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Okay, wenn ich mich recht erinnere, hast du gesagt:
"Wenn ich nach drei Monaten immer noch keine Gefühle für sie hab',
wird sie wohl nicht die Richtige sein."
Wenn ich mich recht erinnere, hattest du es verneint:
"Es gibt tausend Unterschiede, die uns teiln'."

Hast du dich blind gestellt
oder konntest du nicht aufpassen?
Sie hat dich längst in ihr Herz geschlossen...

1.) ... und die Tür zugeknallt
Wie ihr lachend auf dem Rasen spielt
dein Lächeln ist eine Kurve, die alles wieder gerade biegt
2.) ... und den Riegel vorgeschoben
Wie ihr euch wissend gegenübersitzt
und wir zwei plötzlich wieder Fremde sind
3.) ... und den Schlüssel dreimal umgedreht
(ich bin cool damit)

Okay, du hältst mich weder für clever,
noch bin ich aus zuckersüßem Kaugummi,
aber wenn Anfassen so simpel sein soll
und Berühren eine Kunst;
um was wollen wir dann wetten, dass sie schwach wird,
wenn du deine Hände benutzt?
Also bleiben deine in den ihren,
so lange du sie dort lässt

4.) ...und Martin:
Der Deckel muss nichtmal genau passen,
wenn er all die Hitze hält
JA
Evening shimmers wet with Autumn rain
It's sheen reflectors, mirrors, eyes

Of cavorting shadows amongst the fey
Like city tinsil this Samhain night,

Oh how lovely colors celebrate
With ghostly kin & youthful lights...

With circus-painted skins and facade
Of candied ghoulish grins,

How sweet & innocent the haunted highs
Infects each home, "trick'r'treat" of hymns.

Laughter like All's been forgiven,
All seems right, again...

Though hidden faces -  forgotten sins,
Speak sie la vie this holiday,

With carved pumpkins, witches' cry,
Screams are as illusion as the fright,

This Samhain evening’s tide .

It's all babes and monsters ball
This hallowed eve
This Samhain night

Tra la li, tra la lay
Then tomorrow is Hop tu naa...
The days after for all our saints...

Come the winter will be white,
As the ghosts this Samhain night.
la isla bonita
&
material girl

                  
    FIN

caam sigh....

say

      letto....

                    ISRK FINN!

LOP LA LOOPS

                        LETTO!

AYE FIN!

                                         ISRK FINN!


DE                      HUND

no..., fervor, you're
not welcome,
       nein! nein!             nein!

nicht ich lüge für sie!

       gemacht durch haufen!

hello!
           'allo!
doppelt-deutsch(e)....

   kommen alle sie:
                       alle sie
                   deutsch(e).

die letztebefreier:

   was kann
          kommen
   kann gehen....

   oh, oh what?!
Crown Shyness Oct 27
Sieht keine Bäume,
sieht keinen Wald,
immer am blöken bis es schallt,
kennt keine Grenzen, trotzdem am flenzen.

Er dichtet, ist aber kein Dichter,
ein Trichter ist um sein Herz,
hält es gefangen,
sein Leben in der Mangel.

Und Liebe war ihm keine Schwierigkeit,
doch die fehlende Reflektion die Konzentration von Schmerz,
immer am Scheitern an der Frage,
wie lieb ich mich selbst?

Er fragte wie lieb ich mich selbst
und schaute doch selbst der Vergangenheit beim Lieben zu.
Trauer-Tränen küssten sich ganz
leidenschaftlich in dieser Liebe, die vergangen ist.

Und so füllte er all die Liebe
in sein Sterben der Freude,
denn die Melancholie ist sein immer währender
treuester Freund.
In der Eiseskälte, das Herz brennend,
spürend was sein könnte - doch wo ist er nur, sein Weg?

Traumhaft-traurig-schön, sag, ist das dein Weg, dein Ziel?
In deinem Kopf wohnt ein Igel, er igelt sich, auch ohne Sinn.
Und Verstand, warum so ein Widerstand?
Der Igel ist am süßsten
wenn er sich nicht einigelt.

Oh, doch waren es seine Stachel, die er erst noch entdecken musste,
vielleicht sein Dilemma,
weshalb der Sog der Unendlichkeit unaufhaltbar schien.
Mag es nicht sein, dass all der Schmerz, die vernichtende Stagnation
in seiner Berechtigung erst in der noch erscheinenden Vision
Sinn ergeben wird?

Schmerz ist das ein Scherz?
Kennst du Leid, kann es sein das aus diesem Leid
eine Leidenschaft wächst,
die größer ist als der Schmerz?
Schließe deine Augen wenn du sehen  willst,
halte deinen Atem an wenn du Luft brauchst,
dann wirst du erkennen, dass du nicht Tod, nicht am Sterben bist.

Wo sind sie die Augen, fern meiner Maske,
so seh ich doch, so seh ich doch
mit mehr als nur der Reflektion im innern des Augapfels.
Ich stürme, ich sprinte, durch Wattmeere im Dunkeln,
hier und dort mein Antrieb
ihr Funkeln,
die Zartheit, die Wärme des Lebens
im Schillern ihrer Träume.

Wenn die Augen lichtleer sind - keine Gefahren, keine Freuden - nur eine Wand aus Dunkelheit.
Renne dem Lichtschein entgegen,
dann findest du auch das Meer der Träume,
ertrinke nicht,
erinnere dich wie es war als Kind!
Warst du frei? Bist du einsam?
Und dennoch, bist du nicht allein, so fragen dich die Leute:
Ist das Freiheit?

Erkenne dein Herz, denn es ist genug!
So zeige es und lege die Wege aus Blut,
Venen im Raum zwischen dir, zwischen mir, zwischen ihr.
Liebe die Liebe, sie ist es, die dich bis zum Altar dieser Worte trug.

----------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------

Does not see trees
does not see any forest,
always bleating until it echoes,
knows no limits, but hanging at the same time.

He is a poet, but he is not a poet
a funnel is around his heart,
keeps it captive,
his life in short supply.

And love was no difficulty for him
but the lack of its reflection his concentration of pain,
always on the failure of the question -
how do I love myself?

He asked - how do I love myself
and though he watched his past in persistent love.
Mourning tears kissed in completion,
passionate in this love that has passed.

And so he filled all the love
into his dying happiness,
melancholy, his longest,
most faithful friend.
In the freezing cold, the heart, burning,
sensing what could be - but where is his way?

Dreamlike, sad and beautiful,
say, is that your way, your goal?
A hedgehog lives in your head, it hisses, even without meaning.
And mind, why such a resistance?
The hedgehog is the sweetest
if he does not curl up to hide oneself away.

Oh, but it was his sting that he had yet to discover,
maybe his dilemma,
why the pull of infinity seemed unstoppable.
Couldn't it be, that all the pain, the devastating stagnation
will first unfold its justification
in a yet to come appearing vision.

Pain, is this a joke? Do you know sorrow?
Could it be that out of this sorrow will grow passion,
bigger than pain?
Close your eyes if you want to see,
hold your breath when you need air,
then you will realize that you are not dead, not dying.

Where are they, these eyes, far from my mask,
Oh, I see though, more than just the reflection inside the eyeball.
I storm, I sprint, through mud flats in the dark,
here and there my drive
her sparkle,
the tenderness, the warmth of life
in the iridescence of her dreams.

When the eyes are deserted - no dangers, no joys -
just a wall of darkness.
Run towards the light, then you will also find the sea of ​​dreams,
do not drown,
remember how it was as a child!
Were you free? Are you lonely?
And yet, if you are not alone, people ask you:
Is that freedom?

Know your heart, because it is enough!
So show it and create those ways out of blood,
veins in space between you, between me, between her.
Love the love, it carried you to the altar of these words.
A spontaneous collaboration with my wonderful friend Matthias.
We took turns writing these verses. I started,
he wrote the second and so on.

I tried to translate it into English as accurately as possible, but there are some slight differences and rhymes are lost.

27.10.18
22:16
. you're using all the right words: for all the wrong reasons... and let's face it: if women own the monopoly on reproductive avenues... then men hold the ego-key, to slot their presence, through a door, that curbs or gives allowances, to what is thought... *** was nether a transluçent enterprise... oh look... the Roma sigma pops up... dire straits: de profundis - money for nothing riff - boogie boogie... milkshakes from the 1950s 'n' all... you know what my biggest pet peeve is? the englih language imitating ancient Latin, i.e. not applying diacritical "punctuation" markers to close in on syllables and make the language atomic (i.e. H is hydrogen, He is helium)... **** me... the same Brits who lived in the 19th century, are not the same Brits living in the 21st century... no wonder the fertility rate is s ****** low.... try ******* an english bride... no thank you; i'd rather **** a female gorilla.

the milkman passes my house
at, circa, 3am...
see the van skid around the bend
up the hill...
            
i listen to music at volumes
equivalent to my father working
the construction site -
i'll be deaf by the time i'm 50...
     and guess what:
                  for the music i'm listening
to? it'll be worth it...

dittoing out:
   have the criticism of post-modernists
ever suffer?
doubt: doubt, is the modern
relief from existentialist
    negation...
  
why is doubt being attacked?
doubt is half than that outright
******* of denial
proposed by French existentialists...
doubt is good in that it's
tornado of emotions,
you want to imitate Christ on
Golgotha?
  you doubt, and achieve the pinnacle
of the passion...
you start negating?
     you're, nowhere...

    on your own...

came the noun-phobia of philosophers -
the tinkers and tailors
of a.. what seems to be:
a noun-phobia
  guaranteed with fog...
   and thing..

  the term
  "thing" presupposes
the supposition of tree...
     which subsequently serves
the proposition: let's hide in it!

      philosophy and its infamous
noun-phobia -
               thing...
           and it's nihil...
  its nothing...
      
                 a ******* cul de sac -
     epigram -
       of quasi morse encoding -
     braille to boot -
September is coming -
           van Morrison (moondance) -
hiding autumnal chill -
           pan-Europeanism:
proto-"africa": either in Hindustan -
or Siberia;

suppose a moon, suppose a shadow by
candlelight, some edgy urban solo -
as a bricklayer i could raise kids
and crux on a woman -
          chicken / doctoral itching with
a blunt nail are called scratchings -
       hand-writing:
             less digits in the digital
formatting - and more
calligraphy...
                      the rotten handwriting
of general practitioners...
     Hippocrates might have made an oath...
but in terms of a handwritten cipher?
no clue...
               the canvas of a monkey
onomatopoeia within the confines
of a custard of a lexicon...
   a mouth thus opens -
a month begins -
instead of a tongue ejected from
the ivory temple -
  a sludge crescendo of a quasi
                 cascade of sludge gluing the
whole theater into
a replica of a Russian drinking game...

....                 ⠞⠓
          ...     ⠑⠁⠑
     ...           ⠞⠑
    ............                  ⠞
...                      ⠥ ⠎
     : : :           -  ⠎          
   ........ : ....           ⠕?

100 wolves of the continent...
for, but 1, fox,
of the English isles...
   i'll settle for that ratio...
and then i'll bite to ensure
a signature!

  howl all you want...
but have you ever found seagulls
annoying up the river?
more annoying than magpies
or crows?
             the wolves can howl
all they want..
ever endear the ear
to hear a fox "laughing"?
   no?
  might as well listen to me.
i cradle that sound,
above the chariots
of a human newborn...
        i grieve!
   i am... sombre gsture...
    a past, a passing,
a future, a wicker man within:
torch...
   banquette of souls!

    let's interlude -

   touko "tom" laaksonen -
    how can people "do" sober
           when entertaining such
extravagances....
        is it empathy, or sympathy?
            in the name of the either,
with either being the sum
of what wll never be a sum
allowance,....
     to gain from...
                  why not
       ****-ease up the ****
    for a zeppelin-esque
                            bomb drop -
(minor the Nagasaki) -
                    and hand-piked ****
with the cusp of your hand -
         throne of thrones -
  flagship?
   "king of kings":
  like ****...
  the holy trinity of
       the no. 1, as the no. 2,
   and subsequently the no. 3:
**** (father),
       take a **** (son)...
            ******* (the holy ghosts)...
king of kings,
never sat on the throne
of thrones...
   i always hated "artists"...
    painters -
   plagiarists -
      cheque sketchers...
             plagiarists...
         ******* indentation
from holding a pen to add to having
exposure to a grammatical examination...
       quality cinema:
panorama take on a versus of
heavy editing...
                     and there was a time
frame to encompass dialogue...
      somehow it fits:
the verbal myopic -
            the entire pre-
& post- canvas of a blinking eye...
   always the question of the
pre-industrialißed sketch;
words predating metaphor
akin to  -
  words versus metaphor
in genesis -
   format? anecdotal.

      in writing:
            by one hand alone,
made into two...
        my, my...
  what a ****** self-portrait
"assumption"...
        a self-portrait...
a wish for color,
with nothing to show,
but the relief of encompassed bones;
that become a disembodied
skeleton - minus a purpose
of tendon attachments...

∟          "contra"    Δ          -
equilateral my ***...

            a few days spent within the confines
of a Promethean *****,
     there be, elemental insomnia
of an electric bespoke...
if Prometheus stole fire,
who, in in all for ****'s sake
stole the saber of Zeus,
the thunderbolt -
electricity, who?
who craved the insomnia?!
             this Frankenstein-esque
insomnia-zombification -
             white as is white:
with all the dermatological
copper take on broken shins...
         should ivory coco -
come between piglet *** copper
auburn in terms of autumn...
******...
             *******!

take your ****** *** elsewhere,
and then... start spelling
it with a missing G...
when citing Niger...
  you do the double dip of the NBA...
you count the second dip...
why do i love Batman as the best
superhero?
  not of his superhero powers,
he has none...
          his enemies are
the only interesting
counter-factoids of
having implemented an existence
for.
   there is no exacting of
a superhero,..
   but there is enough
to mind an antithesis...

          tylko wieśniak
by wydział film w tym,
          bo sie nie rusze -
    cegła, kamień -
       pień - mur -
           i by mówił - w tym
co zamarzło -
          to co ostygłe -
    w co z tym samym -
        meine filmisch -
      i skakaniem świec -
   od i na nagim cieniem -
   pytać nad pyche -
       tanz! tanz!
                 moje iskry słów...
   sto! i lat,
    o wielbłąd churem o
grzbiet da, i da,
       iskra; alfabetu!
    bogiem impromptu
o czym warty: -gień.


- suppose a moon, suppose a shadow,
by candlelight - within the confines of
mercury - that quickened silver -
some edgy urban solo -

      as a bricklayer or a cobbler  -
shoes that deviate from ushering
an echo -
          i could raise children and keep
a woman: only if she decided
upon not allowing me
a leash -
            what a saddening affair
of minds and freedom...
           chicken doctoral -
i don't know: vanity of the impossible
mortal gain...

    the monkey onomatopoeia
    within the confines of a custard
of  lexicon....

          that Victorian image proof
source of envisioned Braille in
the confines of a primate...
  
handwriting:
itches, scratches, chicken esque
clucking... which is what
handwriting looks like these days,
what, with the coding...
    semi plumber,
half the electrician...
  and certainly null when it comes
to calligraphic invigoration...

- homosexuality was always a contingency
escapade to release suppressed yearnings -
a sudden but a non-fulfillment questioning
celibacy...

               you can enforce curbing homosexuality,
but then there are two outlets...
the perversity: or the question...
of Ayn and Sophia...
                          
        greeks ****** the hebrews in the hole
without an outlet - zee heed: with a missing A...
      Ayn - Aleph -
                    twin Adam -
          perhaps a Siamese abomination...

mind you... the forbidden fruit?
sounds more like... the forbidden flesh...

thee burdensome walking
the already burdened earth: as the fruit,
somewhere between the flesh of man's last predator,
contained, on land, and his hidden desire
for revenge and introspection,
a denial of commonality and shared purpose -
thou shall not consume
that which also hunts you -
little or no concern with equal
     measure of forbidding, that which you pet...
the forbidden "fruit",
in between the flesh of a sabertooth tiger,
and Cain's fruit of famine and incompetence:
               cannibalism...

   and why would you think about
drinking a ms. amber with pepsi...
pepsi! to coca -
and not slide in a slice of lemon
while you're at it?
  terrible mistake...
       well... one way to get y'er vit amins...

        and why is it that all the best
movies these days are about homosexuals?
the dutch girl for starters...
   me, drinking, watching t.v.?
either **** good drama,
a western,
   or a movie about a *******
homosexual...
          did i mention that i think that
homosexuality is an auxiliary escapade plan?
natural, of course,
    but i'd hate to have to life
a doubled up life -
then again...
     perhaps i would...
           me? i have a new girlfriend -
Sophia - and her ****: Philip -
           so am i expected to make demands
for the child they might end up
called Ayn, or Aleph?
                - the Wahhabi hypocrisy
    concerning music, or rather, censoring it...
but... but i thought the adhan:
the call to prayer: was sung,
rather than abiding by the catholic
credo murmur?
     no?
                         my bad... you know better...
i'll send you a postcard from
the Galapagos Islands,
if i find the time, to find:
    that 4th dimensional concept doing
the trigonometric shoom! elsewhere -
on a tangen "bias": **** knows where -
like a comet - missing a tail -
shoom!                                       gone.

shrapnel:

            not enough thrills for a hard-on...
... images... drawings...
   apparently fine art is not enough
stimulation to ******* to for these Arabs...
****? .....   in general?
cartoons.... cartoons of women....
   ... because?
well... apparently the niqab...
  extends beyond the realm of...
  readily available attire...
            women on the street?
   pornographic "actresses"?
                       you see the cartoon?
it's all ******* ******...
                  oh don't get me wrong...
amy adams?
  buff as an exploding Hindenburg...
    the pale ****** - milchskin...
                - unrelated:
   how about i sneak a skunk into
        a coco chanel perfumery -
while advocating that people will still
call it a: scent just shy of roses and strawberries.

- people have heard of incels -
but have they heard of Vcels?
    huh?!
   yeah, yeah... voluntary celibacy -
i know what a ****** sounds and looks like -
and, to be honest?
   there's hardly any rhetorical ***
involved -
         a bit like jerking off...
              monkish chants -
Byzantine -
     the fear of man,
   when his own inability flourishes:
     in a woman...
                          
these acts have become well trodden...
so well trodden that i'm
authentically surprised that anyone
would still goosestep them into
their mundane plagiarism's existence...
    replica invigoration:
turns out...
    
   zeit ist nicht gerade, aber
kreisförmig
...

                              touko "tom" laaksonen...
i.e. tom of finland...
   question: you think a macron over
one of those As
                     would do the trick in terms
of spelling correction?

  touko "tom" laaksonen...
you seriously can only watch European cinema
while drinking...
    again... invigorating the english language:
one baby step at a time -
a simple grapheme -

    the vater's S Z interchangeability -
   synchronised contra synchronized -
    settled -
    synchronißed -
                       sometimes the slithering S
of a snake -
   otherwise the rigid totem with
a torso of a zebra...
                     hardly a major investment -
but when i see English having moved
from the Elizabethan Shaky Steward of
thou etc. -
       imitating ancient Latin -
    coordinating the Greenwich study of
dyslexia...
            Joyce...
              no diacritical application?
   ****...
                 might as well release a bull
into a China shop...
                 or a rottweiler into chicken shack...
still... why is there an orthographic aesthetic
in practice, hovering over I and J,
  when there's no difference, as suggested
in CAPiTAL letterIng?
                                       ah... i see...
the english "think" they can bypass the para-
frontier, and the orthographic frontier
and race down to the metaphysics...
        first?
   you explain why it's i and not ι,
  and why it's j and not ȷ.
.i've had enough... i'm hijacking this linguistic ****-show, formerly identified as the English-language.

don't talk to a drunk
in an attempt of
sobering his opinions,
without first engaging
in his dialectic.

*** knows...
he might start
  
   spreschen
          deutsche,
   bis sie
.

and whatever antagonism
exists for the English,
you can only counter
it with a Zeppelin...
covert for:

              saying something
in German;
i see no other way
to manage this country...
thank *** and the almighty
that i didn't bed
even one of their women /
lawsuits...

    thank ***, and the almighty...
given...
why would a *** bore himself
with an omni-
prefix in all the existing realms...
when...
his creation is grounded
upon luck, or chance,
i.e. gambling?

what a waste in terms of
making an observation,
being summoned
qua omni: as being all,
powerful, cited,
    etc etc.
   more like the ******* tickle of
qua et cetera...

ein, oder zwei
     wörter im deutsche...
das ist, alle;
    jetzt,
   das ist von etwas nutzen
.
Crown Shyness Oct 23
Er erhob sich.
In der Ferne spielte sie,
die Idee,
welche versprach,
was einst mal war.
Er konnte es nicht vergessen,
dieses Gefühl.
So legten die Dienenden ihm allerlei Rüstung an.
Im Akkord mit der Vision ritt er los – Richtung Rettung.

Sie erhob sich.
In der Ferne spielte sie,
die Idee,
die versprach,
was niemals vorher war.
Sie konnte es nicht unterdrücken,
dieses Gefühl.
Dass, das Hier, noch nicht alles war.
Und sie begann zu singen,
im Turm mit dem einen kleinen Fenster
.
.
.
.
.
Schon seit Tagen hörte er sie, diese Melodie.
Ehrliche Sehnsucht. Verletzlichkeit.
Wurzeln der Zartheit.
Doch er war nicht der Einzige der,
auf der Suche danach,
die Felder beritt.
Er kam vorbei, an denen, die vergaßen, dass sie jemals suchten
und auf den Feldern Feuer legten.
An den Weisen, die alle in eine andere Richtung weisten
und denen, die sich sicher waren,
dass sie ihr Verlangen, bei den Türmen,
nie stillen würden.
Doch er wollte nicht aufgeben.
Auch, wenn er zum Schwert werden sollte.
Verschloss die Augen vor dem Elend neben sich.
Ritt und ritt.
.
.
.
.
Am Horizont ein Meer der Ritter,
am Fuß des Turmes,
wie bei hoher See.

Dann, ein Meer aus Blut
.
.
.
Sie saß auf dem Vorsprung ihres kleinen Fensters.
20 000 Meilen über dem Meer
und sah nur rot.

Sie sprang

.

— The End —