ten minutes ago
i was talking to a woman
whose background i'm
aware of

this woman was pretty and she looked
at me with ****** interest

however: i moved my left arm in
a way that is related to my background as
a fatherless boy

rejection in her eyes the consequence

BUT:

i will never stop to move my arms as i learned moving them
–– precisely this way –– in my childhood

nobody –– male female animal or object –– is able to change this:
i do not need anybody trying.

feel me. that's how i am.

self-acceptance. self-love. courage.

"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.

(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)

"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."

both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.

the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.

"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
  
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.

a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.

suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.

fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."

the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.

fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.

bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.

the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.

writing without music is like











eating without food

there is a cage
inside this cage
there is a man
inside this man
there is his soul
inside his soul



ghosts are debatting
about the pros and cons
of darkness and light

Drugs, will they fill me
or will they **** me
they can make me feel alright
but I can also die tonight
but is life worth living
with all this pain and suffering
i don't know
give me one more hit and i might know