Danube

The gray covers the canal and empty branches of the trees and the people huddled into winter clothes and speaks to this fact: the right ear is too small for this bluetooth headphone bud. It keeps falling out.

In a late night deep-dive into old Emails from her mother she finds a song that moved her strangely, more than a decade ago: Dumitriu Stanescu's interpretation of 'On the Banks of the Danube'. Tears smear all over her face, the toilet role tucked behind the lamp lest it looks too messy on the desk she originally wanted to dedicate her studies to. The pain of this grief is seemingly unsurmountable. She tries to hide behind pizza, behind Netflix, behind Instagram, succumbs a little then reaches out to others in a rare attempt to build a structure around her as she crumbles into the nameless pit of dark sorrow. Love, riddled with pain and sweetness, she doesn't know how to name things anymore as the contoures dissolve.

Mom said: your words are strong and poetic, I see a future there.

Mom said: come with me to Slowakia.

Mom said: If you weren't my daughter I would still find a way to cross your path.

The next day she has to go send a package to an unknown person who will take this laptop she received from another unknown person to a person she really only knows on Instagram in Tanzania. Ironic, considering the stack of unsent letters from her past.

It goes like this: She manages to choose the right package and the materials to cushion the laptop. She watched a Youtube video so she knows what to look out for: the corners must be protected. The tape the post office provides to seal packages is broken. She finds a way to still deal with it. She sends (!) the package and realizes ten minutes after, that she forgot to add the charger. Apple chargers cost an arm and a leg so she has to return to the office, ask for the package that hopefully hasn't left the premises yet, open it with a knife and add the charger. She does that and thinks of her headphone bud that keeps falling out from her right ear. Some things just don't work out right, it's like a curse. A different world that she doesn't belong to, whose language she doesn't fully speak - but the irony doesn't escape her so she chuckles instead, but a bit desperately. 

Mom is doing better, she is a bit high with all the meds. When asking her if she will give her blessings on her wish to have a baby she insists to get a dog instead.

please

give me anything
to hurt
a razor blade will do
or her sweet smile smack into my face
a blade, a dull knife, maybe a fist too
and


just numb the impunity of this moment
for me

there

she was clinging onto my leg, how only kids know how to. it wasn't pushy at all, or demanding, more of a painfully shy and desperate quality. the silence protruded from all three land corners and the rain laid its fine filigree over our souls.
three swans came swimming, gracefully, gently swaying in the waves.
i said, see, don't you wanna sit on the gray one, see, how it is swimming. but she picked and plucked my trousers, hiding behind my right leg, mute but clear, no, mama, don't you see that i don't want him to be with you!???
it was heavy and the rain had penetrated all my layers. soaked and silent. i stood. there.

the gray swan swam away and i felt how she was on his back, somewhat joyful but still distraught. bye, bye, i say, my dearest one, bye bye. almost as if unwilling the swan disappeared in the gray mist. into the mist she disappeared with him and we turned around to walk back.

In My Life

I don't remember anything in my soul
it's all so faint and two dimensional now as a tale that I've heard a long time ago.
And it's only been two weeks. Oh, well, maybe already two years of parting, if you want to look at it that way. Without music everything fades even faster. Some songs will bring it all back to me, the feelings, the knowledge of the bond, the affection, the convictions, the - love.
But I don't love you anymore. It's been taking me that long. But now I can say it and it seems to be true - for now, at least.
I remember that my dad told me once that if I want to know what I truly feel I'd have to stop listening to music for a while. To find what is truly inside of me, and not taken in or triggered by music. I haven't been listening to much music lately, because I've been working a lot and it has taken me far from that road we traveled for so long.
I don't know what will be in my life. I still would love to show you some things here. But now it's past dusk and I gotta go. Maybe sometime else. In a different life.
When we can love and live together.

not you

it's been three years. he still doesn't look anything like himself on that picture on the roof, with the flowers, the sun, the red brick chimney, the blue sky.
the view isn't like a sunset anymore but there are trees and the floor is made of hardwood. he makes himself some food, peaches and cottage cheese, offers me blueberries, some smiles.
his roommate is watching tv with his daughter and when i tell him i also speak Germa he says he already knows. the couch is made of black leather, his daughter is ten and looks like a blonde California girl.
after he shows me his new tracks we start arguing later when it was that we met first; he is set on fall but i know for a fact it was spring. a spring full of confusions and later we met again, in deeper states of my confusion under palmtrees and ocean breezes.
as i hold him so he can't hold me too much i fight memories and thoughts that evade my mind. it's a concentrated effort and i'm sure i could just get rid of it in the blink of an eye but it doesn't really seem like i want to. i'm complicated i say, i am guarded, not ready to let go. the idea of yummy playfulness makes me giddy but there are these voices fighting inside, i turn to the side, shh, shh, lullaby.
i feel like a little girl all over again.
i feel like i live in a fast forwarded future. we all knew it would come to this. didn't we? and he is so breath taking, with the curls and how he stands so tall and these eyes...and it's only been four and a half months and i just can't forget that he is not you.

father

I had no idea. Vaguely only had he recounted some of his stories, something about running across Europe, away from a raging red headed father with too little a stomach and too much alcohol to digest. Long hair, and a girl in Ireland who was surprised to see him but let him climb through the window into her chamber.
Amazing, how that was all possible, over the canal and all. Ferries, busses, fright trains and trucks. A hippie VW bus on the way to Turkey, a 'master' he lived with, never went to India but learned how to clean shoes and later how to make and repair them. Acid, accidentally consumed, slipped into his drink, outside the hippie bus, only once or twice, or God knows how many times.
There were other stories too, enfolding latter times, Turkey again, a side ditch on the road, an ADD disturbed kid without a father and his best friend Michael. Wild times, racing through the dawn, police, something something, and the Turkish jail. Turkish steam baths...Turkish friends and foes.

But, I had no idea. These were stories woven into violet silky and velvety strings of storytelling. Truth and fiction in a tangolike dance united, vague clouds that rained softly on my little soul. Heart and mind, intertwined. Reality check, one two, there was none, I was a kid, children don't see the facts they only see the truth in colors.

lies

so
different
yet the same
eternally evolving
revolving
give me a revolver
i wanna fuck you in the mouth
i wanna make fucking love
of course
not to your corpse
but to your very
soul
penetrate your mind
unravel
the unfolding of
your child
blossoming
all over
again

sprachlos

sometimes I imagine what I want. A cup of honey tea. Warm, or even steaming hot, and my beige night gown. Sitting on the couch next to the shimmering orange yellow lamp in the living room. I imagine that I would come back into my room after that cup of tea on the couch next to the lamp in the living room and would feel much better. The internet would work, I would write something, inspired and no, I wouldn't smoke. The very thought of smoke makes me frown. I don't like the taste damnit. No, unfortunately that's gone. It was a nice interlude, however, the smoking thing. It had something to it.
instead all of this, however, I just stay in bed and feel miserable. My back kills me and my thoughts.
Like, how too much light becomes unbearable when you look at it from a very dark place.
How certain things can't be grasped until they've grasped you.
How words still make me believe sometimes although I know how the undercurrents flow...
Words, trying and tricking.
Words, castles in sand, can be castles, can be sand.
Words, words.
Words.

Fragments

Then he said, don't worry, we are both kind of Gypsies, we always move around - for now, you'll live your life here, I have my life over there...Maybe we'll meet at some other crossroads again, and until then, man, I'm always here as a friend. And the most important thing is that you do what ever it is you want. Figure it out, but go with the flow.

The relief which these words brought are kind of unimaginable for anyone else but me, of course. It's not like I wanted to know that there is some sort of a safety net - that he d say I wait for you or some bullshit like that....but I was freaked out, that this might be a either/or situation. A possible bad mistake. One that ouch, hurts.
Now I'll continue going with the flow without hurting or regretting. Feeling free and okay. Okay to be me. Okay to be loyal. Okay to honor this big love of my life.

It wasn't a marital promise, just as my Dad rightly commented today. But it isn't wrong either to be faithful and giving everything it's own time to grow, blossom, die. Giving it a chance to be reborn. Who knows. I don't count on anything. It's just that I think every step has its own importance. Yeah, I should write a new age book on that. lol...

So I let go of him for now and continue to pursue the ways that unfold in front of my eyes as I walk through this wild jungle called life.

I Thought This Was Hilarious...But it might just be that I'm blinded by a thing called...

Real life text messaging:
'Yeah but if I come you have to care for me'
"Lol WHAT IN THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?"
'Um...cook for me. Massage me. Talk to me. All that shit. Wash my jeans. DAILY BLOW JOBS. Things like that.'

Love is Blind

Can´t believe that those shades returned. Blueblockers. Like those you used to wear.
Nervous butterflies once again, returning from long lost dreams, sccary how they flutter and shiver in the early morning sun.
The prospect of you. Of me in you. Around you. Your arms.
Love makes me blind.

faint

I almost fainted today.
At first I thought it was just a stolen progression. The sound was so faint. Something that worked well before has the fate of being used, abused, re-used all the time by all the copy cats out there.
Then I realized, that the sound bricks falling through the air actually hit me and since I am made of clay I burst into pieces, all shattered on the floor. But for a milli second, nothing moved. It was, as if the broken splinters hung in mid air for a slice of eternity and the key turned, unlocked the door, the door swung wide open and memories flooded in, steady, fast, like the stream behind my parent´s house in spring time.
We were just looking for food for tonight. Innocently. Being HERE, in the here and now. Enjoying home. We will sleep in a `Jurte´, a Mongolian kind of tent with a whole in the middle where the firesmoke can escape. Me and my old, old scout friends. I haven´t laughed like that in a long time. We were joking and we had fun. I feel safe and home and seen and understood around them because they know me so damn well. The way I like myself best.
I forgot, that you know me the way I like myself the best and the worst. You brought the best and the worst out in me. I stumble. I fall. Then I remember...
It WAS that song. It really was. Lay Lady Lay. Bob Dylan in one of the biggest whole sale stores in a little provincial town in the Black Forest, Germany, probably on the radio, a very unlikely coincidence that made my will crumble and my knees weak. It was annoyingly so but very typically, not loud enough, the elevator or supermarket kind of volume that drives me crazy every day. But almost magically it seemed as if the volume turned up just for me, as I got drawn in, listening attentively. Every single line. Every single instrumental move. The sound. The words. The meaning. My meaning. My memories. My love. My life. All I went through.
You.

Does It Make Me Crazy?

Can anybody tell me why in the hell anybody would write with Capital Letters In A Text Message Like This? What´s the deal with that one???

Brutally Honest

Feelings already formed into figures way high up over the clouds, bouncing around like children in cotton pads.
Feelings disguised in thoughts tormenting me with information. My heart talking, all of the sudden, and so damn loud! I really was wondering whether anybody else coud hear that, it just would`t stop, it wouldn´t stop like the murmurs of the creek behind the house of my childhood.

Brutally honest sometimes a necessity.When the plane touched the ground and bounced a little my fragile defense crumbled into pieces. A few first tears flew through the chilli Frankfurt air in the midst of broad smiles. Hand clapping, yeai, we have arrived safely. No terrorists, no major storms, no other accidents. My first steps on German ground, re-evaluating every inch of home. The bread is so fucking damn amazing here, there is nothing like that anywhere in this whole wide world and I mean it.

Brutally honest notes:

The magic spell of true love in the moment. Hard to wihtdraw from that, so hard to withdraw. Wed the polarities, unite them within self.

In the end. There is family, no matter what you say. It is what it is.

To give in to the overwhelming...

Oh well, I know I DO love you. But there is a but in the equation.
Which is no good.
Insolveable equation, that is.

People living their lives. Things are so different everywhere. Doesn´t make it right, doesn´t make it wrong. We want it so bad for it to be good. So bad.
Nature so rich, almost forgotten, reminding us of the truth beneath everything. Beyond all facettes and differences......lives, going their way, going well, going unwell....
The well the well, where is the well.

kites

kites flying high in the sky.
children playing and memories dissolving in the salty sea.
i once was a kite and I flew high
now i'm an earth worm and i transform dirt into earth

i'm not gonna be first

phew

Phew, How I Love This Room!
It's been great to me. Really. I sit in the window, savoring the sight once more. The fortress of the homeless dude who looked at his creation of abandoned tables and cardboard walls with the critical stepward back of an artist.
At the Capitol Records Tower, the wires, the small alley way. The memories dancing in the wind.
Thank you room, for being so good to me. I love the interior too. My furniture. The way it's put. Stay put, I say to this sweetness, but I know it's lingering in the air like a fleeting moment and then it will be gone. I love it. That's the wonderful life I've been put into. Stay put says the wind and I wink and smile.
Good things can spring from here I feelingly think.
Many a post I wrote inspired by you.
The bed finally gave in though and it's time to go now.
Amazing how life takes care of things. How free and unbiased I can go now to Germany.

I remember this French Guy who visited me in Basel, Switzerland. He was there for just a weekend, introduced me to the Pixies and fucked my beautiful friend E. on our couch. The danger of it. The absolute audacity of it.
The song I sang for them in the velvet blue night in our beautiful backyard one of the most memorable moments. The gold dust of the sun rays in the songlines shimmers still through. And then he was gone, for ever. A footprint in the sand, scattered to the four winds.

Moments sometimes amount to an intensity of a hawk fluttering in the wind on one spot. Not moving, regardless, spying with piercing eyes. The aim unknown to the spectator but my heart, my heart it knows.

This French guy, he was talking all the time about the illusion of safety.
And as I sit here and love the songs and life and audacity I smile at the thought of the illusion of safety, and more, the illusion of attachment.

It's not.
There is no attachment and I have been shown. How we sometimes get tempted to jump in squares, in prescribed patterns, such and such things are unacceptable, moral behavior. Take it, don't take it, sue, don't sue, be mad, don't be mad.

Another guy I met in the bus today was reading something. I read over his shoulder and then I caught him reading my book. We laughed and started to talk. To the very end. It was the right person in the right moment, gracefully put into my face by Whoever It Is. He said 'People rejecting you is God protecting you from them. Never take anything personally'

I don't. Because, I love it. I smile. I can dance now, free and wild...

Loyality

Never is anyone to live my life.
See, I'm afraid. It's about loyality.
Royality of the heart.
'Take a chance with me. She is going to sing it - You'll find peace with me. You're my remedy. 07.'
Friends, dropping, Never wanted to drop anybody. Hovering above life like a hawk, ready to attack, obsessing, yet just observing though.
Never wanted to be disloyal to you. What are you doing to me.




But it's about finding out the truth about who you are and your friends.
Who they really are.
Who really is your friend.
Who you can really be friend to.
Passing dreams.
Fleeting, fleeting only and always, eternally. Never can anyone be me.
I gotta take it on or else I should fail. Or prosper, due to sheer will.
What you really want, what you really will be.
be, be, be, be. Is it,
is it, is it really me?
Travelling solely. Through and through and through and through.

NOT

At some point I asked myself, whether I could leave this amazing place. I thought, that, which will make it so hard for me to leave, is this place. This living situation with my friends. That we miraculously got the place we envisioned to live in, together. With the amazing neighbours. While my 'wife' Klodi left to Albania and my love eventually left me too all I had was them two. I thought, gosh, I am so lucky, I am so damn lucky that I found at least two really good friends here in this strange city.

Life is treacherous and it always teaches you otherwise.

Hypocritical motherfuckers. The irony is, I'm glad I found out. That you are NOT.

There have been times that I didn't.

11/01 When he said let's meet sunday and I took Ma's keys and drove her car in the night without a license. A lady invited us into her house, she was lonely, red red wine. 'Enjoy, your are young' she muttered as we left. I stared at him. Gave him a hug. 'Do you want to come with me?' All the way up the mountain he held my hand, I was steering with the other. Made him climb up all the way to the top of the TV tower. My first kiss, a bright star sky embracing us. Sweet lost hours in the bottom of the tube. A beatle's song in my head. His hands painting on the canvas of my shivering body, my aching soul.

07/02 When I jumped on the train, decision making had been a matter of 15 minutes. Writing him an email on the way. Hours on the slow train. A long night in the train station, he hadn't read the email in time. I sang songs with a homeless dude in the station, listening to the lifestory of his junkie friend.

07/02 When the slow reggae beat engulfed my passion with his youthful lust. A dream to come true. Soft lips, whispering hips. Us in the gras, people trying not to stare, his eyes a burning glare, my smile sweet yet triumphant.

04/03 When I jumped on the train again. A taxi driver took me to his house for free. Sleepily he opened the door, come in come in. I marched in, threw his check in his face, tore it apart. Fuck You Bastard. I slept on his friend's bed - he of course couldn't sleep. Walking the apartment like a tiger in a cage. Softly kissing me on my sleeping lips.

05/05 When I spontaneously came over to the house with the bordeaux red room. His voice low and crunchy, whispering that he hadn't felt that way in a long time. I was standing naked in the window in the early grey morning hours, admiring the sunset colors of the adjacent house. He stepped behind me, it was warm.

11/05 When I took his hand on the Boulevard. Words descending like heavenly doves 'The Should Haves, The Should Haves, The Should Haves'. An old lady on her walking chair reciting youthful poetry warning of a time passed idly missing love's threshing floor. He responded, his hand held mine, it seemed forever. 'What are you afraid of?' his dear voice a whisper, too, under the starlet photographs in Mac Donalds. 'Nothing, I said, Nothing.'

There have been times that I didn't. Think. Too. Much.

02/07 When I told you that I can't.

it is what it is

You think too much.
You think too much.

Well, do I!

Boys, Men, - ...
Excuse me please, I don't have to try to explain, right? I am trying to meet you half way, don't you see.
Explanations always take on the color of too much thought.
Explanations are never what it really is.
They are a snapshot of a temporary state of mind.
They are the reflection of the clouds in the deep turqoise lake that hides what IS.
As opposed to what we want.
As opposed to what we think we need. Fleeting clouds on unsure ground.
What IS, is what we need. The pearls at the bottom of the sea. The world beneath the surface which the wind cockles and dimples only ever so slightly, just as your longing remarks you guys made in the dark in a car.
What IS, is what we need. In every which twist or mask or excuse it presents itself - it is what it is.
Not what you make of it in your passion-blinded mind that wants so desperately to have found.

Well, do I.
There have been times that I didn't.