finanlly, when you are too slow, life will take care of the rest.
the phone shattered, on the ground.
blind with tears I tumble out on the street, wait, a little reason has survived, no cars, stumble, pick the two pieces up, look at the phone, dare a little smile inbetween two sobs.
finally, the phone is dead.
the black guy in the white shirt asks me repeatedly 'are you okay'
I can't help the confusion I don't know I don't know.
So I pick everything up and just think fuck fuck fuck. he leans the bike at the housewall. I cry, he leaves. Another guy appears on the scene, as if it was a giant stage and actors following invisible cues. He talks to me, I hear a voice through the fog but I still don't know. I don't know what to do. My phone is dead. I can't call anybody. I want to call the Gypsy but then, in the haze, I think how ridiculous that is, why worry someone who is so far away in so many respects.
Yet another guy appears. He is bald, in a weird contrast to the curly hair of the other man. He finally takes charge of the situation, calls the police, the paramedics.
I still just cry, Gosh can't you pull yourself together. I am fine, I am fine I say, I don't even realize the wound on my left elbow. But really I am, hey, I am alive and hey, I am not smashed, right?
I sob at the thought of my bike but it seems to be miraculously okay.
And then I laugh at the thought of what went through my head when I scraped myself off the street: SHIT now my glasses are broken!
The Marc Jacobs glasses.
The ridicule of the situation takes overhand.
The paramedics say I shouldn't wait for the police to come, it would take too long. So I go to the station down the street. Still under shock. I am there for six SIX! hours. One officer tells me that it's not their job to file the report so they have a Sheriff come in. He comes in after one hour and tells me that it is their job to do that. It is crazy.
I don't have the heart to go to an emergency room after that. I just lay down at home and cry and ask my wife to come to take care of me. She does.
Next day the medical center explains me it's not their job to check me up I have to go to the state hospital. I don't have a car. I don't have a phone. Everybody is still sleeping. I don't wanna wake anybody up. It's so ridiculous that I start to laugh.
And I think of the police officer who was all alone in the station and did everything by himself. How patient he was with all those frustrated people
The woman who wanted to file a report on her ex-husband who sent threatening harrassment mails. The woman who wanted to kick people out of her apartment. The lost cellphone people. The guys coming in in hand cuffs. THe transvestites using the bathroom. The whole human drama unfolding in front of his eyes.
The girl who got hit by a bus.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Saturday, January 20, 2007
dripping
sometimes that's how I feel. out of the blue-doubting I am struck by lightening, and that's then how it comes out, how it spills out, how the sweet juice of incomprehensible and impossible love is dripping into nowhere:
Tonight.....I went to this party at the Knitting Factory, luckily it was in the
very small stage, I don't like the rest of that place for obvious
reasons (I don't like the memories attached to it, but on the small
stage T____ and I performed so that's good memories)...anyhow, it
was what you could have expected your average bad looking people
pretending to have fun and only a couple of good songs. The whole time
I was trying to ignore everybody because I was trying to phantazise
how it would be if you suddenly would walk into the room and pretend
you don't know me. But then of course, we wouldn't be able to help it
but stare at each other because of course we would feel that we were
made for each other :) so you would come up to me and look down at me
and I would lean against this wall and you would come closer and
closer and say things that I wouldn't be able to understand because
you would make me so nervous with your heart beat and your eyes and
your lips and your fro and your breath and your shoulders and your arms and your
hands and your whole body so close that it is almost unbearable.
Another phantasie was that you would just come from behind as a big surprise and hold me
and i would lean against you and see you and everybody would know that
I am taken and that they can't even bother to try and talk to me in
this annoying way. I would hold your hand so they would see.
Even if we would be standing apart from each other
we would also be able to see each other and look at each other and
just know by one glance that nothing can come inbetween us. The air so
thick that you can cut it...i would feel your warmth aginst my ass,
you would just hold me, be there with your beautiful shoulders and
everything would be okay.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll remember when we
were in that practice room, it was dark and i wore a skirt...the
orange one (my sister has that one now...olalala) and you pressed me
against the wall and with one hand you pressed the door so nobody
could come in and with the other you pressed me and we kissed so much
and so deep and so hot that it kind of washed away both of us. and the
skirt was so convenient :) you felt me and how wet you made me. you
could make me crazy just like that. And then, how you would look at me
with all earnesty in your eyes, saying something that just is beyond everything.
I wish for the day to come that I can trust you like that again. It was just so beautiful...
I miss you so much my love....
i left shortly after midnight because it was a really shitty party and
chilled a little bit at Famima's where you and the Italian and I went that
one time when you came back. You stared at me that night as if your
eyes were glowing pieces of coal. It was pretty intense. And you were
talking about the song 'crazy'. That night was the only night i think
we really pulled it off being just 'friends'. You stayed just for one
hour and we played guitar together. and then i broke your thumb
because we were tickeling or fighting each other like stupid teenagers
who are in love but don't dare to say it and then they have to find
other ways of touching each other....
Anyhow, so i was sitting there at Famima's and suddenly the Italian was
there ! haha. and he is of course, hey how are you, haven't seen you
in forever (the last time was with you) and like the second thing he
asks, of course, is, so whats with your man.....carefully asking, since he didn't know whether we managed to stay broken up or not....of course we didn't!
I can't sleep now. I am thinking about so many things. I miss waking
up in your arms. I miss smiling at you in the morning. I miss feeling
your love. I miss hearing your voice. I miss your eyes. I miss the way
you look at me. I miss the way you talk to me. I miss the way you take
care of me. I miss the way you show me that I am yours. I miss
everything about you. Even the annoying things. I miss being cute and
adorable with you. You make me be and feel so sweet sometimes, nobody
else can do that. I really miss that about you. Of course you can make
me also really furious and mad but you are again, the only one who can
also turn me around in a second and I can't ever be mad at you longer
than five seconds. You are the sweetest and most understanding PMS
boyfriend I can imagine. I miss your hands on my ass and my smaller
back and my belly and my thighs and my neck and my head. I miss your
hands on my face. Your tongue and your lips and your sweet kiss. I
miss the dent in your chest. I miss your chest hair. I miss your belly
button. I miss your king Richard he is so smooth and perfect in my
hand and in my mouth and on my body. I miss growing with you
it is so amazing how everything
will work out, hopefully, one day.
I miss snuggling up to your neck in the morning. holding you and
smelling you. you smell so good. and then I would turn around and you
hold me in a warm embrace from behind and I can't escape and I never
would want to and I would feel like in a nest in your arms. and I
would be the bird. And I would always return to this nest because it
is so perfect and so warm and so lovely.
yes yes yes...
so that's enough late night phantasies.
have a good day at the basketball game and don't forget me
te iubesc danuts, fuarte molt.
Tonight.....I went to this party at the Knitting Factory, luckily it was in the
very small stage, I don't like the rest of that place for obvious
reasons (I don't like the memories attached to it, but on the small
stage T____ and I performed so that's good memories)...anyhow, it
was what you could have expected your average bad looking people
pretending to have fun and only a couple of good songs. The whole time
I was trying to ignore everybody because I was trying to phantazise
how it would be if you suddenly would walk into the room and pretend
you don't know me. But then of course, we wouldn't be able to help it
but stare at each other because of course we would feel that we were
made for each other :) so you would come up to me and look down at me
and I would lean against this wall and you would come closer and
closer and say things that I wouldn't be able to understand because
you would make me so nervous with your heart beat and your eyes and
your lips and your fro and your breath and your shoulders and your arms and your
hands and your whole body so close that it is almost unbearable.
Another phantasie was that you would just come from behind as a big surprise and hold me
and i would lean against you and see you and everybody would know that
I am taken and that they can't even bother to try and talk to me in
this annoying way. I would hold your hand so they would see.
Even if we would be standing apart from each other
we would also be able to see each other and look at each other and
just know by one glance that nothing can come inbetween us. The air so
thick that you can cut it...i would feel your warmth aginst my ass,
you would just hold me, be there with your beautiful shoulders and
everything would be okay.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll remember when we
were in that practice room, it was dark and i wore a skirt...the
orange one (my sister has that one now...olalala) and you pressed me
against the wall and with one hand you pressed the door so nobody
could come in and with the other you pressed me and we kissed so much
and so deep and so hot that it kind of washed away both of us. and the
skirt was so convenient :) you felt me and how wet you made me. you
could make me crazy just like that. And then, how you would look at me
with all earnesty in your eyes, saying something that just is beyond everything.
I wish for the day to come that I can trust you like that again. It was just so beautiful...
I miss you so much my love....
i left shortly after midnight because it was a really shitty party and
chilled a little bit at Famima's where you and the Italian and I went that
one time when you came back. You stared at me that night as if your
eyes were glowing pieces of coal. It was pretty intense. And you were
talking about the song 'crazy'. That night was the only night i think
we really pulled it off being just 'friends'. You stayed just for one
hour and we played guitar together. and then i broke your thumb
because we were tickeling or fighting each other like stupid teenagers
who are in love but don't dare to say it and then they have to find
other ways of touching each other....
Anyhow, so i was sitting there at Famima's and suddenly the Italian was
there ! haha. and he is of course, hey how are you, haven't seen you
in forever (the last time was with you) and like the second thing he
asks, of course, is, so whats with your man.....carefully asking, since he didn't know whether we managed to stay broken up or not....of course we didn't!
I can't sleep now. I am thinking about so many things. I miss waking
up in your arms. I miss smiling at you in the morning. I miss feeling
your love. I miss hearing your voice. I miss your eyes. I miss the way
you look at me. I miss the way you talk to me. I miss the way you take
care of me. I miss the way you show me that I am yours. I miss
everything about you. Even the annoying things. I miss being cute and
adorable with you. You make me be and feel so sweet sometimes, nobody
else can do that. I really miss that about you. Of course you can make
me also really furious and mad but you are again, the only one who can
also turn me around in a second and I can't ever be mad at you longer
than five seconds. You are the sweetest and most understanding PMS
boyfriend I can imagine. I miss your hands on my ass and my smaller
back and my belly and my thighs and my neck and my head. I miss your
hands on my face. Your tongue and your lips and your sweet kiss. I
miss the dent in your chest. I miss your chest hair. I miss your belly
button. I miss your king Richard he is so smooth and perfect in my
hand and in my mouth and on my body. I miss growing with you
it is so amazing how everything
will work out, hopefully, one day.
I miss snuggling up to your neck in the morning. holding you and
smelling you. you smell so good. and then I would turn around and you
hold me in a warm embrace from behind and I can't escape and I never
would want to and I would feel like in a nest in your arms. and I
would be the bird. And I would always return to this nest because it
is so perfect and so warm and so lovely.
yes yes yes...
so that's enough late night phantasies.
have a good day at the basketball game and don't forget me
te iubesc danuts, fuarte molt.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
k-o-k-o
Koko fell on the stairs
her legs twisted
didn't utter a sound
faced the dirty ground
passengers just stared
seemed to be nobody's round
K-o-ko she said
make up artist and
cops suck and smell bad
fuck fuck fuck in such a lovely voice
her right half blue and red and swollen -did she have a choice?
the asshole guy from the last seat
came and comforted said I'll kill that motherfucker
how did he become so sweet
but you just don't beat, oh you just don't beat a woman
and Koko just waved her hand
like the Queen from England
but she was from Denmark
could harldy walk could hardly talk
her smile took away all the shame
i saw the despair but pretended it's all the same
she peed in her pants as she held on to that tree
Koko Koko they just can't see
and when she cried that tear
we held each other her room was messy
like those people who can't let go
slow suicide without any hope
she said I'm fine I'm fine
dignity lost right there on the street
when she wetted her own cold feet
but I believe in God she said
Koko, Koko what makes you human
the little girl in your eyes
Koko, Koko, what makes you human
that tear you cried
but not of fear
when it fell on the ground
it made a sound
the sound of a smile
(and i know this is going to sound like an attempt to rhyme but
it occured to me that this is what makes:
life worthwhile
her legs twisted
didn't utter a sound
faced the dirty ground
passengers just stared
seemed to be nobody's round
K-o-ko she said
make up artist and
cops suck and smell bad
fuck fuck fuck in such a lovely voice
her right half blue and red and swollen -did she have a choice?
the asshole guy from the last seat
came and comforted said I'll kill that motherfucker
how did he become so sweet
but you just don't beat, oh you just don't beat a woman
and Koko just waved her hand
like the Queen from England
but she was from Denmark
could harldy walk could hardly talk
her smile took away all the shame
i saw the despair but pretended it's all the same
she peed in her pants as she held on to that tree
Koko Koko they just can't see
and when she cried that tear
we held each other her room was messy
like those people who can't let go
slow suicide without any hope
she said I'm fine I'm fine
dignity lost right there on the street
when she wetted her own cold feet
but I believe in God she said
Koko, Koko what makes you human
the little girl in your eyes
Koko, Koko, what makes you human
that tear you cried
but not of fear
when it fell on the ground
it made a sound
the sound of a smile
(and i know this is going to sound like an attempt to rhyme but
it occured to me that this is what makes:
life worthwhile
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
face it
time is fucking rushing.
and I am gushing about life and love.
fuck.
you know, for some reason there is something iside of me that turns off when ambition kicks in.
there is nothing i can do about it. it happens regularly since 9th grade.
there was a pivotal moment when I jumped too high and too far and woke up to someone crying, only moments later realizing that it was me. a stranger's face was hovering above me like a pale full moon, with glasses on, waving his hands in front of my eyes and yelling something in a foreign language, or so it seemed, reaching my mind through a long and winding tunnel.
after a while I realized that there was a half round of faces around me, frozen in time and expression and there was the taste of yummy blood on my lips and tongue.
yeah, I had jumped too high and too far and knocked myself out with my own knees, crushed into my own face, bouncing from the backstage wall.
it was only days before our circus performance and of course I fucking hated the world. I even wasn't allowed to read and that's how I started drawing portraits. Armed with some paper and pencils and a mirror and my face.
And my dreams.
My dreams kicked in like a big new reality. They were more vivid and more alive than my day reality and I couldn't wait to go to sleep every day. The otherwise loud and exuberant emeralda turned to an introverted teenager. People thought I was sick. Later on I changed back to the middle I guess but things have never been the same ever since.
I feel as if my enthusiasm and determination to save this world from all the evil and peril burnt out in my early years. All the energy and conviction I displayed and put into projects and organizations.
All kind of gone.
And time is rushing.
And I can't bare the thought of ambition anymore.
people say, whoa, this and that, so great.
you name it, I blame it. gone, gone, gone. sure, I am jealous of all those great people, sometimes.
but in the end, what are they trying to be so great for? are they trying? or is it...that I...?
Is it the fear of failure?
Of crushing my face again?
Or is it merely a general disinterest in achievement?
A wallowing in pettiness?
Or is it maybe that I secretly strive to choose the mediocre over the excelling?
I mean I know that I would choose Koko again over any fucking celebrity of any realm.
Koko's face was swollen, beaten up and her smile put all the misery and all the ugliness and all the miserable drunkness away. Koko cried in my arms and witnessing that was more worth to my twisted altruistic mind than anything else i can think of right now. Gosh, people have different ways of getting what they want, right?
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Fly Brown Dragons
'i love los angeles' (Fly Brown Dragons)
I sit, listening, writing, thinking.
Yesterday I let the smoke signs rise into the sky, out of my little room, my ship in the stormy sea of gritty Hollywood life.
In thousand sparks red hot ashes exploded in the night on the cold concrete floor.
Lionnesses came to my mind. How they eat first, and then share the food with the kids. They've got to fucking kill another animal the next day. That's why. Personally, I think that's an important lesson. Of course, we are extremely social as human beings and can afford at times to save a person before ourselves, put the kids before our needs... Some people eat too much before they share. But who am I to judge. Everybody's gotta do what they gotta do, and sure, that's not a blank cheque for doing damage but it's true, to some extend, isn't it.
Well, I guess what I wanted to say is:
LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE WHEN I AM EATING.
DAMNIT.
Ok. So -
Now I am here, somewhere in LA, working on the 'Tard and Feathered' zine Vol. II that Lady Basco is making. Listening to her brother's playlist on his ipod.
Not that any of this would concern you, except for that if you are a true artist you would want to touch as many people as you can, right? If you want to participate in the magazine check it out. See whether you want to move through this medium too. Your blog adress and anything else you want to be known about your writing or yourself will be readily displayed and a nice side effect of course will be that it will increase your outreach radius somewhat. ;)
We'll distribute the zines for 15$ per piece here in LA and I don't know where else.
The money goes straight into making the next zine.
If you are interested write me or check the tard and feathered myspace site out: http://www.myspace.com/tardandfeathered
yeah and yes, I love Los Angeles, as well....
one love to all of you!
I sit, listening, writing, thinking.
Yesterday I let the smoke signs rise into the sky, out of my little room, my ship in the stormy sea of gritty Hollywood life.
In thousand sparks red hot ashes exploded in the night on the cold concrete floor.
Lionnesses came to my mind. How they eat first, and then share the food with the kids. They've got to fucking kill another animal the next day. That's why. Personally, I think that's an important lesson. Of course, we are extremely social as human beings and can afford at times to save a person before ourselves, put the kids before our needs... Some people eat too much before they share. But who am I to judge. Everybody's gotta do what they gotta do, and sure, that's not a blank cheque for doing damage but it's true, to some extend, isn't it.
Well, I guess what I wanted to say is:
LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE WHEN I AM EATING.
DAMNIT.
Ok. So -
Now I am here, somewhere in LA, working on the 'Tard and Feathered' zine Vol. II that Lady Basco is making. Listening to her brother's playlist on his ipod.
Not that any of this would concern you, except for that if you are a true artist you would want to touch as many people as you can, right? If you want to participate in the magazine check it out. See whether you want to move through this medium too. Your blog adress and anything else you want to be known about your writing or yourself will be readily displayed and a nice side effect of course will be that it will increase your outreach radius somewhat. ;)
We'll distribute the zines for 15$ per piece here in LA and I don't know where else.
The money goes straight into making the next zine.
If you are interested write me or check the tard and feathered myspace site out: http://www.myspace.com/tardandfeathered
yeah and yes, I love Los Angeles, as well....
one love to all of you!
Saturday, January 13, 2007
how comes
this nature flower child
so drawn
smoking into the darkness
of a concrete abyss
in the middle of flashing
wild city lives
the dirt
so against the pale night sky
pounding music
into an otherwise
restlessly resting mind
a soul unwinding in the midst of
in between
finding hallowing
spaces so wide
narrowminding
alleyways
screaming for
some sort of salvation
maybe
in the saliva dripping down your chin
drooling off into the sparks of
exploding fascination
a cigarette
flying
crashing
the hard cold ground
this nature flower child
so drawn
smoking into the darkness
of a concrete abyss
in the middle of flashing
wild city lives
the dirt
so against the pale night sky
pounding music
into an otherwise
restlessly resting mind
a soul unwinding in the midst of
in between
finding hallowing
spaces so wide
narrowminding
alleyways
screaming for
some sort of salvation
maybe
in the saliva dripping down your chin
drooling off into the sparks of
exploding fascination
a cigarette
flying
crashing
the hard cold ground
twist it and shout
no no no
not twist 'n shout
no, the beatles are blaring in this orange cafe and the coffee tastes horrible, like sugarmilk substitute from Russia.
But I love the Beatles, oh I do.
But there is a twist to my story, to my life and I can't yet quite figure it out - it makes me wanna shout.
I hold to worlds in my hands.
To the left is the precribed life
To the right is the one unfolding in front of my eyes
In the middle is a hell of an intuition blaring loud orders into my ears but I can't understand what they mean.
I have to go back to Russia to come to full circle for something.
I have to not just turn my back on this life here.
I have to stretch even a little more
And there is so little time.
He wants to come back.
But I feel I have to leave.
It would be more ridiculous than ever to leave, though, the situation is bordering on perfect.
But as always we don't know what the future will bring. Damn the universities and instituitions that demand plans.
Fucking plans that never work out anyhow.
I am an intuition whore
not twist 'n shout
no, the beatles are blaring in this orange cafe and the coffee tastes horrible, like sugarmilk substitute from Russia.
But I love the Beatles, oh I do.
But there is a twist to my story, to my life and I can't yet quite figure it out - it makes me wanna shout.
I hold to worlds in my hands.
To the left is the precribed life
To the right is the one unfolding in front of my eyes
In the middle is a hell of an intuition blaring loud orders into my ears but I can't understand what they mean.
I have to go back to Russia to come to full circle for something.
I have to not just turn my back on this life here.
I have to stretch even a little more
And there is so little time.
He wants to come back.
But I feel I have to leave.
It would be more ridiculous than ever to leave, though, the situation is bordering on perfect.
But as always we don't know what the future will bring. Damn the universities and instituitions that demand plans.
Fucking plans that never work out anyhow.
I am an intuition whore
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
The Beige Dress
A bordeaux-red French barret finishes the outfit, perfectly framing my beautiful long hazelnut brown hair, falling down my shoulders in curls and waves, like a dream of golden gloom and glitter. It is an outfit, if nothing else.
My beautifully fucked up boots add the edge to it that makes it my outfit and nobody else’s.
This is the perfect dress for me. See through, for the most part, laced, but well protected by a skin colored underdress. A golden birch-tree leaf on a skinny white gold chain highlights me and my secret parts of golden delish, it pops the dress appropriately, the only way possible.
It ends shortly over my knees which are more boney now, swinging like a fresh spring morning around my legs. The dress is hold back with a shimmering bow at the side, making it hug my curves ever so slightly and I wear no bra because I don't need to. A dark blue jeans jacket holds me together, I feel like a different person but not quite. I feel like a version of me that I have always felt lingering under my skin, trying to get out. The future, as sung by Leonard Cohen takes over and I feel how I plunge into my life like into a deep deep sea that bears many a precious pearl. Without cigarettes, even, but just as well as if with.
Stories that I have read flash in my dulled mind and leave the scenery in a bizzare lighted mess. Stories that I have heard and witnessed and seen and lived dig their claws into my back and leave long traces of deep scratches in it, pulling my bloody skin down, way down to the hard surface of my bones into which they inscribe themselves in indecipherable chiffres and codes that wait to be yet discovered and understood.
If I could I would tell it all, but this year stands under the sign of secrets.
This is why I can’t send you a picture of my gorgeous self, although I really would love to, for vanity’s sake.
But this way you just have to take this for what it is and read my vulnerable attempts to resurrect quivering life in black and white stories.
My beautifully fucked up boots add the edge to it that makes it my outfit and nobody else’s.
This is the perfect dress for me. See through, for the most part, laced, but well protected by a skin colored underdress. A golden birch-tree leaf on a skinny white gold chain highlights me and my secret parts of golden delish, it pops the dress appropriately, the only way possible.
It ends shortly over my knees which are more boney now, swinging like a fresh spring morning around my legs. The dress is hold back with a shimmering bow at the side, making it hug my curves ever so slightly and I wear no bra because I don't need to. A dark blue jeans jacket holds me together, I feel like a different person but not quite. I feel like a version of me that I have always felt lingering under my skin, trying to get out. The future, as sung by Leonard Cohen takes over and I feel how I plunge into my life like into a deep deep sea that bears many a precious pearl. Without cigarettes, even, but just as well as if with.
Stories that I have read flash in my dulled mind and leave the scenery in a bizzare lighted mess. Stories that I have heard and witnessed and seen and lived dig their claws into my back and leave long traces of deep scratches in it, pulling my bloody skin down, way down to the hard surface of my bones into which they inscribe themselves in indecipherable chiffres and codes that wait to be yet discovered and understood.
If I could I would tell it all, but this year stands under the sign of secrets.
This is why I can’t send you a picture of my gorgeous self, although I really would love to, for vanity’s sake.
But this way you just have to take this for what it is and read my vulnerable attempts to resurrect quivering life in black and white stories.
Berlin 2005
slowly i crush the cigarette in the ashtray and pour some wine to kill the scratching feeling. the wine tastes sweet, almost as sweet like grapes. they always had good wine here. it gently pulls a veil of floating swiftness over you, there you hang in the balance, there you are in limbo.
there is fog in the backyard and swathes of thoughts waft through the old apple trees.
it is as if life swirls my soul around like the wind plays with harvest leaves, falling down, but slowly, slowly, hesitating, unsettled and precarious as where to let them fall down. they will fall softly, softly, and they will hardly know that they finally touched ground. but i know how it will feel like. they will exit the world of movement, of life, they will be pinned to the ground by rain, tightened to the wet, dark earth by the very force of gravity. there will be no movement, stillness, quietness, thats when everything else ceases to be and you feel your own weight and it s death, death, no breathing, no floating, no hurting, only deep deep heaviness, undecipherableness. there won't be any measures anymore to measure pain, happiness, feelings, thoughts, everything will be pinned down to one point and perspectives will vanish into the thin grey november evenings
once i heard somebody say that the only force that powers down gravity is love.
love.
love.
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
I leave some wine in the glass. Just in case
there is fog in the backyard and swathes of thoughts waft through the old apple trees.
it is as if life swirls my soul around like the wind plays with harvest leaves, falling down, but slowly, slowly, hesitating, unsettled and precarious as where to let them fall down. they will fall softly, softly, and they will hardly know that they finally touched ground. but i know how it will feel like. they will exit the world of movement, of life, they will be pinned to the ground by rain, tightened to the wet, dark earth by the very force of gravity. there will be no movement, stillness, quietness, thats when everything else ceases to be and you feel your own weight and it s death, death, no breathing, no floating, no hurting, only deep deep heaviness, undecipherableness. there won't be any measures anymore to measure pain, happiness, feelings, thoughts, everything will be pinned down to one point and perspectives will vanish into the thin grey november evenings
once i heard somebody say that the only force that powers down gravity is love.
love.
love.
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
I leave some wine in the glass. Just in case
Sunday, January 07, 2007
blue tears
dunno whether i really wanna call this blue tears. Maybe I should call this rather 'patience and green eyes' because that's what they said their street names were.
you know, you gotta understand, this one is tough. It's not like I am going to sound accurate or anything. If I could, I would draw you a picture, draw you in. Zoom into the socks, surprisingly whitish, and the dry black skin perking out inbetween the pants and the shoes. The sweater he hurdled up at his chest, where the heart is, and the rest of a coke line on his left nostril.
His eyes dwelling up when he sang this song about his mother who 'did some things not right but she had to do them and she always saw that he had toys for X-mas'. She was a hooker, his father gone. With 13 he bought her diamonds from the first street money he had earned himself. She never wanted him to go there but she knew that he had to do what he had to do just like herself. The yearning for a father who was never there, the attempt to replace this lost man in her life...
'Green eyes' nodding his head from time to time, looking straight into my eyes, relentlessly sinking deep into my heart. Looking away. Hiding his moist eyes but he couldn't he couldn't, we already had crossed the line and stood naked in front of each other. There were no masks anymore somehow, no piss stained clothes or ground mattered nor did my french barret or beautifully fucked up boots.
'Patience' had asked whether we wanted to hear a song and we, full of life-celebrating energy turned around on our heels, heading back up Yucca, to the dirty entrance hall they were dining at.
He started to sing. His voice so raw and soft in the same time, praising the woman, women in a man's life. The woman, who lifts him up and brings him down, a woman who makes him human who saves him from drowning. A woman who is worth more than anything he's ever seen but oh she can be mean. He loves women, that was for sure and we were kind of bummed out, literally, fazed by the coincidence; we were so beautiful. Women.
And green eyes, thoughtfully agreeing with him after certain lines of lyric, chewing away on his late lunch that he ate as proper as can be, with fork, knife and napkin, you see.
Sometimes he would shake his head or smile and nod with his head as if saying, yes, oh yeah, that it is. Blues, turning things around, giving a perspective to too deep a salty sea. Making you laugh in the saddest of love songs.
'God, I will sell you my soul, do anything you want me to do, but if the devil brings back my love I will sell it to him too...'
The underlying longing strong like a wild mountain current, the lack of beauty in his life, the lack of beauty in the form of a woman, the most beautiful form that there is - bursting out like water out of a rusty pipe in northern Russia in spring time.
We, mesmerized and I desperately observing, taking in, breathing in, all too aware of the contrasts, savoring them like a bum savors his last drops of liquor in a cold chilli winter night.
How they both dried their tears with stained sleeves trying to hide what makes them human - a tear that makes the sound of a smile when it hits the grey ground.
The life story told in thousand and one words, in a cascade like a waterfall, rolling over us like a relentless wave from a raging sea - the urge to be heard overwhelmingly deafening, the fear.
The blue tear.
you know, you gotta understand, this one is tough. It's not like I am going to sound accurate or anything. If I could, I would draw you a picture, draw you in. Zoom into the socks, surprisingly whitish, and the dry black skin perking out inbetween the pants and the shoes. The sweater he hurdled up at his chest, where the heart is, and the rest of a coke line on his left nostril.
His eyes dwelling up when he sang this song about his mother who 'did some things not right but she had to do them and she always saw that he had toys for X-mas'. She was a hooker, his father gone. With 13 he bought her diamonds from the first street money he had earned himself. She never wanted him to go there but she knew that he had to do what he had to do just like herself. The yearning for a father who was never there, the attempt to replace this lost man in her life...
'Green eyes' nodding his head from time to time, looking straight into my eyes, relentlessly sinking deep into my heart. Looking away. Hiding his moist eyes but he couldn't he couldn't, we already had crossed the line and stood naked in front of each other. There were no masks anymore somehow, no piss stained clothes or ground mattered nor did my french barret or beautifully fucked up boots.
'Patience' had asked whether we wanted to hear a song and we, full of life-celebrating energy turned around on our heels, heading back up Yucca, to the dirty entrance hall they were dining at.
He started to sing. His voice so raw and soft in the same time, praising the woman, women in a man's life. The woman, who lifts him up and brings him down, a woman who makes him human who saves him from drowning. A woman who is worth more than anything he's ever seen but oh she can be mean. He loves women, that was for sure and we were kind of bummed out, literally, fazed by the coincidence; we were so beautiful. Women.
And green eyes, thoughtfully agreeing with him after certain lines of lyric, chewing away on his late lunch that he ate as proper as can be, with fork, knife and napkin, you see.
Sometimes he would shake his head or smile and nod with his head as if saying, yes, oh yeah, that it is. Blues, turning things around, giving a perspective to too deep a salty sea. Making you laugh in the saddest of love songs.
'God, I will sell you my soul, do anything you want me to do, but if the devil brings back my love I will sell it to him too...'
The underlying longing strong like a wild mountain current, the lack of beauty in his life, the lack of beauty in the form of a woman, the most beautiful form that there is - bursting out like water out of a rusty pipe in northern Russia in spring time.
We, mesmerized and I desperately observing, taking in, breathing in, all too aware of the contrasts, savoring them like a bum savors his last drops of liquor in a cold chilli winter night.
How they both dried their tears with stained sleeves trying to hide what makes them human - a tear that makes the sound of a smile when it hits the grey ground.
The life story told in thousand and one words, in a cascade like a waterfall, rolling over us like a relentless wave from a raging sea - the urge to be heard overwhelmingly deafening, the fear.
The blue tear.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
two minutes
two minutes that i can snatch away. from picking up dust crums from the immaculate kitchen floor.
two minutes rife of adrenalin will I be discovered?
the day full of tiredness waves rolling over me
plenty plenty
and as they left I said, with my arms full of dirty laundry 'you all look so beautiful'
'isn't she lovely' said the mother
I nodded with a smile
behind my veil
snodder
Ah, I am such a hypcrite, such a hypocrite
Botox plastered on her face
The smile so child like
She flaked on my sister
They don't understand what it means to not have money
They might have known it once
But they forgot
And
I can't be angry
I work
I get money
From those
shallow
hollow
fluttering
nothings
in the winds of time
two minutes rife of adrenalin will I be discovered?
the day full of tiredness waves rolling over me
plenty plenty
and as they left I said, with my arms full of dirty laundry 'you all look so beautiful'
'isn't she lovely' said the mother
I nodded with a smile
behind my veil
snodder
Ah, I am such a hypcrite, such a hypocrite
Botox plastered on her face
The smile so child like
She flaked on my sister
They don't understand what it means to not have money
They might have known it once
But they forgot
And
I can't be angry
I work
I get money
From those
shallow
hollow
fluttering
nothings
in the winds of time
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