is driving me crazy.
Butch was right. Everybody has already got it down, or somebody. They are so styled down. yeah. All the designer stuff and then in Cafe 101 there is someone who has it even a little more down. I don't understand why she still buys stuff there. She was talking about Fred Segall like this magic place and how Jen almost bought the whole store yesterday. I can't find anything impressive in that. I am ashamed. I am ashamed to wear her old UGG boots that supposedly cost up to 300 or even 400 $. I am embarrassed and bummed out about the fact that she gave me boots she got as a present from someone and never wore. They were around 1500$. I can't believe that. They just don't look like that. And that's it she says, I buy designer, almost only designer stuff but you can't see it.
So - what's the point?
Quality?
Please, can somebody tell me how much of the price is quality?
I don't like H&M either. If something is so cheap (they are already getting more expensive!) there must be someone who doesn't get a fair deal out of it. Relatively fair maybe but not really. Somebody get's a fucking gold nose out of this, you know what I mean.
So. How much is the quality really worth? The material? The time put into designing and producing it?
I really would love to know. It makes me sick to think that I cringe at the thought of asking her for a higher salary although I am the one who is frigging responsible for the upbringing of her kids.
That's all that matters and she says that too. She says, nothing is precious, only the boys are.
I don't understand.
Can somebody help:?
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
The Birmingham Complaints Choir
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2w84qzHdEms
I haven't laughed like this in a while!
LMAO!~
oh yeai. I love it!
I haven't laughed like this in a while!
LMAO!~
oh yeai. I love it!
Saturday, November 25, 2006
RETIRW
It's the weirdest thing
..how I look up to you and want to reach out and shake hands with you. sit down in the twilight corner of a dive bar and blow smoke rings in the air because in this bar we could smoke. And I would. And I would drink wine, red, and you would probably drink something harder. All of you. Cognac, Whiskey, Vodka maybe a Martini. I can't even name it. All I know is that I drink it red because I suck the color the way you suck my attention. The buzzing sound in my head is just background noise.
It's the weirdest thing how I never seem to be able to reach up though. How I cough blood up and sometimes it pleases you. Oversatiated vampires that have hooked my soul.
I dream of being equal to you. Of being able to talk to you about the ghosts and the lost ones, the ones who inspired you. About the ways of melting the hidden gold of life into the jewelry of words, black on white or reverse. About the art of writing, of moving in the fourth dimension.
And then again, I would have to talk more about you than about those ghosts because it was mostly you who inspired me and not them. And if I have ever moved in your dimension it was a child's dream, a scent of blossoming apple trees somewhere far far away but never here. That's the very reason I can't shake your hand.
It would fall into dust and the airwaves of my voice would blow it away. Into all five directions. Your hand would simple cease to be and I would have to go on and chase it somewhere else. In someone else's attention.
In the damned unsatisfying approval of a strangers eyes. A lost conversation in the bus or on the bench. A letter smuggled into a homeless' bags, with some dirty one dollar bills folded into a piece of old news-paper.
It's the weirdest thing how sometimes your look alone can make my night and inspire me to write better. To heat the fire and melt the metal. Find the gold and gracefully pour it into forms that speak for themselves. To dig deeper. To fall harder. To fly higher. Defy the cliche and nourish it during dusk and dawn. Never black and white - only sometimes.
It's the weirdest thing how I am craving your voice to be my echo.
And how seldom it happens
And how little I care, like in a puzzle.
..how I look up to you and want to reach out and shake hands with you. sit down in the twilight corner of a dive bar and blow smoke rings in the air because in this bar we could smoke. And I would. And I would drink wine, red, and you would probably drink something harder. All of you. Cognac, Whiskey, Vodka maybe a Martini. I can't even name it. All I know is that I drink it red because I suck the color the way you suck my attention. The buzzing sound in my head is just background noise.
It's the weirdest thing how I never seem to be able to reach up though. How I cough blood up and sometimes it pleases you. Oversatiated vampires that have hooked my soul.
I dream of being equal to you. Of being able to talk to you about the ghosts and the lost ones, the ones who inspired you. About the ways of melting the hidden gold of life into the jewelry of words, black on white or reverse. About the art of writing, of moving in the fourth dimension.
And then again, I would have to talk more about you than about those ghosts because it was mostly you who inspired me and not them. And if I have ever moved in your dimension it was a child's dream, a scent of blossoming apple trees somewhere far far away but never here. That's the very reason I can't shake your hand.
It would fall into dust and the airwaves of my voice would blow it away. Into all five directions. Your hand would simple cease to be and I would have to go on and chase it somewhere else. In someone else's attention.
In the damned unsatisfying approval of a strangers eyes. A lost conversation in the bus or on the bench. A letter smuggled into a homeless' bags, with some dirty one dollar bills folded into a piece of old news-paper.
It's the weirdest thing how sometimes your look alone can make my night and inspire me to write better. To heat the fire and melt the metal. Find the gold and gracefully pour it into forms that speak for themselves. To dig deeper. To fall harder. To fly higher. Defy the cliche and nourish it during dusk and dawn. Never black and white - only sometimes.
It's the weirdest thing how I am craving your voice to be my echo.
And how seldom it happens
And how little I care, like in a puzzle.
dusty poetry
30. September
things that I wanted to say slipped away
future memories, so filigran, like Burano glass
broke away under my
shivering longing fingertips
hips, burning in lust and fire but oh so little time
imagination took a hold of me, oh well, that's fine
but seconds only last so long
the last song
I played
ironically it was, of course, little wing.
could I hold you, shake you,
fake you?
No way out of here
you have to watch out like a real capitan, stir,
the stirring wheel
straight ahead
ahead
ahead
where
the external
now is
where I belong, belong, I long.....so....
do you remember when we were in africa?
things that I wanted to say slipped away
future memories, so filigran, like Burano glass
broke away under my
shivering longing fingertips
hips, burning in lust and fire but oh so little time
imagination took a hold of me, oh well, that's fine
but seconds only last so long
the last song
I played
ironically it was, of course, little wing.
could I hold you, shake you,
fake you?
No way out of here
you have to watch out like a real capitan, stir,
the stirring wheel
straight ahead
ahead
ahead
where
the external
now is
where I belong, belong, I long.....so....
do you remember when we were in africa?
crack heads, homeless, pissers or yo no soy marinero...
'Men named their ships after women. You should name it after a man.'
'You're right. So what would be your suggestion?'
'Something like M13Jesus?!'
'Oh fuck you too'
I look out of the window. He smiles and says, you are right. If you wanna write, this is a good place. Why would you want to look at a palm tree if you can look at crack heads, homeless people groping for stuff in the dumpsters and pissers pissing at my car...
He gazes through the blinders at the left side. 'And what have we got here?'
We see a man, naked torso, sitting at his computer. Sliced by his vertical blinders. A couple of dark windows. The sound of a very loud air conditioner, faintly reminding of waves crushing against a ship.
'If you try hard you could convince yourself it's waves' I say excitedly. It's all those stories behind all those windows and behind his car that tickle my brain. Hurt my heart. Find their way through different universes into my universe. Reflections of their selves, their lives, mirrored in air waves that hit the glass of my windows, penetrate the blinders, twist their way through my eyes, disappearing in my pupils, banning their way into the shadows of my thoughts, echoing, reverberating, vibrating, shivering, squivering, squeezing themselves through my veines into my cold fingertips.
'We don't have gas yet. It's fucking freezing man'
'I know and aren't you thrilled about the wireless?'
'Will we have a password? - I don't want suckers like me to feed off our internet. I totally would you know'
'yeah, and by the way your house is the doll house. Just for future reference. And their house is the play house. I know you play too but you are all girls, so it's the dollhouse. And ours is any but those names. Like the crack house or your mother's house'
'You can't kiss me tonight, I have a blister on my upper lip. But if you like we can build a yoghurt-phone line from your room to mine'
He smiles. He won't ever love me and we both know it. I laugh roughly. Cough. Sneeze. Sniff.
Thoughts are oozing out. Pressing. A caroussell of letters, whirled into a wild cyberstorm.
Welcome in my ship.
Just so you know, I am the capitan.
yo no soy marinero! soy capitan, soy capitan, soy capitan.
always
Emeralda
'You're right. So what would be your suggestion?'
'Something like M13Jesus?!'
'Oh fuck you too'
I look out of the window. He smiles and says, you are right. If you wanna write, this is a good place. Why would you want to look at a palm tree if you can look at crack heads, homeless people groping for stuff in the dumpsters and pissers pissing at my car...
He gazes through the blinders at the left side. 'And what have we got here?'
We see a man, naked torso, sitting at his computer. Sliced by his vertical blinders. A couple of dark windows. The sound of a very loud air conditioner, faintly reminding of waves crushing against a ship.
'If you try hard you could convince yourself it's waves' I say excitedly. It's all those stories behind all those windows and behind his car that tickle my brain. Hurt my heart. Find their way through different universes into my universe. Reflections of their selves, their lives, mirrored in air waves that hit the glass of my windows, penetrate the blinders, twist their way through my eyes, disappearing in my pupils, banning their way into the shadows of my thoughts, echoing, reverberating, vibrating, shivering, squivering, squeezing themselves through my veines into my cold fingertips.
'We don't have gas yet. It's fucking freezing man'
'I know and aren't you thrilled about the wireless?'
'Will we have a password? - I don't want suckers like me to feed off our internet. I totally would you know'
'yeah, and by the way your house is the doll house. Just for future reference. And their house is the play house. I know you play too but you are all girls, so it's the dollhouse. And ours is any but those names. Like the crack house or your mother's house'
'You can't kiss me tonight, I have a blister on my upper lip. But if you like we can build a yoghurt-phone line from your room to mine'
He smiles. He won't ever love me and we both know it. I laugh roughly. Cough. Sneeze. Sniff.
Thoughts are oozing out. Pressing. A caroussell of letters, whirled into a wild cyberstorm.
Welcome in my ship.
Just so you know, I am the capitan.
yo no soy marinero! soy capitan, soy capitan, soy capitan.
always
Emeralda
Thursday, November 23, 2006
four months
Sometimes I still get mad when I remember how the old Jewish guy looked at me mischievously saying that he'd give us four more months. That was in February or early March. You left me four months later.
It's a different life now.
I don't know what I did last year. I remember my sister coming back with turkey from her daughter's agent's party. I don't know what I did. It was before I fell for you. I fell at the second of december. I have it documented. Nerd.
Today I was at my nanny family's house. Tofurkey, vegetarian turkey substitute, cute children, the grandparents, the silver and the crystal and her call.
'Yes I am back from Thailand! I am at Maui! What are you doing! Are you still with the Gypsy? Oh no, sorry that was over four months ago, right?'
Four months have passed. A quarter year. Four months of writing on this blog. Bleeding and sweating it all out. And now it is all back to light and peaceful and easy. No weights attached. Easy.
Four months.
Polishing the silver and the crystal I got your call.
'I might come back in four months and I'll have some money saved up by then and a car and I will need someone to live with then. Like a roommate, you know, just someone to live with...'
'We'll see' I say
'No, I am talking serious to you Emeralda'
serious? he's never said that before... so...
'well, you know that I wouldn't let you down. We'll see what is going on then. I mean we never know what happens, right, because that's what we learned from all that, right?'
'I know. It's just for you to know...'
'You can totally count on me though.'
On my way home I couldn't help thinking 'maybe he can't count'. oh no.
I might leave the country
I might fall again
with you
---
I have a big brass bed now
but it is a single
It's a different life now.
I don't know what I did last year. I remember my sister coming back with turkey from her daughter's agent's party. I don't know what I did. It was before I fell for you. I fell at the second of december. I have it documented. Nerd.
Today I was at my nanny family's house. Tofurkey, vegetarian turkey substitute, cute children, the grandparents, the silver and the crystal and her call.
'Yes I am back from Thailand! I am at Maui! What are you doing! Are you still with the Gypsy? Oh no, sorry that was over four months ago, right?'
Four months have passed. A quarter year. Four months of writing on this blog. Bleeding and sweating it all out. And now it is all back to light and peaceful and easy. No weights attached. Easy.
Four months.
Polishing the silver and the crystal I got your call.
'I might come back in four months and I'll have some money saved up by then and a car and I will need someone to live with then. Like a roommate, you know, just someone to live with...'
'We'll see' I say
'No, I am talking serious to you Emeralda'
serious? he's never said that before... so...
'well, you know that I wouldn't let you down. We'll see what is going on then. I mean we never know what happens, right, because that's what we learned from all that, right?'
'I know. It's just for you to know...'
'You can totally count on me though.'
On my way home I couldn't help thinking 'maybe he can't count'. oh no.
I might leave the country
I might fall again
with you
---
I have a big brass bed now
but it is a single
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Plunge
i am sitting in this cafe, nothing really reminds me of Paris but it's a Crepe cafe, free internet. They give coffee away today because it's their first anniversary. I said, that sucks, or ok, ok, I might have said 'you guys suck! What should the healthy people do? I would love to have some tea!' And the bartender got so pissed. 'We don't have to give away anything' he said angrily. And I am such a coffee junkey. Long day.
There are these two women sitting right next to me and a couple is whispering cosy words into each other's ears. Love.
The women are talking about something, somehow connected to the 'business'. Film.
The brunette totally tries to come across as professional and unfazed. You have to, you HAVE to pretend that you are IT, here in Hollywood.
I know this feeling.
Something reminded me of France when I walked up here. Something about the way I walked and felt. Something that told me that one day I will live there, even though it's so far now. SO far.
I moved into this new house today. Decided to pay more and finally have a room of my own. Have a middle. A balance. A center point around which I can evolve. Revolve. Devolve. Volvo, and me snuggled up to your arm. Yes. And the nanny father's respond to my 'own-room-decision' was 'You held your hands for a four year old when he puked (I didn't want him to puke in the car so I had him puke into my hands) you don't need to live with a bulimic'. It sounded mean in a way but I knew what he meant and I couldn't stop laughing when I skated home.
They'll give me curtains. And a big brass bed.
This couple is really sweet. It makes me be in love with them, to watch them be so cosy and so fazed and so amazed. It's crazy.
I think that those two women are an actress and an agent or something like that.
Business.
This girl looks so great. How she is snuggled up to him. I can't believe it. It's so intimate. In a Cafe. And it's so great. I love her. I love her because she reminds me of myself. I looked like that. Trust me, I did. I learned how to. It came natural. Like a smile. All of the sudden. Like a lightening bolt. Making me bold. Daring to love. Plunging into this abyss of love.
Heights.
Depths.
I love you
There are these two women sitting right next to me and a couple is whispering cosy words into each other's ears. Love.
The women are talking about something, somehow connected to the 'business'. Film.
The brunette totally tries to come across as professional and unfazed. You have to, you HAVE to pretend that you are IT, here in Hollywood.
I know this feeling.
Something reminded me of France when I walked up here. Something about the way I walked and felt. Something that told me that one day I will live there, even though it's so far now. SO far.
I moved into this new house today. Decided to pay more and finally have a room of my own. Have a middle. A balance. A center point around which I can evolve. Revolve. Devolve. Volvo, and me snuggled up to your arm. Yes. And the nanny father's respond to my 'own-room-decision' was 'You held your hands for a four year old when he puked (I didn't want him to puke in the car so I had him puke into my hands) you don't need to live with a bulimic'. It sounded mean in a way but I knew what he meant and I couldn't stop laughing when I skated home.
They'll give me curtains. And a big brass bed.
This couple is really sweet. It makes me be in love with them, to watch them be so cosy and so fazed and so amazed. It's crazy.
I think that those two women are an actress and an agent or something like that.
Business.
This girl looks so great. How she is snuggled up to him. I can't believe it. It's so intimate. In a Cafe. And it's so great. I love her. I love her because she reminds me of myself. I looked like that. Trust me, I did. I learned how to. It came natural. Like a smile. All of the sudden. Like a lightening bolt. Making me bold. Daring to love. Plunging into this abyss of love.
Heights.
Depths.
I love you
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
this really is Good Bye
say nothing no more
wonder
awe
gazing in the distance
i caught the glimpse of your eye
out of the glimpse of my eye
my mouth smells of fresh love
like cotton beds in the morning
fluttering like wings in the air
somebody's loving hands have
smitten me with miracles
I love your face
I love your voice
I love you
Your hands
Your touch
Your feet
Your chest
Your lips
Your hips
The secrets
Can't ever forget what you taught me
I'll try and be true
To myself and you
To whatever it was that was calling you
Can't ever forget how it felt to kiss you
Again and again
Like coming home
This really makes me eyes wet
And your memory lingers
Between my thighs with sweet sighs
To see you in the morning sun
And in the moonlight
Feeling your embrace like a nest
Me nestled into your arms
Saying I love you
and meaning it.
wonder
awe
gazing in the distance
i caught the glimpse of your eye
out of the glimpse of my eye
my mouth smells of fresh love
like cotton beds in the morning
fluttering like wings in the air
somebody's loving hands have
smitten me with miracles
I love your face
I love your voice
I love you
Your hands
Your touch
Your feet
Your chest
Your lips
Your hips
The secrets
Can't ever forget what you taught me
I'll try and be true
To myself and you
To whatever it was that was calling you
Can't ever forget how it felt to kiss you
Again and again
Like coming home
This really makes me eyes wet
And your memory lingers
Between my thighs with sweet sighs
To see you in the morning sun
And in the moonlight
Feeling your embrace like a nest
Me nestled into your arms
Saying I love you
and meaning it.
long
anything that takes too long, takes too long.
that's it in a nutshell, right there.
life is twisting and I have a hard time keeping up with the events rolling and unrolling and folding and unfolding in front of my eyes. Sometimes I am sleeping, just listening to music. But in reality I am losing. Losing expensive seconds. Losing, lost, loser. However, even that doesn't touch me anymore. It's as if I was emotionally shut down, in a very smooth and cool way, not hurting, just being what it is. Nothing can bother me really like that anymore. My body has to buckle up now and take on everything. A cold, hurting as if someone pushed me down the stairs and jumped on my head. Throw up viruses lingering around, a child puking into my hands.
I am sorry, I genuinly am. It's funny how I feel sorry for my body but never felt so sorry for my heart. It did a good job too but now it needs a rest I guess. I can't ask, it's shut down. Sleep mode.
I have no idea what is really going on.
that's it in a nutshell, right there.
life is twisting and I have a hard time keeping up with the events rolling and unrolling and folding and unfolding in front of my eyes. Sometimes I am sleeping, just listening to music. But in reality I am losing. Losing expensive seconds. Losing, lost, loser. However, even that doesn't touch me anymore. It's as if I was emotionally shut down, in a very smooth and cool way, not hurting, just being what it is. Nothing can bother me really like that anymore. My body has to buckle up now and take on everything. A cold, hurting as if someone pushed me down the stairs and jumped on my head. Throw up viruses lingering around, a child puking into my hands.
I am sorry, I genuinly am. It's funny how I feel sorry for my body but never felt so sorry for my heart. It did a good job too but now it needs a rest I guess. I can't ask, it's shut down. Sleep mode.
I have no idea what is really going on.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
not so permanent
Of course, because I was half-heartedly already waiting for it to kick in. Slowly, drizzling like annoying London-rain. Seeping through my not so tough skin, tickeling things inside. That I wanted to believe were dead and besides, it is my neck that hurts like hell.
Not my heart I like to think. And it doesn't. It's more like, a pill's effect kicking in, missing leaking in, missing something that had to do with you I guess. Like a kiss in the neck and . -
He came out of the bathroom and said 'I will kill that bastard who taught you how to say 'whatever!''
We both laughed and smiled wildly into the same green leaves outside the window and the later afternoon sun because it was you, you, who taught me and it was you, you, yeah.
But my bickering and bitching wasn't for free and you stayed after all, making me your priority at last and tried to talk to me without using your hands.
It was a nice try, and it's slowly kicking in, in.
Not my heart I like to think. And it doesn't. It's more like, a pill's effect kicking in, missing leaking in, missing something that had to do with you I guess. Like a kiss in the neck and . -
He came out of the bathroom and said 'I will kill that bastard who taught you how to say 'whatever!''
We both laughed and smiled wildly into the same green leaves outside the window and the later afternoon sun because it was you, you, who taught me and it was you, you, yeah.
But my bickering and bitching wasn't for free and you stayed after all, making me your priority at last and tried to talk to me without using your hands.
It was a nice try, and it's slowly kicking in, in.
Sunset
It's taken me by surprise.
Oh wild child, your cool face, your cool face.
It's the best thing that has happened to me in a while. A morning starting with a shower of unconditional children love. A funtastic morning with nephews and brother in law. China town. Downtown fashion district. My little one on my shoulders, his face as usual, spilling over with childish joys and love. What a miracle-child he is.
The way back home. Your cool face, your cool face...
Anxiety and pain and suffering vanishing at the horizon, there isn't even an aftermath. Just cool and calm. Thoughts, slowly finding their way through the traffic gridlocks. I know the way by heart. I don't even need my glasses to see which streets are coming up. I am going by landmark signs. The gas-station. The tree. The national Wu-Shu center. memories pinned to every inch of grey I encounter. Oddly pale though, looking through a prism of astonishment. All this is me, my past, my dreams, my life. All this happened, for real. This isn't just a story. This is life. Tough. Hard. Warm. Seeping through mental destractions. Seeping through emotional destructions. Seeping through skin, semipermeable.
It's not that I wasn't moved or touched. Matter in fact, I was all up. Everything was as it was. You have always brought the sweetest and the most aggressive out in me. The defensive lioness and the submissive mistress. But I digress. I am not a mess. This is what I have to confess:
I have to go on. This time I will let you pass. You go your way and I go mine. These last hours and days and nights of being intertwined, struggeling, trying to find ways, exploring the unknown scary asphalts of fading love. It was like a sunset, it was so beautiful and so intense while it was there. And now it is night. And I see the evening star shining with all its might. And I see your smile fading away. I see your black eyes melting into the sea. I see you leave.
And I turn my back and I will never return and I will not look back.
Oh wild child, your cool face, your cool face.
It's the best thing that has happened to me in a while. A morning starting with a shower of unconditional children love. A funtastic morning with nephews and brother in law. China town. Downtown fashion district. My little one on my shoulders, his face as usual, spilling over with childish joys and love. What a miracle-child he is.
The way back home. Your cool face, your cool face...
Anxiety and pain and suffering vanishing at the horizon, there isn't even an aftermath. Just cool and calm. Thoughts, slowly finding their way through the traffic gridlocks. I know the way by heart. I don't even need my glasses to see which streets are coming up. I am going by landmark signs. The gas-station. The tree. The national Wu-Shu center. memories pinned to every inch of grey I encounter. Oddly pale though, looking through a prism of astonishment. All this is me, my past, my dreams, my life. All this happened, for real. This isn't just a story. This is life. Tough. Hard. Warm. Seeping through mental destractions. Seeping through emotional destructions. Seeping through skin, semipermeable.
It's not that I wasn't moved or touched. Matter in fact, I was all up. Everything was as it was. You have always brought the sweetest and the most aggressive out in me. The defensive lioness and the submissive mistress. But I digress. I am not a mess. This is what I have to confess:
I have to go on. This time I will let you pass. You go your way and I go mine. These last hours and days and nights of being intertwined, struggeling, trying to find ways, exploring the unknown scary asphalts of fading love. It was like a sunset, it was so beautiful and so intense while it was there. And now it is night. And I see the evening star shining with all its might. And I see your smile fading away. I see your black eyes melting into the sea. I see you leave.
And I turn my back and I will never return and I will not look back.
morning love
'give me some aunty love!'
a bright smiling face with arms stretched out to meet me in a good morning embrace, my eyes hardly open.
cuddling until the heart is full of sun and love and laughter. a little tickle fight. blankets piled on top of me. a little soft house. a painting that he makes for me when I send him away to catch a little more sleep. It says 'love'. He jumps back on the bed and shouts 'I want to cuddle a little more with my beautiful aunty!'
perfect morning song.
a bright smiling face with arms stretched out to meet me in a good morning embrace, my eyes hardly open.
cuddling until the heart is full of sun and love and laughter. a little tickle fight. blankets piled on top of me. a little soft house. a painting that he makes for me when I send him away to catch a little more sleep. It says 'love'. He jumps back on the bed and shouts 'I want to cuddle a little more with my beautiful aunty!'
perfect morning song.
Friday, November 17, 2006
crazy
crazy.
Funny how so many roads can merge in one point. Like a star the arms cross in one point and radiate into all four directions.
It was early summer and I had the car. We drove to Venice Beach, the girls and I and in a little boutique the owner played Crazy on loop. It took me a while until I realized it was looped. It was such a good song, that I didn't get annoyed by it for a long time.
On our way back we heard it on the radio. We decided it was our summer song.
San Francisco. The exotic looking friend of Res came by, dressed in a sleek black leather suit. We were about to go on a motorcycle ride. He said, Crazy, such a good song and the whole album is good, surprisingly. Yeah, Gnarls Barkeley.
It was a windy Frisco day. A night that reminded me too much of Berlin. Talking into the early morning hours, discussing. An annoying skepticist. A cup of coffee in the morning with a little heart and smiley face on it. Waking up to a new angle of life. Missing you.
Famima, Hollywood. You stared at me. Black eyes like black holes sucking me in. Friends. Just. And you stared at me, don't think I didn't feel that. When I caught your glare you would turn away, quickly. Crazy, what a fucking good song you said, and I smiled because at one hand I was surprised and on the other hand I wasn't at all. I knew you would relate to the lyrics. And it's your ringtone now, as funny as it might seem. You are weird but sometimes you have your good moments of clear judgemental capacity. It was late and I remembered that I bought a sexy little black dress in this boutique in Venice beach, back then, for you... not as friends, but that was then...
Santa Monica. With my nephew in my arms, drawing a farm. He is so cute. The cutest little boy I know and so determined a boy. Innocent, child. Us jumping on the bed, singing along to the song. Does that make me crazy? Probably. His eyes filling and then overspilling with tears, telling me that he doesn't want to use pee as a remedy for his pink eye. His dad however did it and it helped immediately. Me thinking of how my nephew always loved you.
Crazy.
Funny how so many roads can merge in one point. Like a star the arms cross in one point and radiate into all four directions.
It was early summer and I had the car. We drove to Venice Beach, the girls and I and in a little boutique the owner played Crazy on loop. It took me a while until I realized it was looped. It was such a good song, that I didn't get annoyed by it for a long time.
On our way back we heard it on the radio. We decided it was our summer song.
San Francisco. The exotic looking friend of Res came by, dressed in a sleek black leather suit. We were about to go on a motorcycle ride. He said, Crazy, such a good song and the whole album is good, surprisingly. Yeah, Gnarls Barkeley.
It was a windy Frisco day. A night that reminded me too much of Berlin. Talking into the early morning hours, discussing. An annoying skepticist. A cup of coffee in the morning with a little heart and smiley face on it. Waking up to a new angle of life. Missing you.
Famima, Hollywood. You stared at me. Black eyes like black holes sucking me in. Friends. Just. And you stared at me, don't think I didn't feel that. When I caught your glare you would turn away, quickly. Crazy, what a fucking good song you said, and I smiled because at one hand I was surprised and on the other hand I wasn't at all. I knew you would relate to the lyrics. And it's your ringtone now, as funny as it might seem. You are weird but sometimes you have your good moments of clear judgemental capacity. It was late and I remembered that I bought a sexy little black dress in this boutique in Venice beach, back then, for you... not as friends, but that was then...
Santa Monica. With my nephew in my arms, drawing a farm. He is so cute. The cutest little boy I know and so determined a boy. Innocent, child. Us jumping on the bed, singing along to the song. Does that make me crazy? Probably. His eyes filling and then overspilling with tears, telling me that he doesn't want to use pee as a remedy for his pink eye. His dad however did it and it helped immediately. Me thinking of how my nephew always loved you.
Crazy.
sun
sun shine outside and in my face. the green shadows of the leaves dance slowly, as if in trance. i hear a harmonica calling and tears of joy gather in the corner of my eye. 'Look, look, this is my Mom when she was small!'
A perfect little doll, standing in front of her pioneer dad, barely reaching his knees, little curly hair framing an adorable face with button eyes and a perfect little smile, her hands folded in front of her little flower dress.
My Grandmother so beautiful, with a baby on her arm. It means so much to me, to show this to him.
We both feel how relief lightens the burden of being friends. We joke around and enjoy the transitional phase. I don't know whether it will ever change. I missed his embrace in my sleep but he slept deep and well and that makes me happy. But last night, when I sank into his arms we both felt how perfect it was. And when I said it, I meant it, from the bottom of my heart.
But there he goes, still not so sure as to what he really wants to do and I think you should take this job at the school.
My life, changing around, building schedules around his, as always, priority number one. Realising how much time that must have taken from everything. It is good how it is. It is wonderful how it is. How he is back in my life. It is wonderful to have him in my life, no matter what happens and how often I will see him. It is simply wonderful. I love his presence. I love to be around him. With him. Towards him. Yeah. And he knows how to touch me, in every respect.
It is the sun rising in my dark heart.
It is the morning calling.
It is the moment when the flower dies and whithers away to give way to the seeds.
It is what it is.
A perfect little doll, standing in front of her pioneer dad, barely reaching his knees, little curly hair framing an adorable face with button eyes and a perfect little smile, her hands folded in front of her little flower dress.
My Grandmother so beautiful, with a baby on her arm. It means so much to me, to show this to him.
We both feel how relief lightens the burden of being friends. We joke around and enjoy the transitional phase. I don't know whether it will ever change. I missed his embrace in my sleep but he slept deep and well and that makes me happy. But last night, when I sank into his arms we both felt how perfect it was. And when I said it, I meant it, from the bottom of my heart.
But there he goes, still not so sure as to what he really wants to do and I think you should take this job at the school.
My life, changing around, building schedules around his, as always, priority number one. Realising how much time that must have taken from everything. It is good how it is. It is wonderful how it is. How he is back in my life. It is wonderful to have him in my life, no matter what happens and how often I will see him. It is simply wonderful. I love his presence. I love to be around him. With him. Towards him. Yeah. And he knows how to touch me, in every respect.
It is the sun rising in my dark heart.
It is the morning calling.
It is the moment when the flower dies and whithers away to give way to the seeds.
It is what it is.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
insomnia
you lay there my lover, in front of me, in my big brass bed. sometimes I fantasize how you'd stare at me, lost in contemplation, my lover, with this glare i met when you first saw me as a friend.
black eyes are burning my soul.
I can't sleep.
Maybe a tea will help. I put the little black silver camping tea pot that my dad gave me before I left on the stove.
I hear the water boiling. Slowly, boiling away. Just like my saliva and my peace and my so bitterly needed sleep.
I can't sleep.
I toss myself around in agony, just to itch a little closer to your body, emanating this sweet bitter almond scent that haunted all my dreams while you were gone.
Four months.
And I can't sleep.
What is that noise? Shooting or a display of fireworks?
You touched my legs when I put lotion on after my shower. Then I crept into your arms like a child seeking protection. It felt like a nest and I was the bird, perfectly fitting.
Then your hands started to wander, burning little holes into my skin, leaving traces of hot glistering and blistering and red-orange shining lava all over my body. I held your head, your hair, with one hand and the other tried to cling onto reality.
Will this kill us or end in a display of orgasmic fireworks in our mind, body and soul? We shuddered and stopped in the middle.
Softly my lips found your skin and your mouth found the round of where my neck merges into my shoulder. It was so close and ever so soft. I couldn't help but say I love you.
Why?
I don't know, I just do I said.
Why did you ask me, my lover?
I can't sleep.
black eyes are burning my soul.
I can't sleep.
Maybe a tea will help. I put the little black silver camping tea pot that my dad gave me before I left on the stove.
I hear the water boiling. Slowly, boiling away. Just like my saliva and my peace and my so bitterly needed sleep.
I can't sleep.
I toss myself around in agony, just to itch a little closer to your body, emanating this sweet bitter almond scent that haunted all my dreams while you were gone.
Four months.
And I can't sleep.
What is that noise? Shooting or a display of fireworks?
You touched my legs when I put lotion on after my shower. Then I crept into your arms like a child seeking protection. It felt like a nest and I was the bird, perfectly fitting.
Then your hands started to wander, burning little holes into my skin, leaving traces of hot glistering and blistering and red-orange shining lava all over my body. I held your head, your hair, with one hand and the other tried to cling onto reality.
Will this kill us or end in a display of orgasmic fireworks in our mind, body and soul? We shuddered and stopped in the middle.
Softly my lips found your skin and your mouth found the round of where my neck merges into my shoulder. It was so close and ever so soft. I couldn't help but say I love you.
Why?
I don't know, I just do I said.
Why did you ask me, my lover?
I can't sleep.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
fall
maybe it isn't fall in the Southern hemisphere. maybe that's where I should go. Nothing against the orange-red leaves that are tumbling down to the ground. Nothing against chest nuts. It's just that I am withering away without even noticing. And it wasn't even time to fall yet. Fall out of love.
You reach out to me, longing yet determined to terminate this. You tell me how you woke up and missed THAT. But it has to be done, it has to be done and my 'that's what you think' triggers yet another 'aw, i have to go, talk to you later.'
Yes, yes, these are the realities of the blank moments inbetween. If I only knew or understood. Myself. And that it really is.
You will come again, asking for more, but what exactly I don't know. To be my friend you are too close. Too close. Too good looking. Too dear a sight to my heart. Too loved. The other way.
Maybe in the Southern hemisphere things are upside down.
You reach out to me, longing yet determined to terminate this. You tell me how you woke up and missed THAT. But it has to be done, it has to be done and my 'that's what you think' triggers yet another 'aw, i have to go, talk to you later.'
Yes, yes, these are the realities of the blank moments inbetween. If I only knew or understood. Myself. And that it really is.
You will come again, asking for more, but what exactly I don't know. To be my friend you are too close. Too close. Too good looking. Too dear a sight to my heart. Too loved. The other way.
Maybe in the Southern hemisphere things are upside down.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
friends. Just.
So does it feel good to act like a friend? To give me a hard time again, jokefully. Yeah. And those thumps in the shoulder, touching my feet, just as a friend would, maybe. A wink. Laughter. Let's go and dance to get this music out of our system! Total absurdity coming out of your mouth. Your deep black glare on my face when I don't look. And our Italian friend somehow uncomfortably cringing and winking and what not, 'hey you are a fine 'couple of friends' you' he says and I put the bad spell look on my face.
Then you came home with me. Trying to be all casual. We played guitar. And your eyes thoughtfully on my eyes. Sometimes I would stare right back and you would be the first to give up. Ironically.
My admittedly somewhat sentimental attempts to fall asleep on your shoulder and beg you to sing a lullaby for me to fall asleep are brushed away by akwardly tom-boyish attempts of your side to be my friend. Just.
Hey dude, I see you friday, talk to you tomorrow.
The casualties of this casual encounter grow by the minute.
And devastatingly unfortunate seems the manifesting realisation that this is just another beginning and the spark just undercover, ready to burn me again. This could be another life, another universe, maybe parallel, and maybe we are in 2005. Maybe we are flirting and maybe I am gonna fall into an abyss in a couple of minutes. Who knows. It's not certain.
Undeniably not over the bridge yet, although it seems to be peaceful in these war-devastated ruins of a street that is still glooming in past glories and dooms.
Forgive me, forgive me.
It wasn't me
Who chose. - Is that the point where I say thank you? Maybe. Just. Thanks.
Just.
Then you came home with me. Trying to be all casual. We played guitar. And your eyes thoughtfully on my eyes. Sometimes I would stare right back and you would be the first to give up. Ironically.
My admittedly somewhat sentimental attempts to fall asleep on your shoulder and beg you to sing a lullaby for me to fall asleep are brushed away by akwardly tom-boyish attempts of your side to be my friend. Just.
Hey dude, I see you friday, talk to you tomorrow.
The casualties of this casual encounter grow by the minute.
And devastatingly unfortunate seems the manifesting realisation that this is just another beginning and the spark just undercover, ready to burn me again. This could be another life, another universe, maybe parallel, and maybe we are in 2005. Maybe we are flirting and maybe I am gonna fall into an abyss in a couple of minutes. Who knows. It's not certain.
Undeniably not over the bridge yet, although it seems to be peaceful in these war-devastated ruins of a street that is still glooming in past glories and dooms.
Forgive me, forgive me.
It wasn't me
Who chose. - Is that the point where I say thank you? Maybe. Just. Thanks.
Just.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
haikus for today and others.
'You are gone, gypsy-gypsy gone. And even a last favor wasn't possible really, and there is never more.'
'Can't we just stay together
A selfish Voice asked
I am burning'
'Still-life memories of your hand at the spot
The sound of your touch still echoing
through my veins.
All the streams just like tears
Flowing conspicuously
south bound
ah, gravity,
where longing resides next to hope.'
It's been so moisty here
Since a couple of days
This misty autumn night
The well
I dwell upon.'
'Something is missing
-
It might be
you'
'Can't we just stay together
A selfish Voice asked
I am burning'
'Still-life memories of your hand at the spot
The sound of your touch still echoing
through my veins.
All the streams just like tears
Flowing conspicuously
south bound
ah, gravity,
where longing resides next to hope.'
It's been so moisty here
Since a couple of days
This misty autumn night
The well
I dwell upon.'
'Something is missing
-
It might be
you'
Saturday, November 11, 2006
repercussions in silence
slowly the drumbeat of my own heart swirls me around and round again. i still softly and tenderly regret a little. couldn't we just have taken the moment out of context again and be in love, finally, both on top of the hill, swinging back and forth between the fine lines, together for once and ever in a perfect little vacuum just as it used to be.
why just a taste, yes, I really wished we hadn't gone only to that degree.
why just a taste, a taste, I say?
well okay, i just had to write that down. as I have the habit of admitting things.
why just a taste, yes, I really wished we hadn't gone only to that degree.
why just a taste, a taste, I say?
well okay, i just had to write that down. as I have the habit of admitting things.
Good At First Sight - or when it tastes good and it's all good and good and good; good
Sometimes you tell yourself that it is all good. Sometimes he would say it is all good and I would gauge and sometimes I would swallow it down and sometimes it would burst out of me like an old rusty water pipe bursts in march in millions of post-soviet homes in Russia. I would snap, No It Isn't. It Isn't And You Know It. Oh Man.
And then I would apologize and say, Oh My God I Am Sorry, You Know, It Actually Is All Good; good.
There is another thing, that hasn't to do with anything 'goodie-good-good'. That's when it genuinly is good, you know, when you feel it deep down inside. Just by one glance. Good at first sight I would say. That happens to, not only to love.
Thus it was yesterday. I saw him, like a mirage of my miriads of day-dream illusions, sitting in front of my door. Exactly how I imagined him. Just this time I came from the other side, from where the elevator is and not from the hallway. He was sitting there, just waiting and I should have known, I knew it, matter of factly but as so often in life, it still comes as a surprise. Unexpected, the dangerously wishfully expected.
And it is always like this. It's as if life is upset and annoyed by your expectations and your manifestations and visualizations and what not. Life maybe thinks to itself: yeah, it will be exactly this way but it would never ever lead you onto it, quite in the contrary - it waits until you feel safe and disillusioned and then it jumps on you from behind. It's like turning the other cheek in the most of unexpected situations. It's like, now! Ha! Catch the ball if you can.
I caught it. I smiled at him and I said twice that night, good catch when he caught the water bottle once and another time something that I can't remember.
Of course we didn't quite know what to do, carefully staking out the grounds, carefully putting bottles to where they belong, trash into the trashcan, the guitar in his hands, some licks and melodies played just to find a way of how to be. Finally.
So there he was, and I gave him a real long hug but we weren't so sure.
And it was Good At First Sight.
I looked at him, as he sat on the bed that I had cried on so many nights, leaning against the wall thay I banged my head against in desperate attempts to silence the pain within. Externalize what is too much inside of you. Externalize it.
I saw his beloved face, the corner of his mouths which I love so most of all and his hair, not much different unexpectedly and his half smile and his amazing eyes, so deep and dark like velvet nights that I passed all alone here in this room, my refuge.
And as I looked at him it hit me with an overwhelming uninvited clarity: It Is All Good. Okay.
Actually it was one of our best nights. We didn't go all the way because he didn't want to but it was oh so pleasurable. Ah, Amazing and he tastes good now, now that he is healthier.
It actually went into a direction that I like, more so than ever, and I knew it could happen with him but I always knew that and the very fact that I say 'could' is in the same time the blank cheque for failure. Almost is just almost and could will always be could. And would.
I tried everything, and this despite the It Is All Good At First Sight.
I explained how I think that love can change faces and I realized last night that I could - could - and would - would - put up with exactly how and who he is: the Gypsy, coming back, in irregular intervalls, and be my lover. I would.
That's how much I love him and how he makes me feel and how it feels to pour myself into him and how his kiss and his loving touch feels. That's exactly the problem he said into the silence of my rattling thoughts: I am nobody's gypsy.
I looked at him, at a loss what to say and then I looked at him from the side, with my head cocked to one side: Nobody belongs to no one. And if you don't have yourself you can't give yourself i continued thinking.
Maybe it was so good because he already had made up his mind, for real. Friends. And thus making love was out of the question and impossible, although it didn't make quite a difference, I thought, whether we imitated it in the most heated possible ways or really go down that road. But for him it did and maybe it was more sexual than loving and maybe that's why it was so good. Yes, yes, I like it rough at times.
But rough is what is this It Is All Good At First Sight is all about. For me and now.
And I might not like it so much after all. I will have to find someone else at some point. Who can take me down that road that he desperately attempted to take me down and he released me before he could bring me down.
It just seems so far beyond all of my horizons, for how could I ever, ever? Find someone to open up as I opened right there and then...Oh scratch that. Let's say it as it is: Someone to love. Like you.
Good Bye, and do you understand now, finally, how it is. We can still live our lives together and walk down the path together, we just won't be holding hands, he said, and laughed a little bit, if you understand what I mean with this image.
I chuckled softly and said yes I do.
Because I do.
I just tried to outline all the other possibilities we could have but he was very straight about it, in the morning, after the night and said, no, you see, I can't do that. If I can't take care of you as I did, we can't be physical. We will meet and have a blast, a whopping good time, but that's it.
A good bye hug, I naturally hugged a little longer, clutched onto him like I was trying to prove something, oh but it is alright.
He made me feel good last night. And it was all good, that we had this last time feeling good in those ways.
And It Is All Good and Alright.
So can I leave now, he asked, and you won't cry?
Yeah I said, gazing indetermined into the distance, I guess so. I have tried.
When he left he drove away and this image burnt itself into my heart or maybe it's my brain.
There he goes, once again, yes this boy is driving me insane.
Tears welled up and with a tiny voice I called Amanda and said, it's all done now, I survived, it's all good now and I ll be alright - but can I see you?
A single salt water drop in free fall through the soft Californian autumn air. And when it touched the ground it made a small little splashing sound.
I caught myself thinking that this might be how freedom might sound like
--
and,... and, they stole my second bike too now, the second bike in two days. there is just nothing you can do about that kind of things, you know. you had it, you lost it, you gotta trust your eyes. It - ISN'T -There - Anymore. It just isn't. You are still free to go whereever, however. Just without. You know. Without.
And then I would apologize and say, Oh My God I Am Sorry, You Know, It Actually Is All Good; good.
There is another thing, that hasn't to do with anything 'goodie-good-good'. That's when it genuinly is good, you know, when you feel it deep down inside. Just by one glance. Good at first sight I would say. That happens to, not only to love.
Thus it was yesterday. I saw him, like a mirage of my miriads of day-dream illusions, sitting in front of my door. Exactly how I imagined him. Just this time I came from the other side, from where the elevator is and not from the hallway. He was sitting there, just waiting and I should have known, I knew it, matter of factly but as so often in life, it still comes as a surprise. Unexpected, the dangerously wishfully expected.
And it is always like this. It's as if life is upset and annoyed by your expectations and your manifestations and visualizations and what not. Life maybe thinks to itself: yeah, it will be exactly this way but it would never ever lead you onto it, quite in the contrary - it waits until you feel safe and disillusioned and then it jumps on you from behind. It's like turning the other cheek in the most of unexpected situations. It's like, now! Ha! Catch the ball if you can.
I caught it. I smiled at him and I said twice that night, good catch when he caught the water bottle once and another time something that I can't remember.
Of course we didn't quite know what to do, carefully staking out the grounds, carefully putting bottles to where they belong, trash into the trashcan, the guitar in his hands, some licks and melodies played just to find a way of how to be. Finally.
So there he was, and I gave him a real long hug but we weren't so sure.
And it was Good At First Sight.
I looked at him, as he sat on the bed that I had cried on so many nights, leaning against the wall thay I banged my head against in desperate attempts to silence the pain within. Externalize what is too much inside of you. Externalize it.
I saw his beloved face, the corner of his mouths which I love so most of all and his hair, not much different unexpectedly and his half smile and his amazing eyes, so deep and dark like velvet nights that I passed all alone here in this room, my refuge.
And as I looked at him it hit me with an overwhelming uninvited clarity: It Is All Good. Okay.
Actually it was one of our best nights. We didn't go all the way because he didn't want to but it was oh so pleasurable. Ah, Amazing and he tastes good now, now that he is healthier.
It actually went into a direction that I like, more so than ever, and I knew it could happen with him but I always knew that and the very fact that I say 'could' is in the same time the blank cheque for failure. Almost is just almost and could will always be could. And would.
I tried everything, and this despite the It Is All Good At First Sight.
I explained how I think that love can change faces and I realized last night that I could - could - and would - would - put up with exactly how and who he is: the Gypsy, coming back, in irregular intervalls, and be my lover. I would.
That's how much I love him and how he makes me feel and how it feels to pour myself into him and how his kiss and his loving touch feels. That's exactly the problem he said into the silence of my rattling thoughts: I am nobody's gypsy.
I looked at him, at a loss what to say and then I looked at him from the side, with my head cocked to one side: Nobody belongs to no one. And if you don't have yourself you can't give yourself i continued thinking.
Maybe it was so good because he already had made up his mind, for real. Friends. And thus making love was out of the question and impossible, although it didn't make quite a difference, I thought, whether we imitated it in the most heated possible ways or really go down that road. But for him it did and maybe it was more sexual than loving and maybe that's why it was so good. Yes, yes, I like it rough at times.
But rough is what is this It Is All Good At First Sight is all about. For me and now.
And I might not like it so much after all. I will have to find someone else at some point. Who can take me down that road that he desperately attempted to take me down and he released me before he could bring me down.
It just seems so far beyond all of my horizons, for how could I ever, ever? Find someone to open up as I opened right there and then...Oh scratch that. Let's say it as it is: Someone to love. Like you.
Good Bye, and do you understand now, finally, how it is. We can still live our lives together and walk down the path together, we just won't be holding hands, he said, and laughed a little bit, if you understand what I mean with this image.
I chuckled softly and said yes I do.
Because I do.
I just tried to outline all the other possibilities we could have but he was very straight about it, in the morning, after the night and said, no, you see, I can't do that. If I can't take care of you as I did, we can't be physical. We will meet and have a blast, a whopping good time, but that's it.
A good bye hug, I naturally hugged a little longer, clutched onto him like I was trying to prove something, oh but it is alright.
He made me feel good last night. And it was all good, that we had this last time feeling good in those ways.
And It Is All Good and Alright.
So can I leave now, he asked, and you won't cry?
Yeah I said, gazing indetermined into the distance, I guess so. I have tried.
When he left he drove away and this image burnt itself into my heart or maybe it's my brain.
There he goes, once again, yes this boy is driving me insane.
Tears welled up and with a tiny voice I called Amanda and said, it's all done now, I survived, it's all good now and I ll be alright - but can I see you?
A single salt water drop in free fall through the soft Californian autumn air. And when it touched the ground it made a small little splashing sound.
I caught myself thinking that this might be how freedom might sound like
--
and,... and, they stole my second bike too now, the second bike in two days. there is just nothing you can do about that kind of things, you know. you had it, you lost it, you gotta trust your eyes. It - ISN'T -There - Anymore. It just isn't. You are still free to go whereever, however. Just without. You know. Without.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
can't write that letter
it just seems and why would he, if this really is the end.
or do it again, on your terms, just wait until the ocean washes the holes into the rocks and let the moon shine down while you uriniate just another time like a mad dog who doesn't care about a dime.
in the corner of my heart it smells heavily now, considerately and considerable like in their apartment, like old stuff and smoke and clothes all mingled up with molding food, and needs and wants are all muffled up I guess I should clean, now, that I live again.
into the pointless but star sparkled night I get hit by an epiphany, waiting to be struck by lightning or accidents, and it came to me that I don't miss life with you but I miss love with you and without you the dark night is just lighter than the day.
The naked light bulb stares into my face but I have it covered up unknowingly. it is early night and the owls haven't come out. wisdom is yet to be acquired - for now, just hush, hush, baby, nevermind.
It is funny how things can seem just so yesterday. so vivdly and pressingly yesterday. as if it had been just a day. nothing more. just a day and one night. a single one, single, yeah.
tears still dwell up as I get hit by the whiff of a San Francisco night, actually it was Berkeley and how the levee broke and I just couldn't help.
Don't cry you said softly and dont' jump to conclusions. My friends would crucify me if they knew, but I am stuck here alone wiht the blues again. come, they say, come and sing, but my voice has vanished and dwindled away. thoughts like rafts in a mindless sea of sorrow. hold up your little sail, your friend the wind might come. or dusk or dawn.
We just have to sit down and talk you said into the deep blue velvet sobs that escaped the depths of my heart. We are drifting apart, but don't you jump to conclusions, my lover, my heart. \
We never sat, when you came you scared me, so much had happened and so much of an unknown person you seemed to be. Only when you kissed me I felt the old familiarities arise on my horizon like a burning fire that quickly was eating all the dry grass that had me covered up. Hapless and helplessly I started putting your stuff into a bag while you turned your back to me, struggling with your truths, laying on the floor where we had made love so many times before. That's where I bore your heart proudly in my warmth and strength. That's where I fell deep into your neverending eyes.
Only sorrow can sing my song now because love isn't concerned with luck nor reason nor does it care about our shares.
We never talked. Passion just desperately threw us into a fit of love, we held each other while the storm rocked us from one side of the room to the other, asking each other what we did to each other, respectively. Yes, you did too and I held you in my arms I couldn't talk. but i didn't let you make me love. i felt i had to be careful with these moments, touch them only with gloves, walk on eggs, listen to the heart, the intution what to tell. do the right thing I thought, right, right, but I wasn't sure whether all this would lead you to hell.
Then you left and I whispered don't leave and you looked back at me, at the elevator door and murmured I have to but it really, it really was a good time.
I felt like throwing myself on the floor and running after you, holding on to your knees, begging you to stay, but I remained at the wall, silently, gulping down a seemingly overwhelming flood of tears, Mama, the levee's gonna break.
When the door closed softly behind you I walked in slow motion back to our refuge and sank down on the floor. It all washed away over me until the bitch called out of the other room, Emeralda, turn the music down.
Why I am writing this I don't know. I am just surprised, surprised that all this escapes logic like a well trained thought.
She would kill me, if she knew, and she'll read this and I don't know, it's just been a couple of hours that we decided that we won't let this go on and on and on, both of us, we won't and how comes that hours seem so long ago but this love just so fresh and as if this had happened nothing but merely a couple of hours ago?
Why is it so.
blue.
so, cruel.
so,
fueled,
so,
uncooled,
so,
fooled,
and why is it so hard to do once just one thing that your could-be-lover-of-a-lifetime asked you for?
or do it again, on your terms, just wait until the ocean washes the holes into the rocks and let the moon shine down while you uriniate just another time like a mad dog who doesn't care about a dime.
in the corner of my heart it smells heavily now, considerately and considerable like in their apartment, like old stuff and smoke and clothes all mingled up with molding food, and needs and wants are all muffled up I guess I should clean, now, that I live again.
into the pointless but star sparkled night I get hit by an epiphany, waiting to be struck by lightning or accidents, and it came to me that I don't miss life with you but I miss love with you and without you the dark night is just lighter than the day.
The naked light bulb stares into my face but I have it covered up unknowingly. it is early night and the owls haven't come out. wisdom is yet to be acquired - for now, just hush, hush, baby, nevermind.
It is funny how things can seem just so yesterday. so vivdly and pressingly yesterday. as if it had been just a day. nothing more. just a day and one night. a single one, single, yeah.
tears still dwell up as I get hit by the whiff of a San Francisco night, actually it was Berkeley and how the levee broke and I just couldn't help.
Don't cry you said softly and dont' jump to conclusions. My friends would crucify me if they knew, but I am stuck here alone wiht the blues again. come, they say, come and sing, but my voice has vanished and dwindled away. thoughts like rafts in a mindless sea of sorrow. hold up your little sail, your friend the wind might come. or dusk or dawn.
We just have to sit down and talk you said into the deep blue velvet sobs that escaped the depths of my heart. We are drifting apart, but don't you jump to conclusions, my lover, my heart. \
We never sat, when you came you scared me, so much had happened and so much of an unknown person you seemed to be. Only when you kissed me I felt the old familiarities arise on my horizon like a burning fire that quickly was eating all the dry grass that had me covered up. Hapless and helplessly I started putting your stuff into a bag while you turned your back to me, struggling with your truths, laying on the floor where we had made love so many times before. That's where I bore your heart proudly in my warmth and strength. That's where I fell deep into your neverending eyes.
Only sorrow can sing my song now because love isn't concerned with luck nor reason nor does it care about our shares.
We never talked. Passion just desperately threw us into a fit of love, we held each other while the storm rocked us from one side of the room to the other, asking each other what we did to each other, respectively. Yes, you did too and I held you in my arms I couldn't talk. but i didn't let you make me love. i felt i had to be careful with these moments, touch them only with gloves, walk on eggs, listen to the heart, the intution what to tell. do the right thing I thought, right, right, but I wasn't sure whether all this would lead you to hell.
Then you left and I whispered don't leave and you looked back at me, at the elevator door and murmured I have to but it really, it really was a good time.
I felt like throwing myself on the floor and running after you, holding on to your knees, begging you to stay, but I remained at the wall, silently, gulping down a seemingly overwhelming flood of tears, Mama, the levee's gonna break.
When the door closed softly behind you I walked in slow motion back to our refuge and sank down on the floor. It all washed away over me until the bitch called out of the other room, Emeralda, turn the music down.
Why I am writing this I don't know. I am just surprised, surprised that all this escapes logic like a well trained thought.
She would kill me, if she knew, and she'll read this and I don't know, it's just been a couple of hours that we decided that we won't let this go on and on and on, both of us, we won't and how comes that hours seem so long ago but this love just so fresh and as if this had happened nothing but merely a couple of hours ago?
Why is it so.
blue.
so, cruel.
so,
fueled,
so,
uncooled,
so,
fooled,
and why is it so hard to do once just one thing that your could-be-lover-of-a-lifetime asked you for?
Monday, November 06, 2006
what again is will? power?
50% of my friends say that I will have sex.
Don't meet him they say. You will have sex and then, uahhh, fuck, four months of suffering, wasn't that enough?!
Don't do it.
The other 50% (wifie counts for the other half. it's not like I have that many friends anyway) says I have to face it. Go, see him, face it. whatever the outcome may be.
She laughs and says, you don't wanna be with a pussy. Dont' tell him he is one, but he is one.
Then she looks over to me, taking a long drag of her pall mall: Don't do it like me!
She laughs.
I laugh.
It's like parents who smoke telling their children not to smoke.
So we know smoking is bad.
But I puffed a cigarette just minutes ago with strangers.
And I was really determined not to smoke anymore, hell, whatever, no puff anymore, if you like.
To the first 50% I say convinced and defensively: well, no you don't know me. I won't! I am strong enough! I just won't. The last time we saw each other he wanted to make love, like, for the last time or something. He knew, I didn't want to know. I didn't let it happen. For his sake actually. Didn't want to let him do anything he would regret later. Like making love to someone without intending to marry them. yeah. right.
However, didn't I NOT want to smoke? But then, just minutes ago I wanted to?
What again is will?
Will I not want to make love to him?
When I just think of the way I looked contemplatively and a little forlorn at the zuccinis today, at Jons. It borders at despair, then, doesn't it?
It's very unlikely to know the outcome. When the will is so weak. And the wants so bad.
Don't meet him they say. You will have sex and then, uahhh, fuck, four months of suffering, wasn't that enough?!
Don't do it.
The other 50% (wifie counts for the other half. it's not like I have that many friends anyway) says I have to face it. Go, see him, face it. whatever the outcome may be.
She laughs and says, you don't wanna be with a pussy. Dont' tell him he is one, but he is one.
Then she looks over to me, taking a long drag of her pall mall: Don't do it like me!
She laughs.
I laugh.
It's like parents who smoke telling their children not to smoke.
So we know smoking is bad.
But I puffed a cigarette just minutes ago with strangers.
And I was really determined not to smoke anymore, hell, whatever, no puff anymore, if you like.
To the first 50% I say convinced and defensively: well, no you don't know me. I won't! I am strong enough! I just won't. The last time we saw each other he wanted to make love, like, for the last time or something. He knew, I didn't want to know. I didn't let it happen. For his sake actually. Didn't want to let him do anything he would regret later. Like making love to someone without intending to marry them. yeah. right.
However, didn't I NOT want to smoke? But then, just minutes ago I wanted to?
What again is will?
Will I not want to make love to him?
When I just think of the way I looked contemplatively and a little forlorn at the zuccinis today, at Jons. It borders at despair, then, doesn't it?
It's very unlikely to know the outcome. When the will is so weak. And the wants so bad.
good advice
i once heard that the worst vice is an advice.
recently i've received plenty of - good - advice. admittedly, good.
on a different note: i stumbled across the fourth edition of 'the elements of style' and bought it. what the heck. maybe i will improve my style, he! wouldn't that be sompin!
let's get back to the point of this story: adVice.
add to the vice. gimme some advice.
sure, that's only and only because I am kind of asking for it. When you complain be prepared to get the whole package: new complaint material included. I am at the point now where I start complaining about the reaction I get from my closest friends to my complaints. This shouldn't come as a surprise but it also comes to no avail. Just shut the eff up if you don't want to hear them. Seriously. How about a round of beating myself up? There we go. Huh, feels good. The little masochist says all the things I thought I could never feel.
It's like a digestive. They need to pour their wine into my glass to be able to deal with my tears and rants and moods.
Talking about being your own queen, sovereign. Yeah Right!.
Music doesn't really help either.
I drive down the dark streets, with the wind in my hair and I laugh into the clouds and say aloud to myself: Why in the world do we always what we can't have?
For example, I really wanted this life with you. This foggy track that disappeared in the future like an indecisive journey, so alluring and so seductive with all those adventures lingering around unknown and blurred corners.
But there was always this other track, that led into the bright clear future as I have it envisioned since childhood days. Ever since I was a girl I knew I would go down that track. And it seems as if despite all the self-determination and stuff life has set its mind on racing me down that road, no matter what.
Because, no matter where I am, there I go.
I was chasing a book today. My wife ignited that fire in my heart, my old love for myths and legends and I wanted a good book to read. So I went on a raod trip on my niece's bike to West Hollywood where I saw a city light bookstore. Turned out it was a DIFFERENT light book store and all about gay issues. Yeah, West Hollywod, I should have figured. So I came all the way back, thinking of that second hand book store, the cosy one at the 'bird' strip on Franklin. It was closed. In front of a store with books and candles I met two guys who turned out to speak russian. I found 'To Kill A Mockingbird' and bought it. And said style book. And wound up talking to those guys. Gave me a boost of self confidence.
On my way back I remembered that book I found in the gay book store by an atheist questioning Christianity. And how I thought, yeah, I want to give that some thought too. It's my private issue whether or not I'll pray at night but I still want to give it some thought and read that. And that's the point. That's why we can't be together. Because with you that wouldn't work. It would just create useless discussions. You have your faith and you know it because it saved you. In a way you have found what I am looking for.
But it's not mine.
And our life isn't mine.
And yet, alas, I want it so bad. Still, somehow. And music doesn't help. The doors really suck. They make me want it even more. How ridiculous. So I guess the good advice
I might as well give myself now, talking to myself here on this midnight screen:
Is:
I do not want what I haven't got.
Be free.
recently i've received plenty of - good - advice. admittedly, good.
on a different note: i stumbled across the fourth edition of 'the elements of style' and bought it. what the heck. maybe i will improve my style, he! wouldn't that be sompin!
let's get back to the point of this story: adVice.
add to the vice. gimme some advice.
sure, that's only and only because I am kind of asking for it. When you complain be prepared to get the whole package: new complaint material included. I am at the point now where I start complaining about the reaction I get from my closest friends to my complaints. This shouldn't come as a surprise but it also comes to no avail. Just shut the eff up if you don't want to hear them. Seriously. How about a round of beating myself up? There we go. Huh, feels good. The little masochist says all the things I thought I could never feel.
It's like a digestive. They need to pour their wine into my glass to be able to deal with my tears and rants and moods.
Talking about being your own queen, sovereign. Yeah Right!.
Music doesn't really help either.
I drive down the dark streets, with the wind in my hair and I laugh into the clouds and say aloud to myself: Why in the world do we always what we can't have?
For example, I really wanted this life with you. This foggy track that disappeared in the future like an indecisive journey, so alluring and so seductive with all those adventures lingering around unknown and blurred corners.
But there was always this other track, that led into the bright clear future as I have it envisioned since childhood days. Ever since I was a girl I knew I would go down that track. And it seems as if despite all the self-determination and stuff life has set its mind on racing me down that road, no matter what.
Because, no matter where I am, there I go.
I was chasing a book today. My wife ignited that fire in my heart, my old love for myths and legends and I wanted a good book to read. So I went on a raod trip on my niece's bike to West Hollywood where I saw a city light bookstore. Turned out it was a DIFFERENT light book store and all about gay issues. Yeah, West Hollywod, I should have figured. So I came all the way back, thinking of that second hand book store, the cosy one at the 'bird' strip on Franklin. It was closed. In front of a store with books and candles I met two guys who turned out to speak russian. I found 'To Kill A Mockingbird' and bought it. And said style book. And wound up talking to those guys. Gave me a boost of self confidence.
On my way back I remembered that book I found in the gay book store by an atheist questioning Christianity. And how I thought, yeah, I want to give that some thought too. It's my private issue whether or not I'll pray at night but I still want to give it some thought and read that. And that's the point. That's why we can't be together. Because with you that wouldn't work. It would just create useless discussions. You have your faith and you know it because it saved you. In a way you have found what I am looking for.
But it's not mine.
And our life isn't mine.
And yet, alas, I want it so bad. Still, somehow. And music doesn't help. The doors really suck. They make me want it even more. How ridiculous. So I guess the good advice
I might as well give myself now, talking to myself here on this midnight screen:
Is:
I do not want what I haven't got.
Be free.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
darkness
washed away, and over me.
a smile,
in the morning,
woke up with
.
silence is straddeling me and then comforting my soul.
look around you
there is still beauty
and a new life everyday.
desperation gives way
to
new, different feelings.
like, I play guitar in the morning to wake myself up.
again.
i almost forgot to pray
for my angels
maybe that's why the forgot
to pray for us.
a smile,
in the morning,
woke up with
.
silence is straddeling me and then comforting my soul.
look around you
there is still beauty
and a new life everyday.
desperation gives way
to
new, different feelings.
like, I play guitar in the morning to wake myself up.
again.
i almost forgot to pray
for my angels
maybe that's why the forgot
to pray for us.
saddam sentenced to death and the world is turning
and it keeps on turning ever since hector fell under achilles hand and even if that wasn't true it still turned and turned and turned to this very moment.
How can I keep all these voices together, in one nice neat bouquet of words? All those feathers and wings and strings and things that went through my head as I made my way from the Chinese Theater back 'home'?
Home. What a good start that is. This hasn't been home really. This has been a refuge from the start and I long back to a time in which a 'life-crisis', a crisis concerning the meaning and sense of life touched the very core of me and not just the surface. I broke down, a year ago, in the French Restauarant and nothing could console me but my wife's piano playing alone.
Even my Gypsy couldn't help but he made me feel home later, because I found a little place in his heart.
It seems almost as if I was drowned already. In whatever it is that bothers me so much and there is nothing that can really touch me anymore. I feel lost.
Just a tired raising of my left eyebrow for Saddam today. Shaking my head I wonder whether that is yet another good example for what to do. Like, holding the other cheek. It's not like they would care anyways.
Need to go to church, pentecostal, to see what it's all about. It's a blunt mystery to me, that. Wonder, whether he got into a trance lately, falling down on his knees while calling out Jesus' name and maybe speaking in tongues, who knows. I've been missing out on that. It's like a very very intimate and private moment that you only feel comfortable to share with the people within the community. Not with me. I am not in the community. No matter whether the rules don't matter anymore - a fact is a rule in itself. The one you are truly comfortable with is the one you can be with. As simple as that. And -
He would hate it, he would squirm if I came. Yes, he would.
On Hollywood Blvd I hear my name all of the sudden, distinct and clear 'Emeralda!'
I turn around and don't see anybody I know. But there he comes. The 62 year old Mikel Shriver from Canada. The guy who wanted to give me a cat (he is always looking for people to care for the cats they find) and who gave me a 'protection stone' last time I met him at midnight in the middle of the blvd.
It's the guy who I am not sure off whether he is a vampire, a black magician or just a regular older lonely guy. Whether maybe he is Mephistopheles and here to test my strength. Maybe he has a message that I need to hear, so I agree with yet another weird conversations that leads us from beauty contests to judging people on a scale from 0 to 10 and the shell that the shell gas station allegedly gives as a gift when your purchase is over 50 bucks. And another protection stone, and a black one, for conversation.
I feel estranged. Yet determined to find out who in the world this guy is who remembered my name so psychopathically exact, after weeks and weeks of no conversation.
He has fine lines in his ash grey face and there is a little part of a spiderweb hanging from his undereye bag. It is creepy somehow. He tries to keep my attention with all he has. With compliments. With words that I am not interested in (why in the world would I want to judge people on a scale from 0 to 10? what good will do that to me? to feel better myself? understand myself better? or them?) It' s just for a lovely afternoon he says, just sitting at an outside cafe and watching people walking by, gossiping about them, just you and me, quiet, with flowers on the table and something to drink. I smile defensive and say maybe. I will never say yes. I put the stones into the plastic bag the shell is in. I don't wanna touch them. I've become so paranoid but how can I know that they are safe? Maybe he gave them to me in order to suck my energy up. Who knows, maybe he is an alien. Or a vampire, I mean, who knows what all these stories are about. There must be sth about it and I gotta be cautious.
At some point he asks me whether he can have a picture, because he wants my friendship and be able to show who I am to his friends. A black guy who walks by asks me whether I am okay. "yes" i nodd but he comes back once more and says 'does he try to sell you something? what are you selling tonight! you don't have to buy it' I smile and say, I know. Funny, how the world works.
There are times to be politely friendly and there are times to be politely harsh. "no" i say, shaking my head firmly, I don't give pictures away. Who knows the voodoo you do.
I yawn heavily. He tries to keep my attention for another second. I hide my smile away as I imagine a trace of light describing our dance around the stars on the Boulevard. Him stepping into my personal space and me stepping backwards, away, away, just not too far. He smells like a graveyard. Very weird. Very weird. My energy level tells me I have to leave now. Maybe I have become one of the weirdos. I gotta check with my friends at home. ask them whether I've been that weird before I came here.
In the middle of this craziness there is one valet parking guy who is ugly and thin and he smiled at me 'how is it going tonight?' my skin still felt tense and my eyes like popping out from the flood of tears and crying that had washed over me a couple of hours earlier in a lonely alley somewhere near the Kodiak Theater, but I said 'great' and added while shaking my hands a little bit 'uuuuh! crazy hollywood!' - 'I hear you' he smiled and 'take care, be safe!'
One person, that cares.
Too bad that my neck cracks only once or twice a day, it feels good, as if tension was released but it might not be true.
I can't believe how messed up I am, I wonder what it is, what happened, what in the fuck happened to me.
I feel like I have to run.
Sitting at a campfire.
Not putting up a show for anybody. Just DOING things. That I like.
tiredness creeps into my soul.
That's what it does to you.
There is something wrong, entirely wrong with people who are obtrusively optimistic. That whole 'visualize your life good' thing is working and great and what not but it starts to get on my nerves. Fuck that. Don't fucking talk about it so much. It pisses me off. Funny. Maybe I am just a reluctant pessimist and the reason why it pisses me off is that I deeply inside know very well that they are right and I am stubborn. And maybe it pisses me off just as much as it pisses me off to hear people talk about Jesus all the time. And how you got to be good.
Above all, I think that - You got to BE! First things first.
But I fucking miss you man.
How can I keep all these voices together, in one nice neat bouquet of words? All those feathers and wings and strings and things that went through my head as I made my way from the Chinese Theater back 'home'?
Home. What a good start that is. This hasn't been home really. This has been a refuge from the start and I long back to a time in which a 'life-crisis', a crisis concerning the meaning and sense of life touched the very core of me and not just the surface. I broke down, a year ago, in the French Restauarant and nothing could console me but my wife's piano playing alone.
Even my Gypsy couldn't help but he made me feel home later, because I found a little place in his heart.
It seems almost as if I was drowned already. In whatever it is that bothers me so much and there is nothing that can really touch me anymore. I feel lost.
Just a tired raising of my left eyebrow for Saddam today. Shaking my head I wonder whether that is yet another good example for what to do. Like, holding the other cheek. It's not like they would care anyways.
Need to go to church, pentecostal, to see what it's all about. It's a blunt mystery to me, that. Wonder, whether he got into a trance lately, falling down on his knees while calling out Jesus' name and maybe speaking in tongues, who knows. I've been missing out on that. It's like a very very intimate and private moment that you only feel comfortable to share with the people within the community. Not with me. I am not in the community. No matter whether the rules don't matter anymore - a fact is a rule in itself. The one you are truly comfortable with is the one you can be with. As simple as that. And -
He would hate it, he would squirm if I came. Yes, he would.
On Hollywood Blvd I hear my name all of the sudden, distinct and clear 'Emeralda!'
I turn around and don't see anybody I know. But there he comes. The 62 year old Mikel Shriver from Canada. The guy who wanted to give me a cat (he is always looking for people to care for the cats they find) and who gave me a 'protection stone' last time I met him at midnight in the middle of the blvd.
It's the guy who I am not sure off whether he is a vampire, a black magician or just a regular older lonely guy. Whether maybe he is Mephistopheles and here to test my strength. Maybe he has a message that I need to hear, so I agree with yet another weird conversations that leads us from beauty contests to judging people on a scale from 0 to 10 and the shell that the shell gas station allegedly gives as a gift when your purchase is over 50 bucks. And another protection stone, and a black one, for conversation.
I feel estranged. Yet determined to find out who in the world this guy is who remembered my name so psychopathically exact, after weeks and weeks of no conversation.
He has fine lines in his ash grey face and there is a little part of a spiderweb hanging from his undereye bag. It is creepy somehow. He tries to keep my attention with all he has. With compliments. With words that I am not interested in (why in the world would I want to judge people on a scale from 0 to 10? what good will do that to me? to feel better myself? understand myself better? or them?) It' s just for a lovely afternoon he says, just sitting at an outside cafe and watching people walking by, gossiping about them, just you and me, quiet, with flowers on the table and something to drink. I smile defensive and say maybe. I will never say yes. I put the stones into the plastic bag the shell is in. I don't wanna touch them. I've become so paranoid but how can I know that they are safe? Maybe he gave them to me in order to suck my energy up. Who knows, maybe he is an alien. Or a vampire, I mean, who knows what all these stories are about. There must be sth about it and I gotta be cautious.
At some point he asks me whether he can have a picture, because he wants my friendship and be able to show who I am to his friends. A black guy who walks by asks me whether I am okay. "yes" i nodd but he comes back once more and says 'does he try to sell you something? what are you selling tonight! you don't have to buy it' I smile and say, I know. Funny, how the world works.
There are times to be politely friendly and there are times to be politely harsh. "no" i say, shaking my head firmly, I don't give pictures away. Who knows the voodoo you do.
I yawn heavily. He tries to keep my attention for another second. I hide my smile away as I imagine a trace of light describing our dance around the stars on the Boulevard. Him stepping into my personal space and me stepping backwards, away, away, just not too far. He smells like a graveyard. Very weird. Very weird. My energy level tells me I have to leave now. Maybe I have become one of the weirdos. I gotta check with my friends at home. ask them whether I've been that weird before I came here.
In the middle of this craziness there is one valet parking guy who is ugly and thin and he smiled at me 'how is it going tonight?' my skin still felt tense and my eyes like popping out from the flood of tears and crying that had washed over me a couple of hours earlier in a lonely alley somewhere near the Kodiak Theater, but I said 'great' and added while shaking my hands a little bit 'uuuuh! crazy hollywood!' - 'I hear you' he smiled and 'take care, be safe!'
One person, that cares.
Too bad that my neck cracks only once or twice a day, it feels good, as if tension was released but it might not be true.
I can't believe how messed up I am, I wonder what it is, what happened, what in the fuck happened to me.
I feel like I have to run.
Sitting at a campfire.
Not putting up a show for anybody. Just DOING things. That I like.
tiredness creeps into my soul.
That's what it does to you.
There is something wrong, entirely wrong with people who are obtrusively optimistic. That whole 'visualize your life good' thing is working and great and what not but it starts to get on my nerves. Fuck that. Don't fucking talk about it so much. It pisses me off. Funny. Maybe I am just a reluctant pessimist and the reason why it pisses me off is that I deeply inside know very well that they are right and I am stubborn. And maybe it pisses me off just as much as it pisses me off to hear people talk about Jesus all the time. And how you got to be good.
Above all, I think that - You got to BE! First things first.
But I fucking miss you man.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
speed up
it's so random and so dependent on the respective song that is playing in this very moment.
it's so satisfying and so strangely comforting to be able to lay down those words that weighed heavy on my chest. it's so distracting and so insignificant and so dusty and windy as opposed to importance.
it is the local playground in which I school my skills.
it is what it is.
it's so satisfying and so strangely comforting to be able to lay down those words that weighed heavy on my chest. it's so distracting and so insignificant and so dusty and windy as opposed to importance.
it is the local playground in which I school my skills.
it is what it is.
half half
first show, outside, but yeah, feeling wasn't as great. struggled a little but my sister came and I saw her face glow in the dark. made me nervous kind of. but happy.
you weren't there, and i think: stay lady stay, as long as the night is still ahead
but then skunk anansie kicks in and I wonder whether you are happy now, with her. yes.
i hope you're feeling happy now because i do
today two people asked me what happened
'you look so happy, what's the secret' my sister's friend at third street promenade asked me.
i contemplated the question for a couple of seconds.
then i said
and i was surprised by my own answer:
'i just got over a four month heart break. it feels good to be happy now'
'oh i am sorry' he said but that was just something you say, you know!
you didn't come to the show, and that's ok. i was so focused on my sister. i was strangely proud that she came. it really meant something to me you know!
then max told me out of the blue about his music and what's happening and i said spontaneously that i want to manage him. man, who knows! i am sure as hell a number one fan of his incredibly sexy voice. Klodi wanted his number immediately when she first heard him.
whatever. she didn't come either. emeralda b-z thought: maybe she picked him up and surprises me with him!~ but emeralda A was just happy. I got so many compliments, oh god. I mean, hey, i wasn't that great. But they were drunk so let them think what they want. I knew that my sister was the only one who would hear the flaws of my flute playing. she did. and she laughs and makes crazy plans to kidnap my rich great great aunt to get money;
i gotta go now
one more cup of coffee before i go!
you weren't there, and i think: stay lady stay, as long as the night is still ahead
but then skunk anansie kicks in and I wonder whether you are happy now, with her. yes.
i hope you're feeling happy now because i do
today two people asked me what happened
'you look so happy, what's the secret' my sister's friend at third street promenade asked me.
i contemplated the question for a couple of seconds.
then i said
and i was surprised by my own answer:
'i just got over a four month heart break. it feels good to be happy now'
'oh i am sorry' he said but that was just something you say, you know!
you didn't come to the show, and that's ok. i was so focused on my sister. i was strangely proud that she came. it really meant something to me you know!
then max told me out of the blue about his music and what's happening and i said spontaneously that i want to manage him. man, who knows! i am sure as hell a number one fan of his incredibly sexy voice. Klodi wanted his number immediately when she first heard him.
whatever. she didn't come either. emeralda b-z thought: maybe she picked him up and surprises me with him!~ but emeralda A was just happy. I got so many compliments, oh god. I mean, hey, i wasn't that great. But they were drunk so let them think what they want. I knew that my sister was the only one who would hear the flaws of my flute playing. she did. and she laughs and makes crazy plans to kidnap my rich great great aunt to get money;
i gotta go now
one more cup of coffee before i go!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
some times
'is that a turqoise ring?'
'yes'
'which month is that'
'huh? you mean, - which month??'
'yes, which month is that'
'uh, huh, march'
'is that when you were born'
'yes, - and this is a march-turqoise ring'
The ring is beautiful and I wear it on my right middle finger. The turqoise bracelet I wear on my left wrist. And his dreadlocks are locked into one lock and he forgot to zip his pants, I see his black boxers under the black leather jacket he neglectingly wears. The tips of his fingers are dirty and his nails look like dragon claws. His eyes fierce and clear flicker in the unsteady light and he is what we call in German 'wirr', 'kirre' - he is a lunatic, a raving lunatic, and he can't stop talking about how someone attacked him and sprayed something in his face that literally zapped his brain away.
I can give you, some minutes, some times, some smiles. but my bus comes. excuse me and God bless you.
When I looked back he was gone, as if swallowed by the earth in the very moment I turned around. The penetrant homeless smell won't leave and I roll myself together on the seat, trying to find some rest.
'what was the name of your city again?'
'F-R-E-I-B-U-R-G'
'I hope to make it once to your country. That's why I am doing this. That's why I am collecting money, you know, I am bumming money'
'i bum cigarettes'
You are a bum, you should bum I think. And am impressed that he is so determined in his hope.
some
times
'yes'
'which month is that'
'huh? you mean, - which month??'
'yes, which month is that'
'uh, huh, march'
'is that when you were born'
'yes, - and this is a march-turqoise ring'
The ring is beautiful and I wear it on my right middle finger. The turqoise bracelet I wear on my left wrist. And his dreadlocks are locked into one lock and he forgot to zip his pants, I see his black boxers under the black leather jacket he neglectingly wears. The tips of his fingers are dirty and his nails look like dragon claws. His eyes fierce and clear flicker in the unsteady light and he is what we call in German 'wirr', 'kirre' - he is a lunatic, a raving lunatic, and he can't stop talking about how someone attacked him and sprayed something in his face that literally zapped his brain away.
I can give you, some minutes, some times, some smiles. but my bus comes. excuse me and God bless you.
When I looked back he was gone, as if swallowed by the earth in the very moment I turned around. The penetrant homeless smell won't leave and I roll myself together on the seat, trying to find some rest.
'what was the name of your city again?'
'F-R-E-I-B-U-R-G'
'I hope to make it once to your country. That's why I am doing this. That's why I am collecting money, you know, I am bumming money'
'i bum cigarettes'
You are a bum, you should bum I think. And am impressed that he is so determined in his hope.
some
times
stand me by
next is the morning but the future just was never then.
sorry for worries long ago.
but the tricky trick net tricks you into all sort of things but never the actual essentials.
tricky, this, tricky oh so, that.
sometimes, however, I managed to roll the moment for a moment in my mouth and savor every split second and eternity-spark that it could give.
suck it in, hold it! I will never go now.
Now just never was and somehow I can look into the skies now without gulping down the rest of the bitter sweet medicine. I can breathe in, three eagles and let the seagulls change their cries into roars of racebirds, the queens of the dragons.
'you know what would be really yummy now' she said - '- brownies, with ice and sugar you know, around the corner'
sorry for worries long ago.
but the tricky trick net tricks you into all sort of things but never the actual essentials.
tricky, this, tricky oh so, that.
sometimes, however, I managed to roll the moment for a moment in my mouth and savor every split second and eternity-spark that it could give.
suck it in, hold it! I will never go now.
Now just never was and somehow I can look into the skies now without gulping down the rest of the bitter sweet medicine. I can breathe in, three eagles and let the seagulls change their cries into roars of racebirds, the queens of the dragons.
'you know what would be really yummy now' she said - '- brownies, with ice and sugar you know, around the corner'
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