but she breaks just like a little girl

if drawings had ears we'd play her some bob dylan and she'd stop crying.

spring fever

“It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want — oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!” Mark Twain

                                                                                                                             

sometimes the disease fits the symptoms so you accept the diagnosis. sometimes the observations fit the theory so you think you're validating it. when i get tired of being wrong, when i get tired of uncertainty or indecision, something. yes. something.  

welcome to this spring

here came spring, real spring, warm spring, may spring, oh yes, and together with its friend the wind it spreads joy or pollen, dust and little particles that make you sneeze, and what better way to wake up than by expelling stuff out your nose and perhaps mouth at speeds ranging between 150 and 900 km/h, i heard this somewhere, such crudeness the morning has when you've got a jet plane coming out of your nose, maybe a race car if not a jet plane, and then it really becomes a race, first sneeze-car in pole position followed closely by another one and another one, you should aim at the window, so they go away and race till they dissolve, or else, if your head is still facing the pillow, they'll be stuck there, in your pillow, racing all day but mostly all night, every night, and you'll hear vruuuuum! vrrrruuuum! when you try to go to sleep and your dreams will become more vibrant, like sitting in a 4d cinema, yuck, yuck like when cheese ball snacks fall into your bag and you can never pick up all of them and they stick together (wouldn't it be so great to be able to expel them like pollen out of your nose?), no, no thank you, welcome, spring, but don't sneeze on my pillow.

reflection

beat it, paulie, 

her breast hid away,

beat it, i don’t want you around,

edgar, listen,

(such a funny name for a breast, edgar)

listen, edgar, 

my name isn’t paulie, 

i don’t have a name, 

but you can call me paulie,

I am really you,

you're looking at yourself,

this is me that is you,

in a mirror, a mirror doesn’t have a name either,

it's everyone she meets,

I am you, she is us,

we are the same.

edgar couldn’t understand.

he was more like a can on the streets of a windy town,

or like a little bully called frank who grows up to be a disco bodyguard,

or like cocoa milk getting cold on the window sill,  

he reacted, but couldn’t understand more than a garden chair would.

breasts are beasts without ‘r’s, 

beasts without hours,

hours without beats,

beats without skips,

skips without hops,

hopes without dreams.

breasts are beasts from dreams skipped in no hour’s beat.

we're going to delphi.

i had done something bad, but not bad bad, more like kid bad, and all these people at this horrible dinner party were playing games in twos and purposely left me out. so i started playing with this cat they had in the house and they were paranoid about it getting killed, and the cat, to piss me off and get me into more trouble, opened the back door somehow, and there, right there, waiting, was this big fat cat who hated her the most and wanted to annihilate it. they started this massive chase and at times cat fur would fly here and there, and i screamed and everyone screamed back at me thinking i'm the boy who cries wolf to take them away from the game, especially this boy i had come with, he was being so silly. but the cat was saved so we left, and outside, on what looked like a building site, some woman asked from afar for directions and i realized we were in india. then i got contact lenses and i was on a bicycle and i couldn't see so well.  

i am as old as i am young

getting old is but an instant.

that instant it takes to finish your breakfast 

- during which time you heard a good story you laughed at

maybe had some muesli

an apple

a coffee with too much sugar -

and then one day you look down at your hands

- the same hands that held the spoon to your muesli

or the apple to your core

or the laughter to your mouth -

and you get scared. you don’t recognize your own hands.

you go to the mirror and you don’t recognize the mirror.

you are in someone else’s house.

so, it has come to this

one day, in class, i couldn't pay attention. it was both the loud chewing of the person next to me (we will call her gluta) and my very sleep deprived irritable self. so i started a paper war. this person, gluta, seemed horrible. i gathered all these creatures to fight her. while i was sitting next to her i couldn't imagine anyone worse than her. i didnt really see her. all i know is that she eats shrimp salad like some people take baths: with loud splishes and splashes and that she speaks like some people fart: with confidence, getting high on the whiffs she got.

(gluta wasnt asian. she uses chopsticks because i cant draw forks.)

i am a haunted home without a house

my mother says parents can give you everything, except for luck. i dont know what luck really is, it's not reliable like sense of humor, it's not even transient like good looks, i really can't say anything certain about it, but it seems to be nice odds, odds in your favor. shifting probability. but then again, everything seems to be just chance. probability. odds. timing.

i did feel lucky many times in my life, like last night, in my dream, when a plane crashed into the building i was going to go into if only i would have found my lipstick in time. i didnt find it, so i didnt go in, so i didnt get squashed by this enormous plane (and i dont even use lipstick in waking life). i dont feel lucky that i have these fears of not finding a place to stay in time (i will be roomless, roofless, rootless from march 1st) turn into plane attacks in my dreams, but i dont feel unlucky, either. 

therefore i will become ruthless and let go of worries that i wont find a place and whatever happens will happen anyway. and if it will be terrible, i guess it will build character?

extremely strange and incredibly fast

yesterday morning, very morning, as i was walking towards the train that would take me to the cinema(s), i noticed my shoe lace was untied. i looked at it and looked away within the same second, simply because after my quick evaluation of the gravity of the situation i have concluded that it wasn't going to necessitate a pit stop.

but all of a sudden a man walking towards me spotted my weakness, stopped, looked me straight in the eye and zoomed in on his own face (like the nemesis of a ninja would) and then made this very strange, almost bird-like whistling noise, and in 3 seconds i was completely surrounded by all the random citizens who happened to be in the streets at that moment and recognized this man's cry. even mothers with their children came, but of course some of them were covering the young one's eyes.

what appeared to be like the oldest man in the circle approached, closing the circle behind him, and said to me in a german for idiots, nein, nein, nicht richtig, schliessen die muntzer oder nein gezucht! i am not an idiot so i didnt understand that, but i saw him pointing at my untied shoe lace so i said schuldigung, tucked it in my shoe and wanted to go about my way, beginning to become aware of the disturbance my shoe lace has caused them. but they wouldnt let me. one of the children who was allowed to look started crying when he saw how i tried to cheat by tucking it in, so his mother had to pull him away from the circle which got a bit more tighter around me. then i remembered the note, the note was going to save me, i pulled it out and handed it to the old man. he read it, sneered and whistled. everyone went away immediately and i was free.

ok, i must confess i might have distorted facts a little bit. it wasnt a note at all, it was my festival badge. no, my passport. no, my copenhagen resident's card. i can't well remember, it was all so extremely strange and incredibly fast.

a nest of angry knees

nate (i mean nature, but we're on nickname terms), in all its generosity, has not bestowed upon me an essential thing, essential only to my current and most exciting interest, and not essential in loose terms. yes. cinema. 

so this generous nate gave me a nest of angry knees and every time i'm in a cinema they go wild. negotiations aren't going well. but everything else is.

going gloriously. 

so dear knees, please, bee-have.