The Betrayal

To get up, to linger, to walk to the refrigerator, to open, to close it, to drink a cup of coffee, to walk back, to look at the watch, to stare in the mirror, to stare at one’s skin, to resist the staring, to slowly move, to get dressed, to remain at the mirror, to see one’s eyes, to close a door, to walk down the stairs, to open a door, to step out, to feel the cold, to walk along the city, to turn left, to turn right, to feel the rain, to not care, to enter.

To feel the warmth, to take off one’s coat, to withstand the gazes, to look at the watch, to smile, to order, to talk, to seem interested, to ask questions, to recognize one’s drink, to take the wine-glass, to direct it to one’s mouth, to take a sip, to feel the cold inside, to taste the smooth berries, to repeat, to look intently at people, to hardly smile, to want to leave, to put down the glass, to chat, to put on the coat, to walk, to open the door.

To hear a “Hello”, to turn around, to recognize him, to smile, to say hello, to feel his discomfort, to be irritated, to be aware of the person next to him, to remember her, to be puzzled, to not comprehend, to ask questions, to hear answers, to smile, to feel discomfort, to slowly comprehend, to remember her, to go numb, to recall his photos of her, to freeze, to recollect his stories of her, to feel no sensation, to remember the time of these events, to reveal something that both knew long ago, to feel muted, to reveal her in their lives, to nod.

To open the door, to go outside, to feel the night upon oneself, to feel the anger, to fully realize the weight, to look across the street, to be outraged, to have lifted a secret, to feel reconfirmed, to feel unsatisfied, to look into the sky, to look at the walls of the city, to hear them scream, to cross the street, to turn left, to go up the hill.

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The White

Surrounded by endless white,

how many choices did we have…

how much could we truly see?

 

When white lingers, subsumes,

deceives the eye,

what is left to be perceived?

 

Scales,

amounts,

ranges of words,

collections of delicate vocabulary,

tied to an exclusive touch,

we may not be able

to defeat.

 

The endlessly eternal,

tranquil

white.

 

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Astrid Lindgren

I saw Dave yesterday. Dave is an

outstanding and very patient builder for

window frames. He builds them like nobody

before him ever did – with a conspicuous clarity,

a remarkable stability and a striking shine. So

shiny, I thought to myself.

When Dave turned around to face me

with one of his shiny frames in his hands,

I couldn’t resist but ask, “Have you ever read

Astrid? Astrid Lindgren?” “Hell, sure I have”,

Dave said. “I’ve read all that hot stuff; Bill Bergson,

Pippi Longstocking, Karlsson-on-the-roof,

Mio, my Mio, Ronia the Robber’s Daughter,

The Brothers Lionheart…” I immediately felt dizzy…

When I woke up again, I was sitting on Dave’s very cozy lap,

like a little, pathetic dog.

None of this was truly surprising to me.

Except, that everything was so shiny – so shiny…

I dozed off again wishing I had read so many of Astrid’s stories.

A couple of weeks later, back at my house, I sent Dave

my old Ursel Scheffer copies

since I had no use for them anymore.

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Simply Coffee

Millions of tiny, minatures

Gather excitingly -

crumble,

slowly,

bluub,

blu..

bl..

into

a substantial pond

of comfor(t)mity,

where they

tenderly,

warmly,

exist

mhhhhh

mhhh

mhh

until they are carefully swallowed by

a

bulky

unbearable

obl..i.v.i…o…

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Nicks’ Handbag

Keys in a snake-formed leather bag, drugged up with anxiety-pills  along its long edges. Finding new forms through square work-books, guarding the always fluent heart against a cardiac seizure through a daily dose of round and white aspirin. Still craving pink sweets, shaped like literature books, which crumble constantly like a sparkly cereal-bar-slide. Being totally dependent on the rubber-bell, which spins around the horribly linear ruler, which slides along the lunch-box, mistaking it for the pencil-case, even though it lacks any stickers, or ABC-letters. Just watch.

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Anne’s Handbag

Arty safety-needles sting to the magnetic surface of the shimmering mobile phone while listening to polka music, unfortunately, staying stiff as pens. The elastic hand-mirror catches everything moodily. The stretchy tissues, trying to be like gum, for the pure sake of some flexible money. Though, they forget the fashion magazines, which are bigger than most note-books, not even talking about i-pods, with their powdery appearance, and their lip-glossy surface.

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Luisa’s Handbag

The very chique and narcissistic royal blue Longchamp-vanity-case politely ask the smart phone for a sharp piece of advice regarding the rebellious leathery code of law, which constantly and maybe quite rightly attacks liberal folders, since they despise the traditional ink-pen. Outrageous.

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