my past is filled with oedipal encounters:
many men i needed to rival

today i unintentionally travelled (really?)
today i involuntarily travelled (no way)
today i travelled into my past:

memories of many men that i needed to rival.
due to my fatherless childhood i didn't have
a man to compete against; that's why i JUMPED at countless chances to do so. none of these conflicts happened by chance.

i picked strangers to compete against.
but then there was this day. a certain day. a secret night.

since then, i have gradually and later on gently overcome my need to compete.

i was bewildered today because i competed against another man. why?

out of the dark, i developed an affection for a woman younger than me; a brief moment of ****** interest. the competitor involved walked her home after a meeting the three of us had been together.

while they were strolling down the street, i followed them. i wanted to see what they were doing. i wanted to observe how they observed each other's attraction.

did so for a couple of minutes; they didn't take notice of me; or they were playing dead while their mouths were overfilled with squishing sounds of saliva.

and then ––  as promptly as old patterns of rivalry had emerged ––
i lost my affection for this young woman.

affection left my soul like a spirit leaves a dead body. the affection vanished into thin air since it couldn't find a shelter in my soul. so this wired affection went on a quest for another creature.

i didn't say goodbye. just wrote something down.

speaking for millions of
people who were and who have been suffering from addiction:

i do have to thank the two of you.
the tradition of the twelve steps had not existed before you created and established them.

you have a shelter in my
mind and in my soul.

God bless you.
R.I.P. Bill and Bob

monday: putting ***** plates aside
tuesday: ignoring the ***** plates
wednesday: being bothered by the ***** plates
thursday: intending to do the dishes
friday: forgetting to do the dishes
saturday late afternoon: meeting a woman in a pub who tells daddy that she has a dirt allergy
saturday evening: arduously scrapping off fatty chunks from the dishes, groaning about such a hard kind of labor and thinking about easier ways of cleaning ***** plates.

from saturday night until sunday morning: making love to the woman from the pub; putting ***** plates...

entering a classroom that
is not a classroom

my pupils inside: i haven't seen them for a long time
i want them to listen to me
yet the pupils aren't listening; they don't (want to) perceive me.
all the time i look at them, they look into another direction.

they aren't rebelling or trying to sabotage my lesson;
my lesson that isn't a lesson.

it's an encounter between an older person and
younger persons who aren't young anymore but
who haven't grown up yet.

the pupils changed into beings-in-between.

i can sense that they have become independent.
the pupils don't need a teacher anymore;
they aren't ready for making a living either.  

many teachers need to be needed.
most pupils want to be autonomous.

teachers will be disappointed by the end of a day.
pupils dislike school by the end of most lessons.

dear athena, that's wired. isn't it?
therefore we need to think about it. we need to ask ourselves:

WHAT has to be changed?

every written text
regardless what it is about and
how it might be categorized

every written text
is a ghetto of words.

since words do not decide
who they are paired with;
they neither have a body nor a will.

but take at look at their "ghettos":
that humans call "fiction":
marvelous places made of fantasies.

look at them.

ermh...

for... real: could i please be a word in my next form of existence?

how disturbingly insidious you are.
you must hate me, don't you?
i mean who are you?!

you're playing tricks on me like crazy. that's for certain. and if anything is for certain in our drug-plagued country, then it is this certainty: that you ― the child-like dictator ― want to rule over me.

let me explain to the reader why i am saying so:

an hour ago, i was taking my son to kindergarten. closely to the chest my little daughter eden; sleeping in a baby carrier.

after i had dropped off my son, ideas for new poems were going through my head.

i eventually decided to write a poem on drugs, written from the perspective of various mind-altering substances.

well. fine.

i got home. my wife took eden out from the baby carrier. i was ready to write. only one cigarette first. smoking on the balcony. don't need my kids to inhale toxical fog. and don't need to know them about my smoking habit.

suddenly, out of the blue (no: out of the dark) ―

out of the dark, you made my heart beating faster. my heart was racing. my heart was banging against my chest.
secretly, you creeped through the area between skin and soul.
seconds later, you made it somehow to reach my mind.

inside my head, you were not saying anything. i don't hear voices and i'm not crazy. (that's the second certainty i am gaining from writing this poem.)

you're not a talker, child-like dictator. you're a quiet addict, depressed and scared to speak with others. because you do fear people, closeness and love. you fear them so much that you want to do drugs in order to feel something else than fear. and to numb how afraid of love you are.

a poor creature you are. but your attempt to ****** me quietly today: it failed.

and you know why? because i have friends. and many of these friends have been struggling with their own dictatorships. feel me.

i won't let you make my decisions.
gonna stay clean.

for me. for my family.

adios amigo. don't pressure me like you do. try to love me as i love you.

try to love.
try to.
try.

mikey

your name stems from a divine place, baby and when i'm calling you baby, i mean it. cause you're my baby.

and one day, you won't be anyones "my" anymore; but you will be my daughter until i...

this verse is about the delight in your cheeks when you're smiling.
this verse is about the way you are happy for being with me and
the way i am happy for being with you, eden.

and if someone insists that babies only cry and bother their parents: it's not like that. full stop.

you are the opposite of a full stop: a sunrise.

these verses are about how you talked to me today: you were looking at me and made sounds with your tongue.

these sounds do have a meaning for you, regardless that you are not reflecting on your talking like older kids, teenagers or adults do.

(as they sometimes do; does donald thinks about what he twitters all day long? who cares? i do. but that's another poem.)

eden, the sounds you make are meaningful to me. because you simply show me that you recognize me as your daddy. and that you want me to feel and remember that.

and my feelings for you: they are proof of our kinship. our blood.

nothing more to add, baby.
your daddy.

www.aa.org
www.na.org
www.ca.org

You don't have to ask for help. Not anyone.
Simply meet them.
In person, online or via phone.

Anonymously and for free.
They are unprejudiced.

dear tracy
i am listening to your words
listening to your voice

dear tracy i am listening to you because
you calm me

a morning is given grace
by your voice but first of all:
forgiveness

how could a day forgive?
heaven yeah: it can!

since a day is god
and god is a day
and god is inside everything
and god is inside everyone
and god forgives
god, without words, made me feel how to forgive

it's a lack of compassion that made the
cold-hearted so cold-hearted
the giants of our earth will fall
sooner or later.

i am talking about goliath
i am talking about donald
i am talking about supercilious creatures
who fight against themselves day by day
but who celebrate autonomy

dear tracy
i am listening to your words
listening to your voice

dear tracy
i am listening to you because
you're a good person.

a good person does the right thing;
and by spreading a strong spiritual vibe
you have been doing the right thing

dear tracy please:

spread the vibe
     and then

spread the vibe
     and then

speak the word.

"hell yeah" changes into...






"heaven yeah"

were opened to






**** human beings:


22 murders in 2019 of Black/Trans Woman:
https://mshmemphis.org

people who do something excessively:

shopping
smoking
drug-abusing
having ***
and many more actions

are on a quest.

sooner or later, some of these people discover something much bigger.

something that balances their
minds and hearts.

being placeless is exciting.
being loved without disguise can't be described.

a man who is about fifty years old has been suffering from
dementia. (demented people can't remember many things anymore; and they might have a hard time to say anything.)

his name is m.

m. is a silent guy. he talks barely and doesn't tend to look at
people.

i lived together with him for eleven days. most of our time, we were hanging around, smoking cigarettes.

one day, i put some music on. by aventura. one of their songs is called "obsesion". and when m. listened to his song, he changed.

his eyes were glowing with joy.
for real.

i asked my daddy: "do you trust me?"
and he answered.

between mind and soul
there is a strength-giving rock.
that rock protects all of us...



YouTube:

Xavier Naidoo - Der Fels
// Allein Mit Flügel -
Live aus dem Mannheimer Schloss

i just wrote a letter to a good-hearted man.

it is night where i am right now.
while writing, i heard my father's steps.

he slowly approached me; mistrust in
his face.

he thought i would have done something
bad. i had not done so.

five minutes i spoke to him; i needed him to
believe me since i will travel to another city
later today.

i do not want to say "farewell" in disharmony.

yet, i am not disappointed or angry.
everyone acts weakly from time to time.
i forgive my father.

before going to bed i will talk to somebody
else.

somebody who is everywhere and always with me.

affectionately
mikey

i am threatened by someone:
every day

in my head
behind my eyes
behind my flesh
in the land of my soul there lives a dictator

to whom i listened far too long
this dictator wants to **** me
fully and entirely

it may sound contradictory:
i do not hate him since
he is weak and overfilled with doubts

his shouts are coming from my
childhood; he looks similar as i looked
when i was four years old.
(only similar, uuuuuh yeeah)

the child-like dictator is disguised in a dress of childly needs.
his spirit is not spiritual.
he is only child-like:
a copy.

and his insidious siren calls:
now they sound like the voice
of a lonely man.

believe me, child-like dictator:
i do tolerate you as a part of myself.

be certain, dictator:
i won't follow your ideas, needs and orders.

you may stay.
i walk freely.

dear reader,
will you please help me?

i am starving!

whoever you are
wherever you are
whenever you can:

feed me with money
don't you worry about ostensible risks for yourself your soul or your body:

rumors. spread by liars
who dare to call me a drug

truly, i'm starving for you.

sincerely
your favorite substance

December 16th, 2019  


Hereby it is stated that December 16th
Shall be proclaimed as a national holiday.

From now on this holiday shall be called

POET'S DAY

1.) On Poet's Day, poets do not have to work and receive a publicly funded donation.

2.) On Poets Day, readers don't have to work and receive a publicly funded donation.

3.) On Poets Day, poets and readers are encouraged to meet in public to share thoughts and love.

when someone loves me
i am afraid of it

i am talking about
undisguised love
day by day
tiny bits of myself...







...take off my mask.

"he-ll-o beau-ti-ful, i-am-a-ro-bot" a manly robot said.
let's call him LIAM.

"o-my-that-can't-be-a-co-in-ci-den-ce" the mate of
his electronic soul, a womanly robot, answered. her name was EMMA.

"well-i-think-eve-ry-thing-should-be-fi-ne-then", liam
reciprocated. "we-can-go-now."

emma's robotic face glowed in red colors.
"hmmmmh... i-am-not-so-su-re-ab-out-that", she told liam.

"why-not??"

"nor-mal-ly-, a-ro-bot-wo-uld-not-act-as-hu-man-ly-as-yo-u-a-re-do-ing. how-e-ver, i-on-ly-told-yo-u that-i-wo-uldn't-be-so-su-re."

liam's entire construction started to beam with joy:

"do-es-this-me-an that-yo-u-want-me?"

emma smiled at liam.

"yo-u-bet!" she shouted in happiness.
soon, the two robots became one. and they never were separated.

never.

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

between three oceans
silver rocks and the desert
is a place

undiscovered;
a secret that no one knows about
hidden so openly:

a secret right in front of
your eyes.

it's never cold there
it's never hot there

this place is populated by
only one creature:

GOLEM

countless nights
the same dream:

awaking in black water
dressed in jeans and a
rugby-shirt

legs under water so i
am trying to protect my
cell phones from

damage

family:
nothing worth more

i am listening to my
people's words

i am listening

i am
i will be

monday next week would
have been my last day
inside the rehab

today i was told by another patient
that he has nothing to lose
anymore

he confessed to me what he
might do very soon

it was horrifying!

i will not write about it

therefore I am going to
leave here today
in the evening i'll be
meeting good-hearted people
who believe in a
power much bigger than
all of us

a good man does the right thing
that's why i want the good in my life

may god bless us all.

the ward physician said
to an addict: YOU are going to relapse
anyhow

the chief resident told
me: if you want to have  
the numbness in your
right shin examined
you are free to leave

my reaction was a
calm one

no resentment because
i found something
inside the rehab
in the addict's stories

in their human faces
i found a healing secret

righteousness
care
siblings

mom
dad
son
wife

eden

are built by






human beings

have you guys
ever been to
großburgwedel?

it's in germany

i am there right now
to have my right leg
examined

sure: it's raining
the sky is grey
and all that
well well

but one thing i am
certain of:
i wouldn't come here again
except i want to gain
certainty

i have nothing against
the people
from großburgwedel

i simply don't want to
live in grey lands:

grey faces
grey voices
and many right-winged persons

I LOVE COLORS
I LOVE THE GERMAN AND THE ETHIOPIAN FLAG
I LOVE MY BI-RACIAL FAMILY

kiko i'm breathing
your lust's air
storms of our lifes
and our pasts

we share childhood memories
we sleep together
we feel each other

we are one body now
a body made of
two halves

we are one person now
no need to hide anything

playful lights
warm winds open windows
the ocean inside our body

we are coming together

long ago
the dead would drink
from a certain river to forget
their mortal lives

shades and silent voices
populated blank shores
as the dead patiently
waited to forget

their memories vanished into
thin air
yellow heavens
sparkling bits of color
would lighten up
the dark lights of day

shadows scurried from place
to placelessness
voices sighed and you couldn't
tell if it was the sound of last breaths

gökhan is turkish
it means: ruler of heaven

first time i met you:
september 3rd 1993
first day at school

we looked at each other
we wanted to sit together
we became friends

how sturdy you were
people always thought you
were much older
but me?

i had a babyface
hated my babyface
wanted to look older due to my
fatherless childhood
always wanted to be my own dad
wouldn't work though

so gökhan became my daddy
father figure and protector
i looked up to you my man

ruler of heaven

six years later you died of cancer
i rushed to the hospital
countryside germany

when entering your room
aware of your death
i saw your stiff body

and you were smiling
i will never forget that
gökhan

an african-turk growing
up in germany 1990s
called gökhan tatchouop
lost the battle against cancer
sixteen years old

and he really died with a smile
because he was a good man
who did the right thing

as i get older year by year
i could be gökhan's dad by now

you're with me

our car is burning and there is nobody
to drive it
our car is going in circles


8

been living in a rehab
fifth day
telling myself: don't relapse


STAY

you want to stick
around don't you?

you wanna be part
of our crowd?

well you gotta
learn something now;
it's painful like ****

you'll never be one of us
you'll never be one of us

don't ask and don't try
a second time
we know your family
we know where you live

we won't say a word:

omertà

did you really believe
that time would stop?

did you really believe
we could get away with
it?

did you really believe that
mom couldn't express the
word "sin"?

did you really believe that?

we were invisible
we were invincible

we were dreamers
we were sinners
we were brothers
who had forgotten
how to write
their own names

do you really believe
that our past would
forget about us?

you can forget our past
our past won't forget about us

do you believe in
anything my brother
my sister?

your warm heart
is the pulse of my life

the sweetest speech is when
i speak to you anna

my salvation
my destiny

the sweetest blood is
your blood anna

your warm heart
is the pulse of my life

the pulse of my life
is your warm heart

my savior
my salvation

the pulse of our lifes
are our hearts

travel with me
i will take you away

forever anna
anna forever

a: absolute love
n: neverlanddreams
n: no other woman
a: absolute love

your name is a
frame

your reflection a
painting

anna+tizzop
tizzop+anna

and this white page has become a bole
our lovenames are engraved in wood

and wood never sinks in water

repression is a matter
of trust

if they'd trust me they
wouldn't repress me

yet they don't trust
me

there is no right
life in the wrong one

...is a purple curtain

behind this curtain
is your flesh

behind your flesh
is your ego

behind your ego is the real you
we've been on a journey
like grandpa and grandmom
take me away
take me to the place of the real you

they call me a half-caste
yet i'm a whole human being

my grandpa was a black slave
my grandmom a white writer

they came together
they stayed together
unwavering love

till they died:
first grandmom who was suffering from
a writer's block
ridiculously white paper she
couldn't cope...

after she had passed away
half an hour later grandpa
took his last breath pressing
his face
against her
stiff face

after a long and full life they
joined their ancestors in death

i was thirty-seven at this
time and their only heir
i received a letter containing their
will

a black sheet
one sentence white ink
and by the handwriting i could tell
they had written the will with
two hands and one pen

what do you think the sentence was
about?

don't push my desire to
write regardless
  
if i am about to write a
poem
song
short story
novels

hand me a shovel
will you?

i need to dig now
i need to dig deeply

no stress my dear
baby-faced sweetie

imma eat you
i need you

log me in
i need...







...to be logged in

please understand my
behaviour as a sign of
rejection

no one no
one no one
no no one

is entitled to judge
me

really: no one

(except my family and
god feel me)