my mind, the bully

we softly sigh in the air
hailing taxi cabs
lonely hands and fingers waving
enjoying when you see me driving with an ungodly speed from
the street you are in
without looking i know that you leave
to other destinations
and places
with patience
and grace and
with people that i know
and don't know

I nick a cigarette from my mothers
pack of wolves
and fire up the urge to
kill time
and spend time with myself
until i remember
that danger lurks
laughing at me
silently and
hysterically
my only bully is me
i've had it,
seriously

I sigh a blue note in the cold air
hailing taxi cabs
a lonely hand and thumb wave
when I think of you
my body waters
my mouth
and my flesh pump
and i'm high when i meet you on time
to spend days with you
and with people that i know
and don't know
and that's okay too.

salt and pepper

I look at the clock
and the clock and the clock
and there's hours and minutes and seconds
and so I run because I forgot how to walk

No one, but one, looks when I'm gone
We are running out of time,
if only they knew
they would run too

It's important to look forward
Here's to the future!
and my fickle head
slows me down
and shakes me
like a salt and pepper shaker
that hangs upside down
losing grain along the way

like you I
dig up my grain
on the road
because no one likes an empty shaker
they make an awful empty sound

good mourning

They are terrifying their good mornings
I mourn my mouths dead hellos,
in the morning
as I delve to the abyss of small talk

knots

There are no words invented yet
that describe the knot of inconvenient confusion
maybe there are, I am just unable 
to put those man invented words in the right order to make a sentence

inadequate, truthfully that word has been on repeat in my head the last couple of days
god i hate that word, inadequate.
it's not even a pretty word to look at
it doesn't flow right, it almost hurt when you use it in a sentence
and it certainly makes you look like a pretentious asshole when you use it

when a writer realizes that he has no idea what to write
because he first has to figure out where to begin
it's time to sit back, look at the ceiling covered in spiderwebs,
worry about cleanin the place he's sitting in,
rather than spending his time writing senseless words in an empty box that no one is ever going to read.

writers block
it's not a block
it's just a little knot in your head that you have to untie
it takes time.

my legs hurt

i am in pain
and i have show it to myself
and the world
let them
know about
my suffering

i feel it just a little
but not enough
tomorrow i will feel it completely

let go
close your eyes
start again

i am not done yet
the punishment always wins

what's the point
nobody listens

I don't even listen
people tell me so.

what they don't know is that i have an archive of words
in my head
sometimes they bother me at night
when the lights are out
and i have given in to the darkness
i hear their words
repeating conversations in my head

nobody listens.
but as a reader who reads between the lines
i heard what you were saying
by just looking at you.

i wish i wasn't invisible.
i'm here
all you have to do is open your eyes

people don't listen
I'd rather be blind than deaf
I'm glad I paid attention when
those nuns taught me how to type blind

I don't need sight
to hear the colorful birds sing in the morning




See me
Recognize me
Indulge me
Record me
Love me
Hurt me
Leave me
Hate me

Don't ignore my flesh
my blood
the cracks in skin
the lines in my face


my legs hurt
my back aches
I have been standing in the
exact same position
like a Rodin statue
at the same place under the concrete tunnel
at the hotel where they charged me triple the amount for a beer
where you left me

I took the elevator
walked through the corridor
slipped my card key in the door
and went to bed

But I never left.

Undo

If you would
untie your laces

You would know what it means
to walk in my shoes

I have blisters.

13 going on 30

I made it this far

thirteen
going
on
thirty
or is it
the other way around

I can't believe I wasted a whole year
on getting wasted
but what's my waste
to the wasted hours spent by a desk clerk

I hope next year I will be a better human
I hope that I won't be as self involved and considerably conceited

It would be nice to have real conversations
and meet people
real ones
hear their words
and their thoughts
and show them
I don't need attention
as much as they do
anymore

so pay attention to this when i say
I want to be able to listen
to hear them preach
to metal machines
building crap in the ground
to the horns of cars
to the cats next door
to beautiful records
and distorted sounds
to my stomach that growls
the knocking on the door
to the bats and owls 
woman's heels clicking on the floor
to the wolf that howls
the cracking of mirrors
and laughing of landlords

I hope I won't be saying the same thing
as I did last year

Making a point

of course
we don't see eye to eye on most points
but I am sure that this hold over me

this spell
this game
this waste of time
this misogynistic masochism of mine

has some point
a certain point
a bigger dot
or even just a small one

that we can both agree on in the end

I want to make sure I am there
when the lines are being drawn

from point A
to point B

A lazy motive

Some morning
Some day
Some place
I will guarantee you
I will write something
Without having to pour myself a drink
Or what you would call "A motive".

Just you wait.
I will surprise you fools
Critics and Non Believers wet your panties in the sink
so we can call it a day

It's not that easy standing by
I know
I have been on stand by for decades.

Substance makes it easier.
It also makes you more simple and hollow
but that is a different chapter all together.

I'm very lazy
and I do not know where to begin
I only know where to end.

Lies.

I wake up at noon on a mean sunday morning

The light cracks in to the room
this yellow blanket is too warm
I throw it off turning around
hand under my pillow
pretending to sleep
as I hear my Mother's shoes clicking on the stairs
walking through the hallway and entering my room

I turn once more when I feel her warm kisses on
my shoulder
my upper arm
my elbow
on my cheek
wake up she says with a big grin on her face

Everything but a grin on my tiresome face
I look old as I brush my hair back to cover my forehead

I wake up at noon on a mean sunday morning
throw off the sauna also known as cover
throw on a sundress
that leans so gently
on the leaning
of my mother's couch

I splash water in my face
and in my belly
I see myself sitting down

I shove my feet in these rundown black boots
that I have worn for more than two years

Mother calls again
and it's starting to bother me

She means well

I go downstairs with my rundown face and I stuff my tired mouth
The catalyst runs

My care takers know what's best for me.

life has taken a quite expected turn for the unfamiliar

At some point in our prepubescent lives you all experience that micro Socrates moment where you stop to think and ask yourself crucial questions about life, it is that little fundamental moment in your life when you really stop to think and get all philosophical. Then a jerk named Society hijacks those thoughts, censors them and takes control. He locks up your sense of reasoning, throws away the key and keeps you busy with all sorts of repetitive activities, persuading you to stop questioning, to blend in as much as possible, advising you to match your fellow inmates as much as possible. Gradually forcing you to live life mindlessly numb without doubt. I call that purposeless. We go on living, working, fucking and breathing, passively agreeing with anything set out for us by others? So call me malfunctioned, ready to be send in for repair work, I have a hard time bowing down to a senseless life without reason,to be terrifically frank, can I honestly just say I still don’t get the punchline of life, or did I miss the memo?

I remember when I didn’t give a damn. I miss those days. Now, I wish I gave a damn and could actually remember what day it is.

I wish I wasn't So Evil.

Short notes on a Ride to Insanity - fire to fury

So I managed to get myself finally to JFK and now I'm waiting in a badly lit hall, investigating the pattern of the gray carpet. I don't know whether to think it's just painful for my eyes or actually mesmerizing, at least the carpet is interesting enough for me to hold my attention, and I catch myself staring at it way too long. The waiting area is filled with too many people that don't want to sit next to each other on blue faux leather chairs, all looking in their papers or on their watches to see if it's boarding time yet. Let's face it, boarding planes is boring. It's just about my least favorite thing to do in the world. I am not a patient person and waiting is therefor an absolute torture for me. Just put me in a room and let me wait for "something" and I would be terrifically bored. Sometimes it is good to be bored, people who say they are never bored, try desperately to be cool and are probably living the uttermost passion-less lives themselves. Boredom makes you think, and thinking gets me in a perfect creative process. When I am too busy I don't really think too much. That's why I need these little torture waiting areas. It makes me think about more fun times, it takes me back on a fantastical voyage in my mind to places I don't think too often about or about people I forgot. It brings me back to the places I walked by without actually noticing where or what I was walking past. This happens not so often, I tend to really soak in my surroundings when I stroll around. But sometimes, when I would get too hung over or have a terrific come down of substances, I would float instead of stroll, and wouldn't pay too much attention to the people in the street or the nice little shops. In that state it is almost like you are wearing an invisibility cloak,  a magical cape that gives you a temporary superpower of being unnoticed. Right now, in the waiting room I look around and I notice it again, that no one really observes anyone. I am in my cloak feeling comfortably numb and unseen. It is the perfect time to recapitulate the last couple of weeks I spent in the most visited city of never land, New York. I feel stressed and tired, and I look at my hands trembling, probably because of a sugar low or because I haven't smoked a cigarette for a couple 'o hours. That little energy I had left before I came here has been ridiculously sucked out of me, and the only thing on my mind now is to get these heavy bags on the plane, and leave to my home-icidal destination Amsterdam, which I sure hope is not going to be my Final Destination - Did you see that movie? I'm flying back to one hundred percent reality, I think. This short trip, where I spent my most of my days in the Lower East Side, has been a four week delirium,  filled with non-stop skulduggery, switching back and forth between classics such as "Girl, Interrupted" and "Single White Female". It's been a continuous fury where I ended up feeling wonderfully lost, and, with an ironic cherry on top; literally losing everything - from my handbag, passport, money, bank cards and two phones - to losing my forceful beating heart, morals, restrictions and the false hope for things to get better. I came here with Great expectations and a full blown desire for life, only to end up living in chaos, self destruction and borderline insanity. I have to hurry, the gates are open and "we are now boarding".

To be continued.

Success and fame lead to a lonely life; A world without love, where a person's reality is altered by the opinions of others, a world of make believe with puppets who are only called to perform if the director says so. I hold the strings and my master holds mine. It is constantly hollow, distant and if you run with it too long it will lead to insanity.

THIS IS NOT SURFACE. THIS IS PAIN. AND THIS IS VERY REAL.

Let the fires of hell come, I would go through them
I will do anything, but what I won't do is go away