i can't shake this cosmic blues off, somehow, it holds me captive.
involuntarily i screen impossible images in my mind, the forbidden fruits. that it is true. that i can't grasp what it means, that it puts me into agony.
i writh and twist and try to escape the grip of brute reality. or is it just another illusion? what does this mean? can it set me free? will it continue bringing me down?
late late at night, almost early morning i crawled into her bed and suddenly felt like crying. why did i do this? why did i do anything? come on, now, Emeralda, admit it, admit that you are hurt. Yes, these pictures hurt. Yes, all this hurts. The demeanor, the attitude, the lies, the excuses, the talks, the walks.
So, it hurts. So, you are in agony. So, deal with it. admit it. let it wash through you. let yourself be angry. no, don't engage with the demons, just let it wash through you.
earlier, on the couch outside i observed the whirling stream of joy and exuberance as they all played and I, I just couldn't get all that into it. finally i asked nina to sit down with me and listen to what crazy images i had to fight with in my mind, wanted to ask her to talk it all away for me. she bent down and sat on my lap. leaning into me , still part almost of their dance. her eyes so black and glowing and sweet sweet lips her face like a fairytale. what is it she asked, what is it and i couldn't find any words anymore, just quickly vanishing regrets about how to be or not to be and in the sweetness of her presence i found more comfort than in any other thing i could have found in that night.
see, i reckon it must be all good. but that's beside the point now, is it!? that he is with that girl, what does it say? about me? what does he tell our friends? see, that's when it starts getting whacky. what does it say about all that he told me? about our love? does he lie to me yet again when he confesses his love to me and that he just plays? I mean, what the fuck. it's irresponsible in any case now is it?
awww. aw, aw, aw. i got the blues man, i got the blues.
Showing posts with label motherfuckers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherfuckers. Show all posts
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Sunday, April 01, 2007
in the thick of it
sometimes life just gets so thick in my perception, i feel like in a strange jungle, not mine, and bushes everywhere.
nothing helps then, even not you, even not me.
music, long forgotten tunes shake my square mind up, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.
i remember, there was a dad and there was a song and L.Cohen and Macy Gray and a bare room in a culturally rife city in Switzerland. It was Graffiti then and excitement, some sort of, and a new sense of who to be.
Things long gone now. There is a confusion going on, a big one, everyone knows it, it's as if they are talking behind my back, thinking I'm the only one oblivous to the facts, whispering, afraid I would run into them, swirl around to stare into their faces. it's not as if I'd scream out loud 'gotcha buddy!' 'caught in the act!' 'ha!' or even 'boo!'. No, no, I wouldn't do that.
Even he knows, it is seeping through his words and we both lie and pretend, and we want it so desperately. Gosh, children we are, playing in the sand. Until the, the dark comes. Sun gone, Momma is calling but we just don't want to see or hear or abide to the law of gravity. Love was supposed to undo it. Man. It was. It really is.
Now it's confusion, and it seems an easy thing to do to just turn back and look into my own face. It's not as if I wanted to, you know. Write a letter to God and have him undo all these horrible things that can't live up to the horribleness of life elsewhere.
There was a time. ...
And you don't know about it.
It was mine.
Completely. Only. It was the oligarchy of deep emotions.
It was, what was close to my heart, closer than anything now.
I am sorry if I worry any of you. If I come across as akward and adolescent. Or even lost, for heaven's sake.
I just wish you could leave me the fuck alone and not observe every fucking move I make. Comment.
Just comment on my writing and take it for what it is. Writing. Digestion. Fiction. Reality through layers of glass.
nothing helps then, even not you, even not me.
music, long forgotten tunes shake my square mind up, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.
i remember, there was a dad and there was a song and L.Cohen and Macy Gray and a bare room in a culturally rife city in Switzerland. It was Graffiti then and excitement, some sort of, and a new sense of who to be.
Things long gone now. There is a confusion going on, a big one, everyone knows it, it's as if they are talking behind my back, thinking I'm the only one oblivous to the facts, whispering, afraid I would run into them, swirl around to stare into their faces. it's not as if I'd scream out loud 'gotcha buddy!' 'caught in the act!' 'ha!' or even 'boo!'. No, no, I wouldn't do that.
Even he knows, it is seeping through his words and we both lie and pretend, and we want it so desperately. Gosh, children we are, playing in the sand. Until the, the dark comes. Sun gone, Momma is calling but we just don't want to see or hear or abide to the law of gravity. Love was supposed to undo it. Man. It was. It really is.
Now it's confusion, and it seems an easy thing to do to just turn back and look into my own face. It's not as if I wanted to, you know. Write a letter to God and have him undo all these horrible things that can't live up to the horribleness of life elsewhere.
There was a time. ...
And you don't know about it.
It was mine.
Completely. Only. It was the oligarchy of deep emotions.
It was, what was close to my heart, closer than anything now.
I am sorry if I worry any of you. If I come across as akward and adolescent. Or even lost, for heaven's sake.
I just wish you could leave me the fuck alone and not observe every fucking move I make. Comment.
Just comment on my writing and take it for what it is. Writing. Digestion. Fiction. Reality through layers of glass.
Monday, March 12, 2007
on the autobahn
German A Capella humming into my ears. I lean back, look around in the gay bachelor´s apartment, an old friend of mine. My refuge. For tonight.
I marvel. Marvel at the calm, the peace, the well, you know, the graceful way I marched from the emergency phone back to the car. A real fucked up car that would make California look proud but would make every German TUV test agent look pale...
I confess, I really do believe in guardian angels. See, things happen sometimes in a way that really make me think...
I could have freaked out and get stressed over all this bullshit happening to me today. But then again....The flat tire was just an excuse to get me to the bodyshop. The brakes were totally, entirely burnt out, as it turned out, something really just fucking saved my life. And in turn, I also saved my aunt´s life. Good thing I found out about the brakes before the ride would have sent me on my last trip through the clouds. Or her, for that matter. Later.
Oh whatever. I can´t quite believe that I am where I didn´t want to be, somewhere in the middle of Germany with a shitload of stress ahead. Oh well. It might be worth saving lifes, don´t you think.
I felt like a homeless with all the bags dangeling around my neck and arms and the guitar and the long scarf. My black stockings strangely weird, wrong place, wrong time. People laughing at me on my long way to the trainstation....But you know, I just felt, like, kind of...thankful. It could have been so much worse. You know, thank you, gosh, thank you.
Well, you know, - I know why I don´t like cars.
I marvel. Marvel at the calm, the peace, the well, you know, the graceful way I marched from the emergency phone back to the car. A real fucked up car that would make California look proud but would make every German TUV test agent look pale...
I confess, I really do believe in guardian angels. See, things happen sometimes in a way that really make me think...
I could have freaked out and get stressed over all this bullshit happening to me today. But then again....The flat tire was just an excuse to get me to the bodyshop. The brakes were totally, entirely burnt out, as it turned out, something really just fucking saved my life. And in turn, I also saved my aunt´s life. Good thing I found out about the brakes before the ride would have sent me on my last trip through the clouds. Or her, for that matter. Later.
Oh whatever. I can´t quite believe that I am where I didn´t want to be, somewhere in the middle of Germany with a shitload of stress ahead. Oh well. It might be worth saving lifes, don´t you think.
I felt like a homeless with all the bags dangeling around my neck and arms and the guitar and the long scarf. My black stockings strangely weird, wrong place, wrong time. People laughing at me on my long way to the trainstation....But you know, I just felt, like, kind of...thankful. It could have been so much worse. You know, thank you, gosh, thank you.
Well, you know, - I know why I don´t like cars.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
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???
Thursday, March 01, 2007
The Move
It was hard on her, on everybody.
Pride, as I always said, a bad idea in matters of love. But pride in the matter of war, a necessity.
Maybe.
I don't know any better so I got to play with what I've got.
She stormed up the stairs and through the veil of tears and through the torment of her yelling, her indignant yelp for justice, I felt the touch of her really seeing me for the first time in a long time.
How could you do that to me, she cries, a week after I broke up with him to ask him for help.
He was the only one who answered the phone, the only one with a car for fuck's sake!
Plus, how could you throw me out of the house we both so loved. Seven days to leave. On top of everything, what about that.
In the room she turned slightly, I saw her back and her tears and her trying to recuperate. It's okay she said but I knew it wasn't and my soft heart just turned upside down begging for the permission to throw up.
Not now, a firm voice scolding, maybe later.
It's just talking, blabbing they say. But I still feel sorry. True - Nobody wants to feel like an asshole or a backstabber. Now I know what it feels like and it doesn't feel good. It feels like a fuck up.
At least they got something now that is really fucked up and it should be enough to fuel the fire of many conversations to come.
To rectify.
To justify.
To explain.
Your fucked upness away.
---
Through the mesh wire fence I took a last close up look at the homeless dude's fort. Mushy feelings through mesh wire, wishy-washy all the same. Nobody at home tonight, under the stacked tables. A last look back, up to my little ship-room, source of inspiration and doom. Deserted - bleak and dreary now, frowning upon me. The distinct feeling of walking a tight rope with shaking knees. How the shiver carries onto the rope, rippling, echoing, slowly ripping you off the last little bit of self-control you thought you possessed, mercilessly breathing a life of its own into the cold, hard and twisted rope. A snake slowly twirling and twisting its way out of here, curling up in my lower back -Illusions of safety, dissolving into lost hope.
In the car I blew the smoke away and let the heavy metal roll over me. He, pretty elliptical, me, relieved not to have to talk like them. Explaining, explaining away. The lights a blurr and at the bus station a bunch of plastic bags - like those I had put my belongings into - and a ragged coat hiding a person that once was a child. With or without a mother. A father. A life.
Wishy-washy, all the same.
What a feeling, a different war.
Pride, as I always said, a bad idea in matters of love. But pride in the matter of war, a necessity.
Maybe.
I don't know any better so I got to play with what I've got.
She stormed up the stairs and through the veil of tears and through the torment of her yelling, her indignant yelp for justice, I felt the touch of her really seeing me for the first time in a long time.
How could you do that to me, she cries, a week after I broke up with him to ask him for help.
He was the only one who answered the phone, the only one with a car for fuck's sake!
Plus, how could you throw me out of the house we both so loved. Seven days to leave. On top of everything, what about that.
In the room she turned slightly, I saw her back and her tears and her trying to recuperate. It's okay she said but I knew it wasn't and my soft heart just turned upside down begging for the permission to throw up.
Not now, a firm voice scolding, maybe later.
It's just talking, blabbing they say. But I still feel sorry. True - Nobody wants to feel like an asshole or a backstabber. Now I know what it feels like and it doesn't feel good. It feels like a fuck up.
At least they got something now that is really fucked up and it should be enough to fuel the fire of many conversations to come.
To rectify.
To justify.
To explain.
Your fucked upness away.
---
Through the mesh wire fence I took a last close up look at the homeless dude's fort. Mushy feelings through mesh wire, wishy-washy all the same. Nobody at home tonight, under the stacked tables. A last look back, up to my little ship-room, source of inspiration and doom. Deserted - bleak and dreary now, frowning upon me. The distinct feeling of walking a tight rope with shaking knees. How the shiver carries onto the rope, rippling, echoing, slowly ripping you off the last little bit of self-control you thought you possessed, mercilessly breathing a life of its own into the cold, hard and twisted rope. A snake slowly twirling and twisting its way out of here, curling up in my lower back -Illusions of safety, dissolving into lost hope.
In the car I blew the smoke away and let the heavy metal roll over me. He, pretty elliptical, me, relieved not to have to talk like them. Explaining, explaining away. The lights a blurr and at the bus station a bunch of plastic bags - like those I had put my belongings into - and a ragged coat hiding a person that once was a child. With or without a mother. A father. A life.
Wishy-washy, all the same.
What a feeling, a different war.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Since ...
my other blog got revealed when I moved it to my google account (well they made me do it! gosh...) I thought I'd crosspost a little. The deal with the other blog is, well was, that it was for the people who know me and more of an update kind of thing and stories I wanted to share. Since I am not so much in obscurity anymore I thought I'd just play along....
here we go: go to this link, please: http://lunatics-unite.blogspot.com/2007/02/to-write-or-not-to-write.html
(yes I am stupid with computers and have no idea why this blog doesn't have a link feature. geez.)
enjoy hunting :))
here we go: go to this link, please: http://lunatics-unite.blogspot.com/2007/02/to-write-or-not-to-write.html
(yes I am stupid with computers and have no idea why this blog doesn't have a link feature. geez.)
enjoy hunting :))
Friday, February 23, 2007
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...
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...
Backstabbers Do This
"Like Cain and Abel, Caesar and Brutus, Jesus and Judas,
Backstabbers do this
Forgive them father for they know not what they do
Forgive them father for they know not what they do
It took me a little while to discover
Wolves in sheep coats who pretend to be lovers
Men who lack conscience will even lie to themselves, to themselves
A friend once said, and I found to be true
That everyday people, they lie to God too
So what makes you think, that they won't lie to you"
(Lauryn Hill, 'Father Forgive Them')
It's not like anyone is free from that, I suppose.
I lied to myself before.
She must be lying to herself because she is acting as if nothing happened, her fucking beam baam baam smile sticks like glue in my face, smashed into my peace of mind, starteling me like error404 reappearing, more annoying than ever before.
Does she really think that that was okay? It's not about THAT they asked me to ... or lets face it, that they kicked me out of the house, it's about the WAY they did it. Motherfucking pussies.
I'm almost schizophrenic trying to understand and justify the actions of two people who I had considered to be almost my only friends here in LA. No matter how I try to turn it and no matter how much I know that it REALLY is for the better I can't get over the fact that what they did was matter of factly backstabbing me.
It's crazy, really. There is a way to do it and then there is a way how not to do it. And then there are beliefs of all sorts and expectations. But isn't there a fine line that defines a certain moral that applies to all of us, given a certain similar background and living situation???
Am I Fucking Tripping?
I am so naive.
I really. I really shit. Man. I believed them to be my friends. That really hurts. It sucks. But truth hurts, they say.
Backstabbers do this
Forgive them father for they know not what they do
Forgive them father for they know not what they do
It took me a little while to discover
Wolves in sheep coats who pretend to be lovers
Men who lack conscience will even lie to themselves, to themselves
A friend once said, and I found to be true
That everyday people, they lie to God too
So what makes you think, that they won't lie to you"
(Lauryn Hill, 'Father Forgive Them')
It's not like anyone is free from that, I suppose.
I lied to myself before.
She must be lying to herself because she is acting as if nothing happened, her fucking beam baam baam smile sticks like glue in my face, smashed into my peace of mind, starteling me like error404 reappearing, more annoying than ever before.
Does she really think that that was okay? It's not about THAT they asked me to ... or lets face it, that they kicked me out of the house, it's about the WAY they did it. Motherfucking pussies.
I'm almost schizophrenic trying to understand and justify the actions of two people who I had considered to be almost my only friends here in LA. No matter how I try to turn it and no matter how much I know that it REALLY is for the better I can't get over the fact that what they did was matter of factly backstabbing me.
It's crazy, really. There is a way to do it and then there is a way how not to do it. And then there are beliefs of all sorts and expectations. But isn't there a fine line that defines a certain moral that applies to all of us, given a certain similar background and living situation???
Am I Fucking Tripping?
I am so naive.
I really. I really shit. Man. I believed them to be my friends. That really hurts. It sucks. But truth hurts, they say.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
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.
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.
Life is treacherous and it always teaches you otherwise.
Hypocritical motherfuckers. The irony is, I'm glad I found out. That you are NOT.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
MOTHERFUCKERS
My hands are still shivering and tiny teeny little sobs bubble up inside of me to dissolve my sight.
A knife in the back, you fucking motherfuckers. How can you do that.
Voices fighting inside my head. One says, it's probably the saccharin angel, hey it's all good, it's probably for the best but the other voice just can't forgive that people don't even bother to make things work.
I could include myself in that one probably. Too self absorbed with my petty little problems. Who fucking cares.
Living alone is probably better. It still hurts, it's probably the immediate shock, it ripples through my body. They just asked me to leave. In two week.s Motherfuckers.
You have a sister in Santa Monica they say. You can leave your stuff there.
One of them, she used to be such a good friend, she says, you know, it's like staying in a dysfunctional relationship. I'd rather save our friendship by not living together. Whatever. THANK YOU BITCH. THanks for kicking me out of my dream house. Thanks for your patience. THanks for your interest in my life. Thanks for asking what was wrong with me. Thanks for caring when a bus almost ran me over. Thanks you stupid motherfuckers.
I wonder whether it's really for the best. Or whether it's just the easy way out. And, can I forgive them.
THey probably do that only because that french girls need a room. ANd doeson't she fit perfectly in your girly world.
I can't even walk outside into the night now because i am such a fucking giant pussy and don't wanna see anyone of them. I feel like moving out in the night when nobody sees me. I am so fucking embarrassed. That's it. man. At the core of it I am just plainly embarrassed. How did that fucking happen???? Am I really like a really blind idiot? Like a really egotistical self absorbed asshole that one can't live with? That's probably what boyfriends and girlfriends ask themselves when somebody breaks up with them. It's breaking up time, big time. One of them just broke up with ehr boyfriend again. And they break up with me.
Because it's important . you know. instead of ruining it. the dysfunctional relationship that has to be sacrificed to make it all better.
Am I the idiot? Do i have a hard time to face the truth or can it be that they are just MOTHERFUCKERS????
A knife in the back, you fucking motherfuckers. How can you do that.
Voices fighting inside my head. One says, it's probably the saccharin angel, hey it's all good, it's probably for the best but the other voice just can't forgive that people don't even bother to make things work.
I could include myself in that one probably. Too self absorbed with my petty little problems. Who fucking cares.
Living alone is probably better. It still hurts, it's probably the immediate shock, it ripples through my body. They just asked me to leave. In two week.s Motherfuckers.
You have a sister in Santa Monica they say. You can leave your stuff there.
One of them, she used to be such a good friend, she says, you know, it's like staying in a dysfunctional relationship. I'd rather save our friendship by not living together. Whatever. THANK YOU BITCH. THanks for kicking me out of my dream house. Thanks for your patience. THanks for your interest in my life. Thanks for asking what was wrong with me. Thanks for caring when a bus almost ran me over. Thanks you stupid motherfuckers.
I wonder whether it's really for the best. Or whether it's just the easy way out. And, can I forgive them.
THey probably do that only because that french girls need a room. ANd doeson't she fit perfectly in your girly world.
I can't even walk outside into the night now because i am such a fucking giant pussy and don't wanna see anyone of them. I feel like moving out in the night when nobody sees me. I am so fucking embarrassed. That's it. man. At the core of it I am just plainly embarrassed. How did that fucking happen???? Am I really like a really blind idiot? Like a really egotistical self absorbed asshole that one can't live with? That's probably what boyfriends and girlfriends ask themselves when somebody breaks up with them. It's breaking up time, big time. One of them just broke up with ehr boyfriend again. And they break up with me.
Because it's important . you know. instead of ruining it. the dysfunctional relationship that has to be sacrificed to make it all better.
Am I the idiot? Do i have a hard time to face the truth or can it be that they are just MOTHERFUCKERS????
I Want You (She Is So Heavy)
I want you so bad it's driving me mad
(Beatles)
Life is emerging, merging and eventually diverging.
I mean, love.
She is so heavy, so heavy
(Beatles)
It's driving me crazy
(Beatles)
Life is emerging, merging and eventually diverging.
I mean, love.
She is so heavy, so heavy
(Beatles)
It's driving me crazy
Monday, February 19, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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.
if it would go without saying that certain things are indispensable in life.
and, especially, undeferrable.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, February 02, 2007
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
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
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Fly Brown Dragons
'i love los angeles' (Fly Brown Dragons)
I sit, listening, writing, thinking.
Yesterday I let the smoke signs rise into the sky, out of my little room, my ship in the stormy sea of gritty Hollywood life.
In thousand sparks red hot ashes exploded in the night on the cold concrete floor.
Lionnesses came to my mind. How they eat first, and then share the food with the kids. They've got to fucking kill another animal the next day. That's why. Personally, I think that's an important lesson. Of course, we are extremely social as human beings and can afford at times to save a person before ourselves, put the kids before our needs... Some people eat too much before they share. But who am I to judge. Everybody's gotta do what they gotta do, and sure, that's not a blank cheque for doing damage but it's true, to some extend, isn't it.
Well, I guess what I wanted to say is:
LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE WHEN I AM EATING.
DAMNIT.
Ok. So -
Now I am here, somewhere in LA, working on the 'Tard and Feathered' zine Vol. II that Lady Basco is making. Listening to her brother's playlist on his ipod.
Not that any of this would concern you, except for that if you are a true artist you would want to touch as many people as you can, right? If you want to participate in the magazine check it out. See whether you want to move through this medium too. Your blog adress and anything else you want to be known about your writing or yourself will be readily displayed and a nice side effect of course will be that it will increase your outreach radius somewhat. ;)
We'll distribute the zines for 15$ per piece here in LA and I don't know where else.
The money goes straight into making the next zine.
If you are interested write me or check the tard and feathered myspace site out: http://www.myspace.com/tardandfeathered
yeah and yes, I love Los Angeles, as well....
one love to all of you!
I sit, listening, writing, thinking.
Yesterday I let the smoke signs rise into the sky, out of my little room, my ship in the stormy sea of gritty Hollywood life.
In thousand sparks red hot ashes exploded in the night on the cold concrete floor.
Lionnesses came to my mind. How they eat first, and then share the food with the kids. They've got to fucking kill another animal the next day. That's why. Personally, I think that's an important lesson. Of course, we are extremely social as human beings and can afford at times to save a person before ourselves, put the kids before our needs... Some people eat too much before they share. But who am I to judge. Everybody's gotta do what they gotta do, and sure, that's not a blank cheque for doing damage but it's true, to some extend, isn't it.
Well, I guess what I wanted to say is:
LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE WHEN I AM EATING.
DAMNIT.
Ok. So -
Now I am here, somewhere in LA, working on the 'Tard and Feathered' zine Vol. II that Lady Basco is making. Listening to her brother's playlist on his ipod.
Not that any of this would concern you, except for that if you are a true artist you would want to touch as many people as you can, right? If you want to participate in the magazine check it out. See whether you want to move through this medium too. Your blog adress and anything else you want to be known about your writing or yourself will be readily displayed and a nice side effect of course will be that it will increase your outreach radius somewhat. ;)
We'll distribute the zines for 15$ per piece here in LA and I don't know where else.
The money goes straight into making the next zine.
If you are interested write me or check the tard and feathered myspace site out: http://www.myspace.com/tardandfeathered
yeah and yes, I love Los Angeles, as well....
one love to all of you!
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)