THE CURE This is it. You know all the ways, the walls, the places and spaces the windows and doors. Three years of deserts with the well too close to see. As you look up in the sky you see a cloud. On the cloud: me. Riding with the wind. You can take anything you want from me. I give a thousand smiles. For free. And as I dance away beyond the blinding deafening silence of the dunes my origins call me way north into the polar lights. This is: letting go. All the colors I want. All the independence I crave for. The feelings have gone. But you know know the ways and the keys and the doors and the windows and on the wings of that wind I pass through.

mars volta

the widow...

gee i got a bad case of flash back, flesh back, you flashin my heart and mind yet again there is nothing i can say, i know you are far far far away and everything is good the way it is. i know we couldn´t deal with each other now, possibly, maybe, but the olden days are coming to haunt my melancholic wings, floating me back into nothing where we were one.

it´s raining and raining. the sound soothes my soul. reminding me of a story, once told.... Astrell...and the chalk doors painted on the asphalt through which the magician with his cat Aljoscha found their way into her world...
you are pregnant now. this is true. you are headed for an adventure now. it is good.
and i, i remain here, thinking ... when will life show?

nobody said it was easy

So the echoes fade out... There was a busy time, of reading and sharing and experimenting with words. Creating. Alluding. Deconstructing. Reconstructing. Purging my heart.

And as I listen to Coldplay sing my mind wanders back, into forbidden rooms, not sure if I´ll find rotten mysteries or treasures of hearts of gold. You leave me in the blue. The layers I have painted over this picture are not very thick yet. You shine through in your earnesty and all your love and depth. I can´t forget how we loved. I can´t forget how I loved and was loved back. I can´t forget the pain and the bliss, it cuts right through all these colors and particles and locks and walls and wells of forgetting.

I reconnect with old friends and new, and we laugh, we share the good times that are all yours. Voluntarily you denied them to yourself and to me and you have those of your own, I very much hope for that. It will still come back and haunt me, in moments like these, running in circles, nobody said it was easy.... oh it´s such a shame for us to part. nobody said, it was easy.... no one ever said it would be so hard... I am going back to the stars....

I love you, you see. And as much as I try to look into the future and as much as I enjoy my now and my here, I can´t deny that there was so much and still is residing in my heart.

I really am on the other side now. Bridges are burnt and my past.

the lives i haven´t lived. but it is good to remind myself that the beauty i have created with friends has its own value and tells its own stories of time.
however, there will be a day that i take to the road. it may or may not be with likeminded folks. i may be alone. i may be with others. but i will take it to the road.

the dreams in a flurry. you just gotta do what you love. you just really gotta do what you love. and you gotta remind yourself of it every now and then so you don´t let life´s routines take that away from you or leave it up to your demons to decide. your malfunctions. your destructive patterns. they are what they are but they can´t conquer it all.

occasionally i dream of you. and there is a range of missing that kicks in every now and then.
and then there is not one single day i don´t think of you Jo.
and there is not one single day that I don´t long to know.
but such is life. thus i will go. i will go and do what it takes.
it may be like this: follow your passion. and don´t forget what it is about. don´t abandon your ideals entirely. keep them as guiding stars.

you know....

the fear, so neatly wrapped

fear comes in such neat wrappings. i realize that the violence inherent in my actions geared towards myself is nothing but a byproduct of fear. what is this fear? of not getting enough? of letting go? of just being? ideals -replacable in time - come to haunt my soul, torture me, beckon me, beckon me ever so cunningly, with the sweetest possible of voices. if i only attain them, if i reach them, i will be happy. everything will be okay then. reaching them implies that i will have defeated my demons then. oh what a sweet day that will be. today is nothing. today is only worth for striving, violating myself, punishing myself for hindering myself to attain that idea already today. but the ideal is not today. it is tomorrow. and if i catch a glimpse of it, it is ever so shortly and then evades my horizons again. it is slippery as a fish in water. it vanishes when i look at it. because i look at it the wrong way. i look at it as the unattainable. i look at it as something that has worth in itself. a static goal to be reached. yes, the idea, that my demons will have been defeated once i attained that ideal already holds the key in it towards a change: it implies, indirectly, that it is not so much the goal, the finished ideal that matters but the process of defeating the demons. it´s the demons i am so scared of. it is my fear. i look at my slippery ideal in a way that makes it fade away in the very instance i behold it: my way of looking denies existence of this ideal. it denies breathing. pleasure. being. it denies the now. my way of looking strays from the insight that the process in the now matters. it still looks at the ideal as a static achievement. it´s not fluid. it is static. in its static fixation it gains power, power to punish me. power to instill fear inside of me. power to destroy my now. substitute solutions come my way: it is okay where you at they say. be nice to yourself. be okay with where you are now. they are just as static. they deny the growing in the now just as much. the fear has a feast of its own behind the battlefields. no, it is IN the battlefield, rejoicing, clapping hands, devouring my struggles piece by piece. i am hapless and helpless, on my knees. i stab myself in my eyes. in my ears so they bleed. i cough my guts up. i cut deep into my own flesh. i spit into my wounds. i burn hatred into my skin. i wrench my guts. i cut my hands off. i stuff my limbs into my mouth. i turn my insides out. i let my hair fall down. in the midst of destruction i flip back and shower myself with gratifications and recompensations. i blind my wounded eyes with silk cushions. i give myself pleasure and sweets and throbbing words of forgiving and healing. i purify and cleanse myself of evil and hatred. i purge in all the ways i know. offering my back to the demons to come and jump and devour myself yet again. so i can turn my insides out and wail to the moon. fastened to this battlefield of never and ever. of static ideas of being and self. the wrapping is just to divert the attention. not everything that says "future", "good", "resolution" on it, contains that. sometimes it is just fear wrapped in glittering ideas.

i am on a writing binge. i can´t let go of this. it possesses my mind. i feel like i have touched on something that has been sleeping for too long. nearly thought it be impossible to return to this. that love could be something so beautiful. that it doesn´t have to be so painful. that it could be the way we dreamt it. i know that the fact we dreamt and never let it happen was painful in and as of itself but it seems i had even gone past the dreaming stage. there was nothing in me that connected the idea of love to this imagery that you evoked in my soul. for this i thank you one more time. in time with no space to attach to.

my mind gets lost in impossible imagery - words unpacked from dusty places, years after they had been typed into phrases, reaching an altered mind than the one they were addressed to in the first place. have I changed that much? or is it just that I feel a different, less idealized kind of longing burning in my heart nowadays?
i would be happily taking the second dish situation if it were available to me. just for one second. it would change me, of course, alter my mind yet again, transforming my pitiful desires into the original burning one: to be with the one. to be with you who i perceived to be the one. to be intwined in making love with you, lost in space and time, giving birth to new realities, children, lives, orientations, opening doors wide, untold stories unfold, like fresh linen hung to dry in the fresh winds of miracles.
i remember that feeling oh to well. i remember what your words did to me then and i see what they do to me now. and most of all, i remember the moment your words described. so profane and yet so significant. every motion describing patterns i have found in my soul in the mean time - you had them all discerned and ready at first glance. that´s maybe what was most intriguing. amused at the triviality of my own yearning I have to admit that it is in no way unique or special or difficult to decipher - it´s just that it took myself so very long to understand it properly that made your statement so profound to my young mind.
today i unpack these words yet again, lovingly blow the dust off of them and roll them around on my tongue just to taste.

it seems that things are slowing down. i keep coming back to this magnificent gate to see if you have arrived but there is not even a hint of a prenotion, not the slightest silver lining on the horizon. and it is good that way. what would happen, if you came? i would have to give up all the things attached to your idea. you are like a black hole attracting every little piece of emotion and motion of my soul, swallowing it up into the tiniest of imaginable places, throbbing of heavy weight potence and importance gathered in one tiny freckle of imploded energy.
so i drink my coffee with milk foam and continue the path of destruction because destruction is what I need in times like these: getting things done that I am very unwilling to accomplish, papers, scientific research papers while the sun is shining and people are talking about deep spiritual connections and finding "their" way while I sit here in my mind, trying to free myself from that black hole that represents the idea of you, tugging my energy and thought into the void rife with all my longings that I had hoped I had stashed away for good.
Swimming seems like a good idea or being loved, but really, it´s a hard days morning and dooms-day´s rapture has forsaken all of us.

i am incredibly blue
i wish i had an excuse. like, i suffered so much pain. what is this? empty words. music only touches upon the surface of this well. i am my biggest obstacle. yearning wraps raw flesh, the gaping wound is covered with all sorts of ideas dreams and notions.
when i look into the setting sun, covered in dust, to make it red and stark, i remember the sun in thailand and how it shone, crying red tears every day after you left this world. i can´t think properly. i wish this was the sole reason but really it´s a wild mix of longing, sadness and readiness to break open. to be held. in the end.

I am brewing up a storm inside of me.
And during the conversation I can feel how their attention drifts away again and again and I am not sure if it is because i am lacking convincing arguments or because I am a woman. After endless albeit very interesting turns and twists of the verbal road it seems that the need of re-assurance and putting one´s eloquence and indepth thinking to good use has been satisfied and the conversation ebbs into easier topics such as killing pigs and meat in general.
My body feels light and I want to dance. My thoughts are dancing. I am thirsty for more indepth thinking. I am amused by it and strangely intrigued, everytime I experience it. There IS this need and desire inside of me. Where have I gone wrong? Why in the world have I chosen the paths I have chosen? Why in the world have I not chosen other roads? It is a complete mystery to me. Like all these years in LA - why haven´t I created a different life from what i lived then for myself? Why didn´t I go and get myself a damn car and go to Capoiera classes and dance classes. Why didn´t I join the circus or go climbing? I didn´t even engage myself in social work, - the least I would have expected from myself. I ditched all the opportunities my sister wanted me to take. I lived an utterly and unmistakingly different life from anything that had ever occurred to me as an ideal.
The same goes for my course of studies now. While in general I feel good and in the right place, again and again I pose myself questions as to why I haven´t chosen to study law after all, or at least, for heaven´s sake, sociology/politics as a minor.
My interests and enthusiasms are so widely spread out that it is quite scary to look at them considering my age. I don´t want to pull the age card necessarily but it seems to be on my mind more frequently these days. I remember when I read posts by another blogger who blogged about being black and female and 28. It seemed like an issue that would never pertain to me at that point. However, here I am, white, female, 28. and single. like her.
I need to be engaged more often in conversations like these, which I had tonight. Even if that involves me feeling stupid (because I might be in comparison) or disregarded (because I am a woman and not endowed with the kind of background knowledge they had due to their studies). There is this fire burning inside of me that is concerned with general questions.

so this spring was the spring of my life in which i fell in love with a man twice my age, with a gay friend and additionally fell out of love with a perfectly perfect heterosexual man my age. irony, isn´t it.

beneath the skin

your fingers explore my hand. your skin is direct and there. it feels good. it feels like you really see me with your hand.
i keep my eyes closed so i can feel everything. the care, the discovery, the accuracy. your head is pressed against mine. we talk sparsely. he is anxious to get going but your hand keeps with mine. you touch him lovingly and reassuringly now and again. but you are there with me and i can feel it. he knows it. he accepts it. he really wants you. he knows what he is bargaining for. your golden heart radiates warmth. i feel cozy and slow. in the kitchen we talk about that man that i was wishing for while cutting my birthday cake. and how my lesbian roommate said she had wished for a woman while i was cutting and then you said well maybe he will be gay and i turn around and look at you and say, but i already found the perfect gay man. we hug. instantly and it feels good. i remember your fingers on mine. our skin texture works perfectly together. you say with a sigh, sometimes i also wish i wasn´t gay.
he turns away, half way pretending to be offended, half way being hurt. i hurry to try and fix things but in a very very clumsy way. i would have your kids, anyway.
beneath the layers i know
that we know
it is love only.

when you feel down and spent good vibes can really get to you. it´s a common misconception to think that good vibes can make things be good. in the contrary, i think when you feel blue, the blues will you do good.

the guy who never made it

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

one day maybe
we will know
maybe we will know
who we are to each other
then my soul will sing

to sink
sink
sink

into your arms