just this....

all you want from life
is for someone to hold your hand
and tells you he understands

someone who carries you through the night
and tells you it´s allright

no-one to be found
in a land half drowned
by the reign of sorrow

solitude strikes again
and kicks you into the dark
of its hope sucking mouth

emptied and spit back
into the plain cold
you lament to the moon alone
and carve your tears
into a voiceless sky

giving in

eyes turn white
times pass away

faith shakes the hand
fright stirs the flesh

this skin grows too tight
and winds up in a garden of thorns

all roses in colours of blood
faith loses its grip

lost
in a dark paradise
with a ragged shell
and dripping blossoms
that can´t carry the weight
of a life unwanted

lost

cold fingers
splintered nails
clinging on to a cup
and a moment
slipping from life´s realm
like the coffee´s steam

aching back
and a crack in the wall
decay swallows all
faster still if you look back

filling a page
feeling sick
a blissless starvation wage
no flowers to pick

intestines burn
and the night is of ice
dead hours and no way to kill them
glee went abroad
home is covered in plight

splintered dreams
cold light
wrecked heart
so it seems

a fleeting beating in the dark
an echo closing in from the walls
a cracked melody entering my sleep

i can´t hear you
are you home?
i cut in too deep
i wind like a worm
i lost you
long before you were gone

glamour & gutter

he spat in the mud
bleeding teeth
broken glass
too much of too little and all that

tear drained eyes
staring down the gutter
sounds of frozen kindness
in shiny red shoes
tapping and rapping
on the plaster

he shuddered
took heart
and shook off disaster
nose-up he joined in line
and paralleled steps
with the lady from glamourama
perfect skin
sweating out champagne
splendid looks
and a mind so sane

"The rage, the madness, and the pain
how sad to numb a broken nose in the snow
if you could just sit in the glow
with wrapped-up glamour to go"
he thought
and shuddered

too little in too much and all that
and back he was
scarring his life in the gutter
and crying his soul awake again

thin air on plane/plain

caged in a box of plastic, metal, leather, air-conditioning and tired, bored faces sitting and waiting in line
for a coffee and a life
served in disposable cups
"Caution- Content´s hot!"
We swallow and chew on lukewarm pleasures
and numb the aftertaste
with a teeth-bleaching peppermint
before being greeted conventionally
by a kiss and a hug
at another end of this world
as though the in-between
had been bridged by no more than
a sigh and a sip

"nowhere´s here with you on my skin"

let me fall into your arms
let´s roll across broken flowers
into lovers´end lane
let´s rent a room in the sky and one underground
and tumble, crawl, fuck up and down the stairs together
let´s hang from the ceiling, bang against walls,
fall to pieces on the carpet
bite, steal, and scare others
like rats in holes and channels
play a little song
write a broken poem
peace on earth between the sheets
while feather-like dust tickles our fused skin
with the first stirrings of day
in weak pale morning light
where did the (f)night carry us?
nowhere´s here with you on my skin

*catwalk*

..the word scribbled on a toilet door in a cinema in Zürich. It catches the impression I got on Bahnhofsstraße- snobbish middle aged and exchangeable faces and styles of men and women wearing a masquerade of expensive clothes, make-up, nose-up shopping busyness. it´s like they own the pavement because the red carpets of chanel, rolex and cartier are rolled out for them. a uniformed army of stainfree diamonds knitting a chain round the royal neck of their closed society. diversity and motion is only to be found in places promising escape and opening a window to the world outside the shiny glow of shopping windows, cashmere, fur, silk and bleak phoney conversations- main station, seaside, basel....

maybe i am the narrow thinker and stereotyping observer here...but first impressions always count and they kept me thinking about deeper matters: how can satisfaction and a feeling of warm, calm comfort enter our hearts if we hang all of our grand ideals and dreams onto one place? do ideals narrow our view and judgment more than that they provide wings to meet greater, more significant, unchained ends?

what are ideals about?

jung said that all addictions are alike and lists idealism among them....

i will have to follow this train of thought...but not now. there are still some switzerland experiences to gather...

devotbees

we swim, swarm, twist, struggle through your veins
to keep the blood flowing
while you die in chains
and we hold you tight
and you scream for flight
but we know better
and write you a letter
it disarms you
and blows you away
and so you stay
and sip at your tea
a simple warmth, a word, a smile
and poison leaves you for a while
and you just read
uncover
see
that always love will bloom for thee
and when dawn´s glow pales your fears
remember the heart-worn that kissed you goodnight
and leave them some honey for their tears

somebody´s watching (from outside, inside, other side?)

woke up to my own attempts at screaming. but it would not really come out via my sticky tongue and dry mouth and stiffened vocal chords. its amazing how thin the borders between unconcious and conscious life, dream and reality sometimes are. there i lay- paralyzed and fearstruck by scenes that had just gotten into me and conjured up all of the most rudimentary and true motions inside me that are smeared with brainy rationalism in the waking hours. frontal brain jumped back into wake modus quickly and told me about the non-threatening reality of my room that i -physically- never left that night and no person, or thing intruded into. but still, from some other -far more intriguing- end something made me feel that boogey man was still haunting me. shadows from curtains, doors, clothes, furniture transformed into his dark knights, watching me and laming me with ready-to-attack stares. i absolutely did not dare to move. i felt caught by infantile archetypal fears on the one side and greater matters thrown up by the psyche on the other that made me scream and twist between the worlds so as to make them collapse into one. frontal brain ran fast enough to prevent the fusion. i rolled to the other side and fell into non-restorative and dreamless sleep for another few hours. boggey gang would not stay for breakfast. psyche´s piercing shadow is still at my back and the next night is ahead.

no limits

how far would you go if you knew there was no tomorrow?
you should go that far whenever your heart tells you so
because there may always not be a tomorrow

so i´m out and off to feel your real presence, get caught in the fire, burn with the crowd, dance with a night made for eternity, and breathe in the air and vivacity of your beloved london...

fuck forever

Reading about guerilla gigs in the musicians` very own home place and stage invasions that erased all possible barriers between prophets and disciples, mental and physical fusion, publicity and privacy, sin and sinner, awe and awfulness, imagination and sensation, possession and obssession....

how come those things happened to people from my very own generation while i was far from being washed upon the untamed shores of rock´n roll culture? now that the barriers have become as impregnable by human force as an ocean, i can only paddle around in a romanticized dreamland of skin-close wild life experience...

i enter a club and "fuck forever" thrills through my body. i leave after banging my head off to "teen spirit". all the time i am surrounded by a new, young and carefree generation of music lovers taking part in the lively beat of their time before age will wither their spirit and beauty. hopefully they won´t spare themselves any of the self-indulgent pleasure taking of youth. May they never have to torment themselves with recognizations of what they have missed but glorify the scars they carried away from what they experienced- right at the front, not behind barriers.

we sing, and dance, and drink, and freak out to the same songs - yet to them the icons of now and then blare out anthems of their very own present embodiment while i whirl around in a dark corner that stinks of decay and fight tears of desperation and self-pity over the missed opportunities in my younger days....

and in the early morning i slip under the covers and hide from myself in the catchy scenes portrayed in my book

Dear mus(ag)icians...

when you perform
you make love to a faceless, numberless lot of us
and we make love to you
only you
you eat away at our hearts
hypnotize our minds
play every string of our soul
infect us with words
about love, addiction, arcady, tragedy, people & memories
you fuel us
you fool us
you take us
you rape us
then kiss us goodnight
off and gone you are
shaking a sweaty night off your skin
while we slowly crawl back into ours
and lick the wounds and wonders
you carved into our existence
- blindly

and we always return for you
with great hunger
for the motionless, monotone streaming of life
has worn us down and out
youth jumped into the void
crumpling with age & loads of responsibilities
we crawled out again
to face a narrower, slower road to death

we come to you
for you to switch off the world outside
and feed us with stardust from neverland
where imagination is reality
& childhood eternity
come! kidnap us
from our numb and neat rooms
your music has the shape of our wings
its vibe makes them materialize from our heart`s desire

and off and gone we are
just for this night
reality dies
while we chase the moon
in your eyes
-singing, laughing, dancing
along with the imaginary twinkling shadows
of immortal youth & grace

and when you close your eyes
we dive into the puddles of the moon
filled up with honeymilk, flowers & perls
- oh how we wish we could drown in you!

but off and gone you are again
while we still suck desperately on thick, dead air
with eyes closed
and freezing feet
that remind us of the inescapable cold embrace
of another unpromising day
catching up with us
and steering us through dead neccessities
while youth and honey drip in tears from our eyes
and we keep the dust off our feeble hopes for escape
with a wing feather
we robbed from paradise

tomorrow ever comes...

pale blue sky...
even in january there´s a glimpse of hope
between the blank sheets
of yet unborn times of bliss and beauty

the withered flower of january
breeds an innocent foul
riding into upcoming summer sunsets
as a proud mare

when anger shows....

Passed a group of young lads today while I was out jogging - or let´s say dragging my aching legs through frozen heaps of snow- one of them shouted after me "Run BITCH, run!" Where does this hostility stem from? Or how come that such an address is part of a "normal" range of behavior? But then i have to take a step back aand admit that there is hate, rage and insatisfaction within all of us - Which channels do we push it into? Who do we smash in the face with it? Who do we blame for our sufferings? Who´s the bitch that we stitch?

yearning in january

here we are again - a dead, shiftless, motionless january. berlin covered in a vexed veil of grey mist and dirty snow and chasing people inside with icy fangs of an unwelcoming northern wind. the cheer and glamour and warm-hearted socializing of christmas time is over, and the bittersweet after effects of excessive new year´s partying have vanished from limbs, hearts, and heads. time to start anew. time where i always wish i were a wintersleeping animal- just crawling under the earth with all the heavy, sweet, irresistable christmas sins on my hips and falling into lifecolored dreams of sunlit summer sensations and reawakening with a feel of rebirth. well, at least my music and muses keep the blood flowing and and the flames flickering- they are seasonless - thank god (or the divinity in creative people)

song of sadness and sincerity:
sheepskin tearaway

"it´s like trying to dry your eyes in the pouring rain..."