In my Solitude

I shut my blinds and sit in the wailing darkness
No one knows
I lie unmoved on the icy floor until my skin turns purple
No one knows
I kill my overruling heart with a blunt knife
No one knows

I drop dead
No one cares

Weird Show

I'm the blue man with three hands, I'm the bearded woman with giant nose, I'm the crazy midget with wild red hair.
People are rushing to see me inside my cage, despite the high fare, despite the long distance.
I am never alone. I am surrounded with crowds. They stare, laugh, throw, spit at me...
They surround me with their crowded laughter, drown me in their thick black stares.
The newest weird show in the circus has come to town!

It is You

And I said I love you

I say I love you

I'll say I love you,

while

Cherishing every droplet of your loneliness-quenching-affection

It doesn't matter how hard I try, I would never be pretty in his eyes. Why is it so damn important to me, you ask? I don't have the answer. Perhaps I just want to be adored by someone who loves me. But it is too much to ask, I guess. You could never force someone to see what they can not see, to think what they can not even imagine. I know I should just be happy with my being average. But hey, at least I'm not ugly!

I have never been good in forgetting aches. Especially if scars remain. My walls are decorated with pain. I don't know who put them all in exhibit like that, but they are there, all staring at me at the same time with their vicious eyes. Each of them has its own mind. And they just don't want to leave me in peace.

My world is filled with images and words of you
Gushing into the void of your absence

Clouds from steel
rain water from keel
racing into earth's throat
suffocating

blood from shreds
tears from dreads
running out of my pores
clogging

my home
my shell

Tell Me How to Whisper Your Name

Tell me how to whisper your name properly,
because still I can't invoke you from my cold dark hole

Tell me how to whisper your name correctly,
because still I can't resurrect you from my vague dreams

Tell me how to whisper your name decently,
because still I am sitting in my loneliness alone

When all candle lights have faded away,
and nothing can sheathe me from fear,
I will cling on to the memories you gave me,
and recite each syllable of your called entity carefully,
Until you appear once more in front of me

Let's Cry!

Perhaps our tears can wash away the red of the shedded blood. Perhaps our tears can blow away the bad odor of the summoned death. And perhaps, if we cry hard enough, our tears can clean up the jug of hopes and aspirations, which is blackened by all the occuring violence. Let us cry together in unison!

My meadow is withering. But the rain I hoped for isn't coming. Despite the constant dance I have been performing. Despite the endless chants I have been singing. And a cloud came by just to say, that the rain isn't going to come.

My meadow is withering

People I miss are carving their images inside me painstakingly. And painfully I am enduring the movements of their carving nails digging into my flesh.

Ein halber Abschied

Es ist schwierig, mir vorzustellen, dass wir von unserer verfaulten Stelle weitergehen sollten. Es ist mir klar, dass wir nicht in der Vergangenheit zurückbleiben sollten. Meine Füße haben mich auch schon weiter von diesem Punkt gebracht. Aber ein Stück meines Herzens bleibt doch vergessen in diesem Ort, wo es für immer kalt bleibt.

Obwohl die logische Realitaet ihre Szenen vor meinen Augen malt, möchte ich trotzdem das Ganze doch nicht glauben. Naiv und egoistisch wie ich bin, ich möchte immer noch, dass du nur an mich denkst: dass dein Leuchtturm nur meine Gestalt anleuchtet.

Then Tomorrow

And I will be leaving you
My trails you will inherit
Along with reminiscences' quilt
And I will be leaving you
When my ship has come to shore
With baggage full of lore
Further I will soar
And I will be leaving you
If not today
Then tomorrow

I see images of myself. I see images of my-ought-to-be-self. Somehow it is hard to see those faces smiling. Sometimes it saddens me to see sublime hopes wander around in those eyes. There are my arms hugging my hopes tightly. There are my hands tugging my elevated contemplations hardly.
Those are shadows from the past. I know now what had occurred in the coming past, and can't help thinking to myself: "I have to shake myself off of these bubbly scales."

Perhaps the time has come for me to stop; for that state I was looking for is no more to be found.

I want to strip myself out of these cloaks
of fear, guilt, shame, weary
I want to stand stark naked
without any burden those coverings
are pinning me with no show of mercy

I want to get naked
with just my core outside
without feeling the chill
of the blazing wind

I want to present myself
with no fear, guilt, shame, weary
I want to stand tall stark naked on my ground
with no feelings the apple of paradise gave

proudly
proudly
proudly

"What my words can not utter
My hands will show"

And so he wrapped his arms around me,
smoothing out my tangled weariness
until the morning breeze floated
the orange moon away

Revelation

Just a knife cut away
On the other side of the window
There lies the world
in which I will see you again

I retrieve all memories I have
from the time we were not apart;
Oiling them as to hinder them
from rusting and fading away

Bathing my eyes with the golden dust
I see your depicted world
Mounted on top of the aurora
shimmering over mine

Just a knife cut away
and I will see you again
In the world on the other side of the window
Which will be opened no more

-Ode to Lyra and Will-

Emotions are colliding together and creating huge explosions of rainbowed colors. Their shreds are shooting accross the city, gouging through every solid material, flooding even the most crammed places, where even the dead doesn't have enough space to rest in peace.

Emotions are colliding together and creating new chaos in the smashed world: chain reactions without end in my heart.

A locket full of beloveds on my neck
A casket full of happiness in my pocket
A bottle full of hope on my waist
A book full of fairy tale love stories in my hands

I am ready to step out and face the world

My Missing List

I Wish Heaven Had a Phone

On the horizon she sat
putting down her grieve
on the weeping grass
she said

I wish heaven had a phone
so I could hear her voice once again
I think about her in silence
and often speak her name
All I have is memories
and a picture in a frame

But girl,
A mother would never leave your side

Her blood runs in your veins
Her emotions and thoughts
are the person you are now
Her energy is the life you are living

If you look deeply inside your heart
you will see her
If you listen closely to your heart
you will hear her
And someday in the afterlife
You will meet her again

Girl, a mother would never leave your side

My mind stumps, my soul numbs, my heart wilts. My eyes water, my stomach rebels, my lips pout. My grin hides, my laughter strike, my smile dulls.

I sit and stand and walk and run and lay and crouch.
I sing and cry and shout and whisper and snort.

Still

My mind stumps, my soul numbs, my heart wilts. My eyes water, my stomach rebels, my lips pout. My grin hides, my laughter strike, my smile dulls.

As time passes, my world crushes.

Schmerzen kommen und gehen, wie sie wollen. Oft weilen sie auch länger und fühlen sich bei mir wie zu Hause.

Because I was impulsive I have fallen in love with you and driven you away. Because I was impulsive I have fallen hard to the ground and was scattered to pieces. Because I was impulsive I have run right back at you the day you smiled at me
and thus made me vulnerable again. Because I was impulsive I have smiled back at you the brightest smile and thus blinded the sun.

Because I am impulsive I am writing this to you

Stupid

You would never say the word to me,
just as I would never say to you:
"maybe"
"I don't know"
to every question you'd ask about us

You would never let me hear that word from you,
just as I would never let you wait to have my love,
just as I would never let you stand in uncertainty,
just as I would never let you ache missing me

So in the time being I will chant the word
in a song

My Missing List

I miss your eyes: their smile
I miss your lips: their kiss
I miss your hands: their touch

I miss our walks
I miss our talks
I miss our laughs

I miss you

Just leave it to me to wrong what is right and leave it to him to ruin the chaos

Pleases

It was like walking with one foot,
where every step was a painful struggle.
Balance was something I had long forgotten,
for days were filled with stumbles and falls.

Exhausted, terrified, weary;
I tried moving forward lonesome,
ignoring the soreness and the pain,
hoping that
someday I would just get used to everything.

But you came along, my friend.
I did not take a look over my shoulder.
You were just there catching up.
Without me even crying out for any help.

You lend me your legs for me to walk upright.
You give me your voice for me to laugh out loud.
You offer me your warmth for me to stop trembling.
You endow me your presence for me to feel accompanied.

Heal me
Protect me
Stay with me

"You're everything that I've become, you're every word I say."

It doesn't matter how much I try, the images keep on popping inside my head, the liquid from the bubbles are rushing down through my throat and lungs into my heart. Flooding it with the sharp blades of sweet recollections.

"I need a bell, a book and candle to keep your ghost away." Eddy Reader.

I saw Demeter in my garden
Nodding, she was saying to me to be very patient.
For the seeds will soon be seen
as flowers dancing under the sun

Lately I have been trying to wring out smiles and laughter in my desolation. It is tiring to wear the mask the whole time, but put it aside I dare not. For I am afraid to get drowned in my own tears.

The pain doesn't hurt.
It's just there lingering and swaying
along to the shrill music of the glass sherds.

The pain doesn't hurt.
But I know it's there,
because I've often made acquaintance with it.

Wednesday, March 24th, 2010

Today was

decisions
trains
faces
glass sherds
blotched yellow sun
skinned trees
vanilla ice cream
benches
cold warmth
missing touches
waves
talking stranger
walks
loneliness in the crowd

You and I

Your tears are thorns in my heart
Your doubts are black clouds in my sky
Your disappointments are stones in my chest
Your fears are fogs in my forest
Your angers are fires in my head

Therefore be happy please,
because your joy plucks away thorns,
your security casts away black clouds,
your contentment throws away stones,
your safety clears up fogs,
your peace puts down fires.

Therefore be happy please,
for all of those known reasons,
because your happiness brings joy to my life

Es ist nur ein großes Loch in meinem Universum,
mir geht's blendend!

Wie weit wirst du gehen?

Du liebst mich
nicht
genug,
um deine Hand für mich ins Feuer zu legen

Du liebst mich
nicht
genug,
um deine Seele für mich zu verkaufen

Du liebst mich
nicht
genug,
um zusammen mit mir in die Vergessenheit zu gehen

Nein,
du liebst mich nicht genug,
um bei mir zu bleiben.

The Book Thief

I just finished reading the English version of "The Book Thief". A truly remarkable book that touched and stirred the core of my heart with its wit, sorrow, love and strange cases of luck. As the pages ran out, the tears were rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably: it was the simple story of the book thief; told immaculately by death; that wrung out sacks of salty water in my eyes. Her juggled words lulled me inside the farthest corner of my bed sheet and at the same time slammed me down on to the coldest hardest cement floor of her basement, where her foster parents stole and kept a Jew away from the Fuehrer.

I've known that words can bruise, hurt and even kill you. I've seen people bled; cut to pieces by words. But words can also fly you high up to heavens and make you forget your pains and let smile conquer your face again. Like the words from a loving mother to her crying child. One thing that I didn't know; what the stolen Jew called Max Vandenburg told me; was that one can also plant words and later harvest them on people. The Fueher and every other great leaders had known this and with the power of words they tried to conquer the world of humans, who actually invented and intended to use the very words for their own sake. The book thief tried once to kill the words just to find out that she was going to gather them again into her own.

Those wriggling dreaded harvesting years in Nazi Germany were her line of colors. She'd seen her brother coughed for the last time with one eye dreaming. She'd imagined her mother waiting for the train out of Munich to oblivion. She'd come to a new family with a mother whose face was made of lined cardboard but whose kind heart was huge and had millions of towering shelves; enough place for everyone; and a father who was actually an accordion with silver eyes and warm hands. She'd stolen foods and books from a woman who always left her windows open for her private thief; a woman whose soul was eerie and broken down because it had lost a huge lump somewhere in Stalingrad. She'd made a beautiful friendship with a feathery Jew in front of the fireplace. One thing she'd missed was to give someone a kiss while his lips were still warm and soft with life; something she would never be able to do anymore because she couldn't had bargained with time for another chance at the freezing water as the candle lit haired boy saved her newly stolen book.

She outlived everything. She was a survivor. And she was one of the many, who made it harder for death to cope with his reality of life. "I am haunted by humans", said Death at the very end of the page.

That was the book thief's simple story, that touched and stirred my heart with its each single word.

-For the love of books she stole them-

Good Night Wishes

Sleep tight, love!
Let the night blankets you so you wouldn't shiver.
Let your most wondrous dreams lend you new wings,
so you wouldn't stay on ground bleeding out your hopes and expectations.

Sleep tight, love!
The night always succumbs to the new daylight,
as the golden sun will always takes turn in reigning the realm of the silver moon.
A new day will always be born after the passing away of yesterday.
With it are also born new hopes.

Sleep tight, love!
And shove your tiresome burdens outside the door.
As tomorrow will come,
a new beginning is destined to descend after every end.
Rest your head and sleep tight, my love. . . .

Waiting for Godot

I have no idea why I am still awake
as the night dance away.
I have no idea why I am feeling the necessity
to feel hurt when being treated second best.
I have no idea why love always has the first place
in my simple life.

The world is a heap of complexities which perplexes me.

The last one

The spare heart I still had in my wooden chest is out. Without knowing how and when I am already using it and depending my life on its every beat. I guess I wasn´t really ready to wither and fade away.

A delirious delight is what I am feeling at the moment. I don´t know for how long I can use this new heart, that was captivated in a dark box. And the last time I checked, I only had this last one I am now using.

I thought the earth were my mother. I thought she would never had conjured up the seven headed dragon to devour me. But my mother was not the Gaia I thought she was. Underneath she was the Medea I long feared.

My eerie soul is lingering on the quiet desert, searching for some kind of an oasis, where I can find some spells to lead my savior to come to me and bring me back to life.

After New Moon

To love,

I can feel now that I am human. I can see my breathing in the air. I can feel my bones crackling under my skin. I can hear my muscles wrigling together; in my fragile being. I don't mind if I have to feel your pains because you also offer me life. And you, love, you make me realize that I am mortal.

Time passes by without you beside me. Every single tick of the clock is the sharp blade that is wounding me. My blood is the sadness that is pouring out, draining me. And I just sit here on my window, looking into the emptiness of your traces as the seasons change.

Please come back to me, or let me run to you.

Yours always.

Reality Check

I've never seen myself as a nice person. I smudge and crack any mirror I look in. So why can someone from my far away past tell me that I was the opposite of blackness? Has she met another me? Or is she just telling me her self-made-me-memory?

Her words take me gliding on flowery hills for a second. But then I see my image smudging a standing mirror again.

Baby Blues

Look
up there in the indigo sky
hold up
your hands
because one of those
thousand storks
has what your heart
has been yearning for
Look
up there in the sky
it's raining babies
in every hue
One
is coming into your arms
an indigo baby
falls from the indigo sky

Mother, cover him
with your rainbow love!

The Smith of Night

No I can't close my eyes still. All my senses are quenching their thirst of far away land and never ending romance. My veins absorb every melody of every song I hear tonight; weaving my dreams out of those melodies. But I lost my only coin as I lean over the fountain to look inside and try to find out my luck. So now I continue my journey to the far away land where stories of romance will never end; without knowing whether I will eventually be there.

Treacherous Rain

They say the rain can ease the wrath of the hot sun, can heave the heavy burden of the black clouds. The say the pouring water from the sky can bring life to earth, can make the seeds succumb to the temptation of growing out of their shells and face up the outside world jubilantly filled with new born hope.

I have always loved that falling water. I have always eagerly sipped the scents of the wet earth, inhaled the tastes of the humid air and blended them together into my own dancing cup of tea. But lo, now that I am all soaking wet. I am shaking inside out hating the chirping of the laughing birds. I didn't recognise this feeling; never acquainted this rage. What has gotten into me? Am I not the child of Gaia anymore? Has she abandonned me? Or have I drifted too far away from her comforting bossom, have too much of the poisonous but decievingly inviting ambrosia?

The sky is light blue once again. The black from the clouds has turned into white once more. I lay flat on the ground. Beside me is a young plant singing its thankful chants to the sky. I just look straight up to the atmosphere

Faces

Am I being ungrateful?
Staring at those faces on TV. I just feel like I want to absorb every detail, hoping they would somehow occur to me. Why is fate keeping me unattended? It's like I have to spend my life writhing and wriggling my phantasies just to abstract some kind of blotched self carved home made reality. I guess I just have to keep on watching the damn TV, because on the back of my head I know that fate is giving me the finger.
But does that make me ungrateful for wanting an alternate pink wallpaper for my wall?

To Nowhere

Wishful thinking is something I can do exceptionally good because it's the thread that ties my tears from falling and my fear from rampaging. Wishful thinking is the contemplation of what my soul calls divine. With this chariot I am going away gradually.

A Welcome Song

I reached down inside my husk of heart triying to feel that little bits of colorful stones. They crept in without me expecting of their advance, like a growing rose bush in summer; with thorns just to protect me from the vicious world. Slowly but constantly they grow into me blooming their soothing, hilarious, colorful scented blossoms. The knowledge of having them inside grants me the good feeling of hope: Of hope that my core would somehow someday no longer a weary husk.

I welcome you inside my little motley stones.... help me splash my little world with brighter hues.

Words can not portray the thousands corridors of my feelings. I told myself not to go back to the place anymore, but my feet rebell against my warnings. My mind drifts alone to the spots of recent past and wishful future without me noticing; leaving my body lying soulless on the ground. And when I am there to the full and entire extent, I am always greedily devouring every detail I can catch; celebrating every step, breath, heartbeat. I can not resist to play. Everytime it pleasantly abstracts me from my immediate reality.

I have trespassed the sphere of the goddess of the hunt and enjoyed the accompany of her deer. She is coming to hunt me down and expel me out of her land.

-

I have lived for today. I saved so many diamonds and pearls just for this very day. I have dreamt of today. I fastened my fairy tales with my most fanciful stitches. I have lived for this withered day and I ended it laughing at my murdered expectations.

Look at her swaying her hands towards the sky. Drooling looking at the first prize over the clouds stomping her feet like an undernourished horse I once saw on the street. Is she a disgrace to our kind? Or are we all capable of being that way in exasperation? But mother, she disgusts me.

Princess, why are you still weeping beside the pond? You won't get your golden ball back, if you don't go for it yourself. Never should you ponder to let a green slimy frog to help you. It doesn't really matter if it is actually an enchanted prince from a far away land. A frog is still going to be a frog and it is better for you to be able to stand on your own feet for the first time. Shake the trees and let your dress rip and your blood trickle out of your cuts. Trust me, Princess. In the end you will be a strong queen.

February Goodbyes

Floating over the ensheathed city I am looking for a little island to rest my wings. I was looking for the little tree, that once hugged my worries away. I was searching for the spring breeze, which had thrust my rocking boat gently through the storm. Their traces have faded before I could recount all of our reminiscences.
This blinded city of the south is deserted.

I am missing you.

My little hugging tree, gentle spring breeze, elfish sensible muse, purifying crystal water, pampering looking glass, smooth seashell, warming quartz sand.

hurting

As always, it's starting to hurt and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Dreams are not reality but I tend to tread on my dreams and hang on to the soft mist of the fantasy. Even when it is starting to hurt and I am forced to bruise myself because of the daily fall into the harsh concrete of reality; I am still coming back to that place. Over and over again.

At the Borderline

Like a chocolate fountain, melting caramel on a hot plate and a river of honey. Sweetness bursts into me without any halt; pulling the sides of my cheeks upwards.

I wonder if it is right to betray yourself and enjoy the exciting ride and perhaps take another daring one?

happy valentine

"So much for dreaming the man of my dreams!" She said that repeatedly with watery eyes. I looked at her hollow face. People told me how beautiful she was, how her light could brought morning dews glisten like droplets of the most exotic jewels. Now I can not even seem to trace the residue of her bedazzling characters; as if she had forsaken them somewhere amidst her rigorous sorrow."Perhaps it would've been better, if I hadn't found him." And she closed her door.

The Explorer

I am back to where I used to be. I should have known, I can not go too far. My rope is not long enough.
Perhaps, if I ask nicely for a longer one....

Salma

The muse chattered in my dim lit room last night
Her glowing long gown was a colorful shade of white
She chattered her songs with her silky voice
I looked in awe as she smiled at me
saying, "Be kind to yourself, dear."

In my dim lit room she danced around
sprinkling her golden dust into every corner
Her laughter chimed indistinctly inside my ears
Glowing colorful shade of white and gold dust filled every vacant hole

The muse chattered as I listened in awe
"Be kind to yourself, dear.
For I will not always be near."
In my dim lit room I heard her silky voice

Salma

Hail to the guardian of the tower of the south,
I invoke thee!
Come and take over this dried field of mine!
Resurrect thy power from within the soil I stand upon
for here I am bended and broken down
bleeding out my residue of love, passion, affection!

Hail to the guardian of the tower of the south,
I invoke thee!
For my fortress is no longer strong holding
the downpour of the molten red lava from my eyes.
This worn out heart can't save herself anymore,
soar right away into me!
Redeem me once again!
Reborn me!

worries

I'm back to where I used to be and am even going on further into this dark pit. I know what kind of torment is waiting for me there. But I am going on further still. I put my self at stake again just to find out, that it will never ever going to get better between us. Perhaps it is better for some time, but I know for sure, that I will have to rip my guts out all over again....just to create a distraction for myself and thus ease the heartache. I know I have to install my shield again and go away as far as the wind can take me, or that time will come.

my wreckage ship; one

It’s naturally not easy to find yourself down in the dumps. Especially if you know that there is not a big chance for you to crawl back up to where you used to stand. People say, if you want to make a change of your situation, you should just stand up and do it. They say it’s the problem of your mind. However, sometimes I find it more comfortable to stay here in my dumps after you just got punched a few times in your face. People are keep on crying out: “Go ahead and save your soul!” But they just don’t know and don’t care. What if I don’t want to be saved anymore? I am just tired of being accused of things I am not responsible of, or being told to do things I really don’t want to do, or to get stapled with packages of disappointments. So I would just sit here in my dumps and enjoy the process of my fading out. No one would ever notice, anyway.

"you might call him dull, but he smiled whenever he saw me and we could have built a life on it." an excerpt from the movie "Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day".

A Schizophrenic State

Can someone tell me where my fairies go? I was so busy coping with life it didn't dawn on me instantly. The clamors of the city dimmed the tiny voices of my fairies. It was like being struck by a colossal lightning: I was finally aware of their absence. Where did they go? I used to have them with me all the time. They used to talk to me, encourage me, comfort me, accompany me. But now there is not a single trace of them and strangely, I can only vaguely recollect their faces. I swear they were there all the time. I could swear that.. Perhaps...

Where do my fairies go?

Trapped

Life can really get on your nerves sometimes. And when it does, you just want to bury your head deep in the sand, so that you won't have to get acquainted with all the ugly winged wearies from the pandora box. Just when you think all is going on well, you realize you're standing on a quicksand because you were too overwhelmed by your success. without compromise are you sinking into the sand. You just wanted to bury your head, but now you get the whole bonus treatment. All those success can't give you a hand and help you out. You end up alone being depressed and thinking how it's all gone wrong, collecting milestones of memories you piled on the corner trying to figure out why it went wrong. Perhaps you should let it all go. No more fights. Just let everything go and accept your situation whilst wondering why that stupid woman opened the forbidden chest on the first place.

A Plea

Spin your viscous web around me, so I can't see the outside world anymore. I want to stay inside your cage, just to make sure that I won't hurt myself anymore. I prefer to be blind than seeing how they wipe my memories away. I prefer to be deaf than hearing how they loathe my ways. I am one lonely dot amidst triangles; and no triangle likes a dot. So please take me in your asylum; spin your viscous web around me.

How Old is He Now?

The Fitting

Am I wrong to fit the world to my needs, so I wouldn't lose hope and just crow my fears in the most silent way? Eventhough I have never seen magic before nor felt its silvery clink, I am thrilled everytime knowing its thick existence in the world I have created for my own sake. A playful world filled with colorful magic creatures, sunlight, moonbeam, and tiny twinkling stars: all together at once, waiting for their turn to soothe and protect me from weariness and ailments. I can always retreat and find refugee with my well-chosen friends in my well-designed world. Anything to protect my soul. I fear the day when I would be totally normal like any adult. I dread their inability to recognize the beauty of a dust, the sweetness of raindrops or the melody of a bumblebee. I am fitting the world to my needs: with my collections of enchanted lace and ribbons.

Excerpts from Indonesia II

Indonesische bzw. betawinesische Weisheiten:

Muttermilch ist scharf. Sie kann für den Säugling gefährlich sein.

Die möglichen schlechten Wirkungen von Muttermilch für Säuglilnge:
1. Wenn sie auf die Babyhaut tropft, kann sie Hautkrankheiten verursachen.
2. Wenn sie auf den Babypipimann tropft, kann die Muttermilch später Impotenz verursachen. Falls das passieren sollte, dann soll die Mutter den Penisschaft des Kranken mit ihrem Zehendaumen drücken.

Diese Weisheiten habe ich von einer alten betawinesischen Masseurin erzählt bekommen. Sie hat mir sogar als Beweis eine so ähnliche Geschichte von ihrem Nachbar verraten: In der ersten Nacht nachdem dieser Nachbar seine Frau geheiratet hatte, stellte er plötzlich fest, dass es mit ihm in seinem Hochzeitsbett überhaupt nicht gut klappte. Seine neugeheiratete Frau ging um einen Rat zu seiner Mutter, und die Mutter zu dieser Masseurin. Die Masseurin erkannte sofort diesen Zustand und die mögliche Ursache. Sie empfahl dieser traurigen Mutter, die obigen Prozeduren durchzuführen. Diese Mutter führte das bei ihrem Sohn wirklich aus und danach war er wieder gesund. Also, wenn es wirklich helfen kann, warum nicht?!?

[...]



Ikan Lele (Catfish/ der Wels) wird heute immer noch mit Menschensstuhl gefüttert. In Cabangbungin, Bekasi (3 Stunden Busfahrt von Jakarta) zum Beispiel habe ich es selbst gesehen, in einem langen Fluss, der mit vielen "Hubschraubern" beschmückt wird.



zu dem obigen Bild: so sieht ein typischer "Hubschrauber" aus.Aber unter diesem ist normalerweise ein Fluss oder ein See (mit vielen ikan lele!). Da freuen sich die ikan lele, wenn die Menschen zu diesem Klo gehen. Maaaahlzeeeiiiiit.....




Eine Zitat von masakmasak.blogspot.com:


"I had to satisfy my cravings for this - Pecel Lele which is essentially deep fried ikan keli (catfish). The fish was nice and crunchy that you could even eat the bones. Topped with the crunchy batter bits, I was happy reliving memories about this dish which I once ate at Jakarta."

Excerpts from Indonesia I

Jakarta, der 7. Tag/Samstag

Die Zeit bleibt stehen. Jede Ecke behält eine alte Erinnerung. Gleichzeitig sehe ich alles auch ganz anders. Ich sehe überall (ver)alte(te) Gesichter; Kinder, die ich überhaupt noch nie gesehen habe. Es ist, als ob ich eine Zeitreise gemacht hätte [...]

Unser Haus ist der absolute Kitsch, mit vielen blauen Wänden. Das erinnert mich an Schwimmbäder. Mein Papa hat 2 Schlafzimmer mit Klimaanlagen ausgerüstet, trotzdem ist es keine richtige Hilfe gegen das Kitschproblem. Vor dem Haus in unserem Garten wächst ein schöner Guava Baum mit lila Blumen. Der Baum streut seine Nadelförmige Blüte überall in unserem Vorgarten. Es ist eine sehr idyllische Szene, die ich sehr bewundere [...]

Unser Badezimmer ist etwas besonderes. Die zwei Badezimmer unten (ich schlafe zur Zeit in meinem alten Schlafzimmer in der ersten Etage) sind sehr schmutzig: mit von Dreck verdeckten Boden. In dem Bad im Wohnzimmer gibt es eine selbst gebastelte ziemlich lange Toilettenbürste (!!!). Mein Papa ist sehr stolz auf seine Werk, dass er die Bürste in eine Ecke des Bades gestellt hat: aber ohne Schüssel!!! Also: ein verdrecktes Bad mit einer nackten Toilettenbürste in der Ecke. Ich betrete dieses Bad nur, wenn ich überhaupt keine andere Wahl habe [...]

In a land where halal food is very important, (the government even built a tall building for a halal food institute) there is no guarantee that the food you eat is not poisonous. They are absolutely halal for sure, but no one has any idea if your food can kill you. I wonder what these people are thinking [...]

I miss him so very much. No, never I am going to stop falling in love with you.

shrive

Your mouth could be a vicious beast, which can rip off the heart out of any body, any thing. So think deeply, express yourself carefully.

Your tongue could be a very sharp sword, that can cut off the head of any body, any thing. So watch the way you talk.

Oh please forgive me for I have sinned.

The God of Small Things

At a flea market he lives, chatting with everyone, everything he meets. With his microscopic lenses he wanders registering the world in his head: composing words and frozen live scenes. When the rest of us is too busy with everything gigantic and big and enormous, he scavanges neglected details from every nooks and crannies, puts them carefully in his big box to enrich his collection: towers of keepsakes and memories.

At a flea market he lives, enjoying forever sun beamed out from the loud crowds in his surroundings. He counts all the clouds in the sky and seeks for the greenest tree over the hill everytime he looks out the window. He distinguishes different colors of droplets of rain and paints his own rainbow out of them.

You would, wouldn't you?

Go to the ocean without water
Bathe yourself in its fanciful vapor
So you wouldn't lose your winged wishes
In the jungle of ripened rice fields

Delusions could be your redeemers
So go dance with their golden mirage
Choose your own shade of colors
Use their emotions for your private collage

Under this ancient tree
I will wait patiently
For you to come to me
Then no more I will be lonely

haste

Here is everything still in chaos. I have to tidy them up bit by bit.
I have no idea what is taking me so long to finish this one single chore, but I still need time.

I often have bad dreams of being left alone, being the only one left when everyone has gone away. Then I would try to catch up in order to be with the others again; but I just can't. I would run as fast as I can, run and run and run, until I wake up with sweat on my forehead.

I am still tidying myself up. Rotten memories under my bed. Fear on the dark corners. Anger on the ceiling, low self-esteem on the walls. Traces from almost three decades of life time. I have to tidy myself up and throw all self-destroying things away.

I still need time and no one would wait.

The Holy Flame

The burning tire keeps on rolling; setting in-gasoline-immersed-waste in flame. Everyone cries their fear, anger and despair out loud. With tears on their eyes they stand still..and hate. All that was precious was burned down. Now hate is their only treasure, that would be kept carefully, polished shiny, bequeathed ceremoniously. Until someday they forget why they are doing what they are doing. "Our fathers' fathers have been doing it the whole time, so this is nothing but holy!"

I've been

I've been trying to understand how the world goes
I've been craving to comprehend why everything happens the way it is
Why do I have to feel all the woes
Why can't I just have my peace

Fiends wear masks of angels
Friends are just shadows in a foggy forest
I made acquaintance with those masks of angels
I bathed in the shadows of that foggy forest

Without the slightest doubt
with overall trust and no pout

No one ever bothered telling me
masks cover genuine faces
A rock can shadows never be
No one ever bothered showing me their paces

I've been waiting too long
for a simple answer
to end my confusion

Peace out!

So I found this particular text somewhere and since then on it has become my behavioral guidance to deal with other people.

"If someone hurts, betrays or break your heart, forgive them, for they have helped you learn about trust and the importance of being cautious to whom you open your eyes. If someone loves you, love them back unconditionally, not because they love you, but because they teach you to love and open your heart and eyes to things you would never seen or felt before.
Make every day count. Appreciate every moment and take from it every thing that you possibly can, for you may never be able to experience it again. Talk to people you have never talked to before, and listen to them. Let yourself fall in love. Break free and set your sights high. Hold your head up because you have every right to do so. Tell yourself that you are a great individual and believe in yourself, for if you don't, no one else will believe in you. You can make of your life anything you wish. Create your own life and then go out and live it."


Wow, it sounds great, isn't it?

I always feel like Mahatma Gandhi every time I read it, think of it, or practicing its wisdom. However it is not very easy to be so skinny and just eat the simplest food, wear the humblest clothes all the time. And it is especially not easy not to hit back if you are getting brutally slammed down. Don't you think?

Thanksgiving

Dear God, thank you for taking care of me all the way. Thank you for teaching me everything I need to know about this world. Though it can hurt so badly, it does make me wiser and broaden my horizon with every cut, every wound, every salt spread on it. And I fully realize that I am the master of my own lifeline. I will never condemn you, no matter how hard I have fallen. Dear God, thank you again for bringing me up into the person I am.
Thank you that I can always experience wonderful things that save me everytime from falling from grace. It was also you, who taught me how a single little act of thoughtfulness can brighten up my life in just a snap of fingers. I realize now I don't need any spell nor potions. My love, faith, family and friends are my magic. They keep my world intact. They are my fort to keep all harms away. Dear God, thank you for them and I pray that my magic will be forever strong.

toothbrushing is fun!

A Bond of Two Souls in Love between Thick Concrete Buildings

A text for my newly taken English class:

Marriage is still a very important issue for me. It’s not just an arrangement written on a sheet of paper like many of us nowadays think. For me it has big emotional and psychological values. Getting married means to make a commitment as a couple to cherish each other for the rest of our lives, and to be for each other in times of joy and trouble. It also means that we are doing everything with good intentions, and that we are not afraid of taking responsibilities for each other. It means that we want to have children and raise them together as a family. It means that we have chosen to love our partner for the rest of our lives. There won’t be a sentence like “I don’t love you anymore” or “I have lost my love for you”, because we both try to preserve and nourish our seeds of love in every moment we breathe. Marriage is more than just a piece of paper; it is a union, a bond of two souls in love.

It is a pity that this kind of thinking is no longer a modern opinion. People tend to get practical and forget how beautiful it is to live their romantic side. A marriage institution is becoming more a burden than a blessing, and a relationship means two people who like to be together because they are sexually attracted to each other. When the attraction and the fun are gone, and so is the relationship. No wonder it is more practical for them to move on and seek for new happiness with a new partner without the complexity of marriage. They can just leave everything behind and don’t need to take any responsibility for what they have caused in other people’s lives. Relationships are getting nomadic. People’s hearts are getting colder.

A marriage might have lost its importance in the hearts of many people, but I can still see a lot of individuals who still think conservatively. Not just heterosexuals but also homosexuals in their own ways. Many homosexuals also yearn to seal their love in front of everything which is holy for them or in front of everyone who is important for them. So in my opinion they are somehow still “old fashioned”. As long as there are still people out there who believe in the beauty of a marriage life, I still think that I shouldn’t lose faith on the warmth of this society.

My comment: a little bit cliché, don't you think?

annoying pop ups

To Trick Time

How time zaps with an incredible force. Like a hurricane, twirling and swirling rapidly, taking everything with it in every direction it wants to go. You just have to go whirling together under its compulsion. You have got no other choice. You can not just stay and sit watching the ongoing tumult. (Bless those buddhist monks for being able to part their souls from their bodies and to prove out Einstein's relativity theory!!! There is not a concept of time as an in-one-direction-flying-streaming object. TIMES are flying everywhere they like.
Buddhist monks are really the most ecologically friendly types that have ever set their tiny feets on earth. The reason is because of this thing they believe and brag to exist, the thing called reincarnation. It is all about recycling. If you can still use the departed soul, why dump it and create a new one? It is really a sick idea to be so extravagant. I think a God would not be such a wasteful guy. Nor girl.
Reincarnation also means, that you can live forever. So long as it takes. So long as this blue ball named earth still exists. Or maybe so long as that powerful Element sometimes called God still exists. What a wonderful thing to think of! Of course you also have to expect finding yourself as a worm after your death if you were not a good person in your first life. But hey, you get to live! Perhaps if you lead a life as a pious worm, then you would be able to be reborn as a human being again, and of course with a touch of luck, you could remember your past lives.
Almost perfect. It would be better if you could also be together again with the one you love. Oh eternal love! Perhaps if you love someone so very much, your soul would be so very strong to seek out your loved one and unite with him in your second life, or your third, or your thirty fifth. It depends on the strength of your love, perhaps. How should I know? I might have to go to Tibet and ask the buddhist monks there, before time(s) overrun(s) me.

Maybe you can think of something?

My Escape

to feel not good enough
to feel underestimated
to feel insecure
to feel inferior

I do not want

So I run beyond my boundaries to search for a new world, hoping to have a good luck and to be able to start a new life, where there are no such bearings, which I fear. So much.

And I have found my safe place, where everything is green and flowery and beautiful.

But now a shadow comes from my most frightened past. It capsules me in layers of its colorless fears. Then I realized: I have been fossillized. I am a crippled fetus crouching farther in a dark cave with no ray of light. I need to break through.

So I run and run and try to overrun that shadow and ignore all the screaming around me.

They won't get me, not again.

I do not want.

KultUhr

Was verstehst du unter dem Begriff Kultur? Heute habe ich ein Seminar besucht, in dem wir uns mit dem Kulturbegriff beschäftigt haben (eine ziemlich unwichtige Sache zu tun. Aber hey! wir leben doch in einer gedeihenden Gesellschaft, wo jeder seine Zeit mit überflüssigen Dingen totschlagen darf!!!). In den Zeiten der Griechen verstand man unter Kultur alles Edles, Schönes, und Wahres. In anderen Worten: Theater, Kunst (Bildhauerei), und Philosophie. Diesen klassischen, engen Begriff finden die Experten nicht mehr aktuell, denn heutzutage sollten die alltäglichen Kulturelementen mitreinbezogen werden, dh. Agrikultur, Erziehungssystem und so weiter und sofort.

Diesem erweiterten Sinnetwegen haben wir jetzt mehr Probleme, die eigentliche Bedeutung von Kultur zu definieren. Alltagskultur hat so viele Facetten, dass man keine Grenze mehr legen kann. Es ist schon klar, dass das, was in einer Gesellschaft schön, edel und wahr ist, ist nicht immer schön edel und wahr in einer anderen Gesellschaft, und dazu kommen noch diese alltägliche Gegenstände, und alltägliche Gegenstände stehen nicht immer unter einem positiven Schirm. Menschen in Deutschland bzw. Europa können die Ausübung von Zwangsheirat nicht akzeptieren, weil es gegen ihre Menschenrechtsverfassung ist, und deshalb nennen sie diese Sitte Unkultur oder sogar Barbarei. Umgekehrt können die Menschen in einigen Ländern das nicht akzeptieren, dass die Menschen in Europa Freudianer sind. Sie nennen das auch Unkultur und auch sogar Barbarei. Man streitet sich, ab wann man etwas als Kultur bezeichnen darf.

Meiner Meinung nach kann man das überhaupt nicht abgrenzen. Dieser Begriff ist sehr subjektiv. Sehr subjektiv wie die Geschmackssensoren auf deiner Zunge. In Indien ging eine brave Frau mit ins Feuer wo ihr toter Mann zum Verbrennen lag (ob diese Sitte heutzutage noch geführt wird?). In Papua, Indonesien, lässt eine Frau ihren Finger abhacken, jedesmal ein Familienmitglied stirbt (noch sehr aktuell bis heute). Sie halten diese Sitte für sehr normal und machen das freiwillig und sind sogar stolz darauf, dass sie das tun. Sie werden nicht zustimmen, wenn andere Leute aus anderen weit entfernten Ländern plötzlich zu ihnen kommen und erklären, dass das, was sie tun Barbareien oder Unkultur ist (das ist, wenn sie das verstehen was Unkultur oder Barbareien bedeutet; oder wenn die Experten sich Zeit nehmen, um ihnen diese schwierige Begriffe zu erläutern). Reibungen werden vorkommen, zunächst werden sie sich debattieren (vielleicht brauchen sie dafür auch Dolmetscher--Juchuu!! Noch eine Stelle für uns!), einer könnte außer sich vor Wut sein und schlägt einen Experten. Die Sache entwickelt sich so wie immer seit den Zeiten von Adam und Evas Kindern. Da haben wir einen "Clash of Civilizations", wie Samuel Huntington in seinem Kopfkissenbuch mal prophezeit hat.

Wer kann/darf die Grenzen zu dem Kulturbegriff legen? Unesco? Kulturexperten? Professuren? Soll vielleicht Kulturpolizei erschaffen werden? Soll Kultur stets etwas Positives bleiben? Was heißt positiv für welche Gesellschaft? Was ist eigentlich eine Gesellschaft? Na, hier haben wir noch mehr Themen zur Beschäftigung von Menschen in einem gedeihenden Land.

built-in illusions

I despise the way one searches for every possibility one can find if it doesn't work here then it would work there if it doesn't work there then maybe it would work somewhere. I hate the way one tells another how innocent one is although actually one has so many foul things in one's pocket and always ready to use anything required to achieve one's goal without concerning if it would hurt another and then still dare say that one is honest and respectful. I loathe the way one plays with another's feelings and emotions and gives another wrong (better) impression of the whole situation then lets the other think how great and how pretty everything is when everything is actually already out of control from the other side of the fence. I curse how one makes another so blind with the love one sells and make another willing to offer everything that comes to hand for that illusion one brought.

in trance

swing my hip with your gentle arms
trace my crystal sweat with your alluring fingers
embrace my curves with your airy being
move together with me in harmony
blast our passions into the sky
I'll taste your fiery dip in my mouth
stir your bowl into a hot ring
melt my tongue inside your joy

salsa me!!!

comprehension

rockaby baby on a tree top
when the wind blows
the cradle will rock
when the bough breaks
the cradle will fall
down come baby, cradle and all....

the world being introduced to a child

répondez s'il vous plaît

Together with my pillow
I have crossed the border of sanity
Way inside the world of my blanket
I have built a house out of tangled black threads
On the comforting island of my bed
I have raised a beautiful garden of weed

On and on with my tiger I stay on my boat
The sharks are playing merrily in the wave
Such a breath-taking sight to see!
What a paradise to be!

I have placed the no disturb sign on my door
So worry not, my love, the orgy can begin
Please have a seat and sip your drink
My flesh will be soon served too

Just beyond the border of sanity
in a house of tangled black threads
with a beautiful garden of weed
I invite you to come and enjoy my maze

My Needs

It bugs me so much
It trembles my rocks
It chokes me to death
It breaks my locks

I am broken in
I am exposed
naked burried in the
heap of rotten meat

Can you give me the clothes I need
Can you weed my garden tidy
Can you kill those nagging rats
Can you loosen up these tight ropes

I want to ram myself inside your bones
I have to drink your blood, breathe your breath

Resurrect me!
Glorify me!

Stepstones

What is it that bothers me?

Happiness goes in and out my soul the way she likes it.

What is it that bothers me?

past present continues future questions doubt.

What is it that bothers me?

What would it be like, if I blindfold myself?

Way to Perfection

Why can't you be more like that?
Why must you think this way?
Why can't you just be more tolerant?
Why can't you just change your way of thinking?

It is not me that you want
It is not me that you need

Because I can't be more different than that
I can't think this way
I can't be more tolerant than I am now
I can't change my way of thinking

questionmarks

why do I feel so bad
why do I feel so bad
why do I feel so bad
what is going on
what is wrong
who is wrong

Is this what I want
Is this what I think I want
Is this it

what is going on
what is wrong
who is wrong
why do I feel so bad
why do I feel so bad
why do I feel so bad

this afternoon

egoism egoist egocentric egotistic

I undergo hours of journeys just to be with you
I work overtime to afford more than just a weekend at your side
I am willing to spend the night at work just so I can stay a little bit longer in your arms
I told my friends that I want to concentrate myself to you
I; I; ME; ME; ME!
echo throughout the land

egoism egoist egocentric egotistic I AM

Swallowed Rage

Oh how I wish to wash away all of those conjuring thoughts full of thorns. Sometimes I believe that I am capable of crushing everything bit by bit into the smalest mollecule....

I do not know if I am really able to be that cruel. The thought is there, though.

Walk on by

Days are streams of consciousness, which mutilated into shreds and particles of juggled dreams. Months constitute of racings of blurred days; the fastness awes, the vastness crushes.

I am shoved through many mazes of woods, rivers, and streets. The flying smoke of the fox in the woods lulled me in my wooden cradle; blanketted my shivering core with its redwhite silken fur. I lingered into the river and was pushed by the slithering two headed serpent through the blazing water. Closing my eyes, I inhaled all the fluids and the ray of light into my lungs. At this moment I reached the mouths of the uncountable streets and begin my bewildered journey of trials and errors. I am still here.

Swaying in between

days are streams of consciousness, months constitute of racing blur

Divine Conversation

I want to pray again.
I want to face That Source of Energy with all my soul
I want to.., but I am afraid I am not entitled to,

with all the sins I have done and which I am going to do.

My Blessed Being

I am happy

Am I happy?

I think I am happy.
But if I am happy, why
am I questioning if I am really happy?
Or is it just a feeling of hesitation
which is covering my contentment?

I must be happy now.
It has supposed to be happiness.
It has got to be joy.
I did laugh
I did smile
laughing and smiling

I did

So if I have had all that, I guess I have achieved that exuberant state... Have I?

Pressure

Images

NICE WARMHEARTED bogus FUNNY INTELLIGENT INTERESTING PRETTY feigned SMELL GOOD EASY GOING PLEASING EARNEST illusory CLEVER EXPRESSIVE TALENTED false DILIGENT FUN AFFECTIONATE HONEST KIND SENSITIVE WISE sham MATURE LOVING :

The jewels shimmer most brightly in November.

Natzweiler-Struthof

Ghosts were everywhere there. It was cold and white. I could not trust even the land I stood upon. I could not find an unharmed road to walk on. It was a vast expanse of land, cultivated to satisfy the appetite of the strong. Every inch of the soil was spoiled by blood. The air is full of ferociousness; you can inhale cruelty. I could not stay too long. It was like being jammed inside a freezing, narrow box. You could not move; you just crouched there searching for some light, trying to breathe properly.

I saw them, piled on the snow; towering to the sky; as if trying to make a ladder to escape the electric fence and the maschine guns. A tower of cadavers 800 meters above the sea.

I saw them, hasting in a centrifugal motion leaving the chimney of fire. They did not want to stay there, neither did I. But I could walk out through the gate alive, most of them could not.