my first cut and your projections

They all sound like you. Those London boys on TV. I will never forget, no matter how much I loved the ones after you. Your desert hair, my pain, your music, me loosing and betting on the wrong horse. The better ones joined the q the best thing this night has to offer they called me, it was the night of the nights and nothing is worth less than a has been.  I will never forget the heavens and the battlefields. I did not mature no matter how much you wish for it, for someone to show you the light. I will - I swear - adore no one, will lead no one, will protect or sponsor no one, just be everybody’s muse, but most of all mine. I do not sell sanctuary. I am developing the courage to be hated.

I fell in love tonight, I might fall out of it tomorrow. My body is now. Understand this - and so is yours. 

edit: pic deleted

ps: the first one to tell me I am beautiful will be expelled. the first one who gets it wins my love. virtual and platonic, for a minute,

pps: I have come across the online diary entry of a girl who envied people with cancer because they are so thin. My mother was so adorably skinny before she died. Maybe I could post her pictures as THINSPIRATION? - Seriously fuck off you brain dead idiots! Your blood sugar levels have dropped so low you have fallen into retardation. Hell yeah, I am speaking my mind instead of the ever glorius dont like dont read it.

ppps: yes aria, they had wine at the kaiser's supermarket. best part: i stole it, just for the fun of it.
pppps posting pictures of yourself in underwear post recovery will......................

Break

"I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy (Love!) walks to his own
funeral drest in his shroud"


exerpt from Walt Whitmen's Song of Myself
 

image from the movie "DIVA" by Jean-Jacques Beineix

sry huns, as you might have noticed, I do need a proper break from the instant, the irrelevant, the quotes and endless copies, the soft porn misogynist females on tumblr, the 2-d flowers and the superficial blood, from the world without smells and haptic sensations, I need a break, I need the world, the sacred asphalt world, a world where it hurts, a world where the things we say have other consequences than a like/dislike/ignore, a world where we can be afraid and feel and
Oh I believe! and oh, I am nothing less than a nihilist and I won't let anyone out there convert me into believing nothing, ever!!!! and why do you try? why are you trying so violently to tell me nothing matters, as if this was the gospel? Believe in your nothing but leave me in my universe, it is a  lot harder here. It requires a lot more work than a publish button and a pretty picture I stole without owning the rights. And these Whitman lines above say it better so much better than I ever could. And in the German translation of this poem - believe it or not - sympathy is translated with love.

I am tired of the screen world. 
I am back in the asphalt world.


I 'll be back, I won't forget you, you know who you are.

edit: and i have let myself become almost awfully alone, i guess, but not even those, i would call close realize...

There is London light and airy and Hirst fills the void and I wish I could have lived to be at the pharmacy dating Bret Anderson in his days.

aspartam: the post scriptum

 

saccharin sweet sixteen

Oh dreams, my dreams, when i was sixteen.  i went to a bizarre screening of the even then old film by Peter Sempel, Dandy, and two minutes of it set me on fire. And i wish i could still dream like that without questioning the possibe response - yes i used to paint before artschool. Look at this arm! it borders the ridicule. I still love the picture though. I will never forget the fire while painting it, it is quiete large actually.

It was only two years ago that i saw the movie again, which revisites Candide and learned to appreciate more then those two minutes where Mr. Cave makes his apperance.

I am off to the UK, back to B and off to the UK again (hopefully) by the end of the month. I know i have become so boring, but my actual writing is taking up all the used and active grey matter inside my little head.

"My weariness amazes me/ I’m branded on my feet/ I have no one to meet/and the ancient empty street’s too dead for dreaming."*

*Bob Dylan, of course

I'm going to tell you about a girl. And it’s almost done. It's dark and weird and simple and next to nothing. OK. It’s not very now, but then again the more a generation (whatever that might be) is identified with one single feature, the more likely it is to disappear into the abyss of oblivion. Ever heard of the telephone generation? The TV generation? Ever read any substantial books about it? But maybe we will find yourself online, fragmented and referenced to oblivion. But people will still fall in love die and make music.

Berlin Mauerpark, my sad backyard, looks like the usual burned fall-out ruin. Regardless of my age I am feel (okok...would that be more accurate? u know who you are) far too old to be young, I am feel far too old to do what is demanded, although Berlin asks kindly for forgiveness with its sun and spring. For forgiveness for all these glasses, undercuts, negativity disguised as honesty, rules almost as strict as the those of the super company I have left and the harshest dress codes outside the military. I am an outsider amongst the individuals. Why do I care, People will always fall in love, die and make music.

I am still in exile, roughly 400 pages now, but I am almost done. Then the re-work, re-edit. I hope someone volunteers to be my agent. I have to hand it over. It feels like melted lead dripping all over my skin now. I want to get rid of it. On a happier note, in the meantime you should visit her to cheer up and her and her to read and be stunned and her to look at the world and still find beauty, feel at home and understood, to find that love is possible in hell.

Good night sweet, sweet hearts and don't forget before switching off the lights, "if you close the door, the night will last forever." (VU)

(still from wings of desire, a bit repetitious, i know)

asphalt world

one of the oh so very few writers i really enjoyed has left the building. And, no I am not amused. Hope he did not go down to Severn Bridge...

solar spots

I got a visit from the archives. I knew the song was written for me, what I did not know was that another one existed, a reprise, written three years later. The artist would be bored to death if he would find out that I found out. Or maybe not. But the line between being an inspiration or an obsession was sometimes merely visible. It wasn't me, but his projections. Therefore his work and his alone.
Maybe the muse is a myth, too.

"But how, exactly, does it help you now to know that you, too, as it is said, were once adored?"*
*Quote from: Letter From A Fan, From The Washington Post (April 9, 1994) by Douglas Coupland

PS: I do own a proper cam and I know how to take pictures like 1.089.997.808 others do, too.  But I am in exile, so it’s my mac and me (yeah i know, ws a bit too much posting of my silly photobooth alter ego recently) and the music. the world outside is having better plans anyway. Apologies.

PPS: My English is deteriorating, temporarily, I know. Aria and Cas know why, my two languages are cannibalizing each other. So forgive. me. again.

PPPS: these post scriptum apologies display the subject’s considerable lack of self confidence.

song for a november night

February to mid March is to me what November means to most people. But this helps. I love how they sneak onto the dancefloor, to find their space. Nothing beats being the best dancer when the music is music. Although I have always been just the one eyed queen in the club land of the blind, in that respect. Enjoy.

just for tonight, can i be my image please?

This will be the last variation of the circus freak show girl scene. Promise. 

(In psychology, procrastination refers to the act of replacing high-priority or important actions with tasks of lower priority)