I make eggs in the morning. I listen to this music. I think of my love and admiration for S.

Then I sit down and eat my eggs. The world is grey outside. And a wave crushes over me. A crying that comes over me and I just let it come. It feels like this is my last meal it feels as if death is inevitable. A strange sensation. What a strange feeling that is. Maybe I have to go through this one more time. Fully aware. I am so confused. I really don´t know. I was so scared of dying these last past weeks. As if it was bound to happen. And of course it is bound to happen, at some point. But the idea of it happening soon is a completely different mind game. Why is this happening? I am afraid that I am merely over dramatizing things. Or not getting at the root of something. Or maybe I am just plain scared and that´s okay. Maybe it is okay. Maybe it is just fear. I wonder what Max and Uli must have gone through.

it´s bitter sweet pity - to feel the stir of genuinity beneath it all. as if there is something waiting. and it´s been waiting for so long. it´s been waiting because you took other roads, deluded yourself and missed your twenties.
the only salvation lies in the consoling thought, that maybe perhaps all these experiences will be worth something one day. maybe i can melt them one day into some grande finale. or some grande something. or nothing. who cares.
it is the point beyond doubts. when doubts occur but do not matter in the same way because you are finding your way down the stairs in the dark, carefully putting one foot after the other, trembling and daring.
that´s the way to go.
to follow your heart.

so i go out, out, out, something is a'callin me. i meander from place to person to place to phone to beer and smokes. i find, on my way out, a person to talk to, another one to fight off. gazes thrown into the room like fragile glass bulbs crashing on the floor.
and then i come home. i take the night bus. i take the night bus to the hotel. i open the book and i read. i read of her loss. how her child was kidnapped and killed. i read about her reasons of publishing her diary and the correspondence relating to the case. and as i read i calm down. i come to the place that was calling in the first place. a strange clarity fills my mind and my heart.
i bow to you anne lindbergh. these are the little seedlings of truth you were hoping would reach hearts to shine a light in the dark.
it is quiet. it is quiet now here. it is okay to be quiet.
it is okay.

sometimes i get the feeling that i have been running, even though there are moments and moments of peace. but sometimes i get the feeling that i have been running. restlessly. away and back and fro. to touch upon this fragile deep memory. to get back in touch with you. to get back in touch with me. to truly feel that what has happened and who i have become now.

maybe it isn´t awkward to go back to this place. maybe it is okay. maybe it is the only saving grace i have to pick up myself where i have let off.

oh god. mazzy star. drawing me into a time vortex that spits me out somewhere on Sunset Blvd in the Holiday Inn (or something like that). The cockroaches on the street, big like lampposts. The dim lights and the Pay4Less in which I hurried barefoot to dry my tears and my fears. Walking around the building multiple times talking to a good friend far away who on the other side of this time vortex has left his place and vanished into obscurity.
who would understand?

and such is it. music that heals. music that breaks walls made of glass separating decades. broken glass. sharp. sharp enough to tear a hole into melancholy blue.
see, maybe it isn´t even that i really care or dare call this feeling love. i once spelled these four letters with awe. they have spilled and left a pool of arbitrary feelings - and an abyss filled with lusting snakes that want to rip me apart and tell me that i am not good enough. it is even pathetic when i write it. because i know it is not true. but what do they care for truth? all they care for is fodder to make them grow and lust more: more guilt! more drama! more this! more that.

growing up has become a lot easier and a lot harder in the same time. things that have taken me years take me only days now. but the canyons have grown wider and the abyss much deeper and the bells keep ringing the name of love.

it´s not all that bad

now that i look back

i can feel the magic

i can sense the spectacularity of it all

and the dancing feet

oh what a great summer

oh what a great summer to be had

the bad news are, that the more I READ about social projects (worldwide) the more I grow impatient and annoyed by that scene. it´s quite the disappointment in many ways, because indeed, the question remains where my passion has gone regarding these issues.

i reckon that it is a simple equation - the more i read the less i am inspired and the more i actually DO the more passion i will feel.

i guess there is no way around doing then. i hope it doesn´t involve so much reading.

not everything is okay
but some things are
i try to put my feet on this ground
so many things that call for fixing
i hope i will manage
i hope i will cope
i hope i can make this
a good road.

selten hat mich jemand so gesehen wie du es beschrieben hast
deine worte trafen genau ins herz
manchmal wünschte ich, dir könnte ich so begegnen
genau so tief

dann sind es aber doch nur vorboten von möglichkeiten die verborgen sind
bis sich jemand verdammt noch mal die mühe macht, sie zu sehen

ich vermisse jemand anderen
aber ich denke an dich
pako ich denke an dich.

sinking

Ich sinke. Sinke. Sinke.
In meiner Brust flattert es und ich verberge.
Verberge deine Augen und dein Lächeln um sie nicht mehr zu sehen.
Darf es nicht sein?
Ich spreche mit ihr und bin verwirrt über die Gründe meines Handelns und Seins.
Den Berg erklimmen wollte ich, doch jetzt sinke ich nur hinein.
Tiefer und Tiefer, Tropfsteinhöhlen, Unterirdische Seen.
Die Kälte lässt mich schrumpfen
Ich bin schon ganz klein.

rage unknown

dear dad

it is not okay that you weren´t there. even when you were there it was rare that you actually were there.
where were wear ware
now it is okay. now I understand. now I can muster the strength.
then it was not okay. the ways that I developed to cope have become patterns. now I am only mad at the patterns. at myself. not at you. I missed the moment to be mad at you. I missed the opportunity to muster all my rage and express it. from me to you.
but rage demands direction. that is why it went somewhere. there was no where so it went to the only one available: towards myself.

dear dad.

it was not okay that you were sick. dealing with pain instead of dealing with me. i am small. i am dependent. i am dependent on you. i had to get sick for you to be there.
first i get sad. then i get pouty. then i resignate. rage never appears. not in my memory anyways.

dear dad,

just three days ago someone led me to this place of rage. i was barely able to touch upon it. i was fucking scared out of my mind. when i felt it, it wasn´t pure. it was mixed with despair and grief and abysmal sobbing. i wanted to rip her face off like a mask. or smash her against the wall. roar in anger like a dragon threatening to destroy her. gobble her up. rip her head off the shoulders and make her appear. make her present. make her mine. make her stay there. make her come to me. make her a real person.

the voices saying it wasn´t all that bad are my rage´s biggest enemies. they handcuff, silence, gag and mask my rage. pull a veil across it and muffle it. suffocate it.
my rage is like a dangerous animal that is said not to exist. it eats my cells and mutes my life force. and because i don´t know it i can´t use it. it uses me.

noch wichtiger, als wer du mir sein kannst, sein wirst oder bist, ist die frage wer ich mir selber sein kann, sein werde, bin, war.
noch wichtiger, als wie tief deine küsse gehen, wie weit du meinen seelengrund berührst oder ihn jemals sehen wirst oder gesehen hast, ist die frage, ob ich mich selber berühren kann so tief.
die träume, wie sie in mir schlummern. wie sie geduldig schlummern. willst du sie nicht? willst du sie nicht spüren? sie werden lassen? dir zeigen lassen, wie und wer du bist und wer du wirst?

noch wichtiger als deine zuneigung, deine anerkennung und dein sehen ist mein sehen, meine zuneigung, meine anerkennung.

warte nicht.

it´s hard to breathe.
i didn´t expect but certainly hoped for this
just not... this uncertainty.

there is no beginning nor ending to this kiss. your lips pressed against my fingers while i watch pillars of air hosting stars way up at the end of the skies. there is no closing movement of lips or the sound of kiss as we know it. it´s just this: an eternity that burns deep and can never be forgotten.
i look at your hands and they speak of a different lover, of a boy who lives in the body of a man who lives in the confinements and the safety of an institution. artist hands these are and i watch them as they flutter and wing through the evening air as you speak, like little birds drawing cryptic patterns into the horizons. there are moments of hesitation when our faces are so easily accessable to each other. it takes nothing but one little intent to make these lips meet. your eyes are full of questions but i prefer your shoulder and my hand on your heart and the gaze into the stars.
you leave me with so many riddles that my heart wants to burst into a wild blossoming.

sometimes I miss you more than anyone
just because i know that talking to you would accelerate this process immensely.
because my questions can´t be naked around other people
because i don´t dare to
because with you i always had the courage to just be
how we explored this world
and this life
and how you, like a bigger brother, would generously tell me about the things you had learned way ahead
i am so scared sometimes and i know i don´t have to be
but it would be easier to just call you and ask you and see

maybe it is true what they say
that you are still around
somewhere, in the clouds
or in the trees that whisper with the wind
or maybe in the water - appu!!! - that is caressing my skin
maybe you are inbetween heart folds or souls
i miss you bro
i miss you.

exploration

gefangen in gedanken, verhangen, gequält im verlangen.
es geht nur mit neugierde. dann ruhe. dann exploration.
es geht nur, mit darunter schauen. suchen. grenzen anfassen. angst rauslassen.
wer ist mir mein gegenüber?
wer ist mir die welt?

this room is finally opening up
i want to crawl deeper into it and lick my wounds
broken everything broken
and it is good to be alone.

yellow moon

it´s only a flimsy, a tiny little repercussion of tremors that quickly subside...
I feel disconnected from this heat
no need

My heart cracks and tears start rolling. Like the pouring rain outside, and it escapes my rationality as to why. It´s just a flight. In the worst case you´ll have to pay a little more... Who cares? Little sobs start bubbling up from underneath the wall.

How can such a small incidence make me so weak inside?

The lady at the check-in point is much nicer than the check-in computer. Instead of paying a change-fee now I am on standby for the next flight. She understands the stress of coming late and traffic due to rain in a city in which rain is rare.

- Will I fail myself again? Fail all deadlines, all things I wanted to do? What is that thing in my head that makes me feel so empty and mushy and muddled? I was supposed to be brilliant.
What is it that I truly love?
What have I done with my precious time?
What am I doing with my days?
Where is my tribe?

I don´t know where this fear comes from
How I became so afraid of losing everyone
Never been afraid of being lonely
Now I am becoming I´m most scared of being

Can´t I just gather all pieces and bits and concentrate for once in my lifetime?
 I am not getting the work done I said I was going to do. Where is the solution? Say no to things I don´t love? Or break through that wall?


I don´t know where this fear comes from
This fear from failing
This fear from letting everyone and myself 
down


It´s growing deep into my soul, making me paralyzed and cold
It´s two steps forwards three steps again.

It feels ridiculous to feel so lost and like such a loser when factually I know that I have a family of friends and that I have created beauty and balance, again and again.
It´s not enough it seems. I am dying inside, just now, in this moment, it seems.

I´ll turn my face against it I won´t run
Courage and belief are my redeems
No man can rescue me it seems.
Because if I don´t follow my heart this time
I´m gonna forget what this life is all about
I´m gonna take that path I´m going in on my own
I´m gonna take that fear and wear it like a crown

it´s funny how in my inward struggles i tend to come to a point in which i look outward and feel this urge to kick into action on a worldly level. is it running away? i feel tired from my own struggles. it feels more right and justifiable to spend time involved with the outer struggles of human and non-human life.
i know that it doesn´t have to be a contradiction.
concentration
dedication.

oh when i hear these songs, i think of you veronica.

there is something about not knowing what the other is going through, that constitutes real drift sand. your thoughts are the sand the undercurrent fears and hopes and trembles are the drift. you feel as if you want to fly away and just drink from the well of forgetting but really you hope for your manifest destiny. unfolding leaves. endless dreams. breathing, breathing, breathe!
nothing will ever be the same again. such is the nature of everything. essentially we remain the same, but the wheel turns and the winds blow and ever new aspects of ourselves show, are revealed, concealed - i long for these lips to be kissed and worshipped and covered with your warmth and care. but i don´t know, i don´t know, i don´t know if they still will be there when i return, if i will still be there, or lost somewhere in the maze of my wondering and search for healing.
i really want to open up like a flower in spring time. let those old leafs of fear drop and nourish the ground. i can´t wait to rise up and use those wings. and once i fly i will know that the drifting sands are nothing but a mirage and the truth will be my way.

the dim hopes revolving around mystical matters are nothing but the shallow peel bound to wither and die as soon as it comes off. this island is magical. i wake from the birds in the early morning hours to a silver white flag dancing in the wind. it is eerily quiet in terms of civilization made noise, i can hear myself breathing.

the volcanic stones ashes speak in the womb of this earth: of olden times, of wrath and love.

lush is the valley.

i am not healed yet.

like water slowly trickeling through cracks in the ceiling, finding its way down to the shore.
I am awakening.
not everything goes the way i wish it would
but: i am here
first things first
and breathing

get a grip

so i write again and ask you if you can help me. but you have so many excuses and in the end you are too busy and you are sorry and thank me for the consideration. i say: it´s all good and may God bless and keep you always. and I feel: I will never see you again.

I am running down on the sand along the beach towards the Pier. The sun is shining on my bare back and I see the mountains carry their secrets and burdens solemnly. I know: I will never see you again and in a way that makes me feel calm and peaceful. It was our time, a long time ago, and now it has gone. We have trespassed into new eons and universes. We will never meet again.

And I remember how I told you once about that song we sang in school and how i was secretly worried that this would become true for us one day as well:

O ye'll tak' the high road, and Ah'll tak' the low (road)

And Ah'll be in Scotlan' afore ye

Fir me an' my true love will ne-er meet again

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomon'.

 

 

And I think it has come to pass and I know it is good.

 

i want to destroy things. sometimes i start with myself.

i love the silence. i love the fucking silence.

there is no reason to be so wasteful with my time. no reason. but i am in the waiting you know. not in the now. so very rarely only so. i am talking way too much. i am puking words. i hate your fucking words. i hate your guts. i hate to puke. i hate... well, nothing really.
juggling nothingness in my right hand while i flip you off with the left hand: i wish i was a bitch.
i wish i was: meaner. you are mean. what do you mean? is that meaningful?

i discover somewhere in my mind a room: you are in it! with someone else. that´s so intriguing. i can´t go there. but i am so intrigued that i know you are in there. that i just know it.

i think i should go dancing now.

and i am not sure if i like niceness at all.

at all

repost from a long time ago

my inner child is coffee

just hit things!

some people are born again, like not only once or twice but really 8 times in a row!
it's not like i want to make fun of them!
but my aunt lived on the streets for about 20 years!
and my grand father was a nazi!
he beat her up once so hard, she was unconscious!
she had to publicly apologize and take back what she said about him in an interview that was taken as a contribution to the documentary and book that was published in Germany about my ex-terrorist uncle!
he is the one of the only ones who got rehabilitated into society. or is that re-integrated? i don't know. he is a good example!
what nobody knows is, that he chews marihuana and robs the worldbank in his mind! it's the last project he has to do to save the world from poverty! he is maybe schizophrenic, maybe it's self therapeutic, who knows! i mean, with marihuana a lot of things seem to be possible!
my other grandfather was an idealist! he died on his way to the outhouse at the age of 85 somewhere in Alaska!
he slipped on the ice that covered the path to the outhouse. it was dark and night and winter. he cuaght a lung infection.
he died in the the hospital and allegedly the last words he uttered were 'just love each other' and 'sophie goes to my second daughter'
his second daughter is my mother and sophie is an old horse.
she got fucked . wait, she got let me look this up, so this old mare was covered by a blind beat up stallion who was with her just for one afternoon. i tell you! a real stallion's penis finds it's way in the dark! it's a truly one eyed monster, in the very sense of the word.
and their offspring was fittingly called 'Miracle' and my aunt, who had a house near the cliffs behind the forest and who walked around naked all day, letting the sesam oil penetrate her skin to make it close to perfect, she showed me a song by Whitney Houston that was called 'Miracle'. She took care of the horses, until her close to perfect self-sufficient loghouse burnt down.
she is part of the flying meditators! a millionaire pays a bunch of TM people every month money (one million every month distributed fairly) to meditate (and hover in the air) for certain philanthropic issues!
another aunt moved to England, leaving the house that my Nazi Grandfather left her, behind. she is taken off the papers now! damnit!
one of my sisters is a scam queen!
the other is in Africa and believes that this family 'adopted' her because she is herself not because of her connections!
it could be true!
oh it better should!
another aunt is a Corporal in the US Army! Her daughter studies at Harvard!
I am a Nanny!


and sometimes I feel I need a dick so you can all suck it

and swallow

ps wouldn't it be nice sometimes to be reborn? with another name, that is

it´s not so much the defiance of stereotypes and the ensuing realms of tenderness speaking to my skin in secrecy, making every cell burst like Japanese cherry blossoms in spring. no, it was much more that moment when your words and eyes told a story of transformation and continuation, of your dealing with your dad´s death, which burst my shell into a thousand pieces: waterfall. because: i saw him dancing. i could feel him dancing. like in that painting. i could feel he was there. i was never alone. and as i was sitting under that ridiculous flower bouquet at the bar smoking your healthy cigarettes, i finally started raining from my eyes. unstoppable. desert rain.

this is a brutal collision between fantasy and reality. sometimes i think i have been like this already as a child. your eyes scrutinizing and gauging: you understand. sometimes paths diverge but then they merge again and i feel safe in the space you stake out for me. when you stake it out for me. sometimes i fall apart, my mind takes a life of its own and i have to submerge and recreate the situation: you understand. your gaze is haunting my waking memories. the way you carefully pronounced these words, giving your insights shape and form. do you hear me? or are you caught entirely in your web of sensations? sometimes we break through and there we are, flaming into the sky.

now the words tumble out of my fingers, leaking from my shattered brain

do i regret? they will never come back. transformed and lost in translation.
lonely we are, wandering across space and time unaware of the circles most of the time
you better be truthfully at peace with your loneliness my friend
you better don´t splinter and crack under the pressure of new encounter
everything is fleeting and everything: always, already here.

everything is okay.
no, really, it is.
the questions remain but still,
i live them
there are things i wish i´d done differently
but in the end, look, how white the snow
how purple the sky
how deep the stars
how tender your smile

türkis ist oft geklebt. zwei risse gehen schon durch meinen stein.
und augen lügen nicht.
vielleicht bilde ich mir alles auch nur ein.
aber augen lügen nicht.
vielleicht meine ich das alles nur.

meine augen lügen nicht.

ein hof, häuserschluchten. die nacht zeichnet wolken wie gischt.
das ein-sam sein bringt ruhendes ahnen
es raunt wie ein leiser wind
: du bist wie ein wetterleuchten. ein luftbote von dem, was zwischen himmel und erde möglich ist.
be-geg-nung. im dir gegenüber Sein leuchte ich sanft
das glühen flüstert mir
es flüstert mir
: morgen ist im dämmern
morgen ist hier.

this takes longer than expected but to no surprise. the repercussions of your touch linger in my mind, every cell seems to remember well, every inch of this room seems to have captured the magic to spill it slowly into the soft slumber of my dreams. i bet i am exaggerating. i just don´t know the limits anymore, maybe everything seems enhanced and bigger than life to me these days. maybe the mediocrity doesn´t register with a starved soul. despite the obligatory doubts i feel perfectly swell: the tides crush in and out and second thoughts appear to no avail: they can´t really perturb my yearning. with a swift move the waves made of sighs and moon beams and fairy tales wash away what doesn´t belong: thy queendom may come.

so i look at his young eyes and the inherent loveliness and tenderness and his soft soul. there is a strength behind this insecurity that i well know. for now, i can´t really reach across the divide - i am still caught in my web of dreams nestled in the memory of a man who may never know who i am.

you walk into the room and i instantly know that i like you. little do i know that we will both enter a reality beyond the stomping feet and wooden floors and smokey rooms and whirling music soon thereafter. when you hold me in your arms i feel small and safe and yet like a woman. your hands do most of the talking and they know all the secrets and stories and wounds. i wonder how it´d be to feel somebody when you´re blind. just close your eyes and you will see. there aren´t really words to complete this story. an encounter so real and beautiful that it defies all distances and what if´s and do not´s and should have´s. it fills my lungs with longing to breathe in and breathe out more intensely. more real. to feel that kind of awareness and appreciation and support. your eyes withstand my depths. you can measure my words with knowledge of the heart. you smile.

maybe that´s what he meant by diving into the grieving process.
your absence suddenly hits me with a force I haven´t known. It isn´t so much the question of how to relate to you beyond the visible yet but more of how to deal with the moment of your passing and wrapping my mind around everything that that entailed.

I am so confused.
So infused with dark blue sadness


The mental structures are such: it is okay to die. It was a beautiful way to die. It was your time. There are great mysteries. I want to relate to the invisible. I want to build bridges

The actual process is:


so FUCKING SAD that it breaks my heart.

Your yearning ripped a hole into my wall of defense. With your hands painting images that were directly taken from dreams I tend to forget in the mornings and your voice expressing a tremble so subtle but yet powerfully substituting lyrics, music and sculptures who had fed my longings oh so well for way too long. Now I am leaking all my wounds and my own yearning my hopes and desires and needs and wants and lacks and everything with you gone. I seek your essence everywhere, yet again, not willing to seek it in its transformed properties as I have for so long. So I have to write and be patient and bear with being thrown back at myself yet again, bear the feeling of utter loneliness in the midst of a storm. So I walk straight, walk the walk. Walk, straight. Walk the walk. Walk straight, patiently. Trusting. Trusting. Trusting. Feeling endlessly blessed for this life and these friends I have found.

Slowly I come back into the middle All these doors - they lead further away. For now I am happy to look for keys for that little dusty door that leads further down into my soul. I know I am connected. I know Joseph was right. Sometimes I have a longing to be gone as well, to have passed the threshold already but this feeling is counterbalanced with feelings of curiosity and joy towards this life in this body under these circumstances. It´s the same ambivalence I feel towards pregnancy and giving birth to a child, - while I actually would welcome it I am totally glad that it hasn´t happened to me as of yet. Same goes for death. Before she embraces me with her dark soft wings I want to sing, sing, sing.