Today was a mess. All those grey clouds just knew this beforehand. So tired of being generous and pretending that I like you (shut my mouth). If I am to decide whether to meet up and catch up with you or to stay in my room to read a book – I’d go for the book obviously (step on my face). I have nothing to talk about, nothing to update you with, not to mention having the ear to hear about your reruns. It’s all the same and I’m starting to believe that the circle is somewhat shrinking that I get to hear and see the same things repeating themselves more often than usual now (ears bleed). My mistake is that I’ve been playing along and I guess I will continue this till it’s time for me to look the other way. You won’t notice a difference. So many virgins that are scared and once they’ve overcome their fear, you are non-existent to them. The next time they think about you is three years later. By then you won’t even remember their names (piss against my ear).
Some bastard stage dived and nearly broke my nose, but instead he broke something else – my favourite necklace which I’ve been wearing for over three years without ever taking it off. In the end I managed to find the pendant, which is the most important. What would I do without my most precious question mark (fill my mouth will glass)? There will be one day where I won’t be a member of the crowd; an inconsiderate sweaty crowd. It won’t be us against them, but it’ll be you against me. I’m looking forward to that. It doesn’t matter whose side you are on, we are all on the same boat, we all have the same intentions, but sometimes one just wants to stand alone and delve into one’s own ideology without wanting any sort of peers. Say what you want, maybe I really don’t know how to have fun (fuck me hard).
Why, why does he tell me that he has a girlfriend now? What has this to do with anything that we are talking about? Are you trying to tell me that I messed up my chances with you? What does it matter now (burn my love)? I should have just been a nice daughter and gone with my ma to pick up the new car today. She wanted me to come with her and I refused to, as I pretended to be busy. Truth was I couldn’t get things sorted. I couldn’t get my head sorted (fistfuck). I had to get ready for the gig. This urge of wanting to get things done, the inner discomposure and longing for tranquility are expressing their impatience, complaining about everything I do and don’t do.
Can I afford another hotel room in June? I want to go to Ingolstadt. I have to promise myself that I will not ask for internet. Never internet again on holiday and phone will be constantly off; it usually is anyway. Do I look like I can be bothered (kicking shins)?
I’m currently in love with Joe Hisaishi’s music, particularly the ones he did for the Ghibli movies; the songs seem to open each single knot whenever I play them and they encourage me without giving me reasons why I should hold on at all (hold me now).
There is a feeling that I hate to the core – I simply hate it. It’s when you feel butterflies in your tummy and you know it’s no good – not for you or the person you’ve have allured those butterflies for. Therefore I know how my friend feels when having an affair with a married person who’s too coward to divorce the spouse whom they love no more. You constantly tell the friend what’s best to do and you keep repeating yourself until you realize they aren’t listening. The best you can do for them is let them fall on their face (see if I care). I am tired of watching clichés, playing Domino and complaining at you. Why do you think I cannot be bothered emailing you? I have nothing to tell you right now. Besides I’m bored from watching you alienate yourself from your own (get a grip).
The only friend who seems to have her future sorted and cautiously planned is A. She has now invited me to her wedding, which is one of my biggest fears. I didn’t even go to my cousin’s due to this ridiculous fear. I can already say that I cannot take the atmosphere and being in the middle of a crowd that I do not know and spend over ten hours with them. She won’t have time for me, as everyone would be around her (fuck what am I doin’). Selfish, but true. I agreed to come, knowing that I will be spending (wasting) time in a hall filled with a sort of gaiety that I cannot comprehend. Selfish, but true.
The security man at my work place told me that he had done a 3 year apprenticeship as a plumber, and then realized that he didn’t like it, now he has started a new apprenticeship as a security guard and suddenly, after one year, doesn’t like it, either. “I don’t know what I want” he said with lucid honesty. I liked that, but nonetheless it was a turn off (yer boner gone soft). Lastly he said he might go into retail. I’m sure he was kidding; kidding with himself no doubt. There are way too many of those types around nowadays. And those who do know what they want are usually extremely blinded. I can’t stand watching people take root in this place. This new decade is driving me crazy already (to die to sleep).
(Without a word.)
Freitag, 30. April 2010
Samstag, 17. April 2010
Get going
It feels as if I haven’t been away at all. I have been right here at home from the start without even leaving my room once. Every minute mother would come in to ask me this and that. Then father would come in and ask me this and that. I decided to print out Stephen King’s quote to stick it to the wall right in front of my eyes. When trying to get my head clear and controlling my excessive anger outbreaks, I would stare at those words and remember my promise; the promise I had made to myself.
I guess people still do not know that don’t like discussions. I rarely discuss anything, unless I truly share a passion about it. All I want is to hear STORIES! YOUR STORIES! Anything else doesn’t matter, does it? Who cares? Why am I bringing this up again! It’s done with.
Now I’m beginning to understand why that former friend of mine said that writing is mere soliloquy. I am not better than a bum talking to a pigeon or bumble bee.
It seems to me that the only person in this family who actually cares about the stability of this family is my mother; my mother alone. All the rest (that includes me) is so apathetic that it’s breaking her heart. I have not much to share with realists and she is one of those; it’s terrible, but also admirable. She will be the one to keep the family together and I love her for it, even though I know she’ll resent all of us for giving almost zero support. I don’t know how my dad or sister feels here, but I hate myself for being such an egocentric antihero. But you do not understand, unless you remember my four goals which I once listed. It’s goal number two – something that I think about every single fucking day. Actually it should be goal number one, BUT things need to be done in order, especially goal one and goal two. Goal number two can only be fulfilled once goal number one has been achieved. If you remember the goals, then you’ll understand why I am under such an indescribable pressure that kills me every day, even when having holidays. I need to get started. I need time. I need space. I need room to breathe. I need my I.R.. I need to work hard. I work for no one except for my family and myself. You may judge me (hell do it), but you may not judge the way I am with my family. I know what I am like, but now that you know how I really feel on the inside – please shut your trap.
I know people talk about short attention span. Is there anything like a short patience span? Impatience sounds way too simplistic and childish. I have been uncontrollably impatient all my life, similar to the white rabbit in Lewis Carroll’s famous tale. Every day seems to end hourly for me and I know damn well how unhealthy this attitude is, but I cannot help it. I just want my parents to have more years of happiness ahead of them, instead of years of struggle and desperation. That’s why I need to get going. Get going. Life writing isn’t getting me anywhere right now. I need to start working with I.R. who is my muse (King’s muse is male and so is mine!), my inspiration and my other half. Something needs to change rapidly before I collapse. Now staring at King’s quote breaks my heart, because I’ve not been following his rule today. There are distractions in each corner, distractions that need considerations; otherwise I would make my life even harder to live. As I said, it’s this short patience span.
I guess people still do not know that don’t like discussions. I rarely discuss anything, unless I truly share a passion about it. All I want is to hear STORIES! YOUR STORIES! Anything else doesn’t matter, does it? Who cares? Why am I bringing this up again! It’s done with.
Now I’m beginning to understand why that former friend of mine said that writing is mere soliloquy. I am not better than a bum talking to a pigeon or bumble bee.
It seems to me that the only person in this family who actually cares about the stability of this family is my mother; my mother alone. All the rest (that includes me) is so apathetic that it’s breaking her heart. I have not much to share with realists and she is one of those; it’s terrible, but also admirable. She will be the one to keep the family together and I love her for it, even though I know she’ll resent all of us for giving almost zero support. I don’t know how my dad or sister feels here, but I hate myself for being such an egocentric antihero. But you do not understand, unless you remember my four goals which I once listed. It’s goal number two – something that I think about every single fucking day. Actually it should be goal number one, BUT things need to be done in order, especially goal one and goal two. Goal number two can only be fulfilled once goal number one has been achieved. If you remember the goals, then you’ll understand why I am under such an indescribable pressure that kills me every day, even when having holidays. I need to get started. I need time. I need space. I need room to breathe. I need my I.R.. I need to work hard. I work for no one except for my family and myself. You may judge me (hell do it), but you may not judge the way I am with my family. I know what I am like, but now that you know how I really feel on the inside – please shut your trap.
I know people talk about short attention span. Is there anything like a short patience span? Impatience sounds way too simplistic and childish. I have been uncontrollably impatient all my life, similar to the white rabbit in Lewis Carroll’s famous tale. Every day seems to end hourly for me and I know damn well how unhealthy this attitude is, but I cannot help it. I just want my parents to have more years of happiness ahead of them, instead of years of struggle and desperation. That’s why I need to get going. Get going. Life writing isn’t getting me anywhere right now. I need to start working with I.R. who is my muse (King’s muse is male and so is mine!), my inspiration and my other half. Something needs to change rapidly before I collapse. Now staring at King’s quote breaks my heart, because I’ve not been following his rule today. There are distractions in each corner, distractions that need considerations; otherwise I would make my life even harder to live. As I said, it’s this short patience span.
Freitag, 16. April 2010
I.R.
It had been a while since Paula's last short story. Now it was time to get back to work. Nonetheless the beginning is always the hardest thing. Once you’ve had a break for too long, you’d feel alien to the things that you once loved. Talents don’t go, but they get buried in the basement, if they remain untouched for too long. Other than that she realized that her confidence to write fiction had disappeared almost completely. Whom does she write for other than herself? Stephen King calls that person the "Ideal Reader". Paula knew where her I.R. had disappeared to and therefore she started packing her bags to go to Lübeck.
When knocking on I.R.'s door, she heard him say "Come in."
The door squeaked as she opened it. She smelt freedom, tranquility and solitude, but also some tension.
"Hello”, she murmured.
I.R. was sitting by his desk whilst scribbling something onto paper. He still looked beautiful as ever, but the loneliness that was floating in that room made him appear somewhat misanthropic and anxious.
“I knew you’d come back crawling one day” he said.
“I am not crawling.”
“You would, though.”
She smiled. No matter what, he was the only one she would admit everything to. Despite of her honesty toward the entire world, there were a lot of more that only he would ask her and he was also the only one to ever hear the answers.
Awkward silence was hanging in the air for a moment, making the room grow even bigger than it already seemed to be; at least big enough for two entities to share their ideology.
“You know things haven’t been easy for me” she suddenly sobbed.
“Neither for me. You needed some space, so I granted you that.” He carried on scribbling words down. That was when she noticed a pile of paper next to him on the desk.
“What are those?”
I.R. looked at her and smiled for the first time since her arrival. “Well”, he started “these are ideas still locked up in the back of your head.”
“Locked up?”
“Yeah, with me inside.”
The moment she approached him, he got nervous and stopped writing. It felt like he was not used to her being close to him anymore, which sort of confused her, as if a shield had suddenly appeared between them.
“Don’t”, he said.
“How can I open the door?”
“You can’t.”
There were traces of fear and desperation spread on his face, guided by an encouraging smile.
“Only I can open it”, he said quietly.
He turned back to his writing and pretended she was not there at all. She was still standing there in despair, unable to get closer to him, unable to put her hand on his shoulder. They first met when they were eleven and used to be inseparable since. Now was the first time ever she felt that that connection had been cut off. It was all a matter of trust; trust leading towards confidence, will and plenty of hard work - teamwork, in order to rebuild that broken connection.
“You’ve just read what Stephen King wrote. Sort out your tool box now and get started.”
Her heart began to fill itself with bliss and hope, resembling the happiness of a child in its mother’s arms.
“So you’re still my I.R.?”
He gestured at the pile of paper on his desk and started to laugh, as if that question was ridiculous. Hearing that laughter meant everything to her, because it signified that everything was going to be ok in the end and that her second chance was definitely granted.
“Well, first revitalize your language, sort out your grammar and work on your style. They are appalling. The bystanders and Laurie’s Cottage Pie are good stories, but they need a hell of a lot of polishing and you know it. I can’t open the door for you if you don’t start putting your shoulder to the wheel.”
There was a long pause between them again. Though, this time the silence had brought them back together, as the tension had finally dissolved.
“Will you forgive me?” she asked. A trace of insecurity and guilty conscience was still evident in her eyes, as if fearing that he would carry on resenting her for what she had done.
He laughed. “You are writing this now. You’re gonna make me forgive you anyway! Have I got a choice? But honestly…” he paused and then looked at her in earnest. “Don’t you know me at all?”
When knocking on I.R.'s door, she heard him say "Come in."
The door squeaked as she opened it. She smelt freedom, tranquility and solitude, but also some tension.
"Hello”, she murmured.
I.R. was sitting by his desk whilst scribbling something onto paper. He still looked beautiful as ever, but the loneliness that was floating in that room made him appear somewhat misanthropic and anxious.
“I knew you’d come back crawling one day” he said.
“I am not crawling.”
“You would, though.”
She smiled. No matter what, he was the only one she would admit everything to. Despite of her honesty toward the entire world, there were a lot of more that only he would ask her and he was also the only one to ever hear the answers.
Awkward silence was hanging in the air for a moment, making the room grow even bigger than it already seemed to be; at least big enough for two entities to share their ideology.
“You know things haven’t been easy for me” she suddenly sobbed.
“Neither for me. You needed some space, so I granted you that.” He carried on scribbling words down. That was when she noticed a pile of paper next to him on the desk.
“What are those?”
I.R. looked at her and smiled for the first time since her arrival. “Well”, he started “these are ideas still locked up in the back of your head.”
“Locked up?”
“Yeah, with me inside.”
The moment she approached him, he got nervous and stopped writing. It felt like he was not used to her being close to him anymore, which sort of confused her, as if a shield had suddenly appeared between them.
“Don’t”, he said.
“How can I open the door?”
“You can’t.”
There were traces of fear and desperation spread on his face, guided by an encouraging smile.
“Only I can open it”, he said quietly.
He turned back to his writing and pretended she was not there at all. She was still standing there in despair, unable to get closer to him, unable to put her hand on his shoulder. They first met when they were eleven and used to be inseparable since. Now was the first time ever she felt that that connection had been cut off. It was all a matter of trust; trust leading towards confidence, will and plenty of hard work - teamwork, in order to rebuild that broken connection.
“You’ve just read what Stephen King wrote. Sort out your tool box now and get started.”
Her heart began to fill itself with bliss and hope, resembling the happiness of a child in its mother’s arms.
“So you’re still my I.R.?”
He gestured at the pile of paper on his desk and started to laugh, as if that question was ridiculous. Hearing that laughter meant everything to her, because it signified that everything was going to be ok in the end and that her second chance was definitely granted.
“Well, first revitalize your language, sort out your grammar and work on your style. They are appalling. The bystanders and Laurie’s Cottage Pie are good stories, but they need a hell of a lot of polishing and you know it. I can’t open the door for you if you don’t start putting your shoulder to the wheel.”
There was a long pause between them again. Though, this time the silence had brought them back together, as the tension had finally dissolved.
“Will you forgive me?” she asked. A trace of insecurity and guilty conscience was still evident in her eyes, as if fearing that he would carry on resenting her for what she had done.
He laughed. “You are writing this now. You’re gonna make me forgive you anyway! Have I got a choice? But honestly…” he paused and then looked at her in earnest. “Don’t you know me at all?”
Donnerstag, 15. April 2010
Hole
Door has been locked from the inside of this hole
Curtains drawn, pour the midnight wine
Typing words that disappear in a vaccum
Visualizing images that fade from grey to black
Empty pages the tree had silently bled for
Bad karma is the cause of our wounded core
Imagination, hope and the good will
Enable a smile wrapped in our own despair
Our precious is nothing but opaque ornaments
Putting us into financial predicaments
Beauty, beauty feeds the hungry hole
And only mercy will save our dirty little souls
Curtains drawn, pour the midnight wine
Typing words that disappear in a vaccum
Visualizing images that fade from grey to black
Empty pages the tree had silently bled for
Bad karma is the cause of our wounded core
Imagination, hope and the good will
Enable a smile wrapped in our own despair
Our precious is nothing but opaque ornaments
Putting us into financial predicaments
Beauty, beauty feeds the hungry hole
And only mercy will save our dirty little souls
The Phoenix Had The Last Word
I am very glad that I went on that holiday. I’d have preferred staying in the hotel most of the time, if it hadn’t been the cleaning lady. I never knew when she started to work and I’d rather be out of the room before hearing someone knock. The beach was beautiful when I went on Tuesday. Luckily the weather had been pretty nice, except for that horrible cold wind that had nearly got me a bladder infection. I did feel a slight pain on the same day, but thank God I felt alright the day after. At least it had been mild enough to walk on the beach. I’d suggest you to travel to the beach early in the morning, when nobody is around. The giant fog that morning had swallowed everything up, even the sea. The sea was green and still as tired as me. I was being chased by a couple; when saying “couple”, I mean ducks. They were clingy as fuck; begging for food. I wish I had had some. It impressed me how male and female ducks stick together like elderly human couples. Then I had a very peculiar and strange encounter with a bumble bee on the beach. More to it here, here2 and here3. I have nothing more to say to that, I do not.
The next day I went to the beach again. It was cloudy and fucking hell it was cold and WINDY. I hadn’t brought that many clothes with me to that trip in first place. What really annoyed me was that no café was open for me to warm up in. There was absolutely nothing around except hotels and pubs filled with conservative middle aged people staring at my tights as if I was whorish. However, it’s good going to the beach early, as Lübecker kids would start hanging around on the beach during lunch time. Nowadays teenagers hang around on the playground, but why on the playground if you have a fantastic beach in Lübeck?
I had spent hours picking up beautiful stones; the flat and the shiny ones always impress me, also found little empty sea shells that hadn’t fallen apart after being washed to the shore.
I myself cannot believe that I actually did start a video blog on my trip. I should have just yelled how much you all sucked or something and that’d be it, haha! Ah! I know I talk like an emotionless android. I get uncontrollably nervous when being put in front of the camera. Can’t stop moving, can’t stop staring holes in the air and I can’t apply the appropriate tone of voice when it’s needed just BECAUSE of that nervousness. However, all you get to see is the “calm” side of me and that’s boring. Well, regarding the video blogs – the less you hear the better. I’m too ashamed to even watch them again myself. That face that you see is not the face that I personally see (I guess everyone would say that if they see themselves in videos, except that I have a thousand faces…physically not metaphorically). I actually forgot to say that I didn’t want comments. That video is not about ME! It’s about how I intended to approach YOU. I’ve been searching for possibilities and opportunities to talk to you and to make YOU talk to me. Simply judging me, criticizing me won’t get us any further. What matters is what’s beneath YOUR surface, and then we can get down to conversation. Usually I want to talk with people about something they don’t want to talk about. Whenever I bring it up, they’d change topic or just keep quiet. It’s alright if you shut me out once or twice, because you don’t feel like talking, but I won’t accept a third turn down; especially not if this friendship has lasted for over eight years. If you decide to go in the end, do it. I might start running after you once or twice, because you’ve been too selfish or coward to tell me it’s over, but this will not happen a third time.
Fuhgeddaboudit!
So instead of a 4000 word blog, you get the video blogs this year. Someone suggested I should do something like that weekly or monthly. - Uhm, no. Personal things are not something that appears from out of nowhere. You know perfectly well that emotions and thoughts develop time after time. Perception takes a while. I’m not a columnist or an entertainer, that’s something very different. Now you know Schopenhauer and I have a love-hate-thing going. In the last video blog I said I was grateful, which results that I DO care about things and people. Did you really believe a word in the rubbish that I had said previously? Oh…it doesn’t matter. You always believe what you want anyway. I totally forgot. It’d make no sense to me if you say that you can understand, I wouldn’t even care, unless you tell me the (w)hole story about you – then we shall see, shan’t we? Parents are usually the people who understand you the least of all and this either makes you the perfect kid or the total egoist. My mum thinks the second one fits best. I love her most anyhow, no matter what she says or does to me. And I will always hate myself for the way I am to her and that’s only because we don’t get on. She always says that she’s an aggressive monster herself and in the end she has created an even more aggressive one. Both of us know that we won’t ever be best friends, but this doesn’t mean anything bad.
I still haven’t drunk that bottle of Desperados. Yesterday I had to go to the chemist’s to buy medical tea to prevent a bladder/kidney infection. I can’t be bothered going to the doctor’s again. I’m sick of handing in my urine; I cannot piss into that tube without wetting my hand! I go all directions, not just one. Ahem.
Reading in the bathroom whilst my back is pressed against the radiator/dryer is wonderful. I liked my bathroom in Lübeck – comfy, equipped with beautiful halogene bulbs and a clean sink. Almost through with Stephen King’s autobiographical book “On writing”. It has opened my eyes. There is finally someone who is sincere enough to kick my butt and tell me to do something if I want to be a good writer. He’s not as stuck up as I thought he was. A man is a man when he is open enough to admit his mistakes, addictions and weaknesses. Courage is if he asks for help. This is how I like my men. I’m not going to go through someone else’s ego trip again. However, you are free to join my ride, but I will not pay for your ticket.
When I woke up in the hotel this morning, I was covered in HOT sweat. I guess it’s a good sign. I still felt sad, partly because in a few hours time I’d be leaving Lübeck and other than that I dreamt of an uncanny encounter with River Phoenix. We met in an American café (80s style). That dream was almost surreal, because it was definitely his voice speaking. I had never, in ANY dream, heard someone’s voice as clearly and loudly as his. He spoke through my soul, man! Unfortunately I cannot remember what he had said; all I know is that it wasn’t something pleasant, as I ended up walking out of the café sadly without looking back.
This is not much of a happy end, but my new start. Like last year after those 4000 words, I had settled with a new start. Epiphany’s been achieved. The new chapter may begin. Here.
The next day I went to the beach again. It was cloudy and fucking hell it was cold and WINDY. I hadn’t brought that many clothes with me to that trip in first place. What really annoyed me was that no café was open for me to warm up in. There was absolutely nothing around except hotels and pubs filled with conservative middle aged people staring at my tights as if I was whorish. However, it’s good going to the beach early, as Lübecker kids would start hanging around on the beach during lunch time. Nowadays teenagers hang around on the playground, but why on the playground if you have a fantastic beach in Lübeck?
I had spent hours picking up beautiful stones; the flat and the shiny ones always impress me, also found little empty sea shells that hadn’t fallen apart after being washed to the shore.
I myself cannot believe that I actually did start a video blog on my trip. I should have just yelled how much you all sucked or something and that’d be it, haha! Ah! I know I talk like an emotionless android. I get uncontrollably nervous when being put in front of the camera. Can’t stop moving, can’t stop staring holes in the air and I can’t apply the appropriate tone of voice when it’s needed just BECAUSE of that nervousness. However, all you get to see is the “calm” side of me and that’s boring. Well, regarding the video blogs – the less you hear the better. I’m too ashamed to even watch them again myself. That face that you see is not the face that I personally see (I guess everyone would say that if they see themselves in videos, except that I have a thousand faces…physically not metaphorically). I actually forgot to say that I didn’t want comments. That video is not about ME! It’s about how I intended to approach YOU. I’ve been searching for possibilities and opportunities to talk to you and to make YOU talk to me. Simply judging me, criticizing me won’t get us any further. What matters is what’s beneath YOUR surface, and then we can get down to conversation. Usually I want to talk with people about something they don’t want to talk about. Whenever I bring it up, they’d change topic or just keep quiet. It’s alright if you shut me out once or twice, because you don’t feel like talking, but I won’t accept a third turn down; especially not if this friendship has lasted for over eight years. If you decide to go in the end, do it. I might start running after you once or twice, because you’ve been too selfish or coward to tell me it’s over, but this will not happen a third time.
Fuhgeddaboudit!
So instead of a 4000 word blog, you get the video blogs this year. Someone suggested I should do something like that weekly or monthly. - Uhm, no. Personal things are not something that appears from out of nowhere. You know perfectly well that emotions and thoughts develop time after time. Perception takes a while. I’m not a columnist or an entertainer, that’s something very different. Now you know Schopenhauer and I have a love-hate-thing going. In the last video blog I said I was grateful, which results that I DO care about things and people. Did you really believe a word in the rubbish that I had said previously? Oh…it doesn’t matter. You always believe what you want anyway. I totally forgot. It’d make no sense to me if you say that you can understand, I wouldn’t even care, unless you tell me the (w)hole story about you – then we shall see, shan’t we? Parents are usually the people who understand you the least of all and this either makes you the perfect kid or the total egoist. My mum thinks the second one fits best. I love her most anyhow, no matter what she says or does to me. And I will always hate myself for the way I am to her and that’s only because we don’t get on. She always says that she’s an aggressive monster herself and in the end she has created an even more aggressive one. Both of us know that we won’t ever be best friends, but this doesn’t mean anything bad.
I still haven’t drunk that bottle of Desperados. Yesterday I had to go to the chemist’s to buy medical tea to prevent a bladder/kidney infection. I can’t be bothered going to the doctor’s again. I’m sick of handing in my urine; I cannot piss into that tube without wetting my hand! I go all directions, not just one. Ahem.
Reading in the bathroom whilst my back is pressed against the radiator/dryer is wonderful. I liked my bathroom in Lübeck – comfy, equipped with beautiful halogene bulbs and a clean sink. Almost through with Stephen King’s autobiographical book “On writing”. It has opened my eyes. There is finally someone who is sincere enough to kick my butt and tell me to do something if I want to be a good writer. He’s not as stuck up as I thought he was. A man is a man when he is open enough to admit his mistakes, addictions and weaknesses. Courage is if he asks for help. This is how I like my men. I’m not going to go through someone else’s ego trip again. However, you are free to join my ride, but I will not pay for your ticket.
When I woke up in the hotel this morning, I was covered in HOT sweat. I guess it’s a good sign. I still felt sad, partly because in a few hours time I’d be leaving Lübeck and other than that I dreamt of an uncanny encounter with River Phoenix. We met in an American café (80s style). That dream was almost surreal, because it was definitely his voice speaking. I had never, in ANY dream, heard someone’s voice as clearly and loudly as his. He spoke through my soul, man! Unfortunately I cannot remember what he had said; all I know is that it wasn’t something pleasant, as I ended up walking out of the café sadly without looking back.
This is not much of a happy end, but my new start. Like last year after those 4000 words, I had settled with a new start. Epiphany’s been achieved. The new chapter may begin. Here.
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