Recent Comments
  • e.: Reduce it to the neccessary, worry less and take your time...
  • eGe: Hallo Paula, die erste Hälfte put a smile on my face and mad...
  • SCAK: Lange her, dass ich das letzte Mal dort stand und irgendwohi...
  • P-chan: Exactly. At dawn....
  • SCAK: This picture ... Quickborner Straße?...
  • admin: What about now? You have one? :D Otherwise U'll need one in ...
Random Articles
London – you slag There is no medical cure for neurodermatitis, you can only control it the best you can. If you’re lucky it’ll disappear via intense meditation, happiness and other make-believe techniques. After thirteen years of coping with this stressed-induced chronic nuisance, I would say I’ve been controlling it well, although Londoner water has deteriorated my aquagenic pruritus. But well, there are cetirizine tablets, hydrocortisone cream, urea cream, etc. When I was suffering severely from dust mite allergy I underwent a so-called...
Sweet gore I kind of ruined my appetite for dessert by watching Cannibal Holocaust. I didn’t throw up, though. I did throw up after twenty minutes of Blair Witch Project years ago. Motion sickness is always such a nuisance! I really like the theme song of C. H. – it softens everything a little bit, gives the movie some sort of an emotional standard.  I’m glad the UK version cut out the animal killing scenes; not sure if I would have...
Hesses Lebenskrankeit July 31 The language barrier is not easy and I’m starting to lose my patience little by little. You don’t always get served the right food even if you point at the name of the dish in the menu to the server. At some point we were hungry for western food and ordered pasta. I ordered pasta with seafood. Since there was no indication whether it was with tomato sauce or not I clarified that I’d like to have...
Retrovertigo Craving a Scotch, he enters O’Malley’s bar late at night. Walking past the sign saying, “sorrow can swim”, he attempts to build a descending surface above the water by setting an image of the sky crushing down. There are people in the world whose imaginations are so strong they could kill. But going insane is not the best response to reality. The barkeeper approaches him with a sympathetic smile. The bar smells like a mixture of washing up liquid...
The vampyre of time and memory... Time and memories don’t ever digest in the mind and it’s only perception that filters and cleanses them when appropriate. But I can’t help it when my obsessive mind remembers certain details clearly. It’s not that my mind sees what it wants to see. Once it sees truth, I feel like death – a state of mind that you won’t ever forget. Unfortunately. If your mind sees truth, then it will always remember, like a moment of revelation, it...
When antibiotics talk When some people feel pain they tend to intensify it by going over the top (this is when it’s driven by anger. Anger and pain make a very powerful couple and they reject any form of control. Although both are a huge part of you, they don’t necessarily care about you like your cells do for instance. Anger and pain are wild, but secretly they are disguised as Despair and you know what she looks like. However, I still...

Bags

I read ‘Sybil’ in three days and watched the movie right after. It was interesting to read how she and her other fifteen selves became one again. The story gave you closure. There was closure in real life, but from a story reader’s point of view, it really felt good. Speaking of dissociation and closure, one of the first short stories I wrote at BCUC called ‘Simon’ involved a boy with a dissociated identity. However I had an open end; it simply ended with his mother discovering his other self. For a five-hundred-word short story I made it work. I made it work without knowing much about this mental disorder. The only time I did research was for writing essays, but as far as fiction writing was concerned I wrote what I knew and what I felt. You learn writing techniques from reading fiction and from your fellow writers in class of course. In one seminar we were given objects to write about. I chose the blood-stained plaster from which my novel originates. Inspirations and stir of emotions came from music and having secret crushes. Too shy and scared to say your feelings out loud you would simply convey them through a story by dragging people into your piece of meta-fiction. That’s how you cope with reality when your heart aches and you don’t want to tell. Sybil created other selves in order to shield herself from certain realities. Back at primary school I remember how I wanted to be a beautiful white girl. I believed that my ethnicity had kept me from making friends; I believed it had kept me from identifying myself with the other kids. I never looked at myself much in the mirror, but I liked wearing nice clothes and popular shoes like the other girls, as it made me feel accepted. I also wanted to be a boy, because I know how much my dad had wanted a son back in those days. Luckily I was still young when I began to realise who I really was and what I wanted. At the age of fifteen I read an autobiography, which had opened my eyes to individuality and the importance of being honest to myself and everyone else. And suddenly I had friends, real friends and not just fictitious ones. I don’t remember ever being so confident in my life, even now. Everywhere I’ve lived I’d managed to make groups of friends, but like each time it’s ME who leaves, except this time – they leave me. And I get anxious to go out...

Mix tape

When I was younger I used to make a lot of mix tapes – for myself as well as for my friends. My friends had the same taste in music so it was always easy to get along. On the friends front I believe that I was very, very lucky. Ever since I turned fifteen I’d been very lucky. I thought my heart would never die. And now Ally’s words keep echoing in my ear. She says that when you grow up your heart dies. I suppose I’ve been a kid all this time and I still like to pretend that I am one. I’m scared of this mundanity and the numbness it brings along every morning when I cross the two bridges and the car park. There is autumn trying to impress me with its fading colours, but my gaze is fixed at the sky where the clouds look like they’re in a rush to head north. And I’m falling behind. I used to make mix tapes on cassettes. On the A side I would record about ten to eleven upbeat songs, whereas side B would have a collection of ballads. I used to be very subjective when making these tapes, because I wanted the people, who I made these tapes for, to love the music. It helped me to feel understood. If they liked the music, I knew right away that they knew how I felt – how I felt about anything. I was convinced that we’d be friends forever and that I wasn’t alone. Ten to fifteen years later I realised that it was naïve. Not the making of mix tapes, but believing that you’re ever understood. My feelings are selfish and always have been, and I used to be better at handling them when I had my false beliefs. Stubborn self-denial, if ignorant enough, can be used as a form of motivation. It doesn’t matter you just make things up. At least I do know a couple of friends, who sincerely loved my mix tapes. When thinking about them I feel less selfish. Even though the mix tapes were made entirely for myself, but at least for about ninety minutes while the music is running we understood each other. If only understanding each other’s feelings lasted longer than that.   Mix tape:   Side B: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds – “I need you” Jimmy Eat World – “My Sundown” Amanda Palmer – “The Bed Song” Alberta Cross – “Low Man” Stereophonics – “Maybe tomorrow” Gary Jules – “Mad World” Gregory and the Hawk –...

Nick’s skeleton tree and Nemo’s seminar on the Big Crunch...

One way to remind myself of how fast time goes is to get a book out of the library and see how long it takes me to return it, in other words, to read it. I borrowed the book on June 6th – the day I started at my new work place. After the interview that morning I was asked to come back at noon, which gave me just over an hour to wonder around town. That morning I walked to Memorial Park library and grabbed the last book of the Dexter series. I borrowed the book that day and have, since then, extended the rental four times! Only today I finished it and returned it. It has nothing to do with how badly the last book was written (The first book was fantastic, but I did the mistake of not continuing, but I jumped straight into the second to last and then the last book, without knowing why exactly.), it still shouldn’t have taken me over three months to read a book, which has less than 300 pages. Really I should continue working on my novel, but I’m at a redrafting point where I’m stuck and don’t know how to proceed, so I’ve been putting it aside, like I always do and I’ve been trying to get inspired by other people’s words, which is why I’m spending more time reading. The reason I say ‘getting inspired by other people’s words’ is because I’m looking to improve my English. If I don’t read or write, I forget. Unfortunately I haven’t come across great fiction lately where I can say ‘getting absorbed by the story’. Basically I could read anything, but I still opt for fiction, because I know there is a lack of reality in it. I’m still more drawn to people’s imagination and hidden feelings than what it’s real and meaningless. My current lack of interest is overwhelming. OK, I haven’t listened to music properly in a very long time. I’ve been trying to pay more attention to the quiet, but unfortunately the quiet has been waking me up several times at night. I feel numb and lost and find myself supplies shopping for things that I don’t even urgently need. What I’m saying is I’m not doing anything special, not to mention useful. Thank God my friend reminded me of Nick Cave’s new album release. I can only do my best in fighting apathy by listening to his soothing voice and the beauty in his music and lyrics. He’s one of those musicians, who writes about simple...

I lost my relationship

There is a little too much change at the moment and during this course I lost my relationship with people. I’m trying to keep my head above water, but the rest of my body feels numb and weak. I push so hard at the gym, but I don’t quite know what for anymore. At work I’m too fast; my head is on speed and my skin feels dry. Something tells me to slow down. Truth is that I’ve been working on slowing (things) down all my life. I simply want the worst part of the day to be over so that I can focus on the beautiful and fun things – just like typing these words and search through my head and focus on my breathing. And that’s to make sure that I am still here. That’s what slowing down means to me. The sad thing is that I don’t remember the last time I did something meaningful and creative. It feels like that part of my life is over and all that’s left is a weekly routine in which making money to get by has become my main purpose. This is the saddest thing ever and I’m not surprised that my immune system is letting me down. I still can’t think of the last creative thing that I have done… When I lost my relationship with people I was aware that it was not their fault, or mine either. It just took me a while to see the big picture. I need to re-connect with myself and make sure I remember why I am here. That’s all. And because I didn’t have the space and time to focus on it some kind of depression began to evolve and made everyone around me miserable. Of course I had to do something and it involved big decisions. It takes so much courage that I hate it. Before making decisions you’d try to fix things, because there is always hope. But hope and what’s right are two different things. The right thing for now is to distance myself from people. Catching up over a coffee once or twice a month used to be great when I was still living in London. I’d hang around with that friend for about six hours and chat about all sorts of things. Alcohol and party environment were never ever needed. (A joint or two used to be nice, though.) At the end of the day you feel inspired and grateful, because that friend has showed you a different perspective on life. But I don’t really...

Outnumbered

Now thinking about it, it must’ve been like dropping out of the school of life after the kindergarten period or early learning. I’m 32, in a place where I don’t know what to do with myself, how to not adapt to what everyone else does and moreover, learn to focus – on me. Over a year ago I’d spent almost ten days living like a female monk that sincerely had nothing to say to anyone, neither do I have anything to say now, except for humming my favourite songs to myself, looking for meaning and good stories to feed my imagination. And I often wonder what if I was living the life of a female monk. I’m not missing out on anything, apart from good stories and good music. I don’t like what they like, but at least I am tolerant enough to take part in it, share my presence with it and smile at it for two seconds. It almost feels like a favour without one in return. And that doesn’t feel right. Perhaps I am trying to hard. I do stop when it gets too much. I dig a hole and bury my head, hoping that a perfect storyline will save my day or even a philosopher’s quote or last words. I never understood people that cannot be alone. Whenever I feel something similar to loneliness, all I need is a text message, or an email to remind myself that I am not alone. But you don’t get in touch with friends just because you’re sad or alone. I’ve been guilty of it lately. I haven’t spoken to them when I was happy, I haven’t been sharing happiness with them, but only thought of them when I was sad. I’ve been finding it hard to breathe and when I close my eyes I see red and a dark red line. For a while it looks like the horizon, and sometimes it looks like a huge wave coming at me, so I open my eyes and I lose my focus. Broken sleep, headache, earache and hair loss (again) and if anything – my seborrhoeic eczema is getting worse. So much scab on my scalp. Can’t stop picking at them. And then there’s blood underneath my fingernails. I don’t want to use hydrocortisone if I can help it. I’m usually good at keeping my skin’s conditions under control, but not at the moment. Other people have it worse, though. Weight gain is common, too, when you’re stressed and having an office job doesn’t help. Despite everything I’d say this...

Scatterbrained

Someone once said that if the presence of reality became too extraordinary, our consciousness would seek refuge in imagination. That used to be a very easy thing for me to do and I’d always feel much better about the world, the people around me and even myself. It’s just that as I grow older, I find it harder to deal with pressure. Shit is getting real and I get terrified. There used to be a lot more ways to escape and there used to be a lot more options as well, and I’m not too sure what happened. It’s unbelievable how many loose ends my life has and I just don’t know how to tie them together anymore. I thought I would see a new light in this new beginning, but right now I can’t even ignite a match without breaking it.   In my own private life, the magic of fiction and writing has helped me shoulder my responsibilities. It gives my mind a good balance, a necessary balance – one that nobody around me understands, so I cannot share it. Just because they are experts in coping in reality doesn’t mean I’m less strong. Balance is crucial. Standing on one foot teaches your body physical balance. Reading, writing, meditating give your mind a mental balance. Some people need it more than the other. If they are not granted the space and time they might fall apart. And even if you witness the breakdown, you will lack the knowledge to understand, because they felt too ashamed or too stupid to tell you.   I never thought that the pattern of life would contribute to a good story, but at least it’s inspirational and you can tweak around with factual truth and even lie, as long as an emotional truth is evident. I never liked being emotional. It’s like water – ever changing. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t want to go into the waters of Phi Phi Island. I want to be like a rock – hard and cold – be stepped on and not give a shit, because I am tough. But someone has set the wood in my mind on fire and it’s burning away. And I’m trying to make the most out of the fire. Looking for wood (to burn) is hard. Unfortunately I have to do it to stay warm. If you’re not alone you have commitments and sometimes they can be detrimental for the mind. An introvert’s heart might have a capacity for lots of things, whereas his mind doesn’t. And while trying to...

Letter to A.

Hi from ___. Hope you had a good birthday, although birthdays seem to lose meaning year after year. There might even be a day one day where we will all forget about our birthdays. But at least you have those triple chocolate fudge cakes in ___.   To be honest, my heart is not pining for any place really. In the end it just doesn’t really matter where I am, certain feelings don’t change. At least ___ brings some familiarity. We had a good time in ___ for over ___ months. Or let’s say I liked the idea of staying put somewhere, not work too much and join the gym.   I worked part time at a ___ and saved some cash (although not much). There was also this pressure from the ___ government, which wanted us back ASAP. The deadline was end of June, which sucked, because it gave us no time to ___ and stay put elsewhere to work. Obviously I wanted to see different places other than ___. I was going to head to ___ on my own, but ___ decided to quit his ___ and come with me as well. He loves ___ and really wanted to show me ___. However, when we got there, we really struggled to find a short-term job, mainly because we didn’t want to lie to employers and say that we were only there for 6-7 weeks. It was so competitive. Apply for a job at the supermarket and expect to be competing with 500 other applicants! At that time we had already booked out flights back to ___ for ___ (via ___) from ___. In the end we stayed in ___ for only three weeks. We were two weeks in when I had proposed that we should leave ___ early. There was no point in staying and wasting money on accommodation when we have no job. I wasn’t enjoying myself, because there was this constant pressure on the ___ and job front. ___ why not go back to ___ now? Also, when we left I was ___ to return and finish my work & holiday, as my ___ is still valid until ___, which means, if we return to ___ early, I will be able to return to ___ early and hopefully find a job for ___. But…I might have changed my mind…Things are very uncertain at the moment. I mean, yes, _______   You see, he is the main reason why I think I should stay and not return to ___, although I’d like to…If we have our...

You, at the desk

You, I’m supposed to write for you, aren’t I? I never really thought about that actually. Back in the days at university, I was often smitten and did it the Shakespeare way. I wrote when I was in love and would dedicate the stories to someone’s initials and never tell them. You might think it’s pretty sad, because unrequited love is sad, but not if you are able to maneuver those emotions into creative energy. Let it out, let it out. Shed some tears on the keyboard while you write and shed more during that long walk in Greenwich Park. Wow, I’ve been thinking a lot about my freedom and independence back in London. It’s not so much that I really miss London, but I miss my freedom and creative spirit. Most of my friends went separate ways after graduation, even a lot of my London based friends got in touch less and less, which was ok. I’ve always been the kind of person that meets up with friends once every other week or month. I love being alone, especially if my creative spirit is playing along. However, not everybody understands. I prioritized writing in my free time. With the nine to five job in London, Monday to Friday, I had Saturday and Sunday off, which I would spend in the university library. Of course it was not the same as being a student. Alumni get cheap-ass library access cards, which only work for a certain time of the day. I envied all those students, who were working on their coursework. All I did was blog. I would blog every week and keep it as a weekly routine. The time was there. The emotions, too. The composition of a blog often took about three to five hours, because I would try to write a proper, well-constructed blog in which I attempted to sound philosophical, literary, etc. My vocabulary and idiom were good, too, back then, don’t you agree? I wrote for you and still do. You are a good listener. You are patient. You don’t shout back at me. You are my shoulder to cry on. I was very close to you in that piece of meta-fiction from 2011. Inspired by Stephen King I called you my muse. Despite the lack of reading and writing in the last few years, I have still learnt a lot from editing and redrafting. If I looked back at older short stories I would omit and rephrase a lot of words and sentences. I might even do it. Although I’m now more aware...