Marinkel *'s blog/

i got up early. i have scratches across my hand. diary of losses. diary of treasures. treasures of moments rather than lifetimes, brief encounters. one-second glances, two-minute touches. is what counts these days. realizing you cannot hold on to anything. what you thought was true only yesterday turns around and tells you you were so wrong. i am ready to accept this. "we can only change what we accept", says jung. the world keeps spinning and moving further away from the center and my arms stretch longer, more desperately. i am writing for you, i seem to understand you better than i understand myself.

finally went to the louvre. was all giddy inside knowing i would finally meet her, you know who. had heard the stories how supposedly disappointing the whole experience would be. "she's so small", they had said. "too much hubbub around her", they complained. but i knew it would be fantastic. so i enter the large room and i see her right away, centered, hovering above a thousand heads, suspended in air, a three-dimensional ghost protruding from the ether. it is this gaze that is just not phazed by anything. and the artistic experience becomes my walk from the door toward her, as if in a trance, tears wetting my eyes. she is the unattainable mother. see all these attention seekers she simply ignores. even when you see her up-close you never know what she is thinking. and this is the genius of the painting, da vinci has captured that feeling of distance, of the never-knowing, of the impenetrable gaze of her. there are other moments between us when we may enter the other's world, like a dark dark cave shining a small light of a candle. but this one never lets us and it kills. but i give her this if she leaves me mine...

a bad day, ending in the metro. where i see him, a mad man in a pin-striped suit. and he makes me feel so alive, the only one making sense to me. i had leafed through gucci dresses and versace shoes and it all made me so dizzy and sick, too much normality, a sickening past-time to kill life's ennuie i just hate to partake in. give me this crazy man with the giant grin, arms spread, ready to leap in front of the train, if only in play. later i see him again, he moves from car to car, entering mine. so i notice the cause of his disease, an air bubble poking out of his head, a leasion on his brain perhaps. it nearly makes me cry. nothing he can do to remove the pressure, it always attacks him from behind. but his performance is grand. he wears his costume well, a perfect match for his eyes turning to thin upward slits. all of him is spreading, his mouth, his arms, his voice. mad like the sun. you may not enter...

i don't blame you. we each travel in our own space machines.

on the tenth floor
is a gate to
somewhere
behind the canister of gasoline
on your return
wake up the dead please
they've been sleeping long enough
beneath
their hollow eyes
and withered lips
im letzten stadium
des daseins
schreibst du wieder
wie es damals war
einfach und einfallsreich
vergessen im winde
ohne arm und beine
hinter der scheune
zum ersten zungenkuss