you come to me

you come to me in the dark, emerging from the velvet blue in your white shirt that i want to unbutton, your russian soul, your stomping heart.
i can see you and i know you see me. we are two lost souls in a fishbowl, waiting for more. the light is serene and fluorescent, flickering in your eyes. my boss spins the tables with good old music, and we can dance, boy can we dance, they recognize.
the air is soft now and it's daytime. my eyes get lost in focus, gazing into the green, the white, the brickstone red.
you said, jump, if that's what you really want to do, you should always do what you want to do. i jumped and swam, drifted in the current of the quiet, while you went home to sleep finally. because that's what you wanted. before, though, you squeezed my hand upon saying goodbye, i know that we could have kissed and i know why we both didn't try. we know too much. too much of the longing, the magic, that doesn't lessen the heart's pain. you let me play, like a kitten, responding in unexpected ways. boy, you knew how to move.
now you are gone, like a song and the breeze is cooling my face.
you come to me and let me dance through all the pain. you let me dance, leading me and then letting me go. and i embarked on a journey, remembering oh so vividly his face, his voice, his embrace. his love on my soul. in my body, in my soul, oh, swinging freely back and forth about him, with his curly dark hair and eyes, glowing in my heart. your gaze held my breath while i tumbled and fell into the dark, sitting stoicly in the back, watching, sleepily, how i was taken aback by the rhythm and storm.
i know who we were. two lost souls in a fishbowl. two warriors with broken hearts keeping on, keeping on.
let me caress your self and comfort you.
travelling man, stay a while, until the night is over.
i m just a station on your way
i know
i am not
your
lover

right is wrong is right is wrong is right is wrong is right is ... is?

In a way it helped me to work with loaded people. I learned to deal with it. And also, I learned to allow myself to indulge, a concept that had me guilt-ridden all along.

But, today, I read in a magazine (that I usually enjoy to read) these short interviews with people in Berlin about what they just had bought and why.
It didn't occur to me, that you don't have to be THAT loaded in order to actually buy relatively expensive clothing. Or key-chains for that matter.
A designer KEY-chain (a KEY chain!) for 81 Euros. The guy said style was important to him.
Good Lord, gracious, where do these people have that kind of money from?
How do they come to spend it that particular way?
A watch for 3600 Euros? The lady interviewed stated she didn't need a watch in particular but she really liked that one so she bought it.
SO SHE JUST BOUGHT IT.
I also just bought a nutbun today, for 1,50 Euros and one beer for 1 Euro. I mention this because it was awkward how I justified that towards myself and my friend. I said, well, I could have had a Falafel with that money, and it would have been dinner right there. But I indulged.

They fired a lady from a supermarket chain here because she took two refund tickets for deposit bottles (in the worth of about 1,30 Euros) that some customer had lost and took it for herself.
She is a mother of three with two grandchildren and had worked there for 31 years.
Her colleagues told on her.
The whole thing was taken to a higher court and today the result came out. Guilty. She can't sue that supermarket chain for firing her.

Because, if you take 1,30, 5 or 100 Euros isn't the point here. It's that you take it.
So I guess indulging in a 1,50 bun with literally no money really is just as bad and irrational as spending 3600 Euros on a watch.

I really just can't get over it.
They looked like NORMAL people. I guess I am really not normal then!
I must be really poor and broke, in fact!

It must be good for the economy also, but I wonder if there is anyone out there who has thought the thought to its very end. Does the economy really have to always grow? Isn't there some sort of way out???
It's like cancer almost.
I am really at a loss
to know
right
from
wrong

broke again

the new month even hasn't started yet and all the money i have for it is gone already for rent, insurance and phonebills.
great! i guess it will be the time of the year to do a 'religious' fasting ritual. I think in Christian tradition there is a fasting time from carneval time (RIGHT NOW!) until eastern. That's EXACTLY the period of time I've got to bridge to get by. I'll have some money to buy food from my assistant job, so I'll manage hopefully. With God on my side :)
Note to self: don't buy handwoven baskets in second-hand shops, don't buy food when you're out and about, don't buy, ahem, yeah, food. and no partying, but it's not like I've partied at all lately. I've been just invited to all these events. Gee. ;0)

It's also time and take a chance to start getting fit and lean and more disciplined! no more indulgent desserts in our house! hm. maybe only here and there?
:)

hard not to

hard not to write.
her hand on his legs, barcadi bottle. soap and skin singing like a dying swan, you in my arms, my touching your soul, how it felt, how it felt, when we were.

dreams buried, in shatters and fragments. she is fucking good. damn.

he spit his venom into all directions, i asked the wrong question and suddenly i was no friend no more.
there are people who can't take a wrong step. who can't take a wrong word. who can't take a wrong question.
we are so frail and fragile against these towering walls.
we have to learn to be upset. outraged. outspoken.
it hurts. it hurts when your actions are counted like pennies and intentions don't matter at
all

some friends we just have to let go
like lovers

maybe i really just wanted
to get something out of it

alone

his dishes were dirty, piling up in the kitchen. foot prints all over the floor and the trashcans stinking. the mattress of his bed halfway slouching on the floor, the frame broken. he had run out of filters and papers again, talking to some Musician in Kansas City on skype.
I made pasta out of the few ingredients I could find in his fridge that weren´t rotten yet. The coffee machine was broken too and the cupboards unbelievably sticky and dirty. Official letters spilled over the kitchen table right next to his socks hanging on a laundry rack. Job center. Unpaid bills. Rent two months behind.
You need a label like us he says in the other room to the guy in Kansas City and then a couple of words in my language talking to me, maybe to impress him.
Can´t get to see his kid in a way that would make a normal relationship possible. And the laws are so fucked man.
He´s a hustler, baby and you know it.
later I sink into oblivion on his insanely comfortable black couch. talking about this and that. his kid. the laws. about America. about Europe. the differences. about, when it is time to leave.
and suddenly, like clouds being torn by a ray of light pushing through his attention focuses on this one question. never have i heard him listen as attentively before as I try to explain what it is like to perform music and feel this certain kind of energy flow and exchange.
i can´t explain.
this man is a wreck.
he is a mystery.