Compass See? You're standing still Me too, because I'm tired. Even though we slept again for half a day last night. Where the day went? You don't know. We're missing a wise granny that can tell us how to move on and why we have to stand still here. We're tired. The day is lost an searching without a compass seems futile. How do you make a compass? I'm too empty to be creative and you're too stubborn for technique. Okay, sweet dreams then and lets hope for something, maybe something for tomorrow.
Friday, May 15, 2015
Today? A part of me thinks that everything that has been done to me can be washed away with a dash of bleach. But I also know that this isn't true. The day before yesterday a toddler stood on my doorstep. He said he was cupid. I looked at him for about three seconds and slammed the door. Yesterday I drew a smile on the bathroom mirror with lipstick just to see how it would look. A part of me thinks that everything that has been done to me can be washed away with a big gulp of vodka. And I also know that this isn't true. But please, don't tell anyone. Stopping is my only other option to continue with something. Maybe not with the here and now, but still. Honestly: You caught me by surprise.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Spilled ink I have experienced it a lot: the death of that what could not die. For a child that's its father. But it can also be: meaning that shelters against the great indifference laying outside and without waiting waits, threatens without threatening; sneaking and trickling like silt water in the one who drowns The book of nature spreads open with the speed of light: the letters turn out to be murky clouds gas and spilled ink Where is God in language? Sometimes I think I can read.
What it is.
