Vacations!

It is nice to disappear once in a while. Come back when the weather is right, when there is enough time to sit with a drink and a juicy book for the week. I do that sometimes, in the smallest way I can do that. I take off and reappear when I think the time is right though one can occasionally miscalculate, like bus timings, and then have to wait for a bit before the action kicks in. But disappearing is something Megans are even better at, and I'd say she chose a jolly good time because the last two weeks were the hottest ever! But she who has lain on Australian sands would not be afraid of a European summer, however carpeted, wooded, fastened-windowed and air conditionless it was. Though the clothes she would wear in such weather would be sure to turn a few heads in the street. But the last few days there have been showers, and yesterday I think I saw her in front of Nicis, only there was a crowd and trams and people crossing the street between us so that was all. What is nicer is that we don't have to feel one bit guilty about bringing Megan back only because things might cool down after another two weeks, because fantasies don't mind. And she has a golden tan and looked in great shape. I wouldn't even elaborate on how I look after vacations. But I am going to go on mine pretty soon, and I hope her tan stays by the time I get back!

Cherries on cakes.

It's cold and early and I sit in a kitchen in a very cool part of Hamburg. I've got my coffee and my cigarettes with me and it's holidays so I am indeed a bit pissed that I am up so early but I know that in the upcoming two weeks this will change. And I can have a nap anytime I want to ;-)). I like holidays. But then who doesn't? Don't blame me if I am writing crap but it's 8 a.m. so nothing to expect from my side here. Have you ever been to Hamburg? It's a really nice place with a lot of small shops and a lot of red houses and sometimes it feels like being on another (german) planet as it is so different to the south. Even the people are different and yesterday I wondered if they have the same dreams. I was at a wedding party yesterday, my girlfriend's brother married and invited me, and it was quite interesting as I got to know all her family at once. Nothern germans have that wonderful way of being nice and polite while they are very reserved but you know once they get interested in you, they really are and it's no show. It was a very nice day but tiring and when we came home I was all exhausted and collapsed on the bed. I am so glad we got holidays and I don't need to go anywhere, I can just sit here and follow my train of thoughts. We start our lifes with so many dreams and when we are young we never ask if these dreams will come true, we just ask for the when. Sometimes it's nice when life takes a different path then because it shows you how high your expectations are and it pulls you down to earth again. Life is not a glamour world with white teeth and thin hips all around you and hell, I am very glad we don't live the lifes TV shows us. It would be way too tiring and boring, don't you think, St. G?
This morning it appears to me that all I want from life is having a good chat and exciting conversations once in a while. Anything else is the cherry on the (wedding)cake. I don't like the typical cherries on cakes as they are these red ones not normal ones. I like the normal ones better. And so does Megan though she herself is a bit like a cherry on cake.

Cider and Sunday Evenings!

I just came back in after a walk. It is a lovely blue evening. There was still a little light when I started. It was quiet. St. Georgen is always quiet. But you could hear the sounds of the TV from some of the houses. There is some big football game tonight I think. The streetlights were throwing orange lights in the corners, at the busstop, near the yellow telephone box and the sky was a lovely cobalt blue light. I glanced up at the windows of some of the houses as I walked and saw a ceiling lit with red light with a ring of white light in the centre, in one of them. Different Sunday evenings in the houses. I was thinking of a friend of mine who is now in South Africa. Last year, around a time like this, she made lovely blackforest cake with cherries and we had a running joke about cider all summer because of something silly that I did. When I was walking back, the black cat was still in the corning, half standing in a patch of light. She/He was there when I started. Sudenly felt like saying something to it with my new found knowledge of French ;) But could not come up with anything except for avec mois. The holidays have started and there is going to be two more weeks of this. A sigh escaped me as I type. So there you are..this week's post. Nothing deep..nothing frightfully anything..and now I go back to drinking apple juice because it's the closest that comes to cider!

"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.