“You miss 100% of the shots that you don't take.”
is a piece of wisdom that hits me loudly like a gunshot.
When I look into the fountain of my memories,
it's not blur water but pretty clear
that most of the stupidest things I ever did
were not the ones that actually happened.
They are the ones that I missed to pull the trigger.
Thus, they only happened in my minds' vivid fantasies.
Which make it seem so so real:
As if I could feel the touch of the loved one
who needed my hug and I didn't give it.
As I I could hear the words of apology
that were not even spoken in silence.
As if I could see the scenario that has never happened
and still waits for a true witness.
I make a guess,
it's part of life to miss some of the non-missed shots
where I still have the bullets for.
But from now on,
I take it in my hands.
***** it!
Forget the bow or pistole,
give me the bazooka.
I am not scared of shooting for the stars any more
because of scarcity of bullets.
I know by now..
where the ammunition is.

So many,
strive to be happy.
Putting happiness on the podium
as the end goal in life.
Me,
I strive to be sad.
Not as a depressing view on life.
But it's easier for me
to feel happy
than to feel sad.
And I don't believe it's healthy
to cherish the one and
abandon the other.
It needs a balance of yin and yang.
Life is about the full spectrum.
Without the low tales,
we wouldn't recognize the high mountains.
I wished of course
to have often times
tears of happiness in my eyes.
But I know of the value and relief
that the salty tears of sadness
can bring into the soup of life.
How they purify our being
and help to let go.
To let go of
not working relationships,
passed loved ones,
unfulfilled ideas,
not met expectations
and undo-able concepts.
Sadness shouldn't be something to avoid,
but the one thing
to be embraced.

Give me a pen
and a blank piece of paper.
Let me create a phenomenal piece
of paper.
Full with lines that create lions,
full with sharpening shapes,
full with cycling circles,
and full with inpatient ideas,
that are passed down from the creative mind
to the burning tip of the pens' ink.
Waiting,
to be released to fill in the blankness.

I have been...
on more funerals than weddings...
Walking alive on the ground of a cemetery
is an odd feeling,
considering that under the same ground
lie the people who past away.
I get a cold shower,
every time I'm visiting my ancestors
by this dead silence.
But I'm aware
we have a reason to build these spaces:
To honour and remember the dead people.

I wondered about another kind of cemetery:
a graveyard of ideas...
To honour the ones
that didn't make it.
Imagine we walked alive on that ground,
in dead silence,
and could read
what the gravestones of the ideas say.
We would pretty much see
the same all over again.
"Killed by words of ridicule",
"He has been told it's impossible",
"The last words she heard were 'You cannot do THAT' ".
Or murdered by the undertakers' champion: Doubts.
A lot of ideas died straight after birth
or before their reached the puberty.

I wondered ...
how this world would look like
if we weren't so barbarian-brutal.
And instead foster the ideas
like gardeners their plants.
So that we can have
more weddings of ideas than funerals
and create a space
where ideas ... have babies.