Make, it is forbidden and since day one the forbidden bears oh so much responsibility for curiosity and fleeing paradises.
Love, i wish i could tell you how i come to see you. it is a room lit only by candles. and you see me dance like a Gypsy princess and even more and I will sink into you like a ship into the sea.
To rooms, other rooms in other universes dive up from the unconscious and fill the room with noice. once, when you held me like a shield i tried.
but now you are recovering and i am hovering above everything like a falcon in daily pursuit of easing despair.
You. if i could, i would.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Thursday, September 07, 2006
substitute
nothing is forgotten but erasers big like egoes and dirty thoughts accumulated in one drastic dust storm erase what was. fleeting though, the moments and what is was and will be.
oh, i need a dirty woman, ooooh, i need a dirty girl.
memories come up with song lines and guitar solos win in importance. everything grows and gets bigger in proportion to your knowledge.
what a good day, ironic how fate always is so determined in proving wrong, at times it seems as if takes just the controrary belief. a little work needs to be done and it is done and everything aquires silence like fat cheeses new stocks in the stock market. option futures. all behind.
needless to say that now it is the time of the season again, this is called self-vacation and: berlin berlin i miss you so. wheels are rolling by, vacant of colors but replenished with sounds, vibrating, setting this world in fire, outside, there are other realities, each one of which like a single coin, switch the pick up and you might hear an entire new world.
depressing songs are like unfathomable suicide bombers. you never know when they will hit you and i hope sincerely they will never hit you. not you. not you especially. like this moment when i thought that fate could very much likely be so cruel and sarcastic as to let this happen and kill you out of my arms.
we don't need no education. da-da-da-dada-..
no thought control
long long time ago i discovered a new world and friends were at my side. bumble bees promised comfort and trustable tongues settled on my skin like feathers in the wind when the sun kisses them.
a little campfire. other days of substitution come into mind. like back in berlin, from outside, then from the inside and nothing really could explain why. ideologies had to vacant the thrones in order to make place for exploration.
thoughts sweet like honey trickle into forgotten corners of the searching soul. secretely i wrapped my longing in golden linen, a medicine bag and other wrappers, never forget to find the little triangle of ripping open when you leave in early grey morning hours, in case it wasn't your proper place to sweat. makes me sing and wonder and ache, what if, against a tree.
but you stand strong and i retire into my weakness, just for a little vacation. but it's not as if you didn't know.
lying in cotton clouds, little campfire subsitutes flying like fire bugs in the dark. relax, read the smoke rings, maybe there is an answer where you are not. are you receeding or am I fitting into this reality like a glove? and does it always have to be a peace dove? and what about the dove ad campaign? it did a good job.
oh my God, today I really want to let it at my left side and turn on my heels like a spinning fire wheel. this wheel shall explode. and when we are done, with contemplating and confiscicating the dirty little things we set them free like splendid white laundry flattering the space between.
thighs and sighs rhyme and hold each other tight. it might be a beautiful sight. don't hide in forgive plight and just understand that we could be alright. i know that it is your fight. it is my night that is filled with screams for right and justice and appletrees that are blossoming in spring light.
i have become comfortably numb
oh, i need a dirty woman, ooooh, i need a dirty girl.
memories come up with song lines and guitar solos win in importance. everything grows and gets bigger in proportion to your knowledge.
what a good day, ironic how fate always is so determined in proving wrong, at times it seems as if takes just the controrary belief. a little work needs to be done and it is done and everything aquires silence like fat cheeses new stocks in the stock market. option futures. all behind.
needless to say that now it is the time of the season again, this is called self-vacation and: berlin berlin i miss you so. wheels are rolling by, vacant of colors but replenished with sounds, vibrating, setting this world in fire, outside, there are other realities, each one of which like a single coin, switch the pick up and you might hear an entire new world.
depressing songs are like unfathomable suicide bombers. you never know when they will hit you and i hope sincerely they will never hit you. not you. not you especially. like this moment when i thought that fate could very much likely be so cruel and sarcastic as to let this happen and kill you out of my arms.
we don't need no education. da-da-da-dada-..
no thought control
long long time ago i discovered a new world and friends were at my side. bumble bees promised comfort and trustable tongues settled on my skin like feathers in the wind when the sun kisses them.
a little campfire. other days of substitution come into mind. like back in berlin, from outside, then from the inside and nothing really could explain why. ideologies had to vacant the thrones in order to make place for exploration.
thoughts sweet like honey trickle into forgotten corners of the searching soul. secretely i wrapped my longing in golden linen, a medicine bag and other wrappers, never forget to find the little triangle of ripping open when you leave in early grey morning hours, in case it wasn't your proper place to sweat. makes me sing and wonder and ache, what if, against a tree.
but you stand strong and i retire into my weakness, just for a little vacation. but it's not as if you didn't know.
lying in cotton clouds, little campfire subsitutes flying like fire bugs in the dark. relax, read the smoke rings, maybe there is an answer where you are not. are you receeding or am I fitting into this reality like a glove? and does it always have to be a peace dove? and what about the dove ad campaign? it did a good job.
oh my God, today I really want to let it at my left side and turn on my heels like a spinning fire wheel. this wheel shall explode. and when we are done, with contemplating and confiscicating the dirty little things we set them free like splendid white laundry flattering the space between.
thighs and sighs rhyme and hold each other tight. it might be a beautiful sight. don't hide in forgive plight and just understand that we could be alright. i know that it is your fight. it is my night that is filled with screams for right and justice and appletrees that are blossoming in spring light.
i have become comfortably numb
satisfaction
the bitchy dirty part inside myself rolls itself together like a cat in a warm place and starts to purr. yeah, yeah, yeah, that's what I am talking about baby!!!!
so me and my friend meet this guy from school on the street. He is the Bitch's roommate. The Bitch is the woman who had the frivolity to try and make my love cheat on me although we were friends first. I have no kind of respect for that kind of women. I think women should maintain loyality to each other. Not that I can't be a bitch too. Not that I can't forgive a woman like that. I can and I did. I talked to her and it's all good now. It's about doing mistakes and learning the lessons. I am not concerned about her anymore. Whether or not she learns the lesson... I paid my dues.
But here goes the guy who is living in a fucking studio apartment with her! In the SAME room.
"She is the filthiest person I have ever met" he says. "Imagine the description of the filthiest person on earth and put her face on it..."
I get all curious and go "oh yes, how do you mean that lalalalala" and in the back of my head this voice starts hysterically laughing. He He He. BITCH.
She leaves banana peels on the couch. She hasn't done her laundry EVER in her life, her mom comes sometimes to do it, but she hasn't been doing laundry in the six months she's been here he recounts. He might be exaggerating and what not, ha, but do I care? No. I savor every moment of those dirty revelations. The poop she didn't flush. Hahaha. Not that this couldn't happen to any of us. :)
The paper towels in midst of clothes and dirty dishes spread all over the floor. Tin foil and go figure.
How he invited all his friends after a concert to come party at his house because he knew she would be there with this guy who would lie in her bed when he comes home, in nothing but boxers, smiling and saying 'wuzz up bud'. *vomits silently in the corner*. He apparently never showed up again, since he was so embarrassed when they all arrived, running into them ... Lol. I can't help but admit a very low part inside of me that actually takes pleasure in airing HER dirty laundry with her roommate and now with you guys. Ah, such a dirty satisfaction, I must admit. She was never a real danger or competition to me anyways. This is nothing but a late proof for it. Har, har, har. You know, even if you know this Bitch isn't a competition it still gets to you when a woman is so corrupt and snaky. Ah, shake the feeling of babe. Shake it off, off, off. Not needed anymore. Your pretentiously introvertive weirdo face, I don't need to see it anymore.
And take your pretty but oh so depressed music with you. I hope you have a good life because in the end you are just learning your lessons as well.
Well, OH, Well!
so me and my friend meet this guy from school on the street. He is the Bitch's roommate. The Bitch is the woman who had the frivolity to try and make my love cheat on me although we were friends first. I have no kind of respect for that kind of women. I think women should maintain loyality to each other. Not that I can't be a bitch too. Not that I can't forgive a woman like that. I can and I did. I talked to her and it's all good now. It's about doing mistakes and learning the lessons. I am not concerned about her anymore. Whether or not she learns the lesson... I paid my dues.
But here goes the guy who is living in a fucking studio apartment with her! In the SAME room.
"She is the filthiest person I have ever met" he says. "Imagine the description of the filthiest person on earth and put her face on it..."
I get all curious and go "oh yes, how do you mean that lalalalala" and in the back of my head this voice starts hysterically laughing. He He He. BITCH.
She leaves banana peels on the couch. She hasn't done her laundry EVER in her life, her mom comes sometimes to do it, but she hasn't been doing laundry in the six months she's been here he recounts. He might be exaggerating and what not, ha, but do I care? No. I savor every moment of those dirty revelations. The poop she didn't flush. Hahaha. Not that this couldn't happen to any of us. :)
The paper towels in midst of clothes and dirty dishes spread all over the floor. Tin foil and go figure.
How he invited all his friends after a concert to come party at his house because he knew she would be there with this guy who would lie in her bed when he comes home, in nothing but boxers, smiling and saying 'wuzz up bud'. *vomits silently in the corner*. He apparently never showed up again, since he was so embarrassed when they all arrived, running into them ... Lol. I can't help but admit a very low part inside of me that actually takes pleasure in airing HER dirty laundry with her roommate and now with you guys. Ah, such a dirty satisfaction, I must admit. She was never a real danger or competition to me anyways. This is nothing but a late proof for it. Har, har, har. You know, even if you know this Bitch isn't a competition it still gets to you when a woman is so corrupt and snaky. Ah, shake the feeling of babe. Shake it off, off, off. Not needed anymore. Your pretentiously introvertive weirdo face, I don't need to see it anymore.
And take your pretty but oh so depressed music with you. I hope you have a good life because in the end you are just learning your lessons as well.
Well, OH, Well!
would you?
quite frankly, if a former Motown 'Funk Brothers' band member and among musicians supposedly very well known guitar player would offer to take you under his wings and get you on the next level 'if you are ready and able to commit, but when you commit you commit and there is either yes or no and nothing inbetween!' would you take that offer on?
Yesterday night I had this encounter with this guy. He played a clinic at our school and a bunch of students and I talked to him afterwards and in the end I was the only one left. We had a great conversation, as if we had known each other for a long time already. We had the same sense of humor and he is as blunt and direct about things as I am, so I appreciated that a lot. And in the course of this conversation he mentioned that if I want to I am welcome to pick his brain on anything I'd like to know.
I asked him what he was like as a little boy.
I haven't heard of him prior to seeing him in school and I am not impressed by names but I have a lot of respect for the work he has done, and boy, does this man know how to play a groove.
On stage he mentioned something about 'focus, concentration and discipline' the three words that describe my needs and sent students off stage because they didn't listen for real what he was trying to tell them. I liked that. This is exactly the problem. People not listening to each other. So I got curious.
As the coffee is boiling on the stove I am listening to Bob Dylan and feel a certain annoyance though.
He talks too much. He has too much of an explanatory attitude. Something like 'this is why I am like this. lalalala' Just BE man. Greg, the guy who had invited him made a much better impression on me. I like humble people. Nevertheless I stayed with, lets call him Motowner just to keep his name a secret, because I was curious why this inner voice told me to stay.
He, too, felt that there was something, maybe some information we have for each other but we couldn't figure it out for real.
My problem is, that I don't know whether I deserve ... no WAIT. That's a stupid fucking excuse. I don't know whether it is my way, my path, my destiny to commit to the guitar in a way that will demand ALL of my focus, concentration and discipline.
I don't know. I would love to play with people like him, learn from him, it is all I love, anything that grooves, the good old stuff. But such an Either Or person will ask for all you have.
Do I have it?
Do I want to give it?
Do I need it?
Or will I let the plate pass me yet another round?
It's interesting and I have no idea what to do. I am waiting for further instructions. Damnit! When my inner voice got me into this it has to come up with a next step. lol. I mean, hey, i skipped practicing for that night, just to hang out with this guitar legend! I wondered secretely whether I could justify that but sometimes you have to make priorities. Not for the sake of being able to say 'I played one of my songs for this and that legendary guy!' but for the sake of following something through that is based on my intuition. And my intuition hasn't failed me yet.
All I really realised after coming home though was that I miss my prince so much. I can't help it. Still. I just can't fucking help it.
I guess it's alright.
Yesterday night I had this encounter with this guy. He played a clinic at our school and a bunch of students and I talked to him afterwards and in the end I was the only one left. We had a great conversation, as if we had known each other for a long time already. We had the same sense of humor and he is as blunt and direct about things as I am, so I appreciated that a lot. And in the course of this conversation he mentioned that if I want to I am welcome to pick his brain on anything I'd like to know.
I asked him what he was like as a little boy.
I haven't heard of him prior to seeing him in school and I am not impressed by names but I have a lot of respect for the work he has done, and boy, does this man know how to play a groove.
On stage he mentioned something about 'focus, concentration and discipline' the three words that describe my needs and sent students off stage because they didn't listen for real what he was trying to tell them. I liked that. This is exactly the problem. People not listening to each other. So I got curious.
As the coffee is boiling on the stove I am listening to Bob Dylan and feel a certain annoyance though.
He talks too much. He has too much of an explanatory attitude. Something like 'this is why I am like this. lalalala' Just BE man. Greg, the guy who had invited him made a much better impression on me. I like humble people. Nevertheless I stayed with, lets call him Motowner just to keep his name a secret, because I was curious why this inner voice told me to stay.
He, too, felt that there was something, maybe some information we have for each other but we couldn't figure it out for real.
My problem is, that I don't know whether I deserve ... no WAIT. That's a stupid fucking excuse. I don't know whether it is my way, my path, my destiny to commit to the guitar in a way that will demand ALL of my focus, concentration and discipline.
I don't know. I would love to play with people like him, learn from him, it is all I love, anything that grooves, the good old stuff. But such an Either Or person will ask for all you have.
Do I have it?
Do I want to give it?
Do I need it?
Or will I let the plate pass me yet another round?
It's interesting and I have no idea what to do. I am waiting for further instructions. Damnit! When my inner voice got me into this it has to come up with a next step. lol. I mean, hey, i skipped practicing for that night, just to hang out with this guitar legend! I wondered secretely whether I could justify that but sometimes you have to make priorities. Not for the sake of being able to say 'I played one of my songs for this and that legendary guy!' but for the sake of following something through that is based on my intuition. And my intuition hasn't failed me yet.
All I really realised after coming home though was that I miss my prince so much. I can't help it. Still. I just can't fucking help it.
I guess it's alright.
Yes or No
I lied.
"Do you think he is the right one?"
"Well,..."
"YES OR NO!"
"n-n-n-o"
"See! Was that that difficult?"
Maybe. I used to be a maybe person when I first met you. You said, when you meet the one it's as if sth crashes on your forehead from way above. It hits you. I wonder whether I got hit. I don't know. I know that I followed my heart and did everything I could to be with you. I fell in love with you one day, it happened slowly. It wasn't like I ran into a train. When it happened though I was the happiest and most excited person on earth. But isn't that normal?
Maybe. I had a vision of my daughter almost half a year before I met you. She looked like your child. She skipped along the road to my left side and reached her little hand out to put it in my mine. When we were together her name came to me one day. I just knew it, staring at you, and her presence was very powerfully tangible around us. The moon shone down on us, as we were lying on the beach on a simple blanket I had taken with us from my sister's house. Our bodies intertwined, like we were the first and last human beings on earth, the ocean next to our side, teaching us the rhythms of life.
I looked deep into your black eyes and it was so sacred a moment that I could only whisper: "You know, it is strange, but I know that if we made love right now, I would get pregnant" You looked at me and you said simply "I know". "She would be a girl" I whispered and your eyes welled up and you said again "I know". We both felt it, it was crazy. Oh well.
Does that mean you are the ONE?
You felt that way about me. I felt that we could work this out. I felt that I could have a family with you. But you were so young, there were so many things that needed to grow first. I need to grow up. Can you tell whether someone is the one when you are in love like this? Can you tell whether someone is the one when you need to grow up first?
I don't know.
All I know is, that when I came home from a marathon encounter from one of the 'Funky Brothers' Motown guitar players I had to lay down in bed, put the blanket over my head, listen to my favorite Bob Dylan songs and cry. The tears trickled only slowly through my eye lids that I pressed firmly together. They felt like sweet dew after a long night. I lay there in the dark and whispered into the messy room: "Damnit. I lied... And I miss you so"
Damn do I miss you.
"Do you think he is the right one?"
"Well,..."
"YES OR NO!"
"n-n-n-o"
"See! Was that that difficult?"
Maybe. I used to be a maybe person when I first met you. You said, when you meet the one it's as if sth crashes on your forehead from way above. It hits you. I wonder whether I got hit. I don't know. I know that I followed my heart and did everything I could to be with you. I fell in love with you one day, it happened slowly. It wasn't like I ran into a train. When it happened though I was the happiest and most excited person on earth. But isn't that normal?
Maybe. I had a vision of my daughter almost half a year before I met you. She looked like your child. She skipped along the road to my left side and reached her little hand out to put it in my mine. When we were together her name came to me one day. I just knew it, staring at you, and her presence was very powerfully tangible around us. The moon shone down on us, as we were lying on the beach on a simple blanket I had taken with us from my sister's house. Our bodies intertwined, like we were the first and last human beings on earth, the ocean next to our side, teaching us the rhythms of life.
I looked deep into your black eyes and it was so sacred a moment that I could only whisper: "You know, it is strange, but I know that if we made love right now, I would get pregnant" You looked at me and you said simply "I know". "She would be a girl" I whispered and your eyes welled up and you said again "I know". We both felt it, it was crazy. Oh well.
Does that mean you are the ONE?
You felt that way about me. I felt that we could work this out. I felt that I could have a family with you. But you were so young, there were so many things that needed to grow first. I need to grow up. Can you tell whether someone is the one when you are in love like this? Can you tell whether someone is the one when you need to grow up first?
I don't know.
All I know is, that when I came home from a marathon encounter from one of the 'Funky Brothers' Motown guitar players I had to lay down in bed, put the blanket over my head, listen to my favorite Bob Dylan songs and cry. The tears trickled only slowly through my eye lids that I pressed firmly together. They felt like sweet dew after a long night. I lay there in the dark and whispered into the messy room: "Damnit. I lied... And I miss you so"
Damn do I miss you.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
birth pangs
Beloved vices, not ready to let go. Every each moment vacant of satisfaction but filled with intense intensity, a mind rumbling and stumbling, lacking the right color of words and the very skills to sleep but too aware of the fact that growing up now is a priority. Well, THE priority, to be precise.
The rhythms of unwanted birth throw me in one corner of the room and smash me at my own walls, seemingly broken I rest for a moment just to hear the thunder voice that makes everything tremble in fears and tears: get up on your knees again!
Trying to be both, the victor and the victim, the heroine of my dreams and the wretch of my too blatantly obvious past. It sits there, on my window sill, grinning with crooked teeth, ready to devour every assumption that might dare to think otherwise.
The obscurity of night is very welcome and the numbing escapes of real slumber dreams, designed to live my life instead of me. If I could pay them doing so, would I hesitate?
Everybody is gone not because I wanted them to but because this is what it takes. Isolation in battles with social fits of obsolete communication.
Welcome in the cruel world. Have you forgotten? The beauty is in the hands of love. Eternally imperfectly.reinventing itself.
The rhythms of unwanted birth throw me in one corner of the room and smash me at my own walls, seemingly broken I rest for a moment just to hear the thunder voice that makes everything tremble in fears and tears: get up on your knees again!
Trying to be both, the victor and the victim, the heroine of my dreams and the wretch of my too blatantly obvious past. It sits there, on my window sill, grinning with crooked teeth, ready to devour every assumption that might dare to think otherwise.
The obscurity of night is very welcome and the numbing escapes of real slumber dreams, designed to live my life instead of me. If I could pay them doing so, would I hesitate?
Everybody is gone not because I wanted them to but because this is what it takes. Isolation in battles with social fits of obsolete communication.
Welcome in the cruel world. Have you forgotten? The beauty is in the hands of love. Eternally imperfectly.reinventing itself.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Rediscovery of slowness
There is this book called the rediscovering of slowness and is about this guy who is just slower than the rest of everybody around him, it is during the time of Europe exploring the rest of the world and he becomes a capitan and because he is so slow he becomes the best capitan that there is and actually rescues a whole ship because he thinks so slow.
As I was reading Bob Dylan's Chronicles Vol.1 I suddenly realised two things: I want slowness in my life.
I have long known that I am actually also one of the slower people. If I really want to understand something I have to think it slowly through. I have always managed to get through studies in a rush because I seem to have a really good short term memory and a rather quick apprehension and thus it might sound a bit weird when I say I am slow. But I am.
So I took the cellphone out of my jeans pocket and threw it into my bag. Away with you little monster!
And then it came to me that I don'T need my laptop at all. I don't, not right now. I will work. I won't study too much. I will study next year. But now? I want to read for real. Not on the screen. There are thousand internet cafes everywhere. Jesus, I mean, there was a life BEFORE I had this laptop.
So I am going to give it to my other sister who just moved to Connecticut and is studying there. And I'll give her money to live if she needs and I am going to get rid of everything that I don't really need and start living a life that I want.
That's all I have to say for now. I mean it's funny how I couldn't wait to put those epiphanies into writing. Lol. In the future I will do more handwriting and try to put more quality writing out here.
As for matters of the heart are concerned: life is an adventure. it's like the deep blue sea. I love my prince and I can't help it. I have gone through pangs of love, of loss, of joy. I have slammed my head against walls, beat my knuckles bloody and have torn my hair out in order to deal with this immense inner pain somehow. I have cried a river and I have found relief in walking through canyons.
And I don't regret one single thing about it, I don't hold any grudges with life, fate, destiny or my love. Not with myself. But I am eternally grateful for every single lesson I am given and I will try and do my best to learn it well. I am eternally grateful for everything that I am blessed with, including the things that seem painful in the first place. We grow.
He made me promise to bring the guitar he gave me to the guitar center so as to fix it and as soon as I will have it back I will finally try and put all I learned to good use and start writing songs for him. Maybe, who knows. I am looking for the real deal. I am looking for stuff that comes from the inside out, from the inside of me and from the inside of this world that I love and that I hate.
I asked him to write me handwritten letters and who knows, maybe he will do me this favor. I don't know where I am heading but I know I have to get rid off those modern devices that make my life actually more miserable. More distracted. More unreal. Cellphones suck. Internet sucks. Lol. Not always, but when always available it doesn't do any good.
Good night and have a wonderful life.
smiles from Emeralda/Piranha
As I was reading Bob Dylan's Chronicles Vol.1 I suddenly realised two things: I want slowness in my life.
I have long known that I am actually also one of the slower people. If I really want to understand something I have to think it slowly through. I have always managed to get through studies in a rush because I seem to have a really good short term memory and a rather quick apprehension and thus it might sound a bit weird when I say I am slow. But I am.
So I took the cellphone out of my jeans pocket and threw it into my bag. Away with you little monster!
And then it came to me that I don'T need my laptop at all. I don't, not right now. I will work. I won't study too much. I will study next year. But now? I want to read for real. Not on the screen. There are thousand internet cafes everywhere. Jesus, I mean, there was a life BEFORE I had this laptop.
So I am going to give it to my other sister who just moved to Connecticut and is studying there. And I'll give her money to live if she needs and I am going to get rid of everything that I don't really need and start living a life that I want.
That's all I have to say for now. I mean it's funny how I couldn't wait to put those epiphanies into writing. Lol. In the future I will do more handwriting and try to put more quality writing out here.
As for matters of the heart are concerned: life is an adventure. it's like the deep blue sea. I love my prince and I can't help it. I have gone through pangs of love, of loss, of joy. I have slammed my head against walls, beat my knuckles bloody and have torn my hair out in order to deal with this immense inner pain somehow. I have cried a river and I have found relief in walking through canyons.
And I don't regret one single thing about it, I don't hold any grudges with life, fate, destiny or my love. Not with myself. But I am eternally grateful for every single lesson I am given and I will try and do my best to learn it well. I am eternally grateful for everything that I am blessed with, including the things that seem painful in the first place. We grow.
He made me promise to bring the guitar he gave me to the guitar center so as to fix it and as soon as I will have it back I will finally try and put all I learned to good use and start writing songs for him. Maybe, who knows. I am looking for the real deal. I am looking for stuff that comes from the inside out, from the inside of me and from the inside of this world that I love and that I hate.
I asked him to write me handwritten letters and who knows, maybe he will do me this favor. I don't know where I am heading but I know I have to get rid off those modern devices that make my life actually more miserable. More distracted. More unreal. Cellphones suck. Internet sucks. Lol. Not always, but when always available it doesn't do any good.
Good night and have a wonderful life.
smiles from Emeralda/Piranha
trading war stories...
... in the middle of Hollywood Blvd, the walk of fame.
Only a little crackling campfire inbetween the three of us is missing. but it feels definitely cosy and the sense of adventure is not missing. Here we are, exchanging extremely important information. Passersby would never guess... It is known though, I think, that the modern warriors always walk in disguise.
"It always works" proceed I, "and it makes me laugh. Just thinking about how funny it must look like from an outsiders perspective, you know? But slamming your head against a wall, or your knuckles, or tearing your hair out, it really helps. It's as if externalising the pain is the only thing that is going to tell you that you are still alive..."
"Well" says the Swedish Firedancer with genuine concern, "it helps but at some point you have to find different ways of relating to your pain."
He lifts his shirt up "here, there and here". Scars. A big one right over his left nipple, a couple just randomly across his chest and on his arms, scars from knives, from cigarettes, from je-ne-sais-quoi.
"...one day, I lost it. I went into the workshop of our commune back in Sweden and started sawing my arm. It was absolutely idiotic, somebody took the saw away from me. Believe me. You can't go there all the way. I was about to poke one of those big kitchen knives into my left eye. I could feel the cold steel touching my contacts. I stood there for a couple of minutes and then snapped back into reality and put the knive back on the table." It does look extreme and crazy and stupid but you gotta believe this man when he says that. It's not about exaggerating it is about the essence of the story. It is about survival.
The French girl stares into nowhere while he is talking. She looks into the direction of the pizza place where her husband usually works. It is difficult to be with someone when both of you still are growing up. She is only 21 years old. Her eyes fill up with tears. Her still-husband, drunk, coked out of his mind came to see her yesterday night. She paid the hotel, they had horrible sex, in the morning he killed her verbally. Manipulation I call that. "What can I do to show you I love you?" she cried. "You have to change. Now". How we mistake changing from developing and growing. Painful realisations.
Cutting it clean, cutting it quickly. She has to cut. And she is standing there, ready to cut and her heart screams and pleads and begs her to just love. Oh, but how love can be tough. How love can change its face. How love can require you to cut sometimes in order to be sustained and not to be tainted.
The Swedish Firedancer is full of stories. He should be, he is already 32 or 33. His eyes sparkle and shine lively. He, too, had a woman in his life who was strong enough to make him leave so he could find himself. Reminds me of Iron Alice and I still bow and pull my hat off. To Alice, to Karlyna and whatever their names are.
It is an illusion to think that being with the person you love is all you should want. You should want to be yourself in order to give yourself entirely. And if this takes a leave of absence, you gotta be courageous and strong enough to do this. The desert women know this secret and we have a lot to learn from them.
However, there is no way around pain. We all have to deal with it. And it's not unnecessary. It is unnecessary to go back, however, in order to escape the pain. Separation naturally triggers pain. You have to go through it. That's all that there is to it. And it doesn't mean that you can't ever get back together with the person you love but it means that you do have to go through the whole process of pain first, in order to find yourself. There are no shortcuts. His wife, well his ex-wife was strong enough to kick him out. Afterwards, when he was gone, she collapsed. Was sick for a year. Neck problems, couldn't hold anything in her hands. The stress came out of her system and still they didn't get back together. Makes you wonder what people go through and you think you have it difficult....
I bend my head a little to catch the smell of his deoderant that I put on earlier to be reminded of him. Smells trigger feelings, memories, sweet the sting, oh so painful and oh so comforting though. I had been in a shaking crying fit, seemingly unable to get out of it. The first in weeks, actually, out of the blue. You can't compare pain, but it makes me so much stronger to just KNOW about these amazing women...
"One day I couldn't get up for hours," he continues. "I knew that nothing was wrong with my body, but I couldn't move. I was paralysed. It was the strangest sensation ever. It was like being buried alive"
Oh yes, I think to myself. I know this feeling. I have wished many times, to actually be buried alive under an enormous mountain just to make sure that it is for a reason that I feel this pressure on my chest. And just to be locked away, forever.
"I started to work against that by doing this extremely strenuous excercise every morning. My body revolted but it was exactly what I needed." We all need to be warriors. And there we are, on our way, trading war stories. It helps. Sometimes I am embarrassed and say, "I don't even know why I am saying this!" but it helps oh so much to hear those stories from other strong women and men. From battles fought and lost. From the ways other people fight. Their techniques, tricks, experiences. We help each other on our ways. This is why we met in the middle of the night, coincidentally, in the middle of Hollywood, the most unlikely place on this earth for me to grow like this. And see, how it works. I straighten my shoulders simultaneously with the French Girl.
"I will be fine" she says and her eyes blister and shimmer like boiling water.
Only a little crackling campfire inbetween the three of us is missing. but it feels definitely cosy and the sense of adventure is not missing. Here we are, exchanging extremely important information. Passersby would never guess... It is known though, I think, that the modern warriors always walk in disguise.
"It always works" proceed I, "and it makes me laugh. Just thinking about how funny it must look like from an outsiders perspective, you know? But slamming your head against a wall, or your knuckles, or tearing your hair out, it really helps. It's as if externalising the pain is the only thing that is going to tell you that you are still alive..."
"Well" says the Swedish Firedancer with genuine concern, "it helps but at some point you have to find different ways of relating to your pain."
He lifts his shirt up "here, there and here". Scars. A big one right over his left nipple, a couple just randomly across his chest and on his arms, scars from knives, from cigarettes, from je-ne-sais-quoi.
"...one day, I lost it. I went into the workshop of our commune back in Sweden and started sawing my arm. It was absolutely idiotic, somebody took the saw away from me. Believe me. You can't go there all the way. I was about to poke one of those big kitchen knives into my left eye. I could feel the cold steel touching my contacts. I stood there for a couple of minutes and then snapped back into reality and put the knive back on the table." It does look extreme and crazy and stupid but you gotta believe this man when he says that. It's not about exaggerating it is about the essence of the story. It is about survival.
The French girl stares into nowhere while he is talking. She looks into the direction of the pizza place where her husband usually works. It is difficult to be with someone when both of you still are growing up. She is only 21 years old. Her eyes fill up with tears. Her still-husband, drunk, coked out of his mind came to see her yesterday night. She paid the hotel, they had horrible sex, in the morning he killed her verbally. Manipulation I call that. "What can I do to show you I love you?" she cried. "You have to change. Now". How we mistake changing from developing and growing. Painful realisations.
Cutting it clean, cutting it quickly. She has to cut. And she is standing there, ready to cut and her heart screams and pleads and begs her to just love. Oh, but how love can be tough. How love can change its face. How love can require you to cut sometimes in order to be sustained and not to be tainted.
The Swedish Firedancer is full of stories. He should be, he is already 32 or 33. His eyes sparkle and shine lively. He, too, had a woman in his life who was strong enough to make him leave so he could find himself. Reminds me of Iron Alice and I still bow and pull my hat off. To Alice, to Karlyna and whatever their names are.
It is an illusion to think that being with the person you love is all you should want. You should want to be yourself in order to give yourself entirely. And if this takes a leave of absence, you gotta be courageous and strong enough to do this. The desert women know this secret and we have a lot to learn from them.
However, there is no way around pain. We all have to deal with it. And it's not unnecessary. It is unnecessary to go back, however, in order to escape the pain. Separation naturally triggers pain. You have to go through it. That's all that there is to it. And it doesn't mean that you can't ever get back together with the person you love but it means that you do have to go through the whole process of pain first, in order to find yourself. There are no shortcuts. His wife, well his ex-wife was strong enough to kick him out. Afterwards, when he was gone, she collapsed. Was sick for a year. Neck problems, couldn't hold anything in her hands. The stress came out of her system and still they didn't get back together. Makes you wonder what people go through and you think you have it difficult....
I bend my head a little to catch the smell of his deoderant that I put on earlier to be reminded of him. Smells trigger feelings, memories, sweet the sting, oh so painful and oh so comforting though. I had been in a shaking crying fit, seemingly unable to get out of it. The first in weeks, actually, out of the blue. You can't compare pain, but it makes me so much stronger to just KNOW about these amazing women...
"One day I couldn't get up for hours," he continues. "I knew that nothing was wrong with my body, but I couldn't move. I was paralysed. It was the strangest sensation ever. It was like being buried alive"
Oh yes, I think to myself. I know this feeling. I have wished many times, to actually be buried alive under an enormous mountain just to make sure that it is for a reason that I feel this pressure on my chest. And just to be locked away, forever.
"I started to work against that by doing this extremely strenuous excercise every morning. My body revolted but it was exactly what I needed." We all need to be warriors. And there we are, on our way, trading war stories. It helps. Sometimes I am embarrassed and say, "I don't even know why I am saying this!" but it helps oh so much to hear those stories from other strong women and men. From battles fought and lost. From the ways other people fight. Their techniques, tricks, experiences. We help each other on our ways. This is why we met in the middle of the night, coincidentally, in the middle of Hollywood, the most unlikely place on this earth for me to grow like this. And see, how it works. I straighten my shoulders simultaneously with the French Girl.
"I will be fine" she says and her eyes blister and shimmer like boiling water.
Monday, September 04, 2006
yes yes yes i am a woman
alright. lets get this straight. yes yes yes i am a woman
and it's like a HUGE fat workout for me to be strong. nothing wrong with being strong, i say. but yes yes yes i am a woman. i am craving you like chocolate during PMS. No, wait, I miss you. Why is that so difficult to say? it's easy: MISS MISS MISS MISS MISS. and after a while the word looks weird and you can move on.
it's the simple things i still miss and i know life is what it is. haha. you know what? fuck everything. wisdome, realisations, all that crap. lets just.. ahm haha. lay down?
and it's like a HUGE fat workout for me to be strong. nothing wrong with being strong, i say. but yes yes yes i am a woman. i am craving you like chocolate during PMS. No, wait, I miss you. Why is that so difficult to say? it's easy: MISS MISS MISS MISS MISS. and after a while the word looks weird and you can move on.
it's the simple things i still miss and i know life is what it is. haha. you know what? fuck everything. wisdome, realisations, all that crap. lets just.. ahm haha. lay down?
You don't wanna live like a 40 year old said she, compassionately holding my trembling hand.
Yes, I remember. I wanted to live wild and free and passionate.
Thank you for letting me free but I chose to stay true to myself. if I only knew that you were wrong. That would make many things so much easier, but you seem to be right.
You love me but you have never loved me enough to walk 500 miles in order to see me.
You love me but you don't view love as a transforming power that could help you to change yourself.
I am not asking for any of that. I just hum and try to shake this stone off my chest.
Yes, I remember. I wanted to live wild and free and passionate.
Thank you for letting me free but I chose to stay true to myself. if I only knew that you were wrong. That would make many things so much easier, but you seem to be right.
You love me but you have never loved me enough to walk 500 miles in order to see me.
You love me but you don't view love as a transforming power that could help you to change yourself.
I am not asking for any of that. I just hum and try to shake this stone off my chest.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
HURT
I always try to transmit some happy emeralda energy when talking to you. Enthusiastically I tell you about the beautiful things I saw, the funny or odd things. But a depressed mind can't deal with that either. Have fun with your friends you say and I laugh at the thought that it's not even two days ago that you have expressed in all earnesty that you are past the point of jealousy. You are not. Maybe you never will. But my Mom said jealousy is good. She said, you can only get THAT jealous (I am sure you can even get a little more jealous than THAT lol) but then something happens. You transform. You reach a new level of love and trust, that you would have never experienced hadn't it been for the pressure of jealousy and the effort to deal with it.
So I wrote you a letter. A letter of commitment. I wrote you that I would not get involved with anybody unless I know for SURE that you are not the one. I can wait. God, my Mom waited friggin three years. I can wait. Don't worry about that. I am happy to concentrate on myself now and learn and get stronger and get ready for life. My love to you keeps me company. It helps me not to get so distracted anymore.
I wrote you that there is nothing you can do to lose me unless it is merely not meant to be for us.
Because..
You hurt me today so much. You said things that were completely out of it, seemingly careless and bringing me down. I was close to crying, as I was crossing the street but then I reminded myself: HURT. This is, as if a person who got paralysed was drooling on my shirt. It's nothing you can really do about. Not yet. So I exhale slowly and accept the fact that I am in love with a cripple.
It's not like you can choose when you are in touch with your heart like I am. Anything that would be superficially seen 'better' for me wouldn't work ever, unless my heart told me that it was right.
I heard my heart sing last night.
So I wrote you a letter. A letter of commitment. I wrote you that I would not get involved with anybody unless I know for SURE that you are not the one. I can wait. God, my Mom waited friggin three years. I can wait. Don't worry about that. I am happy to concentrate on myself now and learn and get stronger and get ready for life. My love to you keeps me company. It helps me not to get so distracted anymore.
I wrote you that there is nothing you can do to lose me unless it is merely not meant to be for us.
Because..
You hurt me today so much. You said things that were completely out of it, seemingly careless and bringing me down. I was close to crying, as I was crossing the street but then I reminded myself: HURT. This is, as if a person who got paralysed was drooling on my shirt. It's nothing you can really do about. Not yet. So I exhale slowly and accept the fact that I am in love with a cripple.
It's not like you can choose when you are in touch with your heart like I am. Anything that would be superficially seen 'better' for me wouldn't work ever, unless my heart told me that it was right.
I heard my heart sing last night.
It's not far and it's not long
Probably you lie in your bed now and try to sleep. I am on your mind, constantly, the anger and the frustration, the yearning, >Why wait any longer for the world to begin, you can have it your cake and eat it too.<
This whole day has been a long and a desperate and a burning kiss. there is no way we can see each other. You said it. It would take two minutes of us staring at each other's lips.
It's not far and it's not long. Our pressing minds are intertwined like on that first sweet winter night. The sand was glowing as if the milky way had fallen on earth and mingled with every each of our steps. Waves were crushing like emotions tossing our hearts into a wild mild storm of souls dancing with the northern lights.
>You stand there so nice in your blizzard of ice oh please let me come into your storm<
No you can't talk to me now, I know, I know. Your voice hurried and haunted. Yesterday was tough on both of us. The missing trickled through the door we both tried to shut.
Can you bare with me you asked. Can you bare with me? And do you still love me?
You say you needed me. You asked me to take care of you and I did and you tell me that I did an amazing job. A++ you say and you love me and embrace me and undress me with just this timbre in your voice.
I don't need you. I never did. Self sufficiency is my comfort zone. I wonder - do I need to need somebody? Probably I do. I don't feel it though. I just - love you. Oh yes, and I can't say enough how much I crave your strength. Your eyes. Your firm guiding hand despite all odds and weaknesses. You are among the most amazing people I know.
I can't have enough of you. The dark cloud of curly hair still sends shivers down my spine. My legs give in, my heart expands and fills me up from head to toe. There was a guy like that at the store. Without my glasses I don't see far but his hair looked exactly like yours from behind. I jumped behind a wall, I was terrified. My heart was in my throat and my courage sank into below zero temperature zones. There is no way I can get over it. I can't. I want to be beautiful for you. I am a walking waste of beauty. My kiss is useless unless it meets yours.
>One more cup of coffee for the road. One more cup of coffee before I go to the valley below<
Please grant me that favor.
It's not far and it's not long. Only space and time separate us. And the daunting haunting foreboding sense of impossibile love.
This whole day has been a long and a desperate and a burning kiss. there is no way we can see each other. You said it. It would take two minutes of us staring at each other's lips.
It's not far and it's not long. Our pressing minds are intertwined like on that first sweet winter night. The sand was glowing as if the milky way had fallen on earth and mingled with every each of our steps. Waves were crushing like emotions tossing our hearts into a wild mild storm of souls dancing with the northern lights.
>You stand there so nice in your blizzard of ice oh please let me come into your storm<
No you can't talk to me now, I know, I know. Your voice hurried and haunted. Yesterday was tough on both of us. The missing trickled through the door we both tried to shut.
Can you bare with me you asked. Can you bare with me? And do you still love me?
You say you needed me. You asked me to take care of you and I did and you tell me that I did an amazing job. A++ you say and you love me and embrace me and undress me with just this timbre in your voice.
I don't need you. I never did. Self sufficiency is my comfort zone. I wonder - do I need to need somebody? Probably I do. I don't feel it though. I just - love you. Oh yes, and I can't say enough how much I crave your strength. Your eyes. Your firm guiding hand despite all odds and weaknesses. You are among the most amazing people I know.
I can't have enough of you. The dark cloud of curly hair still sends shivers down my spine. My legs give in, my heart expands and fills me up from head to toe. There was a guy like that at the store. Without my glasses I don't see far but his hair looked exactly like yours from behind. I jumped behind a wall, I was terrified. My heart was in my throat and my courage sank into below zero temperature zones. There is no way I can get over it. I can't. I want to be beautiful for you. I am a walking waste of beauty. My kiss is useless unless it meets yours.
>One more cup of coffee for the road. One more cup of coffee before I go to the valley below<
Please grant me that favor.
It's not far and it's not long. Only space and time separate us. And the daunting haunting foreboding sense of impossibile love.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
I've heard....
Silently my dreams fall like leaves floating to the ground. My mouth is burning fire. Dragon claws hold my heart capitve. I've heard, you are the only one who could conquer this dragon. It is hard to find the way at night and it is always night here. In the darkness you can feel the breeze, it is damp, it is cold but swaths of hot steam hit your face like a violent rejection. Odor of strange fruits mingles with your thoughts, you try to stay clear but almost everybody will be eventually led astray. Things move smoothly and rapidly but you can't see the strong current under the immaculate surface of the river of tears someone has cried. I've heard you could walk in water and it seems so familiar, I've heard that before, somewhen, in a different context. Obstacles are in the way and you have to find your way through the dark like a blind man. You have to follow your heart.
I don't know whether my heart is worth it but you beg me on your knees with saliva or tears dropping down the corner of your lips not to speak of an irrevocable past.
When the morning attempts to dawn your face is covered with cold sweat. Your eyebrows and eye lashes are burned to dust. Like an old man you raise your shivering hands, your fingers are shaking in a desperate fit of orientation: you haven't found the way yet. Don't you see, may I suggest, that there will never be a day reversed? Never will the sun rise in the west no matter how hard you cry. You will have to head for the morning.
However, after a few moments of hesitation the sun goes back to sleep because there is nothing else to do and I fall into grave-like silence and hang my head and wait with the indifferently mumbling brook in the back of my cave - motion and emotionless. Just waiting like burning stone, with the crickets that maliciously hack away on their chords and the vile trees that used to be friendly in a different age. Like golden bells memories ring, preventing anything alive to fall entirely into the too welcome coma. Nothing here could tell you though, which steps to take, no one can, no one but the stones are boiling in palpable pangs of love.
'Sorry' I hear your whisper, 'but I seem not to be capable of doing this'.
I smile but only half of it reaches you. I used to. Ah, old. Now my friends are spiderwebs and every now and then they catch a bug for me, it shimmers green golden in the light of a lonely star that is trying to help me through the night.
Professions fade away like stone erosions and everything stumbles and falls and turns into dust or into ghost material and that's just as fine with me.
I've heard you could find me. But the point to the story might have gotten lost on it's way to my ears, here in this soft dark dragon cave. My lips have burnt like feverish fire ever since this strange voice whispered the news and the dragon still holds me captive in this everlasting night but I am not complaining about anything. Because - cuando viene el dia mis penas s'agrandan; solo las sombras de la noche oscura consuelan mi alma.
I don't know whether my heart is worth it but you beg me on your knees with saliva or tears dropping down the corner of your lips not to speak of an irrevocable past.
When the morning attempts to dawn your face is covered with cold sweat. Your eyebrows and eye lashes are burned to dust. Like an old man you raise your shivering hands, your fingers are shaking in a desperate fit of orientation: you haven't found the way yet. Don't you see, may I suggest, that there will never be a day reversed? Never will the sun rise in the west no matter how hard you cry. You will have to head for the morning.
However, after a few moments of hesitation the sun goes back to sleep because there is nothing else to do and I fall into grave-like silence and hang my head and wait with the indifferently mumbling brook in the back of my cave - motion and emotionless. Just waiting like burning stone, with the crickets that maliciously hack away on their chords and the vile trees that used to be friendly in a different age. Like golden bells memories ring, preventing anything alive to fall entirely into the too welcome coma. Nothing here could tell you though, which steps to take, no one can, no one but the stones are boiling in palpable pangs of love.
'Sorry' I hear your whisper, 'but I seem not to be capable of doing this'.
I smile but only half of it reaches you. I used to. Ah, old. Now my friends are spiderwebs and every now and then they catch a bug for me, it shimmers green golden in the light of a lonely star that is trying to help me through the night.
Professions fade away like stone erosions and everything stumbles and falls and turns into dust or into ghost material and that's just as fine with me.
I've heard you could find me. But the point to the story might have gotten lost on it's way to my ears, here in this soft dark dragon cave. My lips have burnt like feverish fire ever since this strange voice whispered the news and the dragon still holds me captive in this everlasting night but I am not complaining about anything. Because - cuando viene el dia mis penas s'agrandan; solo las sombras de la noche oscura consuelan mi alma.
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