Tori Amos.
The flipside of the coin: Yes, I am strong enough. It's just a fact. I feel. I am emotional. I am inquisitive. Infinitely curious. Ready to fight, unsure as to when though. But strong? Strong enough. A woman with grace. The wild child full of grace has moved on and is about to become a woman in every aspect of her life.
Tori Amos is a great inspiration. She is.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Seven seconds
It's not a second - seven seconds away - Just as long as I stay - I'll be waiting. Youssou Ndour and Neneh Cherry.
Little, 17 year old Emeralda breathing heavily in the dark basement, hiding behind old bikes and what not. The music on full volume, her head nodding away. Like a californian surfer wave the sounds are washing her away, breaking her down, melt her, break her, make her sand.
We are all sand in this weird ocean of life. Ah yeah. A spider. She squeaks. Upstairs she hears his mother scream when she turns the volume down. Wait a little longer. I can wait. I always did. Sometimes it is quite tiresome. You wait and wait and let your hopes and longing float on a river of music, like little chines prayer candles floating down the rivers. And then you see them disappear in the dark, little stars, little messengers of love and they never return. Until you get into that boat and float down yourself. And, unfuckingfortunately enough, you see all those little candles burnt down floating belly-upwards in the water, waiting for something to stop them or to drown them. You feel like punching them with the paddle of your boat but you just drift by and while everything about you is seemingly motionless inside there is this tornado swirling your emotions in a wicked caroussell like move and finally you feel how everything is crushing. You leave the burnt down candles and try not to see them as a sign but as life, as what it is. Hearts are broken everyday. That's what people do. They live on. Somehow. Some show the devastating desert outwardly. They try to still the thirst with alcohol. With other substances. They try to wash the memories away. The burning flaming thoughts that haunt you day and night. Eveyrwhere you go. No you try to do that for real. Maybe this kiss can extinct the burning desert sun. Maybe this song can bring a fresh breeze, alluding to better times. But nothing can stop this drought slowly burning everything down. From sucking the essential joy from anything you do. It's like, nothing makes really sense then - anymore. In a world without you.
It's funny how well everything still functions. You look at your hand, slowly moving the paddle while you float down, trying to stir somewhat but mostly accepting that the current will take you anyways whereever you are meant to be. The hand works the paddle. Firmly, perfectly. Your body functions so well, just the heart aches but you get used to that too. The trees move in the soft breeze. The world moves on. Weird how perfectly everything works. How can that be, when all the candles you found were long gone and dead?
Soon, soon you will reach the ocean, the mother of all tears, the home of every sad smile, playing with sunrays and with star rays eternally moving, indifferent towards the million voices that whisper stories of broken hearts and desaster.
I wanted to swim upstream. I wanted to plant my seed close to the spring. I wanted to fight my way up there but too many tears pulled me downstream, they are longing to mingle with the salt water of the ocean, and even though they are many, even they can't still the thirst nor can they create an oasis in the middle of this desert. It is wickedly upside down.
Seven seconds away.
She finally gets up again, dusts her pants off and cautiously peaks outside the basement. The concrete stairs are cold under her bare feet. The mother stopped yelling. She looks up the wooden stairs to his apartment and her heart sinks two inches further down. She doesn't dare to go up there. What a loser, but she can't. Like a shadow she sneaks out of the backyard and walks towards the hill.
It is so hard when you want to love so badly. When the love inside is exploding into empty space.
And it is even harder when you have loved and lost.
Little, 17 year old Emeralda breathing heavily in the dark basement, hiding behind old bikes and what not. The music on full volume, her head nodding away. Like a californian surfer wave the sounds are washing her away, breaking her down, melt her, break her, make her sand.
We are all sand in this weird ocean of life. Ah yeah. A spider. She squeaks. Upstairs she hears his mother scream when she turns the volume down. Wait a little longer. I can wait. I always did. Sometimes it is quite tiresome. You wait and wait and let your hopes and longing float on a river of music, like little chines prayer candles floating down the rivers. And then you see them disappear in the dark, little stars, little messengers of love and they never return. Until you get into that boat and float down yourself. And, unfuckingfortunately enough, you see all those little candles burnt down floating belly-upwards in the water, waiting for something to stop them or to drown them. You feel like punching them with the paddle of your boat but you just drift by and while everything about you is seemingly motionless inside there is this tornado swirling your emotions in a wicked caroussell like move and finally you feel how everything is crushing. You leave the burnt down candles and try not to see them as a sign but as life, as what it is. Hearts are broken everyday. That's what people do. They live on. Somehow. Some show the devastating desert outwardly. They try to still the thirst with alcohol. With other substances. They try to wash the memories away. The burning flaming thoughts that haunt you day and night. Eveyrwhere you go. No you try to do that for real. Maybe this kiss can extinct the burning desert sun. Maybe this song can bring a fresh breeze, alluding to better times. But nothing can stop this drought slowly burning everything down. From sucking the essential joy from anything you do. It's like, nothing makes really sense then - anymore. In a world without you.
It's funny how well everything still functions. You look at your hand, slowly moving the paddle while you float down, trying to stir somewhat but mostly accepting that the current will take you anyways whereever you are meant to be. The hand works the paddle. Firmly, perfectly. Your body functions so well, just the heart aches but you get used to that too. The trees move in the soft breeze. The world moves on. Weird how perfectly everything works. How can that be, when all the candles you found were long gone and dead?
Soon, soon you will reach the ocean, the mother of all tears, the home of every sad smile, playing with sunrays and with star rays eternally moving, indifferent towards the million voices that whisper stories of broken hearts and desaster.
I wanted to swim upstream. I wanted to plant my seed close to the spring. I wanted to fight my way up there but too many tears pulled me downstream, they are longing to mingle with the salt water of the ocean, and even though they are many, even they can't still the thirst nor can they create an oasis in the middle of this desert. It is wickedly upside down.
Seven seconds away.
She finally gets up again, dusts her pants off and cautiously peaks outside the basement. The concrete stairs are cold under her bare feet. The mother stopped yelling. She looks up the wooden stairs to his apartment and her heart sinks two inches further down. She doesn't dare to go up there. What a loser, but she can't. Like a shadow she sneaks out of the backyard and walks towards the hill.
It is so hard when you want to love so badly. When the love inside is exploding into empty space.
And it is even harder when you have loved and lost.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
One more Cup of Coffee
>one more time. one more time magic beach. one more time sitting until late and talking into the blue velvet night. one more time understanding each other without too many words. one more sweet embrace. one more your magical eyes resting on my beauty. any beauty is meaningless and worthless unless it is beheld by the lover of a lifetime. one more life. one more making the time stop. one more smile. one more merciful word. one more cup of coffee before we go to hit the road to the valley below. me and my true love we will never meet again in the sunny sunny banks of lochlomond.
i remember when i was in seventh grade, we sang this song about the true love. and i sat there and tried to figure out how that is possible. `but if it was the true love, how could they depart and never meet again?`i asked.
yeah, how could they???
it`s all good in it`s own desastrous devastating way
i remember when i was in seventh grade, we sang this song about the true love. and i sat there and tried to figure out how that is possible. `but if it was the true love, how could they depart and never meet again?`i asked.
yeah, how could they???
it`s all good in it`s own desastrous devastating way
Saturday, August 05, 2006
piranha is back
As some might know my mjamani blog was devoured by the blogspot monster that sometimes creeps out from under your bed. yeah. and i know, i know Emeralda is much prettier and weirder and also much more pathetic than the angry Piranha at times. Trust me, it's just a disguise. You gotta dress up for the occasion, each time differently and appropriately. Motherfucker yeah. Whatever, right!?! So don't worry. Piranha didn't die. She was just tired from eating human flesh. Occasionally she would also eat other fish in the ocean, man, neverending hunger attacks exhaust every Piranha at some point! Blah. Man, how can I write so much bulls***? Ah! haha! BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE S***!!! yeah! my head hurts. my ear hurts. my mind is glued to the one stupid fucking thing that I can't forget. I can't even freaking do myself anymore! It didn't work! I started crying! How pathetic is that? It's like: come one EMERALDA stupid idiot, get out of that rabbit hole and face the fact that you belong into water, first, and then you are not a peacock, of course not mofo, you are a piranha. Bite. Ah and it's not easy to do folks. It ain't easy. A friggin diplomat is sitting inbetween my titties and screams it's way through my chest each time I try to be really angry. It's like, man, can you just stop being so f******** considerate? Can you stop sympathizing all the time? Can you give a girl a break motherfucker? Ok. I curse too much.
One thing that makes me really angry is: How you DID leave me stranded. And it makes me angry, of course, that I know perfectly well that it is perfectly alright that way and that I AM a captn and can build a raft from anything I'll find on this island. But it still rubs me the wrong way that I couldn't get myself coming, pun intended. I mean, at least. But no, it's one huge big fat mindfuck and you sigh and say 'oh my God, here it comes again it is NEVERENDING huh?' of course, OF COURSE MOTHERFUCKER. Idiot. Baby. Grow up. It will come back until you get it out of the way by facing it. Argh. What goes around comes around. That was what you were afraid of eh? Yeah. What a pity that I am such a loyal fuck. Such a philanthropic misfuck. Such a loser.
Okay that's too much noch Piranha. Don't eat yourself up.
You are right.
It' s so much fun to be schizophren, ain't it!
Yeah it is. I feel like Gollum. It's a lot of fun. Shall we keep that ring or not? Shall we?
I don't know. It's not like...not like, uhm, he 'd deserve that.
There's just a couple of things I'd like to know:
HOW COULD YOU DO NOTHING, SAYING I'M DOING MY BEST. HOW COULD YOU TAKE ALMOST EVERYTHING AND THEN COME BACK FOR THE REST. HOW COULD YOU BEG ME TO STAY, REACH OUT YOUR HANDS AND PLEAD AND THEN PACK UP YOUR EYES AND RUN AWAY AS SOON AS I AGREED.
One thing that makes me really angry is: How you DID leave me stranded. And it makes me angry, of course, that I know perfectly well that it is perfectly alright that way and that I AM a captn and can build a raft from anything I'll find on this island. But it still rubs me the wrong way that I couldn't get myself coming, pun intended. I mean, at least. But no, it's one huge big fat mindfuck and you sigh and say 'oh my God, here it comes again it is NEVERENDING huh?' of course, OF COURSE MOTHERFUCKER. Idiot. Baby. Grow up. It will come back until you get it out of the way by facing it. Argh. What goes around comes around. That was what you were afraid of eh? Yeah. What a pity that I am such a loyal fuck. Such a philanthropic misfuck. Such a loser.
Okay that's too much noch Piranha. Don't eat yourself up.
You are right.
It' s so much fun to be schizophren, ain't it!
Yeah it is. I feel like Gollum. It's a lot of fun. Shall we keep that ring or not? Shall we?
I don't know. It's not like...not like, uhm, he 'd deserve that.
There's just a couple of things I'd like to know:
HOW COULD YOU DO NOTHING, SAYING I'M DOING MY BEST. HOW COULD YOU TAKE ALMOST EVERYTHING AND THEN COME BACK FOR THE REST. HOW COULD YOU BEG ME TO STAY, REACH OUT YOUR HANDS AND PLEAD AND THEN PACK UP YOUR EYES AND RUN AWAY AS SOON AS I AGREED.
puppet player
We met him on the strip on Franklin, where my wife used to go. Byrds, next to the old bookstore. The moon rose behind a thick palm tree and the clouds kissed the night sky. Chinese lounge music from the 40's. A woman's voice, trembling and heartbreaking and he let the puppet dance to it, in despair, pain, agony. With shaking hands the puppet reached out, he was shivering like in uncontrollable pain - then collapsed like a house of cards, beating his hands against his head, crouching on the floor like a desperate person reaching out for help, for a little water in the desert of our desolate souls, for bread in our overfed homes. In a dramatic final fit he threw himself against the light, it was as if I heard him crying, sobbing from that place deeply hidden in our chests and then one last look and one last fist against the imaginary sky and he sank on his back, he fell, in a final resolution, giving in to the forces that tore his life and his heart apart, facing the sky and the sky only.
Now when you looked at the puppet player while this drama happened on the little wooden table in the midst of Franklin Ave. inbetween a couple of busy bars/restaurants, with chic LA chicks and wannabe directors, you saw something even greater happening. You saw a man totally absorbed in what he was doing, compassionately guiding the marionettes moves with fingers and hands shaking ever so slightly, his eyes following the unfolding drama on the little time and space refuge he had created. The sign on the floor read: The Puppet Show - give me what you can, in coins, in bills, in old letters or even older knitters (what's that?), in dust of pockets or a stone from the street. Give me what I deserve.
Amanda and I stood in awe. He was so intriguingly involved in his creating a very profound emotional performance that he captured the innocent beauty of God's children in his hands. He looks so hot, we whispered and we meant it very profoundly not in an obscene way.
Then he changed the puppet. Now it was a big one, with a dark long coat. In her meager hands she held a cigarette and danced to the slow blues that was playing now. Every now and then she would take a drag, and then slowly blow the smoke into the sky. Inbetween drags she would cough and almost die it seemed, from the smoking and then, swinging back, look at the cigarette in her hand as if at a lover, a person you have known for so long and all you can do is look at her with forbearance and indulgence, loving, hating, an addiction that you learned to love like a husband you can't get rid off.
He would drag the smoke through a flexible tube and as he later told us, the old tube got really yellow and all in all this performance was a big turn off to smoke yet in the same time beautifully and precisely capturing the ironic beauty of smoking.
As the smoke was still curling up behind his shoulders we left. I think maybe we should invite him to sit with us I said and so we did. We went back, invited him and then sat down outside this very sweet restaurant. We had some wine and the moon looked gently down on all the people.
And the magic is still on the streets. And the beauty is still happening.
Now when you looked at the puppet player while this drama happened on the little wooden table in the midst of Franklin Ave. inbetween a couple of busy bars/restaurants, with chic LA chicks and wannabe directors, you saw something even greater happening. You saw a man totally absorbed in what he was doing, compassionately guiding the marionettes moves with fingers and hands shaking ever so slightly, his eyes following the unfolding drama on the little time and space refuge he had created. The sign on the floor read: The Puppet Show - give me what you can, in coins, in bills, in old letters or even older knitters (what's that?), in dust of pockets or a stone from the street. Give me what I deserve.
Amanda and I stood in awe. He was so intriguingly involved in his creating a very profound emotional performance that he captured the innocent beauty of God's children in his hands. He looks so hot, we whispered and we meant it very profoundly not in an obscene way.
Then he changed the puppet. Now it was a big one, with a dark long coat. In her meager hands she held a cigarette and danced to the slow blues that was playing now. Every now and then she would take a drag, and then slowly blow the smoke into the sky. Inbetween drags she would cough and almost die it seemed, from the smoking and then, swinging back, look at the cigarette in her hand as if at a lover, a person you have known for so long and all you can do is look at her with forbearance and indulgence, loving, hating, an addiction that you learned to love like a husband you can't get rid off.
He would drag the smoke through a flexible tube and as he later told us, the old tube got really yellow and all in all this performance was a big turn off to smoke yet in the same time beautifully and precisely capturing the ironic beauty of smoking.
As the smoke was still curling up behind his shoulders we left. I think maybe we should invite him to sit with us I said and so we did. We went back, invited him and then sat down outside this very sweet restaurant. We had some wine and the moon looked gently down on all the people.
And the magic is still on the streets. And the beauty is still happening.
Friday, August 04, 2006
I am sorry
that I talked about it.
I am sorry that I couldn't do you this one favor not to speak to anyone about it.
I've tried hard but a women's mind works differently. I am sorry and angry that I can't rise above it. I am trying to be okay with it, you know, and I find it throug communication. Through communicating that it is okay. Just to find myself in the shadows of the night on my knees, crying.
I won't give up yet. I will try to not talk about it. And if I still do I have to comfort my self-accusing soul with the thought that you too, didn't keep your promise.
I am sorry that I couldn't do you this one favor not to speak to anyone about it.
I've tried hard but a women's mind works differently. I am sorry and angry that I can't rise above it. I am trying to be okay with it, you know, and I find it throug communication. Through communicating that it is okay. Just to find myself in the shadows of the night on my knees, crying.
I won't give up yet. I will try to not talk about it. And if I still do I have to comfort my self-accusing soul with the thought that you too, didn't keep your promise.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Halleluja
Halleluja my friend.
It is dark now and the darkness brings the joy of the unknown back to stale souls.
However long it takes you to describe the multitude of crazy moments, take the moment and let it melt on your tongue. Roll it around. Sing Halleluja, my friend, my lover, my wind and my earth, my fire, my air to breathe in the early morning
With a morning smile mixed with one single sun ray that sneaked its way into the room where we lay, on the carpet, a used to whisper or mumble in your ear how much I loved you. I would snuggle and cuddle up to you, press my cheeks under your chin, the 'flavor-savor', your sweet lips. Your wonderful, beautiful, beloved eyes.
And your hands would hold my back, my breasts, by hips, my ass, my legs, my belly, my arms, everything was so beautiful, everything you touched became so peaceful and satisfied and beautiful.
As the morning wandered we slowly like smoke curling up behind a shoulder would go about our day, making delicious-bicious breakfast, 'Emeralda' specials like selfmade hashbrowns.
Halluja, my friend. Halleluja.
I sing it along and I will forgive your soul. And I will long out to hold you. again. and again. and again. and then I will fade away, trying to hold on to your joy within my heart, to try and be there.
Halleluja my love, Halleluja.
alles ist hin.
It is dark now and the darkness brings the joy of the unknown back to stale souls.
However long it takes you to describe the multitude of crazy moments, take the moment and let it melt on your tongue. Roll it around. Sing Halleluja, my friend, my lover, my wind and my earth, my fire, my air to breathe in the early morning
With a morning smile mixed with one single sun ray that sneaked its way into the room where we lay, on the carpet, a used to whisper or mumble in your ear how much I loved you. I would snuggle and cuddle up to you, press my cheeks under your chin, the 'flavor-savor', your sweet lips. Your wonderful, beautiful, beloved eyes.
And your hands would hold my back, my breasts, by hips, my ass, my legs, my belly, my arms, everything was so beautiful, everything you touched became so peaceful and satisfied and beautiful.
As the morning wandered we slowly like smoke curling up behind a shoulder would go about our day, making delicious-bicious breakfast, 'Emeralda' specials like selfmade hashbrowns.
Halluja, my friend. Halleluja.
I sing it along and I will forgive your soul. And I will long out to hold you. again. and again. and again. and then I will fade away, trying to hold on to your joy within my heart, to try and be there.
Halleluja my love, Halleluja.
alles ist hin.
Easier
I guess that just makes it easier for me. To let go.
I guess what hurts most though about it is, that you've placed so little trust in me. I was the most forgiving, loving, understanding, supportive person, I still am. I still tell myself how it doesn't have to do with me but with you being used to hiding stuff away and avoiding trouble by lying. It's hard to break patterns. And it's a long time ago.
But I told you repeatedly that HONESTY is the one thing that matters to me.
In order to be forgiven you need to confess first. You didn't. In fact, you made it worse. Is it this the thorn that has been hurting all along, suppurating, festering....yuck. Is it maybe that this again was my biggest issue in yet another disguise? me being too tolerant. I've always wondered whether that is actually the case. Sometimes you've got to put a fist on the table as they say in German and let it rain. Hard. But no, again, I was so forgiving, so understanding, so tolerating. So fucking NICE. How disgusting. I hope at least it taught you something. But most likely it totally got to you and you felt even worse because you didn't get the deserved punishment motherfucker. Yeah. You are such a sucker. Such a loser. Ah, yeah, finally, there we go. Spit it out baby. Let it all out. Call him all those names.
Can I get off the couch now?
No, come on, blog on a little bit. Be a little bit more angry.
Well okay, if you want me to!
So first, I am going to listen to Fat Freddy's Drop now. I kind of got too much into his music I guess. I loved it, don't get me wrong. But, if I really think about it, I should be honest with myself: I am very adaptable. Nothing wrong with it? Well i don't know. matter of fact is, it is about time to listen to 'lame' New Zealandish Dub music and fucking get back on the wave I was on when exploding in Berlin. I exploded in all different colors and I was happy, yeah.
Okay, it was all beautiful. Baby. It was. And I am thankful for every which experience we had.
So get to the point bitch.
Ah, okay. fuck man, i can't be mad.
Oh you already are, damnit.
Okay, fuck, yeah uhm hahaha. So you dug yourself a stupid hole you idiot! by telling me about the graduation party incident! hahahaha! because the incident you reported to A__ was three weeks before graduation MOTHERFUCKER! ha! so there we go, how comes you never told me about THAT? and how you slept over at her house. You guys were naked but nothing happened? You had a little infatuation thing going on with her but you didn't want me to know because it was nothing to worry about?
AH WHAT THE FUCK YOU LOSER? How came you got so crazy about me and Steve then? Oh, the time I talked to Steve again was the time when something cracked? I THINK, idiot, that something cracked with you being 'confused' about J_______ and then later, A__ too. Ha. There is NOTHING WRONG WITH IT. BUT THERE IS SOMETHING VERY WRONG WITH BEING DISHONEST WITH ME.
i guess we all have different measurements. what is right and wrong, what is the one thing that is unacceptable.
First I thought, dang, I don't want to bother him with that. It's so long ago. It's over anyways. Why bother. But it hurts, oh my, it does. That you disregarded my big heart. That you didn't have the guts to tell me everything. Motherfucker. Dirty Hippie. Faker. Liar. Asshole. ( the reason why people break up on bad terms is, that it is way easier than when you still love each other as much as we do and yes, it helps to know this. just for me to get over it more quickly. I still don't hold anything really against you because I still think that learning is the most important thing here. people make mistakes. you gotta learn from them though you do you do you do! )
okay, thats too much
haha, i know. i don't even mean it.
oh come on you do mean it.
no i don't know but i sure love Fat Freddy's Drop.
yeah I do too.
I guess what hurts most though about it is, that you've placed so little trust in me. I was the most forgiving, loving, understanding, supportive person, I still am. I still tell myself how it doesn't have to do with me but with you being used to hiding stuff away and avoiding trouble by lying. It's hard to break patterns. And it's a long time ago.
But I told you repeatedly that HONESTY is the one thing that matters to me.
In order to be forgiven you need to confess first. You didn't. In fact, you made it worse. Is it this the thorn that has been hurting all along, suppurating, festering....yuck. Is it maybe that this again was my biggest issue in yet another disguise? me being too tolerant. I've always wondered whether that is actually the case. Sometimes you've got to put a fist on the table as they say in German and let it rain. Hard. But no, again, I was so forgiving, so understanding, so tolerating. So fucking NICE. How disgusting. I hope at least it taught you something. But most likely it totally got to you and you felt even worse because you didn't get the deserved punishment motherfucker. Yeah. You are such a sucker. Such a loser. Ah, yeah, finally, there we go. Spit it out baby. Let it all out. Call him all those names.
Can I get off the couch now?
No, come on, blog on a little bit. Be a little bit more angry.
Well okay, if you want me to!
So first, I am going to listen to Fat Freddy's Drop now. I kind of got too much into his music I guess. I loved it, don't get me wrong. But, if I really think about it, I should be honest with myself: I am very adaptable. Nothing wrong with it? Well i don't know. matter of fact is, it is about time to listen to 'lame' New Zealandish Dub music and fucking get back on the wave I was on when exploding in Berlin. I exploded in all different colors and I was happy, yeah.
Okay, it was all beautiful. Baby. It was. And I am thankful for every which experience we had.
So get to the point bitch.
Ah, okay. fuck man, i can't be mad.
Oh you already are, damnit.
Okay, fuck, yeah uhm hahaha. So you dug yourself a stupid hole you idiot! by telling me about the graduation party incident! hahahaha! because the incident you reported to A__ was three weeks before graduation MOTHERFUCKER! ha! so there we go, how comes you never told me about THAT? and how you slept over at her house. You guys were naked but nothing happened? You had a little infatuation thing going on with her but you didn't want me to know because it was nothing to worry about?
AH WHAT THE FUCK YOU LOSER? How came you got so crazy about me and Steve then? Oh, the time I talked to Steve again was the time when something cracked? I THINK, idiot, that something cracked with you being 'confused' about J_______ and then later, A__ too. Ha. There is NOTHING WRONG WITH IT. BUT THERE IS SOMETHING VERY WRONG WITH BEING DISHONEST WITH ME.
i guess we all have different measurements. what is right and wrong, what is the one thing that is unacceptable.
First I thought, dang, I don't want to bother him with that. It's so long ago. It's over anyways. Why bother. But it hurts, oh my, it does. That you disregarded my big heart. That you didn't have the guts to tell me everything. Motherfucker. Dirty Hippie. Faker. Liar. Asshole. ( the reason why people break up on bad terms is, that it is way easier than when you still love each other as much as we do and yes, it helps to know this. just for me to get over it more quickly. I still don't hold anything really against you because I still think that learning is the most important thing here. people make mistakes. you gotta learn from them though you do you do you do! )
okay, thats too much
haha, i know. i don't even mean it.
oh come on you do mean it.
no i don't know but i sure love Fat Freddy's Drop.
yeah I do too.
Altered Oceans and you
I didn't really understand what you were doing at the Casino and what good it would be to try and protect your stupid drunk Gangster cousin. But I understood that you love me despite it all and I understood too, that this is not what you wanted but yeah, that's life.
Then I went to have mint tea at the Solar Cafe and read the newspaper. It's been a while. And first thing that struck me was:
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/oceans/la-oceans-series,0,7842752.special (sorry folks, the link-link is disabled!)
altered oceans. The consequences of carbon dioxide on our oceans.
We stand there in a very strangely shattered beauty, plundering our little lives and it is more comfortable anyways to be worried only about our own salvation. It comes to me, that we have never fully recognized the odds of our Romeo-Juliet-kind-of-love. Salvation is a complex issue. There are societies, human beings, children, elders, cultures to be protected. There is mother nature to be protected. There is a future to be secured. There are changes to be made in order to survive. There are priorities to be taken. There is the microcosm and the macrocosm. There is you and me and then the rest of the world. The medicine is bitter. Because who wouldn't want to save the one, the one you love? But you are wiser than me and know that the odds are not in our favor. Not romantically speaking.
I still can't get the point of exploring different planets in outer space. So much money that could be used to find answers RIGHT HERE! damnit. it makes me angry.
And as far as the salvation of our souls is concerned - to some extend we have to let this be up to Jesus. Or whoever does it for you. If there is only one truth and one way - blessed be those who find it.
In the meantime I'll try and do the little I can to do something about the salvation of this planet and our children.
May God be with you and me.
Then I went to have mint tea at the Solar Cafe and read the newspaper. It's been a while. And first thing that struck me was:
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/oceans/la-oceans-series,0,7842752.special (sorry folks, the link-link is disabled!)
altered oceans. The consequences of carbon dioxide on our oceans.
We stand there in a very strangely shattered beauty, plundering our little lives and it is more comfortable anyways to be worried only about our own salvation. It comes to me, that we have never fully recognized the odds of our Romeo-Juliet-kind-of-love. Salvation is a complex issue. There are societies, human beings, children, elders, cultures to be protected. There is mother nature to be protected. There is a future to be secured. There are changes to be made in order to survive. There are priorities to be taken. There is the microcosm and the macrocosm. There is you and me and then the rest of the world. The medicine is bitter. Because who wouldn't want to save the one, the one you love? But you are wiser than me and know that the odds are not in our favor. Not romantically speaking.
I still can't get the point of exploring different planets in outer space. So much money that could be used to find answers RIGHT HERE! damnit. it makes me angry.
And as far as the salvation of our souls is concerned - to some extend we have to let this be up to Jesus. Or whoever does it for you. If there is only one truth and one way - blessed be those who find it.
In the meantime I'll try and do the little I can to do something about the salvation of this planet and our children.
May God be with you and me.
good morning America!
grey is the sky but I greet the sun. yoga to wake me up. good morning America. Where is my sweet dream? Gone. Dwindled away. How about growing up says the peacock in the backyard. How about growing up? I say 'I know, I know, I just thought I should wait...' - 'Papperlapapp!' says the peacock, with a scathing gaze at my sorry self. 'Stop excusing yourself. He never said ...' - 'He did. Don't fucking talk about it okay? Can you just leave me alone? It's freaking seven eightyfour in the morning!' Suddenly I hear a sound. 'plop' and the peacock is gone. Pink Floyd plays in the background. I feel a tension in my back and realize: it's time for breakfast. And being healthy. damnit. I am a tight-rope dancer. By the way.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
set me free
You set me free from day one. You gave me all the freedom I ever needed. You held it in your hand like a beautiful little bird and you gave it to me by letting me fly and come back whenever I wanted to and by leaving it completely open whether or not we would take it to the next step. And when we did you gave it to me in restriction. You taught me the freedom within and then you showed me we are never really free. And then you set me free again, in one of the most painful moves I have ever experienced in my short little life. You and I both felt how life was taking us apart. And although i wanted to hang on, and hold on and fight you realized that now it had come again to the point where you had to say 'do your own thing Sweetie, my love' without any bitterness in your voice. You hold it against you maybe, I hope you don't. I try not to hold it against me and we both try to not put it on each other. At least in this way we are incredibly mature. Who would have thought, the Drama queen. It is heavy to breathe. A single tear sneaks out of my left eye, it sat there in the corner. You have set me free again, with all your love as you always did. You have set me free. And I stumble and fall a little bit only. Trying to get used to flying again. Still used to the warm nest that I had built with you in anticipation of a joint future. Still wanting to hang in there just for a little while. Not wanting to leave what I didn't know I had. Just dream a little sleep into it. Just give me a little chance, ah, huh, no, haha, you've got to fly on little wing.
Fly on little wing. Learn how to set free what you love the most.
Fly on little wing. Learn how to set free what you love the most.
South France/North Spain
For some weird reason the underlying carpets of sepia colored memories and strangely intense smells and sounds has been all this time our summer trip to South France/Northern Spain in my early teenage years.
Dad showed us around, those places mattered to him. And I was so intensely alive and aware of my way, my life, my goals, my emotions and thoughts and questions. I was on a quest. I guess I still am.
The monestry built into this rock with the waterfalls....The pictures of seafood-beings (is there a name for those?) I took for my friend. The beach at Le Gurp...The songs we listened to in the car. The broken windshield (my brother kicked it in when he was in a fight with my sister it was an afternoon in South France and a thunderstorm surprised us in the middle of the Pyrenees) My dad. The tent that started swimming on all that water. It's not the facts but the atmosphere, the energy that I recapture: all these days and nights of burning heart pangs I have smelled the Pyrenees and the Stone Pine Trees...
I wonder how this has to do with my love...with you...
Solea
Yo no siento que te vaya;
lo que siento es que te llevas
la sangre de mis venas.
I'm not sorry that you're going
I'm just sorry you're taking
the blood from my veins (with you).
-------------
It's funny, again, how okay I was today during the day. i was really happy to be with my sister's family, to walk the streets and not be devastatingly overwhelmed by our memories. To be okay.
And now, in the shadows of the night I just need someone to tell me that I'm okay. I need someone to tell me that what I did was not wrong and that it is okay that I stayed and not went to South America travelling. It kills me to think that maybe that would have - ironically - save our relationship. It would have been the natural ending and the promise of a new beginning at my return. Ah but no if's and stuff tonight.
I really need someone to tell me that I am okay. I am scared I am not. It's so weird to BE.
lo que siento es que te llevas
la sangre de mis venas.
I'm not sorry that you're going
I'm just sorry you're taking
the blood from my veins (with you).
-------------
It's funny, again, how okay I was today during the day. i was really happy to be with my sister's family, to walk the streets and not be devastatingly overwhelmed by our memories. To be okay.
And now, in the shadows of the night I just need someone to tell me that I'm okay. I need someone to tell me that what I did was not wrong and that it is okay that I stayed and not went to South America travelling. It kills me to think that maybe that would have - ironically - save our relationship. It would have been the natural ending and the promise of a new beginning at my return. Ah but no if's and stuff tonight.
I really need someone to tell me that I am okay. I am scared I am not. It's so weird to BE.
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