bitter almonds

bitter
that you never let me in but you said you would
that you never let me get to know your other world
you said
all you want is what we have
and I always knew
that you couldn't live without them
that it meant too much still
despite your desires and feelings
it still meant too much

so you drive through the night to call me at three o'clock in the morning
and you say it is an old Gypsy's tradition
and i hear your cousins laugh
in the morning I cried

grow up

it's old news that i have to grow up

it is so much more beautiful though with Sophie S. from London. This music soothes a soul.

beautiful

the flowers blossom outside the window and so unaffected by time.
I listen to the sounds of the city rushing by
it is so beautiful
how vibrant our soul's melodies sounded. how colorful and special we held hands.
you know what i mean.
it was just fucking beautiful.
and i know we are not new, there were lovers in the forests and cities before us, they've loved like you and me but lost in our own universes we circle around our love like around a sun and worship it's rising every day anew.

and then it dawns.
and then the night comes along.
and it is going to be long cold polar winter
with no sun rising
and no flowers blossoming
and no suns
in silence we grief, in this place far inside, nobody believes in.
until they get stabbed. yeah.
so

beautiful

man, it is like a movie, a real good tragedy. you go home with this special ending and your imagination takes you to this place where peace is. nothing nasty, just what the hearts need: obscurity and secrecy.
leave dark what needs to be obscure.
leave obscure what is dark.
night's are there so we can see the stars. and dream and reach out to them and orientate us at them and long out to them.
it is the phantasy land of magic and myths, of fairy tales in a real world...

but hell no, hell no, that's not what we want.
we take everything we have and shatter it on the ground.
we take everything we have and break it into pieces,
drag it along.

because we always want more of

beautiful

ps. it is so weird. i feel like i should run now. i feel like, this was the perfect ending and I don't want to know more than that. i want to dream. i want to maintain this special star in the dark. our love. but my mind and my heart and my body feel drawn towards this star, refuse to let the sun drift away, they can't bear the cold blinking of the star. they follow it, they want it so bad. they want to feel the heat of the sun again. the gravitation. the wild feeling of being bonded in an eternal orbit, a prescribed way, a fatal and yet so beautiful reality. free in restriction. free in love.
ah.
i am so afraid that going on and trying to make it work or whatever would spoil it all. would destroy the night and burn me.
make me a planet although i might be a meteorit.
ah
all i want. is... ah.
oh dany

i don't write no diary/sketching before painting

these days i even can't write into my journal anymore. only in parables, stories, fairy tales and spoken word I can express what I am going through without getting lost in my tears and endless wonderings and feminine contemplations on what i should have or shouldn't have done...


when you get to this point in a relationship in which the end seems pretty much inevitable and you see how all of your dreams and plans and hopes are doomed you look back to what you had.
it's as if someone switches a light with a different color on.
you looked back at the elevator door and looked at me and than you said, it WAS a good time...
and all I could do was to nod my head and then, in a desperate attempt to do something I whispered: don't leave, Dany.
But you left and there I sit at four o'clock in the morning and cry my eyes out over some Bob Dylan songs that stab me into my heart in such a cruel yet beautiful way.

I look back too and I get this image in my mind that all this was like drawing a sketch for a masterpiece that we were ready to paint in tears and blood and love and laughter and many times to come.
and then there was suddenly no paint anymore.
but we sketched such a beautiful story.
we outlined the whole book in one chapter.

oh man...
oh fuck

the tree with the parrots

in front of the institute. Mc Cadden street. there is a tree with parrots in it. I've heard them but never really seen them. I am short sighted.
All this time, all this time, throughout the winter and the spring this tree hasn't lost any leaves but now all the pink flowers lie on the street, next to the dry leaves.
Now i can see but the parrots are gone.
And, somehow, it looks tragically beautiful and the tree is bare.
It feels like that.

It is, as if even the tree mourns with me
now that i can see

but my mind is clouded in these clear blued summer days

at war

it felt like at war. you came home and you were a stranger to me. what are you smiling at me like this you said, trying to break the akwardness of the situation, this is your weird smile.
i am sorry but i can't help it, it is strange isn't it.
it is.
but that's why you are here, no? we wanted to sit down and talk.
I don't want to talk to anybody anymore.
I know. I know. Helplessly I touch your hand, it is almost too much. I don't know what to do....what is right and what is wrong, it feels like dancing on a tight rope, I am concentrated, trying to listen to the instructions of the voice of my heart....

you reached over, from far away and leaned over me, searching for my lips, my mouth and our bodies tried to find back to each other, like flowers blossoming secretely in the dark.
love builds bridges to defeat the utter loneliness of being individual, individeable, and we overload those bridges at times with pictures, images, expectations, plans, future and past, although it is just meant to be a means of communication. True communication that goes beyond everything we know while dealing on an everyday basis. It is the communication that we are looking for. Without words, an embodied communication, a communication that leads to communion, it leads to this hidden place, ah and then we burn those bridges, in dispair, because they couldn't bare all those things we wanted to attach to them.
you reached over and found my lips like a lotus flower in a hidden lake far south. i faded in and out from being in the bitter sweetness of the moment and observing everything, probably in order to protect myself, carefully forming words in my head, writing the story while it happened, maybe, maybe, when it is put in form of a story it will be more bearable. maybe it will sound to me like another story that I love, and I can reattach my lost self to it, and forget the painful anticipation of the deatachment over that.
we find each other so well, again, so million many times we did and tears knock on the door, hello, you ordered three tears? one for me one for him and one for sophia.
oh my love I saw the dew in your eyes.
oh my lover I saw the restless dispair in your eyes
oh my love you said you are done
how do you know that
i just know man. I am sick.
I remember how June Carter kept Johnny Cash in his house and rehabed him. You once said maybe that's why you should do with me and I didn't know what you meant really but now it hits me and I wonder whether I should maybe run to the door and lock it and never let you go. i told you in the car that even if you would die early I still would want to have kids with you. It would be totally worth it. And you asked me to take care of you and I wanted to
and now I sit there and try to listen to my heart, what is right?
Intertwined again we dive up from yet another wave of passion that washed our minds away.
What do you smile you ask and i say I have a thousand smiles for free. remember?
I lost my mind you say, standing up. It is time.
I have it in my heart.
good, keep it there.
and I packed your things silently, surprised about this sudden strength to maintain dignity and a smile in this tossing of waves, i am so small.
i dont' know. i just don't know you said, and your face tried to find the right expression in search of a better explanation. it's not your fault. Geraldine. I sat there, just there, and then I said, if you have to say good bye you should say it.
Good bye.
Of course I didn't want to hear it but the moment took itself away from me and developed a life of its own.
I went over to the wooden box, there it was, behind it, my painting that I painted for you, ironically here in this apartment, back in the days when I lived at Aby's and it was easter and you wrote me how you finally forgave everybody and most importantly yourself and how you finally felt free and thank you for being my inspiration.
I really love you you say and I always will. Thank you for everything.
I brought you the painting, and said, well this is still for you, i folded it, read the poem i wrote on the backside and smiled remniscing the moment. Take it, and don't lose it, it is for you.
carefully we took each other into our arms. I held your head on my shoulder and you held mine and it felt like I was never gonna let you go I just held you and held you and you pressed my head oh so carefully on your shoulder that I love so much. I could hold you for ever.
This time the tears almost overwhelmed me.
It is not a bad thing when we enjoy kissing each other I tell him. I still love you. It is like we were at war.
The beloved comes home and is a stranger but then, when he has to leave again, he is the beloved again, a miracle of transformation, touched by a woman, and the kiss good bye is the sweetest kiss on this world, it is like you don't know whether you will see each other ever again.
I hold you from behind, your beautiful back that I loved to hug when I surprised you coming out of school. You turn to the door.
Can I kiss the corners of your mouth?
A ritual, that's how I first kissed you.
A sweet kiss good bye.
I love you.
Before you enter the elevator I lean against the wall and look at you from far. You look at me and softly say
It WAS a really good time. I thank you more than anybody in my life.
Come on. I laugh and I know you love how I laugh. You always made me laugh.
You have to thank your mom first.
I thank you more than anybody in my life. You are my best friend.

Don't leave Dany. (i see myself running to him and throwing myself on the floor, holding on to his feet. I see myself screaming and crying and tearing my hair out. but when I left a few moments later to go back to the apartment I went down on my knees, eventually overwhelmed by the pain and tears and covered my head with the blanket your sister gave me. in darkness it is alone that my soul can find comfort in sorrow)
I have to.

Okay. I say softly.
Okay. I rest for a little while in this moment. Sometimes the warrior has to fight in silence. I am not going to give you up just like that.
This would be the perfect ending for a perfectly beautiful encounter, for such a beautiful chapter.
But it never crossed my mind until now, that this could be it.
You said you love me
And I really do

it is like at war. when you don't know and can only enjoy the moment of crossing that bridge

paradise

Yes, I admit, of course.
it is like the tide.
yes, i can.
i know that i am strong enough but i don't want to be strong enough.
i dont' want this.
i simply don't fucking want it. oh man, don't you get it. fuck you destiny.
refusing, rejecting, hiding away but without avail. it is that we can't hide from inside.

However, there are a miriad of ways to keep me from being. Being in pain. It is almost too easy to be true. Just don't let your mind go to this place. Keep the weep inside. yeah, alright? it is burning it's way through my body. I can't eat really. Ice cream will do. great. funny, how tears, uncried, burn inside. It is the ultimate alchemistic amalgamation of water and fire, a miracle, a masterpiece of life: a bitter-sweet triumph of love.

The echoes of my laughter come back distorted: socialising is like a theater play that I have performed one too many times and I am getting so tired of it. routinley I nodd my head and say yes and how nice and oh what a drag but sometimes it bursts out of me and very rudely i tell them how it is.
Surprised, they turn their heads and laugh, smirk at times, because nobody ever believes you when you are honest. No, thanks, I don't want to see what you bought. No, I don't want to go there. No, thank you, I don't want to hang out with you. No, it doesn't look good. the surface ripples and reality shifts swiftly, just for a mili second: it is all there. and puzzled you leave them behind.

And all the fun and all the friends I wanted to have in addition to you, - my old life, as a continuation but just now together with you, what a blasphemic ordeal.. a discrimination of transforming love, the crippling of the dancer. - Oh how slow we change and see. it could have been an entirely new life but I was hanging on to another past just as I do now.
And although I will move in desperate bliss tonight when I go dancing - It's about the dancing and the pain and not the people. It is only and always about you and how I love you and how we fucking can't be together, the hapless collision of two worlds in the right time and the right place, the uncovering of true joy's real face: pain and joy, - all the same. piercing, stabbing, leaving the victim gasping on the floor, holding on to the wonder, always wanting more.

At times I think I'll be strong enough. I constantly think about it. I can. I'll draw from this... and all this bullshit. Alas, in the end of the day...of course I am broken. of course, like a tsunami the waves of pain crash into my mind from this painfully hurting place in my heart. - only the dark shadows of night can comfort my soul. And a Piazolla tango, on a loop. And this only because it keeps my pain company. and the rest of the world in relativity

this is then, why men kept talking about a paradise

pain ball

I don't even feel the need to talk to you right now. I roll the pain around like a little ball from my left breast to the right one, the memory of you kissing them escapes my mind but I remember how you first touched them, how you carefully put your hand around them like holding birds in your hands, and your hand were my nests and I learned how to love you and how to accept this wonderful and incredibly percious gift of your love.
Then I roll the little pain ball in my hands and let it dry in the wind and as I am listening to 'Lay Lady Lay' the first memory of me and my family being in France and Northern Spain unfolds like a flower in the early morning sun and then the smell of past summers transforms into our love and long - seemingly long forgotten - text messages like 'why wait any longer for the one you love when he is standing right in front of you' pop into my mind and instead of crying again I just crown the little ball with one uncried tear and make friends with it.
I will draw from this as I've drawn from our happier times. It's all the same. The hours spent waiting and longing, the hours spent missing, fighting, cryingm, laughing, talking, loving, trying, failing...It all sums up to who and what we are and it will lead to who we become...and it was and is great and beyond words. Nothing is perfect - fortunately I say. But beautiful.
I will always love you. I always have.

there are so many things I wish you could have seen too

like going on a hiking trip in Russia. The nightly camp fires and Toby singing until the morning dawned.
The fog at the morning when we gathered to sing before heading to our next goal along the Chapior river. I was standing there, slightly shivering in the cold morning breeze, when all of the sudden this magical song rose into the sky, 'Finland, my beloved Fatherland...' in three voices and like a bird my heart flew straight through the mist into the sky to kiss the morning sun.
Or the storm that blew the cotton flowers over the steppe alongside the river and it looked like a snow storm...
I wish you could have tried to get through this tiny window in the old church in the French/Spanish Pyrenees, even Dad tried although he is so claustrophobic and we danced on the roof and tried to sneak a peak into the locked chapel...and the monastry with those old paintings and the magnificent waterfall...and the water under our tent when it rained so hard....it was like floating on a raft and the trees stood strong and tall and the smell of herbs filled the air. I don't know whether I even knew the other meaning of the word 'herb' back then. Those were days of innocent love and joy.
And how I watched the eagles over the morning choire at the camping ground in the middle of nowhere with Samy. You would have liked him I know that. Ah, all these things, I wish you could have been there. I wish you could have been there. I wish everybody could have been there. It was so freaking beautiful and so nourishing. It still gives me strength.
I wish you could come with me this summer to Russia and work in this school and then go on the hiking trip with Lampi and the rest along the sidearms of the Don. I wish you could experience Russian hospitality and I wish you could hear those songs. I wish I could hear and see whatever was and is precious to you and your life my love. I wish we could have always shared all these wonderful things.
It makes me cry so hard to think that you were wounded maybe. Maybe those days were also full of hidden magical beauty and the story how you met Magdalena is really beautiful and I wish I could have seen it and seen the fire and see her dancing and then be with you guys in the tree, finding to each other, although it was maybe a game you have a heart and I am sure it was excited and loving the wild taste of a beautiful life.
I hate drugs with a passion.

pain is just the other side of the coin honey

so the chinese doctor said 'well he is not the problem. the problem are you'
'Why, what do you mean?'
'well, why are you with him?'
'because I can. I am strong enough'
'so do you have to prove somehow that you are strong enough?'
'well, I dont' know, I mean, i love him...'
and then he looked at me for like two seconds and turned then to Nancy to discuss why or not you could blame Bush for what is happening in the White House right now.

A bit startled I went back into the house. It is not like that was a helper-syndrom thing from the beginning. The point where I could/should have walked away and say 'I don't want to have a boyfriend with issues like that' was where I didn't walk away and that, indeed is characteristic for me and I have done that already once before.
But it's not like I ever want to change that. When I see an earthworm drowing in the rain on the street I pick him up to throw him into grass and if I walk by because i am hurry it won't last ten steps and I'll be back, feeling all guilty about not helping him out. I always had a little funeral for the dead birds we found. i always wanted to help and save the world, the poor, the wretched, the 'evil' ones...everybody. I wanted to fight the bad in all of us.
Maybe that makes me a piscie very much. lol.
But yeah. it's not like this is going to change.
The question however is: will I stick with one person and give myself up for one single soul or will I give myself up for the rest of the world too? Is it possible to do both?
I don't know I don't know I don't know.
I am blessed with a very lucky and good life. I've had it so so so good, when I look back at it now. And I always felt that the privileges I have oblige me to give back in whatever form to this world I am living in.

he said I shouldn't be sad otherwise he would kill himself. That's how much he wants me to be happy. He says he loves me more than life itself. (my sarcastic angel on the left shoulders whispers right now in my ear 'considering how little he loves life it doesn't surprise me he loves you more that life!' lol whatever. shut up already you sarcasto)
but I live the pain just as I live the joy; - like a child. I cry a river and I won't stop the tears from falling. I lilke rain.
And I welcome the pain in my life just as I welcomed him

I was so extremely lucky and happy with him, I felt like the luckiest person on this planet to be blessed with such a lover and friend and love.
And when you pick up a coin from the ground it always has two sides to it.

The pain is and has to be equivalent to the joy I felt with you.
And it is all the same: i love you

Berlin - LA

Berlin

Its such a beautiful day
And you hang there
I am drawn in
Days of intensity
Life
And it was such a niee bubble
A womb in the middle of a city
And all I can say now
Is you are
So beautiful
Singing with your guitar
I wish I could have lived forever
Just dreaming away

LA

I want to live in this illusion with such a fierce passion that it pierces my heart late at night
Sometimes I would reach out from my little world and be the amazing hero in the other world, helping those who need it and want it
And then I would retreat peacefully and with dignity into my little fairy tale world
I would cook you dinner and give you a massage I would caress your body and heal it from all the bad
And I would live easy, floating from one step to the next
No effort
No pain
And it is so wonderful to live in a world full of colibris and butterflies oh yeah
There would be no sorrow
And no mountains to climb
And no valleys to look down to
No fucking tears of pain
I want to live in this illusion with such a fierce passion that it stabs my heart in the middle of paying the o-juice and water I buy at the yucca store
And the sun goes down and the violet of the flowers outside the window is seducing us
Music fills the air
But there is silence in my heart
A sobbing is echoing somewhere in a dark corner
And tears are lurking around the corner
They hang out and wait until they hear their cue.
I love you

smart - girl.

you say it hurts too much now?
the legend of philomele, the nightingale says that the nightingale sings so insanly sweet while she is pressing herself against this thorn to kill the pain in her heart.
and the sing-swans they only sing once in their life. when they feel they are going to die they fly into the sky and sing until they die.
and then they fall...
you say it hurts just too much now?
maybe you gotta just be a smart girl now. smart. take the rest into your hands. whatever you can do. smart - girl.

the other life

there is this other life and these other people and when I am there I feel that is how I feel most comfortable after all.
One kind of people is the artists. I remember in Berlin how Ruth invited me to her party and we were in this room, full of circus artists, painters, and what not, and although I already hated by then to attend parties in which I hardly know anybody I totally freaking enjoyed myself so much! I sat there and as someone was climbing up the door frame in order to get over the people standing in the door to get some drinks I thought 'wow, this is just the kind of people I like to hang with. everybody does what they like without coming across as being pretentious or as a show off. Creativity was truly appreciated.
The other kind of people is definetely those that I can have intelligent conversations with, that I can play fun games with in which you have to guess, puzzle, play theater, paint, etc. then jam on the guitar and enjoy the company. smoking sheesha. I know, I know, my love, these are the things you hate and that you don't want me to do but after all, that's where I feel most comfortable.
Nobody sais that feeling comfortable is necessarily the best thing in the world. I am more about developing, growing than having fun all the time. So being with you makes a lot of sense and I love being with you.
But in the end I might have to go just as you feel you have to go.
I wonder for how long people can live in another world.