i was sitting in the green chair, across the room from you.
you, on the violet white blanket with flower print. your sister gave it to me.
our bed.
the window, and soft, the green behind the screens.
cloudy, your hair, and soft your playing, sitting there, but gone with the wind.
i watched the light around us and the warmth.
stark and clear a thought grew inside: this is the good old time. now. and i will remember this forever. this moment of you, and me, and the beauty, so pervasive.
it was a moment made for eternity and doomed to fleet and whither then. dissolving in the salty streams of life.
it was the beginning of the end. like bells ringing beautifully the night to sleep.

excorcisms

his insecurities made me ache. the self conscious nervous laughter at all the wrong moments dooming the situation to feel uneasy and secretly I cringed inside.
only when pretending to be asleep I could let my guard down a little and just enjoy the closeness. daylight made it impossible however. his close drawing in, his inability to listen and wait and sit back to watch things grow left me deserted in my own confusion. already as we drove down the autobahn i felt it wasn't LA and it wasn't PCH or 101. A weird kaleidoscope of things had swirled me around. A weekend with the quality of the eye of a storm, sweeping my away into the big stream of life, rushing me to the seas.
But he was the X. The unknown. The incomprehensible. His interpretations sucked the reel away. My mind formed around the feelings, leaving my wounds and love and attachments wash away as the music got pushed against the four corners of the room and through the locked door. Only for a few moments my ghosts and demons lingered, getting all tangled up trying to manifest just to get sucked away in the very next instance, dissolving in the wild.
his insecurities, his wounds, his broke.
too much to care for. too much talking. too much reflection. too much light. too much of everything.
i just had to hide. i can't break through this one. it only works when it's meant to be. and torn walls can build up in disguise, within the protected.

priorities gone astray

it´s,. at times, the comic amusement that triggers me to do that. all day i don´t feel like it and then at night, i do one mouse click, get on that site and amuse myself in strange manners. almost feeling like staring at an accident when obviously that´s the last thing one ought to do.
sometimes i think, you better know real well, what you wish for.
if, what you want, is really what you ´d want, if you could get it for real.
so late, i sit, and spend my time. i´m so incredibly far away.

later

sometimes
I realize how much I still look
to see if I can find your face in the crowd, the edge of the picture, the reflections in windows in videos far away.
then I receive a message and I scan the letters meticulously, re-read it, re-think it. Read it again.
Surprised I cock my head as if to listen to a faint voice, echoing somewhere in the vastness of my heart. If there is. There still is. Something.
Later I notice how I kick the fallen leaves like a kiddo and think much love.
It is weird, isn't it.
Nashville, you sound, and, I blank everything out. Everything that could disturb this warm feeling that is etching my armor away, minute by minute, letter for note.

good to see you
see you progress
do, what you love
so hard, not to be your mother
not to be your lover
not to be your girl.

things have changed here
and I grow even stronger
I never wanted to
I was so strong already

it's so good to see your face
your hair
and your body

sometimes it is so hard
not to think
who you touch these days
and who takes part in all
these steps you take
i plowed the ground
with my bare hands
it hurts

I am so happy these days
only occasionally caving in to this
and
I am so

I am wondering
what all this means
still,
ain't that funny
wondering, if you ever waste a thought
or feeling
and if
if it's really just
a love gone wrong
a youthful excursion
adventure
they say
and if
it's really just okay
to let go
and keep going

implications

implications
fears
pushed away
shoved away
don't think about it
be sad later
don't deal with it
pretend otherwise

really
what are the implications
honestly?
without fearing to
lose myself in this jungle
of complications

what are the implied negatives
that i try not to assume
that my dreams gather and keep record off
meticulously
lousy cold the weather
and smiles
pass unaccounted for

what is the biggest fear
connected to this
utter rejection
betrayal
denial
gone wrong
done wrong
did wrong
so long?

things about
who I am
and what I mean to somebody
and what I believe, hiddenly, that I deserve
derived from who I consider myself to be
and what I consider to have done

like...it's okay to make grave mistakes
on either side
and hence
we
move on?

the howling of the wolves
from deep down
emerging unbeknownst
ever again

I sleep like a child, waking up to my own voice
sobbing, trying to trace the floating fragile images of a dream that is quickly escaping my consciousness. i calm down and listen to the cold outside, rehearsing to creep through the cracks in my windows and walls, like ivy crawling up the walls of time.
I can hear her breathe I can touch her back she is real and she is there so I can go back to sleep.
Outside the wolves are howling
and the wind is whisteling
and the thoughts are tormenting
and the feelings are invading
and everything is in shambles and shatters and fragments
the whole of the story has slipped and broke
in thousand renditions it harms my soul
with every howl it comes closer
brings that dark moon ever so close
shivering cries in the dark
echoing in the light of it´s frowning grin
fowl scents of rotten flesh wounds
catering to their needs
hurt, hurt, hurt they scream
Johnny Cash sings hurt
I cuddle deeper into the blanket
mingle my feet with hers
think of the refuge to come
of painting to be painted
of stories to be written
of nights to be spent
alone

i hold the coin in my hands
it's burning into my skin
the odor of burnt flesh makes me gag
i can't believe either of the sides
neither head nor tail
i think i just gotta flip the coin
and never pick it up again

bad

this is bad
i am that close
hovering right on the verge
above the verge
at the verge
merging
but i draw back
fight
don't know anything
but
that maybe now i just gotta
cut
wait
withdraw
stop
concentrate on what's up
not on what's been
fucking beens

lisa
strange it seemed to me then
didn't wanna return to Borl
although, I thought to myself,
it had been the most amazing, miraculous summer ever been
she knew
and i didn't
but she also suffered
when heart strings
popped
and she had to sew
and cut

theory of relativity

sunken beneath the shadows of a love bigger than life
images unreal, descendants of imaginations of false illusions
false security
the sin of looking back
turning into a pillar of salt
returning ever again
to the well of pain
absentmindedly, like a passer by looking on
as if unconcerned
and as if it really didn't mean me
i know that she is out there
trying to make me hurt
to redeem her insecurities
that inevitably befall every one fallen on his way
freeing myself from these images of the past
i try to conquer my way
write her
try to state how i moved on
claim a piece of independence fuck you attitude
that is not mine

the only pain killer for such numb unreal pain really
is creativity
transformity
not pity
?

fiction

it's distant now. i am okay. when i am drunk i do stupid things. but i am okay. even songs are okay. actually, a lot is okay.
i'm glad you are okay
and i have so much fun. i really do. you know what is funny?
what
when we had that dinner at the thai place. that one already tainted with injustice - i saw the inside of your wallet when you searched for your card.
so
i saw that damn paper.
i know we had a fight about it
the funny thing about it is that this was the worst moment of betrayal to me. that you'd carry this paper around with you

struck

the perfectly
wide
scenery
destroyed
no looking farther than the horizons no more
one bolt
struck
lights
in the wrong place
lightning the damage
way too obvious
clearly stating
what had been carved into the bloody ground:
UTTER BETRAYAL
it was

truths

half.

lies

see, if you guys just have fun
i'll be happy

at home

she doesn't leave and i almost feel guilty for the tide of annoyance and frustration that starts to rise within.
it s time to go now.

dark

i wonder if i will become
like her
and what could be done
to bring peace to
her mind
i find it hard to bare
unhappiness trickling into dry ground
it is
chappy
chinky
cracky
gaping
it is pulling me into its chasms
its clefts
its
great divide

oh Mother, blessed are thou
blessed be thou

look

look
there is a new side to this
a dark side of your moon
a new window
another perspective
another way of seeing things
dark glasses to shade me from this sun

look
your yelp for my pretending
the need for forgiveness
your pleas and your asking how I am
is tiring by now
i don't want to make you feel good
nor should you try to make me smile

who the fuck do you think you are
to want to make me smile
after you ripped out my heart,
ate it raw
just to spit it out like a coward

who the fuck do you think you are
to ask me how I am and to let you know
how things are going
it is none of your business no more
there is a reason i don't ask you anymore

i don't want to know

yes i do

yes i do
the whole masochist thing
but maybe it is just something else
therapy
go back, go back, go back

look at the picture, carefully. try to take it all in, miss no detail. imagine the rest, fill in the gaps. think of what it could all mean, be, if that's what..
he needs.
wants.
indeed.

so you go back, just to feel your heart racing one more time.
pack your stuff, hit the road, do the whole thing
work, make money, pay your debts, listen to that song
it's shitty anyways.

your right leg is shivering ever so slightly
slowly the heart rate goes down
you think of that movie barefoot and smile
the moon has turned its light on.

yes i do, i do!
that therapy thing
now go and blow some smoke rings
maybe somebody hears
maybe you ll come to your senses
maybe you won't fear.

this is it
it s okay
this is it man
you are dead for me

or so it feels
keep on going your ways
they are yours
they won't cross mine
i belong to the living

and trust me that's just a weak solace

sometimes

sometimes
we have to.
get the act together and not indulge
not buy ice cream but keep on walking
sometimes
it helps when there is no money
sometimes
you have to be a big girl now

CV no more
it is night and dark and i should write
write about my life, who i am and why i am so great
it´s weird
and i walked so many miles today, tired in the subway
sitting, watching, waiting
enrolling
going through some growing pains
is it right, is it right, is it right?
maybe i should have..? no?

but no, now everything is done
only the hunt for money now
some cute pies drifting by in the dark
like fishes in a fishtank

in that kitchen that felt like home
full of turks, italians and us
with laughter, good food and beverage
with warmth, light and love
i caught myself getting caught sometimes
like in a spiderweb
thin, filigran
so fragil
yet so sticky and so powerful
memories, details that you should have never let me know
and it hurts and it shows
but then i can let go

and when she says, but it´s over now, no? i mean, in your head
i nod
distantly
decline to get into anything
just sketch figures
mysteries untold

and when i get on the net
there is a small hello
and almost no emotional response
on this side of the screen

angel

She fell way deeper than I did.
And she fell hard.
It's not like I had to be there to understand her and what does that mean, anyways. Fully comprehending her is beyond any of us.
She was the muse and the angel, the falling one.
When he looked her in the eyes, he knew but she didn't care. It had corrupted her mind, her soul already so far, that she couldn't feel any warmth permeating through. She was cold and cold she felt, dismissing his words like pennies and tokens.
Beggars, so her words fell like razorsharp swords, beggars will pick up the pieces, and left.
It was another one who picked her up, way later, in a shady room in the maze of the old brewery, her eyes rolled back into her skull and her tongues shivering in jibberish, pale, so pale she was and so skinny, retreating from her physical body like a tired army in defeat.
But, she had wanted to taste the utter senselessness of defeat in a battle that wasn't hers. She had wanted to go so far, so far down into the innermost chambers of hell's luciferic disguise, she had wanted to be saved maybe, and she was, somehow, and in a way.
When I met her again the scars had healed all the way through, she was still sticky like glue but she walked upright and tall, as tall as her little body allowed her to, anyways. Her savior was still with her, every now and then, she told me how she had to light herself for him like a tired old moist match, every time she met him.
Once the flame burns, she said, it's warm.
Warm, once it burns.
Often she was too tired and a little too cold and then he had to light her, once, twice, three times. Add some tinder, add some tender, then it would go.

She was the angel in the old abandoned armybuilding, the one curled up on the round window sill like a little cozy vulnerable cat, the one discussing issues of health and education with a fervor I had missed in so many people.
So natural, so gracious. And when she danced, she moved the air in waves that hit the beholder like a smooth fireglow and when her lips met yours it was like melting, so it was.

And when I look in the quiet of the nightriver, when I throw my eyes into the sullen skull of this starlit sky, then I think of her and how we know each other, hold each other in a comforting distance, know each other in our darkest facets and the brightest heat of love and light.

She fell way harder than me. Further and harder. She bares the marks on her limbs and deep scars in her soul. But we have in common the courage to go and see, the sickening curiosity and fascination to visit the other side, where we know we don't really belong. The knowledge that we are but wanderers.
Wanderers between worlds.

Angels falling
Falling wide

wide sky

the sky is so wide, so wide.
swallows flying, clouds telling stories all day long.
I stretch slowly, I stretch all the way.
Africa I welcome you, oh, wide wide sky.
Somewhere out there I feel my destination waiting for me.
And a warm feeling spreads throughout my whole body.
Ah, my heart, you know. I do want to embrace you as the dear dear friend I know you can be. I love you so, even though things can be so heavy. I love you so. So so so.
It is okay to go wrong, all the way, it`s okay.
When I follow my star and dance along, accomplish what I need to, then I will turn around and say welcome, at last, again.
Welcome, to just
Be

things have changed/what a wonderful world

Layers are practical. In San Francisco everybody knows that. Big bags to store stuff in too... If you want layers you also need storage space.
So I get back to some old songs and they are feeling better now. There are memories of memories on there now, like a sugar coating, thin but visible. I try, you know, and I try not to be cold...stay warm, a little. Decide, go for things. There are so many things to know. But never will I forget you. It is very hard not to talk about you but it's getting easier every day now. I see the dilemma you find yourself in. The wish to make it all good and the despair when you see it won't work. But you were so good in making it good, all good, bubbaloo. It's not like you think it is. You just can't see it the way I see it. It's the glasses man. Take them off.
Oh yes, things have changed. Things have changed. I meet people on the quiet streets of southern Germany, they smile and laugh, can't believe that I am back, what are you doing now they ask and I smile and hand out the facts.
My wishes reach beyond those measures, however, songs can't faze me so much anymore. I slowly let go. The beauty of effort ridden cultural creme de la creme. The Russians, the Italian, the French, the Spanish lady. A theater festival, a juggling convention.
My dreams belong to Motpellier, a city in southern France, a beautiful brown eyed girl in it and a possible adventure to get there.
The clownschool Dimitri in southern Tessin and just the whole great world in front of my eyes.
It IS a beautiful world, Louis, it is, indeed. People are just so damn fucking concerned with their own petty lives all the time. Too busy to realize: what a wonderful world.

dont think about a pink elefant

the music got me, ah, and i am in a beautiful old German town.
a good day. i was at the european juggling festival. man. that was amazing. mind blowing. all these people. just my kind!!! and the men... that could be a place to find a companion! to travel and ravel and unravel.
yeah.
please, dear, don´t think about a pink elefant now. don´t.
not about a black one either. not a white one.
let it go because you know that you are so happy now. the past, you can´t change it. sad things pass. good things pass. it´s all in the books.
the other day i tried to put that cigarette out and the tip just would´t get off. it was a real struggle. it clung onto the filter. it wouldn´t let go. and i started to laugh. i had to pick up a little stone and cut it off. and i sat under a weeping willow tree, gazing into the quiet of the flowing river, it was dawning and i was alone. and i smiled as i fought with that cigarette because i really didn´t want it anymore. it didn´t taste good and it didn´t do me any good. i was done with it and yet it clung onto itself as if its very life depended on it. and it did!
because i killed it and it was gone, washed away, ashes to ashes, filter to garbage, and the smoke drifted away, wafting through the midsummer air, into the void.
maybe it will find it´s way to the ocean, to the mother of all tears, and maybe it will stop remniscing there.

She was jealous from the start
I knew she was jealous from the start

But I knew she was jealous from the start

Ya I knew she was jealous from the start

I know better than that
I know better not to be friends with boys with girlfriends
You play the victim and I'll be the bad guy...






SHE didn't know any better.
Despite all efforts to break through she stayed lame
How can such a fine lady be so fucking lame?
Maybe it's just my lamo-perspective.
But I have to say I am just disappointed by people who act so fucking nice and interested but never return any efforts, be it a call, a mail or an invitation.
Stating enthusiasm, sounds like an oxymoron and it is one, but that's what she did. Fucking lamo liars you all.

AA

selfish
it seems now
i should have left
speaking in actions
instead of muttered sounds so desolate and despaired

left you in the gutter
show you what you got
and lost

selfish it seems now
to revel in past kisses
eyes smiling like lillies in morning dew
i could have been stronger
i could have been strong

the should haves
tangled me up
ah this weakness
i curse
strong i wanted to rise
like her
june
and you'd been
john

sunsetblvd

I remember that night when things first broke
and I loved you so much
and so desperately
when I knew that I could never touch you in that longing for her
the perfect untouched one
who died with nothing there to put her to shame
16 years old only or was it 17
I found all these messages
the first time
it was nothing you said
and i cried and cried
at walgreens i bought cigarettes and my mom tried to talk
barefeet i ran to food4less
while you were sleeping
the first time so disconnected
in the morning you tried to make love to me
just so it was all worth the idea
another night on sunset blvd
the motel with that palmtreesign
and Kaspar told me about his travelling plans all around the mediterranean sea
it was 2006 and we were still free
to stay or to go
and it took me such a long time to take a liking to those songs because they were hers
mazzy star
fade into you, putting me to sleep while you were gone
reminding me of a soft night in which you made macaronis with milk
Wilcox avenue at tif's
and later i saw you there again
sitting at the door

but now you just want to be gone
and nobody on your back
so sorry. was i baggage?
i thought it was worth a battle

but now we are gone
it was a wild night
full of darkest promises
that were fulfilled
ah how deep the sting
i still feel
your smiling eyes
caressing
when you loved
me
or so we thought.

the dark side of the moon

You're a big girl now
says he
and Dad says it too
he just meant it in a different way
he meant that I came through
and now he can see how I grew

But I am lingering still
it's at the dark side of the moon
ah, my heart swoons,
this pain it stabs and stings
and there is no time
at the dark side
it's frozen
no warmth
to bring it back to flow

I walk the streets
in my life
sort of hollow
words don't mend
and touch can't explain
it just throbs and quivers
my soul
fastened to a stone

Everything that is possible
and new better things to rise
the horizon just drafting along
the now inexplicably ignorant
to changes that might come

I'm going out of my mind, oh, oh,
With a pain that stops and starts
Like a corkscrew to my heart
Ever since we've been apart.

beneath

Know, that it is in the light it will shine, the smaller the source the brighter the impact of reflection. I have suffered of inconvenient truths. You and I; an inconvenient truth. How things do matter, no matter how much we try to deny it. Lessons to be learned, swept under the carpet, where they multiply to overwhelm us in darkest night.
Strange days have found us and so it was, all that caught up to us later, stripped away, offering our raw hearts to the souls ,winged, daring, yet still too weak to withstand the trials of an adult life, the storms, the thundering silence and the aftermath. Doubts.
The playful dance, the between, got smashed and damaged, I cried my fears and tears out, you disappeared in paralyzed terror, sliding towards the culmination of a dynamic emerging from within your soul, the gaps, occupied by urging, darker forces.
My inner roundabout circles imploded, exploded, lava trickling into all orifices, suffocating, suffering, accusing, instead of aMUSEing.
What reads like a predictable story of tragic napoleonic delusions of grandeur in love and relationships of young adults, contains the poesie of a fresh, blossoming haiku with the scents of a bursting cherry blossom tree.
Inbetween the lines, in the fragil space of eyes, hand and hearts talking, where words can't breathe, nor reach, nor teach, are the images of a love that is stronger than anything, permeating in ripples the eternity of the sea.
I will never forget, how you sat naked, playing the guitar, your dark curls framing your loving eyes, mouth, ears, chin, cheeks, nose, eyebrows, how your hands almost shy, made the instrument and my soul sing, giving me the love that I have always waited for. In this intimacy that exceeded eroticism I could feel my wings opening, ready to fly, my heart, in you, to you, with you, straight.

excercise

like working out this gets to me
i am dreaming words but in the morning, gone, words gone.
i am caught in a time capsule with too many possibilities, the world ruttling on my doors but i can't hear a distinct voice within that rumble.
worlds go by.
moments pass.
i fall
i rise
i

in the dark

sometimes it feels less scary to write in the dark, where things are blurry and less distinct. today it is grey outside and the weather is reflecting my inside. somewhat confused I gaze into the void. I can't be too scared but I feel a little tinge of fright inside when I think about what I have done and where I went, I definitely want to find out what I can do to protect myself now. I am so full of ambivalent notions and feelings and thoughts about lifestyles that present themselves to me in such vibrant and convincing manners. we don't know anything. and i don't really want to know that much. I just want to sing and dance, sometimes, without thinking too much.

as Peng says, there is a spiritual war going on, and things do matter.
This has, incidentally, always been my biggest question.

elation

almost like a fleeting memory of the scent of a blossoming apple tree
nothing really, but it was there
soft and light
and nothing really
but oh so elated.

the completion of it in the sun lit ship-room, with so many windows and pink blooming trees in the yard was like a butterfly kiss on my soulwings, holding the appropriate space for what was and what is and what will be.
honoring my love and my journey to you, and yet opening new doors to move on with it.

it.

impossible

as i was walking home, swinging, down the beautiful alley way i heard the crickets chirping and some birds crossed the evening kissed sky, alive, with clouds dancing with the warm early summer air.
and i thought... strange days that have found me, who would have thought!? me, living here in this little cute guesthouse, ten minutes from the pacific ocean, palmtrees in the wind and the eucalyptus!!!
but then, all out of the blue-dark sky i felt that the other situation had been way more improbable, almost impossible, to even conceive of.
although i am someone who likes to look at the bright side of life, the good in the bad, the chance in the challenge...i can't really see yet so much jolliness in what we went through, yes, it was extremely pretty our house, but too many overshadowing nights i spent there alone, clinging on to fleeting thoughts how to be or to react when it should have been just easy and peaceful and free.
don't you agree???
it's amazing to think what i did. i mean, just try it. for a moment. for a fracture of a minute out of your night. every day three hours on the street. on my bike, the bus, the feet. getting up at 3 AM out of a relaxing bath to come meet you at Mel's/ Or make you some food. Getting up early the next day. On the road again. And again, and again.
Never going to the beach. Or running. Or to see Dali. Or so.
And then, after the fall, even not one more cup of coffee for the road.
Impossible.

vent

you little scumbag, see, you already done it, so go, do it again!
what do you think, I care?
no, no. No, no, no.
no, no, no, no, no!? no!

ah, golden the days that I don't know you.
golden, a mind without you.
if i only could be healed from a wound that is yellow and green with pus from treacherous behaviour like yours.
yes, yes, i blame the wrong source, i guess, i guess.
aren't we all pawns in the game?
ah, and i might seem bitter now too.
but sure, you do, you do, you do laugh so shrill, like the bad witch in the tales, your eyes are evil to me and even tho you say you know what it's like.
aw, you didn't wanna destroy my life, so ha, of course you didn't and know that you haven't my life is full on, that's so not the point, the point my dear lady is that you
could suck my dick, if i had one.
and i would pay you, as they should do.

excercise indifference

.




























.

Nick Drake

You never listened with me to parasite

Nick Drake was my person and you said you thought his music is gay
your immaturity cuts deep into raw flesh

Now Nick puts me into this mood
he beams me back to the dark side of the moon
No free ride for you and me no, no more never
won't you give me a free ride
oh and the guitar is somber and dark like an all too present dream
it makes me want to cry
the joy of sharing is suffocating my loneliness

the valley below

the pain ebbs in again
it s okay, okay, okay,
okay, i can hear circkets again, ancient sounds and music
oh but how it hurts
i am riding the wave again,
riding it again, down into the valley
only little fires lit up
a last one, time again
and i go, go, go

can hear the congas, can hear them now, underlying, quietly,
filling
the spaces between
carrying me to the night
one more time
a little time just one
small
little sparklets flying through the sky
falling from my finger tips
and you, you can you hear them
whispering
ebbing in
ebbing out
on wind waves
tapping on your skin
like little small sparks
waking up the dark
waking, waking, waking the soft again

I Have No Regrets Because I Have Loved

11/22/06
This really is Good Bye (as in God Bless Ye, which it is derived from)
say nothing no more
wonder
awe
gazing in the distance
i caught the glimpse of your eye
out of the glimpse of my eye
my mouth smells of fresh love
like cotton beds in the morning
fluttering like wings in the air
somebody's loving hands have
smitten me with miracles
I love your face
I love your voice
I love your heart
I love you
Your courage and your searching
Your hands
Your touch
Your feet
Your chest
Your lips
Your hips
The secrets
Can't ever forget what you taught me
I'll try and be true
To myself and you
To whatever it was that was calling you
Can't ever forget how it felt to kiss you
Again and again
Like coming home
This really makes me eyes wet
And your memory lingers
Between my thighs with sweet sighs
To see you in the morning sun
And in the moonlight
Feeling your embrace like a nest
Me nestled into your arms
Saying I love you
and meaning it.

black coat

how he entered the room
in his black coat
and black glasses too
black curls framing his pale face
all so put together

i knew
but nobody else could have been able to see
the storm of destruction
beneath it all
the utter despair and bottomless abyss of fear
just seconds away
before we found back into each other's arms

it was all so surreal
and so good
and so crazy
sadness distorted by the extremity of the situation

how he walks
and talks
so tall
and so good
they know that
that they can see.



fragility

geometry

he called when we walked to the mac store. telling me about his cousins baby and you asked who he was. my computer died now and i moved and we are gonna hang out. funny how things can get wrapped. i am scared but sometimes that's how it will be. like you couldn't believe that you followed through with it. that you really did it. how devastated you were. i guess i can be devastated too, despite all reason and better knowing it. i can't think too much about it otherwise i will have to run into the ocean and just dive away into a new universe where different things are possible.

nothing is impossible.

in a way that is reassuring. but there certainly is something about crossroads and which way you take. sometimes there is no turning back only moving on.

i hope this road will lead us to freedom and the love we've been looking and living for. because you know, despite it all, I Love You as it is and as it will be.

like my dad said...

first love never dies

my heart is scared, fluttering inside my chest, I have to admit I still do of course naturally miss You and refuse to believe that this is it. Against my better judgement of course. when you saw me you said, jesus, you are a mess, get yourself off the floor I did it too, get yourself together and try to move on but all I really wanted to do is to refuse any more growing commands and rest in the earth for a while. Or on clouds. I just want you to still share special moments with me, let me know about songs and thoughts and nothing whatever anymore.
okay. that's that!
and the other thing: I am scared shitless thinking of leaving. it's going to be so tough .I am not trying to talk myself into it it's just, I KNOW it.
fuck. oh well. i was really really scared coming here too. so it's fair, it's okay, it's normal.
but I am a wreck right now.

strange

It is the strangest
how i ride into the evening along that coast
and feel this definite feeling
so blurred but distinct
too distinct almost
but even it's distinction doesn't make me so sad

and it makes me wonder

all those strange days that found us

and here i am
here we are
apart

and i still wait for the hurting

In the summer it was different, many life times ago
when I knew it wasn't done
I knew there was some more writing to be done
even with you at the other side of the moon
I knew it
We both did
And I hear you saying I feel bad for you, do you have fun? Don't be sad...
And I am surprised to be honest when I say I am happier and don't feel bad for me I know my kind of fun.
How about you? do You miss me? do you have fun? do you feel sad?
Do you crave time with me, closeness to me?

Maybe we are just gone. Gone with the wind. And nobody knows if we ll meet again, we might, we can, but this time it feels free and soft like a blue kissed summer wind

it's almost pathetic
how i wish
this was true
for anyone who is dying inside
i m incapable of telling
whether there is sarcasm or zynical thought involved
i just throw myself at the idea and cling to it for it not to disappear like yet another mirage in this desert i'm finding myself in.
thirsty for miracles.
real life miracles such as
change is possible

yesterday night... he asked me why. why do you fall for guys like me. who are dying inside.
and i cried inside.
i can only guess.

books

i am in a library now.
i have a library card
and when the doors swing open we enter another world
people, with noses buried deep in books and thought
looking like mice
and
the sun is shining out there
and
my love is hiding behind the blankets of confusion
but i know
it is there

Sunset: Loving who is dying inside.

The Dark Side Of The Moon

Yesterday I read a column in the Times about an online project that asks people to tell their life story in only six words. Hemingway style.
This is mine: Sunset: Loving who is dying inside.

you don't know what it's like he says and spits on the roof. his wary hand doesn't find the cigarette, stuck in the corner of his mouth, it went out, out like his eyes died just seconds ago and the lighter is just a faint replica of fires we once knew, faded memories...
all this, i have seen before and I don't have much time. The old brickstone building, with the mysterious redlit windows in the dark. The Japanese Restaurant I won't ever afford. The hills. The castle. The street. The dirt. The dizziness of life on the fast lane.
I swallow some tears, they are salty. Look away. Look back. His words tumble into the somber darkness like puppies that just learned to walk. I could feed them. Heed them. But I don't. Tonight I just listen. Hold his arms. His back. His heart.
I know that I don't know. At least that much. How can such a lucky person and such an unlucky person be so in love?
That's what I would like to know sometimes.

Later, on my old futon that I bought for twenty bucks from the creepy old Russian guy, I swayed back and forth between heart beats and heavy breathing.
You know nothing about what it's like to love someone who is dying inside.

dazed and confused

I admit that I'm still confused. That I still don't get it. I tried. Went there, not all the way but some of it. Fell in love with those who went. Blue comes to mind, by Joni Mitchell. She kind of puts it the way I felt.
But today in the morning I woke up with a cry in my throat with an urgent urge to bury my head in pillows and keep the blinds shut and just wallow in my confusion and sadness and mourn the foggy mysteries hidden beneath societies faces.
The beautiful melodies of the nearby church bells wafted through shut windows and blinds. His hands told me something his laughter his voice, but maybe I wanted words, explanations, empty rationalized figures drawn into the air between us.
Why is it 'normal'? I don't know life that way. Why do people need to drink and be dazed, why does it seem so normal to go and have a drink at a bar if you wanna go out and have fun?? My sister just tells me I can figure shit out only for myself. I guess so. But I just don't know life that way. I know it is akward to talk about it like that. I am not throwing stones. I am just really confused and sad. Sad because i don't understand and because obviously I think my way is a beautiful one. I guess I am not alone. Isn't that what the whole world keeps fighting about??

I doubt
I wonder
That there ever could be true understanding...Ever...




Blue, songs are like tattoos
You know Ive been to sea betore
Crown and anchor me
Or let me sail away
Hey blue, here is a song for you
Ink on a pin
Underneath the skin
An empty space to fill in
Well therere so many sinking now
Youve got to keep thinking
You can make it thru these waves
Acid, booze, and ass
Needles, guns, and grass
Lots of laughs, lots of laughs
Everybodys saying that hells the hippest way to go
Well I dont think so
But Im gonna take a look around it though
Blue, I love you

Blue, here is a shell for you
Inside youll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me

she said

she said
what about your blog
and i dont have internet as i used to before
on my old street they held a gun at the site manager's head and robbed 1950
it's funny
because
the thought of leaving makes me wanna stay
but when i look at the websites of my old college in berlin
and
things you know?
i get thrilled.
awww. how amazing it all is and was
can't wait
life is too exciting

and i think
God,
how lucky I got
no offense to people who dont find luck in their lives because i know some who are blind like that
but
man
I don't know

where are you all my friends, where are you hiding now?'
certain things i dont even wanna touch anymore with my words
wounded and with raw flesh gaping at me they simmer in the heat of passions lost and forlorn.
but life goes on and is beautiful as always. there is a beauty in broken eyes and evenv though my eyes might be filled with tears in response, the light still breaks itself in them and explodes in my mind in all colors of the rainbow.
oh.
the palm trees are kissed by the last rays of the evening sun.
my thoughts wander back to when i loved david and i thought that i would belong.
or even further back to when I occupied myself with insignificant crushes that filled up my writing and longing.
in the end, a lot of those dreams where merely a reflelction of the howling of the wolves at full moon, the indefinable yearning you feel listening to 'Anna's Song' by Marvin Gaye. The glimpse at the impossible thought chance of true love in a romance.
ah.
what a life that is spinning us around.
oh my dear friends.
i can't wait to meet you again, some day, making sweet love in music, art and conversations.
i can't wait to go dancing with you again. ah, oh yeah
this is my song