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Random Articles
50 Fragen 1. What’s your favourite colour? green 2. If you could be any animal what would you be? an eagle 3. If you could only eat one type of food for the rest of your life what would it be? noodles 4. Have you ever felt any form of attraction towards a relation? yes 5. If you woke up one day to find you were the only person on Earth, what would you do? go outside, stripping and practise handstand 6. What is...
The curse of the h-a-y question... If I say I’ve written and read more words than I’ve spoken, will you try to change that? It’s not that easy. I may have once said ‘Get me to speak six hours straight and you’ll have found a place in my heart’, but this no longer happens. There’s no one that allows me to be me anymore. The last person was Sam, but he’s no longer here. I do not enjoy talking, I never have. The problem is...
Run, Paula, run And it’s Sunday again. The sun’s supposed to be out today, which it did for about twenty minutes. It’s grey outside now, which makes me even more tired than I already am. The tiredness comes from a dream that I had. I got lost in a huge building, which was (I suppose) a school. I was looking for a certain room, but could not find it. I spent most time running up and down the stairs without knowing where...
A female bumblebee
A female bumblebee The bumblebee flew into our room. I was the only one there. And creatures such as bumblebees are adventurous and nosey, especially the females. It flew into my toiletry bag to inspect my make-up. I had to lure her back out. She probably thought that was rude of me. Though I found her just as rude. She was huge and had a hue of orange, but still had black and yellow stripes, so it was not a red-tailed one....
Against the Sun God I do enjoy sitting naked at my desk while listening to KoRn. Despite continuous perspiration, trouble breathing and this banging headache I am surviving this day well.   Though having come back from the night sky, I guess I haven’t quite gotten used to being on earth again.   The heat fucks up my circulation and blurs my thought process. The hot water has washed away the scab, which is good (stops me from picking), but the heat has...
Nabokovian A busy life. I think. The signs manifest themselves in a series of events to which you’re not given enough time to react. I have my thoughts elsewhere. I’ve been embellishing my protagonist’s sex life, for it’s time to concentrate on the whole concept of desire. Where does it come from and where do you want it to go? The hilarious aspect of it is that she is dominant – a massive control freak who only values her own...
Three Libras

Three Libras

Rest both your feet on your desk. It’s a kind of day you would try to teach yourself how to move each single toe on its own. If you are a former piano player you would’ve practiced that with your fingers. Fingers are much more mobile since you have long phalanges and metacarpals. But toes have a slightly different composition and need more practice if you ever want to use them more. You have to pay attention to them and speak to them like Beatrix did in the movie. If you ever want to get to know yourself better you need to get to know your toes. Here’s a little story or observation: When totally still I have a massive gap between the big toe and the rest. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard about toe readings, but I was told it meant that I was an isolated person – a loner. Unfortunately they didn’t say I was a good actress. I still believe that I can teach myself, though. However, I pay attention to my toes and notice that the big toe likes to spend time alone, every now and then it works well in conjunction with the ball of my foot and it gives me stability. The second, middle and ring toe, on the other hand, are a trio that like to have fun; often they would stretch upward together and pretend they’re as big as the big toe, but the big toe doesn’t give a fuck. Their little sister, the pinkie toe, lacks confidence and usually keeps to herself whenever her siblings are trying to reach high. Sometimes she looks over to the big toe and wonders why they can’t be close since they’re so similar to each other. At least when the second, middle and ring toe are not moving they would involve their little sister in a cuddle and ask her how she’s doing. She needs that little love, as otherwise she’d feel useless. I don’t use her often, either, unless I’m doing some form of balance exercise. And now a little secret: The second toe has a thing for the big toe and would occasionally put her head on big toe’s shoulder. He doesn’t mind. I still feel like I need to teach each single one how to look after itself. I look after them by massaging them for a better circulation. The big toe likes it when I press just below the ball of my foot. It bends forward as though thanking me. And when pressing into the arch of my foot...
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I don’t

I don’t

Enough of beating around the bush and metaphors – I shall be plain and simple for this one.   I don’t care what people think anymore. I don’t care what people don’t understand. I don’t care what people really see. I don’t care if I’m a socially awkward introvert.   If it doesn’t feel right, it just doesn’t.   We’re all different and that’s all there is. I won’t take shit from anyone anymore. I won’t let anyone push me towards something that’s not right for me. I won’t chase anyone, unless I have a serious bone to with them. And I will no longer explain things more than twice.   I’m sick of feeling bad. I’m sick of feeling guilty. I’m sick of waiting. All for no good reason.   I will do what makes me feel good (without harming others). I will do what I think is right.   If you ask me who I am, all I can say is that I’m someone with anxieties that decided not to go on medication (, because I have my own ways of dealing with them). If you have a problem with that you have to go, otherwise I will.   When I say it’s enough, trust me, it is enough.   On the other hand I care about a lot of things. However, a majority of it is broken and it’s beyond my ability to fix it. If you know how it feels and if you can empathise – good. If you cannot, then don’t say a word. I’m not stupid, I would obviously focus on what I can fix.   It sucks to be a Cancer, because it takes more time to toughen up; we fall on our faces often, because we hold on for too long, or we set our hopes too high, while deeply inside we know it’s not right. My favourite Cancer is in his fifties – and he knows how people tick, but I...
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Comfort in Chris’ voice

Comfort in Chris’ voice

I don’t know about you, but usually I am only able to cope with one failure a day, not two. In the last few hours I’ve been looking for excuses to make myself feel better. It started off at work when I realised that I am not cut out for accounting, but at least I was able to figure out my errors, but the errors were 4-6 months old, so I can’t fix them on my own. But do I really want to do a course and invest my valuable time into it only to find out that I want to change job within a year’s time? Accounting is not my background, no, but it doesn’t have to be, I only needed a good eye for detail and focus and the errors wouldn’t have occurred. A little too late. This evening I took a climbing class to improve my technique only to find out tonight that my technique was non-existent. It was my first climb in over two weeks and I was unable to plan my routes, unable to crush the brick wall in my mind. Every move felt wrong, every position was uncomfortable. Two hours later I was in pieces.   I haven’t even been back for a week and all I’ve been doing is throw myself back into my old routine, thinking that it will be fine. I had no rest at home, neither mentally nor physically. I’ve wanted to cry for weeks, but can’t. And then my horoscope pointed out high stress levels and lack of sleep for today. The stars know. I’m just not paying attention. I last meditated two months ago, I think. I have no space in my head for anything – everything wants attention and all I want is to switch off or focus on my alter ego instead, and stories that can go on paper. How else am I supposed to remove inexplicable emotions or interpret unsettling dreams about being trapped in the mall? The lifts aren’t working so I have to climb up the walls. The doors won’t open – do I look for keys or use a hammer? I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep my hopes up like this. I feel like I am close to something, but at the same time I feel far away. It must be two different things that I feel. In a case like this wouldn’t you focus on what’s close and make the best out of it, make it come true? Not let anything come in between. Not let anything come...
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Home

Home

It feels like I am close to a panic attack or something. I’ve absorbed a lot of negative energy from someone who really needed to let it out. But there is nothing that you can do to facilitate their anguish, hate and resentment. Back in the past I used to hold grudges, too, mainly because they gave me something to write about, literally. It wasn’t until years later when I realised that holding on to pain is nothing but stupid and the writing turned out to be full of self-pity. But I’m past that age. I’ve made a lot of changes since then. I’ve been working on my own happiness and I can’t wait to return to Canada and continue with that, because it is not possible in Germany. Things are sad here no matter what you saw in my social media. I only happened to bookmark the happy moments. Who wants to see or read about the sad ones, right? In fact, I haven’t really had a day off to myself, so I am nowhere near rested and time has gone pretty fast. My book’s not ready to be published, either. I haven’t watched my series, not to mention the new Twin Peaks. I have no time. I don’t remember the last time my dermatitis was so bad. All this mixed with post-pill acne and general allergies. It’s getting better now, but my face was burning. My old habits of sleeping in till late & going to bed late kicked in as well. Home makes me deadly sluggish. And I can’t keep up with my workout, although my wrist feels better. There are a lot of things I want to go into details about, but I am not going to. This will have to wait until the first draft of my memoir. I currently feel like I’m unable to feel ‘hope’. There are people whose mental state is unchangeable. No matter how constructive and positive you’re trying to be – they shrug you off, because they are unable to believe. How deeply hurt and angry must they be?! It’s like trying to break down a brick wall with your bare hands. I’m also making a huge effort to meet as many friends as I can, because I care, but there is no way I can fit four coffees in a day and I am sorry. I also feel like I need to crawl into a hole for a while and recharge. Things will be finalised and executed in June. No excuses. I will tell you about the e-book,...
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He was the highway

He was the highway

20:09 It feels like a long flight, although it isn’t. My legs are still numb. I mean I sit at work for about the same amount of time as well, but at least I get to walk around. Trouble sleeping, but I did nap for a couple of hours followed by two movies – neck’s sore now. Don’t know if I can go back to sleep. The teenager behind me is playing games on the monitor, which is also my headrest. Imagine someone tapping you awake for hours, except that you are awake, but they won’t stop. And the breath of the old man next to me smells of stale wine. On planes I’m always near babies, always. Just like at concerts I have 6″3 people in front of me. No further comments on that. My nausea has gone, though. But I’ve been eating too much bread. My wrist is still sore – never bend your wrist when you throw a hook. I need to meditate.   08:56 London – I feel like home again, although I haven’t lived here since 2013. Not much has changed to be honest; the train system’s all the same. I didn’t get my trifle in the end, because I forgot it has cream on top, if you buy it from the shop. I have no Lactaid and perhaps I shouldn’t have a trifle for breakfast, either. I’ve had too much bread in the last 12 hours, too. Hope I remember my way around. I never really hung in London Victoria. Gonna make my way to Barbican and then Waterloo. Craving yoga. And sleep. Hungry, too. I’m flattered that London is greeting me with sunshine, while Calgary marked my departure with bleakness and rain.   16:59 I’m on the Gatwick Express back to the airport. So that’s almost eight hours gone and I don’t remember when I last slept, not to mention what day it is. I managed to catch up with some friends, but unfortunately we didn’t have much time. No one could believe that it has almost been four years. And to be honest London hasn’t changed: Pret A Manger is still across the road from Costa at Barbican and Southbank still has all these fancy restaurants. They seem to have added more and more glass buildings, which just look ugly when juxtaposed against the one hundred year old architecture made of bricks. I’ve had two coffees, too many snacks, but constantly feeling hungry. Tiredness is kicking in for sure.   18:52 On easyJet, less than two hours before home. Can’t describe how...
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Back cover

Back cover

I don’t summarise things, because that’s when you lose the whole point of it. When you’ve written a book you shouldn’t be able reduce it to a short story not to mention a short summary. It’s horrible. All the authentic and down-to-earth sentiments would disintegrate into some tasteless and dull adjectives and adverbs that consist of no meaning, because you don’t see the whole picture. But as my friend Ed pointed out, some people check the back cover for smashed insects. I hope that people won’t do this with mine until they have read it. Then the back cover won’t matter, will it? It’s going to be a paperback, so unlike the hard backs there won’t be a separate sleeve inside the book on which your synopsis goes or whatever you want to call it. I believe the only thing that I can do is read back covers of at least fifty books and learn. I was never able to write the opening of anything. It takes Damon Albarn up to three hours to write a line, but it took Philip K. Dick a year to write thirty books. Some minds are like on-going typewriters and their only weakness is their short-term memory. Apparently I should end the text on the back cover with an intriguing question, but I am trying to think of something that’s non-stereotypical. So yes, it’s complicated; I can’t just go Dandy Warhol, grab Marilyn Monroe’s face and re-invent it. Postmodernism, these days, needs to be handled with more originality, which is not easy if you only have 150-200 words.   Anyway, I’ve come up with this:   >> Ellen Parker is a junior heart surgeon in New York. The city is her hideout; the hospital is her life, and the patients are her guinea pigs. With her PTSD in denial, she finds meaning in operating theaters and sex. And yet her existential dilemma continues to throw her off track. As her past unearths and becomes more transparent, she realizes that success alone isn’t going to fix anything.  The story touches upon female guilt, but examines femininity on a different level. Ellen is an absurdist, who decides to revolt and believe in something that drives her forward. But what if what she believes in isn’t the...
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Drive

Drive

She is a nurse at the hospital in the Northwest and doesn’t own a car. I later learned that she can’t drive and doesn’t have the time to learn, either. Her hours are from four to midnight and often she misses her last bus. Since a lot of drivers don’t like going all the way to the Northwest I go instead. Interestingly enough, she often asks for me, although I have never introduced myself to her. I watch her come out of the hospital walking towards my car. I unlock the doors. She always sits at the back; a lot of women do that. And once they have buckled themselves they would grab their phones and start typing or swiping until I have taken them home. But she is different. She usually picks a main focus like the back of the passenger’s seat or she looks outside in the calmest way. Every now and then she asks me a question, and it catches me off guard. She breaks the silence when I least expect it. “This route must bore the hell out of you by now,” she says. I look in the rear-view mirror and see a smile on her face. I instantly smile back at her, trying to think of something to say. “I like it in the Northwest. It’s less busy.” Her gaze is glued at the passenger’s seat again, and I’m not sure if she has actually heard me. She lives south of downtown, which is about fifteen minutes drive. This is usually the most peaceful drive for me. With her in the backseat I don’t have to feel like I need to initiate small talk like with other customers. By the time we reach downtown there are more people about – all dressed up for their Friday night out. Some are waving at me to stop without realizing that my lights are off signalling ‘occupied’. I stop outside her apartment building. “Thank you. Have a good night,” she says and hands me the cash with 20% gratuity. “Thanks, you too.” As she gets out of the car, I see a man running towards me, waving. I don’t usually take random people that haven’t ordered via the phone or the app, but weekends are different. He opens the door on the passenger’s side and hops in. The entire car wobbles at his weight. “Good timing bud! To Jameson’s pub on Seventeenth, please.” “Sure thing,” I say. I make a U-turn and before I lose sight of the apartment building, I throw a brief look at the...
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(no title)

When I was brushing my teeth this morning I noticed something in my pupils that was very alarming. I moved closer to the mirror and somehow my head was in a black hole.
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