the dry bite of loneliness

On fictional space or The truth

Candle light, every time I invite him over.

Carefully chosen underwear, always lace. I like them in beige, skin color, maybe with golden details. Or black.

Body washed in water. Private parts with scentless soap, hair with scentless shampoo. I like to smell like myself.

I am careful to clip my nails so as not to injure him, or leave marks.

I let my hair fall free and wear very little and light fabric. Mostly silk and simple cotton, clean cut.

Sometimes I will put a flower in my hair.

Martini Bianco, served on rocks with lime on the balcony, during hot summer nights, such as this one.

Bathtub is ready, lukewarm water to cool us down.

I sit on the balcony, the moon is full, it’s close to midnight, he will soon be here, I am ready. I put a record on, old tunes from the 30s, 40s and 50s. This is my favorite music. Etta James, for example, and her voice perfect in the combination with the small cracking sounds produced by the record player, singing At Last. The music is under my skin, my body already in the mood. I am closing my eyes. Light breeze is caressing me. I can almost feel the fairies sing and hear them fly, dance and feast. My shirt, silk, skin color, with a golden lace collar, is held on with a single button at the bottom of the back of my neck. It is there that I feel his warm breath. The little hairs are highly attentive when the button comes undone and my nipples are met with the fresh summer breeze, instantly eager to cooperate. I am being lifted from my chair, the air around me is changing and then, still with my eyes closed, I am being lowered into water. I lie there, in clear water, protected by black lace of my underwear, lit by the candlelight. I can feel him watching me. My breathing is heavier by the second. My skin calling for attention, yearning for his touch.

Two large hands are gently stripping me free of the lace.

On frustration or Whatever happened to my part?

a meditation on possible future.

When in dessagreement with institution – leave institution.

And so, I need to start looking for a job. But what kind of job do I want to have? Or better, in what kind of labour do I want to transform into money? What kind of money do I want to earn?

I want to earn money with knitting and crocheying.

I want to earn money with writting.

I want to earn money with performing. Do I?

I want to earn money with the food I make.

I can open a petit cafe restaurant. This petit cafe would sell very good cafe, infact it would sell the best one. It would include a huge variety of tea – like rose-buds tea. And creamy hot chocolate. White, dark, milk, with lavander, chilly peppers, ginger or sea salt. I would get all these ingredients from private people from India, Shri Lanka, China, Chile, Argentina, France, Croatia – and yes, I would ship it by plane if necessary. I would also make cakes. Cakes like the fresh Apple Pie I made last night for the DancingKids. All kinds of chocolate-cherry combination cakes. Banana-sweetpotato cake.

I would put flowers on the tables, wooden tables, wooden chairs. I would also serve soup, home made soup. And quiche “Shiran”, and simple sandwiches, and salads, because Katie likes those.

If my friends would feel inspired, I would allow them to make food, too. Specially if they had recipies they simply had to share.

I would develop photographs I made when younger and hang them on the walls. Photos of the sky, photos of cities I visited. Photos of people reading, thinking, singing. Reading – I would have books lying around. Books that I read, but also books that other people read and decided to leave there so other people can read those, too. I would also make space for some arts magazines. Local and worldwide.

Wouldn’t that be a beautiful place? I would also ask friends to make pillows, cups, mugs, cutlery – all that could be made by hand – would be.

Where would this petit cafe be?

In Zagreb? Paris? NewYork? I don’t know.

Where is my place in this world? I don’t know. Because it so obviously is and is NOT here.

Tel Aviv might be a place for my cafe. Or Stockholm.

I am afraid of the local feeling. Is it that I feel that freedom comes with being recognized in the world, traveling around, not having a stable place? Is it fear of Pär not making an effort of comming to Zagreb or Tel Aviv? But whoever said that I will not be able to travel?

Who cares? I wonder. Who gives a damn, anyway?

So I will bake. And make hats.

A meditation on love or What do I think when I think about love

"I'm not interested in how people move; I'm interested in what makes them move.”

Pina Bausch

For the sake of the argument I want to compare love to money. In order to give some away, you need to have access to some, you need to have some. And I would be happy with this if I wouldn't know how (as I see it) the whole secret with money (and it's flow) actually lies in the space of “the financial” - meaning money which does not really exist. So we make money and bet money and sell money that is not physically there.

And I don't even want to go into the belief system of the Money in general - meaning that the whole convention of Money basically depends on OUR mutual agreement that this special, fancy paper actually represents value. Or even HAS value. Owns value?

Still, I base my following theory on the notion of needing to have in order to give away.

What that would mean emotionally is as follows. One needs to have access to love, one needs to have love in order to show love and give love to another.

So where is it that we “have love”?

I believe (and I consciously switch to belief system now) that by finding love towards the Self - one gets in touch with love, one starts to understand it and meet it and grow it.

At this point what I mean with Love towards self is - self-respect, for example.

The moment in which one gives him/herself space to be who one is. Fully and unconditionally.

One stops censoring and editing oneself and learns how to face the world from that point of view.

Generally, at this stage fear presents itself as an obstacle.

Maybe more than why I would ask how do we recognize it but not let it take power upon the state of us?

I would like to present the priority of being honest to the Self before the priority to the SuperEgo or Id (if I borrow on Freud's vocabulary).

This implies work, actually. Work in Self-discovery. Individually. Singularly.

Recognizing Fear and walking, nevertheless.

Making choices that might make us self-conscious, that might make us feel like we are out of control - I want to point out now that the feeling of control itself is WHAT?

What is making us feel that we have control anyway and what is this control?

The feeling of security that comes out of routine?

We are alone, our own masters of everything and no one can influence us?

And is that what we want to be?

Finally, rather that being alone one can be together.

Share Power Collectively.

Find inspiration in each others singularities and use them to move forward, with each-other's personalities paint our present.

.

I highly recommend knitting.

Yours truly.

Manifesto or Manifesto

“1 - In societies dominated by modern conditions of production, life is presented as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived is now receded into a representation.”

Guy Debord, Society of the Spectacle

I am trying to understand one simple thing - it seems as if the most desirable mode of being nowadays is the one of an individual yet when I look around myself, what I notice is people very actively choosing to look exactly like the first person on their right (which tends to be a best friend).

And the question that I wish to pose is - Seriously?

The Society of the Spectacle here comes into the picture as a very significant work in explaining how todays society thinks-feels-acts.

I am pointing at the mode of passivity - consider this - one could basically sit in front of a computer and survive. Yes, one could make money online, one could spend that same money online even faster; the advertisement is right there, taking care that we know what's IN and what NOT; I will not go into that one can stream TV, shows, radio;

and people, we can DOWNLOAD.

So, why bother?

***

It is more and more common that this influences the laziness that is preventing one investigating the self.

I will make a line now starting with words from a friend of mine who noted well when she said that most of the children nowadays see only one image of the naked body - a Playboy naked body. Parents don't get naked in front of their children anymore. Children certainly don't get naked in front of each other.

This implies that it is not very weird after all that people get more and more shy with what their bodies look like because, let's face it, most of us do NOT look like Hugh Jackman.

I will take this notion of shyness a little further by saying that there is this potential that we all carry with us. Most of us never get to fulfill the full potential of our potential - why? - because we are “not sure” we can.

And when was the last time you took a risk?

Any kind of risk?

Yet alone a risk that could leave you embarrassed, standing alone in the middle of a room, looking stupid and sad and confused.

***

I would like to encourage - Quests for the Holy Grails!

And each morning you wake up and search for a Holy Grail that might be a different one that the one yesterday.

I am sure you will be left alone, embarrassed in the middle of a room, looking stupid and sad.

I am equally sure there will be a friend standing next to you, who will start laughing and buy you a beer.

And you will be hurt and wounded and happy and excited and inspired and depressed and an inch away from slicing your heart open and flying in the sky.

And you will feel so alive after every little victory and after every little defeat - because by both you will gain experience, you will meet another part of yourself,

you will take another little step for humanity but a HUGE step for yourself.

Find out who you are and sit on that horse and RIDE YOUR FUCKING LIFE INTO THE SUNSET!

***

That's all I wish to share today.

Gandi

On life or Death

“...all of us came in through the same door...”

Lisa Ekdahl

Silence. Taking a moment to celebrate the dead.

In this moment are we secretly actually taking time to make peace with death. or Death.

Indirectly.

By lighting a candle we say - I know you are somewhere there, waiting for me. And I am OK with that.

In this moment are we so full of life, so inspired that we feel that we are never going to die?

And is this a moment that is so easy to forget about on a regular Monday morning?

How does one not forget - is the ultimate question.

Specially when we do have all the answers.

And still, sometimes we decide to make a compromise.

Why do we compromise?

Why do we compromise our belief and our trust in just being able to be inspired and live life?

Live life that we find a good life deep down in the dusty corners of our soul that we decide to keep dusty because it is easier?

And is it really easier to live by other people's rules and habits?

I find this a constant question that never gets answered, it just becomes more and less important. More important when you feel far away from it and vice versa.

Would I want to live in a utopian world - utopian being my new word of the day - where every body is eager to just be?

Voila.

I will make some pasta now. Thank you very much.

Or life or Death

“...all of us came in through the same door...”

Lisa Ekdahl

Silence. Taking a moment to celebrate the dead.

In this moment are we secretly actually taking time to make peace with death. or Death.

Indirectly.

By lighting a candle we say - I know you are somewhere there, waiting for me. And I am OK with that.

In this moment are we so full of life, so inspired that we feel that we are never going to die?

And is this a moment that is so easy to forget about on a regular Monday morning?

How does one not forget - is the ultimate question.

Specially when we do have all the answers.

And still, sometimes we decide to make a compromise.

Why do we compromise?

Why do we compromise our belief and our trust in just being able to be inspired and live life?

Live life that we find a good life deep down in the dusty corners of our soul that we decide to keep dusty because it is easier?

And is it really easier to live by other people's rules and habits?

I find this a constant question that never gets answered, it just becomes more and less important. More important when you feel far away from it and vice versa.

Would I want to live in a utopian world - utopian being my new word of the day - where every body is eager to just be?

Voila.

I will make some pasta now. Thank you very much.

Still surrendering or The journey to the invisible

“ Viewed from the utmost reaches of space, the earth is no larger than a speck of dust. Remember that the next time you write the word “humanity”. ”

Paul Auster, Travels in the scriptorium

There comes a moment in which you discover that you needn't do anything extra.

This moment, slowly but surely, leads into discovery of the amount of extra you actually perform.

Then you realize that you don't need to do a lot of stuff you THINK makes a difference but actually only makes it more complicated.

And then you become shit scared of this new thing - you don't really know how to approach it.

For a moment you feel super passive, almost as if you are not in CONTROL of your own life. (And one just HAS to be in control, no?)

And then, just about as you are ready to loose your mind and like totally freak out -

a moment of pure beauty unfolds right here and now.

A moment of clarity, like no other.

The answer, glowing like a genuine Holy Grail.

The next thing you know you are gliding.

All looks the same, but somehow sill just a little bit different.

Naturally, you do still see the echo of your habits resonating in the space. The new thing is that you find it very light to forgive yourself and continue gliding.

Possible side-effects:

- one becomes more attentive to people smiling.

- stress stops being a word one recognizes in one's vocabulary

- a general feeling of lightness tends to take over and happiness rests calmly on the bottom of the well, supporting, always there.

- light becomes sparkly

***

I wish to balance this text with a bit of pessimism.

On temptation or Letting go

“The temptation to wait until the perfect situation and the right people are in place before you make your best effort is simply avoidance. Do not wait. Your dedication to the given circumstances right now, will eventually bring you closer to others who share your own belief and commitment.”

Anne Bogart, -and then, you act-

A moment:

Chopsitcks are in place, picking food of the plate and carrying it to the mouth. Chewing occurs, approx. 30 bites per load. Digestion beggins. Paralel with eating, round table small talk. Teachers, classes, relationships, who did what with whom last weekend and how does it effect the community. Back to food, then a couple of laughs. Sounds of plates being put on the bar looking thing, chatter going from louder to softer, information bursting out of peoples mouths. Busy brains, busy bodies. I lift my eyes from the plate, and there you are, looking straight at me from accross the room.

Time stops. Silence occurs. Gravity denied.

And we smile.

A moment:

Walking down the street an image comes, the golden star clip on. Sometimes on the collar, sometimes between buttons.

I realize I am not breathing.

A moment:

Going to sleep, brain burning, screaming and pushing all the desires, longings. Going to sleep, letting all the desires, longings, wishes - letting all of the wishes go. Going to sleep, surrendering to the Big Blue. Almost asleep, brain burning, screaming and pushing all the desires, longings. While I let go.

All the moments. Irresistible.

On Memory

“God, the Almighty, the All-knowing, has misplaced a cup?”

from Spamalot

really, very simply

*

one does need not seek for more of new

really

one simply needs to remember what one already knows/has/owns

because magic is not in the stones the walls are made of, or in the frescoes, or in the golden cup

the magic is in the hearts of the ones who open up the space for it

and allow the flow to support

*

as i said

one simply needs to remember that one already knows that

On understanding or An attention span

To start with another quote by Anne Bogart.

“Ultimately, the role of art is to wake us up. Routine takes the place of life so easily. The senses resign, numbness enters. Our job as artists is to sharpen our perceptual mechanism on a daily basis in order to venture out into the world with the curiosity to receive, perceive and report back. And yet the present culture and overabundance has dulled our perceptual mechanisms enormously. Because of out responsibility to depth-dive and then surface with fresh visions about the human situation, it is critical to find innovative and effective ways to develop observation and discernment.

The US is, at present, culturally starved. Almost everything produced by the commercial arena insults out intelligence: reality TV, fast food and books written for dummies; these are all an overwhelming insult of out perceptual facility. Art, news and entertainment largely reflect the surface rather that what is inside; form rules over content. We tent to judge things by the outside, by what something looks like. We think that we know all about a think because we know what it looks like. In fact we know very little. We have not explored the depths.

...”

It goes on and on and gets better, the best, the bestest!

The question I was posing the other day reflects the situation I find myself in - an artist facing the audience used to Big Brother, PlayStation3, Game Box, X Box and all the other boxes, not to mention Cable TV, facebook and McDonalds that is at least 2 times less expensive that a cheap restaurant anywhere in the world?

And what happens when an art students span of attention and interest equals that of a 15 year old boy who just saw breasts for the first time?!

Will art stay standing (?) - for it seams that since ancient Greece we have been going downhill considering that Euripides staged a play, all of Athens showed up and saw it before they voted on the subject of refugees, in this particular case.

Have no time to finish what I started, at this point.

I leave myself with a question: Since I am obviously not gonna give up on the hope for utopian artists life - how do I get there? In the context of TODAY?

“Perhaps the gift of attention is also a gift of love.”

Anne Bogart, - and then, you act -

It is difficult to support a sentence as strong as Bogarts'.

So much beauty in making the idea live.

***

How does one get to see a smile, a twinkle in the eye, a silly little dance?

I guess one just needs to welcome it and give it time to grow.

And then simply smile back.

“ Most pedestrian movement is prose while dancing is poetry.”

Anne Bogart, taken from “and then, you act - making art in an unpredictable world”

I think one should go with one's heart rather than one's mind.

Do a head stand.

And surrender.

P.

1st of Semptember

“ ... in your kitchen there is a problem

your sink and clogged when we arrived was already

we had some problems !!!

see you ”

an American

Thus one comes back home. The summer has ended and one is ready to commit yet again to another year of wonders. Coming back to life, somehow, everything is the same - yet just a little different.

What is this process that happens during a summer when a years worth of time and experience that has been put on hold now gets to settle down into a person. Add some sun and an occasional party, some old people and some new people and voilà - your person is forever changed.

And one would guess this is a great thing for what would happen once let's say I come back and all has stayed grim and grey, covered in last years frustrations, hardships and tears?! Now, for example, I can see all these as a part of my past, a part of my person, and I do not feel but content of the times past and am looking forward for what is to come. And somehow the feeling of calmness when facing another year when I can be sure now that I will not make old choices but new ones which are going to be slightly wiser than ever before.

And so we begin. A new year of wonders just waiting to be bitten into. Should one feel tempted or ... well, guess tempted is good enough for me. As long as I don't bite into like a sandwich that is like a year old.?!

P.

“Lady Justice wept today.”

Sue Sylvester, Glee

***

We might not be meant to share a love scene.

Ever.

So I decided to imagine one and not let it be just a project of my imagination but make it real by putting it on a blank page that will loose it's innocence by the ink transcribing my thoughts upon it. My thoughts about you, to be exact. Thoughts that call you, my dear, even though you can not understand them from all the noise that happens in the world.

I will make the scene magical, romantic, heartbreakingly erotic because that is the way I would like to be consumed by your simplicity, your heaviness, your smile.

(I can feel your penis entering my anus.)

You make dinner for me so you give me time to relax, to get used to being so close to you, being alone with you. You support my comfort by being interested in me, by smiling at my jokes, keeping the beer flowing. You make me believe you want me to be there. You ask me to stay.

And now I see.

My ignorance? My youth. Can one blame oneself for ones youth?

It breaks my heart nevertheless. Even though it might not have happened the way I am able to see it now, be it the only way I can see it now, through my sorrow and frustration.

You show me to your bed and you stop. Looking at me as if I am standing nude before your eyes. Looking back at you, shivering. My knees are weak with desire.

I feel your fingers sliding down my collar bone. I close my eyes and sigh.

You make time stop

and wait

while you enjoy every inch my skin can offer.

How can I be alone, here, in someone else's bed. Sleep as if everything is fine when fine is as far away as fine can be. Tiredness I feel.

The feelings I have for you are exhausting me.

I let you touch me. I enjoy the attention I receive. I soak it like a sponge that has seen no water in a century, like sand in an hourglass. I have been craving for your touch long after we have finished our numberless cigarettes.

(Penetrating and seeking pleasure.)

On coming back home or How to speak a language no one understands

“I know that we are young and I know that you may love me but I just can't be with you like this anymore.”

Lady GaGa, Alejandro

There's this thing about language. Powerful tool. I don't really think we are aware of the power it holds over us. Really.

By giving us specific vocabulary it gives us means of thinking and grasping ideas. The grammar gives us the possibility of forming these ideas into “communicationable” forms.

More or less complex. Less or more simple.

How do you express the feeling of loneliness?

The feeling so great it inspires ripping of the skin. Ideas of it. Practice of it. Loneliness that makes you sit and look at the people around you and see then as fading images so remotely far away from you. And even if you get the courage to speak the silence, the pressure of silence completely sucks in your voice. Wasted voice, wasted air. Air that could have been the first breath of a new born life. Wasted. Into the (w)hole of loneliness.

How does one find, yet again, the will to carry on? The will to keep living this life and not to give up.

On midnight or The Quest for Peace

Something like walking with the moving water while the wind massages your scalp, hiding in the tiny spaces between the roots of your hair. Your ears melting with the voice of the sparkling river that sings to the moon, which in turn lights up your way. You hear the hymn of the Elves that live high in the treetops.

All this too easy to visualize sitting in my chair. Pondering on imagination while extinguishing my cigarette that I smoked with such pleasure over the glass of Martini. Extra dry. Paganini in the background. Three minutes to midnight. Alone at home. Saturday night.

One minute to midnight.

It is a paradox I embrace. A paradox of need and not giving up – on what? An idea of what I not so much deserve but figure I can find. Somehow it is experience that points out to the possibility of meeting a soul mate – and now that I find myself searching again – I see I know what I want, but this I cannot get on purpose. It is about welcoming it, trusting that it is out there. And I choose to trust. And wait for the magic. Which makes me sit alone tonight.

The frustration I sometimes, or more often than not, in these times of exhaustion, feel, can break my heart into peaces so small that I loose them in the piles of dust that I can find on the floor of my bedroom nowadays. Still I watch my desires and I push them even further. Until I pains me. At which point I choose to laugh and accept the world for what it is.

And at this point I am disappointed in the world since I see that the potential that is there is only realized in the clouds that fly over my head, in the rivers and trees, and the most majestical Sun. But most of the eyes I see around me are empty eyes. Brains that seek strong food and microwave popcorn relationships. Over and done in 15 seconds, extra butter, extra salt.

It is then, late at night, when in the middle of an alcohol rush, confusion and noise, I receive the tiniest kiss high up on my left cheek, just under the eye, that I witness a glimpse of the original magic that I believe in. The magic that has to be there because, even though so many eyes are empty of passion, we are here, living and fighting day by day, hour after hour.

Sixteen minutes past midnight. Drunken neighbors, raised voices, baby in despair.

On releasing or I wish you to do this to me

An intimate hissing sound, with eyes closed, the pleasure of filling ones lungs with air. With fresh summer evening air. Enhancing ones blood with oxygen. To support thought. To support movement. To support life.

Space is created to welcome the volume of air, ribs spreading apart, skin stretching over the torso. Stretching until the point it hurts; a little. A bit. So the pleasure is not taken for granted. Or, one might add, the passion one feels for the moment makes you desire even more, more. More. Like an orgasm you wish would last forever.

When you feel it coming, the moment you know it’s unavoidable – you hold back, anticipate the rush, the explosion – and then release. You let go so completely. And you fall.

Once you see the ground, you jump on top of your fall, and pull, strain, you ride it from your groin into your head. Until it hits. Your lungs filled with the air you don’t let go of.

And then you see the fireworks.

Hold still for a moment... before... you... breathe out.

And release.

To the oblivion so complete it brings tears to your eyes.

On Freedom or Myself

Inexplicable.
The pressure.

For the sake of the argument I ask that we ignore that there is a debate on what is Individual - let´s just take it for granted - for one reason or the other - we think, I think, I am an individual.
With a sense of freedom.
With a sense of justice.
With a sense of personal space.

And this is actually the point I will use against myself in order to try to figure out, to try to convince myself that there is space for everyone.

Comparing?

Big error.

Which comes precisely from my thinking about myself about an individual person that did this to get that - so how come that one who did that ended up with something else. Or with the same thing I ended up with.

What is justice?
Can I understand it?
Probably just as well as I can understand the sense of my "I".

So there is this storm, smothering me. Cutting all the air for me to inhale. I am dying.

Dry as a dead flower.

Courage is the power to let go of familliar.
as stated by Raymond Lindquist


I just wish someone like God could come down and explane me once and for all - how does it all work - so I can stop wasting time in trying to figure it out and just go on with my life.

Call a person on a date.
Make dinner.
Tape my feet so my skin doesn´t burst open the next time I do a run of repertory.


Let the storm pass.
Let the storm pass.
Let the storm pass.

And then all will be ok.

On singularity or the Wonders of a hot summer breeze

“Julia, you are the butter to my bread and the breath to my life. I love you, darling girl.”

Julie&Julia

I feel alone in the world.

Which is clearly over dramatizing the state I find myself in but here I am, alone at home, it’s me and myself, and loads of fun things to do, yet I can’t stop thinking how delightful it would be to feel fingers caressing my skin. Fingers instead of air. The beautiful warm summer air.

I see a field of wild poppy flowers. I am running through that field, with the Sun following every move I make. The joy I feel is pushing little screams of happiness out of my lungs. I am spreading my arms wide open as if to embrace an invisible soul that is there with me. Here, with me. I welcome the kick of adrenalin as I take my shirt of and throw it away into the unknown. I am running towards the river. I am excited, overwhelmed, captured by the rawness of the emotion. I am down to my underwear, running towards the water. And I jump. For a moment, the brief moment I find myself in the air, so completely free – time comes to a stop. And I endeavor in the sensation of weightlessness as I fall. Falling forever. Before hitting the cool freshness of the river. Ever moving flow of clear water. The water that supports me. The water that loves me. The water that holds me in it’s palm and takes me to the ocean and let’s me dissolve into it’s fullness.

I become the ocean.

I become the sea.

The rivers, lakes, ponds.

I evaporate.

And while cool down I am becoming clouds.

I am flying once again.

So completely free.

And then I fall.

Falling forever I am the rain. I feed the soil. I feed the Earth.

I am consumated by flora and fauna.

I am consumated by human kind.

I am being consumated by you.

I am yours.

So completely lost in your existance. While you love me and care for me. While you touch me and pleasure me. While you tear my world apart and put it back together again – I let you. I let you be my king and my queen, my light and my night. My all, my everything, forever.

Until I change my mind.

On falling in love or Falling - in general

“Pick me. Choose me. Love me.”

Grey's Anatomy

It is precisely this moment, after I had a random glass of wine, that makes me want to go there and scream these words into your face, then surrender to the power of your will and make sweet, sweet love for the rest of the years between us; always the years, always the love, always the hours.

I can imagine that this is nothing new in the world of high rated emotion. It is dangerous, unpredictable and all these different, strong adjectives. But what no one can tell you is that it is the same - every time.

To fall in love - maybe this is why the verb FALL is used to describe the feeling. The moment you see it coming, it is like seeing that there is a hole in the road, a huge, black hole, the size of the Universe (for example). The road is marked with signs, flashing symbols, shining arrows pointing in all the different directions - which you see and ignore because what (?) the hormones make you loose any sense of preservation, survival or self-awareness. You just fucking jump.

And then say - shit.

Because it is only when you start falling (for a person) that you realize that you weren't ready. You also realize that your cell is out of battery, you never even had a parachute, and you're so young, you're not ready to jeopardize your existence.

***

So there are all these things going through the brain that is impossible to write about. I am not talking only about insecurity, this special weakness in the knees - and common sense - and the constant desire, but also the pictures of the ideal relationship, all the possibilities of breakfasts in bed, reading in bed, reading on a couch, reading on the terrace, eating on the terrace, eating and cooking, throwing flour at each other while fighting about who is doing the tempura, sharing a bowl of spaghetti in the ridiculous hope of having a “Lady and the Tramp” moment, singing the favorite song while in the shower, making love in the shower, showering before making love, showering after making love, washing teeth together, supporting one another after a hard day - while standing in the kitchen and cooking together before watching bad movies in bed, watching bad movies on the sofa, sharing a cigarette on the balcony after the spaghetti dinner which finally did end just like “Lady and the Tramp”, waking up next to a person, waking up next to the person; lying in bed and receiving a hug and just staying still, forever, feeling your breath caressing my skin and even when the position becomes slightly uncomfortable - I don't move.

***

And when I want to make all these things happen - I remember I have no control.

I am falling.

And I want to scream when the helplessness starts ripping my chest open.

But I don't.

I remember who I am. And where I am going.

And I take another step.

I let go.

Even though it makes me cry a bit.

Because I trust that if it needs me, it will find me. And I will just need to give a little push at the right moment. A little encouragement is all that will be needed.

So I relax and wait for the moment, ready for it to happen, with the little encouragement ready to be given at any given point, at a precisely given point. In time. And space.

On Love or How to survive

“and I don't care if you don't want me, I'm yours right now”

I put a spell on you, by Nina Simone

My heart is standing still in the vacuum of my chest.

Cleaning my ears didn't help.

Even the Sun didn't take away the sorrow.

It is about time. It is about a time. It takes place in a time. And has nothing to do with the space.

Tears are withheld somewhere inside. I can feel them wanting to reach my eyes but I stop them just before. I stop them. Pulling myself together and pushing through one more day. I am waiting for a release.

And I lied about the Sun, it does help a bit.

On trust or How to let go?

“The mind is so crowded with the known, which is the product of thought. The mind is filled with past knowledge, past experience, the whole of memory - which is a part of the brain - it is filled with the known. ... So when the whole mind, including the brain, is empty of the known, then you will use the known when it is necessary, but functioning always from the unknown - from the mind that is free of the known.”

Krishnamurti, the Impossible Question

Letting go of the mind is the most difficult process I have ever wanted to be a part of. The moment you decide to trust (believe?) rather than 'know' your way around is the one you keep coming back to. You need to keep making the choice over and over again. You. Me. Whoever wants to.

A constant fight with a habit of how one has been used to live up to the point of making the choice. That always comes back. Because you learn, you gather experience and you move on. In the curved space space.

And the intensity of the emotion that you come across. Emotion that you put away because they might hurt you. One protects oneself. And when you welcome the emotion, the first time is like a car crash. A beautiful intense emotion comes when least expected. And there is no good or bad, there is just observation, experience, letting go.

When it starts pulling to much you learn how to drop and move on.

And trust that what really needs to be a part of you will bounce back.

We know that we are energy. And we know how energy functions. So it is not so hard to imagine.

It takes a lot of imagination.

And it feels like life is over, you have no more control. You don't live in a box. And at first you have no idea who you are.

Matrix?

But slowly you start to recognize what is and what not. You make choices and you keep reminding yourself. And you sail.

You sail.

I sail.

Sun sails.

A list or Just needing or not

“Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise.”

Sigmund Freud

I know that the Sun came out every day of my life.

I know that even if I learn how to sit on my eyelashes, 2 + 2 will give 4.

I know that Paganini is said to be one of the best violin players humanity has ever known.

I know that I am tired and ignoring it. Still want to read some texts.

I know that politics needs to exist.

I know that nothing really needs to be. We make it that way.

I know that necessary does not have to be the obvious and comfortable.

I know that love...

I know that all the happy families are all alike. Every unhappy family is unhappy in it's own way.

I know that cars tend to have 4 wheels.

I know that we can all agree that green is green - I also know that we don't know if what we all see is the one and the same green.

I know that Earth was considered to be flat for quite some time - and who can blame us for thinking so.

I know that bread and wine have been with us for so long. But will not mention Jesus at this point.

I know that Hiroshima, Nagasaki didn't need to happen.

I know that love...

I know that the Icelandic volcano is very persistent and kicking out ass.

I know that we, as humans, are so very fragile. Even the brain, yes, protected with a bit of skull - not the strongest material, bone.

I know that we all write 2010, but there are like a dozen calendars pointing to a different number.

I know that Nina Simone was one great woman.

I know that I don't really know so much.

I know that what I do know is safely stored is the grey mush in what I call my head. Go figure.

I know that all this is kind of pointless. And that it doesn't make me care less.

I know that it makes me care even more.

I know that we want beauty - no matter what you might think at this point.

I know that frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

I know that there is a lot of people out there who dislike chocolate.

I know that atoms are not the smallest particles, even though I was taught in school they were.

I know that I could go on forever.

I know that I will not because I am tired.

On Waiting or Why does it always rain on me?

“...They pull me back to the present and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.”

A Single Man by Tom Ford

It has been right there

in front of my eyes

my skin wants to Burst with a Rapture o

nly the oldest of the Universe might imagine

Hold me Hold me Hold me

I scream But no body can listen

in this vacuum

of short life expectancy

Can happiness survive the pessimistic logic of the path Life itself is hopping on?

And still.

I believe.

That.

“Someday, he'll come along.”