In a Blur.

I look better when blurred.

I need a photographer and a better place to take my pics....

Ver-rückt oder der Wahn-Sinn.

 "Aber sehen Sie,

es ist ungeheuer wichtig, mindestens einmal pro Tag ver-rückt zu werden. 

Wenn man verrückt ist, dann kommt man zu seinen Sinnen. Wenn Sie hingegen dauernd in Ihrem Denken verharren, sind Sie viel zu rational und gleichen einer Starren Brücke, die beim ersten Sturm weggefegt wird, weil ihr die Geschmeidigkeit fehlt und sie nicht 

ver-rückt werden kann."

Pick your Choice.

Zombie vs Clown vs Puppet on a String?

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

 We go marching
through these scorching times
our lungs are filled with dirt
but no amount of hurt
will stop us trying
We go marching
through these parching times
rain will come again
and just like distant friend
we'll both be crying

Graue Eminenz.

Ich mag Grau. Grau kann alles sein. Grau-grau gibt es ja gar nicht so häufig, das meiste hat einen subtilen Farbstich, und so kann man mit Grau ein dezent-buntes Gemälde malen, das an Komplexität dem farbig-bunten in Nichts nachsteht, aber halt... in Grau.

Ich mag auch das Bild von mir als Graue Eminenz fast lieber als das des Bunten Clowns, auch wenn der Bunte Clown eigentlich die bessere Camouflage ist - wer nimmt einen Clown schon ernst? Im Hintergrund, beinahe übersehen, von niemandem wirklich wahr- oder gar ernst genommen, alle Fäden in der Hand, sanft zupfend, und auf eine Weise führend, die das Gegenüber im Glauben lässt, alles aus freiem Willen zu tun - ja, das gefällt mir. Aber da muss ich noch lange, lange üben.

 (Nimues Lieblingsbeschäftigung: Kuscheln mit Kleidern. Gelogen. Ohne Kleider machts mehr Spass.)

Serendipity.

You stumbled upon it it by chance, all of a sudden, the moment you least expected it, the thing you least expected it to be - but would you have found it, if you hadn't been looking for something else?

That day, I was struck by lightning. A complete stranger, strangely familiar. Eyes met, and eyes gazed, half knowingly, unbelieving, and they parted, and they met again. And something happened, and we didn't know what.
But we knew: This was it. The Universe let our paths cross, for one tiny, precious moment, and then tore us apart, leaving behind such sadness, and much more happiness, little hope and an aimless wish. A smile, and a goodbye, and the (un)certainty  of a perfect memory that could endure forever.

There are no coincidences. There are no second chances. There are no shortcuts.

And you wish you had, and you wish you didn't...

And you forget: that is how you might find it.

(Sometimes I wonder if this is precisely what going nuts feels like. It's quite pleasant, actually.)

Mirrors, Gawking.

This is for a special someone. For all I know it could be Old Chinese, because my words never seem to reach, they don't even seem to leave my tongue the way they should: what seems so clean and obvious in my mind gets dirty and confusing as soon as it becomes sound. Nonetheless: This is for a special someone. Someone who touched what maybe should have stayed untouched, and opened what maybe, maybe should have been kept shut up.

(It kind of messes up the flow but she's worth it: Listen to Sarah Jaffe. To all of here songs. Just do it. Do it right know: Go to Youtube, search for Sarah Jaffe and let her be the melody to my word.)

Those of us who have grown up with that void inside know how easily we get lost in someone else. We try to fill up the void with song and word, with deed and thought, with drink and food. Sometimes we try to vanish, so we can be what we feel. Sometimes we try to find solace in sharing our mourning, shouting out what we yearn for as far as our voice carries. We cry for the child lost, we cry for the mother we could never - be. But the most dangerous path is the belief that someone, anyone could - mend, complete, replenish. And the saddest thing is: we all try.

No, I didn't fall in love. No, it was my own, maybe, again, my very first, very own, very conscious decision. I didn't fall in love, I chose it, rose in it, yes, I did. But then the fall began, falling for, falling over, falling into, falling a-part. It is so easy for those of us who get lost in someone else, lost in mirrors, between mirrors.

Haven't mirrors always been the scariest thing in your bedroom? The scariest, yet most intriguing object: When you were trying to fall asleep, catching a glimpse of a reflections of something that could not be there
(weil nicht sein kann, was nicht sein darf), sending shivers down your spine.
Still, you could not avert your gaze, because for the mirror seeking mind even a grain of dust begins to sparkle. You could not avert your gaze: staring, staring, seeking, seeing, changing, staying. And there we fell: into the mirror, out of ourselves, into ourselves, and ultimately: in love. In someone who would never love us, because we never could.

It is so easy to get lost in someone else. We know that. We try clinging, we try letting go, we try our hardest, and that's when we get lost. We try to give, giving up, and that's when we lose. We watch ourselves slide, and that's when we have lost.

As above, so below.

So, this is for a special someone. I have lost track of who that was. The first time we met I was told
(not to stare into the sun?) never to look for anything lost, for that's when we don't find it.

But for us who crave the mirror it is impossible not to look.

Yet another present.

Ancient Chinese anyone?

My answer was: Religion is for people who are afraid of going to hell. Spirituality is for people who have already been there.

Grün.