tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189029952024-03-07T22:34:01.522+01:00Wahrheit in kleinen PortionenAnna ist die Wahrheitausteilerin und verteilt hier Wahrheiten über ihr Leben und Gedanken über Gott und die Welt völlig gratis und in konsumfertigen Portionen.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.comBlogger750125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-63863352500988764042014-10-30T00:02:00.001+01:002014-10-30T00:02:45.041+01:00is that you?Is that you almost crashing into the parked cars because you turned your head to look at me? Is that you who pulls away after dismissing the possibility of running into one of your ghosts? Is that you shaking me up ever so slightly - my heartbeat, my step, my voice? Is that you? And if it isn't, who is this woman and who are her ghosts?<br />
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-57785223629277303002014-10-19T18:16:00.001+02:002014-10-19T18:16:43.878+02:00The truth is...So this is new. And it is exciting. The thrill of putting a road on the map by driving it for the first time... It is like walking around in the dark. Our feet exploring the ground rather than merely stepping on it. My breath hitching with uncertainty and expectation. I am trying to figure you out, when we put up our conversations as background noise for this journey on collision course. It is exciting to conquer you bit by bit: Coffee break, phone number, dead of night conversations, your hand while watching a movie... I am sure our sex will be epic once it happens... but the truth is... The truth is I am not sure if I can love you like I loved her. And what if I cannot? Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-49625844069514811052014-09-14T18:15:00.001+02:002014-09-14T18:15:01.720+02:00Things seem to be pretty random right now"the real life" has caught up with me. Even though I am still kinda into that act of pure daring, I've been cooking up for a few weeks now. We'll see how that goes.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-86237343137877794252014-08-19T22:34:00.001+02:002014-08-19T22:34:55.183+02:00Ein WunderIch warte auf ein Wunder. Eins, das vielleicht nie passiert. Doch es lohnt sich, drauf zu hoffen. Komm und warte doch mit mir. Lass uns dabei weiterleben - als Vorbereitung, falls es geschieht... Ich warte auf ein Wunder. Dieses eine.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-17863885094725009112014-07-07T09:57:00.001+02:002014-07-07T09:57:40.447+02:00Where are the plural pronouns?the grass has grown too long on the meadow where I used to lie. It lost the prickly stiffness of grass mowed during hot summer weeks and like a giant green carpet it cushions my fall as I am wrestled to my knees by the silken June breeze. Tell me again why there's nobody left in the world. Where are the cars that swoosh from east to west in the background? Where's the hum that fortifies each and every heartbeat thundering in my ears? Where are the plural pronouns that governed my voice and the name that tied my tongue for countless hours? I tried to hold on to my field of vision: swaying green stripes on electric blue - and the slim chance to see that marvelous apricot shade again if I kept very still. <br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
Writing poetry is easy:<br />
there are letters and words,<br />
short lines<br />
like steps on hot asphalt,<br />
the rhythm of a drunkard<br />
swaying to a silent symphony<br />
or stumbling<br />
over invisible steps.<br />
<br />
You can write and write<br />
about skies and stars<br />
while you're preoccupied<br />
with eyes and scars<br />
and smiles and skin that are off limits,<br />
and that one name that doesn't rhyme,<br />
don't mention all of that, then spin it,<br />
cut it into verses and lines -<br />
that's it, you wrote a little song<br />
about a warm night's starry ceiling<br />
about the one for which you long<br />
and what you thought you were concealing...<br />
<br />
<br />
In the back of my head The words are fading from my favourite songs, because nobody sings them.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-19602709627791196942014-07-07T09:53:00.001+02:002014-07-07T09:53:52.350+02:00SommerschnappschussDu hast zwei Schuhe und doch kein Paar. So wie wir beide auch zwei sind. Zwei. Dabei könnte es das doch sein: Deine Haut klebt von der Mischung aus Salz, Sonnenmilch und Schweiß und schimmert golden in der Nachmittagssonne. Was denkst du?<br />
Dass wir beide nicht tanzen können ist nicht von Belang, denn auf dem heißen Asphalt geht das fast von allein. <br />
<br />
Es zieht uns fort, dieses Leben, zieht uns mit sich - dich gen Süden und mich weit, weit Richtung Nordwest... wer aber wird zurückkommen, um die Gräber unserer Eltern zu pflegen? Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-65930190481604793362014-04-21T21:07:00.000+02:002014-04-27T22:41:27.881+02:00musingsHow is it that even after we spent years - sometimes half a life - littered with late night phone calls of affectionate silence, with love notes and flowers, with our hands buried in our lover's hair while our tongues danced the sweetest tango; years filled with handholding (sometimes absolutely neccessary and sometimes just a habit), with learning all the favourites, the pleasures, the surefire hits to evoke joy in those eyes that we had studied like books until we understood that dark chocolate on a rainy day or sucking a nipple into our mouths could spark a fire in the darkest night; and then the odd moment when their pain became ours even - perhaps even more so! - if we had caused it ourselves... How can we live through this and then still find ourselves here: At the kitchen sink on a warm night in late May, looking at or through our reflection in the window and wondering... wondering if they even know! If they even know that this was after all the real deal. That this was love. <br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
How do you love someone when you know you'll have to let them go in a few years' time? How do you deal with this riptide, this strangely abstract sensation of being swept away; how do you cope with the utter necessity of pouring all your being into this love when you know the ending date is set?<br />
Every second is right now and somehow they light your life - as cheesy as it sounds - they open you up to a host of new perspectives and you drink them up greedily; they make your life a dance more often than not; and you're afraid for them. Afraid because they are so good and pure and perfect that the world can only tarnish them.<br />
And for now - right now - you are protector and queen, friend and moral guidance, partner in crime and refuge. You are the centre of their world just like they are the centre of yours...<br />
But how can you stand it for even the smallest fraction of a second - how can you stand loving like this if you already know that you'll have to see them off, that you'll have to watch as they sail away on another wind?<br />
Are you in denial? Are you still trying to love them less fiercely? Or have you resigned yourself to be ripped to shreds?<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
Lass uns in ein Land ziehen, in dem wir verfolgt werden, denn ich glaub, dass wir ihn brauchen: den gemeinsamen Feind. Lass uns in ein Land ziehen, in dem man uns foltern will, hängen oder steinigen vielleicht, das wär schön. Da könnt ich jeden Tag Angst haben, dass du stirbst und es wär ganz normal. Da wären wir auf der Flucht und ich müsste dich nicht teilen, denn es wären ja nur wir beide. Dann hätten wir andere Probleme als wie wir unser Wohnzimmer streichen oder wer die Steuererklärung macht oder warum verdammt noch mal du schon wieder die Milch hast anbrennen lassen. Luxusprobleme? Vielleicht. Und doch sind sie nicht weniger akut.<br />
Lass uns in ein Land ziehen, in dem wir verfolgt werden, in dem wir keine Rechte haben und und keine Vertrauten. Und lass uns dort so lange bleiben, dass wir die heile Welt vergessen, aus der wir kommen. Denn meine Liebe ist nicht umsonst. <br />
<br />
Nein, sie hat ihren Preis und den musst du zahlen, wenn du mich nimmst. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-15605752114331686992014-04-20T12:36:00.000+02:002014-04-20T12:36:24.805+02:00Catching fire
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am always looking<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">for others who try to grasp<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">this:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The morning hour that rustles
through our hair<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">more white than blue<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">or the hand-width of breath<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">still caught in your lungs<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">when you ask that question<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">that clung to your teeth like a stray
fibre of sickly sweet peach<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">or how in the evenings<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">my freckles mirror star maps<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">after just a few days in the sun.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want to know<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">that others see, that they…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">understand!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s so much more than meets the
eye.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When you smile and say my name<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">it is more than two random syllables,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and when we wake <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">yet again<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and always again<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">in a fresh tomorrow<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">then mere sunrise becomes an
invitation<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">to try again and catch<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">all this wonder that rides with the
wind<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and runs through our hands like
water.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-23726035902595964862014-03-16T19:17:00.000+01:002014-03-16T19:17:25.147+01:00Sometimes the only thing we can do is not care.<br />
<br />
I have been on a splendid trip to Berlin this week. As my first trip in the role of the teacher (or something akin to teacher) it was a quite worthy premiere. We had fabulous sunshine, brought all students back safe and managed to get through the week without bigger crises. Somewhat unexpectedly, a few students used the opportunity to get a tattoo, a new hair do or manicure. But obviously that is of no concern for the Norwegian teachers, so after a few moment of incredulous awe, I just went along with it. After all, they are not my responsibility.<br />
<br />
While we got a first glimpse at wonderful spring time, Norway welcomed us with a heavy storm. I hope the winds will die down in the next few days so that I can get to Helsinki without delay :).<br />
<br />
I know, I haven't been updating a lot lately (partly due to planning the Berlin trip) but things are swell here. The language is finally at a level where I am quite confident using it; I have written applications for teacher training; I have more German lessons at the lower secondary level now... and life is just good. Just like that.<br />
<br />
Also, while in berlin I met up with my mom and it was really good to see her. I didn't realize that I had missed her so much and it was nice to have just an evening to ourselves and go out for dinner and catch up. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-38875223035473250142014-01-12T21:28:00.000+01:002014-01-12T21:28:27.501+01:00Bahnsteige. -- Deutschland ist ein Gefuehl.Solang es Bahnsteige gibt und goldglænzende Weizenfelder, solange da auf der Buehne jemand steht neben dem Cello ganz ohne erste Geige, solange es Bushaltestellen gibt, an denen ahnungsvoll gewartet wird, und eine Hand, die in meine passt, als wære sie nur dafuer ausgedacht; solange Flugzeuge ueber den Himmel blinken, einem Sehnsuchtsort entgegen; Solange Finger an beschlagene Scheiben malen und die klirrend kalte Januarluft in meinen Lungen brennt, als waere auch in meinem Herzen Feuer, solange kann man - muss man! - von diesen Menschen singen, die Mærchennamen tragen oder Martin heissen, und die da stehen, auf dem Bahnsteig, und fuer die wir aufstehen auch an Tagen, an denen unser Zug noch lange nicht kommt. Ein Leben, das man nicht verschwenden kann, ist keins. Ein Leben, in dem man nicht einen ganzen Tag verspielen kann mit einer Gitarre und einem Liebeslied fuer jemanden, den man eigentlich gar nicht kennt... was ist das fuer ein Leben?<br />
Die Unordnung tuermt sich in unseren Zimmern, weil Winter ist und wir das Meiste, was wir sind, hier drin sein muessen. Ich raeum samstags auf und am Sonntag sieht es wieder genauso aus. Und ich stell mir vor, bei meinen Schuhen unterm Bett laege auch ein paar von deinen und erzaehlte von schlitternden Schritten, mitgewippten Konzerten, einem Kuechentanz vielleicht. Ich will dir gestehen, dass Sex vielleicht nicht immer Liebe ist, aber so wie dein Koerper im Mondlicht leuchtet, koennte es doch Liebe sein. Doch um Sex soll es gar nicht gehen erstmal. Ich will dir die Schuhe binden und fragen, ob wir heilig sind. Und alle Muenzen, die wir finden, werfen wir in die Luft - denn fuer den Moment ist es egal, ob wir es wirklich fuer einander sind. Allein, dass wir es erwaegen, reicht mir.<br />
<br />
<br />
Deutschland ist eben auch ein Gefuehl. Ein Zimmer, in dem man etwas verloren hat, das man nicht panisch suchen muss. Denn es kommt ja nichts weg. Es ist diese Ernsthaftigkeit, ohne die Pathos immer Parodie bleiben muss. Du lachst. Entvoelkerte Landstriche, weil wir uns nach der Stadt sehnen. Wir pendeln zwischen Atem und Puls. Weil wir beides brauchen, weil wir letzten Endes vielleicht sogar die Altmark retten koennen, weil wir diese beiden Pole aus Aufstieg und Verfall lieben. Wir tragen Angst in unserem Blick - vielleicht wird es nie wieder so schoen! Deutschland - du lachst! Es ist nicht dein Land. Oder nicht schon immer gewesen. Und ich sitze in Norwegen in der Pampa und sage "wir" und meine weder dich noch mich. Es gehoert mir. Dieses wir. Und meint zwei, die sind wie ich gern waere. Deutschland gehoert mir. Wie dein Mund, wenn du Sonnenbrille traegst. Es ist ein Gefuehl. Als koennte man etwas oder jemanden erreichen. Egal ob man nun zu Fuss geht, oder das naechste Auto aufbricht. Keine Zeit fuers Paradies. Es gibt so viel zu tun.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-38750093523111877922014-01-01T13:43:00.001+01:002014-01-01T13:43:35.786+01:002014. Willen braucht man. Und eine gewisse Grundspannung.Ich durfte so vieles nicht vermissen in den letzten Jahren. Da waren so viele Städte, die nicht auf mich warten, so viele Straßen, die nicht meine sind, so viele Häuser, die mir nicht Zuhause werden durften. Ich hakte ab und nickte "nur nach vorn" und vergaß. Wie es ist sich zu sehnen. Nach dem Brennen in der Brust beim Anblick einer Skyline, nach vertrautem Stadtstaubgeruch, nach der Illusion des Angekommenseins. Ich verbot mir, eine Schatzstadt zu wählen und warf die alte weg, wie ein leeres Glas Erdnussbutter.<br />
Aber vielleicht braucht es dieses Brennen, dieses Ziehen, dieses Sehnen.<br />
Wir sind auf der Autobahn irgendwo auf dem Weg von Dresden zurück nach Hause, als es passiert. Aus den Lautsprechern tönt ein Album, dass mir mein Bruder ans Herz legen will und er springt direkt zu seinen Lieblingsliedern. Wir reden von dem Vorgängeralbum, von Weihnachten, von Musik, die wir tauschen wollen und ich höre nur mit halbem Ohr auf die Musik im Hintergrund, bis mich plötzlich ein Satz trifft wie ein Schlag in den Nacken. Mitten im Gespräch muss ich innehalten, den Blick angestrengt nach draußen wenden, weil mir unvermittelt die Tränen in die Augen schießen. Da singt ein Mann, erst nur von einem Gefühl, doch schließlich von einer Stadt - und es zieht mich dorthin! Und ich lass es zu. Ich weiß nicht, wie viele Dinge ich noch verlieren kann. Lieber werf ich mich in das Brennen, das da aufbricht. Vielleicht lässt sich so eine gewisse innere Grundspannung wieder aufbauen...Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-83557286537823904042013-12-26T00:45:00.001+01:002013-12-26T00:47:45.675+01:00i will never forget - or I hope I won'thow I saved my life when I walked away. How my ego was bruised and blue from all these doubts, that I drank from your mouth so eagerly. I will never forget how ribs cracked, yielding to that unwavering force of ragged breath. How I lost faith and peace of mind when I began to care too much. I will never forget - or I hope I won't - how to fail so earth-shatteringly and live to tell. I will fail again undoubtedly. But I will fail better. Elsewhere.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-86923160167209836112013-12-14T21:57:00.000+01:002013-12-14T21:57:00.041+01:00Einer fuer alle und jeder fuer sich.Break your heart. I mean, really break it. Follow the river downstream until it parts and then feel how your hands long to float to the sea, while your stomach longs to crash down with the waterfall... let it tear you apart. Relinquish your control. Stretch yourself until you become translucent. Break your heart. And then go to work. Not into a prison cell, not into some kind of exile. Go to work. Show up for your life. Get wasted and overly dramatic and disintegrate a little. You grew up far too quickly. Now people expect you to handle whatever life throws at you. Thruth is: They are hoping their rough patch, their heartache, their lull in motivation will pass. They are just waiting. For the real life to begin. But it is this path of shards of glas. It is a grey road beneath a grey sky. Break your heart. Bite your lips to the brightest red. Suffer, if you cannot dance. Burn down fields and forests until the sky is tinged orange. Don't let them tell you that this is not the end of the world. After all - how would they know?Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-22732488424402134052013-12-09T16:41:00.000+01:002013-12-09T16:41:03.926+01:00What's your story?I'd like to ask you about that swing in your step. About the photos and music videos you're posting on facebook. I'd like to congratulate you on the good time you're having. What took you so long? What's your story?<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
Am Samstag war also die Weihnachtsfeier, im Folgenden das "Julebord der kurzen Röcke" genannt. Um sechs trafen sich alle Lehrer (teilweise mit Begleitung) in den Schulräumlichkeiten, um bei einem Glas Sekt schon mal warm zu werden, eine interessante Würfelvariante des Schrottwichtelns zu spielen (meine Gruppe, a.k.a. Fellesfag hatte die meisten Päckchen am Ende) und ein bisschen Smalltalk zu machen. Wenn es an diesem Abend ein Problem gab, dann dass ich trotz aller Bemühungen underdressed war. Und an dieser Stelle muss es mir kurz erlaubt sein, die Norweger zu loben. Also die Männer. Bei solchen Anzugveranstaltungen fühlt man sich ja schnell man wie auf einer Beerdigung, aber ich konnte den ganzen Abend über eine schier unüberschaubare Anzahl großartiger Hemd-Krawatten-Kombinationen bewundern. Und bei ca. 600 Gästen gab es da durchaus einiges zu sehen. Die Damen waren auch allesamt sehr amibitioniert im Kleidungsdepartment. Vielleicht zuweilen ein bisschen zu ambitioniert. Doch kurze Röcke sind ja nicht immer 'was schlechtes (und um ganz ehrlich zu sein, habe ich Hannes Mann ja doch ein bisschen beneidet...).<br />
Pünktlich 19 Uhr gingen wir dann runter in den großen Saal des Kulturhauses, um die Stand-up-Show von Kristian Valen zu sehen. Mein sprachliches Ziel war ja, diese zu verstehen und das ist mir überraschenderweise ganz gut gelungen, auch wenn ich natürlich nicht alle Personen kannte, die er genannt hat. Gegen viertel Neun wurden die Massen dann Richtung Mehrzweckhalle, zum Julebord gelotst. Sobald unsere Tische gefunden waren, sprangen aber alle auch schon wieder auf, um Getränkebons zu kaufen. Offenbar waren auch hier gewisse Erwartungen in den Abend gesetzt. Ich holte mir auch zwei Biercoupons mit der Option auf einen dritten je nach dem wie die Nacht sich so gestalten würde.<br />
Dann gab es Essen. Ich kann guten Gewissens sagen, dass ich alles probiert habe. Ich muss allerdings auch anmerken, dass ich bisher nirgends so nichtssagenden Kartoffeln gegessen habe wie hier in Norwegen. Und Ribbe? Ja, das versuche ich zu verdrängen. Das Pindakjött war lecker und Kohlrabistampf erhält vielleicht demnächst Einzug in meinen Speiseplan. Mal sehen. Definitiv eines der Highlights des Abends: Nachtischzeit. Ja, Nachspeisen kann man hier. Aber was das eigentlich tolle war: Wie die Leute alle ohne mit der Wimper zu zucken Kaffee und Bier/Wein im Wechsel trinken. Ein Phänomen.<br />
Die drei Mädels aus unserm Büro (es gibt mehrere Büros in der Schule) verschwanden dann Richtung Bar und nachdem ich noch ein bisschen das Treiben auf der Tanzfläche beobachtete, ging ich nach oben in die Akustik-Lounge. Denn oben im Foyer spielte Ingemund mit einem Freund Gitarre und Banjo und das war lautstärkemäßig für mich eindeutig die bessere Umgebung, um Unterhaltungen zu folgen und am Laufen zu halten.<br />
Die Menschen waren zu diesem Zeitpunkt bereits deutlich gelöster und ich entschied, dass ich definitiv nüchtern genug war, um noch ein Bier zu holen. Gedacht, getan und dann plätscherte der Abend eben so dahin. Nach und nach brachen die ersten auf und ehe ich wusste, wie mir geschah saß ich mit in der Absturzabteilung des Julebords der kurzen Röcke. Even versuchte in den 25 Minuten bis zur Abfahrt seines Busses noch seine 3 verbliebenen Getränkebons einzulösen, neben mir fiel die junge Mathelehrerin vom Stuhl, einen Platz weiter trug der Medienmensch eine 3D-Brille und die Frau in Lederhosen machte in einem beherzten Ausnüchterungsversuch ihre verbliebenen Shotcoupons zu Salzstangen und Chips. Wie erfolgreich das war, mag ich nicht zu sagen, da ich wenig später aufbrach. Ich schätze aber, dass am Sonntagmorgen die ein oder andere Aspirin eingeworfen wurde.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-20373076302988458842013-12-01T19:34:00.003+01:002013-12-01T21:13:27.519+01:00I'd like to confessback then he thought life was a box to be opened<br />
like a bell he could ring and there was somebody home.<br />
All vows and promises were meant to be broken,<br />
and if he almost died it was his song to sing.<br />
<br />
what's left is the certainty that one can't be certain<br />
there will always be surprises until one time there won't<br />
all his lines and his scenes are concealed by a curtain<br />
a rebel without applause going for the encore<br />
<br />
And the sound of his name was moonshine on my way,<br />
the glint in his eyes was the cue for my lines,<br />
And I'd like to confess that I loved him best<br />
and that would be true<br />
<br />
He danced with an anguish that was close to my heart,<br />
burning circles into fields of barley and rye,<br />
he snapped retro pictures of life dealing the cards<br />
and made up the rules when he didn't know why <br />
<br />
And the back of his hand was the map of my land,<br />
the colours he wore they all covered my floors<br />
And I'd like to confess that I loved him best<br />
and that would be true <br />
<br />
He played it close to the chest with a cheshire grin<br />
willing himself to advance on bare feet and no fuel<br />
playing his bluff so well he almost thought he could win<br />
And oh, how I wanted to believe him <br />
<br />
but I've seen it in his eyes and sadly it's true:<br />
he holds no queen of hearts, just an ace of spades <br />
and the throes of December are just echoing June,<br />
I wanted to kiss him in public places<br />
<br />
And the fall of his feet was command to my fleet,<br />
the clothes that he shed marked the way to my bed<br />
And I'd like to confess that I loved him best<br />
and that would be true...<br />
if it wasn't for you <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-9417533549558236682013-11-19T22:29:00.000+01:002013-11-19T22:29:16.652+01:00"All is full of love......you just ain't receiving. Your phone is off the hook..." - I got sucked into a Björk concert from 2001 and I rediscovered some of her lines that I had forgotten all about. Although, I am posting probably the most well-known here, I also had a dream-like experience when listening to "possibly maybe" again.<br />
<br />
What if it was true, though? What if it was true for you? What if <i>your</i> phone was off the hook? What if <i>your</i> door was shut? I have to blog this, because I can hardly ask you. I would send you the concert... but I am afraid your ears are deaf to this kind of fatalism. I, on the other hand, am returning to it. <br />
What if it was true for you?<br />
<br />
I am asking this and cannot seem to escape the arrogance that comes with such questions. There's no room for sympathy here. I will just keep floating. If it doesn't make you do crazy things, it is not real. Or is that a lie? We have rationalized what we could and yet we keep stretching our every limb to reach across that abyss and lay our hands on the raw forces of desire. This is inhumane. It is divine.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-60614573405379598862013-11-13T19:15:00.002+01:002013-11-13T19:15:32.250+01:00Slow like Honey<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
</w:Compatibility>
<w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Normale Tabelle";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ansi-language:#0400;
mso-fareast-language:#0400;
mso-bidi-language:#0400;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ich sitze im Licht der Dunstabzugshaube zwischen Herd und
Fernseher, und von hier aus kann ich die Autos sehen, die auf der E35 durch den
frühen Abend gleiten. Die Häuser am Berghang sehen beinahe nach Stadt aus und
aus den Boxen tönt ein Lied, zu dem man jemanden ausziehen möchte… Vielleicht
ist das schon das Leben.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ich bin jedenfalls ganz Glück für den Moment. Es ist einer
dieser raren Augenblicke, in denen alles möglich ist. Und zwar nicht nur
theoretisch. Der Undercut war definitiv eine meiner besseren Ideen und während
ich so langsam richtig hier ankomme, bin ich schon voller Weihnachts- und
Heimbesuchsvorfreude. Die absoluten Sehnsuchtsdinge zur Zeit? Meine 6
Duschgele, eine große Küche und flaches Land. Ja, sicher, da gibt es auch
Menschen zu treffen, Lieder zu singen, Nächte zu tanzen, Quark zu essen… aber
das ist nicht so dringend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe this is how it starts.</div>
Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-17827409702676371002013-11-09T22:02:00.001+01:002013-11-09T22:02:50.029+01:00We fuck and we fight...I can see it now. How we meet in an all encompassing stillness against this backdrop of pale blue sky and dry grass. There's no song playing in the backs of our heads. Certainly not Arcade Fire or Angus & Julia Stone. There will be none of the scores we envisioned for our subtitled lives. I can see us meeting. Not in the summertime, but still with that golden hue on our skins. You won't vomit light and I won't be bent over in pain. We will have come a long way. You will be a man - all of a sudden -, not an idea, not a hero anymore. And I? I will be shattered beyond belief. All muted colours and tentativeness.<br />
We will meet and it will be so real that we refuse to believe it. I can see it now. In a bleak world, bored out of our minds, half-asleep from the numbness we will discover desire. And it will be everything we've dreamed of and nothing like we imagined. <br />
<br />
<br />
Burn me to the ground.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-10912199237419797742013-11-03T21:59:00.000+01:002013-11-03T21:59:03.729+01:00Did I say I'm just a boy?My family was over for a long weekend visit. We saw waterfalls and vast mountain scapes, we played cards and tag, we cooked and smiled quietly. Now they are back in Germany again and I feel more than ever that I am free to do whatever I want. Free. And that feels amazing. So I was flashing that 800W-smile on the busride home from Haugesund, mapping out a biking route for when I finally have a bicycle. I nodded to the girls sitting next to me and scored a free ride fom Ølen to Etne.<br />
<br />
Now I have watched the Halloween episode of Grey's Anatomy and while I enjoyed it, I think it might be time to part ways with this series. I miss Christina's spot-on one liners and as much as I enjoy all the Shepherd-Grey family bliss, I miss Meredith's abandonment issues. Somehow the magic has fizzled out over the last episodes... So I have to find myself something else to cry to.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow is the first day of my half-marathon training (that might turn into a marathon training) and I am pumped. Also, I really want to play guitar and write songs.<br />
<br />
I turned the heating on after days of rain<br />
now the steam is rising<br />
you asked if I could love you again<br />
you'd been to the horizon<br />
and you went on<br />
you went beyond<br />
<br />
you've seen the sex we could've had<br />
and it made you think<br />
maybe we still could pick up on that<br />
now you're on the brink<br />
tipping the scale -<br />
how could we fail?<br />
<br />
You asked if I could love you again<br />
now the tide is rising<br />
would I dare coming back to this pain<br />
to this bleak horizon? <br />
Well, the answer is no<br />
<br />
<br />
I still love you, though<br />
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-79657070473769068552013-10-30T16:59:00.002+01:002013-10-30T16:59:38.793+01:00Cultivate forgettingI sit next to you as you cry quietly. What can I do but wait for you to find your voice again, to let your accent cascade over my skin again, to enthrall me... I want to make you sell all your clothes. I want to pause that movie playing on the screen and turn your head so I can breathe you. I want to run my fingers up your arm and pull you close. No promises. May others stumble along on their quest for "the one" - all I want is to make out with you. Just a few moment of ragged breathing and half-closed eyes. What do you say?<br />
The ending credtis are just about to roll and we'll be sitting here in the dark for another few minutes... say we make up a dance to go with this epic score - what's the worst that could happen?<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
Comenius meeting in Bergen was great! The national agency took us out for dinner and I have learned English Language acitivities and a few drinking games. We've been up Fløyen and watched a few movies that ran at the Bergen International Film Festival. Now there are plans of visiting one another and travelling a bit. And the people. Oh, the lovely people (see beginning of this post).<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
There comes a point when you have hurt too many and loved too often. When you're not a pioneer anymore but rather a regular traveller on these paths. And you might stop celebrating all the milestones you pass, all the mountains you climb, all the rivers you cross. You might stop. And forget the song the birds taught you once. Because you knowknowKNOW all the steps down this road. Feel your feet. Is this really the same old street? Cultivate forgetting. There's so little to gain in remembrance. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-34866494605272952102013-10-22T21:47:00.000+02:002013-10-22T21:47:35.309+02:00The trick to life...I have been to the bigger cities during the autumn break and I enjoyed Oslo tremendously. I was also really happy just having continuous company for a few days. It can get a little lonely in Etne after all. On that note, I feel like I have gone through the critical steps of acclimatization now and will spend the next few weeks making a real effort at fully fledged integration here. I will let you know how that goes.<br />
I am a bit annoyed with my language progress and I will have to reinforce an everyday routine of actually learning vocab. Because while I am reading Fridtjof Nansen's book on his ski expedition in Greenland, I have the feeling it is giving me not a lot languagewise.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow evening, I will make my way to Bergen for the Assistant Meeting. I am looking forward to that a lot. Bergen will get another chance to present itself in another light (sunshine maybe?) and I am sure the long weekend with the other assistants will be great fun.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
The way you closed your eyes<br />
and soon were askew<br />
in a blaze of nothingness<br />
made me wish for<br />
silence<br />
blank pages<br />
an off switch<br />
to my pirouette thoughts.<br />
<br />
Now the white noise of my processing<br />
has ceased.<br />
<br />
When I close my eyes tonight<br />
there'll be the afterglow<br />
of a thousand flashlights<br />
that found<br />
no hint<br />
no sign <br />
nothing<br />
of the secrets they sought.<br />
<br />
Maybe the trick to life <br />
is not understanding. <br />
Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-1761198583478371002013-10-04T16:12:00.002+02:002013-10-04T16:12:35.768+02:00"Ohne Geld, ohne Plan...""...ich bin gerannt bis zum Gleis und gefahren."<br />
<br />
Gestern die erste Wanderung mit Station auf einer Hütte. Turid und Ingelin haben mich mitgenommen, um den letzten Sonnentag für lange Zeit zu nutzen (und da es heute schon den ganzen Tag regnet, scheinen sie Recht zu behalten). Die Luft war klar und der Ausblick dementsprechend grandios:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBnxftA0sn6mMMcpHW_-ZHpmXs1M5mxc974kYZWlECVpCdq9yUhpZWosVNuRfTFUTrdWVwu5RxzJ94KYNi8VY65F4J4JqphKmgF2HLvXOatcHrYN8NvBcPQGbMSdUabqHHuD4/s1600/tur+akrafjord.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBnxftA0sn6mMMcpHW_-ZHpmXs1M5mxc974kYZWlECVpCdq9yUhpZWosVNuRfTFUTrdWVwu5RxzJ94KYNi8VY65F4J4JqphKmgF2HLvXOatcHrYN8NvBcPQGbMSdUabqHHuD4/s320/tur+akrafjord.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-42861096424400298422013-09-27T20:14:00.000+02:002013-09-27T20:14:31.125+02:004 Wochen NorwegenWhat have you learned? Really learned? How can you abandon all that scar tissue and still be sure to remember its history? What have you learned?<br />
<br />
Keine Woche in Norwegen ohne Abenteuer. Nach dem grandiosen Auftakt in Woche 1, als ich meinen Schlüssel beim Laufen verlor, haben auch die folgenden Wochen keine Wünsche offen gelassen. Der Schlüssel ist bislang nichtwieder aufgetaucht und ich friste mein Dasein nun nur mit dem Zweitschlüssel. Was natürlich ebenso gut geht. Aber es war natürlich klar, dass ich, die tatsächlich noch nie einen Schlüssel verloren hat (was an sich schon unglaublich ist), hier meinen Einstand geben würde. Außerdem noch in Woche 1: Durch wildes herumdrücken auf der Fernbedienung heble ich den Fernseher aus und kann ihn auch nach mehrstündiger Problembehandlung nicht wieder zum Laufen bringen.<br />
In Woche 2 sperre ich erstmal zielsicher meine EC-Karte. Was an sich schon unangenehm wäre. Allerdings kann ich aus unerfindlichen Gründen mit der Kreditkarte kein Geld abheben und schiebe deswegen dezente Panik vor dem Moment, an dem die Karte im Supermarkt mal nicht funktioniert. Aber: Ich schaffe es mein knappes Bargeld bis zur Fahrt nach Haugesund zu verwalten und dort finde ich dann tatsächlich einen Geldautomaten, der ein paar Banknoten ausspuckt.<br />
Das ist in Woche 3. Wo ich meine Registrierung in Norwegen über die Bühne bringe und sogar eine Identifikationsnummer beantrage. Auch wenn sich das nicht ganz so simpel gestaltet ohne Adresse. Aber offenbar haben die hier doch ein gewisses System und jedes Haus und Appartment hat eine Verwaltungsnummer. Ob mich hier die Post mit meiner Identifikationsnummer findet, ist noch ungewiss. Immerhin fehlt immer noch ein Briefkasten.<br />
Und dann diese Woche. In der mein Abfluss und der von Stina, die neben mir wohnt, verstopft war. Und zwar derartig, dass unsere Duschen eher Ähnlichkeit mit einer Kloake hatten. Brrr. Aber nach 5 Stunden (die wir übrigens nicht im Haus verbrachten), hatte der örtliche Klempner das Problem behoben und nachdem ich dann noch eine Stunde ins Badschrubben investiert hatte, war auch dieser Zwischenfall Geschichte.<br />
Es bleibt also ereignisreich. Mal schauen, was nächste Woche passiert...Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-10120013757158274452013-09-26T22:08:00.000+02:002013-09-26T22:08:11.427+02:00I am waging war<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
</w:Compatibility>
<w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Normale Tabelle";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ansi-language:#0400;
mso-fareast-language:#0400;
mso-bidi-language:#0400;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I bleed my
city</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">its milky
way </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">of
illuminated windows</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">is the backdrop</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for my
shuffling step</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">my barefoot
verse</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">my sweet
escape</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Out here </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">the cow
bells are ringing</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">the lights
are fewer</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">are distinct</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Who am I</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">without the
constant noise,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">the stream
of countless</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">human</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">experience?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What is my
name</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">when there’s
no need</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for names?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Are the
mountains calling</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for my step</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">when the
sun sets</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">without a
hint of orange?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Or am I
hearing voices?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Has my
wonder left me</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">already?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I can still
hear the beat</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">the pulse</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">of the
universe</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">dancing –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There are
sparks in the sky!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From a
bonfire</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">not a
short-circuit heart…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How am I
going to survive</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">on peace of
mind</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and solid
ground?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I bleed my
city</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">and pray</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">for acid
rain.</span></div>
Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18902995.post-22397105231015153832013-09-15T11:20:00.001+02:002013-09-15T11:20:12.613+02:00InevitabilitiesIf life works out the way we imagine it and reproduce it day by day, we will wake up 20 years from now and we will have kids that we long dreamed about and fought for, children that we are passionate about and that we occasionally neglect, sons and daughters that we love and who at times take a backseat to our own confusions. We will have children and we will be divorced. Divorced after having found one to build a home with, after madly falling in love and nights of passionate sex, after negotiating values and traditions and living room curtains, after realizing that while we might choose to stay with one person, we can still fall for others. We will be divorced and all practical about it, now on the lookout again - not for the one, but for someone. Someone who knows that linearity is a construct.<br />
We will wake up 20 years from now with a job that we've grown into and that we like sometimes and in which we are somebody, but also a job that keeps us wondering if there is something else calling for us. Something that can be all new and exciting again with the nausea and the euphoria of beginning... In 20 years we will have built a house or furnished a flat. There will be pictures on the walls and boxes containing all old memories in the attic. After years of cluttering up the rooms with all our belongings, we will have made space for all the things we are not and it will look so neat, so sophisticated that it will be a tie between appearing spiritual and just feeling empty.<br />
If life plays out the way we write screenplays, then that is where we'd end up. And maybe we will. But even then it'd be nothing like we imagine it now. Because life is not the sum of our history. The present is not connected to the past. Not really. We like to think that it is. But if we'll wake up in 20 years, after starting a family and wrecking a marriage, after establishing a career and building a house - chances are, we'll still be the same. Inevitably.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17042180519379555999noreply@blogger.com0