the offering

it upsets me
and i keep stumbling over it
it's not so much the other side
but my side that i am crying for
wanting your touch
rejecting it in real time
friends pale like falling leaves
forgotten strengths sailing
far away
you can just hold me and it will be ok
but words fail so many times
it's like keeping eating rotten rats
when there is nowhere to hide anymore
and dirt seeths through my windows
everything clogged up
reality no more
life is stranger than fiction
and i am dying thereof
i love you in so many strange ways
but i cant make it right
don't have the greatness that it d take
i am not Him
and i don't even sing to Him enough
failing again

waiting for the day that you will read this
true curiosity about me
the one you are sleeping next to.

rocking gently back and forth in your arms
dreams sway me away
the wee morning hours don't last long
soon
they will come
to get the last pieces of my offering

free

whispers beneath the ice
idle in dreaming

i found my child again
a life beyond the expected
it was never meant to be any different
there is nothing you can do
only yourself
go yourself

love transcendent
transcending into the skies
the heavens
the earth

know that i love you
but i have to be free
from wanting you

because you are already there

lost in translation

you walk the line
and in the dark of the night you turn into an ocean
into a taifun
storming
taking me all the way
sweeping the remains of complaints away
in a whirl wind
and the morning is strange
as if returning from the forbidden city
no water no more
only dry hard wall

leaving
a question mark
how much of care has become
whatever again
steps back
steps forth
i can't tell

did you mean me

falling leaves

In Berlin it is grey now and the geese will sing on their way back south.

It is cold where you are now, my friend. Thus I send a little fire to you
It is dark where you are my friend, so take this little light from me.
One day I will come to you back home and our friends they will come too.
We will sing as we did last time and it's warm like never before.
Oh Boy, she is waiting long for you. There in the dark she takes you by the hand.
In my dreams I see you at a beautiful day, all alone, but one day we will sing just as always and it is warm like never before. We will sing as we always have, and it is warm like never before. (translation from a song by 2Raumwohnung from Berlin)

It is sunny in Hollywood and breathtakingly beautiful. Green, green, a soft breeze.
I am quiet, quiet as a wishing well.
He rained rose petals on me.
Things will happen when you come to them.

Freedom

There I sit in the night. It's my night because nobody knows that I am here.
The Internet connection is there only feeble but I saw it and it incited that spark that I needed to become aware of this.
This is my night.
It is my night.
Split into half in the reflections of the mirrored door that hides my little kitchenette.
Just hair to the waist and skin. It is my reflection. In my little room. That is mine tonight. Nobody knows that I am here.
Ah, how I love it.
Neneh Cherry. My music. Nobody to disagree with. My taste. My pace.

Sometimes it takes strange nights for strange thoughts.
You gotta be fortunate. Yeah.
Remembering all. Remembering it all.
All those stories. Of lonely nights. Many nights. That were all mine.
Strange vibes. Strange emotions. Strange thoughts and ideas. In a woman's world. this is my world. Fluorescent blue the shimmer on my skin. Reflections of technology. And I am wearing the mask sometimes. At night. On the way what we call home. Yet just being a transient among transients. A dirty bus. Dirty tired faces. Masks. And involuntarily almost, yet protectively, I acquired it too.
The big city mask. Wearing the weary mask.
Defensive. Inflexible. Smiles come a long way. Tired. Evasive. Introverted. Curious, secretively.

There I sit. Naked.

as the world goes by

it is silent here
lonely
but the comfort
so soothing

I haven't been writing much of lately. I have been reading a lot. Reading the LA Weekly marveling at all the great things one could do if one would do them. If one had a car. Or money.

My sister is going through a break up. Rough times. I have a stormy sea too at times. But I love it.
I love Los Angeles, more and more. Every day.
Like this one person you never thought you'd ever like but then they just grow on you.
Was at my old school today, got totally tripped out. It was such a different world then. So different. So real. Surreal.

I miss poetry days with my wife. And reading Anais Nin at Pign'Whistles.

one minute

beautiful
tingely inside.
sun shining through the blinds and leaves and
a tree full of rose pink colors bursting into the hills
there is a nice little place where the French Room used to be
peaceful
so golden
a coffee
orange juice, fresh
and his beautiful eyes

relativity theory again

somebody stole the frontwheel of my bike
my brother in law left my sister, this time more for real than the times before or so we don't hope
my nephew lost a tooth and is seven years old and piscies like me and still believes in the tooth fairie
my other newphew, the older one, he ran crying through the Alaskan forests screaming for my sister's husband to come back, that was during one of the other times he left
my niece told my little nephew that tata is on a vision quest. and he took all his stuff because every little thing you have helps you find out who you are. that's why he took all his stuff. blood was on my little newphe's lips from losing his tooth and he cried curled up like a little cat in my arms.
his momma made him pancakes and later she cried in her room.
his sister has an audition today for a big movie and his brother is learning 'nothing else matters' on the guitar.
i ma go now check out this massage school

yesterday i was on third street, standing still. the light was lovely and people moving. children playing, musicians moving emotions up and down the street. i had a burning cigarette in my hand and felt like in 'Momo' but just as one of the bad grey guys.

some times

some times
you just lock in
and there is the waves rolling in
words obsolete
only the sound
rhythmically running through your body and soul

and when i met her she was there, it was clear, her eyes so near
like coals burning
and my stories bounced out of me
like butterflies in a tropical storm
i got too excited
heads over heals
healing

nothing is expected but what is in it
getting it out
loud
or not so loud
hands in hand
locked in
and you wonder 'where have i been?'

it's good to go your own way
it's good to follow your whales

lie

lie is a bitch.
makes life more difficult, sadder, lonelier.
she spins her webs in crazy circles
never leaves you out
always catches you
always finds your weak spot
excuses turned promises
fears turned trust
hatred turned love

her shadows, cast over your soul
and you don't know it
but you run from her
can't see

can't see

back into her arms

slamming

People look ways but that doesn't mean anything...

He kept crying 'Maaaama, Maaaa-hama!!!'
She finally stopped and shouted at him 'don't you see I'm talking to Emi!'
Emi is the most disgusting nickname for Emeralda.
She thinks she knows me.
But she even doesn't know my real name.
She thinks that one day I will understand how hard it is to be rich.
Maybe then we can be real friends.
For now, dear, I would like to tell her, I am your nanny and you my boss.
A horrible one for that matter.
She couldn't wait to handle this rationally and reasonable in the evening. No. She had to do it in front of the kids.
At dinnertime one of the little ones told me I couldn't have dinner that night. His parents acted appalled. Acted as if he were crazy.
He was just honest.
The whole day she couldn't look straight in my eyes.
I tried to make it good.
She misunderstood.
Said, she felt I was taking advantage of her.
I thought of the countless nights I had spent handcrafting with her for the boys, the school, the fair. The days I had volunteered for the school, for her boy's birthday.
She said I offended her, pissed her off big time. Hadn't I been sitting in the car, writing, taking time 'off' - there are your four hours off!
They paid six hours days when I was with them from 8 AM to 9 PM and after that I had to listen to her problems.
I thought, didn't you ever think about how it felt for me to have to listen to your richman's problems?
She said, I've been taking care of you like my daughter
I thought how she had treated me like her property,shushing her friends who would have liked me to work a few hours for them too...how she bragged around with me and my skills and made me cook and iron and do her laundry and pick up after her and the boys.

Tears were no option.
There I stood, barely defending myself.
Swallow your pride
Swallow your intentions
Now, do, what you never meant to do
and just keep on going


I am not a person like that, is all i said, and if you keep thinking that I will have to stop working.

We both pretended to let go of it

I never cared about any little convenience of her life
I know who my friends are
I don't want money
I just want to pay my god damn bills.

She needs me, but I am replacable just as everybody else before me
I don't need her.
But there are children involved
It's sad to see that it is almost an impossible mission

unfinished dance

The light is dim, grey in grey. Like lead the ocean seems to be one. No waves, no wind, just cold air drenched with humidity. My uncle's huge 'boat' ploughs through the water, leaving traces as if they were carved into the sea. A line of birds is crossing in the obscurity of Kachemak's night which is slowly setteling over the bay. There are people living here.
I am leaving soon.
I don't know where I will be going. I don't know what will happen. Will I find what I am looking for? Where ever i will be? There is a reality to places, such as this. There is a reality to inter-action. To what IS.
I grab my ugly sweater and bury my hands under my armpits. It is darn cold. My dad is silently gazing into the wilderness of the sky. My breath is slow, trying to make it's way through knots over knots of uncried tears. Just swallow them, don't wallow, swallow. Make peace come true. Like this surreal seeming autumn night.

A tango, from afar, like a lightening bolt. There is music in everything. I Want You To Become One.
Dance for me, come!

like the weather

I feel like the weather, sometimes foggy, sometimes bright and clear like the blistering sunshine on Kachemack Bay.
Yesterday a veil of early autumn mist hovered right over the ocean, wafting back and forth between the shores. Covering my little refuge into a grey wall, making me oblivious to the rest of the world. I heard the seagulls cry and the flapping wings of eagles, I heard the waves dancing but couldn't see none of it.
This is how depression foggs up your soul and mind when the tide is low.
A distant flute, crying strange melodies into the deep forests of our homeland that is not our home, moved me to tears.
A distant flame is trying not to be blown out by the winds of change. The winds of fate. The winds of decisions that can cut deep into our flesh and our lives.

Yesterday night around the campfire, I missed you. But your voice, it was so cold, so distant, so casual. It couldn't still my thirst for sweetness amongst the cold bright stars. I called in the hopes to find you alone but you are never alone but the loneliest knight I know. In the midst of a battlefield that is folded into grey misty cool. No fire. No songs. No soul.