cobble-stoned on buses

i forgot about this part: slipping and sliding in the snow that's melting into slush on the sidewalks. with boots that have not an inkling of traction. this morning i woke up to a whirlwind of snowflakes. finally. i missed christmas in germany and thus the few inches of snow and the winter walk. instead i walked the cobblestoned streets of an ancient northern town. a beautiful town. with nice people saying hello to you in coffee shops. all you had to dodge was the dogshit. not a good thing to drag into someone's house. haha. i remember once going on the bus with a pile of doo under my foot and everyone knew who had caused the stink cause the steps lead straight to me. guilty.

i hated that bus. some left-over from world war one, i presume. in the winter we had to wait for thirty minutes before we could go home and skip school. so of course it would show up twentynine minutes late, sputtering and squeaking with age. inside the icicles were forming on the seats. then it drove slowly for an hour, precariously, leaving a black cloud of burnt fuel in the white blanket on the road. all i remember of german winters is being cold, wearing so many layers my boyfriend always complained about having to peel off me. the last year i spent a winter here before my prolonged hiatus in sunny l.a., i finally found the best solution for my cold feet: moonboots. not too flattering a look but in the end i had warm feet.

but then it was a bit difficult to drive with these. and it was the goddamn bus again. driving my mother's renault 4 down a steep hill on cobblestone i noticed that i no longer had control over the car. at the bottom of this said steep hill i saw a bus, just standing across the intersection. i was nearing disaster and frantically stepped on the brakes. but then the element of size almost caused my demise. size of the vehicle before me, size of the articles on my feet. cause as i push i step on both the brake and the accelerator, speeding toward a crash. then a miracle happens, the bus moves and my little car slips past it, barely...

barely was also the time when i got into the car of a heavily intoxicated stranger who then proceeded to drive about 80 mph in the wrong direction out of town, heading straight for some trees. the slightly less drunk man on the passenger seat reacted only within the last seconds, grabbing the steering wheel, veering the vehicle away from the slender obstacles so that only the rear tire brushed against the trunk. we drove home slowly, limping on three wheels... i've always considered a possibility that one of me died and another me kept on living in a different dimension. or it's like in that bierce story where the guy getting hanged doesn't know it and gets away running across a stream only to realize he didn't when his neck snaps. call me crazy. don't care.

so anyway. i did not fall on my ass. even with these stupid boots that i love so much. but my socks are wet and i hate that...

du

smiling a lot these days. this is how i feel at this moment, receiving your message. wish i had a glass of that kir to celebrate...

i learned about sepia, thanks to you. so i've created a few pictures that way, but unfortunately these will only save as pdf files. arrrgghhh! and these of course will not upload on photobucket. one step forward, two steps back. all i can think about are two things: sex and photoshop. my two passions. ha, i'm so creative in both...

denta claus

i can never decide if i like color better or black and white. i like both so i post both. this was taken yesterday before my love had his tooth pulled. he looks worried. i'm laughing. how mean. now it's christmas and i have to run out into the fog to buy some presents. oh yes, i am one of those frantic last minute shoppers. shame on me. this is how i lose sleep...

just for you

i have the feeling no one ever reads this blog. not that i care. i don't read this blog. i write on three different blogs now. then there's all this going around leaving comments. so i'm busy with this blogging thing. like spreading myself all over the web. my pics as well. so here is another one. i ran out of space on flickr until january. this i would have posted. and i have more. and i need to get in the habit of taking my camera whereever i go so not all my pics are from the same damn four walls. but now with photoshop, do i really need to go out into the real world anymore? love to you who just read this. *kiss*

spotlight

"Beauty is desired in order that it may be befouled; not for its own sake, but for the joy brought by the certainty of profaning it." Georges Bataille


this reminds me of a movie that my friend andrei adores. monica bellucci is raped and severely beaten in a dirty hallway on the way to the subway. her exquisite beauty is destroyed by the hands of her rapist. her face rendered a bloody pulp. i always thought this was the expression of utter disgust at the idea of beauty and the power it has over us. beauty enthralls, enslaves. the befouling of it sets us free of it. or so it seems.

to me, i look for beauty in what is not obvious. you have to search for it, reveal and uncover it. read an image, a word, a sentence, a face. a friend goes down into basements of abandoned places. because of the selective diffusion of light, he says. shining a light on only particulars. accidently. everchanging with the movement of the sun and clouds. movement of the earth. bringing to light parts of what is left unconscious to most. few spots at a time. that return to obscurity soon after but for that moment visible. to the artist's eye. not afraid to see. little beads of consciousness. the most beautiful image freud could create of the unconscious.

so i guess, in the end, even in the thing of beauty what is unseen is the inherent profanity, its inevitable passing, the rot of future times. profaning it means revealing also that which is unseen to most. only to the one not afraid to see. graphic and disturbing. like our nightmares.

i'm a woman

Feminine You scored 46 masculinity and 53 femininity!

You scored high on femininity and low on masculinity. You have a traditionally feminine personality.

My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 18% on masculinity You scored higher than 29% on femininity

Link: The Bem Sex Role Inventory Test written by weirdscience on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

hurting / healing

why do we hurt each other in this way and that? like we need it to live. addicted to pain. setting traps as if we were in canada. digression. indiscretion. exposure. need to feel the deep lacerations of your fingernails. so we let it. inflict. like putting our mouths to the tail pipe to have sweet dreams.

why are we healing each other in more ways than i thought possible? because this is new. the tower is crumbling and all we have is each other. standing on the edge of a toppling world. stars being born and dying all the time. we are brave. i hold you in my hand. trembling. safely.

no more running.

staying.

kissing the mirror

now i know i am a narcissist. but that does not equal self-love, does it. this personality trait sabotages the moments of utter self-worship with times of utter despair and self-loathing. a recipe of extremes, an over-compensation of a lack that is intangible, unnameable. a mechanism that will self-destruct. only hear what i wanna hear, like the echos in the night.

this has a history. in my parents' house hung a full-size mirror smack in the middle of the entrance. when you walked in you saw your image reflecting back to you. a bit like your reflection pushing you right back out the door. but if you stayed, you would walk past it a hundred times a day. to get to your bedroom, back to the kitchen, into the livingroom. your twin always followed you. i took notice of it, yes. each time. my mother would take notice too. there she is, looking at herself in the mirror again! she would say with not just a little sense of sarcasm, or was it ridicule, in her baritone voice. i always felt ashamed, yet couldn't help myself. why the hell was this mirror there then? was i the only one looking at myself? in the bathroom i'd spend long periods of time staring at myself. brushing my hair. hissing through the crack in the door was my sister, oh the princessssss...

an unhealthy sense of self-love created by the shame of it, juxtaposed. one making the other more and more extreme. there is a mirror but don't look into it. you must look pretty but don't be full of yourself. mixed messages confusing my child's mind. now how to untangle it...

is how i feel

The Kiss, Austin 1993, originally uploaded by Liberation30.

wanting to kiss
beneath the flowering of winter blossoms
dancing tightrope without safety
falling falling
into you
depth of darkness
swallow us
bind us
speaking with the breath of night
what i have seen
inside you