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

Zombie Town

I guess I am here now, in The City where Scum meets S.C.U.M. Fully aware that indeed this city never sleeps, it's hard to imagine that New York has a worse case of insomnia than I do. The stench of sadness is everywhere around me, I walk around without really looking where I'm heading, kicking the dirt in the street aside, clicking my heels on the pavement, head up strong, I feel like I'm about to choke, I am running out of breath. This can also be a very logical after effect from all the late night frenzies we've been having since I got here. The awful sewer smell, that disgusting water stench filling up my East Village appartment, that horrible stench is everywhere; in the water, in the walls, on the street, on my dirty floor and in my head. That mal'odour must have rubbed of on the skin-deep rats that live here. I think the inhabitants of this city must have evolved or, let's say devolved into having a inferior sense of smell; A small olfactory modality defect to protect themselves from smelling others like them from a far, because us mammals are nothing without instinct, if we can't smell dirt or detect danger from a far with our senses, we'd land rock bottom on the food chain in no time - we would continuously surround ourselves with rotten fruit and shout "this is enticing, the taste of new exotic!" and "messy, but tasty", we would eventually end up miserable, feeling sick and food poisoned, with the inevitable outcome; Death.

Everyone who I've just met here seems dull, nit-witted and deeply Empty. I'm afraid if I would stay here longer their uselessness might rub of on me. I stop to think and realize I'm still here, in this French Cafe on Prince street, listening to this Blonde chick who I've never met, speak. She has been entertaining me to sleep for ten minutes now, her conversation is a non-stop gossip monologue about probably much more interesting people than herself. I interrupt her, force a smile on one corner of my mouth, and I walk home on Avenue A. Happy to be gone from that boring bitch, I am now left with my own thoughts instead of hers. It took me just five seconds to switch back, and think of you. I've been walking alone here all week, sometimes with my beautiful french friend, who's always telling me stories, getting my mind off of you and on to hers. But now I'm walking here alone, and I'm nervous. I'm almost twitching, and I can't seem to focus right. Frantically, I look around on the streets, slightly afraid that I might see you, secretly hoping to bump in to you. I jump up from this brown steel table I'm leaning on every time I hear an accent similar to yours. I think it's you who's talking, run to the window and search hopelessly for you. Shamefully I am always mistaken, you are not there. With only a few blocks between us, I have never felt so far away from you. Every day I wake up smiling at the sun and welcoming another come down in East 4th street. I look in to the mirror at the creature that I've become. I'm absolutely repulsed by the choices I have made that have led me to where I am right now. In this mind-fuck of a city, I live in a perpetual nightmare that goes something like this; I'm trapped in a Lunar Park without doors, surrounded by sharp objects, hysterically loud laughing midgets, happy children running around, eating cotton candy, clowns with sad faces behind their plastered smiles, an ice cream truck passing back and forth playing creepy music, the green neon lights are flashing and everything is bright - I'm stuck in a numb state, totally lost and I keep running circles. I realize I'm stuck in a maze, I'm doomed.

I refuse to enjoy anything or anyone, because my eyes are wildely opened to see the point of it at all, which is absolutely none, added with a side of no satisfaction to go. There is no happiness, there is only a dream state of happiness. A fantasy, or fable if you will. A little tale that people have told us over the years, and we believe the legend, we eat that shit right up because this gives us meaning; So we go and search for it, in every corner, to have some sort of goal in our lives. And if you are lucky, you will find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I have been one of those lucky ones already. It was only a brief moment <<Too Much, Too Soon >>  Now it's all too little, too late. It was a buzz that I will now be stuck chasing for, for ever. A happiness so intense that it is indeed character defining, personality changing and most overwhelming. Life after pure bliss is just not the same. It's like there's an empty shell in your hand, but no bullet. A cigarette without a lighter. I'm contemplating if this is day or night? I'm still in Amsterdam mode, although I've been living during the night these last couple of months. Why can't I wake the fuck up from this dread? Worse became worst when I found out that I was dead to you, I would be one of them now, those zombies without morals, who live here who have nothing to contribute to this detested state of hate we live in. I think I might have caught this sickness too, this flesh eating disease that they all have here. You're the only real person that has affected me, or infected me. I feel a real sickness when I think about that I'm sitting here now, getting fucked up on chemicals, weed and empty purchases to feel better, and you - fucking up your liver to feel nothing - you . are . so . close. The fucking one who gave me this pain can take it away, you're the only one that has any meaning to me, even if I know you don't deserve a blink of the eye, or another word I will write, I know it's all a waste, but let me be that crazy, silly twelve year old right now and tell you that I'm still madly in love with you, sadly. It's not even lovely, to me it's a burden; A physical pain I carry with me every where like a hand bag. I have a hole in my body that is growing rapidly, expanding more every day. Soon that hole is going to grow so big that it will cover my whole body and consume me, I will disappear completely, to become as invisible as I already feel in this city; Let's try to live softly for a while.

Mayhem

"All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed. I still, though, hold on to one single bleak truth: no one is safe, nothing is redeemed. Yet I am blameless. Each model of human behavior must be assumed to have some validity. Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do? My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape." Bret easton ellis - American Psycho

A confession I can relate to.

And if we don't burn together, I'll burn alone.

"Got you. You're mine now. For the rest of the day, week, month, year, life. Have you guessed who I am? Sometimes I think you have. Sometimes when you're standing in a crowd I feel those sultry, dark eyes of yours stop on me. Are you too afraid to come up to me and let me know how you feel? I want to moan and writhe with you and I want to go up to you and kiss your mouth and pull you to me and say "I love you I love you I love you" while stripping. I want you so bad it stings. I want to kill the ugly girls that you're always with. Do you really like those boring, naive, coy, calculating girls or is it just for sex? The seeds of love have taken hold, and if we won't burn together, I'll burn alone." — Bret Easton Ellis (The Rules of Attraction)