Categories
Rant

Ich hasse mein Gehirn

My brain is the source of all my suffering. I hate it. I hate its unreliability. I hate how I never remember where I’ve left my things. I hate how I don’t do stuff in time and when I finally get to whatever it is I had to do I’ve forgotten essential things about it. I have to put away my socks but I delay the chore until only one sock can be found. I hate how I always get distracted.

I hate how my brain wishes so fervently somebody wished I was there. I hate the sensation of sheer loneliness that envelopes it. I hate its yearning for certain comforting words. I hate all the bad decisions it’s taken, starting with “I can do that later” or “this will be easy to find if I put it here.” Everything I put away in a safe place is gone.

Categories
Rant

Not a Writer

So I’ve decided that I’m not becoming a writer after all. Does this happen to everybody? Who perseveres, and why?

I’m not becoming a writer but I’m still writing. What’s the difference? This effortless ranting does not qualify to be read by anyone but me when I’m older. I do like to write, but I don’t think I have the spirit. I’m not even sophisticate enough.

To think that 10 years ago I considered myself an artist! Now I think I’m just… someone with too many hobbies.

Categories
Poetry

Light

Love that cannot be
Is also love,
Trapped in the heart
Like a firefly in a glass jar.
In the night,
Under the covers,
You unveil it—
And it lights up the bed
(Your personal treasure cave)
With a faint blue tinge
Of bittersweet
Resignation.

Categories
Fiction

Corpse

She held the corpse of love in her arms and kept asking it angrily to talk to her. Her fingernails tore its purplish skin and dug into a horrid mass of congealed misshapen memories. She touched it everywhere looking for the faintest bit of warmth, but whatever glimpse of hope she had was set on what she had transferred to it, wasted on it.

She somehow knew that she had to give up on it, but how do you dispose of something so superb when it still looks as if it were looking at you?

Looking at you, looking through you, a pair of jelly balls that should be projecting an image of you but are just losing water.