Tag Archive: writing

Bela Tarr

I went for an afternoon coffee with my sister and we accidentally sat next to Bela Tarr. He was just having beer and sat alone for awhile but then he met with some… Continue reading

Pfingsten

I was smitten by a boy in dim cloak and some heavy armor. a boy when he said he wished never to be seen evaporating came from under his cloak some heavy black… Continue reading

Serpentine

but, now even more often than seldom, and while she writes her candy letters (with gilded and elegant utensils) out of nowhere (in this well composed mind that streams) random holes with Strange… Continue reading

To an unknown horse

My dear, I remember you. You came out to greet me The last time Just as you did This time. And I put my hand on your eyes Like this, This time, Just… Continue reading

Poem

The other day my mom told me that she “harbors” a poem which I wrote on my sixteenth birthday or something, and that now she feels the time has come I hear it… Continue reading

She is and she has, always been

  a princess among girls. And though she’s hiding from the Sun, I know, The Sun will find her. My sister.

Broken, dedicated

I wish you could plunge the way I plunge my darling, and dive. for wishful thinking is just thinking, [and Promises] like breaths caught in a jar, who knows if they’re really there.… Continue reading

Open your eyes Mr. Mugaloo

open your eyes Mr Mugaloo they are not coming back for you you need to forget Mr Mugaloo! but they took… I know, everything you have they took Mr. Mugaloo and I don’t… Continue reading

Apology of a wanderer

I am coming from a distant place but I was here before. I left, to return empty. and yes, here I am now, coming from a distant place, and yes, I did leave… Continue reading

The Melancholic Housewife

found her on the bed, the report said: didn’t call for help. Father claimed: she hit her head, tripped over a teddy bear but wasn’t yet dead. hair still wet she crawled up… Continue reading

Portrait of my grandfather

When I first started painting the portrait of my grandfather a whole year had already passed since he had died. My father insisted that I do a portrait of him and the two… Continue reading

The sentence

I make a whole new world out of just one sentence around that sentence above that sentence because of just one sentence. I place all my life there. Inside that sentence.

Coffee in the morning

Early Spring. I ask the Book of Answers Should I give up hope? „Act as though it’s already real.” Oh.