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...

bug in a rug

I roll out the map and the city rolls itself out with it. In my head and in my heart.

I walk down the street and cant help but smile at the whole city block that gets called Chinatown.

I'm touched by the humaneness of London, of old things breathing and small and in a way really loveably down to Earth simple.

And feel elated.

look right for happy

You could say that this is a love letter of a sort.

We land at G'wick and I get a little antsy. I scan the room for you - and you're not there.

In town I go straight to the closest store and get Marmite and Salt and Vinegar crisps.

The familiarity of it all reminds me of... well... me. Of how I came to be me. Through you.
And it hits me with the force that turns everything upside down and I end up being in a position I shouldn't be in.
Because it's highly inappropriate.

Six years and I didn't know where I ended and you began.
Two years and I still miss the touch.

I. love. you.

London beats NYC any time - except for the times it doesn't /smiles/.

spring vs fall

I wanted to make sure I say something really positive. Because life has been good.
There has been booze and cute baby feet.
Long lost roommates and beautiful women. To look at.

I only wish it were spring instead of the fall.

FDR drive

I never thought it would come to this... I go to bed at night and I wake in the morning and realise....
I miss New York.


To the world New York City equals Manhattan, to me Manhattan equals a borough of revolving doors and public transport. And a home on the East side that comes with the Chrysler building and police cars blinking their police lights on the FDR drive. Always.
The noise has got me hooked on earplugs to a degree that I can't do without. To this day. Every night.

Through the front door and down the steps at the park to the cross-town bus, and to scaffolding that would stretch whole city blocks and more if you knew which way to turn and where to cross to get to walk to work without an umbrella. I still think that New York should be the Windy City.

Time Square is my friend that has, in its plastic authenticity, saved me from myself... at least twice. And I don't care if they say that it's the worst the city's got to offer, because it's not and because it's the reality of that town in the realness of time that is real to that place and that place only.
Ummm. If you know what I mean.

There's a certain beauty in loneliness and pain. And there's something dismissive about happiness. You can either be this or you can be that in this city.
New York does black, and it does white.
But it doesn't do in the middle...

life. insurance.

I think something's not entirely right with the situation where I can claim that my car has two insurance policies and I've got none...

random pieces of tape

There's a baby on board screaming it's head off and all I can think to myself is -SHUT it the f*** up!!!
A man and a woman next to me mutually agree that the screaming fills their heart with love and also, with slight worry.

Now what kind of a horrible mother am I to my unborn children if my maternal instincs do not kick in with the first two minutes of the screaming. Not five, not ten, not even fifteen...?

I'm only young I tell myself, and sip on my tomato juice. You see I always drink tomato juice when flying. Always.

asylum aspects

In a windowless conference room a woman is going on and on about asylum aspects of Somalia and all I can think about is fucking you with a strap on.
Good Lord - my ability to just zoom out of any meaningful conversation at any given conference or a meeting is to me, beyond comprehension!

havre de grace

Just something I realised studying the map of the US...
I'm sorry but despite it's fancy name, Havre de Grace must be the most boring place I've ever visited. Decoy museum or not.

There's only that much duck feeding one can do...

four things mentioned

- I think by now i can officially say that moving accross the Atlantic (twice), combined with the other life altering decisions taken throughout the year, has not taken me any closer to spiritual and/or professional (or anyother sort of) fulfilment.

- I saw an eagle the other night. Or at least I like to think it was an eagle that I saw. It was huge and made the whole tree sway under its' weight. I stared. It stared.

- Why is it that every time I take the time to scrub and polish my car (for hours on end) it starts raining the next day???

- I love sticking my hand out the car window grabing the wind. Feeling it. And I don't even care if - in your eyes it should make me look like an idiot...:)

broken

A broken elbow has out-ruled normal existance and all plans for a rollerblading competition over the weekend.

theory?

I have a theory whereas I claim that one hasn't really made acquaintances with a city without seeing it at sunrise and the air of intimacy of an occasional dog walker or a cleaning truck. Of an oncoming hangover and a speeding taxi-car...

time

The concept of time and my comprehension of it is just killing me. There's so much remorse. Do you know that... if I'm feeling so sorry and guilty for my 29 years gone, what is it going to be when I turn 60 - should it so happen?

Anyway, did you ever wonder about those (suggested) speed signs at highway exit ramps? They never lie. I thought they would, but they don't. They provide you with the exact most comfortable speed that you would want to be travelling at that particular moment in time and - keep you safe.

Amazing.

Or what...?

Like time, there's always time
On my mind
So pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time
Damien Rice

i won't be your yoko ono

I never gave it another thought I realised... That day that - I must have been green in the face with hangover - I met an aging and sick, but suprisingly vital and extremely savvy, private school bred mama's boy - an artist, a cameraman, a perv - an ex-something-something-something or other...

Mark Kalev Kostabi for a friend, a TV show on Manhattan Neighbourhood Network, an art show opening in Soho. Soon. .
A dick, a rebel, just an old fart. I got to like him a lot.

He said he heard the shots from 72st West to 89st East where he was standing. It had echoed across Central Park. He said they all stopped for a moment - looked up to carry on. Not realising they had just heard John Lennon being shot to death. A history in the making.

He's seen Yoko often. On the street, she lives two blocks down. He says she looks tiny.

chicken shit

Identity crisis. And guilt. Guilt. GUILT.
For every single little thing I do or do not do.

S t o p!!

For leaving.
Remorse pouring out of every single pore of my body.
My MFA, my dear life,
I have a career that I so carefully planned and worked for.
Whatever happened to I always know.
My choices. Probably never right.
Or almost never right. Or mostly right. Or whatever...

I don't know. Sometimes I do things and expect no consequences.
There's always something, they always come.
Consequences.
I've been offered fruits I don't really desire.

The truth is.
That.
I'm.
A chicken.
Shit.