the trap

see, i don't know where anyone went wrong. how can I tell?
associations opposed to truths. and fuck yeah, this is just a word.
she spoke with flaming lips. her rhythm swaying me, rocking my soul. in the end she left me burning on the ground. my ocean was storming and i found it hard to breathe.

i don't wanna make any promises.
we kissed in the dim twilight between day and night. he held me.
he held me.
while i was on the steps so i could look in his eye.
and i wasn't scared. it was light and easy. like a summer breeze.
i ran home, skipping along the wet boardwalks and tried to call my past once i got home.
nobody picked up.

music is inciting the storm now. Gustavo came by, one legged, with a smile in his eyes and flamenco on his mind.
later i crawled closer to the heater.
this reminds me of driving in my messed up car and i still feel the pheromons calling.

even

sometimes it works.
I click on the song. I hear it kick in. The first chords. And I am right there, where I long to be.
This is completely dispensable.
This is as unnecessary as anywhich moment of nostaligic reminiscing.
But it brings me back to you. And since I know that this is futile business I indulge in it as some people who quit smoking enjoy to hang out in smokey bars.
I would like to write brilliant poetry. Breath-taking prosa on the futility of this moment. Of me writing into the void. Of this god forsaken time machine.
Herein lies the beauty. In the imperfectness of my amateur blog. of my fucked up nostaligia with self destructive dimensions that will never show in their full scope.
You out there. you just keep on browsing. Float with the breeze. Let it all pass.
But you, you, who knows. Know, that right now everything could be turned backwards. Upside down. Everything could be possible right now. Anything. A moment of love lingering in eternity. In the parallel universes which we forgot how to access.

I long to see you in the morning light
I long to reach for you in the night.

raging

it hit me seemingly from - nowhere.
this feeling of attack. panic. heart to take. hard to breathe.
i was at the videostore. called KL. he was against it, he said, only if it is really a matter of finances. if there is no other sensible way i'd say do it.
i rushed home. crushed.
called D. he didn't pick up naturally.
on the search for redemption outside myself.
called my sister. just to have her tell me what i felt inside, what mutilated and suffocated me inside with no way to be expressed properly.

honestly, i didn't understand why i felt that way all of the sudden.
it seemed like a good plan. i have pondered it since mid December. i was the main instigator. the main supporter.

BAIL OUT
BAIL OUT
BAIL OUT

so I expressed my fears, flaked, told her that she couldn't move in after all. such a travesty. of no importance whatsoever. so what!
still. i couldn't breathe. and i didn't understand.
how little things sometimes are just the disguise.

today at lunchtime the lurking abyss ripped open. a small question. and i broke in tears.

'how was it in your childhood' she asked. how .... predictable. psychologically speaking.

i haven't had a room of my own almost all my life.
my mom hasn't had one either. and neither did her mother, not when they emigrated anyways.
they lived out of boxes for ever. since i can think it's been that way.
couldn't buy a thing for myself without beating myself up or justifying myself without end...
i haven't moved into my room properly since November.
i was going to rent it out to a friend and live again like a nomad. here, there, on couches, in campers that aren't mine, in friends' beds. with no place to call my home or own.

when i called home where the heart is
your absence robbed my house of all it's meaning.

closing time

it can be lonely out here. walking through the night. crunch crunch, through the snow. i try to avoid the beaten path, the crunch is louder over here where nobody walks but some dogs. so it is the dogshit slalom blues. and one night past full moon. trees look surreal and naked. crows are sleeping.

i am not lacking. you aren't. that's for sure. i feel so strong, here, things are just right. it's clearly the right path. not the fogged up one that i chose two years ago. taking the most amazing and yet most painful detour of my life.
ah, stop talking about things like - pain. or, feelings.
crunch crunch and my boots just keep going. they are almost falling apart these days. but they keep going.
my scarfs tied tightly around my head, wrapped around my shoulders. it's the Turkish part of town. past midnight.

i remember how awe-struck i was by a post by Veronica about the girl that followed the whales.

this is what it is like for me now. i am on a godforsaken ocean and it's gray and windy and so damn lonely out here on my way to follow MY whales.

you could walk through my door and it would be alright. i wouldn't feel the need to melt into you anymore. this is closing time. gaping is closing.
no maybe's or whatever's or anything. just me now and my forsaken ship in this ocean with a few stars that guide me through this night.

crunch crunch.
you are so optimistic and positive she says, amazed.
i laugh, i feel strong, i just grew stronger man.
and it's not you who is lacking.
it's just that something really died inside.
it's this impossible love. the kind, that makes you feel alright even if you feel lonely in a crowd. because you know you love this person so impossibly deeply and truly and you know and feel they do too. that probably just now they are thinking about you too.
it's that kind of love that has robbed my stars of their mysteries, their light. by giving that longing a name and the name was yours.
and now it's not and it is all gone and it is cold and dark and lonely down here.
following my path.

ere long

The engine roars steadily. Hot air blows in my neck; outside it is snowing. Winter has come to us.
Thoughts wander in my dreamlands, softly they lead me to abstract places of sorrow and comfort. It almost feels as if after every sentence I need to take a deep breath. Wait. Pause. Move on.
As I look outside the window the landscape hardly ever changes, rushing by in dim light, in a swirl of white and gray. Shadows are cast over the scenery, night is coming. Inside of myself I feel like sinking into a spellbound moor, forsaking the world of the living for the sullen realm of the weak. Caving in to the beckoning falcons of dreamland, changing sceneries within seconds, casting the monotonous roaring of the camper into the wild. Later I find myself in my home, she is playing the piano to the ticking of a metronom, as the snow falls steadily, steadily on our home.
The air has carried my birds down south. Ere long, ere long the sun will come.