so suddenly, I had my answer
night is my best friend. well, one of my best friends, to be more precise. dear night, thank you for inexplicably enlightening my mind. thank you for waking up the diversity in me. thank you for letting me watch my colorful imaginary scenarios, which lead me to the path of writing the beginning of several never ending stories.
I have never been a person who throws away stuff. I am a person who does not throw away the things I SHOULD be throwing away. I remember, one of my colleagues used to threaten me by saying that one day she would come over to my place just to throw away everything. she is really sweet. and a f****** pain in the a** when she gets angry. eventually my love for her became unconditional (we are like sisters), but I have to mention that one of the guys in the office used to call her barky. haha.
ANYWAY
There is more to say about throwing away stuff. or keeping stuff. in order to get to the place I want to be, I need to be capable of sorting out what is necessary and what is pathetic to keep in my life; both literally, figuratively and metaphorically speaking. I don’t do easy and I certainly don’t believe in disgustingly romantic stuff. for other people, be my guest; feel free to be as easy going and romantic as you like, it’s ok. For me, it’s not working. So, that leaves me with the following question…
why is it that I seem like a disgustingly romantic person who isn’t able to throw away any letters, tickets (train, airplane, movie, theater you name it) and journals (which I don’t want ANYONE to read – even when I am dead) or erase any e-mails that contain any kind of feelings or memories (except the really, really hurtful ones)?
I have thrown away a lot of stuff tonight, including some emotional baggage. yaay! lucky me.
I am keeping the letters, journals and the tickets though. and some of my e-mails.
hmm. this must have been interesting for you to read. just so you know, I feel like expressing myself visually these days…so have a look on shingirmingir-style.blogspot.com if you are interested.
my in-betweens
what to do with the colors, shades and shapes
what to do with blue
who’s/that’s been piercing my mind
my day was orange,
my evening green
what to do with the difficulty
of acting out and spreading
my colors
what to do with the words
that hide (away) in the
shades
what to do with this
blossoming happiness that
comes from nowhere/a place
I am not familiar with
what to do with the music
I cannot seem to define
and therefore not awaken
what to do with the gray in between
what to do with my
in-betweens that no one’s
able to see
or hear
or feel
and therefore not connect to
what to do with red
that’s fading out from
moment to moment
second to second
minute to minute
hour to hour
day to day
night to night
week to week
month to month
season to season
year to year
era to era
what to do with blue
who/that is the only one/thing
(who is he?/what is it?)
who/that matters
what to do with my in-betweens
thanks to tori amos who inspired me to write this today…
what is his story?
my friend and I had just moved away from the surprisingly hot autumn sun and were sitting on a bench in the shadow enjoying our coffee and talking about how good a cigarette would taste (we are both trying to quit).
right about then he appeared out of nowhere and pointed at a wasp whirling around me. be careful, he said, looking straight into my eyes. he was carrying two old bags. I am reading about einstein, he said. and I noticed, his appearance made me smile.
I love happy people, he said. we shook hands. didn’t introduce ourselves. then he stroke my hair. I let him. and he walked away.
a few seconds later he turned around and looked back. do you know what faktor is, he asked. I said yes. then he told me something I couldn’t keep in mind. I have to get going, he said, but walked back to me. we shook hands. again. didn’t introduce ourselves. he stroke my hair. again. I let him. again. I kept smiling the entire time.
and had difficulties holding back my tears.
I love happy people, he said. I am going to post a letter to california.
I wonder what his story is.
dear white dress
I have been dreaming about you. yes, again. and now, now I can’t stop thinking about you. you still have that affect on me. you had a special way of making me glow, almost like an angel.
the first memory of you is from preschool. I must have been five or six. and it was december, december 13th. I was St. Lucia. and I wore you with a beautiful crown lighting up the entire street. I remember I was very proud because my mom used to wear you when she was young.
we have been through so much together.
although I am sure the one who wears you needs you more than I do, I can never forgive my mom for giving you away.
I will always love you. always long for you.
define: divorce
the result on www.google.com is as follows:
disassociate: part; cease or break association with
we were seven. my parents are divorced, she said. I looked at her
wondering, divorced? she explained. and I lost a part of my innocence.
to the sweedish stranger
I think, no, I know I’ve been walking around in my own world lately. a friend had to yell out my name when I passed him, very closely in the street last sunday. and when I finally stopped and looked back, it took me a couple of seconds before I noticed who he was. I hadn’t seen you before, which I think is surprising, as we probably take the same class every week. I came into the room and caught you looking straight at me smiling. I like your tattoos and wonder what the one on your left/right (can’t believe I don’t know the difference) arm means. I think you’re into punk. at least you have a style that’s an indication of someone who likes punk. I am sorry the professor tried to avoid looking at you, afraid you might ask her some more tricky questions based on the theories you seem to know so much better than her. you don’t come off as provocative, though, rather the other way around, as you are sitting there looking very sympathetic and nice. I enjoy the fact that you are well articulated. and you have a really cool bag. you told me you bought it at steen&strøm, but it doesn’t look like a bag that’s bought at steen&strøm. it might be a vintage bag from koma though, I didn’t think about that.
