this picture is the essence of what I have missed out on.
I remember the night you took me home and just one look and you knew what was happening. you stopped the car, i opened it and threw up into the bushes at the side of the street. not a word to ridicule me or make it funny or anything. you just stopped and helped me. Then one day, weeks prior to my leaving, you told me you´d like to take pictures of my home and me in it, doing what i do, singing, cooking, reading, writing, massaging -whatever. We never made it happen, there was too much going on I guess.
That night you joined me in the jacuzi - Salome left and I felt helpless, naked, unsure what was going to happen. Your lips. So sweet. Like honeydew. I will never forget.
Somethings are bound to happen and somethings we never get. There is this idea of you and I lingering in my mind whenever I run into you - every blue moon that is. And there is so much that divides us, the other girl, beauty, lack of decisiveness. Me knowing, that you and I are not cut out for each other for what I feel I am going for... But you are so beautiful, in your soft voice and your strong shoulders and your flaming into the skies.
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
of course you were right.
intellectual pursuit can´t be all there is. i have been there, you claimed, and it couldn´t help me one bit when i was hanging at the end of my little rope. the only thing powerful enough was faith.
of course i would agree with you. I still don´t know, if you were right though. Would you have come to the end of your rope had you pursued thought consequently enough? if you had doven into it for the love of it?
i don´t know.
in the end, still, i think love matters.
and still, of course, we can´t cast blame and talk bad about intellectuality, about conscious thought. about people pursuing it deeply. it is all necessary. the critical thought, the transcending poem, the word.
i love you
of course we could never be together I say to him. he has all sorts of idea why that is true. sometimes they almost seem like masked insanity. it is a nice challenge but life seems so much more to me. obviously, of course, i could be wrong and i just don´t understand it. maybe i am just not well versed enough to even see why that would matter. but then I remember Jo. and how sharp his knives were and how elevating conversations were with him. and how they never left me feeling i was far beyond him or not worth the conversation. he was genuinly interested. how could he be interested when it wasn´t brilliant thought i was delivering? i want to sharpen my knives. i do, in a way. but Jo knew there was more. and it was beyond words. and while he knew of the value of sharp knives he also knew how to cook.
i don´t want to make it too easy on me. but my intuition usually is right. there is something, and you know it. there is something and it is not quite right. there must be more.
intellectual pursuit can´t be all there is. i have been there, you claimed, and it couldn´t help me one bit when i was hanging at the end of my little rope. the only thing powerful enough was faith.
of course i would agree with you. I still don´t know, if you were right though. Would you have come to the end of your rope had you pursued thought consequently enough? if you had doven into it for the love of it?
i don´t know.
in the end, still, i think love matters.
and still, of course, we can´t cast blame and talk bad about intellectuality, about conscious thought. about people pursuing it deeply. it is all necessary. the critical thought, the transcending poem, the word.
i love you
of course we could never be together I say to him. he has all sorts of idea why that is true. sometimes they almost seem like masked insanity. it is a nice challenge but life seems so much more to me. obviously, of course, i could be wrong and i just don´t understand it. maybe i am just not well versed enough to even see why that would matter. but then I remember Jo. and how sharp his knives were and how elevating conversations were with him. and how they never left me feeling i was far beyond him or not worth the conversation. he was genuinly interested. how could he be interested when it wasn´t brilliant thought i was delivering? i want to sharpen my knives. i do, in a way. but Jo knew there was more. and it was beyond words. and while he knew of the value of sharp knives he also knew how to cook.
i don´t want to make it too easy on me. but my intuition usually is right. there is something, and you know it. there is something and it is not quite right. there must be more.
Sunday, February 06, 2011
his voice sounds a little amused and lenient toward me. i was just saying how it seems to be quite difficult to get to meet you he says, and i am not sure if there is annoyance in his tone or is it amusement or both.
my pulse is up a little and i feel like a 13 year old, squirming inside, a little, his voice knows no walls or nets or borders, it touches my heart directly and unforgivingly. he is way older than me. he is the guy that makes me wish i had been born 20 years before my time. i am balancing along the fine line between soul-mate and inexplicable earthly attraction.
do i have to bury it inside?
silence pervades my soul
my pulse is up a little and i feel like a 13 year old, squirming inside, a little, his voice knows no walls or nets or borders, it touches my heart directly and unforgivingly. he is way older than me. he is the guy that makes me wish i had been born 20 years before my time. i am balancing along the fine line between soul-mate and inexplicable earthly attraction.
do i have to bury it inside?
silence pervades my soul
Saturday, January 29, 2011
it´s easier for me to play/invent songs for OTHER people. for friends. for strangers. in intense situations. i am like a bloodsucker sucking the intensity of my intentions towards a friend or a stranger into my creative pool. i take their imagined situation in to fuel my song. my paintings. there is a dialogue. if it isn´t for someone, it is a dialgoue with a picture i am painting. the imagined. even if it is - and that happens rarely - about my situation, my feelings, my life, i take a step back, create a distance and suck the moment´s intensity in to spill it over my paper. my guitar. my words.
it is easier for me to heal other people, as well. I love doing my work as a massage therapeut, as an amateur counsellor (and many friends cherish that ability of mine), I love putting myself into someone´s shoes and drawing pictures and songs and words for them, create meaning in an otherwise chaotic situation, spill magic into their desolate perspectives and hold them softly when it just needs to rain. I encourage them to feel and express what they feel, to go through the valleys and climb these mountains oh so steep.
it is very rare that I share my own messy pain with them. I do cry in public, surrounded by strangers, hiding behind sunglasses or shielding myself with an aura of aloofness. and when I do share, it is very very much only the surface. when I get massages I don´t cry. I cry afterwards. Even if the therapist says, let it go, I don´t let go. I have always held back that way. Hard to let go. Maybe that´s something I have brought with me. It is strange
what I share often is silly goofing around, spilling my enthusiasm and joy about little and big things in my life, making jokes, playing games, bouncing around, singing songs...telling stories.... telling MANY stories. showing them my awe and enthusiasm about their beauty and all that.
The hardest part of becoming a true artist and a true healer is to go through these doors myself, however. To learn how to share also the dark side of the moon. To accept myself on the losing side. To embrace the weak and the victim inside. To let other´s take control and let my control go when it´s in the way of healing myself.
it is easier for me to heal other people, as well. I love doing my work as a massage therapeut, as an amateur counsellor (and many friends cherish that ability of mine), I love putting myself into someone´s shoes and drawing pictures and songs and words for them, create meaning in an otherwise chaotic situation, spill magic into their desolate perspectives and hold them softly when it just needs to rain. I encourage them to feel and express what they feel, to go through the valleys and climb these mountains oh so steep.
it is very rare that I share my own messy pain with them. I do cry in public, surrounded by strangers, hiding behind sunglasses or shielding myself with an aura of aloofness. and when I do share, it is very very much only the surface. when I get massages I don´t cry. I cry afterwards. Even if the therapist says, let it go, I don´t let go. I have always held back that way. Hard to let go. Maybe that´s something I have brought with me. It is strange
what I share often is silly goofing around, spilling my enthusiasm and joy about little and big things in my life, making jokes, playing games, bouncing around, singing songs...telling stories.... telling MANY stories. showing them my awe and enthusiasm about their beauty and all that.
The hardest part of becoming a true artist and a true healer is to go through these doors myself, however. To learn how to share also the dark side of the moon. To accept myself on the losing side. To embrace the weak and the victim inside. To let other´s take control and let my control go when it´s in the way of healing myself.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
strange now that i have left fb i feel the urge to continue writing on my blogs.
i guess it was never really about any one else but a place to drop something off, in the knowledge of someone else able of viewing and re-experiencing it - or not. It doesn´t really matter even if or how anyone reads or sees anything I put out there, it´s more the fact that this is not my journal that adds an interesting aspect to writing, transforms it, transcends it.
this is a late impossible night. postponing work I ought to do and re-reading old old old mails that make me feel very heavy inside. Sometimes, inbetween, there are moments of lucidtiy and I know it is all good and not everything has been that great.
you see.
i guess it was never really about any one else but a place to drop something off, in the knowledge of someone else able of viewing and re-experiencing it - or not. It doesn´t really matter even if or how anyone reads or sees anything I put out there, it´s more the fact that this is not my journal that adds an interesting aspect to writing, transforms it, transcends it.
this is a late impossible night. postponing work I ought to do and re-reading old old old mails that make me feel very heavy inside. Sometimes, inbetween, there are moments of lucidtiy and I know it is all good and not everything has been that great.
you see.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
oh darkness
there is nothing i can do or that has happened that has successfully put you out of my mind. i can´t forget. not so much even forget, but stop. i have loved you in a way that i haven´t found with anyone. there is nothing i can do about this now, can i?
so many things remind me of you. your way of being with me is still resonating with me. when you shut it off it was walking in salt deserts. my heart´s breaking and my yearnings. there is nothing that can put it into words for me.
i am way past it now, right? it´s very long ago. there is no reason i should still look back. or is it looking into the depths?
i am tired, of you, darkness.
so many things remind me of you. your way of being with me is still resonating with me. when you shut it off it was walking in salt deserts. my heart´s breaking and my yearnings. there is nothing that can put it into words for me.
i am way past it now, right? it´s very long ago. there is no reason i should still look back. or is it looking into the depths?
i am tired, of you, darkness.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
dreams
Melancholy my friend.
You hold your fortress well my friend, on the dark side of the moon.
You hold the balance well my friend, on the dark side of my moon.
Melancholy my friend, you flood my dreams with images of distortion and blue.
Melancholy my friend, have I not been good to you?
My sorrows, who can weigh them but us?
They are nothing against the tall blue sky.
They are everything agains my days.
Boison berry jam and words of his soul. I kneel down now, in front of you all. I am on the living side, lend me a hand. Show me your strength, show me your soul. Alone, I cannot walk this path, lend me a hand, melancholy, my friend, lend me a hand.
You hold your fortress well my friend, on the dark side of the moon.
You hold the balance well my friend, on the dark side of my moon.
Melancholy my friend, you flood my dreams with images of distortion and blue.
Melancholy my friend, have I not been good to you?
My sorrows, who can weigh them but us?
They are nothing against the tall blue sky.
They are everything agains my days.
Boison berry jam and words of his soul. I kneel down now, in front of you all. I am on the living side, lend me a hand. Show me your strength, show me your soul. Alone, I cannot walk this path, lend me a hand, melancholy, my friend, lend me a hand.
Friday, October 22, 2010
i feel something heavy inside. it is almost tangible out here too. lights flashing through my veins. it is impossible to know and i am whirling like a derwish, i wail to the moon inside my mouth, spit it out, spit it out.
lifting the unknown into the fresh cold from within.
music makes it easier. tears find their ways easily, stopping softly before my eyes, creating a sea of floods that one day will break through.
love, oh love, when can i break through. when will the hesitating subside. when will i be free from this stone that is tying me to the grounds. there is no signs on the surface, just a sadder face, a sadder look in the eyes and a mumbling heart.
lifting the unknown into the fresh cold from within.
music makes it easier. tears find their ways easily, stopping softly before my eyes, creating a sea of floods that one day will break through.
love, oh love, when can i break through. when will the hesitating subside. when will i be free from this stone that is tying me to the grounds. there is no signs on the surface, just a sadder face, a sadder look in the eyes and a mumbling heart.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
inner sovereignty it is i feel the distance takes me to a place from which i can smirk at everything passing: i might be very well dead but i am not, i haven´t crossed, i am in the possession of a body and senses, i am still alive.
you show some sort of respect to that, and i like it. i indeed revel in it a wee bit before i feel the pain ebbing in and silences me relentlessly.
you are gone. and it is so impossible, that sometimes i can talk about it just like that but the very actual moment when it happened, when you fell, i will never forget, i will never be able to fully grasp nor understand, it was so sudden and out of the blue, it has changed my life utterly and completely, even though it might not seem so from the outside.
from in here it feels different now. i feel so broken inside, it is almost beautiful. trust me, i would trade it ANY day for the old ways. if you were only still alive. with us. if you hadn´t crossed before my eyes.
people are so utterly self consumed, it is quite funny. i remember that i could be the one asking, touching, reaching out but it is quite difficult to do from the place where i am at right now. i just sit and watch the evening go by.
tears fall down in the cold sunlight there is a moment of pain stabbing in my head and then it is gone.
i will never be the same, and that, certainly, is true for anyone.
you show some sort of respect to that, and i like it. i indeed revel in it a wee bit before i feel the pain ebbing in and silences me relentlessly.
you are gone. and it is so impossible, that sometimes i can talk about it just like that but the very actual moment when it happened, when you fell, i will never forget, i will never be able to fully grasp nor understand, it was so sudden and out of the blue, it has changed my life utterly and completely, even though it might not seem so from the outside.
from in here it feels different now. i feel so broken inside, it is almost beautiful. trust me, i would trade it ANY day for the old ways. if you were only still alive. with us. if you hadn´t crossed before my eyes.
people are so utterly self consumed, it is quite funny. i remember that i could be the one asking, touching, reaching out but it is quite difficult to do from the place where i am at right now. i just sit and watch the evening go by.
tears fall down in the cold sunlight there is a moment of pain stabbing in my head and then it is gone.
i will never be the same, and that, certainly, is true for anyone.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
never entirely sure why we say and do the things we say and do.
it could be clarity in your mind or hidden jealousy, crouching tigers, flying dragons, life to live by.
i understand now that you stopped interpreting. stopped dreaming. stopped weaving visions into the threads of unfolding life.
stories untold. fairy tales ignored. zebras and moonbeams and a circus mind that is running around.
you stopped believing. there is no faith, only resignation. diving into the unknown. without a safety net. just like that. free fall.
love couldn't stop you. you said, it is impossible. you have never resignated before. i have. i have resignated. we can't be together.
she looks at me in distress. that's what he said to me. he doesn't feel that he is worth being loved. what has ever been worth being loved? we don't know anything about that. love is because of the mysteries it unfolds. and enfolds.
we are lying in the gras. it is dry from the hot summer sun but the rolling meadow looks soft like elven-grass and the trees stand tall and hum in the soft breeze their summer songs. we are both topless. she plays with a blade of grass, re-drawing the contures of my body, tickeling my breasts, gazing into the sparsely clouded skies, reading me a book.
strange she says, with you i don't feel the absence of a man. i feel that it is completely and utterly okay, sufficient, i am just happy the way it is. i smile. is that a compliment? or does that mean i have more man-qualities than your other friends? no, no she says. you are just a woman that makes me happy the way it is.
we roll on our stomachs. somebody asks for a lighter. she squints her eyes and talks about life. about nothing in particular. about her friend. her laughter bursts out like colors splashing agains a white wall. her heart-rhythm is strong and beautiful. a dance to be involved in. to listen to. to feel embraced.
i lie on her stomach. her skin is smooth and light. her beautiful curves and the way she gives me a light but warm kiss on the mouth. she is like a sister to me. oh sister, when i come, to lie at your side.
she is de-tangeling herself softly and slowly from the tapestry of her past. her safety. her parents. her upbringing. ready to killing it softly with her song.
she is coming on strong.
i am either the best friend or just a sexual sidekick to men she says, pouting. i think i am not mysterious enough. i smile. i know these exact words. she is more mysterious than she probably will ever know. the layers of her heart and soul, the intricate complexity of her spirit, her feeling, her thinking, her moving in space and time. her smile. her embrace, when she holds me while i cry. the book she bought me just because. the things she says and doesn't say. her bare feet in the sun.
he will come. i say and i hope it is true for the both of us.
meanwhile i lean back and enjoy a perfect summerbreezeday at the lake. with her. naked. in body and soul. freely swinging, back and forth.
it could be clarity in your mind or hidden jealousy, crouching tigers, flying dragons, life to live by.
i understand now that you stopped interpreting. stopped dreaming. stopped weaving visions into the threads of unfolding life.
stories untold. fairy tales ignored. zebras and moonbeams and a circus mind that is running around.
you stopped believing. there is no faith, only resignation. diving into the unknown. without a safety net. just like that. free fall.
love couldn't stop you. you said, it is impossible. you have never resignated before. i have. i have resignated. we can't be together.
she looks at me in distress. that's what he said to me. he doesn't feel that he is worth being loved. what has ever been worth being loved? we don't know anything about that. love is because of the mysteries it unfolds. and enfolds.
we are lying in the gras. it is dry from the hot summer sun but the rolling meadow looks soft like elven-grass and the trees stand tall and hum in the soft breeze their summer songs. we are both topless. she plays with a blade of grass, re-drawing the contures of my body, tickeling my breasts, gazing into the sparsely clouded skies, reading me a book.
strange she says, with you i don't feel the absence of a man. i feel that it is completely and utterly okay, sufficient, i am just happy the way it is. i smile. is that a compliment? or does that mean i have more man-qualities than your other friends? no, no she says. you are just a woman that makes me happy the way it is.
we roll on our stomachs. somebody asks for a lighter. she squints her eyes and talks about life. about nothing in particular. about her friend. her laughter bursts out like colors splashing agains a white wall. her heart-rhythm is strong and beautiful. a dance to be involved in. to listen to. to feel embraced.
i lie on her stomach. her skin is smooth and light. her beautiful curves and the way she gives me a light but warm kiss on the mouth. she is like a sister to me. oh sister, when i come, to lie at your side.
she is de-tangeling herself softly and slowly from the tapestry of her past. her safety. her parents. her upbringing. ready to killing it softly with her song.
she is coming on strong.
i am either the best friend or just a sexual sidekick to men she says, pouting. i think i am not mysterious enough. i smile. i know these exact words. she is more mysterious than she probably will ever know. the layers of her heart and soul, the intricate complexity of her spirit, her feeling, her thinking, her moving in space and time. her smile. her embrace, when she holds me while i cry. the book she bought me just because. the things she says and doesn't say. her bare feet in the sun.
he will come. i say and i hope it is true for the both of us.
meanwhile i lean back and enjoy a perfect summerbreezeday at the lake. with her. naked. in body and soul. freely swinging, back and forth.
Friday, July 02, 2010
passing by
more and more often I have these flashes of images - you walking by and us not recognizing each other at all anymore. in the way we did. when we loved. further and further away you appear from the inside.
i would see you with your wife or your kid even and we'd just pass.
aren't you happy now you ask, we both got what we wanted.
you are married
and i am in Berlin.
i would see you with your wife or your kid even and we'd just pass.
aren't you happy now you ask, we both got what we wanted.
you are married
and i am in Berlin.
Monday, June 28, 2010
ich radelte
und die musik in der nacht brachte bilder
janis joplin
santa monica blvd at night. envisioning you in your car, coming to a halt. asking me to get in. i felt like your bride. my heart was pounding. heavy. quivering.
but no tears yet no well.
dry.
other images in layers
i am sitting at the tree in berlin
at the spree
i see you walk in with your wife your girl on your arm
and you would walk by and we would
never meet
because it was a short time window that had opened
for us to meet
usually i was aware of the fact
that i would still pulsate
in excitement upon
seeing you
entering a room or a party
but that night
was different.
i knew, simply knew,
that we would have never talked.
time differences and spaces
making bubbles and protecting what is
it s good that way
it s just that i am watching
from the outside
i never had the chance to access
that well
of forgetting.
listen as the wind blows
crows disappear at night into the black
black in black
like my hopes.
und die musik in der nacht brachte bilder
janis joplin
santa monica blvd at night. envisioning you in your car, coming to a halt. asking me to get in. i felt like your bride. my heart was pounding. heavy. quivering.
but no tears yet no well.
dry.
other images in layers
i am sitting at the tree in berlin
at the spree
i see you walk in with your wife your girl on your arm
and you would walk by and we would
never meet
because it was a short time window that had opened
for us to meet
usually i was aware of the fact
that i would still pulsate
in excitement upon
seeing you
entering a room or a party
but that night
was different.
i knew, simply knew,
that we would have never talked.
time differences and spaces
making bubbles and protecting what is
it s good that way
it s just that i am watching
from the outside
i never had the chance to access
that well
of forgetting.
listen as the wind blows
crows disappear at night into the black
black in black
like my hopes.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
spa e
the vastness of the other world is consuming my music
or is it just one point, containing it all
the seed to let it grow
the tree into the spiritual world
a ladder to the heavens
a ladder to sweat and hard work
every day
a little bit of will
forget about discipline
it is in the steps
the getting up after falling down
like children
when they learn how to walk they say.
miles davis reveals in a silent way
i am a bit pouty
something my dad said upsetting me
the world has many more problems other than just that
you know it makes me think
the vastness
and the things we do
do they have any value
at all? when they feel good....
i mean, that doesnt' say anything after all.
or is it just one point, containing it all
the seed to let it grow
the tree into the spiritual world
a ladder to the heavens
a ladder to sweat and hard work
every day
a little bit of will
forget about discipline
it is in the steps
the getting up after falling down
like children
when they learn how to walk they say.
miles davis reveals in a silent way
i am a bit pouty
something my dad said upsetting me
the world has many more problems other than just that
you know it makes me think
the vastness
and the things we do
do they have any value
at all? when they feel good....
i mean, that doesnt' say anything after all.
Monday, June 07, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
hope sandoval
the sun is softly crawling through my open balcony door. red, black and white. hope sandoval sings "for the rest of your life" and I fade into blue.
it is, it is, it is a new life.
I look like a buddhist nun almost. hair shaved off. my blue red scarf from India is sighing, hugging my curves.
I am not, I am not, I am not caught in your webs, no, no. There is a big world out there, I know that. My heart has left seedlings all over and blood and velvet tears.
Dreams come to haunt me with horrifying images. Your smile is a faint consolation. I know that she bares your child. Your shield. Your life. She is your wife.
Dead men tell no tales, I hear. Oh, hope, can you let me fly, fly, fly?
I am not fully standing now. Don t really feel the ground. So I must be floating on the wings of now.
Oh bluebird, she is gone. She is gone, so far, to places we can t reach, no, no.
I hang my head and cry to the bandoneon wailing. To the violin crying. To the banjo tickeling my wonders.
I will not think about this now. I will go play with the sun crawling over my floor. Letting the red curtains caress my cheeks, dry them, let the shell tell me of shores unreached and unfathomable. Let the black girl with the curly hair stare into the unknown. There is nothing, nothing, only now.
Ah, hope. Let the trees blossom and spruce. Let me sink into the earth to find roots. It will be summer soon. Straighten your forehead. Straighten your heart. Stretch, stretch. There will be wings.
it is, it is, it is a new life.
I look like a buddhist nun almost. hair shaved off. my blue red scarf from India is sighing, hugging my curves.
I am not, I am not, I am not caught in your webs, no, no. There is a big world out there, I know that. My heart has left seedlings all over and blood and velvet tears.
Dreams come to haunt me with horrifying images. Your smile is a faint consolation. I know that she bares your child. Your shield. Your life. She is your wife.
Dead men tell no tales, I hear. Oh, hope, can you let me fly, fly, fly?
I am not fully standing now. Don t really feel the ground. So I must be floating on the wings of now.
Oh bluebird, she is gone. She is gone, so far, to places we can t reach, no, no.
I hang my head and cry to the bandoneon wailing. To the violin crying. To the banjo tickeling my wonders.
I will not think about this now. I will go play with the sun crawling over my floor. Letting the red curtains caress my cheeks, dry them, let the shell tell me of shores unreached and unfathomable. Let the black girl with the curly hair stare into the unknown. There is nothing, nothing, only now.
Ah, hope. Let the trees blossom and spruce. Let me sink into the earth to find roots. It will be summer soon. Straighten your forehead. Straighten your heart. Stretch, stretch. There will be wings.
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