"A cold wind in the winter of my mind."

I always called myself an artist, not because any of the things I ever created, whether it was a poem or a painting, have been very creative artwork, but because I have the heart of an artist. I sometimes think my possibilities to feel despair and agony are more intense than the possibilities of many other human beings. That thought itself is of course one of an artist who likes spending his time with thinking what a poor soul he is instead of ironing his shirts. Yet I do feel it though I of course can't tell how others may feel. But tonight another part of my soul rips itself apart and I'm sitting here watching it - unable to stop the process. I live in very special circumstances concerning myself. To go outside and do my work everyday can be done, but it takes away most of my energy. It's been like that all my life but the happiness I felt by being loved by others made me love myself and gave me all the energy I needed. I ignored all the facts about my body and just lived my own fantasy world in-world. Since last summer, when my life all of a sudden completely crushed, I can't feel this energy anymore. It vanished. On the other hand I started to stop ignoring the real world but started to try to become a part of it again - or for the first time in my life. I very rarely was the type to say "Why does all this happen to me?" and I'm still not the type. Things are the way they are and I have to make the best out of it. Still the energy it takes just to leave my flat every morning and feel their looks on my face and their torturing words behind my back is bearely to get from anywhere anymore since I started to realise that I need to become part of this world. Therefor I need Megan. Everytime I see her, I feel more loved and less rejected. The problem is, that Megan doesn't always work. Fantasy is wearing off. A good thing on one hand as it helps me to survive real world. On the other hand it shows me what real life people can be like. Especially the ones who tell you, they love you, just to stab you in the back the very next moment. I get the feeling that E. will never talk to me again. She stabbed me, killed all my beliefs, asked for my friendship the moment she ended our relationship and felt punished when I said I'm not sure if I could handle that. When I soon after that said, I would try my best to keep the friendship, she turned her back on me completely. Again: I do not say "Why did all that happen to me?", but tonight I ask "When will time finally kill the despairation which is caused by all these happenings?" And you will call me an artist, a loser being pathetic once again. Call me what you will and I know there are worse things happening on this earth than my personal holocaust. It still doesn't change the way I feel to just know there are people who feel worse. I hope we all get better soon.

Dreams we lost

I couldn't agree with St. P more. So many fantasies have died or been discarded in the last few years that for a long time I sometimes don't even think of some dreams that I had, a long time ago. Years ago, I lost someone, but so much happened between then and now that I'm not even sure if lost is the right word. I never had him. But it is so much like St. P's fantasy that I was quiet for a few minutes in my head at how the same feelings, communicated in the same words touch people at different points of time, however different the situations are. It was someone I knew from school. He sat next to me for a few months in class three and he was the most noticeable boy among the 6 or 7 year olds. Right after that year, boys and girls were separated and then my family moved to another city and later when I went back and enquired, he was lost, spotted once or twice but with no anecdotes or specific locations behind the recollections. I more than wondered about him and it was strange, I don't remember the teenage years but even in my adult life the interest I felt in him as a six year old had not changed. About fifteen years later I stood on the terrace of a house one afternoon and felt strange, there was something in the air, it kind of felt like the lost person was so near that it was almost physical. I went back, looked him up, the internet had grown by then and I found him, far away from where I was and I wrote. From the time he replied that I was his big love in school to the next two months was my dream. The ultimate fantasy from my six-year old life till then seemed to extend a petal and fold me in its midst. Day and night, across two continents conversations continued everyday. Sometimes it felt schizophrenic, that everything I felt and said was matched from the other side. And then as soon as it started it ended. Like St. P said, because I was me. But I remember one afternoon, I was walking by myself and thinking about work that had to be done, when suddenly, I realised how happy I was and that I wanted nothing more, and nothing, absolutely nothing could rail me because this was what I had been waiting for all along. It has been so long, that I cannot even relive the feeling anymore, but I remember feeling like that. I have never felt like that afterwards. Not even when I knew I was loved. Not even when I knew that people I have been fond of were not going to disappear because I was me. Well, you know what they say, every fantasy claims its price if it is moved beyond fantasy.

And you know what else they say?..Life is strewn with pebbles of fantasies, some of which might blossom into larger than life moments and leave wisdom everytime. So don't worry if one left you bruised because you were you. More will come and do interesting things to your self perception. Do you agree St. P? And I actually don't mean it in a wholly sarcastic way. Sometimes me being me has been a problem, with fantasies and people and both. But it has taught me to love fantasies which I don't want to happen. I can sometimes look at an email or an entry in a diary and dreamily think of the moments the fantasy arrived and it doesn't seem so bad after all. It doesn't matter what happened afterwards. Things were dreamy while they lasted and when I lost them, they had become other things. So I leave my fantasies alone and not have any that might happen. I still seek comfort in people--friends and family--and when super attractive people appear, I might feel pleased but I wouldn't have coffee with them.

I saw Megan in the tram this evening. I sat in a seat that faced towards her and noticed she looked tired. A little sad as well I think. We caught each other's eyes and she half smiled. She looked vulnerable in the late afternoon light and if I had gone up to her and talked she would have. There are moments when you know. The seats next to her and around her were empty. But we didn't talk. And we got off at the same stop, the very last one, where the busstop is--me walking slowly because of a heavy backpack and because I walk slow, she, because she was low. And then both of us took different turns and didn't turn back or linger hesitantly. I don't think she did, I didn't. It would be something, wouldn't it, when one's fantasy lingers back and is hesitant, like a fourteen year old schoolchild in love? But before writing this, the thought of reaching out to Megan did not even cross my mind.

Yearning and living.

I think tonight I'm in a very philosophical mood about fantasy and reality. Once upon a time I was with a girl who in first place was more like a fantasy to me. In a way she had a lot of Megan, because she seemed to be out of a dream and it blew me away, when I realised, she felt more for me than just friendship. I thought that all my dreams would come true just because she loved me and I spent two years of my life thinking that my fantasies finally became reality. Looking back on that now, I sort of still yearn for those happy days. They brought out the better parts of my personality and every day I got up I felt true hapiness and a sense in life. When she left without a proper goodbye or a proper reasoning apart from me being me and her being her, I thought I would be done with fantasy and reality. A few months of my life I spent living dead with no possibility of getting back amongst the living. What I had done was to take my fantasies for real. She never was anywhere close to the person I had imagined her to be or I wanted her to be and with the distance I think I do understand now, that we never should give all our heart to fantasies. One day we might wake up and the dream is gone. Still if we live our lives without fantasy at all we lack something as well. All my life I have been dreaming about what life could be like and these days I'm closer to the fulfillment of my sense in life than ever though I know that it might be just another dream I go for. But if I wake up one day thinking my last decisions have been just different mistakes to the decisions I took before, I will at least know that during the time I went for this dream I was very happy. So call me a fool, a dreamer, a light headed person; tell me I was fooled, taken for granted, betrayed - I will give you a smile and say "Yep, that sounds like me." I yearn for my dreams in my reality and the reality in my dreams. If you find a better sense in life, tell me, I would be interested to know. And by the way: I saw Megan's smile today when a stranger smiled at me. Somehow we are all connected, even if I loose people I dearly loved on my way - they are still there. The wisdom is not to yearn for a better world but that your yearning creates a better world itself. Thank you, Megan, wherever you may be.

Recent Pasts

Some fantasies have particles of our everyday real lives in it, rather, I would say many do. Something that happened some time makes us think about what could happen at some other point. And many fantasies take off from here. I say this because Megan is one of our easier fantasies, created in a lighter mood, to be talked about when we are in a easier spirits, someone who perches on the handle of the armchair we sit in, crosses her legs, strokes away a strand of hair from our face behind our ear. Other fantasies, like Megan, are not entirely created..not by us at least. They develop themselves, -----St. P and my role being to give them the initial push. So it is always, with Megan, with darker thoughts. I have been thinking about fantasies which cast a slight shadow on my thoughts even as I stop to consider them. This is true of specific situations. When the fantasy is not a person, but a possibilty; and when the dust of real life that make up part of the fantasy were not from too long ago, but immdeiate enough to overwhelm you.
St. P might know this, I think he calls this 'the moment which has passed' phenomenon. Sometimes there are phases one remembers, perhaps a week, perhaps two months or four months, ---days that really happened, which are vivid in memory. Conversations which really took place. And it made you think. Sometimes one thinks ambiguously without knowing what to think, but with a lot of feeling. There are times like that. The air is charged, there is a certain kind of tension which is altogether pleasant, and then a wet wind seems to sweep over the period and all the tension and excitement and the feeling of 'something is in the air, something is going to happen' are washed out in one moist wipe and all is calm thereafter. And you look back and you know even if you are sitting in a tram or bus months afterwards, that the moment has passed, and the full import of the loss of what you had or what you might have washes over you. It has happened to me many times. Though it isn't big in the mathematics of things which really happen, the weight of losing a possibility is enormous. It feels like a heavy stone. But this is the funny thing about not so faraway pasts. The moments haunt me but they also unfold into mini-fantasies after a point, hour by hour, blossoming by themselves on the busride back home of their own accord, sometimes without even needing their creator to help them. And a point comes when by the natural laws of fantasy world, the mini-fantasies are checked, like too much insecticide sprayed on young plants. Not all fantasies die a violent death, some just get boring and you discard them or forget about them after a while. But if it was not very very long ago, then Megan's cousins can give you a lump in the throat. It's like the end of a nice day you sit down at the net and see the picture of someone kissing their new girlfriend on facebook or something, so new that you don't even know who the girl is. And afterwards, when you speak to your sister on the telephone you might say that the day was not nice or that you feel low without really having a reason, all because of a moment you lost.

I think therefore I am a nerd!

St. P has a habit of underestimating himself sometimes and quite obviously he is dying to hear what Megan did next to make his jaw drop open further! Although I like Megan very much, the very idea that she might be a heartbreaker makes me want to pay her less attention than is her due. So I stood with half my back to Megan and sipped my Mojito while I saw Megan looking at the stem of her glass. That made me respect her more. If she had been twiddling with some nameless cute yellow fruit stuck on the edge of her glass while she dazzled people with her smile, I wouldn't be able to stand her. Neither was I looking at St. P because I was sure I'd be irritated by his expression of undisguised admiration, which is like wearing a placard saying , 'Come you are free to trample over me and crush the remains with your high heels' to all potential heartbreakers. To be fair, St. P does not always gape open mouthed when he looks at people, that is more um what I do. He lights up, tilts his head, looks out of the corner of his eyes, takes a deep puff and gazes into the distance like no hot person right in front of him exists. I on the other hand utterly showed what a subtle poised thing I can be when I blundered with the very cool waitress in Karlsruhe, stared to take in the green sweater, the pierced lips, the hair and blubbered and blithered while St. P was calm, laughed, even seemed to say something funny though I knew even then that he was wowed by the cool-waitress-in-the-green-sweater.
So there we are. I haven't ventured out yet so I haven't seen Megan. But I will soon, so even if I don't see her, I guess one of the two pleasant bus drivers will be on duty on line no. 11, richtung Vaubon. Let's see. I have spared myself the trouble of going all the way to the library to get a cup of coffee and cake and had tea at home, cleaned up the house, worked a bit and now it's time to party. So, I will just go out, buy groceries and reinigungsmittel and look at shop windows. If you think this amusing, what would you say to St. P who parties even less ;) Megan however, does her cleaning and washing regularly and she rarely buys golden toast. I have often seen her stopping at the bakery in Andreas Hofer Straβe and sometimes at Laubfrosch or the one next to the shop that sells painting stuff in Holzmarkt, to buy broetchen. Now the thought of buying the same little rolls of bread from a different cafè, a new face, a different arrangement of bread and cakes, another tramstop frightens me. It's bread after all, how different could it be. But not with Megan. St. P is even further removes, going by a continuous diet of golden toast. I might not be Megan, but I sure can make Erbsensuppe!

Superheros and other nerds in "a night to remember".

I know nagging hunger can put the thoughts of megan aside - but not for long. As one can do something about the lack of food like buying another microwave meal. Mine is just about to cook so I will eat soon and kill my hunger. So indeed, St. G, Megan is back in my thoughts once more. I didn't see her at all today, but I imagined your description of her at the tables in front of university. Sometimes I wish I was back in university as work is much more boring and a lot less fun though I really like my work as you know. While I'm eating my so called dinner I will just tell more of the story about how we met Megan. So Megan looked at me and smiled and I was pretty lost so I turned around looking for help by looking for my co-saint. But she was nowhere to be seen. And I know, I might not sound like a super hero (probably because I am no superhero...) but I'm not a nerd normally. Now I was. I stood there and got all shy while Megan smiled at me. My first intention was to run away because if a woman like that smiles at a loser like me it's for no good. She would break my heart or just make fun of me to entertain her girlfriends. But Megan seemed to be all alone: There were no girlfriends to be seen. I guessed that would make her a heartbreaker which calmed me down a little bit. By now I know these heart breaking girls and for sure that wasn't anything I was up to or ready for. So I tried to ignore her looks and went to the bar to get another drink to forget the last heartbreaking girl I had met before Megan had crossed a line by smiling at me. After I had ordered my drink I saw St. G. looking for me so I waved at her to come on over to the bar and join me. Megan saw that as well and chose this moment to make a move...Even the memory makes me thirsty now, so I will go for a drink. It shall be St. G.s Responsibility to tell more about this strange night to remember....

The Morning After!

I do remember St. P though I wasn't half as lightheaded as you since I don't do well in crowds. Anyway, I saw Megan yesterday, reading the day's special off a blackboard outside a cafe. I have a cold and was in a hurry to get back home and sleep, so I jumped onto the next tram on line 3. As soon as I squeezed in past the young people with earphones, found a seat, looked out of the window and fished out my own earphones, I couldn't help thinking just a little bit about how she might sit at one of the tables, outside--typical Megan, cross her legs and run her finger through the menu card. Also, I think Megan is just back from Perth and didn't look like she is wearing H & M. There is always a pattern. The first few weeks she is back she is like that and then she gives herself up to the Germanness of attire.
I took St. P's advice and bought honey today on my way back from schwabentor and this just shows how some days Megan doesn't work..St. P would disagree. Who would think of Megan when there is a sore throat and nagging hunger to think about. I kept thinking of steaming rice, red pepper pickles and steaming vegetable curry all the way back. The busdriver however, is kind of cool..I got off the bus and when I glanced inside the bus, the busdriver did a thing with the eyes and grinned--not a wink, --but that sort of thing puts Megan in the backseat ;)

A night to remember.

Megan - sighs. When I was introduced to Megan by St. George it was an ordinary day. Still it was a day that should change my life forever. Megan just stood there looking great, giving her gorgeous smile to whoever gave her a look. But she was quite bored by the party as it was an ordinary one by the german Studentenwerk. They are quite famous for being boring. St. George and I just went there, because our lives were even more boring without it.
I looked at her and I was hypnotised by her freckles and after a while she felt like somebody watching her so she turned her face and looked me straight in the eye. She smiled - and I was lost. I sort of smiled back, at least I did best I could do, because I didn't think I would ever make a move on her...do you remember that mysterious night, St. G.?

Popcorn Fantasies

If I count the fantasies St. P or I have had in the last one month we'd run out of cigarettes and coffee. And just to emphasise at this point that we are beyond mainstream fantasies--in case you were thinking it is a blog to avoid ;), or conversely a blog you should read, going by the word 'fantasy'--our fantasies range in depth and variety from death to St.P hosting a talk show. But Megan is more than a fantasy. We can even count her freckles! My co-saint and I might not see eye to eye about things like hair gel usage, but if one thing keeps us talking, or sighing, it's Megan's nightshirts! St.P might consider ruining her at some point or so he says, but I can't think of life wthout Megan. So there !!

Create new realities.

In my real life I am a...Nope. I won't say it, because real life is sort of, well, real. So one of my best friends, her name shall not be mentioned, (and now she sings, so I can't concentrate properly...) and I decided to create our own realities, so we do not feel so much like losers. So welcome to our blog, where we find out about, how life could be like, if it wasn't the way it is. Enjoy and feel free to comment, but remember:
It's our fantasy. We can ruin it ourselves :-).