Week nights, weekend nights, I sit alone in front of a computer screen and keep pushing the bed time. It is quite, from now and then you can hear the passing traffic, but that is it. I hardly have memories of evenings because all of them are the same, I start to lose a sense of time after certain hour, can't wait to be unconscious.
One of my friends said that she dreamt of me the other night: I was on top of a building, on a balcony; she asked me to come down but I said I couldn't because of some document issues, then she ran up and held me tight. She woke up felt like crying. I haven't been nightmares-free myself, dreamt about killing children because they annoyed me and no one believed my motivations, those children are only visible when dead. Feel like being Charlotte in Lost in Translation, but in a long run. On top of which, a lot of my friends can't attend my party because they live far away, or because they are back home for the holiday season, and my family have no intention to attend either. Not surprising though, something I am used to, like many other things I have gone used to.
Last year the beggars ask me for an euro, two months ago they asked me for 40 cents, and this afternoon in the metro they asked me for "10 or 20 cents". Always the exact amount but with the financial situation, they realize that the expectations are to be lowered. Young well-dressed men ask for "10 or 20 cents", why? A bottle of beer (0.5 Liter) costs 24-38 cents, cheaper than water. When you recycle the bottle it gives you back 6 cents per bottle, someone I know is living off it to get enough booze. What have we become?
Expectations are to be lowered. US changed the BMI standard to mask the obesity percentage; France tries to higher the fatty food taxes to courage people buy healthier food; tobacco taxes are raised to cut the number of smokers; I pass out early to make the time go faster. We alter the exterior elements attemping to change our behaviors, and... it is not working.
It snowed today, the first snow fall of the year. Although it didn't last very long but the weather is ridiculously cold. It happened when I was on my class break and I put on my hood for a rollie. This Winter is colder than the last one and I hope this is the only worse side of it. I had waited so long for sunny days, and when they came, they only dropped by briefly. I should be more productive, in a cold wet and windy night, and yet, my spirit says no.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Guten Tag Doktor
I was already awake before the alarm went off at 7:30AM -- the big day, and my brain knew that, somehow. Shower, espresso, news online, check my documents one more time -- I had to carry my travel backpack with me, you can imagine how much document I had to bring. Metro ride, security check, looking for the court room, kept looking for the court room, found the court room, waited for the lawyer, then three of us went into the room. I later realized that he was not actually a judge, but under the title of "Dr." and his duty was never very clear to me, but he could give me a verdict, the most important one in my little life.
Take a moment to think what the stereotype of German judge would be like: skinny, old, tall, with round brown-rimmed glasses and absolute humorless? Bingo!
Three of us entered the room, we sat in front of a 5-drawer for documents, which was served as our table, then he entered the date of our ID cards, looked through every visa in my passport, had us signed the paper that we came without being under influences of drugs. I noticed that there was a Chinese calligraphy means "water" was framed and on the wall. Remember this, it comes handy later. Then my partner was given two sheets of paper full of questions, he was to answer them in another room while me sitting in front of the computer with the Doc.
"Are we waiting for an interpreter?"
"No." my lawyer crossed his legs.
So the process began: I had to answer 20 questions in details. Half of the questions were for Reality TV show, a quarter of them were ... the opposite of not-stupid. At times, it was not the question itself which made me unease, but his commonts. For example: what hold you guys together? I said comment interests, like reading, listening to music, traveling, photography. "But there is nothing to hold you together. I mean if you do a bike tour together and one's bike breaks down, you have to rely on the other. It works also for rock-climbing and hiking."
"But I don't do any sport."
"But nothing you do together promises to bind you guys together."
what does that mean? I am supposed to have a co-independence if I ever do sport? OK, move on.
"What did you do on Nov. 1 2008?"
"We went to Sanssouci." (For those who are unfamiliar with touristic area around Berlin, Sanssouci castle is the most famous one here. But the Doc took out a dictionary and looked up how to spell it! Are you kidding me? If you can't spell it, you probably won't be able to read my diplomas from France, am I right? )
He was so dry, I almost took out my water bottle and started pouring water on his head.
"It is not normal that you never went back to see your family."
"OK. It is not, maybe." AND?
"Can you prove that you studied in University of Marc Bloch in Strasbourg?"
"Yes."
"Can you show me the certificate."
"No. I didn't finish it."
"But can you prove that you did part of the studies?"
"It was online. I can contact my professors and have them send me something in written form."
"OK, so you can't prove it."
NEXT.
"Have you consider the age-difference would be a problem."
"No."
"Why do you think it is not important?"
"Should I?"
"How many years of age-difference did your parents have?"
"3."
"See?"
"No." ---Yes, they are separated. Good point.
"How long did you stay during your vacation in Berlin in June 2006?"
"I don't remember. 4 days? longer? Let's say 4 or 5 days."
"Did you work in the States?"
"Yes."
"As?"
"Italian assistant for a semester, in book stores, restaurants..."
"So you speak Italian?"
"Yes." --- I don't know how it works in your country, but when I was working, you sort of kind of have to speak the language in order to teach it.
I need to give him a gift -- a Chinese calligraphy means "ocean", apparently only water wouldn't do. We have a drought here.
"Did you celebrate for the engagement?"
"No."
"Why?"
Is it a trick question?
"Do you remember the exact date?"
"No."
"Who does he will invite to the ceremony?"
"I don't know."
.....
My partner spent half of the time to answer the same questions because he wrote down:"I find this question is too boring to be answered." or "This question makes no sense." etc. I spent an hour and a half, in front of a PC screen, waiting for him to type up 5 page, single spaced, no header or footer answers with two fingers. 5 PAGES, I am not kidding and I needed to sign every single page.
"You know what you are signing, right?"
"Yes." --- I just dictated the entire 5 pages, come on now.
The door was then opened, I was asked to be staying outside waiting with my lawyer while the Doc and my partner talk. In the corridor I was asking my lawyer if we could change the "judge", if we could have a repeal because from the last 90 minutes, I had the impression that he was trying all he might to prove me wrong and small: I have no job, didn't finish my studies in Strasbourg, didn't see my family for a long time, didn't go hiking... maybe at least we would need to plan on a repeal. Another half an hour later. Three of us were invited back to the office, and the Doc said that he would us a positive verdict, latest next Tuesday.
I can't tell you how I felt as we left the court. As if the feeling of happiness needed a moment to kick in. Well, it did. When I was eating microwaved rice with Tzatziki sauce and I thought I needed a better lunch because despite all, we did it. And maybe the Doc just the way he is, humorless in the office but probably amused by our careless attitude.
Now I am going out for some real food.
Take a moment to think what the stereotype of German judge would be like: skinny, old, tall, with round brown-rimmed glasses and absolute humorless? Bingo!
Three of us entered the room, we sat in front of a 5-drawer for documents, which was served as our table, then he entered the date of our ID cards, looked through every visa in my passport, had us signed the paper that we came without being under influences of drugs. I noticed that there was a Chinese calligraphy means "water" was framed and on the wall. Remember this, it comes handy later. Then my partner was given two sheets of paper full of questions, he was to answer them in another room while me sitting in front of the computer with the Doc.
"Are we waiting for an interpreter?"
"No." my lawyer crossed his legs.
So the process began: I had to answer 20 questions in details. Half of the questions were for Reality TV show, a quarter of them were ... the opposite of not-stupid. At times, it was not the question itself which made me unease, but his commonts. For example: what hold you guys together? I said comment interests, like reading, listening to music, traveling, photography. "But there is nothing to hold you together. I mean if you do a bike tour together and one's bike breaks down, you have to rely on the other. It works also for rock-climbing and hiking."
"But I don't do any sport."
"But nothing you do together promises to bind you guys together."
what does that mean? I am supposed to have a co-independence if I ever do sport? OK, move on.
"What did you do on Nov. 1 2008?"
"We went to Sanssouci." (For those who are unfamiliar with touristic area around Berlin, Sanssouci castle is the most famous one here. But the Doc took out a dictionary and looked up how to spell it! Are you kidding me? If you can't spell it, you probably won't be able to read my diplomas from France, am I right? )
He was so dry, I almost took out my water bottle and started pouring water on his head.
"It is not normal that you never went back to see your family."
"OK. It is not, maybe." AND?
"Can you prove that you studied in University of Marc Bloch in Strasbourg?"
"Yes."
"Can you show me the certificate."
"No. I didn't finish it."
"But can you prove that you did part of the studies?"
"It was online. I can contact my professors and have them send me something in written form."
"OK, so you can't prove it."
NEXT.
"Have you consider the age-difference would be a problem."
"No."
"Why do you think it is not important?"
"Should I?"
"How many years of age-difference did your parents have?"
"3."
"See?"
"No." ---Yes, they are separated. Good point.
"How long did you stay during your vacation in Berlin in June 2006?"
"I don't remember. 4 days? longer? Let's say 4 or 5 days."
"Did you work in the States?"
"Yes."
"As?"
"Italian assistant for a semester, in book stores, restaurants..."
"So you speak Italian?"
"Yes." --- I don't know how it works in your country, but when I was working, you sort of kind of have to speak the language in order to teach it.
I need to give him a gift -- a Chinese calligraphy means "ocean", apparently only water wouldn't do. We have a drought here.
"Did you celebrate for the engagement?"
"No."
"Why?"
Is it a trick question?
"Do you remember the exact date?"
"No."
"Who does he will invite to the ceremony?"
"I don't know."
.....
My partner spent half of the time to answer the same questions because he wrote down:"I find this question is too boring to be answered." or "This question makes no sense." etc. I spent an hour and a half, in front of a PC screen, waiting for him to type up 5 page, single spaced, no header or footer answers with two fingers. 5 PAGES, I am not kidding and I needed to sign every single page.
"You know what you are signing, right?"
"Yes." --- I just dictated the entire 5 pages, come on now.
The door was then opened, I was asked to be staying outside waiting with my lawyer while the Doc and my partner talk. In the corridor I was asking my lawyer if we could change the "judge", if we could have a repeal because from the last 90 minutes, I had the impression that he was trying all he might to prove me wrong and small: I have no job, didn't finish my studies in Strasbourg, didn't see my family for a long time, didn't go hiking... maybe at least we would need to plan on a repeal. Another half an hour later. Three of us were invited back to the office, and the Doc said that he would us a positive verdict, latest next Tuesday.
I can't tell you how I felt as we left the court. As if the feeling of happiness needed a moment to kick in. Well, it did. When I was eating microwaved rice with Tzatziki sauce and I thought I needed a better lunch because despite all, we did it. And maybe the Doc just the way he is, humorless in the office but probably amused by our careless attitude.
Now I am going out for some real food.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Play God -- up close and personal
I kept trying to tell myself that this November started well: I got my first luxus weekend gate-away near a lake; my obtenting of German C1 level certificate (School-ditching finally paid off! And I can go to university with it.), Obama became the new president of the US; we got a bigger classroom in my school and I love my new scarf --- I shouldn't be finding myself at the verge of snapping.
We heard from the highest court(KG) today, as I got the call, I decided to cut my lunch short and see the document. Sitting in a restaurant and waiting for my espresso, I didn't realize my hand that held the paper was actually shaking until it was seized. The judge wanted me to further prove that my student card from Strasburg was real, I was accepted in a program there, and my German class in Nice truly happened. Here is the thing: the judge had ALL the photo copies of the documents above, my student card from Strasburg comes with a bar-code, it was stamped, I sent her also the acceptance letter from the university, stamped, signed (because it was real), and my German class in Nice's prove was written in GERMAN!
What do you want next? Show you that my jean size in Germany is 34 but it is 36 in France? Or have you lost my photo copies? In that case, let me help you to remember, these paper are between your Whiskey flash and cocktail mixer on the south-side of your office. You might happen to leave them there before your vacation because you told my lawyer that the decision was made, the verdict was positive two weeks ago, and what has changed? Your one-night-stand during the vacation wasn't good enough? He never called you back as he promised? (or she) If not, is this becoming personal? Because it SHOULDN'T. You are the supreme judge from the supreme court, you should know this better than anyone else. If this is the case maybe you should get a new job, for example a private insurance salesman (or woman to be politically correct) it'd be ethical to get up close and personal. If none of the case above applies to you, the only reason would be: you are playing God, you know you are the judge and you know that we know it too; you pick on us for no good reason and I am supposed to be playing along, putting on an insincere smile while I scream in anger silently. When you soundly sleep at night I toss and turn because of your mischief.
I walked back to the flat although it was raining. I took a walk so that I wouldn't snap in the middle of the metro ride. We are to meet up with the lawyer and discuss the case again this weekend, and yet, there are tons of buttons on my skin now.
We heard from the highest court(KG) today, as I got the call, I decided to cut my lunch short and see the document. Sitting in a restaurant and waiting for my espresso, I didn't realize my hand that held the paper was actually shaking until it was seized. The judge wanted me to further prove that my student card from Strasburg was real, I was accepted in a program there, and my German class in Nice truly happened. Here is the thing: the judge had ALL the photo copies of the documents above, my student card from Strasburg comes with a bar-code, it was stamped, I sent her also the acceptance letter from the university, stamped, signed (because it was real), and my German class in Nice's prove was written in GERMAN!
What do you want next? Show you that my jean size in Germany is 34 but it is 36 in France? Or have you lost my photo copies? In that case, let me help you to remember, these paper are between your Whiskey flash and cocktail mixer on the south-side of your office. You might happen to leave them there before your vacation because you told my lawyer that the decision was made, the verdict was positive two weeks ago, and what has changed? Your one-night-stand during the vacation wasn't good enough? He never called you back as he promised? (or she) If not, is this becoming personal? Because it SHOULDN'T. You are the supreme judge from the supreme court, you should know this better than anyone else. If this is the case maybe you should get a new job, for example a private insurance salesman (or woman to be politically correct) it'd be ethical to get up close and personal. If none of the case above applies to you, the only reason would be: you are playing God, you know you are the judge and you know that we know it too; you pick on us for no good reason and I am supposed to be playing along, putting on an insincere smile while I scream in anger silently. When you soundly sleep at night I toss and turn because of your mischief.
I walked back to the flat although it was raining. I took a walk so that I wouldn't snap in the middle of the metro ride. We are to meet up with the lawyer and discuss the case again this weekend, and yet, there are tons of buttons on my skin now.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Berlin (s)
It has been a year, the same time last year I was in Ulm, choosing between going back to France or coming to Berlin; now, I find myself still between choices here and there, between Akkusativ or Dativ, Théralène or Custors, or to what degree can I put up with others' vice. I thought that at least I had 50% of a shot, more then often I am wrong: for many things are simply out of my reach (ex. the court was on strike, then my judge left for vacation the day when the strike ended), thus as usual, there is nothing else left besides waiting, which is a terrible process for Sagittarius like me. The weather is ridiculously cold, the thought of learning German grammar reinforces me to stay in bed. Last winter fucking sucked in all senses, I wonder how this winter will turn out.
Took another day and a half from school. There are only two reasons to miss school, often both of them hit me at the same time. I hate it when my irrationality takes over because I was triggered by other's repulsiveness -- not a wise way to blow off my steam. The good news it that my neighbor left his bet in our flat for three days (the same rat, I named him "Katz"). So basically we are living in the City Hall (Rathaus), where die Katz hat Rathaus kaputt gemacht. (The rat is hyper active). The happiest little vegetarian fears not the strong flash of a camera. I want to ask my neighbor if I can keep him for another day or two, once I clean the table, I would want him to be out and running about a bit. It is a 32M², he should not be hard to find.
I feel like living in two Berlin(s). In my German class, everyone is foreign (duh), they are here to spend the summer vacation or fall break, or they already have a project in head while needing a German language certificate for one thing or another. (And me, waiting for the judge to come back from his vacation and sign the domed verdict) For them, Berlin is a perfect alternative city where we dance, party all night, find cheap funky food and rent, it is where "artists" live, where people deal drugs in public or alcoholics spend the whole night on S-Bahn.
If you are here for touristic reasons or a short stay, the chances are you will fall in love with the city and decide to move here. Well, I did.
Then after almost one year living in one of the "quartier populaire", I realize that my bubble was poked, broken. I see the other side of the city which pushes me to scream at the top of my lung: the high percentage of poverty (and being a poor bohemian is not in fashion anymore), anti-immigration policies from politicians (I was at a Podiumsprech two days ago, it was amazingly awful. They openly said that foreigners were the causes for the poverty and that they were not integrated properly while me, who doesn't look anything German, sat at the front row right under their nose. They did not address how they would fix the issue but keep emphasizing the percentage of immigration, oh well, politicians), and there are so many people who are intoxicated all the time, don't believe in getting proper help, and don't think what they are doing is repulsive, they blame the government, blame the neighbors, blame whatever they can put their fingers on to excuse their behavior. I have heard it all, I have seen it all, I understand but I don't agree--when someone does you wrong, you fight back, with a fucking sober mind!
There are times I wish to pick up whatever I can find and hit them across the face. How can someone abuse their selves and their encourage like this?! Some people are alive right now is simply because it is against the law to kill them.
And yet, whenever I go to class, I feel like living in another city, where people are happy, foreigners are happy, we spoke of why we came, what we loved about Berlin, what we found interesting and special here. It is not to deny that this city has its particular charm, including the contemporary history and cultural-concentrated quarters; at the same time, once I left school and return to the flat, that thrill is gone, replaced by something grey and solid -- different quarters different crowds.
Took another day and a half from school. There are only two reasons to miss school, often both of them hit me at the same time. I hate it when my irrationality takes over because I was triggered by other's repulsiveness -- not a wise way to blow off my steam. The good news it that my neighbor left his bet in our flat for three days (the same rat, I named him "Katz"). So basically we are living in the City Hall (Rathaus), where die Katz hat Rathaus kaputt gemacht. (The rat is hyper active). The happiest little vegetarian fears not the strong flash of a camera. I want to ask my neighbor if I can keep him for another day or two, once I clean the table, I would want him to be out and running about a bit. It is a 32M², he should not be hard to find.
I feel like living in two Berlin(s). In my German class, everyone is foreign (duh), they are here to spend the summer vacation or fall break, or they already have a project in head while needing a German language certificate for one thing or another. (And me, waiting for the judge to come back from his vacation and sign the domed verdict) For them, Berlin is a perfect alternative city where we dance, party all night, find cheap funky food and rent, it is where "artists" live, where people deal drugs in public or alcoholics spend the whole night on S-Bahn.
If you are here for touristic reasons or a short stay, the chances are you will fall in love with the city and decide to move here. Well, I did.
Then after almost one year living in one of the "quartier populaire", I realize that my bubble was poked, broken. I see the other side of the city which pushes me to scream at the top of my lung: the high percentage of poverty (and being a poor bohemian is not in fashion anymore), anti-immigration policies from politicians (I was at a Podiumsprech two days ago, it was amazingly awful. They openly said that foreigners were the causes for the poverty and that they were not integrated properly while me, who doesn't look anything German, sat at the front row right under their nose. They did not address how they would fix the issue but keep emphasizing the percentage of immigration, oh well, politicians), and there are so many people who are intoxicated all the time, don't believe in getting proper help, and don't think what they are doing is repulsive, they blame the government, blame the neighbors, blame whatever they can put their fingers on to excuse their behavior. I have heard it all, I have seen it all, I understand but I don't agree--when someone does you wrong, you fight back, with a fucking sober mind!
There are times I wish to pick up whatever I can find and hit them across the face. How can someone abuse their selves and their encourage like this?! Some people are alive right now is simply because it is against the law to kill them.
And yet, whenever I go to class, I feel like living in another city, where people are happy, foreigners are happy, we spoke of why we came, what we loved about Berlin, what we found interesting and special here. It is not to deny that this city has its particular charm, including the contemporary history and cultural-concentrated quarters; at the same time, once I left school and return to the flat, that thrill is gone, replaced by something grey and solid -- different quarters different crowds.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Multi-dimensional
My love isn't unconditional
neither does my tolerance and respect.
Before me you are you:
naked lies,raw imperfections, sincerity and generosity;
before you I am what I want you to see:
filtered truth, polished edges,open heart and sober mind.
I saw you struggled to get out a taxi
then headed straight for the next tipple.
Being strong doesn't mean the high percentage of the muscle,
or bullying around others;
being strong means dare to say "no",
and keep your words despite exterior influences.
Promises remain syllables until they become tangible,
just like having a blue-print is sheerly a commencement,
and at times trying is not suffice.
Many substances were chosen before me
I am no stranger to such behavior
but it shouldn't be coming from you
for
my love is multi-dimensional
so does my tolerance and respect.
neither does my tolerance and respect.
Before me you are you:
naked lies,raw imperfections, sincerity and generosity;
before you I am what I want you to see:
filtered truth, polished edges,open heart and sober mind.
I saw you struggled to get out a taxi
then headed straight for the next tipple.
Being strong doesn't mean the high percentage of the muscle,
or bullying around others;
being strong means dare to say "no",
and keep your words despite exterior influences.
Promises remain syllables until they become tangible,
just like having a blue-print is sheerly a commencement,
and at times trying is not suffice.
Many substances were chosen before me
I am no stranger to such behavior
but it shouldn't be coming from you
for
my love is multi-dimensional
so does my tolerance and respect.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Murphy needs to change his law
It takes a Zippo to light a smoke. It was 10°C but it felt like minus for me. The second I finally sat in front of hot lunch with a friend, my phone started vibrating in my pocket: "We should meet up in half an hour to prepare for the events tonight." He said. I took my food to-go.
We were hoping the new professional camera would come in before the first press visit in the new office, then we would go to a Disco as journalists to cover the Oktober Fest. The first appointment was at 16:00, but as we finished lunch in the flat around 15:30, we decided that I had to stay to wait for the order --- we truly needed it for the festival. I sat in front PC, watched Dailyshow, SNL, then read all the interesting news, checked DHL tracking site every 10 minutes, which said :"The product has been delivered from Würzburg. It arrived at Berlin at 9:16AM. You should be able be receive it today." I should-- the worst statement ever because I was so anxious to put my hands on the professional camera for the first time, my current no-brain-required camera makes terrible night indoor photos, and even if I had it then, I would probably need a moment to familiarize the functions-- it is going to be a computer.
Around 16:45, I got a call and told that we would also need a dictaphone for the interviews. So I threw on my coat and headed for the super market. 45 seconds after I stepped out the door, I saw a DHL car passed me by; I had the urge to chase it for I might catch up with it at the red light, but it took a right turn at the next corner. Ok, maybe it was not for me, a lot of people order things online and have them through DHL delivered, right?
I got into the supermarket. It'd be a nightmare to do any shopping because it was Friday night, therefore each cashier had a two-mile line. But anyhow, we need what we need. They must have Dictaphone. Every store has them, including some small Turkish or Asian grocery stores. Eh... no, this two-floor super didn't have it.
On my way back to the flat I told him that we might just have to take notes. Then I looked into the mailbox-- no notice, on the door--either,then I checked the DHL site:"First delivery 16:48. Your order is in the post office in the follow 7 days."
Murphy needs to change his law.
I dialed his number and told him the new status, he called the customer service number and found out that the order had already arrived in the post office, I was told:"Print out the page and come to the Mall post office as soon as possible. They close in 15 minutes." I yelled at the printer to work fast, and ran through all the red light, but I made it. Then I realized that I forgot my Passport in the flat.
"Your order is to be picked up from Monday on." The girl behind the counter told us.
"But it is urgent, we really need it tonight, as a press agent."
"Ok, then. Let me check. Your IDs please."
And all I got was an expired French student card. "Next time remember to bring the Passport. I would let you have it this time." She was happy to start the weekend in 4 minutes.
Sooo, we eventually got the camera, now it was time to figure out what kind of SD cars it took. We open the package right away and went upstairs for an 8G SD card.
"Take a taxi and meet me at the Disco at 19, alright?"
"Well... I have to change...." The bouncer wold throw me into the canal if I tried to enter it in such attire. Once again, ran through the red lights and asked my clothes to come out of the closet all by themselves. With my shaking hands, I put the camera together. While buckling my suspenders, I thought about how to control the aperture; and tried to remember what Depth of field was as I put on my socks..
On our way to the Festival, I felt all I learnt about Shutter Speed, Depth of focus, proper strength of Flash was all gone. It was a good thing we got to stay in the Festival for a few hours so I had a chance to press all the buttoms...It is yet up to debate how my rookie shots came out, but we made it on time to the Festival and now we have to sort out about 300 photos from the event...
We were hoping the new professional camera would come in before the first press visit in the new office, then we would go to a Disco as journalists to cover the Oktober Fest. The first appointment was at 16:00, but as we finished lunch in the flat around 15:30, we decided that I had to stay to wait for the order --- we truly needed it for the festival. I sat in front PC, watched Dailyshow, SNL, then read all the interesting news, checked DHL tracking site every 10 minutes, which said :"The product has been delivered from Würzburg. It arrived at Berlin at 9:16AM. You should be able be receive it today." I should-- the worst statement ever because I was so anxious to put my hands on the professional camera for the first time, my current no-brain-required camera makes terrible night indoor photos, and even if I had it then, I would probably need a moment to familiarize the functions-- it is going to be a computer.
Around 16:45, I got a call and told that we would also need a dictaphone for the interviews. So I threw on my coat and headed for the super market. 45 seconds after I stepped out the door, I saw a DHL car passed me by; I had the urge to chase it for I might catch up with it at the red light, but it took a right turn at the next corner. Ok, maybe it was not for me, a lot of people order things online and have them through DHL delivered, right?
I got into the supermarket. It'd be a nightmare to do any shopping because it was Friday night, therefore each cashier had a two-mile line. But anyhow, we need what we need. They must have Dictaphone. Every store has them, including some small Turkish or Asian grocery stores. Eh... no, this two-floor super didn't have it.
On my way back to the flat I told him that we might just have to take notes. Then I looked into the mailbox-- no notice, on the door--either,then I checked the DHL site:"First delivery 16:48. Your order is in the post office in the follow 7 days."
Murphy needs to change his law.
"Your order is to be picked up from Monday on." The girl behind the counter told us.
"But it is urgent, we really need it tonight, as a press agent."
"Ok, then. Let me check. Your IDs please."
Sooo, we eventually got the camera, now it was time to figure out what kind of SD cars it took. We open the package right away and went upstairs for an 8G SD card.
"Take a taxi and meet me at the Disco at 19, alright?"
"Well... I have to change...." The bouncer wold throw me into the canal if I tried to enter it in such attire. Once again, ran through the red lights and asked my clothes to come out of the closet all by themselves. With my shaking hands, I put the camera together. While buckling my suspenders, I thought about how to control the aperture; and tried to remember what Depth of field was as I put on my socks..
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Mark your Calender
Took another day off school, although I shouldn't have. Haven't been very wise lately, haven't been very wise for a long time. One of these weeks where you check the calender twice, thrice a day, begging for it to be over. I am not yet accustomed to get up at 7:30 because my class starts at 9. However, considering I was out cold at an early hour last night, I should have been able to drag myself to school somehow.
The highest court in Berlin is on strike. And I thought going on a strike was France's national sport. But what are they striking about? They have reasonable working hours, relatively well paid, heated office, no paper worries, free coffee in the office and the building itself is in a park, on top of which, their cafeteria is on the first floor, and they can vote.
I want to start marking the days where neither the court nor INS strikes, and I will send the data to the mayor.
One of the side affects from being foreign is not getting bothered by leafletters. There are tons of them in Hermanplatz right at the exit of the metro, sticking fliers into your hands, or putting a pen under your nose to sign ... something. Whenever I step out of the metro and am about to pass them by, they usually turn around so they "wouldn't" see me --- you look foreign, so you can't read our language and you can't sign your name. The only strangers talk to me are those middle-aged women with borrowed or rented children and ask for small changes. Women, always women. As if we were culturally stamped to be more heart-touching and tear-bringing, in other words, pathetic looking. I've never seen men with some random kids and beg, but a lot of them are passing out under the sun on a wooden bench next to a trashcan with bottles lying around their feet.
Mom called and told me that she was going on a 3-day trip, in which she would take the train for 22 hours, then climb up a big mountain, share a hotel with 10 other people, then 22 hours back. I told her it sounded like Jews being shipped over for some one-day workshop during the WWII. Speaking of war, I find it "hypocritical" of me to care about the world peace in general and yet in the seek of finding peace with myself. But my new flatmate cheers me up: he is disco-singing cowboy, operated on batteries.
The highest court in Berlin is on strike. And I thought going on a strike was France's national sport. But what are they striking about? They have reasonable working hours, relatively well paid, heated office, no paper worries, free coffee in the office and the building itself is in a park, on top of which, their cafeteria is on the first floor, and they can vote.
I want to start marking the days where neither the court nor INS strikes, and I will send the data to the mayor.
One of the side affects from being foreign is not getting bothered by leafletters. There are tons of them in Hermanplatz right at the exit of the metro, sticking fliers into your hands, or putting a pen under your nose to sign ... something. Whenever I step out of the metro and am about to pass them by, they usually turn around so they "wouldn't" see me --- you look foreign, so you can't read our language and you can't sign your name. The only strangers talk to me are those middle-aged women with borrowed or rented children and ask for small changes. Women, always women. As if we were culturally stamped to be more heart-touching and tear-bringing, in other words, pathetic looking. I've never seen men with some random kids and beg, but a lot of them are passing out under the sun on a wooden bench next to a trashcan with bottles lying around their feet.
Mom called and told me that she was going on a 3-day trip, in which she would take the train for 22 hours, then climb up a big mountain, share a hotel with 10 other people, then 22 hours back. I told her it sounded like Jews being shipped over for some one-day workshop during the WWII. Speaking of war, I find it "hypocritical" of me to care about the world peace in general and yet in the seek of finding peace with myself. But my new flatmate cheers me up: he is disco-singing cowboy, operated on batteries.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Cappuccino
You start having sparkling cappuccini
from one after one
and one after another;
I am accustomed to my apathy
from the presence of you
for you and no other.
I sense your buzzing mind
through your breath,
the standard lowered,
discipline loses its significance,
our convictions differ,
my disappointments are to be ordinary,
your words are to be weightless.
But I am intuitive,
a pen and a piece of paper are all I possess,
but you aren't aware of that
because of my insincere approval
-- the disguise of my soul,
wrapped in a borrowed costume.
My fast heartbeat spells out rage,
empty look pronounces hatred,
and yet I've grown to fit in my apathy
because your love
is transparent, tainted and foamy,
labeled "cappuccino".
from one after one
and one after another;
I am accustomed to my apathy
from the presence of you
for you and no other.
I sense your buzzing mind
through your breath,
the standard lowered,
discipline loses its significance,
our convictions differ,
my disappointments are to be ordinary,
your words are to be weightless.
But I am intuitive,
a pen and a piece of paper are all I possess,
but you aren't aware of that
because of my insincere approval
-- the disguise of my soul,
wrapped in a borrowed costume.
My fast heartbeat spells out rage,
empty look pronounces hatred,
and yet I've grown to fit in my apathy
because your love
is transparent, tainted and foamy,
labeled "cappuccino".
Friday, October 10, 2008
Reality Show
As some of you might know that I am waiting for a verdict from the highest court in Berlin for ... well... ever. They finally sent me a response yesterday (it was actually sent to my attorney) and asked me to describe how we met, what language we use to communicate, the development of the relationship etc. I read the letter and I felt like being on a reality show or some talk show on MTV... so here is how it goes:
Cast
The host --- the judge
I --- me
The host wears pink cocktail dress, fingers twisting her blond hair, holding a microphone under my nose and asks: "So when was your first met?"
I keep staring at her high-heel sandals : can you actually walk in those things? "Eh... we met a while back..."
"Did you believe in love at the first sight?"
"No."
"Aw... that is so cute. "
"How was your first kiss?"
"Good."
The host shows a picture of us walking down the street to the camera / audience:"Isn't that romantic? What a cute photo!"
Ok, cute is a cute word, don't wear it out.
"So, what did you guys do on your first date?"
"We drank."
"That is fun."
Is it?
"What language do you use to communicate?"
"Depends."
"More than one? Aw..."
What is about you and "aw" thingy...
"We will be right back after the commercial. Please send SMS to 66666 and vote "How many language they use to communicate?"
A: one
B: more than one
And the 100th voter will receive a free box of "playtime" condom. Good luck and we will right back."
Commercials include: beer, vodka, playtime condom, car, beer, playtime condom, repeat.
(PS: I noted the commercial time in Germany: they last more than 5 minutes sometimes, more than 23 commercials, and 8 or 9 of them are about alcohol, 5 of them about cars.)
"Welcome back! First of all just let me remind you all to send SMS to 66666 and vote "How many language they use to communicate?"
A: one
B: more than one
And the 100th voter will receive a free box of "playtime" condom. Where were we...yes, languages... do you talk to each about everything?"
"Well... yeah. Can I go now?"
"Just one more question: how does it feel to be with someone?"
"Good."
"Aw..." (And the audience in the studio "aw" too, then the "applause" sign gets turned on.") "Our next guest is Molly, she owns a restaurant on the 7th and Jefferson, but more importantly, she also holds 'Speed Dating' in her restaurant..."
On the TV screen appears following message:
Send SMS to 66666 and vote "How many language they use to communicate?"
A: one
B: more than one
The 100th voter will receive a free box of "playtime" condom.
The End
Cast
The host --- the judge
I --- me
The host wears pink cocktail dress, fingers twisting her blond hair, holding a microphone under my nose and asks: "So when was your first met?"
I keep staring at her high-heel sandals : can you actually walk in those things? "Eh... we met a while back..."
"Did you believe in love at the first sight?"
"No."
"Aw... that is so cute. "
"How was your first kiss?"
"Good."
The host shows a picture of us walking down the street to the camera / audience:"Isn't that romantic? What a cute photo!"
Ok, cute is a cute word, don't wear it out.
"So, what did you guys do on your first date?"
"We drank."
"That is fun."
Is it?
"What language do you use to communicate?"
"Depends."
"More than one? Aw..."
What is about you and "aw" thingy...
"We will be right back after the commercial. Please send SMS to 66666 and vote "How many language they use to communicate?"
A: one
B: more than one
And the 100th voter will receive a free box of "playtime" condom. Good luck and we will right back."
Commercials include: beer, vodka, playtime condom, car, beer, playtime condom, repeat.
(PS: I noted the commercial time in Germany: they last more than 5 minutes sometimes, more than 23 commercials, and 8 or 9 of them are about alcohol, 5 of them about cars.)
"Welcome back! First of all just let me remind you all to send SMS to 66666 and vote "How many language they use to communicate?"
A: one
B: more than one
And the 100th voter will receive a free box of "playtime" condom. Where were we...yes, languages... do you talk to each about everything?"
"Well... yeah. Can I go now?"
"Just one more question: how does it feel to be with someone?"
"Good."
"Aw..." (And the audience in the studio "aw" too, then the "applause" sign gets turned on.") "Our next guest is Molly, she owns a restaurant on the 7th and Jefferson, but more importantly, she also holds 'Speed Dating' in her restaurant..."
On the TV screen appears following message:
Send SMS to 66666 and vote "How many language they use to communicate?"
A: one
B: more than one
The 100th voter will receive a free box of "playtime" condom.
The End
Thursday, October 9, 2008
The you in me
I hold you so tight
as if I were trying to carve you into my body.
But I am,
in my own way
slowly marking your existence in mine:
big strokes,
capital letters,
vivid punctuation.
You are breathing rhythmically
on my left chest;
I run my finger along your sharp shoulder blades,
watch your skin stretches as you breath,
connect moles and freckles on your back
--- so I can find a map to your mind.
You are the precipitation of my ire,
The night by the sea,
radiating undistinguished color and sound,
next to a deserted pebble beach.
I am the sediment of your mourning,
the stone in the wind,
carrying indescribable dirge and texture,
stand by the tide at your shore.
as if I were trying to carve you into my body.
But I am,
in my own way
slowly marking your existence in mine:
big strokes,
capital letters,
vivid punctuation.
You are breathing rhythmically
on my left chest;
I run my finger along your sharp shoulder blades,
watch your skin stretches as you breath,
connect moles and freckles on your back
--- so I can find a map to your mind.
You are the precipitation of my ire,
The night by the sea,
radiating undistinguished color and sound,
next to a deserted pebble beach.
I am the sediment of your mourning,
the stone in the wind,
carrying indescribable dirge and texture,
stand by the tide at your shore.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Intoxicated Faith
My first Reunification Celebration Day (Oct 3), or my second one. Auf jeden Fall, don't have much memories of the first one -- besides the fact I took a Taxi to my Internship -- what a luxury.
It was a long weekend, we headed for the Turkish Veggie Market on Friday but there was none. It'd be so much easier to go grocery shopping with someone who cooks: because I don't, thus I have neither idea what to buy nor the price range. Since the market was on holiday too, we decided to take a stroll in the quarter. Not many people on the street, despite the extremely rare good weather. We stopped in a bar for some coffee, it was nearly noon. Some random drunk invited himself at our table -- the only occupied one, and tried to start a senseless conversation. He was so drunk that he could not even open his beer (when you are hammered enough to unable to open your bottle, it means now the fucking time to stop). I felt unease, but I was not alone, and I sensed the ire rose in me, something triggered it, that pictured looked familiar, suddenly I had the urge to take the bottle and smashed it at his face. But I did nothing, we finished out coffee and left. Everyone's got their own way to celebrate a holiday.
We walked passed bus stops, in which party animals or homeless drunks murmured to themselves, beer bottles were everywhere on the street, shattered or not. The whole city was ethanol-saturated, was it illegal to be sober?
After living in a somewhat prestiged family, I understand the important role that alcohol plays in every culture. I lived through it, despite it, and decided to leave it. Sure, one can always find excuses for their intoxication: it is part of the culture, there is social pressure, peer pressure, and it has been existing for thousands of years... let me think what else has long existence and being misused most of the time --- religions!
Ethanol is something you think you cannot live without, it is a legal hard drug, it is over rated in every culture, it is what Jesus turned water into, it is "holy and grant".
Especially here, I find officialism is overwhelmingly pronounced, moreover, there are "certified alcoholic" who can receive more financial aids from the government (probably only in Germany) whilst making no effort to improve their lives. "Oh, I have problems in my family" "The world has done me wrong." "My business partner puts a gun at my head and I am impelled to be drunk."... (Some people are alive right now it is simply because it is illegal to kill them.) If this were the productive things to go, more than half of the Africa and Asia would be dead, including me.
And yet, many continue to allow such intoxicated faith to take over them, to practice a constant prayer to their God(s).
It was a long weekend, we headed for the Turkish Veggie Market on Friday but there was none. It'd be so much easier to go grocery shopping with someone who cooks: because I don't, thus I have neither idea what to buy nor the price range. Since the market was on holiday too, we decided to take a stroll in the quarter. Not many people on the street, despite the extremely rare good weather. We stopped in a bar for some coffee, it was nearly noon. Some random drunk invited himself at our table -- the only occupied one, and tried to start a senseless conversation. He was so drunk that he could not even open his beer (when you are hammered enough to unable to open your bottle, it means now the fucking time to stop). I felt unease, but I was not alone, and I sensed the ire rose in me, something triggered it, that pictured looked familiar, suddenly I had the urge to take the bottle and smashed it at his face. But I did nothing, we finished out coffee and left. Everyone's got their own way to celebrate a holiday.
We walked passed bus stops, in which party animals or homeless drunks murmured to themselves, beer bottles were everywhere on the street, shattered or not. The whole city was ethanol-saturated, was it illegal to be sober?
After living in a somewhat prestiged family, I understand the important role that alcohol plays in every culture. I lived through it, despite it, and decided to leave it. Sure, one can always find excuses for their intoxication: it is part of the culture, there is social pressure, peer pressure, and it has been existing for thousands of years... let me think what else has long existence and being misused most of the time --- religions!
Ethanol is something you think you cannot live without, it is a legal hard drug, it is over rated in every culture, it is what Jesus turned water into, it is "holy and grant".
Especially here, I find officialism is overwhelmingly pronounced, moreover, there are "certified alcoholic" who can receive more financial aids from the government (probably only in Germany) whilst making no effort to improve their lives. "Oh, I have problems in my family" "The world has done me wrong." "My business partner puts a gun at my head and I am impelled to be drunk."... (Some people are alive right now it is simply because it is illegal to kill them.) If this were the productive things to go, more than half of the Africa and Asia would be dead, including me.
And yet, many continue to allow such intoxicated faith to take over them, to practice a constant prayer to their God(s).
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Unlike any other event
---How are thing?
---Dragging.
---Let me guess, you are watching TV online.
---Taking a walk.
---With Johnnie?
---Alone.
---Since when?
---A while back.
---The weather must be good then.
---I can see my breath.
---At least it is sunny.
---It is not.
---So why the walk?
---Can't sit anymore.
---Winter arrived early this year.
---Unlike any other event.
---Still traveling?
---On a break.
---Until?
---When I can do it again. How is by you?
---Immobile.
---It is not usual.
---As if I had a choice.
---You only think that is the only option.
---Tell me a better one?
---Can't do, not doing so hot myself.
---When are you leaving?
---As soon as I am ready.
---You had always been ready.
---I had.
---How is your German?
---Working, hammered.
---It is national holiday.
---Whatever that means -- someone needs a toned-up for their patriotism?
---Tell me about it.
---Can't do, have no personal experience.
---Tell me something happy.
---I am wearing the shirt says "Kaki-kore" and the symbol next to it. Your turn.
---My new tooth brush is transparent.
---We are set.
---Totally.
---Dragging.
---Let me guess, you are watching TV online.
---Taking a walk.
---With Johnnie?
---Alone.
---Since when?
---A while back.
---The weather must be good then.
---I can see my breath.
---At least it is sunny.
---It is not.
---So why the walk?
---Can't sit anymore.
---Winter arrived early this year.
---Unlike any other event.
---Still traveling?
---On a break.
---Until?
---When I can do it again. How is by you?
---Immobile.
---It is not usual.
---As if I had a choice.
---You only think that is the only option.
---Tell me a better one?
---Can't do, not doing so hot myself.
---When are you leaving?
---As soon as I am ready.
---You had always been ready.
---I had.
---How is your German?
---Working, hammered.
---It is national holiday.
---Whatever that means -- someone needs a toned-up for their patriotism?
---Tell me about it.
---Can't do, have no personal experience.
---Tell me something happy.
---I am wearing the shirt says "Kaki-kore" and the symbol next to it. Your turn.
---My new tooth brush is transparent.
---We are set.
---Totally.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Entering Oktober
It was cold but sunny. I dragged myself out of bed at 7AM and took a shower with my eyes closed. I hadn't slept for two days for I was worrying about the appointment at INS, and many other little things. I thought about taking a few drops of Theralene. That thought remained a thought.An old man sat on the metro steps with beer or Jägermeister shots, trying to have passengers buy "motz" -- a newspaper put together by homeless people. A few Straßekinder roamed about at Hermannplatz, dyed hair, tattooed arms and necks, full of piercings, saturated with drugs, asking for small changes. "You guys have the right to work and go to school, and I am working my ass off just to get a paper to have half of the rights."
There were only handful of people at INS -- the workers were on strike. "We cannot receive all the applicants," they said, "but if you have an appointment, you can wait in the waiting room."
So we waited, I did the crossword on the newspaper. Someone called out a name behind a closed door."Is it us?"
"I don't know. I think they were just talking to each other."
He taped on the door and asked. -- It was for us. Alright, their speakers were on strike too.
"You have to pay 80 euros because, well, it is the fee and you will have two months of Fiktionscheinigung (instead of 6 months) for you did not apply for your Visa from a right status. You needed to have a family-matter visa, but you did not."
Because your co-worker wouldn't give it to me!!!I could have gotten one! That is why I did not have the right Visa to get another Visa...
Fine, whatever, that is my first German paper and I am finally legal, for two months. I am going to frame that piece of green paper and put it on the wall! And I am going to put it under my pillow and sleep with it. We did not have the paper for our next appointment, all we can do right now is to wait. As usual.
There is a coffee shop near INS, but their espresso machine was broken. We sat down at a table outside, I used his coffee mug as hot-water bag -- I don't like filtered coffee.
"Now we need a letter from a lawyer, according to what she said, and how she said, I think Kammergericht and them had communicated, and there have been some complications. I am not taking the risk for a possible negative verdict. We have to act now, act before them." He picked up the phone and called the lawyer.
"We need an appointment with you as soon as possible. Today, please?... ok, as soon as possible, let's say tomorrow morning? 10am? 9am? or 8am in your flat we will bring you breakfast?"
Huh?
The appointment was set at 9:30am.
So, at 9:40am. Three of us sat at a table, signed the power of attorney, discussed the possible outcome and prepared for a potential trail. "It will be fine, mostly." they said. "The Kammergericht is taking time to exam the intention. Once we give enough evidences, there shouldn't be any reason to lose the case."
Is it now?
It started to rain when I left the office heading back to the flat. I did not take the metro. The forecast said it'd be sunny.
Back to the flat, zapped through channels, I was waiting for the post to come, then I can decide what to do.
The verdict didn't come, but my Press ID did. He was more excited than I was. Adorable, his will arrive in two days too. "Please write something, and I will proof read your paper. I still have to finish the rest of the application. I entered my domain to be economy, social and politics, and yours? Literature, art and culture?"
"Literature is a kind of art."
"Write something. I will try to get them published, under a different name of course."
Oh right, I am not allowed to work. But with my Press ID, I can probably get into some concerts for free. I phoned a few artzy friends I know, and now waiting for them to call me back, if they ever will.
Because of my irregular access to the Internet, I decided to buy some newspapers so I would have something more than German to read. I entered an international press shop, and the Turkish shop owner asked if he could help me.
"Yes, do you by chance have L'espresso?"
"No, we have only normal coffee."
"No, I mean the magazine."
"Never heard of it."
"Do you have La Republica then?"
"Oh yeah, the Japanese magazine?"
"Eh... no... an Italian newspaper."
(Quote from SR: "La Republica are the most Japanese words I have ever heard!")
"No. But they may arrive in ten minutes."
Sure they would.
I ended up walking across the quarter, asking another press shop owner to save a copy of Corriere della sera for me and I'd pick it up after lunch.
It is sunny, think I will go and take a nap before heading out.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Update for Sept.
It was 2AM. I was still awake, after doing all the dishes and laundries, I wonder what was wrong with my go-to-sleep-part of my brain.
The winter is almost officially here. The leaves fell before they changed color. So here goes my fall foliage dream.
I woke up at 6AM yesterday and decided to go to a cafe at 8AM. It was windy but sunny. A man next to me brought his own heavy cream added to his coffee; next door is a bank, someone in suit and ties rushed out the double-door and lit a cigarette. I tried to concentrate on the homework but I simply couldn't, having nothing but the verdict in my mind (To the court: You're so natural - religiously unkind) I started to wonder if the mail was lost somewhere between Schöneberg and Neukölln.
4:10PM. I finished the class and dialed his number. Both of his cell phones were off and his co-worker didn't know where he was. I called the flat.
"What is going on?"
"I am a bit upset." I could smell the ethanol through the telephone.
"I am going to the metro now."
I opened the door, he sat in front of TV with a bottle of Ballantine's. It was half empty. We went into the kitchen and I poured myself a serving. He looked at my glass:"I am not a good example."
"No, you are not."
"How was school?"
"Good. I called the office, L. told me that you weren't there."
"Maybe you and him should talk, he is my friend, and it'd be nice if you guys can get along."
"There is nothing to talk about. I don't hate him anymore. What happened that night in April was so fucked up. I packed my suitcase and the only reason why I am still here today was because my French bank account got blocked and I had no way to buy a train ticket."
"I can only say that I am sorry. I am better now, am I not?"
"So, tell me what happened if you want."
"I had a fight with G. I am not sure what got into him, it was not the first time. So I took my pizza to-go and left in the middle of our conversation."
"Eh-huh."
"And thanks for helping me financially, I really appreciate that."
"Sure."
"I am going to the bathroom, be right back."
I poured the rest of the Ballantine's down the drain.
I laid awake all night, counting the minutes left until my next INS appointment (Monday 29 Sept. at 9AM), the funky part is: they might have a strike that day, and I don't have my verdict. I thought about the vacations I took, friends I used to hang out with, sleeping pills I abused, traffic tickets I received, the shitty jobs I had... all of them seemed so intangible, abstract, transparent. I tossed and turned, tossed and turned.
5:12AM.
"Why are you awake?" he asked.
"I can't sleep."
"Why?"
"I want pancakes."
He made pancakes. We had a gigantic breakfast.
10AM. I walked down the Kottbusserdamm behind my iPod (Sostanza dei giorni miei, Sostanza dei giorni miei) A young woman put her paper cup right under my nose asking for small changes. I made an effort smiled and shook my head. She followed me, shook the cup near my ear, and taped on my arm. I turned with a vexed look:"Sweetheart, you pick the wrong day to piss me off." She suddenly became immobile, like a wax figure in the middle of the street.
Decided to take a break from school after tomorrow. I can't afford it financially and mentally. And yet, having nothing to do depresses me even more.
I should go and take a walk to the Cemetery.
The winter is almost officially here. The leaves fell before they changed color. So here goes my fall foliage dream.
I woke up at 6AM yesterday and decided to go to a cafe at 8AM. It was windy but sunny. A man next to me brought his own heavy cream added to his coffee; next door is a bank, someone in suit and ties rushed out the double-door and lit a cigarette. I tried to concentrate on the homework but I simply couldn't, having nothing but the verdict in my mind (To the court: You're so natural - religiously unkind) I started to wonder if the mail was lost somewhere between Schöneberg and Neukölln.
4:10PM. I finished the class and dialed his number. Both of his cell phones were off and his co-worker didn't know where he was. I called the flat.
"What is going on?"
"I am a bit upset." I could smell the ethanol through the telephone.
"I am going to the metro now."
I opened the door, he sat in front of TV with a bottle of Ballantine's. It was half empty. We went into the kitchen and I poured myself a serving. He looked at my glass:"I am not a good example."
"No, you are not."
"How was school?"
"Good. I called the office, L. told me that you weren't there."
"Maybe you and him should talk, he is my friend, and it'd be nice if you guys can get along."
"There is nothing to talk about. I don't hate him anymore. What happened that night in April was so fucked up. I packed my suitcase and the only reason why I am still here today was because my French bank account got blocked and I had no way to buy a train ticket."
"I can only say that I am sorry. I am better now, am I not?"
"So, tell me what happened if you want."
"I had a fight with G. I am not sure what got into him, it was not the first time. So I took my pizza to-go and left in the middle of our conversation."
"Eh-huh."
"And thanks for helping me financially, I really appreciate that."
"Sure."
"I am going to the bathroom, be right back."
I poured the rest of the Ballantine's down the drain.
I laid awake all night, counting the minutes left until my next INS appointment (Monday 29 Sept. at 9AM), the funky part is: they might have a strike that day, and I don't have my verdict. I thought about the vacations I took, friends I used to hang out with, sleeping pills I abused, traffic tickets I received, the shitty jobs I had... all of them seemed so intangible, abstract, transparent. I tossed and turned, tossed and turned.
5:12AM.
"Why are you awake?" he asked.
"I can't sleep."
"Why?"
"I want pancakes."
He made pancakes. We had a gigantic breakfast.
10AM. I walked down the Kottbusserdamm behind my iPod (Sostanza dei giorni miei, Sostanza dei giorni miei) A young woman put her paper cup right under my nose asking for small changes. I made an effort smiled and shook my head. She followed me, shook the cup near my ear, and taped on my arm. I turned with a vexed look:"Sweetheart, you pick the wrong day to piss me off." She suddenly became immobile, like a wax figure in the middle of the street.
Decided to take a break from school after tomorrow. I can't afford it financially and mentally. And yet, having nothing to do depresses me even more.
I should go and take a walk to the Cemetery.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Foxy Afternoon
The temperature dropped suddenly. Only 7C at night, we skipped the fall. The weather feels worse when the changes you have been wait for are not happening. I had to buy a third folder for my file, doing it the German way, punched two holes and put them neatly in chronological order and scan everything. Finally got a letter from the highest court in the region (KG), the judge said that the verdict was yet to be made: there were still more details to be examed.
I haven't decided if I will continue the German course because if I pass the MII test at the end of the month, there is only one higher level in the whole language scale table, but with MII, I can already go to school here. Although I missed the deadline and I have to wait for another year. I cross my finger to have my status stabilized soon, a job (or two) is a necessity.
Being seasonal sensitive, I have been more anti-social than usual. The itinerary is school--flat, with occasional supermarket visits, when I am obliged. Some of my friends left Germany because of the fall-vacation, some of them simply finished summer course, or got a job in a land far far away. The time seems to be dragging, a simple three-more-day-wait for the next letter from court appears to be eternal and I dream about it.
Nightmare time, I was frequently awaken and told that I had been screaming in my sleep.
The weather sucks, Nominalisierung von Verbalformen gives me headache, Mündliche Prüfung is intimidating, my backpack is broken and the heat is not yet on...
So I took a walk at 3PM in a cemetery. There was no one else, besides a fox. A tiny baby fox ran across the path as I approached a family grave. He stopped and tilted his head, staring at me with curiosity -- a person, an alive one! That was the first wild fox I have ever seen and we both just stood there...
As I was on my way to the exit, I turned around -- the fox was standing in the middle of the road, still with his tilted head and curious look, towards me.
I haven't decided if I will continue the German course because if I pass the MII test at the end of the month, there is only one higher level in the whole language scale table, but with MII, I can already go to school here. Although I missed the deadline and I have to wait for another year. I cross my finger to have my status stabilized soon, a job (or two) is a necessity.
Being seasonal sensitive, I have been more anti-social than usual. The itinerary is school--flat, with occasional supermarket visits, when I am obliged. Some of my friends left Germany because of the fall-vacation, some of them simply finished summer course, or got a job in a land far far away. The time seems to be dragging, a simple three-more-day-wait for the next letter from court appears to be eternal and I dream about it.
Nightmare time, I was frequently awaken and told that I had been screaming in my sleep.
The weather sucks, Nominalisierung von Verbalformen gives me headache, Mündliche Prüfung is intimidating, my backpack is broken and the heat is not yet on...
So I took a walk at 3PM in a cemetery. There was no one else, besides a fox. A tiny baby fox ran across the path as I approached a family grave. He stopped and tilted his head, staring at me with curiosity -- a person, an alive one! That was the first wild fox I have ever seen and we both just stood there...
As I was on my way to the exit, I turned around -- the fox was standing in the middle of the road, still with his tilted head and curious look, towards me.
Friday, September 12, 2008
First week of September
Attended my first wedding party alone. Well, not exactly alone, I shall say it was the first one without my parents. I was invited, as an adult. That was Saturday night, an Yugoslavian wedding, which was held on the second floor of a banquet room with 500 guests. When we arrived, being the only Germans (OK, I am not even German, so you can imagine I felt everyone was looking at me) but we were directed to a reserved table, the only reserved table, in the center next to the stage. Half of the guests were teenagers, dressed in suits and ties or cocktail dress with high heels, some of them were pregnant while holding cigarette in one hand and whiskey on the other. The live music was great, and I even knew some of the songs from Kayah's album. But I did not understand a word because it was all in Serbian. The music blared all night, people danced all night, I was asked: will mine be as big as this one?
As we left the party early, we realized that we were half deaf because the music was so loud. He held my hand -- "'Til death do us apart".
"'Til death do us apart." he said.
Despite Sunday was his birthday, we managed to have that day ethanol free, which explains why we were able to get up at 6:30 Monday morning and go to the INS. The woman behind the bullet-proofed glass told us to go to French Embassy here to extend my Visa because my residence card is French. He then pulled out a bunch of paper from a lawyer, showed her the laws. I saw her shaking her head, and yet, I could not really argue or defend my rights, in German. My knees were weak, watching they both throwing big words back and forth... finally, she gave us a form to fill in and asked me to wait outside.
"And? And?"
"Everything is alright. We have to get you photos (again) and then we will have an appointment."
Half an hour later, we returned to the same window, and she gave us a piece of paper, on which states that "Come in on 29th of September at 9AM sharp, we will discuss your legal issue."
I am on the 29th count-down since then.
It was not clear why I did not get a 6-month extention in a single day, like a lot of my classmates did.
Then we rushed to the Kammergericht all the way from Wedding to southern Schöneberg to pay the court charge. We are waiting for a verdict from Kammergericht; only then can we go back to Standsamte for further appointment, if the verdict is possitive. This shold take a couple of weeks.
Waiting, endless waiting.
Mom called and asked me how the things were going. I tried my best to explain but the lack of vocabulary announced our conversation was senseless. No idea how to say "appointment" (I kept telling her it was a "date" but it did not sound right somehow), or "Kammergericht" or "Verdict" or "Registry Office".
"Why didn't you get your extention again?"
"Because... because... how is the weather there?"
As we left the party early, we realized that we were half deaf because the music was so loud. He held my hand -- "'Til death do us apart".
"'Til death do us apart." he said.
Despite Sunday was his birthday, we managed to have that day ethanol free, which explains why we were able to get up at 6:30 Monday morning and go to the INS. The woman behind the bullet-proofed glass told us to go to French Embassy here to extend my Visa because my residence card is French. He then pulled out a bunch of paper from a lawyer, showed her the laws. I saw her shaking her head, and yet, I could not really argue or defend my rights, in German. My knees were weak, watching they both throwing big words back and forth... finally, she gave us a form to fill in and asked me to wait outside.
"And? And?"
"Everything is alright. We have to get you photos (again) and then we will have an appointment."
Half an hour later, we returned to the same window, and she gave us a piece of paper, on which states that "Come in on 29th of September at 9AM sharp, we will discuss your legal issue."
I am on the 29th count-down since then.
It was not clear why I did not get a 6-month extention in a single day, like a lot of my classmates did.
Then we rushed to the Kammergericht all the way from Wedding to southern Schöneberg to pay the court charge. We are waiting for a verdict from Kammergericht; only then can we go back to Standsamte for further appointment, if the verdict is possitive. This shold take a couple of weeks.
Waiting, endless waiting.
Mom called and asked me how the things were going. I tried my best to explain but the lack of vocabulary announced our conversation was senseless. No idea how to say "appointment" (I kept telling her it was a "date" but it did not sound right somehow), or "Kammergericht" or "Verdict" or "Registry Office".
"Why didn't you get your extention again?"
"Because... because... how is the weather there?"
Monday, September 1, 2008
Pale September
Sunny Weekend, for once. Some people were making a film right outside of window for the entire two days and the streets were closed for hours. This is not a popular part of the town, but on the street (about 600-meter long) where the flat is, you can find more than 5 corner bars, including two or three neo-nazi-tainted, two vacancies which occupied by various business every 6 weeks, for the moment, they are both frisörs, an Asian and an Italian restaurant who offer certain people free Absolute, Gorbatschow, Lambrusco or Sambucca while the customers waiting for their order, two tobacco shops fill with people holding Sternburg in hand as early as 7AM, kebab wraps, fast food left-overs can be easily find on the ground floor window-sill -- one of the reasons why we don't keep the window open during our absence. I suppose the film makers were a lot more inspirational than me.
Sunday, I was invited for a get-together in the park. I hesitated, despite my desire to go.
"Do you have plans?" He asked.
"No."
"Too bad," he put on his shoes and said that he would need to work soon.
Something hit me in a split of a second.
"You know what? I am going to the Mauerpark." I took my rolling tobacco and left the flat.
Sitting on the S-Bahn and feeling the heat of sun through the window-- something has changed. Wait, no, things don't change, people change things, we are the beneficials or victim of changes not the things; at times we are so desperate or jaded to a point where nothing but the moment matters. And that moment for me was to get on the S-Bahn and meet my friends.
Lovely day, lovely weekend, for a change, until the moment I stepped in the zone, no one's over-kindness could cheer me up.
We are in September already.
We are in September already.
We are in September already.
AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH
Sunday, I was invited for a get-together in the park. I hesitated, despite my desire to go.
"Do you have plans?" He asked.
"No."
"Too bad," he put on his shoes and said that he would need to work soon.
Something hit me in a split of a second.
"You know what? I am going to the Mauerpark." I took my rolling tobacco and left the flat.
Sitting on the S-Bahn and feeling the heat of sun through the window-- something has changed. Wait, no, things don't change, people change things, we are the beneficials or victim of changes not the things; at times we are so desperate or jaded to a point where nothing but the moment matters. And that moment for me was to get on the S-Bahn and meet my friends.
Lovely day, lovely weekend, for a change, until the moment I stepped in the zone, no one's over-kindness could cheer me up.
We are in September already.
We are in September already.
We are in September already.
AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Over-rated
It has been raining for almost a week now (besides Wednesday). I switched to Custer's Blend, slightly too sweet for me. We are not having a blast. "Blast is over-rated" I murmured. "Whatever you have to say to make yourself feel better."
I am inexperienced; thought temporary relief meant better for the good; and that it'd be easy to live with "When kicking off a vice, it is normal to take two steps forward and one back." You are naive, believe forever is an option, that love would be enough. At times I caught myself looking at you with a strange sense of unnamed hatred, especially the moment I step out of the metro and see you act like a booze hound so deeply dived in the self-loathing see that it is impossible to see the shore.
We are in different dimensions, both holding on to that one milligram of hope, and we are losing it.
I am inexperienced; thought temporary relief meant better for the good; and that it'd be easy to live with "When kicking off a vice, it is normal to take two steps forward and one back." You are naive, believe forever is an option, that love would be enough. At times I caught myself looking at you with a strange sense of unnamed hatred, especially the moment I step out of the metro and see you act like a booze hound so deeply dived in the self-loathing see that it is impossible to see the shore.
We are in different dimensions, both holding on to that one milligram of hope, and we are losing it.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Perfect World
It stopped raining, finally, but it started snowing.... worse. It has been snowing for 2 days now, and it is ridiculously cold. It is overcast in the past 48 hours but it is not really sad. Instead, the clouds look like chunks and chunks of explosives that wait to explode at any given moment. I felt the energy hiding behind those clouds, dangerous and fetal. So, with the snow, Wisconsians sign, Californians scream. I walked into the classroom and they took at look at me and turned around to continue their conversation on the snow, in English, as if I was the only one in the room who doesn't speak English. Fine, whatever, they always do that to me. I am used to it by now. It must be strangely disturbing to talk to someone who wasn't born in the States while somewhat speak this language.
Miss Seattle was late, as usual. As she walking across to the room I was telling myself that she would sit next to B, then take out her lipstick and the tiny mirror, then the Avian water bottle; she would greet the Mr. Wisconsin next to her and the Californian behind her. I watched her sat down next to B, displayed her makeup kit, took a sip of the Avian and said hello to two of her friends in the class. I smiled. Human being are sometimes so predictable it is boring.
I kept switching my cell phone on and off since last night. A CDD thing? A revenge? A punishment? A well intended closure? No idea. I hate people who make promises and don't keep them. I always image cutting out their tongues with my Swiss army knife and then take out their wind pipe. I am not usually a violent person. What is the point of talking? Why bother speaking to me if all they did was spiting out void syllables? Why bother taking the time and energy? For the time being, they could have find a fine sex partner and have a fucking good afternoon. So, why bother? Homo sapiens. We can be pathetically hypocritical.
Lunch time. I was picking through rice with my fork. I wasn't hungry.
«So, how did it go? Did you talk?»
«What? With whom?»
«You know…. Your…. I don't know… someone that you know… an aquatint?» she raised her eyebrow. It was easy to label this person.
«Oh yeah…well, sorta.»
«So?»
«I don't know. It is gonna end soon.»
«Why? What did you say? What did you talk about? Was there any misunderstandings like you had thought?»
«No. Everything was actually fine. But, it is coming to an end, I just know. We are intuitive creatures.»
She nodded. Neither of us said a word for the rest of the lunch.
Library. I was trying to redo my applications because apparently I filled out the wrong form. I've got to get them in before the deadline…. Suddenly my cell started vibrating. I gasped, and dropped my pen. OK, it was P. «Coming over for lunch tomorrow?»
«Sure, thanks. Would you like me to bring anything?»
«Nah, just your laptop, we can watch a movie.»
«OK, see you tomorrow then.»
I needed a smoke right after that, so bad. Downstairs, against the strong wind, I took a long drag from my cigarette. It takes 7 seconds for the nicotine to reach the brain and start spreading its poison, but those 7 seconds seemed like an eternity. In the past few days, I had only two things in my head: «Every you and every me» by Placebo and «Fragile» by Têtes-Raides.
Home. Finally home. It was 10:47pm. I laid on the floor and stared at the ceiling. There is a crack on it, not very big, but long, and that makes it obvious. I had the strong desire to tear the ceiling apart following this crack because then, you will have two pieces, but each piece would be perfect.Let go
Since when a metro ride becomes a train of memories?
On the RER from downtown Paris to Versailles, I leaned my head against the window pane and watched the rain drops hitting the glass, splashing into smaller dots; those dots moved closer and closer to each other, eventually touched, formed a big dot that was heavy enough to finally glide down, leaving a silver trace. Repeat.
The train ran above ground and under ground alternatively, random graffiti flashed by, the monotonic color on the façades, this was like déja vu. Consciously, unconsciously, I was looking for a miraculous surprise, a familiar and yet strange face, a figure, a silhouette that I used to know. I found none, it is fine, it is expected. The only difference was I didn't have any expectation this time. I knew what I would see, what I would experience, my heart beat was regular. The rain kept splashing against the window pane. The glass was cold against my skin.
"ça va?"
I nodded, smiled, wasn't in the mood to speak. I ran my finger tip along the silver trace, lost in my dreams.
"Do you like it?"
"What?"
"Paris."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"It is a beautiful city, isn't it?"
"Sure, why not." I still preferred silence.
"I like it; it is so chic."
I smiled.
"Why don't you like it?"
"I don't hate it."
"Do you prefer another capital?"
"Yes."
"Which one?"
I drew a line on the foggy glass, then 2 hoops next to it.
"Why?"
"It is not the city itself counts all for me."
"What?"
"It is time to get off, this is the stop."
Got caught in a sudden rain in the open garden of Versailles. Strong wind blew rain onto my face just like having a tattoo. There was no place to hide, I was far down at the end of the garden, at the bottom of the hill. There was so use to run for I was completely soaked. My coat became heavy; my jeans clued to my legs; I started laughing hysterically. When was the last time I let myself feel? The last time I let go?
When I finally got on the train, I could squeeze water out of my clothes. I couldn't stop shaking because the window on the train was broken and the wind didn't help. I couldn't decide whether to keep the coat on or take it off, well, it wouldn't make any difference, would it?
Snooze
"Dr. Ferrin will see you now." The secretary said to me and I pushed the door open accompanied with the familiar buzzing sound. Dr. Ferrin turned around in his armchair as I entered, he offered me a seat and looked at me with his elbows on the desk.
"The ER called this morning."
"I know."
"Self-inflicted behavior is difficult to stop, but we are working towards a better tomorrow."
"Sure. Why not."
Why did you do it?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"Did you take your medication?"
"Yes."
"It didn't work?"
"It did make me sleepy."
"Why didn't you sleep?"
"I was thinking about doing it."
"What triggered it?"
"Nothing particular."
"How does that make you feel?"
"Sleepy."
"I don't mean the medication."
"Then it made me want to go to sleep."
"How was your day?"
"Fine."
"How were your classes?"
"I didn't go."
I don't recall the rest of the conversation. I was counting the Jack in the Box Super sized cup stacked up on his window sill. All of them were super sized cup, how many gallons of coke can one drink? There were about 20 of them, how long did it take him to finish almost 10 gallons of soda? How on earth did he open the window? Maybe he never opens the window. Fast food bags filled up the trash can. I liked his black leather armchair, it was super sized too and looked extremely comfy.
My phone started vibrating 2 minutes after I finished my session.
"Hello?"
"It is me! I am at the airport!"
"What?"
"It is me! I am at the airport!"
"What?"
"Come and get me."
My palms started sweating, and I held my cell phone in my hand as I ran all the way to the airport.
Arrival terminal one. There: T was still wearing the red scarf.
I don't remember what we spoke of, but we never ran out of things to tell. I had the impression that we didn't take any public transportation and we walked all the way to my flat, where we could be alone. On the 7th floor balcony, we sat on the swing and watched the sunset. After a bottle of wine and a great dinner, we both felt asleep on the sofa with our glasses still on but we woke up felt refreshed. I can't tell you when was the last time I woke up without feeling dizzy. Rays of sunshine seeped through light green curtain and sat on the wooden floor, the sweet smell coffee saturated the apartment. I joined T for an espresso and decided to go swimming in such a lovely day.
There we were, in our swimming costume, saying: " One, two , three, jump!" Right before my feet hit the water....
My alarm clock went off...NO, PLEASE NO, NOT NOW, I don't want to wake up now. I was searching for the snooze bottom with my eyes closed. My roommates were speaking loudly in the hallway. As I stumbled to the bathroom, there was a post-it on the mirror:" Call Dr. Ferrin today. T's funeral at 2pm."Non sense
Building another layer of cellophane on my cocoon; the air is full of spikes. Then I shrink wrap every syllable, for the words have blades. Empty promises have cut me right open and yet the truth doesn't always serve us good. I like my espresso hot, strong and raw. My happiness, gratitude, anger and pain are real. "It is sure that things are to be better, such conviction pulls me up from bed every dawn. And I need you." It is not me you need, it is the idea of me, the idea of a perfect being stands by your side as you rise and fall, but you don't know me. "I need you too." It is not you I need, it is the identity of you, a piece of you that ultimately separates from the rest because I know you. My idea and your identity are to be happy-ever-after, on theory, fair trade. It is never easy to put things in black and white. I look at certain things with tainted glasses, but it wasn't me who filtered my vision. Pincering a small hole on my cocoon, I am suffocating. I pace back and forth in this paradoxical dimension, prefer boots to sandals, and this is not me.
So
There won't be banquets or vows,
we are to be binded by feathers and wax,
she asked:" Is this the best
you can do?"
I shook my head -- the deal is yet to be sealed.
Took another day off from school,
another night off from sleeping ,
puzzling why the allergies,
why someone with no blue blood, no money
and full of scars
You stumbled through the door
said it'd be the only time;
he shook my shoulders
and kissed my red eyes.
Staring at the ceiling
you said:" Honey, there is no moon tonight."
"But it is OK. The street lamps are shining brilliantly."
then you hold my hand and declare
this is the only time.
we are to be binded by feathers and wax,
she asked:" Is this the best
you can do?"
I shook my head -- the deal is yet to be sealed.
Took another day off from school,
another night off from sleeping ,
puzzling why the allergies,
why someone with no blue blood, no money
and full of scars
You stumbled through the door
said it'd be the only time;
he shook my shoulders
and kissed my red eyes.
Staring at the ceiling
you said:" Honey, there is no moon tonight."
"But it is OK. The street lamps are shining brilliantly."
then you hold my hand and declare
this is the only time.
It smells like rain in the air
Leila sits in a bar next to her school having her first whisky at 4:30 in the afternoon. It is sunny outside but the heat would make her flush even more. She reads the text message again "Meet me for a drink tonight?" It was from Jake, someone she knows well even though they have only known each other for no more than a month. She plays the cell phone in her palm, hesitating to reply, but eventually sends out "Sure, come to Summer Blue."
Jake arrives, sits himself next to her on the couch. It is a green couch with white dots; it is a cozy couch. "So, how did it go?"
"I have filled out the application yesterday afternoon..."
"Finally!"
"And if nothing goes wrong, I should have the renewal of my paper in two weeks."
"Congratulations! That is good news."
"Yeah, thanks. How is your new apartment?"
"Good. It is messy, so I don't want my daughter to be in it until next weekend, after I clean up everything. After your paper, you will have more freedom."
"This freedom to stay has cost me, a lot."
"More than it should. Can I get you another one? Ballantine's double?"
"The only thing I drink. Thank you."
"If you ever need a place to spend the night to have some rest, you can come over. You know where I live."
"Thank you." She takes a sip from the glass, feels his hand on hers, "Leila, you have to leave. He is not good for you. "
"I know." She pulls away his hand, reaches the backpack to get some rolling tobacco and filters. "It is not the time. "
"Sooner is better. You can come and stay with me."
Leila could usually drink more, but today, after the third shot, she is more than buzzed. "I have to go. We will catch up later." She doesn't wait for his reply, stands up and leaves the bar. Just a couple of steps outside, her head starts to spin and she almost falls. She leans against the wall and sees Jake next to her. "I will accompany you back." They get into the metro; as the train brakes in the next station, her balance get thrown off, she finds herself in his arms. She kisses his lips and holds him tight. "I feel so fine with you Leila, I don't know why but I just do. " Somehow such statement wakes her up. She says that she would have to get off soon and thanks him for the company. She leaves him in the metro without saying goodbye and walks back to the flat as fast as she could. It is dark but warm inside, she hits the bed right away and the next thing she knows is when she wakes up at midnight, realizes she is still fully clothes and Christopher sitting in front of the TV but asleep. Leila turns on the light and reads until she can fall back to sleep again. The last time she looks at the clock it was 4AM. Then she is awaken by a phone call, from Simone.
"Want to take some coffee together?"
"I am still in bed, give me an hour. I need to take a shower."
"Alright. Meet me at the coffee shop on Fold Street in an hour or so?"
"Sure."
Leila can feel her head still spins as she walks down the street. It is raining and there is scarcely anyone on the street. Suppose everyone is still in bed at 9AM on Saturday morning.
"Tried to call you last night, but you didn't answer. I was wondering if you fancy to go theater with me."
"Yeah, I passed out quite early. Sorry about that. Did you go?"
"No. I stayed at home instead. How are you?"
"Having a hangover and you? Any news from your job applications?"
"I think I will continue to work with Christopher in his new office. It was surprisingly quick that he built up a new office in a month."
"Yes, it is."
"How is he?"
"I don't know. Haven't seen him really."
"The last time I saw him was a few days ago. I guess he is drinking less now, is he?"
"Can't tell you. I haven't really seen him."
"He took your threat of leaving serious didn't he?"
"I've never threatened him. And I am not the one to talk. Gulping down two bottles of Ballantine's every week and I can't keep up my weight. Who am I to talk about having a healthy life style?"
"Everything will be better after his new office starts running. He is trying his best to be the person you want him to be."
"What was the play about? Do you still want to go tonight?"
"I am working tonight. I can't believe that I am a lawyer and working in a bar. But it is a good bar though, in the theater and you meet interesting people."
"At least you don't hate it."
"Christopher told me that there was a new flat just became available down the street. Maybe I can go and take a look next week."
"Apartment hunting is a pain isn't it?"
"Yes it is."
Leila's phone starts to vibrate on the table. It is Christopher.
"Just call to say I love you."
"Eh... that is sweet of you. I am having coffee with Simone, want to join us?"
"No, thanks. I have to work. And I will be late tonight, but I will try to sleep in the flat OK?"
"OK."
"I need you."
"Good luck at work."
"Can I speak to Simone please? I need to give her the address of a flat she can visit next week." Leila hands over the phone, gives her a piece of paper and a pen.
"It will be around the corner! I am so excited."
"But you need to see it first right?"
"Yes, I really want a flat with balcony, this one has a balcony."
"That is nice."
"He sounded... well.. tipsy on the phone."
"Yep, party starts very early for him, and I hope he didn't give you the wrong address."
"Is he getting any better?"
"No. "
"But he will, right?"
"Don't know don't care."
"Are you giving it another shot?"
"I miss my single life. I fucking miss it. I miss living alone, come and go as I please, take a vacation whenever I want and have ONS with whom I want, when I want, where I want. If I don't feeling like doing dishes, I could just leave it. And if I want to be alone, I should be able to just be alone! This had been my life, but now I feel this part of me has gone missing, hibernated, died. It is not living with someone causes me pain, I just grieve over my single life."
Out of whim, Leila picks up the phone and calls Jake, asks him if she could come over. "It would be a pleasure." he replies.
"Are you having an affaire?"
"Simone, come on, me? No."
"Not yet?"
"Why does it matter? But it'd be my call."
"Cold blooded little thing! You play them like toys." She means it like a joke but it somehow doesn't feel like one to Leila.
So, this is the "revenge" you have been looking for? The way to take out your anxiety? The evidence of your liberty? Leila lies in bed, feeling Jake's hand running through her spine. Feist's album softly playing, window open, his paintings and portraits on the wall, this, all of this, is what had been missing. The art, an artistic side of someone. But out of blue, she gets dressed and is ready to leave.
"Stay. Just for a while."
"I have to go."
"Do I see you tomorrow? I will make us some nice meals and we can play video games, or take a walk.I can show you more of my work once I get everything unpacked."
"I don't know. Sorry, I really don't."
"Already feel lonely without you."
"Have a good afternoon. We will talk later."
Lying on the river bank, Leila doesn't pay attention to anyone, anything. She watching the clouds gathering above her. It smells like rain in the air.
Jake arrives, sits himself next to her on the couch. It is a green couch with white dots; it is a cozy couch. "So, how did it go?"
"I have filled out the application yesterday afternoon..."
"Finally!"
"And if nothing goes wrong, I should have the renewal of my paper in two weeks."
"Congratulations! That is good news."
"Yeah, thanks. How is your new apartment?"
"Good. It is messy, so I don't want my daughter to be in it until next weekend, after I clean up everything. After your paper, you will have more freedom."
"This freedom to stay has cost me, a lot."
"More than it should. Can I get you another one? Ballantine's double?"
"The only thing I drink. Thank you."
"If you ever need a place to spend the night to have some rest, you can come over. You know where I live."
"Thank you." She takes a sip from the glass, feels his hand on hers, "Leila, you have to leave. He is not good for you. "
"I know." She pulls away his hand, reaches the backpack to get some rolling tobacco and filters. "It is not the time. "
"Sooner is better. You can come and stay with me."
Leila could usually drink more, but today, after the third shot, she is more than buzzed. "I have to go. We will catch up later." She doesn't wait for his reply, stands up and leaves the bar. Just a couple of steps outside, her head starts to spin and she almost falls. She leans against the wall and sees Jake next to her. "I will accompany you back." They get into the metro; as the train brakes in the next station, her balance get thrown off, she finds herself in his arms. She kisses his lips and holds him tight. "I feel so fine with you Leila, I don't know why but I just do. " Somehow such statement wakes her up. She says that she would have to get off soon and thanks him for the company. She leaves him in the metro without saying goodbye and walks back to the flat as fast as she could. It is dark but warm inside, she hits the bed right away and the next thing she knows is when she wakes up at midnight, realizes she is still fully clothes and Christopher sitting in front of the TV but asleep. Leila turns on the light and reads until she can fall back to sleep again. The last time she looks at the clock it was 4AM. Then she is awaken by a phone call, from Simone.
"Want to take some coffee together?"
"I am still in bed, give me an hour. I need to take a shower."
"Alright. Meet me at the coffee shop on Fold Street in an hour or so?"
"Sure."
Leila can feel her head still spins as she walks down the street. It is raining and there is scarcely anyone on the street. Suppose everyone is still in bed at 9AM on Saturday morning.
"Tried to call you last night, but you didn't answer. I was wondering if you fancy to go theater with me."
"Yeah, I passed out quite early. Sorry about that. Did you go?"
"No. I stayed at home instead. How are you?"
"Having a hangover and you? Any news from your job applications?"
"I think I will continue to work with Christopher in his new office. It was surprisingly quick that he built up a new office in a month."
"Yes, it is."
"How is he?"
"I don't know. Haven't seen him really."
"The last time I saw him was a few days ago. I guess he is drinking less now, is he?"
"Can't tell you. I haven't really seen him."
"He took your threat of leaving serious didn't he?"
"I've never threatened him. And I am not the one to talk. Gulping down two bottles of Ballantine's every week and I can't keep up my weight. Who am I to talk about having a healthy life style?"
"Everything will be better after his new office starts running. He is trying his best to be the person you want him to be."
"What was the play about? Do you still want to go tonight?"
"I am working tonight. I can't believe that I am a lawyer and working in a bar. But it is a good bar though, in the theater and you meet interesting people."
"At least you don't hate it."
"Christopher told me that there was a new flat just became available down the street. Maybe I can go and take a look next week."
"Apartment hunting is a pain isn't it?"
"Yes it is."
Leila's phone starts to vibrate on the table. It is Christopher.
"Just call to say I love you."
"Eh... that is sweet of you. I am having coffee with Simone, want to join us?"
"No, thanks. I have to work. And I will be late tonight, but I will try to sleep in the flat OK?"
"OK."
"I need you."
"Good luck at work."
"Can I speak to Simone please? I need to give her the address of a flat she can visit next week." Leila hands over the phone, gives her a piece of paper and a pen.
"It will be around the corner! I am so excited."
"But you need to see it first right?"
"Yes, I really want a flat with balcony, this one has a balcony."
"That is nice."
"He sounded... well.. tipsy on the phone."
"Yep, party starts very early for him, and I hope he didn't give you the wrong address."
"Is he getting any better?"
"No. "
"But he will, right?"
"Don't know don't care."
"Are you giving it another shot?"
"I miss my single life. I fucking miss it. I miss living alone, come and go as I please, take a vacation whenever I want and have ONS with whom I want, when I want, where I want. If I don't feeling like doing dishes, I could just leave it. And if I want to be alone, I should be able to just be alone! This had been my life, but now I feel this part of me has gone missing, hibernated, died. It is not living with someone causes me pain, I just grieve over my single life."
Out of whim, Leila picks up the phone and calls Jake, asks him if she could come over. "It would be a pleasure." he replies.
"Are you having an affaire?"
"Simone, come on, me? No."
"Not yet?"
"Why does it matter? But it'd be my call."
"Cold blooded little thing! You play them like toys." She means it like a joke but it somehow doesn't feel like one to Leila.
So, this is the "revenge" you have been looking for? The way to take out your anxiety? The evidence of your liberty? Leila lies in bed, feeling Jake's hand running through her spine. Feist's album softly playing, window open, his paintings and portraits on the wall, this, all of this, is what had been missing. The art, an artistic side of someone. But out of blue, she gets dressed and is ready to leave.
"Stay. Just for a while."
"I have to go."
"Do I see you tomorrow? I will make us some nice meals and we can play video games, or take a walk.I can show you more of my work once I get everything unpacked."
"I don't know. Sorry, I really don't."
"Already feel lonely without you."
"Have a good afternoon. We will talk later."
Lying on the river bank, Leila doesn't pay attention to anyone, anything. She watching the clouds gathering above her. It smells like rain in the air.
Unkind
August 18, that was the last time I saw her. I was lying on the couch watching TV; Naomi was cooking; the door bell rang; I answered; it was Anna.
"Hi." she said.
"Hello..."I hadn't seen her for five years.
"Are you busy? Would you like to take a stroll?"
Naomi came out of the kitchen: "Who is it?"
"An old friend of mine, I'll be back soon." I didn't wait for her answer. I walked out the door with Anna.
Anna and I have never been, well, officially, "together". We got along fine but I never loved her. Perhaps I was frivolous, or we were both financially unstable, or I wanted someone more politically active, or I preferred someone Irish-Italian like me. I don't really know. I met her in a coffee shop in San Francisco when I was working for a local newspaper in the area; she was in town for an exam. We spent a couple of days visiting the bay area and Berkeley. We didn't get into touch after her San Francisco trip until seven years ago, when I decided to move back to upstate New York but before that, I wanted to visit Europe. Anna had moved to France to continue her studies I thus dug up her email address and told her that I was coming. My original plan was to stay in France for a couple of days and then spend the rest of my sabbatical year in Italy and eastern Europe; it wasn't a fixed plan though. Besides the two weeks I was in eastern Europe, I ended up spending the rest of the summer with her. I accompanied her moving around in France, taking different exams in divers cities and an interview in Berlin. We were technically living together for 2 months, until I was completely broke. I came back to New York after 3 months' of Euro trip.
"How are you? Are you still a journalist?"
"I am alright. I am working in real estate business right now. And I am living with someone as you know..."
"Don't worry about it. I am not here to give you any drama."
"What are you doing here?"
"I am changing flights here, so I thought I'd stop and say hi. I am surprised that you haven't moved."
"Just stop and say hi, after five years?"
"Yeah, why not, I don't hate you anymore."
It must be a girl thing. A lot of times when they say:" I hate you.", they mean the opposite. She was saying that all summer long. About a week after I left Europe, she suddenly asked me how I felt about her. I told her that I had never fallen for her and I was sorry to be so blunt, I thought she'd like to know. There was a short silence on the phone, then she said that she had sensed it all along but needed to hear it from me, and all this time she was saying:" I am your entertainment." she really meant it. "Thank you for your honesty, and now I need to go out and get some air." That was the penultimate we spoke. It had been five years.
"I am sure you don't."
She paused the promenade for a second: "No, you didn't understand, I really hated you."
"What?"
"Don't worry about it, it's all gone now. I just wanted to say hello and see how you are doing these days, after so long."
"No no, you hated me? Why?"
"I thought you were unkind."
"Unkind?" I was anything but unkind. When I was in France, I gave her financial support, helped her moved from Nice to Strasburg, had my share of cooking and cleaning the apartment; I was anything but unkind.
"Unkind?" I asked her, "how? what?"
"Are we obliged to have this discussion right now?"
"I would really like to know."
"You led me up to my heartbreak."
"You asked me to be honest with you on the phone."
"Hence the word 'led'. When we were on the phone, you stated that you didn't feel what I did. You knew exactly how I felt and you kept misleading me till the end: we shared a bed for more than two months; you paid part of my tuition; we went all over France and I was happy. But you have fooled me, you have fooled everyone around me. You remained inscrutable, proud of your "impossible-to-read" idiosyncrasy. I still don't know what your intention was, but you never had the courtesy to warn me that our feelings were not mutual. It was easy to hurt me, I was naive and sincere. For a long time, I sensed only anger. Did you treat me like a prostitute? Paid to have no-string-attached sex under the name of 'having a company'. Was I part of your package deal when you purchased your flight to Europe? I then was angry at myself. How could I let this happen to me? It was hatred. Everything turned into hatred overnight after that conversation. Maybe it didn't change anything for you because you never had to go through the step of 'move on'. Sometimes I wondered if you were ever capable of loving another human being. Then a funny thought suddenly came to mind: did you stay with me because you were doing the same thing when you were twenty years old with that woman in Plattsburgh? You needed a place to stay and to sort out you part of your life."
"What the hell? How could you? I had absolutely no intention to ... I didn't stay with you because I needed a roof. I was honest on the phone because you wanted to know, and you said that our conversation shouldn't change anything."
"Why does it matter now? It has been so long. I am honest because I thought you wanted to know too."
"It matters, it matters. It is unfair to say that I didn't care about you."
"Hey I heard that sentence before."
"I was sincere too." Wasn't I?
"Ok."
"Ok? Don't be sarcastic."
"I didn't come here to fight."
"Well, too late. Now I am intrigued to know, how did I become so contemptible after that so-called 'feeling' conversation? You can't hate me just because I didn't feel the same way you did. Love is not a mirror, when you look inside, it doesn't always reflect ..."
"I know. Trust me, I know."
"Fine, it is all part of the past now. But I still want to know what else did I do wrong?"
"It is not about right or wrong."
"You know what I mean. It is only a conversation. We talk about the past, which maybe doesn't mean much to either of us anymore."
"Conversation. Do you remember that after you told me that you didn't feel the same, you said:' but you will do this again sometime, with someone else.' I don't think it meant to be an insult, but I felt it was one. There I was, deserted in your mind game and while was still in love with you; you already pictured me being with someone else, as if the entire summer meant nothing special. And of course, I never wanted to do 'this' again, I never wanted to be toyed, or experienced such heartbreak again. I didn't want to be your fuck buddy anymore and for a long time I was not even sure if I wanted to be your friend any longer. You said that you cared, about my boobs or my ass? You said that I was 'interpreting' when you said:' we are playing.' Should I not? I deleted all your pictures, our pictures, your videos, our videos and I wrote you a 'closure letter' which of course I never sent out. I put the letter in an envelope, and inside I included the album project we had. On the cover I wrote:' You have hurt me, you had your fun and now fuck off'. I buried the letter under a chestnut tree near the apartment we used to share. And that was it. But people change, people move on, I don't hate you anymore. Consider some of my thoughts to be just livid monologues. Yes, there were things that we did were memorable and the things that you did that I felt grateful. I am glad that you suddenly fell into my basement five years ago, but yet, nothing is perfect. "
She smiled, I didn't know how to react. On the train from Lille to Toulouse she said that she would be the most fun that I was ever going to have, she wasn't lying. All the games we used to play in the shower; swimming with goggles on in the Mediterranean Sea; funky graffiti we drew on the bathroom wall; singing out loud during the breakfast and the album project: we made a 5-CD album with 69 song titles, including an overture and a reprise. She changed the album title from "A color-blind man fell into my basement" to "Falliage". I never fathomed why until three months after I left her.
"Beautiful foliage you have in New York."
"Yes."
"How long have you been living together?"
"About two months."
"Did you meet her in a coffee shop too?"
"Yes I did. I really didn't meant to have things turned out this way."
"Listen. It doesn't matter now. We have different perspectives, and I was your entertainment. I am mostly people's entertainment anyway."
"Don't say that."
"Ok."
We walked down the streets with little spoken until sunset. Absurd sense of grief rose in me for I became dwindle to her. I was lost in such a strange divulgence of myself: myriad things that I have done without rational motifs or unconsciously. I didn't hurt her in purpose, but was I really kind to let her continue to hold on the false affection hoping that she would never bring up this subject; hoping that I could be her friend-with-benefits whenever I go to Europe; hoping that she would always have a place for me to stay while I was vacationing? And why was I there with her? What was I doing with Naomi?
"How long are you in town for? I should go back, Naomi must be waiting for me."
"Ok, have a good night then. I am leaving in an hour to the airport. I am flying back to Frankfurt tonight."
"Have a good trip."
"Thanks."
"It was nice to see you again." I really meant it.
"Yeah, me too."
We stood face to face for a while. I wish that I had at least held her for a second but instead, I shook her hand.
That was August 18, the last time I saw her.
"Hi." she said.
"Hello..."I hadn't seen her for five years.
"Are you busy? Would you like to take a stroll?"
Naomi came out of the kitchen: "Who is it?"
"An old friend of mine, I'll be back soon." I didn't wait for her answer. I walked out the door with Anna.
Anna and I have never been, well, officially, "together". We got along fine but I never loved her. Perhaps I was frivolous, or we were both financially unstable, or I wanted someone more politically active, or I preferred someone Irish-Italian like me. I don't really know. I met her in a coffee shop in San Francisco when I was working for a local newspaper in the area; she was in town for an exam. We spent a couple of days visiting the bay area and Berkeley. We didn't get into touch after her San Francisco trip until seven years ago, when I decided to move back to upstate New York but before that, I wanted to visit Europe. Anna had moved to France to continue her studies I thus dug up her email address and told her that I was coming. My original plan was to stay in France for a couple of days and then spend the rest of my sabbatical year in Italy and eastern Europe; it wasn't a fixed plan though. Besides the two weeks I was in eastern Europe, I ended up spending the rest of the summer with her. I accompanied her moving around in France, taking different exams in divers cities and an interview in Berlin. We were technically living together for 2 months, until I was completely broke. I came back to New York after 3 months' of Euro trip.
"How are you? Are you still a journalist?"
"I am alright. I am working in real estate business right now. And I am living with someone as you know..."
"Don't worry about it. I am not here to give you any drama."
"What are you doing here?"
"I am changing flights here, so I thought I'd stop and say hi. I am surprised that you haven't moved."
"Just stop and say hi, after five years?"
"Yeah, why not, I don't hate you anymore."
It must be a girl thing. A lot of times when they say:" I hate you.", they mean the opposite. She was saying that all summer long. About a week after I left Europe, she suddenly asked me how I felt about her. I told her that I had never fallen for her and I was sorry to be so blunt, I thought she'd like to know. There was a short silence on the phone, then she said that she had sensed it all along but needed to hear it from me, and all this time she was saying:" I am your entertainment." she really meant it. "Thank you for your honesty, and now I need to go out and get some air." That was the penultimate we spoke. It had been five years.
"I am sure you don't."
She paused the promenade for a second: "No, you didn't understand, I really hated you."
"What?"
"Don't worry about it, it's all gone now. I just wanted to say hello and see how you are doing these days, after so long."
"No no, you hated me? Why?"
"I thought you were unkind."
"Unkind?" I was anything but unkind. When I was in France, I gave her financial support, helped her moved from Nice to Strasburg, had my share of cooking and cleaning the apartment; I was anything but unkind.
"Unkind?" I asked her, "how? what?"
"Are we obliged to have this discussion right now?"
"I would really like to know."
"You led me up to my heartbreak."
"You asked me to be honest with you on the phone."
"Hence the word 'led'. When we were on the phone, you stated that you didn't feel what I did. You knew exactly how I felt and you kept misleading me till the end: we shared a bed for more than two months; you paid part of my tuition; we went all over France and I was happy. But you have fooled me, you have fooled everyone around me. You remained inscrutable, proud of your "impossible-to-read" idiosyncrasy. I still don't know what your intention was, but you never had the courtesy to warn me that our feelings were not mutual. It was easy to hurt me, I was naive and sincere. For a long time, I sensed only anger. Did you treat me like a prostitute? Paid to have no-string-attached sex under the name of 'having a company'. Was I part of your package deal when you purchased your flight to Europe? I then was angry at myself. How could I let this happen to me? It was hatred. Everything turned into hatred overnight after that conversation. Maybe it didn't change anything for you because you never had to go through the step of 'move on'. Sometimes I wondered if you were ever capable of loving another human being. Then a funny thought suddenly came to mind: did you stay with me because you were doing the same thing when you were twenty years old with that woman in Plattsburgh? You needed a place to stay and to sort out you part of your life."
"What the hell? How could you? I had absolutely no intention to ... I didn't stay with you because I needed a roof. I was honest on the phone because you wanted to know, and you said that our conversation shouldn't change anything."
"Why does it matter now? It has been so long. I am honest because I thought you wanted to know too."
"It matters, it matters. It is unfair to say that I didn't care about you."
"Hey I heard that sentence before."
"I was sincere too." Wasn't I?
"Ok."
"Ok? Don't be sarcastic."
"I didn't come here to fight."
"Well, too late. Now I am intrigued to know, how did I become so contemptible after that so-called 'feeling' conversation? You can't hate me just because I didn't feel the same way you did. Love is not a mirror, when you look inside, it doesn't always reflect ..."
"I know. Trust me, I know."
"Fine, it is all part of the past now. But I still want to know what else did I do wrong?"
"It is not about right or wrong."
"You know what I mean. It is only a conversation. We talk about the past, which maybe doesn't mean much to either of us anymore."
"Conversation. Do you remember that after you told me that you didn't feel the same, you said:' but you will do this again sometime, with someone else.' I don't think it meant to be an insult, but I felt it was one. There I was, deserted in your mind game and while was still in love with you; you already pictured me being with someone else, as if the entire summer meant nothing special. And of course, I never wanted to do 'this' again, I never wanted to be toyed, or experienced such heartbreak again. I didn't want to be your fuck buddy anymore and for a long time I was not even sure if I wanted to be your friend any longer. You said that you cared, about my boobs or my ass? You said that I was 'interpreting' when you said:' we are playing.' Should I not? I deleted all your pictures, our pictures, your videos, our videos and I wrote you a 'closure letter' which of course I never sent out. I put the letter in an envelope, and inside I included the album project we had. On the cover I wrote:' You have hurt me, you had your fun and now fuck off'. I buried the letter under a chestnut tree near the apartment we used to share. And that was it. But people change, people move on, I don't hate you anymore. Consider some of my thoughts to be just livid monologues. Yes, there were things that we did were memorable and the things that you did that I felt grateful. I am glad that you suddenly fell into my basement five years ago, but yet, nothing is perfect. "
She smiled, I didn't know how to react. On the train from Lille to Toulouse she said that she would be the most fun that I was ever going to have, she wasn't lying. All the games we used to play in the shower; swimming with goggles on in the Mediterranean Sea; funky graffiti we drew on the bathroom wall; singing out loud during the breakfast and the album project: we made a 5-CD album with 69 song titles, including an overture and a reprise. She changed the album title from "A color-blind man fell into my basement" to "Falliage". I never fathomed why until three months after I left her.
"Beautiful foliage you have in New York."
"Yes."
"How long have you been living together?"
"About two months."
"Did you meet her in a coffee shop too?"
"Yes I did. I really didn't meant to have things turned out this way."
"Listen. It doesn't matter now. We have different perspectives, and I was your entertainment. I am mostly people's entertainment anyway."
"Don't say that."
"Ok."
We walked down the streets with little spoken until sunset. Absurd sense of grief rose in me for I became dwindle to her. I was lost in such a strange divulgence of myself: myriad things that I have done without rational motifs or unconsciously. I didn't hurt her in purpose, but was I really kind to let her continue to hold on the false affection hoping that she would never bring up this subject; hoping that I could be her friend-with-benefits whenever I go to Europe; hoping that she would always have a place for me to stay while I was vacationing? And why was I there with her? What was I doing with Naomi?
"How long are you in town for? I should go back, Naomi must be waiting for me."
"Ok, have a good night then. I am leaving in an hour to the airport. I am flying back to Frankfurt tonight."
"Have a good trip."
"Thanks."
"It was nice to see you again." I really meant it.
"Yeah, me too."
We stood face to face for a while. I wish that I had at least held her for a second but instead, I shook her hand.
That was August 18, the last time I saw her.
Poker
everyone asks me to leave,
"everyone" is from There.
they tell me that you love me,
"they" are from Here.
everyone asks me what you have done to me,
they ask me what I have done to you.
conspiracy,
art of seduction,
controlling issue,
business.
sitting in your office and pouring my heart
watching you losing on your online poker
how much am I willing to bet
in this marathon game
where the truth lies
and lies six-feet-under.
you said that maybe I was an angel
that you wanted me to stay
that we had a future together;
I said that in fact I was real
that I would like to stay
that the future was unknown
you said that at times you didn't remember
what you had drunk
what you had said
what you had revealed
I said that unfortunately
I couldn't say the same
the last time I marked my whim
with a kitchen knife
you smashed your beloved whisky
against the wall
pounded the sofa --
"there is no possibility left;
we have become so distant;
I can't feel your love;
an end would serve us good."
I came towards your scream
extending my bleeding arm
you turned away and lit a smoke
breaking down on the phone
never had I seen you cry
so desperately
as if there was a monster inside
ripping you apart
we started a story
we couldn't continue
to live with the insanity
of each other
to live with my blades and your spirits
as I held you on my chest
I read that it could be the last time
you left with a sigh
with me alone playing
images back and forth in my head
and I dialed your number
there was sheer voice mail
reminded me the only other time
you woke up next to a strange naked body
I packed my case
waiting for time to end our case
waiting for you to end your conscious
with vodka and apple juice
as you finally opened the door
having another break-down
speaking non-sense
crying sans-cessé
declaiming the urge to leave
yet you stayed tonight
in this fifteen square meters of
what had become nothing
but memories
"everyone" is from There.
they tell me that you love me,
"they" are from Here.
everyone asks me what you have done to me,
they ask me what I have done to you.
conspiracy,
art of seduction,
controlling issue,
business.
sitting in your office and pouring my heart
watching you losing on your online poker
how much am I willing to bet
in this marathon game
where the truth lies
and lies six-feet-under.
you said that maybe I was an angel
that you wanted me to stay
that we had a future together;
I said that in fact I was real
that I would like to stay
that the future was unknown
you said that at times you didn't remember
what you had drunk
what you had said
what you had revealed
I said that unfortunately
I couldn't say the same
the last time I marked my whim
with a kitchen knife
you smashed your beloved whisky
against the wall
pounded the sofa --
"there is no possibility left;
we have become so distant;
I can't feel your love;
an end would serve us good."
I came towards your scream
extending my bleeding arm
you turned away and lit a smoke
breaking down on the phone
never had I seen you cry
so desperately
as if there was a monster inside
ripping you apart
we started a story
we couldn't continue
to live with the insanity
of each other
to live with my blades and your spirits
as I held you on my chest
I read that it could be the last time
you left with a sigh
with me alone playing
images back and forth in my head
and I dialed your number
there was sheer voice mail
reminded me the only other time
you woke up next to a strange naked body
I packed my case
waiting for time to end our case
waiting for you to end your conscious
with vodka and apple juice
as you finally opened the door
having another break-down
speaking non-sense
crying sans-cessé
declaiming the urge to leave
yet you stayed tonight
in this fifteen square meters of
what had become nothing
but memories
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