Kyiv-Simferopol-Sevastopol

I’m not quite ready to let go of the week spent in the Ukraine. Because for once. Over a period of endless eternity I was happy and (care)free. I held your hand and popped my beer at 11:55 am.

Holidays.
There’s something about holidays. There’s escape and an upward drift of a sort instead of drowning with no escape. Yes, but I want to escape with you!

Like we did escape in the dark churches of a thousand flickering candles, and of underground caves preserving mummies of sacred religious people, revolution and defiance of ordinary people. An old train to Crimea overnight.

You harbor tenderness and care. I’ve never been cared for like this in my life. Stepping from winter to spring and taking a step back in time, in all those Lada cars and Volgas and old trolley buses, we covered the distances of your native land. You told me of war and heroes and ships that were sunk. You told me of your roots and family. You showed me blood and history.

We had bitter cold, and the snow falling silently on Kyiv, its’ countless bars and live music, strangers that became friends. Your eyes and your passion and your breath and most of all – your smile. I’ll always remember your smile.

I think we stepped out of time.

take both pills

I’m a firm believer in the power of duct tape, but there are things in life that cannot be taped back together no matter how well one has mastered the tape thing .

London - the city of silver linings has the power of slapping its’ own colorful piece of tape on me. Each and every time. Covering up and pulling on all that needs holding together.


So I am. Together.

I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking so hard just lately that sometimes I find myself driving on a street I wasn’t even intending on driving on, or climbing the stairs to walk right past my apartment. Thinking.

time takes too much time

There is a tiny cornfield tucked away near some obscure village on the road to Riga that, every time I see it, takes my breath away.

I used to live in the middle of rolling hills and green cornfields that were dotted with Amish silos and white wooden churches with white picket fences around them.

We had boat houses, line dancing, Olive Garden and Confederate flags in driveways. We had York mall.

We had boys and girls. And we had me falling in love, and probably being the happiest I've ever been in my life in the middle of all them beautiful cornfields...

regeneration

I give you my skin...
and my bone
- which I leave laying around in mom's kitchen
and thus loose...
A shiny piece of my bone
ripped out from inside me.
I was hoping to keep
as a memento of fully functioning hands.

broken vol. 2

If pain as such is a way for a body to let its owner know of a severe malfunction and/or trauma, then I guess mine has made its point. Could we ease up with the excruciating pain already. Please.

I knew I was in trouble when out of inertia my bare shins, new skates, skin suit and watch ploughed the tarmac for a good meter.














And somehow the moment it got slammed on the floor I also knew that my sore thumb was much more than just a sore thumb. It was a broken thumb.

if god made you he's in love with me

What a horrible god damn week this has been.
The negativity that hangs in the air and that, amongst other places, seeps from my own self is just overwhelming.
Sometimes I wish I could.
Give up selfishness and desire and live on a higher level. Of some sort. Walk barefoot in the snow on a mountain in Tibet. Have my teeth fall out, my skin turn black.

As if.

And what a difference a smile makes. A view. Smell of the sea. Chit-chat with a cashier girl.

My excess bone and your ripped flesh, comparing notes. The skates that kill us.

You save me, and you have no idea.

not together

"No, we don't pray together."

British Prime Minister Tony Blair, denying that he had prayed over the Iraq war with U.S. President George W. Bush.

you can sleep while i drive

I was driving and you were sitting next to me. Holding my hand, asleep, tortured and tired. You were dead beautiful and I was in a right state… wanting to crawl up underneath and inside your skin. To get closer. To feel closer.

I was looking at the sky and the traces of the sun reflecting an eerie pink light. My mind was as sharp as a knife and in my heart there was nothing but you. And right that moment - not a single other thing mattered.

We were going through the fog as I wanted to touch it - it seemed as solid as you - yet somehow elusive, just like you sitting next to me asleep and away... somewhere...
Dead beautiful.

I love you babes!

four weddings and a...

It’s hard being a person when you don’t know what is t that you really want and/or after you’ve finally gotten what you wanted, not knowing whether you truly really wanted it (or not?) in the first place…...

England pierced right through, tearing up everything that had settled and laid to rest. How many feelings can a human heart absorb before it can no more?

I did not bend my head in prayer under "the canopy of Fatherly love"; I refused to bend my head. My defiance of a sort. Because that canopy of love that sends you off all blessed is denying me everything - debating my whole existence.

We were told that the eternal quest in life is not about finding the right person; it is about being the right person... Right...

In the windy grayness of the city life rushed past silently. Nothing is new, everything has already been. It’s just that we were shiny and new back then.
Three years and I find the same sleepy little town, the same wind and rain, same Betty’s and same Queen Victoria shopping centre. But my heart made a leap at the sight of you.

Sometimes I find myself on the outside my own life looking in on something that will never be truly mine. Can a life ever be totally someone’s? Or are we just living out a template – doesn’t really matter what you wish for – someone’s got bigger plan. A better plan?

The past, just like the rain whipped in our faces as I said bye. I was being looked after. Well looked after, taken in under the canopy of sisterly love. You didn’t let go - thank you for not letting go.

The most amazingly beautiful thing about London that Monday morning, before my heart made a leap, was a black girl running down the street, coat flapping in the wind. I guessed she was late for work.

make no mistake, my god is great

I walked past twice and the family was stricking up poses of marital bliss - first of a dinner in front of the TV (dad w/ a beer), and active mentoring of the offspring later.

That brought along the (existential?) guestion of my own marital bliss and brand new appartment. Where the fuck are they?
Where is it that I belong? Will I ever know. Does anybody know? And if they do, how does it feel?

Latvia hit me in the head with Soviet style shops, rude sales staff, idiot drivers and traffic arrangements way beyond comprehension.

WTF?
WTF?
What The Fuck?

Riga, you got to do waaay better than that. I'm expecting for you to do much better. Than that.

sooopah trooopah

Life indeed is like a big f*****g box of chocolates - you never know what you're going to get.

Can I just say that, Kiku, you make my heart sing!
I truly worship the ground you ski on!

Thanks to my big sister, 20 new babies get a chance of being born.

I've got beaufiful friends I'm really grateful for.
And again, as I've come to realise how incredibly much I love my life and those around me, it's time to go.

Very soon.

How do you say thank you for that?
(photo by a.haas)

first we take manhattan, then we take berlin

At first we ate the floor and then the rest of it.
And then there was just a little left to give away.
It was one huge gingerbread house.

The new Jeanette Winterson book reads like a Bible -
that she keeps writing over and over and over as I just sit
there agasp and in awe of the beauty of the English language - and of this woman's mind.

And when I get to an excerpt of an unexeptional wisdom and beaufy I touch the words on the page as if they were something solid.

The light was as intense as a love affair. I was blinded, delighted, not just because if was warm and wonderful, but because nature measures nothing. Nobody needs this much sunlight. Nobody needs droughts, volcanoes, monsoons, tornadoes either, but we get them, because our world is as extravagant as a world can be. We are the ones obsessed by measurement. The world just pours it out.
j.winterson

art in me

I have yet to master the art of a fully stacked fridge and regularly served meal(s).

When does it come I wonder?

Without wanting this to sound like a new years resolution, I've decided that:

2006 equals ample amounts of physical activy in the form of different sporting diciplines.

And diet - oh no...