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.

Enough to laugh

I have run out of the will to be negative.

I have run out of sadness.

Replaced with a shallow happiness at times.

Replaced with anger other times.

But I am resolved to loose the negativity.

All the years I have suffered have neither been lost nor won.

Just as I carry no secrets of my own, I won’t just carry pessimism.

The world is ending.

Let’s dance.

Nazis in the streets.

Let’s laugh at them.

Fighting?

Can’t yell, if I just leave it.

Breaking patterns.

I have had enough.

This time I laugh.

Silence is too loud in my ears.

My laughter is what makes me beautiful!

Mr. Robot

It’s not what you think.
But what is it, then?

Wanting. Lust.
It totally wracks me.
But the beer sucks me in and pours words out.
When the drugs work.

When she is honest.
The moment she tells me, she’s crazy too.
Truly understanding.

There is a lot more crazy, where that came from.
And I want all of it.

I continue to hide in plain sight.

Out of memory

Banging out a line.
Seeing through your dark words.
Accepting your stance.
Touching your mind.

Everything disintegrates.
Dust to flame.
Ashes to fire.

Crossing your lines, past you, out.
Lines you did not know you have.
I cross them.
To regret.
And smile.

My heat.
I melt you.
Manage to piss you off with existence.

When you say ask me anything.
Do you expect to be asked everything?

I don’t come for you.
I was already here.
Wondering if you’d arrive.

Is this too good?
Is this too much?

We can only guess.
Let’s have faith.
There is living beyond our life.

HK

Tonight people are dancing.

Standing in poses.

Glorious.

Beautifully free and bold.

In this place which will not support.

A stance of freedom.

And we say collectively:

Fuck off.

Friend

I cannot express this pain in me.
The other day a good friend of mine texted me:
Yeah I know : you have seen a lot of shit in your life/
This meant so much to me.
It means so much, to have this validation.

A validation that is hardly ever given, despite talking about my life so openly, so often.
It started with pushes and punches as a child from an opposition family with a priest as father in East Germany.
Continuing as a the East German Boy in West Berlin schools, being abused and beaten.
Surviving rape and sexual violence.
Running from and fighting with nazis as a goth punk.
And now being yelled and spit at as a foreigner in japan.

My pain is deep.
My fear is deeper.
For my mixed race children.
For their environmentally unstable future.
And I am not even considering my inner demons.
Survival is a miracle.

I love every moment I live.
Every word I can share with friends and loved ones.
Pain is endless and ignorance a luxury I will never have.
But I am convincing my self to laugh when I cannot cry.
Thank you, friend, for sticking with me and sharing your thoughts, feelings.
For giving me strength.
Your embrace and trust means the world, my life to me.
Thank you, friend, for being.

The dust has settled.

The drama ended.

Now I recognise you as a tragic figure.

This is not a bad thing.

It sparks sympathy.

If one day I can contribute to your happiness;
If one day I can cut away a little of your pain;
If one day I can share a smile with you;
If one day your tears will free you;
If one day I can help you lift yourself a little higher;
If one day you feel a little freer,
Then I shall be a friend.

Stakes is High.

I am not.

Just sleepy.

Coffee dripping.

Money singing.

Time wasting.

But stakes is high.

With eyes like this, I have never seen before.

At an age where life is somewhere between hard and core.

A core undiscoverable below layers of lived experiences.

An expression on their face that makes you wonder: has this face ever been touched with tenderness?

But you look closer and see the smile behind tired eyes.

Consider a title, see a cycle

Where to start?
Words have become slow, thoughts like gummy. Too many days off, too much sitting at desks.
The imaginary you has evaporated, melted to become everyone again. Now I need to walk the streets in search of inspiration.
Taking in the faces, the ages, the genders, the colours. Bold heads and make up in sunshine.
The summer finally turns to autumn, but the leaves are still too green or too sick. Only some lips have turned red.

Marketplaces appear wide open, but I’m just visiting. As ever. Watching goods. Looking for depths. Following short rabbit holes, but the rabbits are out to party. No mice even.

No mood for poetry here. Perhaps I have soaked it all up already. Even traffic lights won’t work in my favour.

“Babe you got this” she has written on her t-shirt pushing a baby car. Making this a visual diary again. And people are more interesting then streets when I walk alone.
The trousers get longer, but skirts are still short, now with tights added. Is it for the offices and shops that are still far to cold? The heat is still up out here. Thirty degrees in September still.
The kids march on Fridays for the future, but not in japan. No future here. A whole country in punk mode. But the curry still smells great. My belly’s filled on oatmeal though.

I feel tired after a good nights sleep, longing for a shoulder to rest my head on. The radio proclaims: millions people need loving. Though, loving still is a good too expensive for most. Passing a couple holding hands as these words fall on the page. That, after all, is something.
Words falling on a page after pressing buttons on Glas.

I look forward to something that I know is coming, but I cannot tell what it will be. Just another something, another someone. A view, a sight, a conversation, a thing.

Water for given for free and the delivery man is not Japanese. We look at each other as we pass. Some do. I look up, offer a glance and look down again, to hammer out the next words that come to my mind.

A city bakery coming next year. In February. It’s so long away still, already advertised. And here an older man, in his small veggie and fruits shop, talking to his missus, cigarette hanging out his mouth.
I had really hoped I would not have to fight that addiction again. But here I am, fighting. A winning war, a loosing battle. First world wars: on nicotine and sugar.

Wow, a Smart. That might just be about the 3rd that I have seen in this country in 12 years.

Lovely, small side streets. They are more attractive when someone is next to you. When you see them from the sides of your eyes and chat over them.

I just love this. My daughters favourite flower. Is it still? I should ask her tonight. If I remember. Or when she is old enough to have a communications device. Does my son have a flower he likes? Yet?

Thinking of my glasses as jewellery. I don’t wear much else consistently. A ring maybe. My wedding rings from 1925 and does not fit on my fingers anymore.

Circular logic. A stoned circuit. I wonder if AI’s will be interested in drugs. Every other living thing seems to enjoy getting high. Apparently the fact of living is too much to take or rather, taken positively, everything always likes to relax, expand. Making our senses tingle. I smell first cheese, then coffee. My eyes notice lush green and people. And I think back to the romantics. Rich and healthy enough to walk Germany and dream of Europe.

Shopkeeper looking with care at the shoes in her window. I am left to wonder if these words will satisfy anyone’s sensibilities.
If no one reads it, is it still written? If no one likes it, does it still have meaning?

I will leave you with that, melting in the sun, at a traffic light that again just turned red as i arrived.

Rallying cry

I have looked at the weather report today.
It’s summer like, in October.
Even for Tokyo that’s unreal.
Over my breakfast it dawns on me fast.
Soon our rice crops will not grow anymore.

The toxicity of our world is becoming apparent more and more.
I grew up with acid rain.
I have seen so many dead trees.
And my children will see waste lands.
This will be a lasting sin.
And now, just now, I will allow myself time for tears.

But in five minutes I will fight again.
You know how we defeat fear and pain?
With laughter and celebrations!
I rather dance on the deck of the fucking titanic then crying in a luxurious suite in its belly.

Punch patriarchy in the face.
Kick nazis in their balls.
Disable cars!
It may be too late to revolutionise, I don’t know.
But I still yell out a rallying cry!

I am happy in your presence.

Again.

Learning to use words.

Again.

Casting smiles.

Finally, again.