i think we all miss you, secretely, at night, hidden, beneath pillows, beneath our skins.
you were always there, soft and yet coming through strongly. with your voice trembling and your eyes big and like turtles. i know we didn't want to hurt you nor did you want to hurt us. us, the ones that left you behind. us, the ones that you left behind. us, who don't know how to reach out anymore or how to be reached.
some of us think that it is over and we have to move on but i wouldn't let anybody else speak for me nor dare to speak with certainty for them.
you thought of protection. so did i. wonder, what if, what if we had read that book about the Mexicans. shared a bed. continued writing in that book, so long.
first i did and eventually you too, thinking of finally going your own way. of standing up for yourself, just on the wrong leg.
you only hurt yourself.
and who can blame anyone, who can throw the first stone?
it looks like you found a way now, now that you are smiling and your eyes like stones.
skipping down the hallway, life, newfound.
i'm sure i am not the only one who looks at you in secrecy, remembering, wondering, i feel almost more for him and her than for myself.
sometimes you kind of reach out and i feel miserable for missing you so much. for missing you not so much. for simply not knowing what it means to have had enough.
it was a good time. and there was worse times.
somehow, however, i can't believe that life is absolute. so serious. i can't believe that the future could ever outweigh the past. that an earlier past can level out what happened before.
the summer was long and heavy and you held my hand sometimes but mostly we went swimming.
i dont' know what it is, my love, whether it is maybe like a pile of shit that nobody bothers to clean up. after a while the worms and the flies come and everybody else just turns away.
but i remember the soft breeze.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
everly moving
ahh, I am going to enjoy this!
A night ride through Westwood, ghostly houses with big stale numbers painted on their faces, ending at an obscure golf course and a homeless but clean looking fat bellied man behind a big barred fence telling me where to go...the way leads back to Wilshire, through the UCLA student village up to sunset where I don't know which way to go again. The student houses flicker in delight, it's friday night and music is blaring, all different kinds. Cars are lined up on either side of the street, some even on the sidewalks, students rush through the night and I smile how close those two so different worlds are.
On sunset I take the wrong direction and after I passed the 405 I have to stop and ask for directions. There is a lexus hotel, very luscious and private, soft music in the background.
I park my bike at the entrance, shoulder my red designer bag and ask the receptionist for directions. I look so acceptable that he lets me use their internet. It is funny how clothing does make people. Everything I am wearing is from the actress whose house i will babysit from tonight on for a whole week.
I love and hate that I don't have a car.
I fu king hate that I chose to take the stupid bag instead of a backpack.
I love that I lost my way.
On my way out a valet guy asks me whether I need to check in. I smile, grab my dirty bike and shake my head. No man, thank you, I just needed to ask something. Have a good night.
He smiles, understanding suddenly what's going on, petting my arm for a second.
The hotel does have something about it. So comforting. So luxurious. So not for me.
On the long and winding suicide way to the canyon my red leather bag bangs rhythmically at my front tire. I #$%^&^& and laugh at the same time.
The road up the canyon is wet because of the sprinklers of the rich people's houses.
Rich people have such awesome houses in such awesome areas with wonderful trees.
Too bad, I think, that they don't use it properly.
It's good to be out, breathing trees at night.
A night ride through Westwood, ghostly houses with big stale numbers painted on their faces, ending at an obscure golf course and a homeless but clean looking fat bellied man behind a big barred fence telling me where to go...the way leads back to Wilshire, through the UCLA student village up to sunset where I don't know which way to go again. The student houses flicker in delight, it's friday night and music is blaring, all different kinds. Cars are lined up on either side of the street, some even on the sidewalks, students rush through the night and I smile how close those two so different worlds are.
On sunset I take the wrong direction and after I passed the 405 I have to stop and ask for directions. There is a lexus hotel, very luscious and private, soft music in the background.
I park my bike at the entrance, shoulder my red designer bag and ask the receptionist for directions. I look so acceptable that he lets me use their internet. It is funny how clothing does make people. Everything I am wearing is from the actress whose house i will babysit from tonight on for a whole week.
I love and hate that I don't have a car.
I fu king hate that I chose to take the stupid bag instead of a backpack.
I love that I lost my way.
On my way out a valet guy asks me whether I need to check in. I smile, grab my dirty bike and shake my head. No man, thank you, I just needed to ask something. Have a good night.
He smiles, understanding suddenly what's going on, petting my arm for a second.
The hotel does have something about it. So comforting. So luxurious. So not for me.
On the long and winding suicide way to the canyon my red leather bag bangs rhythmically at my front tire. I #$%^&^& and laugh at the same time.
The road up the canyon is wet because of the sprinklers of the rich people's houses.
Rich people have such awesome houses in such awesome areas with wonderful trees.
Too bad, I think, that they don't use it properly.
It's good to be out, breathing trees at night.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
peace and war 1# edition (storm in brain)
the moment when you stop shooting to reload the gun?
the moment when your mind rests from running?
the moment inbetween the heart beats?
the moment when the music sets in to blow away the dust of now?
there is no dust in the now, there is no dust in the now.
the dust, my friend, is blowing in the wind.
when it isn't struggle, is it oblivion?
when it isn't a fight, is it paradise?
when you are not fit, are you to blame?
are you sinking like an old wreck?
are you in shape, floating with the wind?
are you stirring into a direction?
will you ever arrive?
is it peace, when you arrive?
some people say that there is a life after death. as a child I knew that was right. as I grow older in earthly years I realize that there are some reasons why my grandfather rather believes that there isn't.
worms, the ultimate idea of peace. ceasing to be. the budhistic strive for no more lives on earth. heaven. not hell. war and peace, north and south pole, east and west, man and woman, to live and to rest.
I don't know where I go but I know I am walking. I don't know what to sing but I am breathing. Beats to unknown songs. Words to unknown melodies, stories to untold children.
Untold stories to children. You. Are. All. Children. When you are at peace.!?
The bird you hear singing when reloading the gun. the click a mere rhythmic contribution.
The breathing that you feel like waves crushing, when your mind stops running.
The echoe of your heart beats inbetween, taking on the lifesong.
The music that sings of dust and wind, of space and time, the sick and the ones getting better or worse...
May Be.
the moment when your mind rests from running?
the moment inbetween the heart beats?
the moment when the music sets in to blow away the dust of now?
there is no dust in the now, there is no dust in the now.
the dust, my friend, is blowing in the wind.
when it isn't struggle, is it oblivion?
when it isn't a fight, is it paradise?
when you are not fit, are you to blame?
are you sinking like an old wreck?
are you in shape, floating with the wind?
are you stirring into a direction?
will you ever arrive?
is it peace, when you arrive?
some people say that there is a life after death. as a child I knew that was right. as I grow older in earthly years I realize that there are some reasons why my grandfather rather believes that there isn't.
worms, the ultimate idea of peace. ceasing to be. the budhistic strive for no more lives on earth. heaven. not hell. war and peace, north and south pole, east and west, man and woman, to live and to rest.
I don't know where I go but I know I am walking. I don't know what to sing but I am breathing. Beats to unknown songs. Words to unknown melodies, stories to untold children.
Untold stories to children. You. Are. All. Children. When you are at peace.!?
The bird you hear singing when reloading the gun. the click a mere rhythmic contribution.
The breathing that you feel like waves crushing, when your mind stops running.
The echoe of your heart beats inbetween, taking on the lifesong.
The music that sings of dust and wind, of space and time, the sick and the ones getting better or worse...
May Be.
Friday, June 15, 2007
lies
so
different
yet the same
eternally evolving
revolving
give me a revolver
i wanna fuck you in the mouth
i wanna make fucking love
of course
not to your corpse
but to your very
soul
penetrate your mind
unravel
the unfolding of
your child
blossoming
all over
again
different
yet the same
eternally evolving
revolving
give me a revolver
i wanna fuck you in the mouth
i wanna make fucking love
of course
not to your corpse
but to your very
soul
penetrate your mind
unravel
the unfolding of
your child
blossoming
all over
again
Thursday, June 14, 2007
p.s. - facts
I really wish I could write about the beautiful things happening in my life right now but it seems that so called bad things lead to more alone-time and therefore more writing. sometimes a couple of ideas of what to write cross my mind but I never write it down and then, when I am sitting here to write it all down my mind is blown away and empty and writing-less...
maybe i have to write plain facts these days as opposed to facts transformed into fiction as I love to do.
here five facts that make my days:
1. He is back
2. I do love him, it's not an illusion
3. I found out where my whales go, which kind of whales they are
4. I will follow them (please click on the link to a post of beautiful amazing Veronica of lonely roads and psycho paths!)
5. I will stay here for one more year in OUR little studio apartment and with my amazing job - in other words, life is still making the best decisions, life is still an amazing adventure that I am merely following like an astonished child.
ah, and i love my parents, my family and yeah. the whales and my friends. my friends....
maybe i have to write plain facts these days as opposed to facts transformed into fiction as I love to do.
here five facts that make my days:
1. He is back
2. I do love him, it's not an illusion
3. I found out where my whales go, which kind of whales they are
4. I will follow them (please click on the link to a post of beautiful amazing Veronica of lonely roads and psycho paths!)
5. I will stay here for one more year in OUR little studio apartment and with my amazing job - in other words, life is still making the best decisions, life is still an amazing adventure that I am merely following like an astonished child.
ah, and i love my parents, my family and yeah. the whales and my friends. my friends....
what about Steve Jobs?
http://www.news.harvard.edu/gazette/2007/06.14/99-gates.html
please go and read Bill Gates' speech!
for a moment i smiled and thought, oh yeah, how important internet and personal computers are! and HOW convenient, that if it's microsoft, it will be Bill who gets a profit out of it and how good for us to know that this even doesn't matter since he is giving so much back!
but you know, I am NOT KIDDING.
but i do think about things.
like...how we all have to hold hands and try to walk and dance together.
how i found the whales i want to follow
and how that will have an impact?
and....how the worst desease is not aids really but greed.
please go and read Bill Gates' speech!
for a moment i smiled and thought, oh yeah, how important internet and personal computers are! and HOW convenient, that if it's microsoft, it will be Bill who gets a profit out of it and how good for us to know that this even doesn't matter since he is giving so much back!
but you know, I am NOT KIDDING.
but i do think about things.
like...how we all have to hold hands and try to walk and dance together.
how i found the whales i want to follow
and how that will have an impact?
and....how the worst desease is not aids really but greed.
Monday, May 28, 2007
the call
12:41 AM. My phone is ringing. The air is too hot, my mind too busy, throwing myself back and forth, forth and back in china's bed I take the momentum of my tossing around to swing my legs over the edge onto the hardwood floor and stagger to the table where my phone buzzes. It is Marie. Of course, I think, she just came back from the mountains. So I pick up, but he is sleeping, or trying to do so. Did I wake you up, she asks and I say no, no, and I look at his gorgeous broad shoulders and the stormy curls clouding where his lips linger on the white pillow case. - We've just been watching Kill Bill so it's all good. How are you doing, how was the mountain.
Good, good, she replies, but I am calling because I just read what you sent me.
Oh! I hear my silence drop to the floor.
Emeralda - yes? - Emeralda, you have to write a book. The silence inside trickles down and gathers at the ground to become a flooding storm. One day. Once upon a time... The way you described it, the way you confused it, all of it, it was just exactly like it was, you know, the magic of it. She says. Maybe. Something like that, I don't quite remember. But it was good and it really meant something to me to be awoken by her calling me to tell me that.
His soft breaths swaft in the air. I hear him sleeping. He triggered all of my emotions. He was the wheel of my drive. He rolled me in and out and over. It was a really good year. And now he is here. Lying next to me, breathing. Sleeping. Waiting, for me to come, and love.
Earlier he and I were sitting. He was reading, I was typing away on the old typewriter, a veil of inspiration thick and stinging, in the air. It is always a good memory to just be whoever, whatever, whereever you may be.
And I remembered, how some people told me along the way, how they wished me good luck for my musical career and that I should be a singer. And I remembered how somebody else told me as well, that I should write more. And I remembered how it feels to be inspired when somebody you admire compliments you.
So I get up at 12:58 to yet attempt another moment of writing on the good old mac G4 Powerbook while longingly glancing at the smooth, black and silver Corona next to the powerbook on china's desk. this isn't china, this isn't america, this isn't in obscurity. anymore.
it is a call. and -
this is trying. more.
Good, good, she replies, but I am calling because I just read what you sent me.
Oh! I hear my silence drop to the floor.
Emeralda - yes? - Emeralda, you have to write a book. The silence inside trickles down and gathers at the ground to become a flooding storm. One day. Once upon a time... The way you described it, the way you confused it, all of it, it was just exactly like it was, you know, the magic of it. She says. Maybe. Something like that, I don't quite remember. But it was good and it really meant something to me to be awoken by her calling me to tell me that.
His soft breaths swaft in the air. I hear him sleeping. He triggered all of my emotions. He was the wheel of my drive. He rolled me in and out and over. It was a really good year. And now he is here. Lying next to me, breathing. Sleeping. Waiting, for me to come, and love.
Earlier he and I were sitting. He was reading, I was typing away on the old typewriter, a veil of inspiration thick and stinging, in the air. It is always a good memory to just be whoever, whatever, whereever you may be.
And I remembered, how some people told me along the way, how they wished me good luck for my musical career and that I should be a singer. And I remembered how somebody else told me as well, that I should write more. And I remembered how it feels to be inspired when somebody you admire compliments you.
So I get up at 12:58 to yet attempt another moment of writing on the good old mac G4 Powerbook while longingly glancing at the smooth, black and silver Corona next to the powerbook on china's desk. this isn't china, this isn't america, this isn't in obscurity. anymore.
it is a call. and -
this is trying. more.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
attempt to translate
All is different
When will you return?
I am not afraid anymore
It is fivolous
It ruins my stomach
No being scared anymore
But ants
They still run through my house
We have an antstreet there in our house.
The mirrors shiver sometimes, slightly, sometimes they even see saw at the wall.
Earthquakes
Earthquakes shake me as well
There it lies, the unborn child, patiently waiting for my hope to arise.
My life would be over too soon, he says.
Not now. And he almost gets angry.
The heavenly spirits laugh at this.
Don't be a fool, you,
so they whisper in the wind
But nobody every really understands them.
Ay, could I only be at home and bask in my thoughts from afar
Because to live in the afar is not easy and home sickness seems suddenly like a stone around the neck,
If somebody would push me now into the sea,
Ay, Ay, Ay
Home Sick?
Where is home? Where the stove is or the heart?
My heart, My heart, I have whispered for a long time....
But not it won't be long anymore.
I still love you as dearly as at the first day.
If I only could find you, now, that I need your advice so badly.
When will you return?
I am not afraid anymore
It is fivolous
It ruins my stomach
No being scared anymore
But ants
They still run through my house
We have an antstreet there in our house.
The mirrors shiver sometimes, slightly, sometimes they even see saw at the wall.
Earthquakes
Earthquakes shake me as well
There it lies, the unborn child, patiently waiting for my hope to arise.
My life would be over too soon, he says.
Not now. And he almost gets angry.
The heavenly spirits laugh at this.
Don't be a fool, you,
so they whisper in the wind
But nobody every really understands them.
Ay, could I only be at home and bask in my thoughts from afar
Because to live in the afar is not easy and home sickness seems suddenly like a stone around the neck,
If somebody would push me now into the sea,
Ay, Ay, Ay
Home Sick?
Where is home? Where the stove is or the heart?
My heart, My heart, I have whispered for a long time....
But not it won't be long anymore.
I still love you as dearly as at the first day.
If I only could find you, now, that I need your advice so badly.
Friday, May 18, 2007
the fish have sex on the beach and I fell in love with America
two to three inches long they jump out of the water around 10 and 12:30 PM to have sex on the beach. I have never heard of that before. But that's what I am going to do tonight. watching shamelessly how fish have proper sex on the beach.
this evening I fell in love with America. It was pretty unspectacular, actually, I was on my way to this internet cafe when I stopped dead in my tracks when the song 'Easy peaceful feeling' caught my attention. A lonely man with a cowboy hat and acoustic guitar sang your song. The song that you told me to download. When you hung up and cried. When you asked me why I wasn't saying anything on the phone and I tried to not cry and you said, no, no, it's ok, it's ok if you want to cry. When you hung up and I broke down and cried. Boo-hoo, I cry, you cry, we cry too.
Gosh, it must have been a pretty messy mess of salt water and dramatic tragic vibes mingled in Ellie's messy room.
But it was for a reason.
It was for the blues.
It was for the homesick.
It was for the broken heart.
It was for us to break and reassemble our hearts.
It's tonight that you are coming back.
I walked back to listen to the end of the song. I melted.
A homeless woman and her transient lover stopped by. He had put a flower that he had stolen from someone's front yard into her hair which was covered by a dirty old blue trucker hat.
Jimmy Buffet, said the transient lover, and the cowboy singer was so happy that someone asked him for an artist he actually knew songs of and sang the song of the man who lost his salt shaker. The woman had tears of joy in her eyes and the man sang along. They both sang along.
After a while the woman started eye-contacting the passerbys. Hey, put some money in his case! she cried.
A lean sunkissed woman on crutches stopped insecurely trying to find some one dollar bills in her pocket. She fell. All the money spilled over the ground. She had only one leg as I discovered, the one she got was beautiful and naked under her black white leopardskin patterned dress. I helped her up and gathered all her money in a whole wad and stuffed it into her pocket. She was drunk, as well, I guess, but she was so happy about the music too and she loved us and the night.
They said I have to check out Prince's 'Purple Barret' song or was it 'Dark red Barret"? The transient lover said I looked French and I said I never wanted to be buff and German but at least I could help a woman up.
Jay-D, the transient and his lovebird, Janet, left but not before he gave me a galant hand kiss.
Why I fell in love with America?
I don't know. It's a feeling. If you know exactly why, it's not really love. Take that away and you won't love anymore right?
It might have to do with the fact that they all knew that song. And it made them all happy for that one moment in this one night. A homeless couple, a drunk one-legged beauty, probably a former prostitute (I like to believe) and a cowboy-hat singer who's night was made by people who loved his songs.
this evening I fell in love with America. It was pretty unspectacular, actually, I was on my way to this internet cafe when I stopped dead in my tracks when the song 'Easy peaceful feeling' caught my attention. A lonely man with a cowboy hat and acoustic guitar sang your song. The song that you told me to download. When you hung up and cried. When you asked me why I wasn't saying anything on the phone and I tried to not cry and you said, no, no, it's ok, it's ok if you want to cry. When you hung up and I broke down and cried. Boo-hoo, I cry, you cry, we cry too.
Gosh, it must have been a pretty messy mess of salt water and dramatic tragic vibes mingled in Ellie's messy room.
But it was for a reason.
It was for the blues.
It was for the homesick.
It was for the broken heart.
It was for us to break and reassemble our hearts.
It's tonight that you are coming back.
I walked back to listen to the end of the song. I melted.
A homeless woman and her transient lover stopped by. He had put a flower that he had stolen from someone's front yard into her hair which was covered by a dirty old blue trucker hat.
Jimmy Buffet, said the transient lover, and the cowboy singer was so happy that someone asked him for an artist he actually knew songs of and sang the song of the man who lost his salt shaker. The woman had tears of joy in her eyes and the man sang along. They both sang along.
After a while the woman started eye-contacting the passerbys. Hey, put some money in his case! she cried.
A lean sunkissed woman on crutches stopped insecurely trying to find some one dollar bills in her pocket. She fell. All the money spilled over the ground. She had only one leg as I discovered, the one she got was beautiful and naked under her black white leopardskin patterned dress. I helped her up and gathered all her money in a whole wad and stuffed it into her pocket. She was drunk, as well, I guess, but she was so happy about the music too and she loved us and the night.
They said I have to check out Prince's 'Purple Barret' song or was it 'Dark red Barret"? The transient lover said I looked French and I said I never wanted to be buff and German but at least I could help a woman up.
Jay-D, the transient and his lovebird, Janet, left but not before he gave me a galant hand kiss.
Why I fell in love with America?
I don't know. It's a feeling. If you know exactly why, it's not really love. Take that away and you won't love anymore right?
It might have to do with the fact that they all knew that song. And it made them all happy for that one moment in this one night. A homeless couple, a drunk one-legged beauty, probably a former prostitute (I like to believe) and a cowboy-hat singer who's night was made by people who loved his songs.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
the letter
sometimes a feeling can overflow into my fingertips and pour into the keypad like liquid honey.
sometimes a feeling is so strong that it can't belong
not to this pad, not to this world of words, not to the black and white of the happily ever after.
but, i'll try anyway. sometimes a classical music piece says it better. or Carlos Gardel's Tango.
he wrote me a letter.
it was the perfect letter that I never thought I would get.
ever.
and see, how i am at a loss of words. i will have to go my goldsmith that is hidden where the gnomes live, in a dark deep mountain.
i will have to go and smith the words, pour them into golden leafs and jewelry that will be my nightsky.
he sent three little curb flowers with it.
fragile, like butterfly wings, pressed, flat, shimmering, light, so frail and yet so heavy in meaning.
the butterflies have returned.
sometimes a feeling is so strong that it can't belong
not to this pad, not to this world of words, not to the black and white of the happily ever after.
but, i'll try anyway. sometimes a classical music piece says it better. or Carlos Gardel's Tango.
he wrote me a letter.
it was the perfect letter that I never thought I would get.
ever.
and see, how i am at a loss of words. i will have to go my goldsmith that is hidden where the gnomes live, in a dark deep mountain.
i will have to go and smith the words, pour them into golden leafs and jewelry that will be my nightsky.
he sent three little curb flowers with it.
fragile, like butterfly wings, pressed, flat, shimmering, light, so frail and yet so heavy in meaning.
the butterflies have returned.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
the sound of children going to school
in the far distance the sound of children going to school. a scent of summer, caught up in the vibrant voice of past days. when I was a child, going to school. when you were a child, going to school. when we all were children, going to school.
my hand is shivering, ever so slightly, but it's defintely shaking. my arm rests on the balcony reiling, but the hand is moving anyway. the sun plays gently with green green leaves, a thought passes by, a soft soft breeze: I do not matter but I know I do. the paradox of being. the paradox of SEIN.
it's never useless to look further than the child.
my hand is shivering, ever so slightly, but it's defintely shaking. my arm rests on the balcony reiling, but the hand is moving anyway. the sun plays gently with green green leaves, a thought passes by, a soft soft breeze: I do not matter but I know I do. the paradox of being. the paradox of SEIN.
it's never useless to look further than the child.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
I can't forget
I stumbled out of bed
I got ready for the struggle
I smoked a cigarette
And I tightened up my gut
I said this can't be me
Must be my double
And I can't forget, I can't forget
I can't forget but I don't remember what
I'm burning up the road
I'm heading down to Phoenix
I got this old address
Of someone that I knew
It was high and fine and free
Ah, you should have seen us
And I can't forget, I can't forget
I can't forget but I don't remember who
I'll be there today
With a big bouquet of cactus
I got this rig that runs on memories
And I promise, cross my heart,
They'll never catch us
But if they do, just tell them it was me
Yeah I loved you all my life
And that's how I want to end it
The summer's almost gone
The winter's tuning up
Yeah, the summer's gone
But a lot goes on forever
And I can't forget, I can't forget
I can't forget but I don't remember what
I got ready for the struggle
I smoked a cigarette
And I tightened up my gut
I said this can't be me
Must be my double
And I can't forget, I can't forget
I can't forget but I don't remember what
I'm burning up the road
I'm heading down to Phoenix
I got this old address
Of someone that I knew
It was high and fine and free
Ah, you should have seen us
And I can't forget, I can't forget
I can't forget but I don't remember who
I'll be there today
With a big bouquet of cactus
I got this rig that runs on memories
And I promise, cross my heart,
They'll never catch us
But if they do, just tell them it was me
Yeah I loved you all my life
And that's how I want to end it
The summer's almost gone
The winter's tuning up
Yeah, the summer's gone
But a lot goes on forever
And I can't forget, I can't forget
I can't forget but I don't remember what
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