...5.7.5 on a wednesday...

permission: blue
red insight, all lifes colour
blue sky knows no law

____________________
my “resident permission”. Valit for the amount of five years. Forced to visit one of the most “famous” police stations, called “Petrou Ralli”, I spend two mornings trying to obtain this piece of paper, costling less then 50 cent.
Remembering friends I met in Paris, who called themselves “sans papier”. Back than I did not understand. Over here there are probably even more people without papers, met so far only one, might take further 60 months for the next.

...monday moments...

in the afternoon lessons,

(home for us, all earth)

and if felt good.

...s – like...

What’s of value from me? The outside, my skin or what's within? How much and most of all, who dares calculating this?!

All of a sudden numbers do become important again. How much a life is worth, guess that's something no one would be allowed to publish these days.

[Industrial mobilisation, 1936. Capitalised value of human life in billion dollar.]

Raindrops falling way too many to be counted, who would dare doing that?!
Year in, year out walking among all these, drops. Beneath and above, currently somewhere in between.

Shaking images from Saturday afternoon

Years since I started to avoid using an umbrella. Maybe that's why it seems to exist a sound spelling me names and thoughts, of the falling rain.

Painting images that I carry with me, year in, year out. The source, the source. At least I know the source of rain. It's faith probably as well.

There is a mood around; many times thick enough to be cut into pieces. City has been filled up with pieces of paper, with nearly as much drops rain does have.

Writing on the wall.
Am as cautious as possible, yet can't avoid to rise my finger, to write, to point out, what might be ahead in time.

...F = m*a...

Forces and thoughts do not exist in singular first person.

Coming to life through there connections to someone, something else.

A rather modern difference to Newtons Law, that provided amount might be much smaller than the returning one.

Holding on tight, maybe even too strong, will return a fleeting strength; running away from what provides pressure.

this does affect me. directly. even though in singular third person.

(NO GREEK
CITIZENSHIP
FOR FOREIGNERS)

wearing so much more than just the skin, being locked up in. a forced colour of no choice, to be renewed time and again.

All of a sudden find myself in thoughts, forced to think, by someone else, than me. For now I’ll open up my hand, to let remain what’s inside.

...5.7.5 on a wednesday...

Only once a life
the right amount of colour
spelling me your name.

...february...

These long February nights when we are torn in the cold room from the howling wind, sitting upright and shivering in bed, turning on the night light, a thought and look at the clock - it begins to dawn already earlier, yet it is not really fun; still sitting all day in warm clothes close to furnaces, in sickness and skins.

Unsatisfying everyday tasks, literary, or hopeless; missing days without bluish fingernails, thinking about what to wear before Ash Wednesday; a knock at the door, fun’s over, we have grown old. Monday moments and thoughts of being and having enough.

Autumn in advance. Memories, just as a packed woodshed. Jarred and bacon, even the sauerkraut is coming to an end. Books, we look at during the night with radiant eyes, it seems we have read them all, none could help, or ?!

During the day, hungry under the lights, greedily sucking its ‘ozone’, as if artificial radiation would help – a kept soul within the dark, couldn’t yearn more for suns light and its freedom.

It is the month in which one lives with an economy of movement. Carefully, cautiously, as wise creatures inflicted on immobility and sleep with a slow heart, blinking, mysterious, half asleep, waiting for the sun.

During these weeks, at the end of winter, it is advisable, to live with not much effort, also being briefer while writing, not more than four or five lines in a row.

Toward morning. As we slowly awake, it occurs: Carnival. Masked and with fluttering ribbons, colored confetti littered across the world - and yet I avoided it. Now, morning, ashes on me head. Outside the window, the trees whining in fasting wind.

Something almost unrestrained, strange, happy. More and more screaming like foolish, maybe it was a “yes”. The becoming of reason. I almost did not notice it.

...s - like...

The more I tried to run away, the more I remained where I am.



Not trying to hide behind my still young age, however I wish for things to have already past by.
When was the last time, life was sufficient for and in itself?


Seduction one

Say yes. You won't regret. As I'll provide you with more than you need, ever thought of being able to receive. No one will ever learn, what's between you and me, neither he.
We can make your life worth while again; even though we never will each other know. You know you need to feel again that heat, your heart skipping a beat.


About life. Seems not to have changed much since Batseba went to take a bath.



Strength it demands - and a balanced support. To be able to withstand.



Seduction two
Sit yee down. Have a rest. Who else would deserve it more than you? But do remain quiet and unmoved. For how long could you do that? No regrets - that's for sure. Yet, place myself time and again in question of who I am - that's one of the greatest responsibilities I know, a chair is able to bare.
For how long could you leave yourself to take a look from outside - and do not intervene.

... title: yet undecided...

This being one of the rather difficult entries. Not providing too much an update about me and life, feel however obligated to spread a little light upon the last couple of days, maybe weeks, years and entries as well. Title could have been “de patientia” (about patience),”beginning”, “ end” – or the two of them, both ways round. Wondering how many windows I should open up here – what else do I have to loose, than darkness?

A week now that I could hardly use my left leg. Not performing properly and as little burdensome as possible, I hobbled through the streets, day and night, up and away to lessons. No external influences, have not stumbled and nothing done differently than usual. Really? Perhaps. Have I lost my patience? A script for life does not exist. I've learned that well. Neither here nor there.


Took a long walk today. Through pouring rain. Until my shoes were soaking wet. Feet got cold.

Why does the soul seem to have way more patience than a body? – and how long does it take for a stone to grow?


About three years since first I noticed, that it did begin to grow, from my feet, slowly climbing up, towards me head; while increasing as well in size: impatience or the colour white. Getting all lost inside, becoming “blank” now even from the outside.

Went to a doctor who gave me cream, “should be due to the strong exposure to the sun” – only that I did show her the mark beneath my chin, and not my feet or the area that does not see the sun. Years went by, like turning the pages of beloved books – yes, admit that a small portion of fear settled in.

Did some research in the net, but got caught up with an “overflow” and life continued to run fast. Mostly, they say, it is due to stress, fear, pain and agony. What to do?

Having to deal with comments on my clothes, haircut and view of life. Fighting for survival, yet not of mine, but those of a relationship, after becoming second choice.

Tell me of a thing, stronger than the stone of patience. Lies might be one of them. One can only tell the truth about a number, either π or those shown on the mobiles display.

Yet I keep being “shut up” – fearing to demand help.

„When would you stop to limp?“

Essence of life – starting this month, year with the quest of its meaning&sense, it might be this ability to step back, before it is too late.

Patience eaten up. Like Lotus. Remembering only the good. As until now patience is just enough, to avoid, stealing the answer that time has to provide.

...5.7.5 on a wednesday...

Can life ever be
neither mountain nor valley
I would like to see

...monday moments...

When did you hear
the last time
your own inner voice -
and followed nothing else



For me, have to confess, that’s very long ago, probably a decade.