on the margin of a long night convo

I haven’t written any poem for quite a while, maybe one two months ago. But last night I got into a long music/picture/emotions/thought sharing conversation with someone I just got to know … and the result is :

skins on skin is the best thing ever
said the man on the moon
never afraid to scream to the utter space
just give me another ice cream
or a nice cream
or just someone with a nice skin
to touch
to feel
to never let go
till they freeze on the Moon …

Lyon 2011.jpgand of course she loves Lyon …

 

 

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I will have to leave to find myself, so I can tell you who I really am.

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Missed Connection

I promised myself that I would write about this: not feeling a thing, but a quick reaction, a bit of a blood rush. I somehow felt this would happen, and was wondering that during my recent shopping scavenger hunts I did not run into her in the last three years or so.

But now I did. And I felt cool, with new shoes and bags … I don’t know if she noticed me, but I just pretended that I did not. Went on with my life and then turned around and stalked a bit. And then I called someone else and let the need to follow her go.

It was fun, I felt calm and ok.


Life is a bitch, then you die

Beep Beep Boop. Life is amazing ;]

A couple weeks ago I got back from Europe. It was weird, it was stressful, it was eye opening.

Someone in Canada died. She was also amazing and an eye opener for me.


Tears of Joy

I feel invincible.

Today I had the biggest laugh of my life. At least the biggest burst of laughter in 3 years. 

I have been watching the show of comedian Louis C.K., creatively called Louie, and it is amazing. It is black, dark and foremost raw humor. It is one of the best top quality comedy shows I have seen in my entire life. Maybe some will say I haven’t seen enough and haven’t listened to enough and gone back in time long enough. So lets just  … and I got a call from the boss … [ the word I was looking for was contemporary 

So back on the story, I got a little bit distracted here. 

[ some say I am egocentric and my writing reflects that. Yes. But writing from the first person point of view is the most natural of the storytelling options, including a story line about myself. / first person reference from author Patrick Rothfuss/ . And if I am writing here, I think that is okay. But maybe I should not carry this baggage to the professional aspect of my life. Just most probably maybe not advisable. ] 

So the reason was a sketch about Louie’s marriage and divorce. Not a happy subject. [ NB it was in S04E07 ] Amazing storytelling. The irony, the memory of having the last fuck/intercourse/coitus of their marriage resulting in their first daughter and they ended up having two and only finally divorcing when the second one was three. Just read that sentence again, because I am not re-writing it. And fuck Mark Twain, not really, and his theorem about not having enough time to write shortly, which is absolutely applicable here. I am writing on a whim, on the influence of an outstanding event of my life, which gave me the power to write again. So temporarily fuck Mr Twain. 

I literally held in the starting bubbles of exploding laughter in my throat and ran out of my house. On the way I dropped some of it on my unsuspecting family members, who were in different phases of unorganized sleepiness and getting to bed installations. The reason why I had to hold it back, was an already sleeping [ or at least trying ] brother of mine in the same room. So it was necessary. And they wanted an explanation, which I couldn’t care to provide and didn’t provide on my way back to my room [ which is a section of a room in between the sky [ and sand ] and ground. I had to pee, but I didn’t dare to go down again without an explanation, which was demanded. So I first thought about pissing in a bottle and then writing it down, that later I changed my mind and did go down to use the toilet. I didn’t. I wanted to be true and therefore I made it true. I created the story while it was still formidable. Amazing. The power of creation, just so you can say it did happen and it is accuracy is unquestionable. I had the proof sitting under the table in the company of two other half empty bottles. No one knows what’s really in them, when they see them on the rare occasion when I bring them down to throw them in the garbage can directly. 

Now some people will feel disgusted. And they should. 

So back again. I feel great. I am amidst the ruins of my life, which is my life so it can’t be so bad. 

And now I plan to go downtown and dance. Maybe I will. 

 


Distraction from all what matters

Why are most of our deepest desires labelled as sinful ?

If something is so deeply rooted in us how can it be wrong and bad ?

Is it that we can not guide and aim them in the correct direction or path ?

How can we live then a peaceful and fulfilled life, always longing for things said to be wrong ?

Who is the measure of all things to ascribe them as things not to be done. Committed ?

Since it is committed is it a sin, is it a crime ?

Maybe God should be the only measure, but did not he create us the way we feel ? Or someone else also has an influence on our inner self ? How can we choose ? How can we determine right from wrong ?

The feeling of being lost is unbearable. Then you must find distraction. And of course you find it.

Then all the questions will find you again. It is only a question of time and accuracy.


Troubled late nights

How may you end up in a rickshaw  in the middle of the night is no big mystery. It is only a chain of unplanned events with compelling reasons and long formed habits. You work late and say the words. You end up running like a fool and still miss the last train. Actually at mid distance you realise and accept the fact that you are not going to make it. Then it is just high speed walking.

It is way too late to get on normal, scheduled buses and too early for late night rides. So lets hope for the best and catch a bus on its way to a garage. Hop off at possible hub. But it will not work out. Scream in the night and hitch-hike. Wait for the guy to buy some tp in a huge department store. Listen to his life story. Wait till he returns and delivers the tp to his firm at 0:35 in the morning. Then lets head to downtown. Let’s agree that the work ethic is what’s missing in this country and why it is possible to just leave it all behind.

I don’t even know how it is legal years after signing a contract to add a self-arbitrary rule to it. This is what we call government and people who do not know their law and rights. Anyhow, shut all the places down after midnight. All day, everyday. I should check if its still in place. District 5 … go for it … to hell. At this point you have to think and try to remember the map and locations of possible party places. It is Hard but good background music is inspiring. Then you may ask some strangers for a piece of advice. You get it and at a whim you are sitting but still moving.

It is a Rickshaw. And music is blasting in the background. Cab drivers, nightlife party-goers and scattered thoughts accompany you on the way. You pay with your hunger, the only thing which stays with you after an empty pocket. But it totally worth it.

Then you may stay to chat with New Zealanders, Aussies and Germans. Anyway you only wanted to dance …

 

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