Marinkel *'s blog

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 23 random things, tag 6 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)

1. i sang before i spoke.

2. when i was little i wanted to be a girl superhero. i had many books featuring girls with superhuman abilities. tina löwenstark for example could lift a truck with one arm.

3. my biggest fear was to lose my mother. then i did. part of me went where ever she went that day.

4. i have a very sensitive nose. good and bad smells affect me equally strongly.

5. i ve always loved cats and had to wait to have one until my tenth birthday. since then i haven t been without one for very long.

6. if i had a daughter i would name her aurora.

7. i love taking my own picture. i get nervous when someone else takes it.

8. i get sad when i stand at the edge of the ocean. i think it s homesickness.

9. once i love someone, i love them forever. but i don t get over betrayal. so i may keep loving you but i won t forgive you.

10. i believe in symbols. i can read the tarot and see who you are inside. these days however i often simply enjoy what i see on the outside. without analysis. it s a life worth living contrary to what some say.

11. i love the moon crescent. i have the best view of its path from my fifth story window.

12. music is my first love. laughter is my second. tears are my third.

13. i love intellectual disputes. but i have trouble admitting defeat. i m right. period.

14. don t stand next to me at the edge of a cliff. i d feel a great urge to push you over.

15. fall is my favorite season. but i ll wear boots all year round.

16. i dance in the dark. wishing someone is watching. but i won t turn on the lights to see.

17. i love passionate lovestories. but i ve given up on dramas. you can have passion without all the pain and suffering.

18. i have lived one year doing not much more than sit in a room and photograph my different phases. it still puzzles some people. i came out with about a thousand pictures. and one finished story. they say a picture s worth a thousand words. that s a lot of words.

19. i don t sweat. i burn from the inside.

20. i don t need to do. i can just sit.

21. creative minds turn me on. and on. and on.

22. chunky chocolate. wedge heels. techni-colors.

23. moon. as in ass. as in moon. *howl*

there's a staircase and the frogs are singing or is it your mother walking through the high grass humming a tune, hunting frogs for the soldiers who have besieged your home, soiled your floors, sleeping in your clean sheets? no, these were the happy days when you could hear them a mile off, her and your favorite sister, picking flowers singing in unison with the frogs and you just lay on your bed, still, listening, daydreaming that these days would never end. but they did and the bombers flew overhead and barley was cut violently and your mother fell to the herds of madmen and all was nullified in an instance.

and you saw one man cutting through the high grass as you came running down the marble staircase and your smile froze on your babyface as you recognized your sister's hair dangling in the man's hand and from far off you could hear her silent sobs and it hasn't stopped, this incessant sobbing, only meant for your ears and the blaming of you. brother, why didnt you come for me? while you were lying still in your bed i was ravished and what you took for singing and what put a smile on your face, they were my pleadings, brother, and my tears, as i was cut down like the grass. while you were living your childhood in a dream it was the blade cutting through my tresses and the linens i wore and you didnt come for my rescue. you were sleeping, brother. you were dreaming, love.

and the boy took up his rage and he ran towards the man with a rage greater than that of a thousand angels and with his bare hands he strangled that man; and he seized the tresses dangling from his lifeless hand. and he looked back up to the heavens and he saw his own face reflected in the clouds. he was a grown man. with that singing in his ear. with that ringing in his ear. he had killed again. but sister, won't you stop your crying? sister, won't you stop your tears? and the sirens rang out again and there was no room for cover. you saw them one by one falling. and it never ever stops all this suffering.

you were an old man then and you walked into the ocean. there was a different man in the waters. he said, come to me child. and you happily swam toward him. he took you inside his great wings, he washed your head. he laid you to rest at the bottom of the sea.

when they brought you home you had already moved into the trees. chattering like a little boy. i see you there among the branches and i know you are here to do good. you are good, baby. now be still.

(now you only hear the whispering winds...)

copyright by marinkel.

i m gonna steal your story, the one you told me stroking my hair and i laughed cause you re funny when you tell stories. one after the other. you said, now it s your turn and i said, no i have none. so you asked, want another one? i mumbled a oui into your skin and another world unfolded. the last one i caught but the opening breath, alors... and faded into dreamland. but i m gonna steal your stories which are no doubt scribbled down in your notebooks somewhere, the treasured chaos you cannot access. but do you need to when they are all lined up like tin soldiers just behind your worrying forehead and those sad drooping eyes?

there was a gypsy woman and she asked the small inquiring boy to put his hand on her knee. it was made of wood. feel it, she said.

and there was a black bird, a crow, do you know what they are? it flew into the window in the middle of this drunken city. it had made it past the pigeon sentinels and it knocked against the pane. only four eyes out of fortytwo saw it, but they knew this to be a sign. what sign was it the listener asked. the teller said, either death or greatness. oh so it must mean greatness, cause you're not dead, she replied. oh who knows how long that will take, he said. so she laughed and reasoned that yes, you re not king yet either.

a sign could mean so many things.

it's a dream i have. where nothing matters anymore and all comes to me in a horn of plenty. where i just don't care anymore and all arrives. there is a bag i saw in the window. a shop window. it was blue with a leather handle and a buckle to close in front. on display alone on a black velvet background. a desire arose in the onlooker. you want me it said. but i'm just out of reach. you cannot break the window down. you must enter through the glass door with the poster for an event at montmartre and the store hours. a bell will ring, alerting the shopkeeper that you have entered, with desire in your heart. she will smile at you and you will ask, may i hold this bag in the window. you will sling it over your shoulder and admire it in the mirror. you two make the perfect pair. and you will make your calculations in your head. whether it is worth the sacrifice. but it is maybe just the dream you're after? the vision you had of the perfect bag. no, you say. i'm done dreaming. and you pull out your wallet with the broken zipper, coins rolling across the shop floor. i'm ready to live, you'll say, and walk out the shop, looking more real than ever.

maybe some emotions are just too big to share just between two people. you feel them and share them with the world instead. listening to antony and the johnsons i can understand that the words he tells are too big for the one who inspired them. i spoke with a lady last night who said when we die that's it. but i asked what is this what we share between us? your words wander to my brain. but do they all reach their target? there must be some left over emotions and words that simply float up into the air and go elsewhere. and over a lifetime there are many words like these we have sent into space, too big for just one. and when we die, these words do not follow us to the grave. they continue to seek other brains and hearts to land in and grow and blossom.

how much you wanna say you re fne, you re fine, you re fine. you want to scream it and make it go away. nothing can touch you anymore. there is no drama. whatever happens you re fine. you crawl up the walls and you have fantasies about another life. and you can fulfill your dreams but only if they coincide with your destiny. and maybe that s not it. or maybe it is. but there is no drama, there is no severance. there is no hatred anymore. there are ideas and some become reality and some just don t. and they tell you if you just believe hard enough. but you re crawling up the walls of your brain. and you want to keep sleeping. and you walk like a roboton and listen to the whistling train. it comes around for you like the moods changing with the hour. out of all the possibilities why does it happen to be the one? when an idea occurs you must grasp it with both hands and it will destroy you but it will elevate you because you dreamed it and you lived it. and it was so much better than the here and now. and if you re telling me that s all there is, you have understood nothing at all.

where you do not kiss
where you do not hug
where you do not look me in the eyes

where women hold hands
where one porcelain cheek
brushes against another
ever so lightly

i m falling

and there is no bottom

honesty

what is it really? this picture, wearing clown powder, hiding my skin, but accentuating the eyes, the emotion that gathers in them. i am always only showing a part of myself. what is most important at this time, or what i want to explore further, deeper. every so often i receive comments that reflect on my emotional well-being. and anyone who knows me in real life knows me laughing. but in my art i explore more often than not the sadness, larger than myself. i choose this part because maybe it defines something inside of myself, a feeling i was born with, more pronounced than happiness. my sister mentioned this to me, how people have commented that i look "grim" in my pictures. so i answered that i have her lovely daughter to explore happiness within my work. i said that real life is for laughing, for me. and she stated how it is her daughter who is grim in real life. which is of course not always true, but it seems in art maybe we reflect the mirror of what we do not explore in life. i used to think that others are my mirror, but i m beginning to realize it is more like the shadow through a keyhole that appears upside down on your walls. the other is the part that you just do not see when you look at yourself in the mirror. so whatever you see, whatever touches you, turn yourself upside down, inside out, and there you are, in another light.

and the wolf wandered towards her
whispering into her ear
i won't have a drink with you, you would only use me
after he had seen her glancing at the other one

still he took her hands, shyly

and she didn't withdraw
realizing
it was the wolf who was terrified of her

what is this horror of rejection?
it s no visible cut
and nothing really changes
and yet is like fire
walk with me

so she took his hand as the door closed
and led him through the flames

by henri, the builder
i simply provided the lego pieces

merci! cause a girl does need flowers...

i open my eyes wide to the sea
sleeping for hours in a house without walls nor ceiling
finally you are awake, she says
coffee on the table

she leads me onto the terrasse with the stone steps
toward the sea
look, she says
but say no more

i see the sea is crimson with a bloodred orange sun
though it is not the sun that makes these colors
neither is the blood of warriors

dolphins! i shout excitedly
and here they come, one by one
closer and closer
they are black skinned creatures jumping in and out of the waves

my hand feels their smooth skin
they are small and they are smiling

colors, red and black
my reality

i m wearing his shirt again, i don't care if he wants me, i don't care if he loves me. i just like the way i feel inside his skin. feel good they said. i do. i listen.

it's blue. watch the skyline.

now he knows where my poetry comes from. and he is frightened. like me. pull the gas mask over my face. shut my eyes with penny drops. the night of the dead is fast approaching.

i grew flowers for you. but they were not enough.

he mustn't worry. it is neither he nor the golden gate. the buttons we pushed on the way. it is the punishment i bestowe upon myself for leaving. you and another.

will he ever know me as the angel i once was becoming? before i touched him and lay the world to ruins?

desert sands in my eyes. on the back of the truck we are still driving laughing. tires blowing out and stranding us. skiing gulliver our guide. pointing to the stars. please let me go.

i must say goodbye. you were my brother and it is blood flowing between our veins. maybe we shall meet again.

for now. goodbye. i loved you.

i dream of a place in space where you read to me from across the rooms and stars shine all around us. yes i am hopelessly romantic. you have as many faces as my house has rooms. i might just end up with one. there are the wooden floorboards and a steamy bathroom where i count the splinters jammed into your skin. trying to describe the colors you make me see. dreamy eyes and you come across a thousand oceans although we only counted three. and you crawl towards me across the floorboards, you don't care about the pain. we were cats then and we twisted our bodies. i turned the doorknobs and you became another. and with every blink of the eye flowers grow higher into clouds. we don't need airplanes. let's breathe in.

blue

fish is not a color
don't beat my dreams
to death

even the dead
come back to life in dreams

if you want to be shattered
don't shatter me

drown me in your exorcism
we both come up for air
in spring

he said like she said when you moved here you moved me and you stood there by the water fountain rain pouring down your face and tears beyond the falls across the borderline you speak in glyphics of an indoeuropean tongue and you tell me of toys and full moons and i search the desert scapes for your blessings when you used to take my kodak picture. it is all confusion in my head you think but my love you see it is very clear to me and you outside the city limits. i weave through the ribbons and bows to find your crocheted flowers blossoming in this tired season. i understand now what you want to say as the water falls. we are made of the same materials, springs and mossy curls, dark eyes and brightly lit caves. they were iron fists that let go but tufts of strings brought to us by cream colored caterpillars, who tirelessly spin and dance through the endless nights, to reach each other's thoughts and hearts. they are togetherness, these words of mine. they are colors that exist in every lover's eyes. the divide exists not. speak easy and learn fast. love me like i love you. drenched. exhausted. full. forever the same when you unveil me.

i forgive him everything he has ever done i didn't like and i will forgive him always, he said. what does it mean, to forgive? he asked afterwards.

even if you do everything wrong, i will love you forever mom, she sang.

was there a nun in your family, she asked. it is me, i answered. i live up the creaky stairs, across the missing floorboards. i am a modern day nun, with my own values, morals you wouldn´t understand. i have a brother who comes to visit in the icy winter only and we open the windows wide until our noses are red and frost glistens in our hair like diamonds. he whispers stories into my ear behind sticky fingers and we giggle. a purity like this so fragile flown in on the wings of a painter.

kisses arrive with the melting snow.