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???

HA!

so i kicked my lazy ass and turned the link field on in this blog. it was really really easy. geez. laziness is humanities big enemy and in the same time our biggest engine....we'd still be doing laundry in rivers otherwise right?!
so, if you klick at the title you'll find a post that I liked that I found rummaging around in the september section. Actually, september has a lot of posts that I like. And I usually don't really like what I write too much :) so go ahead and check it out if you want to and have nothing better to do :))

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.

it'd be nice

it would be so nice if I still had these convictions. without any shadows of conflicting voices within. steadily and enthusiastically (en-thus-iastic as in 'with God') fighting for the good.
if it would go without saying that certain things are indispensable in life.
and, especially, undeferrable.

The Morning After

Tastes like unbrushed teeth, anger, longing and frustration. Hollywood is still covered with fog and the creepy creeping prenotion that something is wrong in this world. Something is mightily wrong. I think I am crazy but maybe I'm not. What the fuck. I can have really good sex with myself, smoke a cigar into the fugged up night, smile at the sight of two lonely lights in the Capitol Records tower shimmering troublesomely through the clouds that lay down on the streets, grey in grey.
I can like my life like that, even if I realized just a couple of moments prior to that, that what I really like is a campfire and peace of mind. I like to long into the starbright night. Think of someone to come, one nice day.

I don't like it how it is now. I don't like that i know you it takes away the sweet romantic longing dreams.

I don't like you being a complete egotistical selfabsorbed asshole who will never answer any of my questions except for they are about the weather and practical things. Anything exceeding that is killed and massacred in the very fist fetus state. I am sick of the songs that you kind of hinted would speak for you. I want you to speak up.

I don't like that I don't know what is right or wrong and I don't like to think that my heart has all answers ready if I just were ready to listen. Fuck that too. I don't want to know. I want to find what I am looking for OUTSIDE of myself. Okay? Shit.

I don't like that the most lovely and charming man that has crossed my path in a long time still is in love with me and asked me yesterday night again where I'm standing at. Completely respecting and understanding my state of mind. Well, what can he do. He's been trying to cope with it since almost one and a half years. Isn't that something. And there I go hanging on to this ghost of our love that still haunts me like a motherfucker.

Yes, the morning after, so mingled with a fierce sense of frustration.

my inner child is coffee

just hit things!

some people are born again, like not only once or twice but really 8 times in a row!
it's not like i want to make fun of them!
but my aunt lived on the streets for about 20 years!
and my grand father was a nazi!
he beat her up once so hard, she was unconscious!
she had to publicly apologize and take back what she said about him in an interview that was taken as a contribution to the documentary and book that was published in Germany about my ex-terrorist uncle!
he is the one of the only ones who got rehabilitated into society. or is that re-integrated? i don't know. he is a good example!
what nobody knows is, that he chews marihuana and robs the worldbank in his mind! it's the last project he has to do to save the world from poverty! he is maybe schizophrenic, maybe it's self therapeutic, who knows! i mean, with marihuana a lot of things seem to be possible!
my other grandfather was an idealist! he died on his way to the outhouse at the age of 85 somewhere in Alaska!
he slipped on the ice that covered the path to the outhouse. it was dark and night and winter. he cuaght a lung infection.
he died in the the hospital and allegedly the last words he uttered were 'just love each other' and 'sophie goes to my second daughter'
his second daughter is my mother and sophie is an old horse.
she got fucked . wait, she got let me look this up, so this old mare was covered by a blind beat up stallion who was with her just for one afternoon. i tell you! a real stallion's penis finds it's way in the dark! it's a truly one eyed monster, in the very sense of the word.
and their offspring was fittingly called 'Miracle' and my aunt, who had a house near the cliffs behind the forest and who walked around naked all day, letting the sesam oil penetrate her skin to make it close to perfect, she showed me a song by Whitney Houston that was called 'Miracle'. She took care of the horses, until her close to perfect self-sufficient loghouse burnt down.
she is part of the flying meditators! a millionaire pays a bunch of TM people every month money (one million every month distributed fairly) to meditate (and hover in the air) for certain philanthropic issues!
another aunt moved to England, leaving the house that my Nazi Grandfather left her, behind. she is taken off the papers now! damnit!
one of my sisters is a scam queen!
the other is in Africa and believes that this family 'adopted' her because she is herself not because of her connections!
it could be true!
oh it better should!
another aunt is a Corporal in the US Army! Her daughter studies at Harvard!
I am a Nanny!


and sometimes I feel I need a dick so you can all suck it

and swallow

ps wouldn't it be nice sometimes to be reborn? with another name, that is

dark blue

I turn the blinders up and down, see through, blind, can't decide, can't find, no way to breath, no homeless tonight outside but inside, here, it is damp and dark, the glaring crude light makes me feel just even more like a foolish moth clashing with light longing for dark, smelling of dampness trying to burn what can't be burnt.
a plethora of words that I cross out, cross back in, come across, try to put across and now matter how much I try, it is a loss.
And I am at a loss to understand what's going on.
As I drive down the dark streets of LA's thousand suburbs in search of a downtown I listen to sombody else's cd just as I drive somebody else's car and it makes me feel altogether as if I was living sombody else's life, too. The music fucking throws me back into ice ages, last July when I still thought we'd be together. FUcking fuck that. And as I skip to find other, better, more innocent songs I find a techno song that throws me even further back to when I lived in Berlin and that's as much as a soul can take; I kill the music altogether and drive in brooding silence home.
The room is new and not so cosy after all, at 'home', nobody there, i sit down and play for the first time since I came here. For real. Distorted, careless, angry, fucking sad. I can't call anybody. There is nothing I would want to say to anybody. These days are over. For me. No complaining no more. No telling sad stories no more. No telling ' I can cope with that don't worry because I am such a bad ass motherfucker' stories. No crying on the phone. No bad mood for someone else to take or up lift. No calling you no more. You didn't get it. Your voice sounded depressed too, and it's about time we stopped that.
No fucking fuck fuck I wish I had words. But since I don't I shuffle along, like a cripple in search of a manger. All the inns full, closed, not for me.
And into the blue I realize that it feels so good without a phone. I caught myself a couple of times today feeling for it in my pocket, as if I expected it to vibrate. I want to call somebody so bad. But it's so good that I can't. And that you fuckers can't call me.
Now you gotta write.
And I gotta be strong.
And never have I felt myself so strongly alone.

untitled..

..for lack of an excuse. how could I possibly come up with an excuse, not to you but to myself, for this pathetic display, this outrageous atavism of lovesickness in its bitter sweetest edition?
Come one, I'd like to say but I can't. Come on, come on, it might be worth the discipline.
My regular homeless guy outside in the parking lot puts a white board (foam? wood?) in front of the stacked tables he creeps into at night. I wonder whether he tries to keep out the cold, the light or the sight. I see how he steps back, just like an artist, looks at his work and after a second of second afterthoughts he steps back in and puts it carefully behind the tables and walks slowly and leisurely back into the soft world of concrete Hollywood christmas day night.
In the play house they dance to James Brown, honoring the Godfather of soul and funk and groove and I just take a short break to write. I wanted to write about the weightlifter guy from Georgia (next to Russia) who risked his life to go to the Mr. Universe competition by paying a drunk luggage guy at the airport to fly in the luggage compartment where he almost died and got saved in the last minute already looking pale like a dead man walking.
Or how he went to his gym during the war in the early 90's, hiding behind trees, houses, cars, to escape the bullets which were flying incessantly.
Or about the Italian guy on the way back on the bus who didn't want to tell me his story about how he didn't have his car anymore although he makes like 60 $/hour.
Or about the incredible sweetness of the Guatemalan guy next to the Italian mafiosi, who was too short.
Or about the midnight christmas mass and how I teared up when I lifted up my arms. How I thought how strange it is - my fascination for religion paired with disgust and repulsion. And how the woman looked at me when I did something wrong at communion and how I thought, damnit, damn, did she know that I am not catholic? And is that a sin? Ha. Haha.
But instead I chose to write an untitled piece of a restless mind that is unsettled by horoscopic dissonances and alleged incompatabilities, missing the weak, immature Libra guy that Piscies woman supposedly seek after in their early tweens.
I mean, fuck. This doesn't even describe properly what I miss, like, your presence, like, the better version of myself when you are around.
I always knew that I wanted to be 30.