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.