hot pants and blatantly false advertisements

Hey folks!

2017 is near and i have to say it feels bizzarre to think that I started this blog in 2013. So much has happened since. The good, the bad, and the ugly. All the things. Some validated the course I am on and others led me to recalibrate. Writing, literature, and poetry will always be very close to my heart. Always.

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R.I.P. Alan Rickman

And I will always want to share my thoughts with you and read yours. Because what are we doing here if not share and exchange and enjoy the experience of sentient existence?

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Pictured above: the black void we might be screaming into

That being said, I have changed heaps since the early days of writing challenges and NaPoWriMos. I loved feeling like I contributed to the world of poetry. Even then I knew my pieces weren’t gems nor works of genius.

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It’s not like I invented and built a real-life exoskeleton like this dude did.

But I loved it anyway. It helped me deal with emotions, thoughts, and experiences, the positive and the negative kind, still continues to do so to the day. It’s a hobby that allows you to reflect on yourself. Like a yoga class meditation without the person next to you snoring loudly. It’s self-refective happiness.

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You know, a kind of happiness that doesn’t require you to pose awkwardly with perfect strangers for shutterstock pictures.

What I’m trying to say – obviously with too many words and pictures – is that I am going to change the course of this blog a bit. I’m about to move to a different continent, I continue to work with music and creative humans, I am happy and excited about this new chapter of my life.  I might weed out some of my old, outdated entries and revamp this blog.

Unknown.jpegA process that may or may not end in an overjoyed surf jumping sequence after a very tasteful training/makeover montage

I’m not entirely sure what it’s going to look like or focus on. There are just so many things I want to talk about and am passionate about. Could be music, but it feels like i already got that covered at nauseam.

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@nauseam I tell you

Might be traveling, comic books, shows, movies, my favorite tree houses, what have you. Might be a combination of all of the above. I’ll do some serious soul searching and come up with something for ya!

Until then I hope you all are well! Stay classy

cheers, Linda

 

Oh and apologies to those of you who came here expecting to see pictures of hotpants. Here’s that Rocky screen shot for you again.

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#hotpants
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A tale with two tails

I guess that we only ever see that all the people we’ve hurt were too good for us at that time once we realise that we’re too good for that one that hurt us. 
I know the sorry is too late. Explanations won’t change things. Reasons won’t fix this. There is no way any words will ever be enough. And I’ll probably never mean them near enough to mean anything. 
The truth is ugly, nobody wants to face it. 

Sometimes you just don’t appreciate the people that love you enough because you’re longing for someone else, something bigger, waiting for something more than what you’ve got. 
It’s stupid. 
It’s human. 
Even the kindest people do it.

The most gentle hearted ones of us have the faculty to destroy others in cold blood.  

With or without intent. 

With or without awareness even.
Sometimes because we can’t see what’s right in front of our nose. 

Sometimes because we are just as twisted as deep within the darkest corners of our brains we always feared we might be. 

Sometimes simply because life changes and emotions fade.

 

All I ever wanted was for you to see that I’m worth your time. Now I know that you were never worth mine in the first place.
I hate that only in the face of yours i see my own cruelty clearly. 

I hate that only now I realise what I’ve done. Who I can be. What I’m capable of. 
I hate myself for the pain I’ve caused. The elusiveness. The promises I made that I never really thought meant anything real to anyone. Not to you and certainly not to me. Not in the long run anyway. They were but dreams said out loud. Wishes shrouded in intent. I wanted them to be true at the time because I wanted you and I to mean something to me. For us to be that bigger thing I knew we weren’t. To be what I waited for. To be the depiction and not reality.
I know it means nothing, but I am sorry.
I know that my desire for atonement is selfish and triggered by my own hurt more than any of the hurt I’ve cause. I know I can be cruel now only because you were my mirror. The ugly reflection that keeps me up at night. tortures me. I know I will heal. I hope I will be better. I want to be better. I know I will be better.
But even now this confession is a tale with two tails. The sorry and the be sorry. The victimiser and the victim in all of us. The reckless and the wreck. 
I know you won’t ever think I’m the bigger thing, the something else, the someone more. 

I know I’ll eventually stop thinking that we were that thing worth fighting for. I’ve already stopped trying. I’m no longer waiting for you to change your heart. 

Walk on Water

I’m treading water

Whenever I think of you

And the way you walked away from me

 

It was nighttime full moon low above the skyline of the end of the world lazily, softly curling waves instead of loudly buzzing concrete haze

A gull or two black against the stars maybe upside-down like king’s herons, like cut out copies of their daytime selves

My skirt heavied by the salt and sea liking up my legs

You would turn saddened and blue to walk on water like glass like ice like the bard of the end of times you’d sing me a lullaby to ease the pain and tell me you’d always love me you’d always care and how the time had come to part ways

And I wouldn’t be fine though I’d know it’s for the best

I’d say I would go and find that alternate universe where we’d work out where you’d always stay where there’s always love and never leave and I would stay there for all time to come

You’d smile your crooked loving smile and say you’d meet me there

You’d turn and walk on water like glass like ice like the waves were yours and they’d come to take you away the last of your kind the brave and the good and the fair

And I’d walk I’d run I’d tread water to get to you

But the currents would be on your team and the salt and the sea would splash around me draw me back and drag me away

I’d fight to reach you but you’d walk on water like glass

I’d scream your name and curse the wind

You’d turn around say you’d never live through one single day not thinking of me you’d say you had to leave and you’d turn and walk on water like glass and you’d hum my song quietly breaking my heart as yours would break too

I’d fight and I’d cry and never reach your silhouette against the silver moon and never wrap my arms around you not even one last time and you’d walk and weep for the love we’d lost we were not able to hold on to and you would be brave and good and fair for all times and as you’d miss me day in day out for the rest of your life I would miss you we’d find new loves and would have learned to hold on to them and we’d remember and reminisce our time together and we’d be fine and happy in our new loves and lives

And the gulls would pass above our heads every silvery full moon high above the gently curling sea were the skyline is the surf and the air sounds like the sweetest salt and we’d be cut-out copies of our long past selves in the love we’d lost and we’d walk the water like glass like ice on our separate ways forever entwined by the end of the world.

 

But, it never happened that way. You’re not brave and good and fair. You are a coward. You couldn’t face me to say you didn’t want to stay.

Farewell for the Good

You always were good

A kind, and a good with so much love

Filled up to the very top with good

soles to scalp to the tip of your hair, goodness

born to help, trained to cure, the remedy for the broken and sick, home for the lost and refuge for the loosing

just good

from the first subtle glance, to the very last tear

You always were good

Your love was a shiny, brand new bulb in an empty, dusty house

skeletons rejoiced, they danced in the shadows of your light, the vivacious, slightly insane dance of the long dead

Just as everyone who met you they fell for your honest smile, your words, your kindness

your good

They all knew and so did I, you always were good

Half the love I had for you was envy of your good

my dark hungered for a bite off your kindness

a strand of your goodness

just a glimmer of you was enough to poison my stream and drive my search for the better me, for my own good

you always were meant to be somebody’s good

I wanted to be that somebody

but my dark

My dark lingered in your good

My dark emanated through your good

Goodness, I wanted to be your good so bad

For a slight moment in time, I think I had you convinced that I too could be good

I had you fooled for a second, I know

But you saw my dark

my inevitable wrong

my incurable lost

But you couldn’t help it then could you?

couldn’t stop and think and see and feel that I will never be your good?

Never your counterpart.

Never your right.

You set out to cure me, be my remedy, fix my broken, medicate my sick, guide my lost, win my loosing

You always were good

I knew in staying would be your demise

I know in loving you with all my heart I would break you sometime

I knew in staying would be my end

I know in loving you with all my heart would be my breaking in time

When i left I turned to see you cry

take in your sad

take in your hurt and defeated

take in your pain and depleted

I took in your dark and your wrong

so that you could be good again

I always was the wrong

You always will be the good

fare well

I’m a’dreaming – I’m a’planning

As per usual, I find myself in a situation where borderline delusional dreams and more concrete plans need to be made to fit into the same space. My time as a post-grad lit student comes to a close within the next few months hence it’s time for that semi-existential crisis thought of what comes after yet again. sigh.

I loved freelance writing and being the social-media and web person for my first employer and then for the studio. But the whole reason for adding the Master’s was to become more professional, more qualified and versed in the world of stories and story telling after all. A thought that now seems a bit trivialised by the – let’s face it – regression into the massively infantilised uni-environment.

That being said, I love being a student. Moving to this smallish uni town and returning to Germany once again for this degree has been a wonderful experience. I’ve met the best people, was given amazing opportunities both work and private life related and, I have to admit one of my favourite things about this time has been that I got and still get to talk to people who are as obsessed with words, stories, books, the development of books in this new age and everything about it – AND I even get credits for this. It’s almost like being payed, except for it’s really nothing like being payed.

Truly a wonderful time.

But, now that its just a bit over half a year to go before I graduate, I got the bug. The adventure bug. The working with creatives and being creative and create bug. The moving bug.

My initial and most natural idea was applying for jobs back in the US. Easy as pie. I’ve been sending out applications and am feeling rather good about it. Some got derailed to Canada. No biggie.

I’m expanding my map tho, sending cvs to the UK, and am currently working out how employable Europe might find me in general. Nice thought, getting to stay for another while.

But then the unexpected happened. A novel idea to me. Australia. A wonderful, creative, book-bursting place that has a great bonus of warmth. It might not be a place seeking for foreign creatives but I like me a challenge.

The position offered to me might turn out to pose some logistic problems, scheduling my dissertation and the required move could be impossible. That door, however only in my mind, is opened now, though, and I keep finding myself looking at Melbourne avenues and cafes, Sydney beaches and nightlife. I’m smitten by this great unknown place on the other side of our pretty little planet.

Here’s Buzzfeed’s 59 Reasons living in Sydney ruins you for Life

Coffee

One of the many things my best friend and I have in common – there are more things that we don’t have in common but honestly, just because we’re best friends doesn’t mean we have to be each others clone – is our love for good coffee. We actually met through the magical force that is coffee. One fairly regular and uneventful week in October, the sun was out, some clouds dozed across the sky, it was a mild day, in every sense of the word really, mild air, mild breeze, mild people on the sidewalk mildly smiling at or in disregard of each other. Around noon I decided to match my mild mood with a decent cuppa so i made my way to a new favourite amongst the coffee shops. It was quite a walk but I didn’t mind it – keep in mind the mildness of said uneventful day in October.

As I was walking my mind dreamily wandered off in another direction. I knew I wasn’t paying too much attention to my passage but people were being uneventful to such a degree that I did not fear the unexpected. But, as so often in life, when you least expect the unexpected, said unexpected hits you like a hammer across the head, or like an elbow connecting with your temple.

I was knocked off my feet and the next thing i knew was this big guy looming over me, worried expression, blabbering some excuse in absolute terror. …just readjusting my bag strap… didn’t see you there… fuck…. are you alive… just some of the confused babbles I could catch and hold on to long enough to comprehend the meaning. I apologised gingerly. He laughed in slight hilarity and confusion. God no! he basically shouted at me, that was so my bad! and another stream followed. It made me rather dizzy, to be honest. Can I get you something, come let me help you up! was the next thing I disentangled from the rush. Back in a more vertical position my mind slowly refocused and calmed itself. No, no, don’t worry, I’m good! I heard myself say. After three more times of him asking whether he could get me something – from a glass of water, to an ambulance, and (well, I’m still not 100% sure whether I imagined that or if not if that was a joke) a watermelon – we finally got to the point of saying goodbye and have a good day and don’t decapitate anyone else with that elbow of yours.

I walked onwards and after a little while realised that he was still in my vicinity, he seemed to realise the very same thing at the very same moment. Apologetically he said yeah, sorry, I’m not stalking, I was just on the way to get a cuppa. Don’t worry about it at all! We can just walk along for a while like any other civilised pedestrians right? Right. and back to silence we went. We passed about three cafes until I had to ask, hey, uhm, what cafe are you actually going to? Yeah, right, laughter, that new one on the corner up ahead. That’s where I’m going to! and a lengthy conversation about great coffee followed that turned into that what are you and who are you kinda talk that turned into drinks the next day and into a short, really very brief period of us thinking we might end up dating and soon turned into a great very platonic friendship between this bear of a dude and me.

A friendship based on a shared appreciation for random indie band name combinations, Wes Anderson Movies, traveling, and, obviously, the brewed gold – always on the hunt for the better and ever more golden coffee and cafe we’d send each other postcards from new coffee shops whether from around the corner or from Belgium, Paris, or that time in Argentina that he asked the room service to deliver a postcard up to my hotel room from the hotel cafe. We’d also call each other from home and trips and coffee would be the conversation starter – in the fashion of the brits discussing the weather in order to establish common ground or to update each other on each others lives or for whatever reason that custom exists.

Which is why it didn’t strike me as strange at all that when he called me very early this morning that the only thing my sleep numbed mind remembered from the conversation was a coffee-centric remark. ‘And you know what, kiddo? They really have the very best coffee here’. I happily remembered how good he sounded and the incredibly positive vibe of that conversation when I woke up.

You know how mornings are all to peaceful, all too forcefully forgetful sometimes?

I don’t think I understood where that tear came from at first.

But, our minds are a bit more cruel than that space between sleep and wake.

Slowly, I put the question of why I didn’t remember where he was and why sadness tinted the memory of him like drops of black ink a glass of clear water together.

He might not have believed in any old place promised by any old man in any old house of gods but wherever that final trip brought him to, I now feel that he’s at peace. Now, three months since his too young ashes were returned to the water we all come from, I can let my best friend go and forgive him for abandoning me, that clumsy, wonderful, sweet bear of a dude.