↑Marinkel *'s blog

cry from sadness

instead i smiled

from happiness

even as the train rolled from the station

blossoms over graves

laughter over distance

love over fears

i will be anywhere

light as air

with you

writing is a strange thing. you rarely want to write the things going on right at the moment. it's like composting. someone told me last night the pertinent things you have to say right then and there. but i can't i said. she answered, thus you write. yes.but it's too late then. writing is for yourself mostly, not for the one you're thinking of. they need to hear what you have to say. but i think that maybe it's not true. maybe writing is for those who cannot handle the here and now and need to read it later.

i had a strange summer. one day i went out by myself to have a beer at an irish pub. supposedly the english club was meeting there so all i had to do is watch out for the english speakers. but in this town, no one was inviting or open. i got myself a beer. it was a beautiful night, even in germany's north one gets nights like this, mild and soft and sweet. i looked around me and all the seats were taken. i didn't hear any english either and there was no inviting gestures from any of the groups so i sat down at the only seat available at the far end of the outer housewall beneath the electric beer sign. i thought here i am going out having fun. ha. next to me was a group of middle aged germans having an intellectual talk i was glad not to be part of. so i pulled out my little notebook and began writing. when my beer was gone i got up and walked home. a house shrouded in darkness whispered its secrets to me and it made me cry and cry. this was not the way to have fun. this town was no longer my home. when you try to capture your past, do it in your head, don't seek out the real places where it all happened. it will eat you alive. it will spit you out and deny you access. it will deny its own history. all it will tell you is to shut up and take your proper place. if you cannot find it, get out. so i did.
 

www.stage6.com/LoneWolf/video/1733656/Zeitgeist-The-Spirit-Of-The-Age

a history lesson on religion, symbolism and the ages. rad...

upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/52/Klimt-medizin.jpg

you gotta see this if you haven't. i hadn't til yesterday. paintings by gustav klimt that were lost in a fire. so we only have the black and white photo of it. but it is amazing to behold. he's my man, him. says of himself "i'm not particularly interesting" and it is true. what silly things people ask artists to which there is no answer. but you gotta ask the right questions, then the insides speak. or simply look at his work, there is his inside. ask the work, not the artist. ask it what it tells you. this painting is called "medizin".. and it cures. and it kills in the end. you see death amidst? yes, swallow it. it comes, smiling. with a serpent's kiss. is what i think when i look at this. love.

it may have been the lowest point of the pub to date. i haven't been going there that long, but i began my parisian nightlife here, back in september and been going there ever since. so i found myself back on the barstool opposite my friend (featured in "desperados") after a three week absence... but things have happened. there is now a "no smoking" sticker on the door. and it might as well be the stamp of the skull, cause it was absolutely dead inside. but a beer is a beer and the barmaid still has the same lovely smile and served us foie gras because she's so nice and hungarian. so we settled into our conversation, the music was fine, when things began to happen. a regular crystallized as a fragile depressive with an odd walk. after asking to change the song to which we protested (since it was a darn good song called "lilly" by aaron) he ended up at his table broken down in tears. another guest arrived on the bar, the creepy crawling kind aka the cockroach. this one was happy though until he was smooshed by the barmaid. so the music was  changed, but to no avail. the tears kept flowing and the only thing to do was to order another beer and laugh at the absurdity of it all. it can get lower, my friend said, when the barmaids begin to cry. so for now they are smiling and the pub is alive. to be continued...

speak to me not of the space outside where the werewolves howl. they've been knocking on our doors.

speak to me of the vacancies your angels sang about in your sleep. of a hundred women walking into the bloodred sea as a sacrifice.

found her through my friend vom... i just love pop music ! listen to the whole album here: music.download.com/3607-5_32-0.html?searchType=3607&qt=sia&tag=srch

I am running in a white gown among the darkened trees, overshadowed by jealous night who can never be as dark as these shadows behind my eyes. My dress gets snagged by the empty branches. Everyone is naked without shame. Because the night has the moon. And what does my soul have but the distant stars that have tossed me ashore on this here foreign land. It is always that walk I want to take and then find the horror on my return. Open the curtains and see the ugly truth. Did I see you making love one night when I was seeking shelter in your belly? Did my brain crush itself with the inability to grasp that love has many faces? Did I always see myself on the outside? I am tired to be knocking on doors and windows. I am ready to belong somewhere. Only not all of me has heard the news.

And there is still nobody home…

did you see the moon tonight? she was carried gently into the night on a bed of clouds. isn't she made of what you could never reach but keeps you longing. the yellow of leaves fallen on a day you meant to remember forever.

the car parked in front
american spirit from the chinese lady
bono and the mysterious distance between a man and a woman
water towers in the rosy fingered dawn
english lessons
eleven years of laughter
flipping off the man
the man flipping back heroically
rain drops on a dirty window sill
smashing of the keyboards
a phone call changing all and nothing at all

plane spotting

the lights disappear into the longest night
can you hear me
she whispered
then
she screamed as her feet left the ground
and her words grew wings

look at me now
at me with me into me
dig your fingers into my flesh
still i will not stay
because
you have forgiven me
yes i have

you have provided me with all of my stories
now you have given me another one
your very last
of dancing across andalusian fields
and you leave me here
to tell

while she and you
meet again

clear as stars