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is jumping in
too soon?
is writing about
too unreal?
a touch a look a spoken word
and body gesture
do these rule over our virtual world?
i think
we are longing for our telepathic past
when we had no need for nearness
to be able to send messages
through the unconscious mist
crystalizing into consciousness
reaching us
whereever whenever
i see you
you pull on my heartstrings
like the string around your finger
so many universes
crashing in on us

writing
is what i do
no matter if i am afraid
or antisocial or insane
is what i do
writing

troubling sounds and sights, toujours

so i am making friends in the building i live in. cause i am walking in my kick ass boots. toujours, she says, my neighbor that is. the neighbor whose baby screams like it's being stabbed with needles at two in the morning. i could swear she brings home random children and sacrifices them to some forgotten deities. not kind gods. evil ones. with bloody altars and rusty knives.

as i am walking down the stairs the light goes out. the woman switches on the light again and before i can say "merci" she arrests my smile with a mean ugly scowl. "c'est vous qui marchez avec ... blabla" "oui," i say, not really getting it, still smiling my frozen smile. "hmmph, blabla..." she replies but now i must tell her that je ne comprends a thing, lady. a short ugly bitter woman as i look down on her. she points at my boots. the ones my brother-in-law described as those of a dominatrix, cause of the sound they make. Well, this seems to annoy her.

So here I was trying to understand what the hell this woman wanted from me. Yes, I have noisy boots, so what. Aujourd’hui I asked her, did you hear me today which would be a lie since I was not really walking today, only sitting on my ass fiddling with my pictures, learning, making miniature steps of progress. Like I should cut out a figure onto an already existent background instead of trying to cut and paste little pieces of background and pattern around my head… this is what kept me busy. Really what I should get is a better camera but these cost money. kacke.

I was wearing my nifty red socks with the nubbies on them to keep me from slipping and falling. Makes my step quiet like that of a ninja. Oh, but she says, toujours, all the time she hears it, pointing to the ceiling with her eyes rolling angrily. Pas toujours, I protest. Now I am getting annoyed. Oui, toujours, she mutters as she turns around, merci pour blabla. As I walk past her I’m thinking of the things I should have told her like, oh, madame, or is it mademoiselle? C’est votre bebe screeching toutes les journees et toutes les nuits? Cunt, I’m thinking. but this word I throw around too loosely these days. Lucky for you there’s this language barrier.

On my way to the supermarket all I see is little uglies with bitter faces. Full of hate they want to ruin your day. Completing my little tour of horrors, standing in my path is an open truck full of cow carcasses dangling from iron meat hooks. All we are, too. Meat, walking corpses. These are now driving to their final destination. I do not eat this. I do not need this. I will go mad in this world.

So now I take the boots off consciously. Yet, part of me wants to be Juliette Lewis in the fourth floor when she puts on five pound ankle weights, turns up the volume on her stereo and jump-ropes with extra umph in a neighbor battle of noise. She could have said this nicely is all I’m saying. The good thing about this incident was that I had to speak French. I have been avoiding this. People speak English, even German to me. It was amazing that the words just flew from my bouche. Not yet courent mais stuttering. I’ll show her. I’ll show all y’all.

bite me

oh bite me
i suck at photoshop
cause it's not photoshop at all
still,
now i have fangs
like i've always wanted

just like bela

cake like that

baking a cake has never been so much fun. this was after the friend who makes me feel uneasy left. uneasy friend. nice friend singing songs from the white album. "everyone's got something to hide except me and my monkey..." and that's the crux: he asks direct questions and i am one to wanting to remain silent and private. this old trust issue... and then he is an aries, and me and aries are opposites on the zodiac. makes things difficult. always has. fire and air. one needs the other to explode! i always live through april holding my breath... that's the way it is. c'est comme ça.

my way of confronting is not confronting at all, being indirect, letting gestures speak a thousand words. letting nice words speak the ugly truth. as opposed to others who like to show their love for you with the flames of hellfire.

but back to the cake. ah. stirring and pouring, licking and tasting, waiting patiently for the dough to rise. breaking apart in the center. this one was a smart one. our creation. then we let it burn a little, so as to make it not perfect. there is no true beauty without some mark of imperfection someone once said. so there was room for improvement. this came with your words, love. "we did a good job!" "well done!" "oui, well done, mon amour... i love you... so much." i felt these words deep down in my belly, made me choke...

some nights are made like this.

on a bed of roses i lay

my love brings me flowers
my love kisses me softly
and the world disappears behind his gaze
his velvet hands melt away my obstinance
and i watch him in his sleep
the rapid eye chasing an invisible dream
and i sometimes feel
undeserving of his love

we drove hundreds of miles
fingers dancing, shyly
we walked the russian steppes
stalking our prey
entered the secret gate
where illusions become real
children of an endless canvas
outsmarting the maker
overtaking the painter
awakening from the darkness of my nightmares
there he is whispering my name

i trust you
i touch you
tenderly
you are mine as i am yours

lies

have i been living a lie?
trust is but a word
don't feel it inside
does anyone get me?
i have antisocial tendencies
high on the list
of all kinds of dysfunctions
now who can tell me
what is real?
would i believe you
anyway?

curioser, curioser

coincidently, as my friend kathleen made her way through the drive-in at in-n-out to purchase and devour a cheeseburger before making love to the harry potter boy (in her dreams...) i was chatting with my chéri about the exact same thing, cause he too is a harry potter fan. what is the meaning of all this? pay attention: i own a blue key and my brother put it on the table in front of me. someone is dead. something has been accomplished. something significant which i had ordered to be done in my absence. movies connecting to my days like fortelling visions. must i see harry potter then? i told chéri that we should go to germany to see the goblet overfloweth cause it's a smash hit over there as well. but first we must stop to get a greasy cheeseburger. really, i was joking since i despise cheeseburgers and hp equally. or was i? in a parallel universe, the queen was doing the exact thing. only that my story ended with some sick sexual fantasy involving panties, stockings, and a leash... now, tell me if hp has those things and i will become a devout follower, a convert, only so i can receive the message, another piece to the infinitely a-maze-ing puzzle called my life.

what, i ask you, is the fucking answer?

en hiver, suddenly

there was ice on the grass
this morning
white instead of blades of green
frost
they call it, i think
and slates of frozen water
in the old tin tub
outside the sliding door

winter came
without knocking
and still i need a russian fur hat
and a shawl made of cashmere

here in kashmir
we tell lies
from beneath the ice

eine stunde in berlin

i spent an hour in berlin all because of the buttons on this my new coat. nice, no? can you guess the story?

what a night i spent on the train starting from gare du nord, paris. had to put up with a chinese family chattering and a nerdy bitch reading her harry potter way past midnight. no, do not turn off the extremely bright light that burns holes into everyone's tired skulls, because i am READING! finally i had enough and switched off this devilish source of halogen hell. THANK YOU VERY MUCH, the nerd hissed at me, but i did not care, i needed darkness, sista! all the while the shaky train neared my destination and birth place: the great city of wolfsburg, home of the reichswagen...


thinking i had plenty of time to jump off the train, not wanting to be stuck in the aisle with the loudmouth chinese, i waited til we came to a halt, the vw moon still lighting our way in the still dark city of the working class. i slung my oh so heavy red bag over my shoulder, and pop! goes one of my shiny copper buttons under the bench behind the legs of another sleeping cabinmate. excusez moi, i mutter, while i crawl on the floor in search of my treasure. hah, found it, off i go. now i must hurry a bit, i'm thinking. i rush to the door and it's stuck. this train has been traveling the rails a great many years... and it begins to move again! oh no, i see myself truly jumping off, but not to worry, this door is SHUT! and i'm stuck. and yet, i have my BUTTON, putain! where's the man in uniform who will help me out of this conundrum? a nice man who while telling me i will have to go on with them to bahnhof zoo, berlin to revisit christiane f.'s old haunts, writes on my ticket "passenger fell asleep and missed her station" so i won't have to pay for my ticket back to stinkin' wolfsburg.

turns out bahnhof zoo has been cleaned up. it's freezing cold and the marble tiles on gate four makes me slip and almost fall on my ass. my butt still remembers kissing the bathroom floor a few weeks back at my sister's and is thus more cautious to stay above ground. also i am not so keen on meeting a train from below the rails... carefully i make my way to the information counter. when is my next train home? i ask the cheerful lady. an hour wait. not so bad. but my sister is driving in circles through wolfsburg i wonder. still so foreign in my homeland it takes me a while to figure out the phone booth, which euro to put where. (yes, i'd like to stick it to the harry potter chick!) finally, i reach her on her cellie. this will make a fucking funny ass story. happy to serve! make sure you don't lose that button. stop that train, a button's gone amiss... oui, je sais, i'm a moron. like bob always said, since he couldn't pronounce my name correctly.

whiling away my time, i'm writing this down for future reference. der verhaengnisvolle knopf i call it. later, klaus my brother-in-law suggests i should have taken a tour of berlin, have some coffee at the moevenpick, easy. passt schon, he says. haha!

no traces of the olden days, no ghosts of christiane or david or the others. and i'm in need of a needle... and thread, to sew on that blasted button, dammit!

blog crazy

aaaarrrrgghhhh! how many blogs can i have? and i want more, more, more....thinking of possible screen names i came up with caged, raven's claws, mondsucht, wonderland. there's no end to the possibilities. but then, don't you always get stuck with what you're used to? a name is like the toilet paper you pick up in the public restroom that you just can't shake... i'm so in love!