How he was genuinly happy to see my sorry face in the middle of midnight-grey hollywood blvd? They were closing up and he said, oh my god, look at you, you are so pretty. That just, - bam! -, made my night because it sounded just so right. It was the right thing to say at the right time and there were no second intentions vibrating in his voice. Cockroaches hide when they hear that.
Or maybe how Brian says that he likes to hang with me because I am just 'chill'? and how Tomer says that I am always so hyper? and how Cris says that he likes me because I have a good vibe? Ha. Truth be told, each and every one of those masks they mean, are nothing but a polite form of indifference. I don't care. I don't talk to Brian much because I don't want to. I want to watch movies on his big screen TV. I am blunt and direct to Tomer (he thinks that is hyper) because I don't care too much what he thinks and I don't like to waste time. I have a relaxed vibe with Cris because I don't care. I don't care about his girlfriend, I don't care about having to push him away all the time or to tell him to fuck off. I don't. And the irony is, that they like it. And they all don't understand when I stand up and just leave. Why can't people fucking accept when you want to leave? Will they miss out? No, they won't because if I stayed I wouldn't say or do anything anyways. I would be in a bad mood. I don't understand them anymore.
Or should I start with the open mic? With all those people, those faces, those voices, - they had fun.
I am right up there with you, sweetie, nothing really touches me anymore. It's weird. i can't picture anymore how it feels like to actually dive into it and have 100% a good time. The momentary convictions that this is actually fun doesn't outweigh the indifference I feel most of the time. It's as if I was hovering above everything somehow, not in a good way, nothing can hold me I can leave at any time and I don't give a fuck really.
I look at the people and a distant memory of curiosity lies in the air like a whiff of lighter days. Archetypes shimmer through their faces like frowns that work their way through masks. Lovely I say to myself, and smile. I used to be in love.
They played Sinead O'Connor in the Yucca store and I sang along 'Nothing Compares To You'. It feels right. That's how it is. Nothing can take away this blues cuz nothing compares to you. But there are no tears no more. Only a really deep blueish-purple-ish velvet feeling of a hidden deep lake somewhere inside of me that takes care of the sadness. Up here everything is okay. I pour the flakes into the bowl, cut the banana, I even don't waste one little dirty thought on this banana which is highly unusual (well at least I did now), pour milk on my midnight feast and the blueish purple-ish feeling disappears in a matter of one eye blink.
It's just, it'd be really nice to be with you and share stuff with you.
When I was in the bathroom at the open mic thing I was surprised how good I looked in the blue-grey light that came from outside the window into the room. And every single time that happens, and when the waiter said how pretty I was, I can't help but say to myself: it's such a waste, it is, it is. That you can't behold it. That you can't see that.
Looking into the mirror I suddenly asked myself: Do I love you so much and like to be with you so much because you see me beautiful? Because I see myself in your eyes beautifully reflected? Do I love the way I am with you? Was I in love with myself around you? Did I ever really love you or anybody for that matter? Do I love the person that you saw in me more than the person you are? It's truly mind boggeling.
- Am I addicted to self-reflection? Do I actually like writing? I like climbing trees. I did so, I left for a minute the room and climbed on this tree in the parking lot. This guy in a parked car looked at me as if I was from a different planet. A cow maybe. I like writing letters. It's like this blog thing. I am a dedicated blogger and a dedicated letter writer but I don't really give a fuck about you guys either. I like to read your blogs, don't get me wrong, but I don't care about the rest of the blogger world. I am one ignorant fuck. I am hooked with you guys, you know who you are, and the rest... I just don't care anymore.
My lack of ambition hasn't got me far, that's for sure. Not music wise, not painting wise, not writing wise, nothing wise.
So you come to the point where you think, well it really seems to be true that you should do where you have most dedication. So I should be a fucking professional letter writer I guess because that's where I am most dedicated and concentrated and absorbed.
So, sweetie, isn't it a weird irony that the tangible, loving, embracing Emeralda has turned into this hermit now? into this indifferent, annoyed person? is that out of sympathy for you my love? I remember so vividly how you told me in the French Room many lifetimes ago, that you are never really here. That I am the only thing that gets through this veil and touches you. I start to understand...
they say you should go out and be with friends and what not. I do, I do, yes I do. I love it, when Miss Wonderful Amazing Amanda plays in my room her beautiful songs, that I love.
I love when my wife plays piano or blows smoke rings into the air.
I love to be out there in the night and hear the crickets play.
But I don't love concerts anymore. i wonder whether I ever truly did. Not everybody does. Not that kind of concerts at any rate. Flamenco or Faso, that's different. Or tango. I still like dancing I guess. But I just can't connect to that world anymore. I so can't. This guy was kinda cute and one hell of a good guitar player and singer. But he seemed so young. I can't give anybody a chance but probably they are really wonderful and beuatiful. All I ever think about is, how it felt to drive down Hollywood Blvd. with you in the cold winter nights. And the sound of the heater in the car. That was just fucking awesome.
Nothing really matters to me anymore and I guess I should just go to sleep but I can't help but wonder all the time what it is, that is my thing. Could it be that I am the vicitim of my fairy tales? Is mediocrity okay? Who the fuck am I? What is 'my thing'?
Clueless and indifferent
Monday, August 28, 2006
I don't
No, I don't miss you, I just wish you could be here with me, right now, casually and in all seriousness. doing something else than me but still being there. that would be great and i just feel it that. way. nothing special. no muddy waters. just that wish. like a bird in the sky, a lark mellow, maybe.
To my Lover so far away
I feel like on a ship in my little apartment here and I feel like I am
heading somewhere, it is really strange. Haha, I am in touch with my
womanly bloody side maybe that's why. I get a weird sense of direction
that hasn't been there like that before. I feel like things could be
possible that haven't be possible before, it is really weird, it's
just like the foreboding or anticipation of something that I'll
hopefully feel stronger sooner or later. Maybe something that is
really going to show me what I should do with this my life here.
I love you beyond anything that I could say or do or write or
understand. Very calmly now though and it's like I can think about you
now without hurting or sorrow of any sort. Sometimes yes, it comes
back like that but it's certainly transforming into something that is
just like it is you know? I never want to stop getting to know you and
I hope you will never deny me that pleasure.
It is what it is. Hold yourself warm and be with yourself and think of
me with a rose and a smile in your heart okydoky. I throw some
snuggles and fuffles and hugs and massages and a lot of care into the
wind so it can carry it to the places you are.
Emeralda, your wild child full of grace
heading somewhere, it is really strange. Haha, I am in touch with my
womanly bloody side maybe that's why. I get a weird sense of direction
that hasn't been there like that before. I feel like things could be
possible that haven't be possible before, it is really weird, it's
just like the foreboding or anticipation of something that I'll
hopefully feel stronger sooner or later. Maybe something that is
really going to show me what I should do with this my life here.
I love you beyond anything that I could say or do or write or
understand. Very calmly now though and it's like I can think about you
now without hurting or sorrow of any sort. Sometimes yes, it comes
back like that but it's certainly transforming into something that is
just like it is you know? I never want to stop getting to know you and
I hope you will never deny me that pleasure.
It is what it is. Hold yourself warm and be with yourself and think of
me with a rose and a smile in your heart okydoky. I throw some
snuggles and fuffles and hugs and massages and a lot of care into the
wind so it can carry it to the places you are.
Emeralda, your wild child full of grace
Weird and women's Russian Roulette
"Do you know that you are weird" said he as I rushed off to the Green Room. I smirked over my shoulder. "yes, sweetie, people tell me that all the time. or they ask me whether somebody already has told me, as if it was new news. it's old news"
matter of fact, even in Germany they thought I was weird. In Switzerland they thought I was weird, in Russia they thought I was weird, in Berlin they thought I was weird and even here in Hollyweird they think I am weird.
So, as we have this established by now: it's not due to my threefold nationalities. It's not due to anything like that but due to me being me. Or whatever I pretend at the time being. That's it, there is no mystery to it.
I hope you all have something to laugh about, too. I have a lot to laugh about, even in the most of miserable situations. What do I laugh about? Well, you guessed right, it's me. I laugh about myself a lot, but I love a lot about the rest of the world, too. When I see people argueing on the street I think that's pretty sweet. I laugh or I smile. When I see wannabe-tough guys on the street with three beard hairs on their chin I chuckle as I pass by and happily point my fingers into the sky. When I see old people drag themselves along the streets or get into fights on the bus I have to smile.
And I certainly have to smile when I am about to get my period and am alone at home. It's weird but I do it like Russian roulette. I know that's actually something you don't talk about but let's face it, more than half of humanity gets their period monthly at some point in their lifes. So do I and the weird thing is that I don't know whether I am the only person here playing Bloody Russian Roulette, pun intended. So what I do is I don't wear pantiliners. It's a habit from back in the days when I never knew when my period was about to come. Now it's regular and easy to tell because I learned how to read the threatening PMS - signs and trust me they are idiot-proof. A craving for food late at night? Pizza? Chocolate? Yeah. Hit right there. Tears dwelling up at any random blue colored occasion? yep. Frustration and irritation level extremely high? Score! Tolerance approaching zero? Hm. Snapping without reasons? Being more blunt than ever? Yes, yes, yes.
Well, lets get back to the Roulette though. So I don't wear pantiliners, most of the time. I just wait until it happens. The trick is to catch it before it gets bloody and to not wear your favorite underwear. For some funny reason I tend to like red colors in clothing before my period, that's one of those signs, too. It's just funny.
I grab a red dress or underwear or what not, feel a craving for red lipstick (led ripstick) and then I look into the mirror and start to laugh. It's hilarious how predictable I am.
Well it gets even more funny when the Bloody Russian Roulette is in full play. I can only do that when I am home alone though and don't have to be out there, in this tidious society rat racing. So I feel the soft pain of stomach cramps approaching. It always defeats me. I always think: oh it happened! I run to the bathroom, and no, nothing in sight yet, but I feel it coming. I wonder whether or not I should take a pill. In the past I have had the worst stomach cramps, including vomitting, fainting and thousand blunt kitchen knives in my lower body. Cruel, I tell ya. And still I like to be a woman and have my period. So the part when to throw a pill is also a little Russian Roulette like thing. But the funny part is when I lay in bed and read and listen to music and try to catch the moment BEFORE it starts. I jump up, all of the sudden, tear my panties down and check: is it bleeding already? No? Oh ! There! hahahaha. I don't know whether anybody from across the street has found out yet that behind those twigs and branches of my friends, the trees you could watch this girl do strange things in her living room. Like, ripping off her panties to stare at them and then run off to the bathroom. I don't remember whether I always manage to actually pull the panties up again. Not that it would be of any interest to anybody out there and not that I think that it should concern you but I was really curious whether or not I am the only one playing roulette and ruining underwear on a monthly basis. Am I the ony one who likes the smell of red days? Sorry if that seems nasty to you but people like even worse things.
Oh yes and things like that make me shake my head about myself and then I start to laugh. Yes, you are weird, Lady, you are weird. There is nothing you can do about it but have a good laugh after all. If nobody else - I will.
matter of fact, even in Germany they thought I was weird. In Switzerland they thought I was weird, in Russia they thought I was weird, in Berlin they thought I was weird and even here in Hollyweird they think I am weird.
So, as we have this established by now: it's not due to my threefold nationalities. It's not due to anything like that but due to me being me. Or whatever I pretend at the time being. That's it, there is no mystery to it.
I hope you all have something to laugh about, too. I have a lot to laugh about, even in the most of miserable situations. What do I laugh about? Well, you guessed right, it's me. I laugh about myself a lot, but I love a lot about the rest of the world, too. When I see people argueing on the street I think that's pretty sweet. I laugh or I smile. When I see wannabe-tough guys on the street with three beard hairs on their chin I chuckle as I pass by and happily point my fingers into the sky. When I see old people drag themselves along the streets or get into fights on the bus I have to smile.
And I certainly have to smile when I am about to get my period and am alone at home. It's weird but I do it like Russian roulette. I know that's actually something you don't talk about but let's face it, more than half of humanity gets their period monthly at some point in their lifes. So do I and the weird thing is that I don't know whether I am the only person here playing Bloody Russian Roulette, pun intended. So what I do is I don't wear pantiliners. It's a habit from back in the days when I never knew when my period was about to come. Now it's regular and easy to tell because I learned how to read the threatening PMS - signs and trust me they are idiot-proof. A craving for food late at night? Pizza? Chocolate? Yeah. Hit right there. Tears dwelling up at any random blue colored occasion? yep. Frustration and irritation level extremely high? Score! Tolerance approaching zero? Hm. Snapping without reasons? Being more blunt than ever? Yes, yes, yes.
Well, lets get back to the Roulette though. So I don't wear pantiliners, most of the time. I just wait until it happens. The trick is to catch it before it gets bloody and to not wear your favorite underwear. For some funny reason I tend to like red colors in clothing before my period, that's one of those signs, too. It's just funny.
I grab a red dress or underwear or what not, feel a craving for red lipstick (led ripstick) and then I look into the mirror and start to laugh. It's hilarious how predictable I am.
Well it gets even more funny when the Bloody Russian Roulette is in full play. I can only do that when I am home alone though and don't have to be out there, in this tidious society rat racing. So I feel the soft pain of stomach cramps approaching. It always defeats me. I always think: oh it happened! I run to the bathroom, and no, nothing in sight yet, but I feel it coming. I wonder whether or not I should take a pill. In the past I have had the worst stomach cramps, including vomitting, fainting and thousand blunt kitchen knives in my lower body. Cruel, I tell ya. And still I like to be a woman and have my period. So the part when to throw a pill is also a little Russian Roulette like thing. But the funny part is when I lay in bed and read and listen to music and try to catch the moment BEFORE it starts. I jump up, all of the sudden, tear my panties down and check: is it bleeding already? No? Oh ! There! hahahaha. I don't know whether anybody from across the street has found out yet that behind those twigs and branches of my friends, the trees you could watch this girl do strange things in her living room. Like, ripping off her panties to stare at them and then run off to the bathroom. I don't remember whether I always manage to actually pull the panties up again. Not that it would be of any interest to anybody out there and not that I think that it should concern you but I was really curious whether or not I am the only one playing roulette and ruining underwear on a monthly basis. Am I the ony one who likes the smell of red days? Sorry if that seems nasty to you but people like even worse things.
Oh yes and things like that make me shake my head about myself and then I start to laugh. Yes, you are weird, Lady, you are weird. There is nothing you can do about it but have a good laugh after all. If nobody else - I will.
this is what I'm talking about Princes all over the world! Listen!
So, this is what I'm talking about.
Princes who are MEN. Who keep their word, who make the impossible possible because they love their woman (and I don't want to hear anything about how he did that only to be cool or to convince himself he could do it or because he is an adrenalin addict or because he had nothing better to do serving a life long sentence...)
check this link out: http://www.ananova.com/news/story/sm_1919018.html?menu=news.quirkies.strangecrime
and here the story for the link-tired people:
Prisoner escapes for girlfriend's birthday
A prisoner broke out of jail to wish his girlfriend a happy birthday before returning later that day.
Dragan Boskovic, 26, escaped from a prison near his hometown of Kolasin in central Montenegro, where he was serving a life sentence for murder, by overpowering guards and scaling a ten foot prison wall.
He went straight to his 19-year-old girlfriend's house but two hours later turned himself in to cops who had started a manhunt for him.
He told officers: "I promised my girlfriend that, no matter what, I would say happy birthday to her but I wasn't allowed to use the prison phone.
"I had no other option but to get the message to her personally."
thanks www.introspectre.com for linking me to ananova.
:)
Princes who are MEN. Who keep their word, who make the impossible possible because they love their woman (and I don't want to hear anything about how he did that only to be cool or to convince himself he could do it or because he is an adrenalin addict or because he had nothing better to do serving a life long sentence...)
check this link out: http://www.ananova.com/news/story/sm_1919018.html?menu=news.quirkies.strangecrime
and here the story for the link-tired people:
Prisoner escapes for girlfriend's birthday
A prisoner broke out of jail to wish his girlfriend a happy birthday before returning later that day.
Dragan Boskovic, 26, escaped from a prison near his hometown of Kolasin in central Montenegro, where he was serving a life sentence for murder, by overpowering guards and scaling a ten foot prison wall.
He went straight to his 19-year-old girlfriend's house but two hours later turned himself in to cops who had started a manhunt for him.
He told officers: "I promised my girlfriend that, no matter what, I would say happy birthday to her but I wasn't allowed to use the prison phone.
"I had no other option but to get the message to her personally."
thanks www.introspectre.com for linking me to ananova.
:)
strange days have found me
It is the strangest thing. It's like the silence after a storm. You can't really believe it is over, but your ears still tingle and ring and you look around and see the shattered houses and uprooted trees, a soft breeze plays with your hair.
Strange days have found me. I once let my heart fly and it found a nest in your little hand. Like a robin redbreast it sang into the evening skies. And now I walk the same streets and I see the same trees and the same houses and the same corners and the same places and since yesterday night I am strangely quiet inside.
It's as if I reached a point of... I don't dare to speak of it yet, it has to be a whisper, maybe even not. It is not indifference, it is peace. Coming to terms. Not hurting every second. Thinking of you without wanting to cry and yearn. Coming back into the middle.
I almost feel guilty for this peaceful feeling inside. Can it be true? But then I realize: I have to savor it, roll it around in my mouth as long as it tastes good. Because the silence after the storm might as well be the silence before the storm.
So be good to yourself until it hits you again. And then be prepared.
Warrior.
Strange days have found me. I once let my heart fly and it found a nest in your little hand. Like a robin redbreast it sang into the evening skies. And now I walk the same streets and I see the same trees and the same houses and the same corners and the same places and since yesterday night I am strangely quiet inside.
It's as if I reached a point of... I don't dare to speak of it yet, it has to be a whisper, maybe even not. It is not indifference, it is peace. Coming to terms. Not hurting every second. Thinking of you without wanting to cry and yearn. Coming back into the middle.
I almost feel guilty for this peaceful feeling inside. Can it be true? But then I realize: I have to savor it, roll it around in my mouth as long as it tastes good. Because the silence after the storm might as well be the silence before the storm.
So be good to yourself until it hits you again. And then be prepared.
Warrior.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Alice! I take my hat off to you -
Alice pushed him out. She said, I know you love me. Our love is real. What we have is real. But there is a part of you that you haven't figured out yet. And you won't be able to give yourself to me in your entirety if you don't go and figure it out.
Go.
So he went. He left his college where he studied business, he left the east coast for crazy Hollywood, for a music school to go and finally take music seriously.
All by himself. No friends. Nobody he knew. Going through all emotions. After one year we bumped into each other watching one of our favorite teachers playing in the newly opened Street Lounge on Vine and Hollywood Blvd. I didn't remember his name although we had had some classes together in the beginning. He was a quiet guy, blue blazer, beer bottle in his hand, cheering Keith Wyatt, his personal MI hero because he 'plays real music - not music for music's sake'.
He said he saw her twice this year, at thanksgiving and later again. Did you guys hook up? I asked curiously. No, he said and laughed. She is strong. She is like iron.
Iron Alice.
You know he said and turned around for an instant. I realized that what we had was real. Our love was real. But we didn't exist in this reality. We are two people on two different paths. And she said, when our paths cross again it is all good and meant to be but for now you have to leave. And if our paths don't cross again - well, I love you forever, I always will love you.
I would have never went without her. I would have never done that but she realized that. She set me free in love.
In love.
I breathe in, slowly and then I breathe out again.
You are here, right around me. I have felt better the whole evening already but this is the most amazing thing. I relax and settle back in my little big heart.
You have no idea, I say and smile like the setting sun. You have no idea but you just made my day. Possibly even more. It helps so much to hear that. Tell Alice I say hello - and that I take my hat off to her.
Iron Alice. You are my hero. You are reinforcing my strength. You give me hope. That I am alright.
-------
It's so funny how things fall into place. There is no way things don't happen for a purpose. there is no way. I knew I had to go to this show and I felt very uncomfortable having committed to my friends to go with them to the street festival at Sunset Junction. Then it turned out it was finished already and I wound up there, where he waited for me with his Iron Alice shining through his eyes.
Go.
So he went. He left his college where he studied business, he left the east coast for crazy Hollywood, for a music school to go and finally take music seriously.
All by himself. No friends. Nobody he knew. Going through all emotions. After one year we bumped into each other watching one of our favorite teachers playing in the newly opened Street Lounge on Vine and Hollywood Blvd. I didn't remember his name although we had had some classes together in the beginning. He was a quiet guy, blue blazer, beer bottle in his hand, cheering Keith Wyatt, his personal MI hero because he 'plays real music - not music for music's sake'.
He said he saw her twice this year, at thanksgiving and later again. Did you guys hook up? I asked curiously. No, he said and laughed. She is strong. She is like iron.
Iron Alice.
You know he said and turned around for an instant. I realized that what we had was real. Our love was real. But we didn't exist in this reality. We are two people on two different paths. And she said, when our paths cross again it is all good and meant to be but for now you have to leave. And if our paths don't cross again - well, I love you forever, I always will love you.
I would have never went without her. I would have never done that but she realized that. She set me free in love.
In love.
I breathe in, slowly and then I breathe out again.
You are here, right around me. I have felt better the whole evening already but this is the most amazing thing. I relax and settle back in my little big heart.
You have no idea, I say and smile like the setting sun. You have no idea but you just made my day. Possibly even more. It helps so much to hear that. Tell Alice I say hello - and that I take my hat off to her.
Iron Alice. You are my hero. You are reinforcing my strength. You give me hope. That I am alright.
-------
It's so funny how things fall into place. There is no way things don't happen for a purpose. there is no way. I knew I had to go to this show and I felt very uncomfortable having committed to my friends to go with them to the street festival at Sunset Junction. Then it turned out it was finished already and I wound up there, where he waited for me with his Iron Alice shining through his eyes.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
leggins suck
leggins suck they don't look good at most people. the need of the fashion industry to reinvent itself is understandable though and it gives me the opportunity to shake my head and laugh silently in my little corner from where i suspiciously watch the world go by.
chronicles, volume one, Bob Dylan. Great Guy makes me wonder what I want in my life. I am such a fucking PMS mess right now, I mean come on, lets blame it on that. I need some sort of explanation for this drag called 'Emeralda's sucker life'.
So he called - oh my god an extremely good looking guy with a gorgeous hat and an orange t-shirt and blue jeans and a sexy voice and yum yum brown skin walked into the Egyp Theater yard. Yuppie, some eyelicious confect right there - ah I digress, he called and left a message on my phone.
Hey, it could work out tomorrow for you to come out here and I thought we should actually do something together instead of just exchanging stuff you know. We could go for a bike ride or so. I mean, there is no reason why we can't be friends...(HE AND BIKERIDES???!!! what happened! Obviously, not being with me seems to have exactly the effect on him that I wished I had had on him. fuck yeah. see, how life is a bitch at times)
FRIENDS??????
God. I mean, yes, me too, I thought our love was so special. I thought it was so fucking special. Everybody thinks so, when they love like that. They think they are the luckiest motherfcukers on earth you know! But then again. What makes it sick probably or okay, special, is my altruistic fucking heart. That I want it to be good and that I take so much shit. That i want to save the world, and if that doesn't work, at least my lover. Great huh? I could beat myself up at times. However, I doubt that we were THAT special that we would be the great exception of the rule that being friends right after a relationship would actually work out. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???? I think about you ALL the time. How I want to make love to you. How your voice sounds, your eyes, your hands, your arms wrapped around me. All that and more. How you would support me and so forth. And I would support you, lalalala. If i could see you (and I have to fight the desire to just jump on the train and see you EVERY effing day) i would probably jump right into your arms and never let go of you anymore.
Good Lord, I mean, hey, I am PMS-ing.
I really have the urge to listen to his voice and this message again but something inside myself tells me not to. Not a good idea AT ALL.
I like the idea of us being fate's bitch and why not then bend over for destiny?!
But I don't like to bend over for my own fucking messy desires and needs and what not. That would be like self-abuse. It would be like fucking myself in the ass. Hm. Nice idea actually. Anyways There is a woman in an old fashioned blue dress and a straw hat and she is yelling at her man. Great. Reminds me of how he used to tell me not to yell in public and I was so stupid not to get why. I mean, hey, when I am upset, I have the right to be upset, right right?
No right.
Fuck no.
Okay that sucks. What else sucks? Those palmtrees look rotten. They have been here all this time and I hate them now.
I wonder how many people I see on the street, on the boulevard, are actually fellow bloggers and bloggerinas.
I wonder whether I should go and see him. Ha, BE FRIENDS WITH HIM. Great Idea. A___ tells me to mail him his stuff and break it off completely for a while. I can't do it. Why? because I am an idiot. And pms0ing.
dangerous mix
chronicles, volume one, Bob Dylan. Great Guy makes me wonder what I want in my life. I am such a fucking PMS mess right now, I mean come on, lets blame it on that. I need some sort of explanation for this drag called 'Emeralda's sucker life'.
So he called - oh my god an extremely good looking guy with a gorgeous hat and an orange t-shirt and blue jeans and a sexy voice and yum yum brown skin walked into the Egyp Theater yard. Yuppie, some eyelicious confect right there - ah I digress, he called and left a message on my phone.
Hey, it could work out tomorrow for you to come out here and I thought we should actually do something together instead of just exchanging stuff you know. We could go for a bike ride or so. I mean, there is no reason why we can't be friends...(HE AND BIKERIDES???!!! what happened! Obviously, not being with me seems to have exactly the effect on him that I wished I had had on him. fuck yeah. see, how life is a bitch at times)
FRIENDS??????
God. I mean, yes, me too, I thought our love was so special. I thought it was so fucking special. Everybody thinks so, when they love like that. They think they are the luckiest motherfcukers on earth you know! But then again. What makes it sick probably or okay, special, is my altruistic fucking heart. That I want it to be good and that I take so much shit. That i want to save the world, and if that doesn't work, at least my lover. Great huh? I could beat myself up at times. However, I doubt that we were THAT special that we would be the great exception of the rule that being friends right after a relationship would actually work out. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???? I think about you ALL the time. How I want to make love to you. How your voice sounds, your eyes, your hands, your arms wrapped around me. All that and more. How you would support me and so forth. And I would support you, lalalala. If i could see you (and I have to fight the desire to just jump on the train and see you EVERY effing day) i would probably jump right into your arms and never let go of you anymore.
Good Lord, I mean, hey, I am PMS-ing.
I really have the urge to listen to his voice and this message again but something inside myself tells me not to. Not a good idea AT ALL.
I like the idea of us being fate's bitch and why not then bend over for destiny?!
But I don't like to bend over for my own fucking messy desires and needs and what not. That would be like self-abuse. It would be like fucking myself in the ass. Hm. Nice idea actually. Anyways There is a woman in an old fashioned blue dress and a straw hat and she is yelling at her man. Great. Reminds me of how he used to tell me not to yell in public and I was so stupid not to get why. I mean, hey, when I am upset, I have the right to be upset, right right?
No right.
Fuck no.
Okay that sucks. What else sucks? Those palmtrees look rotten. They have been here all this time and I hate them now.
I wonder how many people I see on the street, on the boulevard, are actually fellow bloggers and bloggerinas.
I wonder whether I should go and see him. Ha, BE FRIENDS WITH HIM. Great Idea. A___ tells me to mail him his stuff and break it off completely for a while. I can't do it. Why? because I am an idiot. And pms0ing.
dangerous mix
the inner battle
is the most difficult one. we all know that, ought to know that.
The Djihad, popularly understood as the islamic war against the unfaithful is also and apparently foremostly to be understood, as a muslim friend told me, as the battle inside. It is sad, that this very important feature of the Islam is being abused in such a way. It makes me think about how much self-glorification is triggered by abiding to all rules and laws of a religion, how much self-assurance leads to the next step of taking the Djihad out of yourself, into the world. We have to admit, that it is quite complicated. When a certain culture (in this case the Western culture) seems to threaten your inner balance and peace, when this culture seems to derrode and undermine your efforts to win the inner battle, wouldn't it be logical to first try and eliminate this 'evil' power first before returning to the real Djihad?
It is logical and very short-sighted. Real pride and humbleness are not enemies, they go hand in hand. You can pride yourself in standing strong in the midst of the storm. You can turn humbly back to yourself and say who am I to judge.
However, a factor that complicates things substantially are children.
As important it is, to first work on oneself and improve first before judging others, it is to assume responsibility for your children's lifes. Anyway you turn it, if a parent isn't strong enough to fight the inner battle, he/she won't be able to teach a child how to stand strong. Words are less important than deeds. Always. Children learn more than anything by example. Of course, trying to school their kid against the evils of the Western culture many a parent probably has scorned and condemned the western ways to brainwash the kids accordingly. The 'right' way is taught but I have the suspicion that in many cases people don't really go deep enough. To wallow in the 'right' ways, to 'know' what is the right way isn't enough. If you allow yourself to really dig deep into who you are you can't stop at this level. You have to truly battle yourself but avoice beating yourself up. wow. that's just my opinion. And by any means, I am just thinking about the Djihad because I was positively surprised that it actually is first the inner battle before anything else.
The thoughts on education and self-education go of course for any religion and are totally unripened and immature in baby shoes.
matter of fact is: I am in an inner battle and right now I feel as if I was standing on a vast empty battle field and demons that consist of sounds are howling in the air, flying from one corner of the earth into the other and I hold my ears and scream against the sky.
I have to admit: I still don't know what I want and what I am here for. I want my love back but I know that it is wrong. I don't want it to be wrong I just want to be happy. I can't go there but I feel the urge to.
I mean, when you have the choice between the right thing and a mistake, wouldn't you also want to take the mistake?
The Djihad, popularly understood as the islamic war against the unfaithful is also and apparently foremostly to be understood, as a muslim friend told me, as the battle inside. It is sad, that this very important feature of the Islam is being abused in such a way. It makes me think about how much self-glorification is triggered by abiding to all rules and laws of a religion, how much self-assurance leads to the next step of taking the Djihad out of yourself, into the world. We have to admit, that it is quite complicated. When a certain culture (in this case the Western culture) seems to threaten your inner balance and peace, when this culture seems to derrode and undermine your efforts to win the inner battle, wouldn't it be logical to first try and eliminate this 'evil' power first before returning to the real Djihad?
It is logical and very short-sighted. Real pride and humbleness are not enemies, they go hand in hand. You can pride yourself in standing strong in the midst of the storm. You can turn humbly back to yourself and say who am I to judge.
However, a factor that complicates things substantially are children.
As important it is, to first work on oneself and improve first before judging others, it is to assume responsibility for your children's lifes. Anyway you turn it, if a parent isn't strong enough to fight the inner battle, he/she won't be able to teach a child how to stand strong. Words are less important than deeds. Always. Children learn more than anything by example. Of course, trying to school their kid against the evils of the Western culture many a parent probably has scorned and condemned the western ways to brainwash the kids accordingly. The 'right' way is taught but I have the suspicion that in many cases people don't really go deep enough. To wallow in the 'right' ways, to 'know' what is the right way isn't enough. If you allow yourself to really dig deep into who you are you can't stop at this level. You have to truly battle yourself but avoice beating yourself up. wow. that's just my opinion. And by any means, I am just thinking about the Djihad because I was positively surprised that it actually is first the inner battle before anything else.
The thoughts on education and self-education go of course for any religion and are totally unripened and immature in baby shoes.
matter of fact is: I am in an inner battle and right now I feel as if I was standing on a vast empty battle field and demons that consist of sounds are howling in the air, flying from one corner of the earth into the other and I hold my ears and scream against the sky.
I have to admit: I still don't know what I want and what I am here for. I want my love back but I know that it is wrong. I don't want it to be wrong I just want to be happy. I can't go there but I feel the urge to.
I mean, when you have the choice between the right thing and a mistake, wouldn't you also want to take the mistake?
Friday, August 25, 2006
sacredness in the fun-society
I guess there are thousands of different ways to honor sacredness. Unfortunate, at times, it is still beautiful. I lean back and look at them and smile: it is your turn now, sweetie, and I will take my needs a step back.
This is your time and just because it was so special for me it doesn't mean it will be as special for you. And maybe it is special for you but I can't grasp it.
So I lay down and look at the stars, framed by the incredibly strong rocks, they give me such a feeling of safety, it is amazing. This is the magic bay and before I let them come here I told them that this place is very special to me and its sacredness needs to be honored.
There is almost never a moment of silence. They chat and laugh and even take pictures and flirt and laugh loudly about really stupid not funny jokes. I am slightly annoyed. The shooting stars, the crushing of the waves, the sound of raven wings slapping in the wind above us, the milky way's distand murmuring...Don't you hear that????
So I go back and there is no word of thank you for sharing they just probably didn't get it. And why should they? It was special to me because I am me. I am not from here. It was the first place here where I connected to the land. I felt how the spirit of the land reached out and touched me. This is where I first kissed you my love. This is where I left a candle for you tonight. But nobody knows and the ocean will take the candle soon and claim its rights.
Never have I been as annoyed about laughing and talking as this night. Oh my God. I talk myself too much a lot of the times, well, and when something appears sacred to ME I sure know how to behave to honor that in MY way. So I guess it is all very individual. I know my sisters and my very good friends do it the same way. Nature speaks to us at times and we bow our heads in awe and honor silently the beauty of God's creations. Then maybe we sing a song and its melody will weave itself beautifully in the air.
The fifteen year old was especially annoying. Wow. How old I felt.
I really missed you wife and your knowledge of when a word is needed and when silence and when to play piano. I missed our sparse conversations on the couch with turkish coffee and nothing much to say. I miss the hours at the pool - we just knew how to enjoy in silence. Draw. Talk for a little while. Swim...
I really missed you my love, and your way of weighing words like gold. Your precious words in my mouth and your silent eyes and your holding me.
It occured to me that sometimes it seems as if people can't stand too much sacredness anymore. AS if it is too much to bare in silence and worship. Sometimes it makes me hate this "fun-society" in which everything has to be fun first. If you allow the moment to unfold you will see the most beautiful flowers in your soul.
But no time for that. Adventures are created, a good time confiscated.
Holiness doesn't find hosts so much anymore. It is reserved for lonely hours or certain ceremonies, accurately packed away in boxes.
Where is the sacredness, the holiness in our daily lives? The profane and the sacred? Where is the courage to fight for this space to open up to it? Who to take those aspirations seriously?
Sometimes burnt people know better when to be silent.
This is your time and just because it was so special for me it doesn't mean it will be as special for you. And maybe it is special for you but I can't grasp it.
So I lay down and look at the stars, framed by the incredibly strong rocks, they give me such a feeling of safety, it is amazing. This is the magic bay and before I let them come here I told them that this place is very special to me and its sacredness needs to be honored.
There is almost never a moment of silence. They chat and laugh and even take pictures and flirt and laugh loudly about really stupid not funny jokes. I am slightly annoyed. The shooting stars, the crushing of the waves, the sound of raven wings slapping in the wind above us, the milky way's distand murmuring...Don't you hear that????
So I go back and there is no word of thank you for sharing they just probably didn't get it. And why should they? It was special to me because I am me. I am not from here. It was the first place here where I connected to the land. I felt how the spirit of the land reached out and touched me. This is where I first kissed you my love. This is where I left a candle for you tonight. But nobody knows and the ocean will take the candle soon and claim its rights.
Never have I been as annoyed about laughing and talking as this night. Oh my God. I talk myself too much a lot of the times, well, and when something appears sacred to ME I sure know how to behave to honor that in MY way. So I guess it is all very individual. I know my sisters and my very good friends do it the same way. Nature speaks to us at times and we bow our heads in awe and honor silently the beauty of God's creations. Then maybe we sing a song and its melody will weave itself beautifully in the air.
The fifteen year old was especially annoying. Wow. How old I felt.
I really missed you wife and your knowledge of when a word is needed and when silence and when to play piano. I missed our sparse conversations on the couch with turkish coffee and nothing much to say. I miss the hours at the pool - we just knew how to enjoy in silence. Draw. Talk for a little while. Swim...
I really missed you my love, and your way of weighing words like gold. Your precious words in my mouth and your silent eyes and your holding me.
It occured to me that sometimes it seems as if people can't stand too much sacredness anymore. AS if it is too much to bare in silence and worship. Sometimes it makes me hate this "fun-society" in which everything has to be fun first. If you allow the moment to unfold you will see the most beautiful flowers in your soul.
But no time for that. Adventures are created, a good time confiscated.
Holiness doesn't find hosts so much anymore. It is reserved for lonely hours or certain ceremonies, accurately packed away in boxes.
Where is the sacredness, the holiness in our daily lives? The profane and the sacred? Where is the courage to fight for this space to open up to it? Who to take those aspirations seriously?
Sometimes burnt people know better when to be silent.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
aah Gypsy, Gypsy, why do you always find songs that say it all?
so today was the day that my true love and I spoke for the very last time. I think we've both come to the conclusion at the same time. It was particularly hard for both of us when I was in Santa Monica the last couple of days and couldn't help but let some words slip that indicated how much I missed him. It was hard on both of us and the next morning I got mad at him because he was all diffuse about when he would come to pick his stuff up finally. I said do you ever think about how hard it is for me to be here in Hollywood and have every fucking corner remind me of us? And on top of it, to have your stuff in my apartment? And I have something I want to give to you and lalala. So I called him later again and told him I was sorry that I made him feel bad again and that it is something I definitely have to work on to better myself. Gosh, i really don't want to be that guilt-trip kind of person and in the same time... Sometimes you have to say it as it is. But truth is, I CAN deal with his stuff, whatever!
So my phone died and I was really really happy about that. You know, it s a liberating feeling, believe it or not...Thus I didn't talk to him the whole day yesterday and until today in the afternoon. And maybe I should have let him in the dark for a little longer and see what happens then but I couldn't help it and asked T's boyfriend whether I could use his phone real quick just half an hour ago.
So I call him and we realized that we both came to the conclusion that we don't want cellphones anymore and that we can't talk to each other anymore because it is just too hard.
At some point I said I had to go and he said you don't have to go Emeralda and i said, well I do I promised you not to cry on the phone...and he said, no it's okay now and so I broke down and started sobbing but I really tried to keep it under control still. I am just so scared that I had to fight for you I said, but I probably wouldn't have managed to change your mind anyways you are so stubborn and I laughed under tears. Softly he said, well I am what I am. I said I know, and it's beautiful. You know Emeralda, we don't know what the future holds he said and everything was better than his depressed prohecies two days ago when he said that he'd probably wound up killing himself and that he is never okay even though he says he is. he always is depressed and wants to kill himself. I tried to tell him that it is about what he DOES not what he FEELS and i guess that goes for all of us but he didn't seem to understand or want to hear what I tried to say. Well, time.
And although he had said earlier he had to go back to work he stayed on the phone and we talked for a while and he promised me to be good and not to lie or get into fights or steal or do bad stuff to his body. he said, i will do it for you and i mean, as long as he can't do it for himself i am happy when he does it for me. i guess my altruistic mindset was actually quite pleased with that, you know, whatever. so we said our good byes and i told him i love him no matter what and pray for him and think about him even if we can't talk anymore and he said, Emeralda, you have no idea, I have never been loved by anybody like you have loved me and never have I loved someone like you. I sat there on my chair and my heart was so heavy and tears were rolling all over the floor. well, take care and have a wonderful life, don't say that i said, why? well i don't like that. it sounds like something i don't want to hear.
email me, all the time he said and finally we managed to hang up and i broke down on the floor and cried and T and her boyfriend came and brought tissues and held me as I was helplessly sobbing, holding my knees close to my chest.
And then he suddenly called back. he said, can you do me a favor? yes. what is it? well, download this song, i am listening to it all the time and i think of you during the chorus you know, i want you to download it. it's a countrylike song from the eagles and you know, i want to become a countryboy now. my mom said i should come out there and work on a farm or in a school or so. i said, well that would make me really happy Gypsy and he said, ok, I will do it for you before this year is over. I said too, that I want him to become an engineer and he said i will... and I said, you know, as soon as you are better you ll be able to show people and inspire people by the love of God. and i told him how when I drink my loving energy goes flat for a while afterwards and that it is not a surprise he is so full of hate after all that he s done to himself. he has to give himself time. he said, well, that's your opinion and it's nice but i know what's gonna happen and i told him that i don't want to hear his thoughts on that (because that would just bring me even more down.)
so he said thank you again for everything and i said what should i say? i love you. and thank you too. he said i am so sorry Emeralda, so sorry. what for? it was such a beautiful time. you are so beautiful. you are the most beautiful lover i've ever had and so loveable. he laughed. i said no really and he said no it's not true and i said you have no idea. i hope one day you can love yourself as much as i love you.
so he told me to download this following song ( I think of you every time. it's called peaceful easy feeling and maybe you can listen to it too) good bye and take care. i love you. i love you too. bye. my mom says hi by the way, oh tell her hello back and thank you for Emeralda...I laughed, (oh well, my Gypsy. why can't we sleep under the stars in the desert? i really wished we could have a little more togetherness I miss being in your arms so badly. so hard. ah. well okay.) i love you no matter what. good bye.
and yeah, surprise surprise, the choice of lyrics is once more devastatingly but very typically so fitting:
I like the way your sparkling earrings lay,
Against your skin, its so brown
And I wanna sleep with you
In the desert tonight
With a billion stars all around
cause I gotta peaceful easy feeling
And I know you wont let me down
cause Im already standing on the
Ground
And I found out a long time ago
What a woman can do to your soul
Ah, but she cant take you anyway
If You dont already know how to go
And I gotta peaceful, easy feeling
And I know you wont let me down
cause Im already standing on the ground
I get this feeling I may know you
As a lover and a friend
But this voice keeps whispering
In my other ear, tells me
I may never see you again
cause I get a peaceful, easy feeling
And I know you wont let me down
cause Im already standing on the ground
cause Im already standing...
On the ground
Oooo, oooo
So my phone died and I was really really happy about that. You know, it s a liberating feeling, believe it or not...Thus I didn't talk to him the whole day yesterday and until today in the afternoon. And maybe I should have let him in the dark for a little longer and see what happens then but I couldn't help it and asked T's boyfriend whether I could use his phone real quick just half an hour ago.
So I call him and we realized that we both came to the conclusion that we don't want cellphones anymore and that we can't talk to each other anymore because it is just too hard.
At some point I said I had to go and he said you don't have to go Emeralda and i said, well I do I promised you not to cry on the phone...and he said, no it's okay now and so I broke down and started sobbing but I really tried to keep it under control still. I am just so scared that I had to fight for you I said, but I probably wouldn't have managed to change your mind anyways you are so stubborn and I laughed under tears. Softly he said, well I am what I am. I said I know, and it's beautiful. You know Emeralda, we don't know what the future holds he said and everything was better than his depressed prohecies two days ago when he said that he'd probably wound up killing himself and that he is never okay even though he says he is. he always is depressed and wants to kill himself. I tried to tell him that it is about what he DOES not what he FEELS and i guess that goes for all of us but he didn't seem to understand or want to hear what I tried to say. Well, time.
And although he had said earlier he had to go back to work he stayed on the phone and we talked for a while and he promised me to be good and not to lie or get into fights or steal or do bad stuff to his body. he said, i will do it for you and i mean, as long as he can't do it for himself i am happy when he does it for me. i guess my altruistic mindset was actually quite pleased with that, you know, whatever. so we said our good byes and i told him i love him no matter what and pray for him and think about him even if we can't talk anymore and he said, Emeralda, you have no idea, I have never been loved by anybody like you have loved me and never have I loved someone like you. I sat there on my chair and my heart was so heavy and tears were rolling all over the floor. well, take care and have a wonderful life, don't say that i said, why? well i don't like that. it sounds like something i don't want to hear.
email me, all the time he said and finally we managed to hang up and i broke down on the floor and cried and T and her boyfriend came and brought tissues and held me as I was helplessly sobbing, holding my knees close to my chest.
And then he suddenly called back. he said, can you do me a favor? yes. what is it? well, download this song, i am listening to it all the time and i think of you during the chorus you know, i want you to download it. it's a countrylike song from the eagles and you know, i want to become a countryboy now. my mom said i should come out there and work on a farm or in a school or so. i said, well that would make me really happy Gypsy and he said, ok, I will do it for you before this year is over. I said too, that I want him to become an engineer and he said i will... and I said, you know, as soon as you are better you ll be able to show people and inspire people by the love of God. and i told him how when I drink my loving energy goes flat for a while afterwards and that it is not a surprise he is so full of hate after all that he s done to himself. he has to give himself time. he said, well, that's your opinion and it's nice but i know what's gonna happen and i told him that i don't want to hear his thoughts on that (because that would just bring me even more down.)
so he said thank you again for everything and i said what should i say? i love you. and thank you too. he said i am so sorry Emeralda, so sorry. what for? it was such a beautiful time. you are so beautiful. you are the most beautiful lover i've ever had and so loveable. he laughed. i said no really and he said no it's not true and i said you have no idea. i hope one day you can love yourself as much as i love you.
so he told me to download this following song ( I think of you every time. it's called peaceful easy feeling and maybe you can listen to it too) good bye and take care. i love you. i love you too. bye. my mom says hi by the way, oh tell her hello back and thank you for Emeralda...I laughed, (oh well, my Gypsy. why can't we sleep under the stars in the desert? i really wished we could have a little more togetherness I miss being in your arms so badly. so hard. ah. well okay.) i love you no matter what. good bye.
and yeah, surprise surprise, the choice of lyrics is once more devastatingly but very typically so fitting:
I like the way your sparkling earrings lay,
Against your skin, its so brown
And I wanna sleep with you
In the desert tonight
With a billion stars all around
cause I gotta peaceful easy feeling
And I know you wont let me down
cause Im already standing on the
Ground
And I found out a long time ago
What a woman can do to your soul
Ah, but she cant take you anyway
If You dont already know how to go
And I gotta peaceful, easy feeling
And I know you wont let me down
cause Im already standing on the ground
I get this feeling I may know you
As a lover and a friend
But this voice keeps whispering
In my other ear, tells me
I may never see you again
cause I get a peaceful, easy feeling
And I know you wont let me down
cause Im already standing on the ground
cause Im already standing...
On the ground
Oooo, oooo
at the verge of red
she covers herself up and restlessly turns from one side to the other. lamentations in her mind. but but but. it is that i want. still. crave. you. ya. y. oh my.
red-golden locks fall from her head almost down to the floor while LA gardeners take off the pretty looking beards of the palm trees on Sunset Blvd. tchuck tchuck tchuck down they fall, on the street and the sidewalks it looks like heavy rain.
so now she says exactly the words I would have told anybody else in my position. she says and her green blue eyes sparkle mysteriously: you are hurting. there is a moment when you have to let go completely because otherwise you will cling onto something unhealthy. you create drama although you dont want it because that gives you the impression that there are still things to be worked out between you guys. its not true.
ah, if the truth just wouldnt be so blatantly obvious, huh?
all the palm trees are shaved now and look like pathetic little brushes in Mr. Mallys painting studio. Just one is left behind.
But I still want to cry. Cry, cry, cry, a river maybe.
Its pathetic I know she sighs and looks to the side and there is something shimmering in her eyes silver grey like silver linen.
You will never find your way back out if you dont leave.
It doesnt help anybody when you bath in negativity.
Let love be truly unconditional.
Let it grow and expand.
Embrace him from a higher level.
Hahaha.
Words like heavy rain fell and in silence alone I hang my head and cry. I know that we werent meant to be forever but still I cry. I dont know why. I just cry whenever I pray for you. And now that my phone is dead I feel a strange sense of liberation floating through my body: free at last - I miss you so.
red-golden locks fall from her head almost down to the floor while LA gardeners take off the pretty looking beards of the palm trees on Sunset Blvd. tchuck tchuck tchuck down they fall, on the street and the sidewalks it looks like heavy rain.
so now she says exactly the words I would have told anybody else in my position. she says and her green blue eyes sparkle mysteriously: you are hurting. there is a moment when you have to let go completely because otherwise you will cling onto something unhealthy. you create drama although you dont want it because that gives you the impression that there are still things to be worked out between you guys. its not true.
ah, if the truth just wouldnt be so blatantly obvious, huh?
all the palm trees are shaved now and look like pathetic little brushes in Mr. Mallys painting studio. Just one is left behind.
But I still want to cry. Cry, cry, cry, a river maybe.
Its pathetic I know she sighs and looks to the side and there is something shimmering in her eyes silver grey like silver linen.
You will never find your way back out if you dont leave.
It doesnt help anybody when you bath in negativity.
Let love be truly unconditional.
Let it grow and expand.
Embrace him from a higher level.
Hahaha.
Words like heavy rain fell and in silence alone I hang my head and cry. I know that we werent meant to be forever but still I cry. I dont know why. I just cry whenever I pray for you. And now that my phone is dead I feel a strange sense of liberation floating through my body: free at last - I miss you so.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Saturday, August 19, 2006
recover me
Things have been going worse lately.
The bitter dragon moved and found gold at her feet. The claws scared her to death first but then she found pleasure in moving the coins from one side to the other and now there is no consolation in anything anymore and to no avail has she claimed the treasures as hers.
Because they never are.
The reflection that she catches every now and then out of a corner of her small bitter dragon eyes hurt her feelings, her vanity. Arbitrary acts of furious but oh so useless redemption cover her path. The traces she leaves on our heart will crust and later turn into scars.
Why is this inside of me? I remember a few months earlier, there were these moments of war that I would flip out. The guilt trip, dude. You look into the mirror and think: Oh My God. I have become my sister.
Never have I wanted to do that and yet I did. Warriors? Yes. But not of that kind... Probably it is like a deep rooted festering infection, deeply hidden somewhere inside, pointing back at my mother and her mother and hers. The guilt trip, dude. Passed on over generations and generations of women trying to come to terms with themselves, in love.
Listening to the stars tangeling around in the Santa Monican night sky I will blow American Spirit into the warm air that conceals so many fond and oh so precious memories of you. Us.
Why is it when we love, that although all we want is to bring each other up, we can bring each other so far down?
It didn't take me long to discover that as you reached into the depths of my heart, of my body and my soul, as you challenged my mind, that it would turn out the best - and the worst in me.
And that's maybe all you can ask for ever. To bring this to light, to attention and to love it equally.
However, alas...it requires discipline from the warrior. There is a time for everything and...
Why is it, that I can't let go? I've worked so hard to understand that. And yet I don't. I talk to you and I think 'oh, wow, this conversation has been going so well! I really did a great job!' and then one or two words will slip out my mouth, a milli second before closure and they will destroy the whole castle that I've just built - on sand.
The only reason why I do that is because I couldn't let go of the treasure. The dragon sits on it, revelling in her own and utter ugliness.
And in the end, loneliness.
Father, forgive me.
Mother,
..
recover me
...
from now on i am a warrior
The bitter dragon moved and found gold at her feet. The claws scared her to death first but then she found pleasure in moving the coins from one side to the other and now there is no consolation in anything anymore and to no avail has she claimed the treasures as hers.
Because they never are.
The reflection that she catches every now and then out of a corner of her small bitter dragon eyes hurt her feelings, her vanity. Arbitrary acts of furious but oh so useless redemption cover her path. The traces she leaves on our heart will crust and later turn into scars.
Why is this inside of me? I remember a few months earlier, there were these moments of war that I would flip out. The guilt trip, dude. You look into the mirror and think: Oh My God. I have become my sister.
Never have I wanted to do that and yet I did. Warriors? Yes. But not of that kind... Probably it is like a deep rooted festering infection, deeply hidden somewhere inside, pointing back at my mother and her mother and hers. The guilt trip, dude. Passed on over generations and generations of women trying to come to terms with themselves, in love.
Listening to the stars tangeling around in the Santa Monican night sky I will blow American Spirit into the warm air that conceals so many fond and oh so precious memories of you. Us.
Why is it when we love, that although all we want is to bring each other up, we can bring each other so far down?
It didn't take me long to discover that as you reached into the depths of my heart, of my body and my soul, as you challenged my mind, that it would turn out the best - and the worst in me.
And that's maybe all you can ask for ever. To bring this to light, to attention and to love it equally.
However, alas...it requires discipline from the warrior. There is a time for everything and...
Why is it, that I can't let go? I've worked so hard to understand that. And yet I don't. I talk to you and I think 'oh, wow, this conversation has been going so well! I really did a great job!' and then one or two words will slip out my mouth, a milli second before closure and they will destroy the whole castle that I've just built - on sand.
The only reason why I do that is because I couldn't let go of the treasure. The dragon sits on it, revelling in her own and utter ugliness.
And in the end, loneliness.
Father, forgive me.
Mother,
..
recover me
...
from now on i am a warrior
Friday, August 18, 2006
stretch
I've stretched, maybe too far. A lack of motivation brings me back to wallowing in my own pittiness. ha. For want of a better thing to do, such as working out or working my ass off I land here again in the land of black and white, zeros, ones, letters, fumbling words together like an amateur smith smitten with the sweetness of salty tears.
you can haunt me if you like, as much as you like, you will always find traces of your mindfuck here, carved into a virtual cyberspace. The sun is blinding me. A neverending stream of cars rolls by the window it is Cahuenga, diezyocho district, formerly dangerous gang territory which goes through a revival these days. This girl who let those two actors stay in her second apartment forever without pay got raped the other day by members of the diezyocho gang. Doesn't help the latino-reputation here. A filmstudent got robbed at gunpoint here, recently. He looks like Ken and he found a little french Barbie for himself. Down the street on Wilcox there is this cafe that changed ownership. The moroccan guy really tries to make it a hip place, the only problem: European strategies don't work in the States. Seriously! You won't win when you make them sandwiches smaller. Never. The news will spread word by mouth and sooner or later your portobello mushrooms will all rot away in your fridge: nobody wants a tiny sandwich for seven bucks when you can get a big one for three. Capiche? There sits Jack, the New Yorker troublemaker, behind his book and a coffee close by. Dan, the guy who has worked at said Cafe for free for the other owner and now for pay looks at me and with a pokerface and low voice says: well, he (the new owner) just won't profit from my connections anymore. When somebody disregards local knowledge and advice it is their bad! Gosh I think, my love was right this area isn't too safe after all and uncried tears don't help the painflowers to whither away, in the contrary, they make those motherfuckers grow. I lean over my warm cup of mint tea and dream of a dreamer's life. If things would just work out by themselves, nice and easy. The minutes rush by like LA cars and I realize that I need to wake up. 32 minutes left.
you can haunt me if you like, as much as you like, you will always find traces of your mindfuck here, carved into a virtual cyberspace. The sun is blinding me. A neverending stream of cars rolls by the window it is Cahuenga, diezyocho district, formerly dangerous gang territory which goes through a revival these days. This girl who let those two actors stay in her second apartment forever without pay got raped the other day by members of the diezyocho gang. Doesn't help the latino-reputation here. A filmstudent got robbed at gunpoint here, recently. He looks like Ken and he found a little french Barbie for himself. Down the street on Wilcox there is this cafe that changed ownership. The moroccan guy really tries to make it a hip place, the only problem: European strategies don't work in the States. Seriously! You won't win when you make them sandwiches smaller. Never. The news will spread word by mouth and sooner or later your portobello mushrooms will all rot away in your fridge: nobody wants a tiny sandwich for seven bucks when you can get a big one for three. Capiche? There sits Jack, the New Yorker troublemaker, behind his book and a coffee close by. Dan, the guy who has worked at said Cafe for free for the other owner and now for pay looks at me and with a pokerface and low voice says: well, he (the new owner) just won't profit from my connections anymore. When somebody disregards local knowledge and advice it is their bad! Gosh I think, my love was right this area isn't too safe after all and uncried tears don't help the painflowers to whither away, in the contrary, they make those motherfuckers grow. I lean over my warm cup of mint tea and dream of a dreamer's life. If things would just work out by themselves, nice and easy. The minutes rush by like LA cars and I realize that I need to wake up. 32 minutes left.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
hey jupiter
No one's picking up the phone
Guess it's me and me
And this little masochist
She's ready to confess
All the things
That I never thought that she could feel
Hey Jupiter
Nothing's been the same
So are you gay
Are you blue
Thought we both could use a friend to run to
And I thought I wouldn't have to be with you
Something new
Guess I thought I could never feel the things that I feel now
Hey Jupiter... (Tori Amos)
Things are getting rough now, what I wanted to avoid seems to happen inevitably.
He and I try to save it every time. Apologies. Soft spoken words. I am so sorry. We both don't want this love to die in agony.
Be sure to lock the doors he says, Ms. Emeralda. He hasn't said that in ages.
And make sure you have a blanket so you are warm when you sleep.
Don't be so damn nice my love. Please say more things like that.
I can pay you all the money back he says but I can never repay your kindness. Don't say sorry for anything. You did nothing but being a great human being. I was a bad boyfriend. I am so sorry.
You weren't my boyfriend all the time sweetheart. You were my love. Who cares about good or bad or mediocre or a blast.
When it is love
Guess it's me and me
And this little masochist
She's ready to confess
All the things
That I never thought that she could feel
Hey Jupiter
Nothing's been the same
So are you gay
Are you blue
Thought we both could use a friend to run to
And I thought I wouldn't have to be with you
Something new
Guess I thought I could never feel the things that I feel now
Hey Jupiter... (Tori Amos)
Things are getting rough now, what I wanted to avoid seems to happen inevitably.
He and I try to save it every time. Apologies. Soft spoken words. I am so sorry. We both don't want this love to die in agony.
Be sure to lock the doors he says, Ms. Emeralda. He hasn't said that in ages.
And make sure you have a blanket so you are warm when you sleep.
Don't be so damn nice my love. Please say more things like that.
I can pay you all the money back he says but I can never repay your kindness. Don't say sorry for anything. You did nothing but being a great human being. I was a bad boyfriend. I am so sorry.
You weren't my boyfriend all the time sweetheart. You were my love. Who cares about good or bad or mediocre or a blast.
When it is love
i just wanted to love you
i just wanted
to love you
to take care of you as you asked me to
i wanted to rehab you if that had been necessary
i am so naive
i didn't know you drank
i didn't know you lied
i didn't know you were the guy you warned me about
now
i am in this mess
and i look and see we have to gather the wounded from this battlefield called love
we have to clean the wounds and heal them
i just wanted to make you feel better but grow in the same time. I didn't know how long you need to feel good before you can start walking again. I didn't know anything but that you loved me. with all your heart.
and then you say, just give me a break, how comes you always know how to rub me the wrong way
now i am not here to treat you with candy
now i am here to teach you a lesson
but it hurts and i cry because i really just wanted to fucking love you
i just wanted to make you feel better
and there you are saying
the last four and half past months I couldn't rest, that's why..
I say, what, that you can't be with me?
I really tried hard man. I really did. Fuck.
Then you say, I apologize, I am so sorry, I wasn't a good boyfriend
and I cringe inside and I say but that's not the point
the point is that I loved you so much and that I still do
and still care.
If you know how to take care of yourself
if you can get a rest where you are now
i maybe just shouldn't talk to you anymore
it's so terrible to be a drag to the person you love most.
to love you
to take care of you as you asked me to
i wanted to rehab you if that had been necessary
i am so naive
i didn't know you drank
i didn't know you lied
i didn't know you were the guy you warned me about
now
i am in this mess
and i look and see we have to gather the wounded from this battlefield called love
we have to clean the wounds and heal them
i just wanted to make you feel better but grow in the same time. I didn't know how long you need to feel good before you can start walking again. I didn't know anything but that you loved me. with all your heart.
and then you say, just give me a break, how comes you always know how to rub me the wrong way
now i am not here to treat you with candy
now i am here to teach you a lesson
but it hurts and i cry because i really just wanted to fucking love you
i just wanted to make you feel better
and there you are saying
the last four and half past months I couldn't rest, that's why..
I say, what, that you can't be with me?
I really tried hard man. I really did. Fuck.
Then you say, I apologize, I am so sorry, I wasn't a good boyfriend
and I cringe inside and I say but that's not the point
the point is that I loved you so much and that I still do
and still care.
If you know how to take care of yourself
if you can get a rest where you are now
i maybe just shouldn't talk to you anymore
it's so terrible to be a drag to the person you love most.
high
less minutes words tumble and fall: mouth? sealed.
Patterns, carpets woven in worship of colors wave through the air. Sound waves ebb in and out, an eternal sea. The flutes and chelli and guitars and the rhythm section. Bumping into my heart like accidental butterfly hicks. licks?
The night is young, i count three stars or four. A miriad of thoughts flash through my mind. I hear them talk and laugh and wonder how it comes that I am not reacting like them. I thought that we would laugh about the same stuff. But no, even now I think it is ridiculous and they sound like freaks, like vulptures trying to hide their skeleton faces in desruptive feathers, masks made out of fear.
I don't feel like sharing images of my mind but I want to make love to him at the magical bay. let the stars do the talking, raven in buttersoft nightsky air. listen talk to me i want to make love to you you to make love to me.
punishment, a little sly hello in the dark, haha, hoho what makes you happy?
Leaning back, the clouds writing songs into the sky.
let me kiss, kiss the sky. wickey wickey dah. rhythm alchemy.
A call from yonder far far away, I listen. Words reach through the dark and break through the walls, so thickened.
Pieces of childhood memories fall on the floor through this little crack here. An eternity forgives me again for misunderstanding.
I feel my back but I don't understand upside down. Lacking listening love. Thinking, constantly, about the kind of guy that I need now in my love. There is an elusive white shadow when I close my eye, doomed to only catch a glimpse out of the corner of the eye. I look high, high
up in the sky. Roosevelt Hotel. I remember when we sat there in another life time. New York passes my inner eye but I love the way you looked into my eye.
when my look could only tell. i fell. and you scream against the sky, the wind, the wall but words are torn up into word-rags and flutter around your head like bats at dusk or dawn.
I lean my head back and start to dream./ oh well
Patterns, carpets woven in worship of colors wave through the air. Sound waves ebb in and out, an eternal sea. The flutes and chelli and guitars and the rhythm section. Bumping into my heart like accidental butterfly hicks. licks?
The night is young, i count three stars or four. A miriad of thoughts flash through my mind. I hear them talk and laugh and wonder how it comes that I am not reacting like them. I thought that we would laugh about the same stuff. But no, even now I think it is ridiculous and they sound like freaks, like vulptures trying to hide their skeleton faces in desruptive feathers, masks made out of fear.
I don't feel like sharing images of my mind but I want to make love to him at the magical bay. let the stars do the talking, raven in buttersoft nightsky air. listen talk to me i want to make love to you you to make love to me.
punishment, a little sly hello in the dark, haha, hoho what makes you happy?
Leaning back, the clouds writing songs into the sky.
let me kiss, kiss the sky. wickey wickey dah. rhythm alchemy.
A call from yonder far far away, I listen. Words reach through the dark and break through the walls, so thickened.
Pieces of childhood memories fall on the floor through this little crack here. An eternity forgives me again for misunderstanding.
I feel my back but I don't understand upside down. Lacking listening love. Thinking, constantly, about the kind of guy that I need now in my love. There is an elusive white shadow when I close my eye, doomed to only catch a glimpse out of the corner of the eye. I look high, high
up in the sky. Roosevelt Hotel. I remember when we sat there in another life time. New York passes my inner eye but I love the way you looked into my eye.
when my look could only tell. i fell. and you scream against the sky, the wind, the wall but words are torn up into word-rags and flutter around your head like bats at dusk or dawn.
I lean my head back and start to dream./ oh well
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
superwoman
I am such a superwoman.
yeah.
It makes me wonder whether maybe I am not still excusing myself in such a clever, smart manner that I am basically just fucking myself over. It sucks to be smart. You come up with all those great concepts and yada yada yada and doing so you just talk yourself into believing it yourself and basically just masturbate mentally. Brainstabation we might want to call that phenomenom.
Great. At least we have a new word to smother like a sugar sweet baby with huge dark brown eyes.
So I sit down with her. Everytime I see her I cringe inside.
Piranha says: Go ahead, talk to her!
Emeralda is like : ah fuck no, I really don't feel like it. I have to do this and that and lalala, and anyways, she doesn't even deserve that, I have nothing but contempt for her!
Piranha chuckles and shurgs her shoulders. What can you do about this idiotic softy-misbehavior!
But today there was a good opportunity and Piranha just jumped it and said 'let me take care of it'
You know I am such a sucker for the right moments. I am such a sucker for intuition and stuff like that. Just, don't be aggressive. Go with the flow. No wonder everybody thought I was the biggest stoner, although I even never touched pot at all. And boy, was this the right moment! There was a guy who we both know and I started talking to him and for some reason (it was meant to be! it was meant to be! shut up) the flow of our conversation brought us to the subject of differences between women and men and led me to say:
'well, there are rules too, in the woman world. we do confide in each other and stuff like that, but it's not like there are not rules'
'oh that's interesting' says the guy with the red hair and the fox nose ' what do you mean by that'
'yes' says the bitch 'how do you mean that'
Piranha smirks
'well, there is such a thing as loyality among women. respect.'
'how do you mean that' they ask unisono
'well' and I look at her for the first time this evening ' for example you, you broke the rules'
'how...'
'you know what i mean' i say and look at her. she does.
'oh that's interesting' says fox nose and squads down next to us
'you gotta leave now' I never had a problem with telling how it is. leave, motherfucker, you don't wanna mess with girl's talk.
so there we are. the bitch and I, and Piranha and Emeralda are pretty much balanced out. In peace. And that's what I am talking about. I am such a superwoman. I can deal with it or so I like to believe. How about just freaking out for once and slapping that bitch in the face? Huh? where is your supposed mediterranean character, huh? Need some tutoring or make up lessons in how to be a bitch when it is appropriate?
We talk about what happened. the kiss. yada yada yada. how he violated the rules too but no, that's not the point. the point is you didn't say NO although you knew ME. it's different when you don't know the Jerk's girl. 'I was pretty fucked up then and so passive about things'. haha. yeah right bitch. I got that vibe from you that you pursued him. Sorry, if this isn't true, I am not going to bother you with my opinion. I just tell you how it was and don't think I am going to believe everything you say. Of course you will paint it better than it was. He did, too. You were a snake, maybe you aren't anymore but don't get me wrong, my stupid smart-ass brain thinks that snakes are all part of the whole problem here. And we gotta face that and not just complain about it like little babies. If we take ourselves out of the equation it's nothing but a very interesting phenomenom, a case study.
I listen to her version of the story and tell her how contemptive I have looked at her ever since and how the woman in me is screaming her way out of my belly and wants to smash her into the dirt. How I wanted to perform this song for her and tell the audience that it is for a girl and she knows who she is. How I wanted to beat her up. But that I think that nothing is really bad. When we learn from the lesson and move on it's all good.
She says she has learned her lesson and what not and she is happy I don't hate her. I laugh and say, well, you know, it's not like it would matter. We won't be important in each other's lifes, or at least not as who we are. As archetypes, yes. As for what happened, yes. If we learn a lesson from that, yes. But our names will be blown in the wind as soon as I'll leave this god-damn place. And if you felt bad about it all just because you respect me as a person but not because of the woman-loyality issue I think you didn't get it. Of course you have to respect people first as the person they are, but dudessa, come on! Girls can't be divided. They want us to fucking devour each other and tear ourselves up and what not. No matter whether privately or in the industry. And it even exceeds that, as well. In the end, haha, it's all about karma. How it will come back to you. And it will if you don't hurry up and learn your lesson. BITCH.
Then I tell her about 'Piece by Piece' by Tori Amos and how I have always been really intriguiged by the Magdalena - Virgin Mary complex and how we as women have to be aware of that division in ourselves and that we all have to learn how to heal it. And how Tori Amos is a really interesting person in that respect, for she has dealt with that issue on a personal and artistic level throughout her whole career.
There is a good energy in our conversation and I have the feeling we actually talk.
Nothing for bad, my dear.
I am really happy that we can talk and she is too, very very happy. I say goodbye and give her a hug and leave. ( A HUG! Piranha! Why didn't you say anything! )
And then I think, it is so fucking ridiculous. Superwoman you. How wise you are motherfucker. Stupid hippie.
You know, I don't know. I really believe that learning lessons from whatever happens is the least and yet the most important thing we can do about anything that will occur in our short pathetic lifes. But sometimes I just hang my head and cry. I guess it's all part of the process. Later on he tells me on the phone that he is so sorry for belling on me. For abandoning me.You didn't. Shut up. That's never been the point. the point was that you didn't say the truth and therefore dishonored my generosity, my forgivingness, my intensity of love, my repeatedly stated NEED for honesty. The only thing I demanded.
I say don't feel guilty, prince. Not for that. You should feel guilty for something else.
you know. it's pretty much like that little flower I never got. He always complained how it is never enough and I will never be happy. All I wanted was that one damn little flower, that grows at the side of the sidewalk. How much pride would it take to actually do sth that I want? Or do I have to prove how much I love you by being all happy on your terms? It was too easy, to see, was it.
And while I am finally listening again to Ani di Franco's 'Done Wrong' in a loop I sit on the couch, looking out the window. The same green gorgeous trees and Hollywood night sky.
Where are the colibris?
So funny, how they both said that it was the other's inititative and how they should have said no but they didn't in time because they were fucked up and so passive at that moment. Hahahahaha. I have nothing but a sorry laugh for that.
How about you grow up, both of you? You connected because you both are clinically depressed? I am happy for you. Too bad he stopped talking to you. How about both of you spare some dignity and tell the truth, how it really is? 'i had a crush on him and that's what happened.' What's the big deal about infatuations? Seriously?!
I'd love to hear the story as it is just so I could make sure I really forgive you for the right thing. Not just some repainted renovated version to make your sorry self look a little bit prettier. Why would you wanna look good for me anyways? Oh, it's for your little ego.
Well, it's been in your way for way too long. If you ask me.
yeah.
It makes me wonder whether maybe I am not still excusing myself in such a clever, smart manner that I am basically just fucking myself over. It sucks to be smart. You come up with all those great concepts and yada yada yada and doing so you just talk yourself into believing it yourself and basically just masturbate mentally. Brainstabation we might want to call that phenomenom.
Great. At least we have a new word to smother like a sugar sweet baby with huge dark brown eyes.
So I sit down with her. Everytime I see her I cringe inside.
Piranha says: Go ahead, talk to her!
Emeralda is like : ah fuck no, I really don't feel like it. I have to do this and that and lalala, and anyways, she doesn't even deserve that, I have nothing but contempt for her!
Piranha chuckles and shurgs her shoulders. What can you do about this idiotic softy-misbehavior!
But today there was a good opportunity and Piranha just jumped it and said 'let me take care of it'
You know I am such a sucker for the right moments. I am such a sucker for intuition and stuff like that. Just, don't be aggressive. Go with the flow. No wonder everybody thought I was the biggest stoner, although I even never touched pot at all. And boy, was this the right moment! There was a guy who we both know and I started talking to him and for some reason (it was meant to be! it was meant to be! shut up) the flow of our conversation brought us to the subject of differences between women and men and led me to say:
'well, there are rules too, in the woman world. we do confide in each other and stuff like that, but it's not like there are not rules'
'oh that's interesting' says the guy with the red hair and the fox nose ' what do you mean by that'
'yes' says the bitch 'how do you mean that'
Piranha smirks
'well, there is such a thing as loyality among women. respect.'
'how do you mean that' they ask unisono
'well' and I look at her for the first time this evening ' for example you, you broke the rules'
'how...'
'you know what i mean' i say and look at her. she does.
'oh that's interesting' says fox nose and squads down next to us
'you gotta leave now' I never had a problem with telling how it is. leave, motherfucker, you don't wanna mess with girl's talk.
so there we are. the bitch and I, and Piranha and Emeralda are pretty much balanced out. In peace. And that's what I am talking about. I am such a superwoman. I can deal with it or so I like to believe. How about just freaking out for once and slapping that bitch in the face? Huh? where is your supposed mediterranean character, huh? Need some tutoring or make up lessons in how to be a bitch when it is appropriate?
We talk about what happened. the kiss. yada yada yada. how he violated the rules too but no, that's not the point. the point is you didn't say NO although you knew ME. it's different when you don't know the Jerk's girl. 'I was pretty fucked up then and so passive about things'. haha. yeah right bitch. I got that vibe from you that you pursued him. Sorry, if this isn't true, I am not going to bother you with my opinion. I just tell you how it was and don't think I am going to believe everything you say. Of course you will paint it better than it was. He did, too. You were a snake, maybe you aren't anymore but don't get me wrong, my stupid smart-ass brain thinks that snakes are all part of the whole problem here. And we gotta face that and not just complain about it like little babies. If we take ourselves out of the equation it's nothing but a very interesting phenomenom, a case study.
I listen to her version of the story and tell her how contemptive I have looked at her ever since and how the woman in me is screaming her way out of my belly and wants to smash her into the dirt. How I wanted to perform this song for her and tell the audience that it is for a girl and she knows who she is. How I wanted to beat her up. But that I think that nothing is really bad. When we learn from the lesson and move on it's all good.
She says she has learned her lesson and what not and she is happy I don't hate her. I laugh and say, well, you know, it's not like it would matter. We won't be important in each other's lifes, or at least not as who we are. As archetypes, yes. As for what happened, yes. If we learn a lesson from that, yes. But our names will be blown in the wind as soon as I'll leave this god-damn place. And if you felt bad about it all just because you respect me as a person but not because of the woman-loyality issue I think you didn't get it. Of course you have to respect people first as the person they are, but dudessa, come on! Girls can't be divided. They want us to fucking devour each other and tear ourselves up and what not. No matter whether privately or in the industry. And it even exceeds that, as well. In the end, haha, it's all about karma. How it will come back to you. And it will if you don't hurry up and learn your lesson. BITCH.
Then I tell her about 'Piece by Piece' by Tori Amos and how I have always been really intriguiged by the Magdalena - Virgin Mary complex and how we as women have to be aware of that division in ourselves and that we all have to learn how to heal it. And how Tori Amos is a really interesting person in that respect, for she has dealt with that issue on a personal and artistic level throughout her whole career.
There is a good energy in our conversation and I have the feeling we actually talk.
Nothing for bad, my dear.
I am really happy that we can talk and she is too, very very happy. I say goodbye and give her a hug and leave. ( A HUG! Piranha! Why didn't you say anything! )
And then I think, it is so fucking ridiculous. Superwoman you. How wise you are motherfucker. Stupid hippie.
You know, I don't know. I really believe that learning lessons from whatever happens is the least and yet the most important thing we can do about anything that will occur in our short pathetic lifes. But sometimes I just hang my head and cry. I guess it's all part of the process. Later on he tells me on the phone that he is so sorry for belling on me. For abandoning me.You didn't. Shut up. That's never been the point. the point was that you didn't say the truth and therefore dishonored my generosity, my forgivingness, my intensity of love, my repeatedly stated NEED for honesty. The only thing I demanded.
I say don't feel guilty, prince. Not for that. You should feel guilty for something else.
you know. it's pretty much like that little flower I never got. He always complained how it is never enough and I will never be happy. All I wanted was that one damn little flower, that grows at the side of the sidewalk. How much pride would it take to actually do sth that I want? Or do I have to prove how much I love you by being all happy on your terms? It was too easy, to see, was it.
And while I am finally listening again to Ani di Franco's 'Done Wrong' in a loop I sit on the couch, looking out the window. The same green gorgeous trees and Hollywood night sky.
Where are the colibris?
So funny, how they both said that it was the other's inititative and how they should have said no but they didn't in time because they were fucked up and so passive at that moment. Hahahahaha. I have nothing but a sorry laugh for that.
How about you grow up, both of you? You connected because you both are clinically depressed? I am happy for you. Too bad he stopped talking to you. How about both of you spare some dignity and tell the truth, how it really is? 'i had a crush on him and that's what happened.' What's the big deal about infatuations? Seriously?!
I'd love to hear the story as it is just so I could make sure I really forgive you for the right thing. Not just some repainted renovated version to make your sorry self look a little bit prettier. Why would you wanna look good for me anyways? Oh, it's for your little ego.
Well, it's been in your way for way too long. If you ask me.
lose, lost, loser
it's not only like I am a loser. exceeding the immediate meaning of the word i truly have been a loser too insofar as I've lost a lot. in so many respects.
the sun is still shining and music tries to build space for a soul to rest. but all i can do is bite my tongue and stand in a grey corner off Hollywood Blvd until the tears have ebbed away. "you look like you have a rough morning" gorgeous miles tells me and with a smirk in my face I say well I am leaving I guess.
then I come home and make a huge omelett and I eat it all and I find it amazing how big of a girl I really am.
then I send this message that says approximately how i feel for real. i don't want to go nowhere. not without you.
but i'll have to.
who makes up those rules anyways. motherfuckers.
the sun is still shining and music tries to build space for a soul to rest. but all i can do is bite my tongue and stand in a grey corner off Hollywood Blvd until the tears have ebbed away. "you look like you have a rough morning" gorgeous miles tells me and with a smirk in my face I say well I am leaving I guess.
then I come home and make a huge omelett and I eat it all and I find it amazing how big of a girl I really am.
then I send this message that says approximately how i feel for real. i don't want to go nowhere. not without you.
but i'll have to.
who makes up those rules anyways. motherfuckers.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
to my fella blogger/inas
I have to admit that I don't explore a lot of new blogs these days. I read my favorite blogger's sites and that's it most of the time. Over the time they grew to my heart, isn't it funny how that works although there are so many zeros and ones inbetween us. I remember a time when me, too, I would comment like crazy at everybody's blog so they would come back and return the favor. For a short while I turned the comments off on this site then I thought, oh well, no, if someone wants to they should be able to...More and more I realized though, that here too, I am not yet where I want to be. Writing has become a very personal and therapeutical tool for me just as has music. Blogging is different from writing journals because you know that somebody else eventually will read something you wrote. So you change your style of writing, maybe it's more reflective. However, although it serves first as a tool for me to cope with situations and with myself I try whenever I have the time to really sit down and not just jot down some lines, to write WELL, to sharpen my pencil so to say and try to improve my writing skills just as I try to improve my guitar playing skills in school.
My English vocabulary expanded over the last two years thanks to YOU guys out there, I would read your wonderful posts and look words up immediately because I really wanted to understand you fully. It's a motivational engine. Writing well is also something that is fueled by reading bloggers who are very eloquent and write as if they were Kundera or Marquez.
So even though I don't comment a lot anymore and don't get a lot of comments either I want to express my gratitude towards everyone of you out there. It is an exchange of experience, words and insights and I hope my reflections on love and life here in obscurity will offer you here and there something of value, if it is only to remind you of things that you experienced yourself and that help you to reconnect to that place where you had to learn how to be strong.
Sometimes I think of writing more about political and social issues here but so far I have resisted that idea. I don't think that my insights offer anything of value that you couldn't find anywhere else. As I am going to study international relations next year that might change though, we will see. So now I need to get my morning coffee
Have a good day everybody!!!! and don't forget to look up in the sky once or twice a day. and smile ;0)
one love
Emeralda/Piranha
My English vocabulary expanded over the last two years thanks to YOU guys out there, I would read your wonderful posts and look words up immediately because I really wanted to understand you fully. It's a motivational engine. Writing well is also something that is fueled by reading bloggers who are very eloquent and write as if they were Kundera or Marquez.
So even though I don't comment a lot anymore and don't get a lot of comments either I want to express my gratitude towards everyone of you out there. It is an exchange of experience, words and insights and I hope my reflections on love and life here in obscurity will offer you here and there something of value, if it is only to remind you of things that you experienced yourself and that help you to reconnect to that place where you had to learn how to be strong.
Sometimes I think of writing more about political and social issues here but so far I have resisted that idea. I don't think that my insights offer anything of value that you couldn't find anywhere else. As I am going to study international relations next year that might change though, we will see. So now I need to get my morning coffee
Have a good day everybody!!!! and don't forget to look up in the sky once or twice a day. and smile ;0)
one love
Emeralda/Piranha
Monday, August 14, 2006
early mornings
have something so extremely promising to them.
I love to wake up early, take care of my body that I just returned back to, stretch, shower, put lotion on it, dance a little into the kitchen, drink water, maybe coffee. Johnny Clegg and the Juluka Band makes my start into the day perfect. 'Asimbonanga'. Africa. Days that have been promising like this morning. Being thirteen was as promising as this morning.
I pack my stuff and smile. I have had problems with discipline and I still have. I've always wished I didn't. I regret many hours that didn't pass as effectively as I wish they had. I feel uncomfortable at the thought of procrastination. But the morning doesn't stop smiling into my face with a fresh witty twinkle in it's eye. In a minute I will ride my skateboard down Hollywood Blvd. and try not to kill too many tourists on the way. But they are really stupid, I must say, like cows. Don't see. Don't move and if, in the wrong direction. Oh well. Johnny Clegg reminds me of a friend in South Africa. Hello ! Thomas! Do you see me?
I say okay. I will sing. And I will perform. But just not yet. Not now. And I will follow my path no matter what. Just, please, give me one or two signs! :)
Good Morning World
I love to wake up early, take care of my body that I just returned back to, stretch, shower, put lotion on it, dance a little into the kitchen, drink water, maybe coffee. Johnny Clegg and the Juluka Band makes my start into the day perfect. 'Asimbonanga'. Africa. Days that have been promising like this morning. Being thirteen was as promising as this morning.
I pack my stuff and smile. I have had problems with discipline and I still have. I've always wished I didn't. I regret many hours that didn't pass as effectively as I wish they had. I feel uncomfortable at the thought of procrastination. But the morning doesn't stop smiling into my face with a fresh witty twinkle in it's eye. In a minute I will ride my skateboard down Hollywood Blvd. and try not to kill too many tourists on the way. But they are really stupid, I must say, like cows. Don't see. Don't move and if, in the wrong direction. Oh well. Johnny Clegg reminds me of a friend in South Africa. Hello ! Thomas! Do you see me?
I say okay. I will sing. And I will perform. But just not yet. Not now. And I will follow my path no matter what. Just, please, give me one or two signs! :)
Good Morning World
Saturday, August 12, 2006
HELP
me.
if you
can.
Emeralda. be quiet. don't be fucking stupid.
Piranha, I can't. there are voices talking in my head.
Emeralda. You are stupid. Who are you bullshitting, huh?
Fuck you too Piranha. I knew I couldn't count on you cunt.
Okay that goes too far now. Take that back!!!
No, bitch. Let me free. Go. Leave now. Fuck you. Just fucking leave me alone.
Hahaha. hehehe. Ah, stupid. I can't.
Then shut up.
You wish.
I do
if you
can.
Emeralda. be quiet. don't be fucking stupid.
Piranha, I can't. there are voices talking in my head.
Emeralda. You are stupid. Who are you bullshitting, huh?
Fuck you too Piranha. I knew I couldn't count on you cunt.
Okay that goes too far now. Take that back!!!
No, bitch. Let me free. Go. Leave now. Fuck you. Just fucking leave me alone.
Hahaha. hehehe. Ah, stupid. I can't.
Then shut up.
You wish.
I do
aftermath of time travelling: the freak out
I walk down the hallway. the reflection in the window: me. strangeness
overcomes me. i walk to the cornerstore. there he is, the same asian
guy. rasberry cigarillo please. and vanilla. there i stand smoking my
weakness away? no. smoking weakness. weakness: to dream and not to be.
hardrock i feel I need to knock my head on the concrete Hollywood Blvd
sidewalk. The palmtrees at the egyptian theater: the same. fuck. what
am I doing? weirdness taking over. i smile it is cold. tourists, kids
that should be long in bed already. please don't call me. please
don't. this feels as if i lived yesterday just to fall into the abyss
of everything but presence. ghosts, haunting. french fries and
undefinable food rests on a paper plate in the corner of the
scientology building. a couple of students in the building practicing.
i have to go and practice and practice and practice.
hey, i have to get back to poi-ing. fuck. do something, quick, before
yesterday becomes a monster, creeping up from behind, devouring you,
snarling, tearing, disruptive. the. monster.
why is everything so much alike? be different! oh fuck no! the stairways of pig'n'whistle. the backyard stairs where I kissed Eddie long long long time ago.
'take good
care of your man' a stranger said 'he is a good guy'.
a oneday-miracle. the mayfly. death. why are you there? the whole time? why do you look at me so reproachfully? i smoke i know, not for you but neither for myself. i have quit yesterday.
somewhere i am so scared. that i ll see you walking down hollywood
blvd with your dark cloud of curly hair around your gorgeous head, a dark grey man in a dark grey world and my lips so red... why
is it so difficult to let go?
do something, quickly, something new, old, else, just nothing that has
to do with that time here.
what the fuck am i doing here???? I DONT SEE ANYTHING ANYMORE.
not love makes blind. too.
hey how are you, strange friend in a familiar city so beloved?
overcomes me. i walk to the cornerstore. there he is, the same asian
guy. rasberry cigarillo please. and vanilla. there i stand smoking my
weakness away? no. smoking weakness. weakness: to dream and not to be.
hardrock i feel I need to knock my head on the concrete Hollywood Blvd
sidewalk. The palmtrees at the egyptian theater: the same. fuck. what
am I doing? weirdness taking over. i smile it is cold. tourists, kids
that should be long in bed already. please don't call me. please
don't. this feels as if i lived yesterday just to fall into the abyss
of everything but presence. ghosts, haunting. french fries and
undefinable food rests on a paper plate in the corner of the
scientology building. a couple of students in the building practicing.
i have to go and practice and practice and practice.
hey, i have to get back to poi-ing. fuck. do something, quick, before
yesterday becomes a monster, creeping up from behind, devouring you,
snarling, tearing, disruptive. the. monster.
why is everything so much alike? be different! oh fuck no! the stairways of pig'n'whistle. the backyard stairs where I kissed Eddie long long long time ago.
'take good
care of your man' a stranger said 'he is a good guy'.
a oneday-miracle. the mayfly. death. why are you there? the whole time? why do you look at me so reproachfully? i smoke i know, not for you but neither for myself. i have quit yesterday.
somewhere i am so scared. that i ll see you walking down hollywood
blvd with your dark cloud of curly hair around your gorgeous head, a dark grey man in a dark grey world and my lips so red... why
is it so difficult to let go?
do something, quickly, something new, old, else, just nothing that has
to do with that time here.
what the fuck am i doing here???? I DONT SEE ANYTHING ANYMORE.
not love makes blind. too.
hey how are you, strange friend in a familiar city so beloved?
Bubblegum Time Travel - suicidal emotional black magic
Encouraged by the unusually affectionate timbre in your voice of today's phone talk I decide to dare it. It might be too early but on the other hand - I might like the pain. It's as if I could see the memories waft through the thin air like on a misty autumn morning right after dawn when the horizon glows in pink anticipation for the sun to come and kiss the fog away... Slowly, teeth clenched tightly in silent excitement, I open the wrigley's extra cool green apple sugarfree gum. Almost as if unwrapping a xmas present I unfold the silver paper in slow motion and take the green gum inbetween my index finger and thumb. Take one breath and go!. - I put it on my tongue and caress it a little bit while saliva in a sweet, almost painful rush flows together in the back of my mouth. Almost like the effect of you kissing me - the magic connection between that secret place and my lips always worked in a sweet painful way: wet. wet. wet. For you...
Carefully I start to chew. - wooom! With an incredible fierce motion my mind is zoomed into the cloud of memories, hard to grasp but yet so intimately tangible. I revel in the sweetness of the feeling for a few moments. The freezing nights, the car heater that you'd turn on and which would overpower the songs for a while until I loosened my grip around your arm and softly laid my head on your shoulder, relaxing in the now warm car. Your soft lips exploring the depths of my mouth at everywhich red traffic light possible on our way down busy Hollywood Blvd. LA downtown, the night skyline drifting by. The one curve where you go from the 101 on the 105 or so. I always would ask you to be extra careful there, I had a bad feeling about that curve. 110, Head. Sweetness in my mouth. Cloverfield...The gas station, O-juice and sprite when passionate breathing dried us out. - And apple gum.
It's funny how bubblegum can do that. It's like a time travel machine.
I went down to the snack room to get myself an excuse to stop practicing for a while. Maybe the chocolate cookies we used to eat? It doesn't matter. Whatever it takes to complete this walk of suicidal emotional black magic. I stroll down the hallway and all of the sudden i get this feeling: he is standing behind the door! He waits in the snack room for you! In a second you will be able to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his ear lobes! He will say, stop, you know what that does to me and then he will start kissing you hungrily and passionately. You will entwine around him. And then you'll get a snack and go practicing!
Carefully, almost as if walking on eggshells I tiptoe back down the hall way with a weird spaced out smile on my lips. Quickly! Glance into his class room! There he will sit with his black cloud of curly hair around his head. He will look up and then come out, just for a second, just for a kiss or three.
You are funny, I tell myself, stroking the walls with my finger tips. You really think you time travelled huh?
And then it hits me: like a huge wave that devours you like a little fish. I DID TIME TRAVEL! I am back! It's then! Is now! is yes! Something shifts at the back of my neck. I look around me, almost paranoid but fascinated.
He is just around the corner. It is just around the corner. It is. The time layer. The veils have shifted, as if a fresh strange wind had blown into them to entangle and confuse them just so I could have a look into then and wrap my legs around a feeling I once so well knew.
I press my head against the wall and kiss the glass of the window. Slowly the cold sensation of it penetrates my mind, spreading throughout my whole body. The neck that you once kissed wildly, leaving marks for everyone to see, the ears that you whispered into words never to be told, the forehead that you kissed as if it was a child one's, the cheeks that rubbed against your raw unshaved chin, the hands that found their way into the djungel of your chest hair and fell asleep there, as if it was their natural home, the shoulders that I try to keep straight now despite the burden, the breasts that ... you know. And when it hits my stomach and then my heart I know:
The bubble gum has lost its flavor.
Carefully I start to chew. - wooom! With an incredible fierce motion my mind is zoomed into the cloud of memories, hard to grasp but yet so intimately tangible. I revel in the sweetness of the feeling for a few moments. The freezing nights, the car heater that you'd turn on and which would overpower the songs for a while until I loosened my grip around your arm and softly laid my head on your shoulder, relaxing in the now warm car. Your soft lips exploring the depths of my mouth at everywhich red traffic light possible on our way down busy Hollywood Blvd. LA downtown, the night skyline drifting by. The one curve where you go from the 101 on the 105 or so. I always would ask you to be extra careful there, I had a bad feeling about that curve. 110, Head. Sweetness in my mouth. Cloverfield...The gas station, O-juice and sprite when passionate breathing dried us out. - And apple gum.
It's funny how bubblegum can do that. It's like a time travel machine.
I went down to the snack room to get myself an excuse to stop practicing for a while. Maybe the chocolate cookies we used to eat? It doesn't matter. Whatever it takes to complete this walk of suicidal emotional black magic. I stroll down the hallway and all of the sudden i get this feeling: he is standing behind the door! He waits in the snack room for you! In a second you will be able to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his ear lobes! He will say, stop, you know what that does to me and then he will start kissing you hungrily and passionately. You will entwine around him. And then you'll get a snack and go practicing!
Carefully, almost as if walking on eggshells I tiptoe back down the hall way with a weird spaced out smile on my lips. Quickly! Glance into his class room! There he will sit with his black cloud of curly hair around his head. He will look up and then come out, just for a second, just for a kiss or three.
You are funny, I tell myself, stroking the walls with my finger tips. You really think you time travelled huh?
And then it hits me: like a huge wave that devours you like a little fish. I DID TIME TRAVEL! I am back! It's then! Is now! is yes! Something shifts at the back of my neck. I look around me, almost paranoid but fascinated.
He is just around the corner. It is just around the corner. It is. The time layer. The veils have shifted, as if a fresh strange wind had blown into them to entangle and confuse them just so I could have a look into then and wrap my legs around a feeling I once so well knew.
I press my head against the wall and kiss the glass of the window. Slowly the cold sensation of it penetrates my mind, spreading throughout my whole body. The neck that you once kissed wildly, leaving marks for everyone to see, the ears that you whispered into words never to be told, the forehead that you kissed as if it was a child one's, the cheeks that rubbed against your raw unshaved chin, the hands that found their way into the djungel of your chest hair and fell asleep there, as if it was their natural home, the shoulders that I try to keep straight now despite the burden, the breasts that ... you know. And when it hits my stomach and then my heart I know:
The bubble gum has lost its flavor.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Sweet the Sting
Tori Amos.
The flipside of the coin: Yes, I am strong enough. It's just a fact. I feel. I am emotional. I am inquisitive. Infinitely curious. Ready to fight, unsure as to when though. But strong? Strong enough. A woman with grace. The wild child full of grace has moved on and is about to become a woman in every aspect of her life.
Tori Amos is a great inspiration. She is.
The flipside of the coin: Yes, I am strong enough. It's just a fact. I feel. I am emotional. I am inquisitive. Infinitely curious. Ready to fight, unsure as to when though. But strong? Strong enough. A woman with grace. The wild child full of grace has moved on and is about to become a woman in every aspect of her life.
Tori Amos is a great inspiration. She is.
Seven seconds
It's not a second - seven seconds away - Just as long as I stay - I'll be waiting. Youssou Ndour and Neneh Cherry.
Little, 17 year old Emeralda breathing heavily in the dark basement, hiding behind old bikes and what not. The music on full volume, her head nodding away. Like a californian surfer wave the sounds are washing her away, breaking her down, melt her, break her, make her sand.
We are all sand in this weird ocean of life. Ah yeah. A spider. She squeaks. Upstairs she hears his mother scream when she turns the volume down. Wait a little longer. I can wait. I always did. Sometimes it is quite tiresome. You wait and wait and let your hopes and longing float on a river of music, like little chines prayer candles floating down the rivers. And then you see them disappear in the dark, little stars, little messengers of love and they never return. Until you get into that boat and float down yourself. And, unfuckingfortunately enough, you see all those little candles burnt down floating belly-upwards in the water, waiting for something to stop them or to drown them. You feel like punching them with the paddle of your boat but you just drift by and while everything about you is seemingly motionless inside there is this tornado swirling your emotions in a wicked caroussell like move and finally you feel how everything is crushing. You leave the burnt down candles and try not to see them as a sign but as life, as what it is. Hearts are broken everyday. That's what people do. They live on. Somehow. Some show the devastating desert outwardly. They try to still the thirst with alcohol. With other substances. They try to wash the memories away. The burning flaming thoughts that haunt you day and night. Eveyrwhere you go. No you try to do that for real. Maybe this kiss can extinct the burning desert sun. Maybe this song can bring a fresh breeze, alluding to better times. But nothing can stop this drought slowly burning everything down. From sucking the essential joy from anything you do. It's like, nothing makes really sense then - anymore. In a world without you.
It's funny how well everything still functions. You look at your hand, slowly moving the paddle while you float down, trying to stir somewhat but mostly accepting that the current will take you anyways whereever you are meant to be. The hand works the paddle. Firmly, perfectly. Your body functions so well, just the heart aches but you get used to that too. The trees move in the soft breeze. The world moves on. Weird how perfectly everything works. How can that be, when all the candles you found were long gone and dead?
Soon, soon you will reach the ocean, the mother of all tears, the home of every sad smile, playing with sunrays and with star rays eternally moving, indifferent towards the million voices that whisper stories of broken hearts and desaster.
I wanted to swim upstream. I wanted to plant my seed close to the spring. I wanted to fight my way up there but too many tears pulled me downstream, they are longing to mingle with the salt water of the ocean, and even though they are many, even they can't still the thirst nor can they create an oasis in the middle of this desert. It is wickedly upside down.
Seven seconds away.
She finally gets up again, dusts her pants off and cautiously peaks outside the basement. The concrete stairs are cold under her bare feet. The mother stopped yelling. She looks up the wooden stairs to his apartment and her heart sinks two inches further down. She doesn't dare to go up there. What a loser, but she can't. Like a shadow she sneaks out of the backyard and walks towards the hill.
It is so hard when you want to love so badly. When the love inside is exploding into empty space.
And it is even harder when you have loved and lost.
Little, 17 year old Emeralda breathing heavily in the dark basement, hiding behind old bikes and what not. The music on full volume, her head nodding away. Like a californian surfer wave the sounds are washing her away, breaking her down, melt her, break her, make her sand.
We are all sand in this weird ocean of life. Ah yeah. A spider. She squeaks. Upstairs she hears his mother scream when she turns the volume down. Wait a little longer. I can wait. I always did. Sometimes it is quite tiresome. You wait and wait and let your hopes and longing float on a river of music, like little chines prayer candles floating down the rivers. And then you see them disappear in the dark, little stars, little messengers of love and they never return. Until you get into that boat and float down yourself. And, unfuckingfortunately enough, you see all those little candles burnt down floating belly-upwards in the water, waiting for something to stop them or to drown them. You feel like punching them with the paddle of your boat but you just drift by and while everything about you is seemingly motionless inside there is this tornado swirling your emotions in a wicked caroussell like move and finally you feel how everything is crushing. You leave the burnt down candles and try not to see them as a sign but as life, as what it is. Hearts are broken everyday. That's what people do. They live on. Somehow. Some show the devastating desert outwardly. They try to still the thirst with alcohol. With other substances. They try to wash the memories away. The burning flaming thoughts that haunt you day and night. Eveyrwhere you go. No you try to do that for real. Maybe this kiss can extinct the burning desert sun. Maybe this song can bring a fresh breeze, alluding to better times. But nothing can stop this drought slowly burning everything down. From sucking the essential joy from anything you do. It's like, nothing makes really sense then - anymore. In a world without you.
It's funny how well everything still functions. You look at your hand, slowly moving the paddle while you float down, trying to stir somewhat but mostly accepting that the current will take you anyways whereever you are meant to be. The hand works the paddle. Firmly, perfectly. Your body functions so well, just the heart aches but you get used to that too. The trees move in the soft breeze. The world moves on. Weird how perfectly everything works. How can that be, when all the candles you found were long gone and dead?
Soon, soon you will reach the ocean, the mother of all tears, the home of every sad smile, playing with sunrays and with star rays eternally moving, indifferent towards the million voices that whisper stories of broken hearts and desaster.
I wanted to swim upstream. I wanted to plant my seed close to the spring. I wanted to fight my way up there but too many tears pulled me downstream, they are longing to mingle with the salt water of the ocean, and even though they are many, even they can't still the thirst nor can they create an oasis in the middle of this desert. It is wickedly upside down.
Seven seconds away.
She finally gets up again, dusts her pants off and cautiously peaks outside the basement. The concrete stairs are cold under her bare feet. The mother stopped yelling. She looks up the wooden stairs to his apartment and her heart sinks two inches further down. She doesn't dare to go up there. What a loser, but she can't. Like a shadow she sneaks out of the backyard and walks towards the hill.
It is so hard when you want to love so badly. When the love inside is exploding into empty space.
And it is even harder when you have loved and lost.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
One more Cup of Coffee
>one more time. one more time magic beach. one more time sitting until late and talking into the blue velvet night. one more time understanding each other without too many words. one more sweet embrace. one more your magical eyes resting on my beauty. any beauty is meaningless and worthless unless it is beheld by the lover of a lifetime. one more life. one more making the time stop. one more smile. one more merciful word. one more cup of coffee before we go to hit the road to the valley below. me and my true love we will never meet again in the sunny sunny banks of lochlomond.
i remember when i was in seventh grade, we sang this song about the true love. and i sat there and tried to figure out how that is possible. `but if it was the true love, how could they depart and never meet again?`i asked.
yeah, how could they???
it`s all good in it`s own desastrous devastating way
i remember when i was in seventh grade, we sang this song about the true love. and i sat there and tried to figure out how that is possible. `but if it was the true love, how could they depart and never meet again?`i asked.
yeah, how could they???
it`s all good in it`s own desastrous devastating way
Saturday, August 05, 2006
piranha is back
As some might know my mjamani blog was devoured by the blogspot monster that sometimes creeps out from under your bed. yeah. and i know, i know Emeralda is much prettier and weirder and also much more pathetic than the angry Piranha at times. Trust me, it's just a disguise. You gotta dress up for the occasion, each time differently and appropriately. Motherfucker yeah. Whatever, right!?! So don't worry. Piranha didn't die. She was just tired from eating human flesh. Occasionally she would also eat other fish in the ocean, man, neverending hunger attacks exhaust every Piranha at some point! Blah. Man, how can I write so much bulls***? Ah! haha! BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE S***!!! yeah! my head hurts. my ear hurts. my mind is glued to the one stupid fucking thing that I can't forget. I can't even freaking do myself anymore! It didn't work! I started crying! How pathetic is that? It's like: come one EMERALDA stupid idiot, get out of that rabbit hole and face the fact that you belong into water, first, and then you are not a peacock, of course not mofo, you are a piranha. Bite. Ah and it's not easy to do folks. It ain't easy. A friggin diplomat is sitting inbetween my titties and screams it's way through my chest each time I try to be really angry. It's like, man, can you just stop being so f******** considerate? Can you stop sympathizing all the time? Can you give a girl a break motherfucker? Ok. I curse too much.
One thing that makes me really angry is: How you DID leave me stranded. And it makes me angry, of course, that I know perfectly well that it is perfectly alright that way and that I AM a captn and can build a raft from anything I'll find on this island. But it still rubs me the wrong way that I couldn't get myself coming, pun intended. I mean, at least. But no, it's one huge big fat mindfuck and you sigh and say 'oh my God, here it comes again it is NEVERENDING huh?' of course, OF COURSE MOTHERFUCKER. Idiot. Baby. Grow up. It will come back until you get it out of the way by facing it. Argh. What goes around comes around. That was what you were afraid of eh? Yeah. What a pity that I am such a loyal fuck. Such a philanthropic misfuck. Such a loser.
Okay that's too much noch Piranha. Don't eat yourself up.
You are right.
It' s so much fun to be schizophren, ain't it!
Yeah it is. I feel like Gollum. It's a lot of fun. Shall we keep that ring or not? Shall we?
I don't know. It's not like...not like, uhm, he 'd deserve that.
There's just a couple of things I'd like to know:
HOW COULD YOU DO NOTHING, SAYING I'M DOING MY BEST. HOW COULD YOU TAKE ALMOST EVERYTHING AND THEN COME BACK FOR THE REST. HOW COULD YOU BEG ME TO STAY, REACH OUT YOUR HANDS AND PLEAD AND THEN PACK UP YOUR EYES AND RUN AWAY AS SOON AS I AGREED.
One thing that makes me really angry is: How you DID leave me stranded. And it makes me angry, of course, that I know perfectly well that it is perfectly alright that way and that I AM a captn and can build a raft from anything I'll find on this island. But it still rubs me the wrong way that I couldn't get myself coming, pun intended. I mean, at least. But no, it's one huge big fat mindfuck and you sigh and say 'oh my God, here it comes again it is NEVERENDING huh?' of course, OF COURSE MOTHERFUCKER. Idiot. Baby. Grow up. It will come back until you get it out of the way by facing it. Argh. What goes around comes around. That was what you were afraid of eh? Yeah. What a pity that I am such a loyal fuck. Such a philanthropic misfuck. Such a loser.
Okay that's too much noch Piranha. Don't eat yourself up.
You are right.
It' s so much fun to be schizophren, ain't it!
Yeah it is. I feel like Gollum. It's a lot of fun. Shall we keep that ring or not? Shall we?
I don't know. It's not like...not like, uhm, he 'd deserve that.
There's just a couple of things I'd like to know:
HOW COULD YOU DO NOTHING, SAYING I'M DOING MY BEST. HOW COULD YOU TAKE ALMOST EVERYTHING AND THEN COME BACK FOR THE REST. HOW COULD YOU BEG ME TO STAY, REACH OUT YOUR HANDS AND PLEAD AND THEN PACK UP YOUR EYES AND RUN AWAY AS SOON AS I AGREED.
puppet player
We met him on the strip on Franklin, where my wife used to go. Byrds, next to the old bookstore. The moon rose behind a thick palm tree and the clouds kissed the night sky. Chinese lounge music from the 40's. A woman's voice, trembling and heartbreaking and he let the puppet dance to it, in despair, pain, agony. With shaking hands the puppet reached out, he was shivering like in uncontrollable pain - then collapsed like a house of cards, beating his hands against his head, crouching on the floor like a desperate person reaching out for help, for a little water in the desert of our desolate souls, for bread in our overfed homes. In a dramatic final fit he threw himself against the light, it was as if I heard him crying, sobbing from that place deeply hidden in our chests and then one last look and one last fist against the imaginary sky and he sank on his back, he fell, in a final resolution, giving in to the forces that tore his life and his heart apart, facing the sky and the sky only.
Now when you looked at the puppet player while this drama happened on the little wooden table in the midst of Franklin Ave. inbetween a couple of busy bars/restaurants, with chic LA chicks and wannabe directors, you saw something even greater happening. You saw a man totally absorbed in what he was doing, compassionately guiding the marionettes moves with fingers and hands shaking ever so slightly, his eyes following the unfolding drama on the little time and space refuge he had created. The sign on the floor read: The Puppet Show - give me what you can, in coins, in bills, in old letters or even older knitters (what's that?), in dust of pockets or a stone from the street. Give me what I deserve.
Amanda and I stood in awe. He was so intriguingly involved in his creating a very profound emotional performance that he captured the innocent beauty of God's children in his hands. He looks so hot, we whispered and we meant it very profoundly not in an obscene way.
Then he changed the puppet. Now it was a big one, with a dark long coat. In her meager hands she held a cigarette and danced to the slow blues that was playing now. Every now and then she would take a drag, and then slowly blow the smoke into the sky. Inbetween drags she would cough and almost die it seemed, from the smoking and then, swinging back, look at the cigarette in her hand as if at a lover, a person you have known for so long and all you can do is look at her with forbearance and indulgence, loving, hating, an addiction that you learned to love like a husband you can't get rid off.
He would drag the smoke through a flexible tube and as he later told us, the old tube got really yellow and all in all this performance was a big turn off to smoke yet in the same time beautifully and precisely capturing the ironic beauty of smoking.
As the smoke was still curling up behind his shoulders we left. I think maybe we should invite him to sit with us I said and so we did. We went back, invited him and then sat down outside this very sweet restaurant. We had some wine and the moon looked gently down on all the people.
And the magic is still on the streets. And the beauty is still happening.
Now when you looked at the puppet player while this drama happened on the little wooden table in the midst of Franklin Ave. inbetween a couple of busy bars/restaurants, with chic LA chicks and wannabe directors, you saw something even greater happening. You saw a man totally absorbed in what he was doing, compassionately guiding the marionettes moves with fingers and hands shaking ever so slightly, his eyes following the unfolding drama on the little time and space refuge he had created. The sign on the floor read: The Puppet Show - give me what you can, in coins, in bills, in old letters or even older knitters (what's that?), in dust of pockets or a stone from the street. Give me what I deserve.
Amanda and I stood in awe. He was so intriguingly involved in his creating a very profound emotional performance that he captured the innocent beauty of God's children in his hands. He looks so hot, we whispered and we meant it very profoundly not in an obscene way.
Then he changed the puppet. Now it was a big one, with a dark long coat. In her meager hands she held a cigarette and danced to the slow blues that was playing now. Every now and then she would take a drag, and then slowly blow the smoke into the sky. Inbetween drags she would cough and almost die it seemed, from the smoking and then, swinging back, look at the cigarette in her hand as if at a lover, a person you have known for so long and all you can do is look at her with forbearance and indulgence, loving, hating, an addiction that you learned to love like a husband you can't get rid off.
He would drag the smoke through a flexible tube and as he later told us, the old tube got really yellow and all in all this performance was a big turn off to smoke yet in the same time beautifully and precisely capturing the ironic beauty of smoking.
As the smoke was still curling up behind his shoulders we left. I think maybe we should invite him to sit with us I said and so we did. We went back, invited him and then sat down outside this very sweet restaurant. We had some wine and the moon looked gently down on all the people.
And the magic is still on the streets. And the beauty is still happening.
Friday, August 04, 2006
I am sorry
that I talked about it.
I am sorry that I couldn't do you this one favor not to speak to anyone about it.
I've tried hard but a women's mind works differently. I am sorry and angry that I can't rise above it. I am trying to be okay with it, you know, and I find it throug communication. Through communicating that it is okay. Just to find myself in the shadows of the night on my knees, crying.
I won't give up yet. I will try to not talk about it. And if I still do I have to comfort my self-accusing soul with the thought that you too, didn't keep your promise.
I am sorry that I couldn't do you this one favor not to speak to anyone about it.
I've tried hard but a women's mind works differently. I am sorry and angry that I can't rise above it. I am trying to be okay with it, you know, and I find it throug communication. Through communicating that it is okay. Just to find myself in the shadows of the night on my knees, crying.
I won't give up yet. I will try to not talk about it. And if I still do I have to comfort my self-accusing soul with the thought that you too, didn't keep your promise.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Halleluja
Halleluja my friend.
It is dark now and the darkness brings the joy of the unknown back to stale souls.
However long it takes you to describe the multitude of crazy moments, take the moment and let it melt on your tongue. Roll it around. Sing Halleluja, my friend, my lover, my wind and my earth, my fire, my air to breathe in the early morning
With a morning smile mixed with one single sun ray that sneaked its way into the room where we lay, on the carpet, a used to whisper or mumble in your ear how much I loved you. I would snuggle and cuddle up to you, press my cheeks under your chin, the 'flavor-savor', your sweet lips. Your wonderful, beautiful, beloved eyes.
And your hands would hold my back, my breasts, by hips, my ass, my legs, my belly, my arms, everything was so beautiful, everything you touched became so peaceful and satisfied and beautiful.
As the morning wandered we slowly like smoke curling up behind a shoulder would go about our day, making delicious-bicious breakfast, 'Emeralda' specials like selfmade hashbrowns.
Halluja, my friend. Halleluja.
I sing it along and I will forgive your soul. And I will long out to hold you. again. and again. and again. and then I will fade away, trying to hold on to your joy within my heart, to try and be there.
Halleluja my love, Halleluja.
alles ist hin.
It is dark now and the darkness brings the joy of the unknown back to stale souls.
However long it takes you to describe the multitude of crazy moments, take the moment and let it melt on your tongue. Roll it around. Sing Halleluja, my friend, my lover, my wind and my earth, my fire, my air to breathe in the early morning
With a morning smile mixed with one single sun ray that sneaked its way into the room where we lay, on the carpet, a used to whisper or mumble in your ear how much I loved you. I would snuggle and cuddle up to you, press my cheeks under your chin, the 'flavor-savor', your sweet lips. Your wonderful, beautiful, beloved eyes.
And your hands would hold my back, my breasts, by hips, my ass, my legs, my belly, my arms, everything was so beautiful, everything you touched became so peaceful and satisfied and beautiful.
As the morning wandered we slowly like smoke curling up behind a shoulder would go about our day, making delicious-bicious breakfast, 'Emeralda' specials like selfmade hashbrowns.
Halluja, my friend. Halleluja.
I sing it along and I will forgive your soul. And I will long out to hold you. again. and again. and again. and then I will fade away, trying to hold on to your joy within my heart, to try and be there.
Halleluja my love, Halleluja.
alles ist hin.
Easier
I guess that just makes it easier for me. To let go.
I guess what hurts most though about it is, that you've placed so little trust in me. I was the most forgiving, loving, understanding, supportive person, I still am. I still tell myself how it doesn't have to do with me but with you being used to hiding stuff away and avoiding trouble by lying. It's hard to break patterns. And it's a long time ago.
But I told you repeatedly that HONESTY is the one thing that matters to me.
In order to be forgiven you need to confess first. You didn't. In fact, you made it worse. Is it this the thorn that has been hurting all along, suppurating, festering....yuck. Is it maybe that this again was my biggest issue in yet another disguise? me being too tolerant. I've always wondered whether that is actually the case. Sometimes you've got to put a fist on the table as they say in German and let it rain. Hard. But no, again, I was so forgiving, so understanding, so tolerating. So fucking NICE. How disgusting. I hope at least it taught you something. But most likely it totally got to you and you felt even worse because you didn't get the deserved punishment motherfucker. Yeah. You are such a sucker. Such a loser. Ah, yeah, finally, there we go. Spit it out baby. Let it all out. Call him all those names.
Can I get off the couch now?
No, come on, blog on a little bit. Be a little bit more angry.
Well okay, if you want me to!
So first, I am going to listen to Fat Freddy's Drop now. I kind of got too much into his music I guess. I loved it, don't get me wrong. But, if I really think about it, I should be honest with myself: I am very adaptable. Nothing wrong with it? Well i don't know. matter of fact is, it is about time to listen to 'lame' New Zealandish Dub music and fucking get back on the wave I was on when exploding in Berlin. I exploded in all different colors and I was happy, yeah.
Okay, it was all beautiful. Baby. It was. And I am thankful for every which experience we had.
So get to the point bitch.
Ah, okay. fuck man, i can't be mad.
Oh you already are, damnit.
Okay, fuck, yeah uhm hahaha. So you dug yourself a stupid hole you idiot! by telling me about the graduation party incident! hahahaha! because the incident you reported to A__ was three weeks before graduation MOTHERFUCKER! ha! so there we go, how comes you never told me about THAT? and how you slept over at her house. You guys were naked but nothing happened? You had a little infatuation thing going on with her but you didn't want me to know because it was nothing to worry about?
AH WHAT THE FUCK YOU LOSER? How came you got so crazy about me and Steve then? Oh, the time I talked to Steve again was the time when something cracked? I THINK, idiot, that something cracked with you being 'confused' about J_______ and then later, A__ too. Ha. There is NOTHING WRONG WITH IT. BUT THERE IS SOMETHING VERY WRONG WITH BEING DISHONEST WITH ME.
i guess we all have different measurements. what is right and wrong, what is the one thing that is unacceptable.
First I thought, dang, I don't want to bother him with that. It's so long ago. It's over anyways. Why bother. But it hurts, oh my, it does. That you disregarded my big heart. That you didn't have the guts to tell me everything. Motherfucker. Dirty Hippie. Faker. Liar. Asshole. ( the reason why people break up on bad terms is, that it is way easier than when you still love each other as much as we do and yes, it helps to know this. just for me to get over it more quickly. I still don't hold anything really against you because I still think that learning is the most important thing here. people make mistakes. you gotta learn from them though you do you do you do! )
okay, thats too much
haha, i know. i don't even mean it.
oh come on you do mean it.
no i don't know but i sure love Fat Freddy's Drop.
yeah I do too.
I guess what hurts most though about it is, that you've placed so little trust in me. I was the most forgiving, loving, understanding, supportive person, I still am. I still tell myself how it doesn't have to do with me but with you being used to hiding stuff away and avoiding trouble by lying. It's hard to break patterns. And it's a long time ago.
But I told you repeatedly that HONESTY is the one thing that matters to me.
In order to be forgiven you need to confess first. You didn't. In fact, you made it worse. Is it this the thorn that has been hurting all along, suppurating, festering....yuck. Is it maybe that this again was my biggest issue in yet another disguise? me being too tolerant. I've always wondered whether that is actually the case. Sometimes you've got to put a fist on the table as they say in German and let it rain. Hard. But no, again, I was so forgiving, so understanding, so tolerating. So fucking NICE. How disgusting. I hope at least it taught you something. But most likely it totally got to you and you felt even worse because you didn't get the deserved punishment motherfucker. Yeah. You are such a sucker. Such a loser. Ah, yeah, finally, there we go. Spit it out baby. Let it all out. Call him all those names.
Can I get off the couch now?
No, come on, blog on a little bit. Be a little bit more angry.
Well okay, if you want me to!
So first, I am going to listen to Fat Freddy's Drop now. I kind of got too much into his music I guess. I loved it, don't get me wrong. But, if I really think about it, I should be honest with myself: I am very adaptable. Nothing wrong with it? Well i don't know. matter of fact is, it is about time to listen to 'lame' New Zealandish Dub music and fucking get back on the wave I was on when exploding in Berlin. I exploded in all different colors and I was happy, yeah.
Okay, it was all beautiful. Baby. It was. And I am thankful for every which experience we had.
So get to the point bitch.
Ah, okay. fuck man, i can't be mad.
Oh you already are, damnit.
Okay, fuck, yeah uhm hahaha. So you dug yourself a stupid hole you idiot! by telling me about the graduation party incident! hahahaha! because the incident you reported to A__ was three weeks before graduation MOTHERFUCKER! ha! so there we go, how comes you never told me about THAT? and how you slept over at her house. You guys were naked but nothing happened? You had a little infatuation thing going on with her but you didn't want me to know because it was nothing to worry about?
AH WHAT THE FUCK YOU LOSER? How came you got so crazy about me and Steve then? Oh, the time I talked to Steve again was the time when something cracked? I THINK, idiot, that something cracked with you being 'confused' about J_______ and then later, A__ too. Ha. There is NOTHING WRONG WITH IT. BUT THERE IS SOMETHING VERY WRONG WITH BEING DISHONEST WITH ME.
i guess we all have different measurements. what is right and wrong, what is the one thing that is unacceptable.
First I thought, dang, I don't want to bother him with that. It's so long ago. It's over anyways. Why bother. But it hurts, oh my, it does. That you disregarded my big heart. That you didn't have the guts to tell me everything. Motherfucker. Dirty Hippie. Faker. Liar. Asshole. ( the reason why people break up on bad terms is, that it is way easier than when you still love each other as much as we do and yes, it helps to know this. just for me to get over it more quickly. I still don't hold anything really against you because I still think that learning is the most important thing here. people make mistakes. you gotta learn from them though you do you do you do! )
okay, thats too much
haha, i know. i don't even mean it.
oh come on you do mean it.
no i don't know but i sure love Fat Freddy's Drop.
yeah I do too.
Altered Oceans and you
I didn't really understand what you were doing at the Casino and what good it would be to try and protect your stupid drunk Gangster cousin. But I understood that you love me despite it all and I understood too, that this is not what you wanted but yeah, that's life.
Then I went to have mint tea at the Solar Cafe and read the newspaper. It's been a while. And first thing that struck me was:
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/oceans/la-oceans-series,0,7842752.special (sorry folks, the link-link is disabled!)
altered oceans. The consequences of carbon dioxide on our oceans.
We stand there in a very strangely shattered beauty, plundering our little lives and it is more comfortable anyways to be worried only about our own salvation. It comes to me, that we have never fully recognized the odds of our Romeo-Juliet-kind-of-love. Salvation is a complex issue. There are societies, human beings, children, elders, cultures to be protected. There is mother nature to be protected. There is a future to be secured. There are changes to be made in order to survive. There are priorities to be taken. There is the microcosm and the macrocosm. There is you and me and then the rest of the world. The medicine is bitter. Because who wouldn't want to save the one, the one you love? But you are wiser than me and know that the odds are not in our favor. Not romantically speaking.
I still can't get the point of exploring different planets in outer space. So much money that could be used to find answers RIGHT HERE! damnit. it makes me angry.
And as far as the salvation of our souls is concerned - to some extend we have to let this be up to Jesus. Or whoever does it for you. If there is only one truth and one way - blessed be those who find it.
In the meantime I'll try and do the little I can to do something about the salvation of this planet and our children.
May God be with you and me.
Then I went to have mint tea at the Solar Cafe and read the newspaper. It's been a while. And first thing that struck me was:
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/oceans/la-oceans-series,0,7842752.special (sorry folks, the link-link is disabled!)
altered oceans. The consequences of carbon dioxide on our oceans.
We stand there in a very strangely shattered beauty, plundering our little lives and it is more comfortable anyways to be worried only about our own salvation. It comes to me, that we have never fully recognized the odds of our Romeo-Juliet-kind-of-love. Salvation is a complex issue. There are societies, human beings, children, elders, cultures to be protected. There is mother nature to be protected. There is a future to be secured. There are changes to be made in order to survive. There are priorities to be taken. There is the microcosm and the macrocosm. There is you and me and then the rest of the world. The medicine is bitter. Because who wouldn't want to save the one, the one you love? But you are wiser than me and know that the odds are not in our favor. Not romantically speaking.
I still can't get the point of exploring different planets in outer space. So much money that could be used to find answers RIGHT HERE! damnit. it makes me angry.
And as far as the salvation of our souls is concerned - to some extend we have to let this be up to Jesus. Or whoever does it for you. If there is only one truth and one way - blessed be those who find it.
In the meantime I'll try and do the little I can to do something about the salvation of this planet and our children.
May God be with you and me.
good morning America!
grey is the sky but I greet the sun. yoga to wake me up. good morning America. Where is my sweet dream? Gone. Dwindled away. How about growing up says the peacock in the backyard. How about growing up? I say 'I know, I know, I just thought I should wait...' - 'Papperlapapp!' says the peacock, with a scathing gaze at my sorry self. 'Stop excusing yourself. He never said ...' - 'He did. Don't fucking talk about it okay? Can you just leave me alone? It's freaking seven eightyfour in the morning!' Suddenly I hear a sound. 'plop' and the peacock is gone. Pink Floyd plays in the background. I feel a tension in my back and realize: it's time for breakfast. And being healthy. damnit. I am a tight-rope dancer. By the way.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
set me free
You set me free from day one. You gave me all the freedom I ever needed. You held it in your hand like a beautiful little bird and you gave it to me by letting me fly and come back whenever I wanted to and by leaving it completely open whether or not we would take it to the next step. And when we did you gave it to me in restriction. You taught me the freedom within and then you showed me we are never really free. And then you set me free again, in one of the most painful moves I have ever experienced in my short little life. You and I both felt how life was taking us apart. And although i wanted to hang on, and hold on and fight you realized that now it had come again to the point where you had to say 'do your own thing Sweetie, my love' without any bitterness in your voice. You hold it against you maybe, I hope you don't. I try not to hold it against me and we both try to not put it on each other. At least in this way we are incredibly mature. Who would have thought, the Drama queen. It is heavy to breathe. A single tear sneaks out of my left eye, it sat there in the corner. You have set me free again, with all your love as you always did. You have set me free. And I stumble and fall a little bit only. Trying to get used to flying again. Still used to the warm nest that I had built with you in anticipation of a joint future. Still wanting to hang in there just for a little while. Not wanting to leave what I didn't know I had. Just dream a little sleep into it. Just give me a little chance, ah, huh, no, haha, you've got to fly on little wing.
Fly on little wing. Learn how to set free what you love the most.
Fly on little wing. Learn how to set free what you love the most.
South France/North Spain
For some weird reason the underlying carpets of sepia colored memories and strangely intense smells and sounds has been all this time our summer trip to South France/Northern Spain in my early teenage years.
Dad showed us around, those places mattered to him. And I was so intensely alive and aware of my way, my life, my goals, my emotions and thoughts and questions. I was on a quest. I guess I still am.
The monestry built into this rock with the waterfalls....The pictures of seafood-beings (is there a name for those?) I took for my friend. The beach at Le Gurp...The songs we listened to in the car. The broken windshield (my brother kicked it in when he was in a fight with my sister it was an afternoon in South France and a thunderstorm surprised us in the middle of the Pyrenees) My dad. The tent that started swimming on all that water. It's not the facts but the atmosphere, the energy that I recapture: all these days and nights of burning heart pangs I have smelled the Pyrenees and the Stone Pine Trees...
I wonder how this has to do with my love...with you...
Solea
Yo no siento que te vaya;
lo que siento es que te llevas
la sangre de mis venas.
I'm not sorry that you're going
I'm just sorry you're taking
the blood from my veins (with you).
-------------
It's funny, again, how okay I was today during the day. i was really happy to be with my sister's family, to walk the streets and not be devastatingly overwhelmed by our memories. To be okay.
And now, in the shadows of the night I just need someone to tell me that I'm okay. I need someone to tell me that what I did was not wrong and that it is okay that I stayed and not went to South America travelling. It kills me to think that maybe that would have - ironically - save our relationship. It would have been the natural ending and the promise of a new beginning at my return. Ah but no if's and stuff tonight.
I really need someone to tell me that I am okay. I am scared I am not. It's so weird to BE.
lo que siento es que te llevas
la sangre de mis venas.
I'm not sorry that you're going
I'm just sorry you're taking
the blood from my veins (with you).
-------------
It's funny, again, how okay I was today during the day. i was really happy to be with my sister's family, to walk the streets and not be devastatingly overwhelmed by our memories. To be okay.
And now, in the shadows of the night I just need someone to tell me that I'm okay. I need someone to tell me that what I did was not wrong and that it is okay that I stayed and not went to South America travelling. It kills me to think that maybe that would have - ironically - save our relationship. It would have been the natural ending and the promise of a new beginning at my return. Ah but no if's and stuff tonight.
I really need someone to tell me that I am okay. I am scared I am not. It's so weird to BE.
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