T

There is your hand I want to hold.

To give you some warmth.

To give you some energy, to get though the day.

There is a smile on my face for you to see when you need.

Through meditation I can release negativity.

Trust me.

When in pain we try to fuck it away.

With thoughts,

With drugs,

With a lover.

Fuck it right out of our mind.

And what when this is not an option.

Holding it out.

Growing it like a bacteria culture.

Peace with pain.

Life through suffering.

Happiness through insecurity.

Touch the sky.

Punch your god in the face.

Wording

To reflects on yesterday’s observation Today:

The first lesson I learned in my 6th live:
Words have meaning.
The first I learned in my 7th:
They don’t have to make sense.

When I first learned writing,
In socialism,
I was thought to write proper.This was a state priding itself in being a state of farmers and workers.
Where the intelligencia does not thwart the simple people.But in school I was taught in best Prussian style to be quite, to listen, to use words properly.
My father comes from a working class family.
I know their language, their words, their curses.
But that language was ripped out of my blood. Drained.

Later in life, when the workers had fortified their state to be workless,
I taught those western working class kids from immigrant families German words.
Not to drain their language, but to enrich them or so I believed.

In reality they taught me the value of working class language.
The truth of simply speaking what you know.
But when I wrote poetry I went for romantics.
Used words of higher intellect.
Constructed higher meaning.
Hid feelings behind formalities.
That was my 3rd and 4th and 5th live.

Now I write in a language learned later in life.
And only now do I have the freedom to write as I please.
Name feelings as such.And enjoy poetry speaking of dirt.
Writing of fucking around.
Name things as they are.

My words don’t have to make sense anymore.
My writing does not have to achieve a goal anymore.
I don’t seek to impress you anymore.
But if I get you today,
I’m happy.
I got you.
Words.
Language.
Patterns.
Here.

Today

Looking into the mirror in a restroom.
Cats eyes looking out of my face, back at me.
Grey mostly.
A little green a little blue.
Blues in my ears singing at me.
Worldpeace through beer technology.
Said the poet in the 90s.
Not me, though.
Just drunk enough to see the miracles.
Just sleepy enough to think back and wonder.
Where are you now?
At home.
What do you do?
Taking care of your kid.
What do you think.
That I don’t know.

The first lesson I learned in my 6th live:
Words have meaning.
The first I learned in my 7th:
They don’t have to make sense.

Hey little girl in the corner at night waiting to be picked up to go home and study.
I am finally relaxed.

I was checked out today.
We crossed paths across the street. One look up and down.
Twice.
I looked in the reflection of a window there after.
Yeah, I looked good today.

And so you leave.
You fade away.
Silently.
With a smile.

Why is this all so beautiful?

Funeral speech

Hey y’all.
Thank you for coming and celebrating my life and death.
There should be enough alcohol in front of you, to bring some of you closer to god or whomever you may pray to.
It’s been a long time coming. I am sure by the time you hear this, I have lived my 9 cat lives. We surely have laughed and cried a lot. You will have gotten to know me as someone who you can count on, you can be a friend of and who you can meet again and again.
I know that I tried my best to explore you in your feelings and thoughts, have been attracted to you, sometimes more then I could have dared to admit.
This life has been long, perhaps one of my longest. If not in years, then in the time I felt living.

I hope that if you want to cry over me, you will. As always I welcome your emotions. And then laugh out loud, drink and eat and celebrate.
You are here now, which means you were my friend. No matter what I have shared with you or you with me, know that I have valued every second of your presence. You have made me the richest I could be. Thanks to you, I had a live worth living.
No matter how many times, we fought and yelled and hated each other, we could not ignore. Thank you for that.

I hope I had time to say good bye to you in person. I hope I gave you a good long hug when we last met. Now, let me send you one ever lasting hug from beyond the vail.

It is on me now to believe that we will meet again in one life or another. Here on this planet full of green and blue wonders or somewhere else in space.

I am so thankful I met you. Now grab what ever is in front of you and let me lead you to a drink. Thank you, cheers and I love you.

*Writing a speech for my funeral seems more important then writing a will. Most people who know me, should also know that I expect a night long wake with music, loads of drinks and laughter. Like my grandma used to say, don’t cry for someone’s death, celebrate their life and laugh and drink and be merry in their memories. Everything else is just cynical.

Wedding, 2

Don’t thank me.
I have only existed yet.
Watched you.
Loosing it.
Dancing.
In a dark place.
Lighting inviting.
To loose it.
Where I saw you cry.
Where I saw you dance.
Where I saw you leave.
Drunken all over the place.
Perhaps you heard me cuss once.
Lovingly.
Y’all beauty fucks me over.
And I drive you off the edge before you catch yourself.
Ending lonely.
Perhaps longing.
For the peace in in me.

Wedding

Every time I meet someone for the 2nd time, I like to run a social experience.
Just being myself.
And today I made someone smile.
Just being myself.

And we won’t meet again.

I apologise for being so long.

You apologise for moving on.

How is it that we can sleep, but only alone?

Once it was told, we are protected.

But I have fallen out of faith and thought,

Life be damned, it’s never too short.

Also, can I lament my insecurities?

Oh, compassion.

It’s like holding a moth to a flame.

Just to feel the warmth in your voice again.

I answer unexpected.

I don’t expect.

I like to come out, when you may need—someone / me.

And cover your nerves with a cooling summer breeze.

Stakes are always high.

Show me your bad sides.

Perhaps take a leaf out of my book and pin them down in living colour and ink.

Your admittance of thought is freeing.

Your existence is a relieve.

Where is this coming from?
This trust.
This—trust.
Distrust.
No, trust.

The familiarity in this smile of a face.
This glow in your voice and the air in your eyes.

Greatest tenderness felt for’a friend.
It is not physical.
Until it expresses itself.
The form of a word.

Sometimes I want to spray all ya names onto the street.
Not to walk on them, but to jump up high and feel you all there, with me.

The form of a hug.
Sent out.
Received.

Rest.

Rearview

To keep the pain awake,
I dance solo,
And let you watch.

There is a little moon,
Behind clouds above,
In broad daylight.

In my head, I let tears stream down my cheeks.
On my cheeks, I feel their warm saltiness.

But, I let you watch, so I wont cry this time.
All strength is make believe.
I make myself believe!

The wishing, the pushing.
Smiles are real.
Feeding the thoughts, but not to pigs.

Thoughts as streams, don’t have to make sense.
Sensibilities, of hurt, may not be real.
But I should not worry.
But it worries me.
As I think—too much.

I watch those kids at the playground, watching their mothers watching them.
Autumn leaves.
And I still have not asked.
What makes you happy.

A chance on razors edge

Chance as absurdity.
Looking at reality as a mirror image of beauty.
Bang a head on a table to create a melody.
As we do daily anyway.
Embracing pain, I argue, leads to understanding.
Suffering to misery.

Yesterday I wondered what I could tell you if you asked what I may want from you.
Today I can say, try making pain your strong point.
Pain is your shield.
Your bad side is also your beauty.
Every side of you is beautiful.

Perhaps my absolutism will be my downfall.
Possibly my hope in all that beauty is blinding.
I know my dreams have come true.
That much power scares me to dream.

And yet I hope, one day I will hug you and take a little of your pain into me.
Absurdly wishing to pain, yet not to suffer.
Words are chances taken.
Thoughts sharpened by a razor blade.
Lay your head to rest and dream.

Want

What do you want from me? is what we always ask.

You have so much to give, I have so much to take.
But if you want to know what I want from you, I have no answer.

I would love to say: everything!
Your pain, your happiness, your anger, your lust.
But who am I, to share in these, or take them on.
Would I not have to unconditionally love?
Or rather you?
For all this is yours to give.

And would I ever really admit, I all want all this?
So when you ask me, I have no answer.
Perhaps a hug, perhaps a long explanation.
And a multitude of questions.

But if you really need to know, just what I want from you, know this:
Everything you are willing to give.

Get them

I’m so tired of your sexism.
I’m so tired of your xenophobia.
I’m so tired of your otherism.

Why do I call to establish equality?
Why do I push to move forward?

Because I have hope.
Because I believe.
Because I want a better life.
Because I believe in you.

Three on meeting you.

Here is some thing.
I wonder if this makes sense.
It’s in part about someone I admire, who might become a friend.
And about pictures on the screen in front of me, from Hongkong beaming in.

And now where do we go?
Starring forward.
Like cowards.
Screaming, throwing hearts like stones.
Fist first, we cannot look back.
We rather regret, steps taken.
Bathing in pain.
Pain like blood.
Violence is a human condition.
When we hunger we strike.
When we are fed we ignore.
Both in blind bliss.
Balance is the key you carry always visibly.
Like others signs of religion.
For which they are haunted and beaten.

Once I asked a girl who wore a key what it would unlock.
She said her heart.
It felt pathetic, but who am I to judge.

Once I asked a boy who wore a lock and chain, who could unlock it.
A mistress of keys.
Hence not me, and I was sad.

My hearts always open.
I invite pain in.
I invite tenderness in.
These days, those are rare currency.
People too crazy to feel.

Turn to the news and see violence out of despair.
And violence for greed.

Though I shall meet you tomorrow and see what lock matches your key.

———-

Words flow easy tonight.
Faraway friend.
Friend I see soon.
Friend I can hug.
My words have wings tonight.
My hearts filled with their flight.
I know what I know about you as much as I know what I know.
As we have met.
Mind to mind, heart to heart.
My words fly to you tonight,
to keep you warm and away from harm.

————

This is my funny bone.
When I first meet you, I find all the things to like.
As we grow, we find things to dislike and question, but stuff them away.
And later on, if you decide to leave I can pull these out to extinguish the pain.

Over many lives I have honed this skill.
And at the end, when the pain is nothing but ashes, I pull out the fond memories and enjoy to know that I once met you.
Funny, am I not?

This is my funny bone.
When I first meet you, I find all the things to like.
As we grow, we find things to dislike and question, but stuff them away.
And later on, if you decide to leave I can pull these out to extinguish the pain.

Over many lives I have honed this skill.
And at the end, when the pain is nothing but ashes, I pull out the fond memories and enjoy to know that I once met you.
Funny, am I not?

Words flow easy tonight.

Faraway friend.

Friend I see soon.

Friend I can hug.

My words have wings tonight.

My hearts filled with their flight.

I know what I know about you as much as I know what I know.

As we have met.

Mind to mind, heart to heart.

My words fly to you tonight,

to keep you warm and away from harm.

Here is some thing.
I wonder if this makes sense.
It’s in part about someone I admire, who might become a friend.
And about pictures on the screen in front of me, from Hongkong beaming in.

And now, where do we go?
Starring forward.
Like cowards.
Screaming, throwing hearts like stones.
Fist first, we cannot look back.
We rather regret, steps taken.
Bathing in pain.
Pain like blood.

Violence is a human condition.
When we hunger we strike.
When we are fed we ignore.
Both in blind bliss.
Balance is the key, you carry always visibly.
Like others signs of religion.
For which they are haunted and beaten.

Once I asked a girl who wore a key what it would unlock.
She said her heart.
It felt pathetic, but who am I to judge.

Once I asked a boy who wore a lock and chain, who could unlock it.
A mistress of keys.
Hence not me, and I was sad.

My heart’s always open.
I invite pain in.
I invite tenderness in.
These days, those are rare currency.
People too crazy to feel.

Turn to the news and see violence out of despair.
And violence for greed.

Though I shall meet you tomorrow and see what lock matches your key.