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Only a memory. That's what I am.

Silence has fallen
And my burned out inner self
Has been plunged into
Complete darkness
And not so long ago
The spark of my stray soul
Used to glow in
Thousands of irrational colors



I always said that it was impossible to live and be aware, that is how ‘we’ began but ‘we’ need more. The further forwards ‘we’ went, the more ‘we’ needed to imagine other landscapes, other conquests. I’m blind on earth but I know the way, the same gestures repeated over and over daily, I know all the tastes, the artificial flavors, I’m capable of not breathing. My hand don’t grope, I know the way and I invented new turns, other landscapes, the further forward I go, the more I must leave my habits behind. So I imagine that things are not what they seem, that my life is changing, that boredom wears off. A hole under my foot appears that I never felt. I can keep on walking because I want more, always more. Nothing serious can ever happen. If I suffer, I could die and suffering will not last. I had to stop my thoughts at night to sleep even though I can sleep, thinking of money even though I can work or do anything I want. I had to feel fear to live. But why should I go further in this erroneous dream? The people are blurry, the sea is unchained, I find nothing real. Neither that which is striking, nor that which troubles in this aimless mixture where even violence has gone soft. The hard water no longer rips up the dust and truth hides, hides to die as an arbitrary shape in all the glasses of the world, all the seas. The day is running out of breath, and the night, the tide trash builds up in front of my door. Dead time like the blades of a helicopter going up and down, up and down. I wait day and night, the rising tide in front of my open door. My feet never get wet, dirty, neither does my head or my heart.

I always had too much memory.

I can describe in detail places, the weather, the mood of 20 years ago.
My friends are surprised, they who can hardly even remember the very special events in their lives. Details invade me, I go over and over it all.
My friends slowly tire of all my regrets; I am not good company. Especially because for some time, the shadow that follows me is not mine. It is much smaller and lighter and sometimes I can hear it whispering, laughing, telling stories or even whine a bit when I move too fast and it is tired. I really believe that I recognize this shadow. I talk with it and only it pleases me. I get the feeling the world is slowly moving away and soon it will only be my shadow friend and me.
There will come a day when I will no longer be able to stand, we think that day will never come but it is not always because of old age. Far from the pack, my words will glide over the smooth bodies of others, we will no longer understand each other and I will already be long gone. In the crowd which I never liked, I will feel even less apt at elbowing out a place for myself. I'll slide down the slope. In the wind, under the tree, it is ashes that will flow over my hands. The screens of the world will show films in an unknown dialect, the images will be unfamiliar to me and emotionally empty. No tears in my eyes which no longer want to see neither beauty nor ugliness, neither the insipid nor tragedy, nothing will ever resemble what I loved because I will love no more.

I am a veil between tomorrow and yesterday, a changing image, I do not exist. In my dreams I foresee what I lost, something that I never had, something that was never like an immutable body, a fragment of eternity, a tireless summer. I am only passing by, I carry in me the death of every moment, I do not really exist.

This space is dedicated to the spirit of seabluedreaming

Changing changes, non-stop moving in non-existent matter of matters … my own thoughts ad absurdum within days. Inside turned out and no more outside let in. Emotions shut down behind closed doors. The inside resolved in it's own acid poisoned images and feelings.

Silence has fallen upon my burned out inner self
I am tired of tiresome words
Let there be silence

It's a prediction. Or a feel?! I closed this book and my collection of empty pages, I wanted to find the atmosphere of a warm painting. Dark colors with a single source of light in the middle, one man, seen from behind. Everything reinvented differently, neither overpopulation nor clans. Individuality the mistress of each row, red, the white hole.
The shadow glides gently. I forget about time and let go. My hand is cold like the first day. The first feeling of tranquility and of suffering. It's time to sleep and let be carried and to die a bit while sleeping. The shadow slides over my hand which is almost cold now, it is time to die. In a year I will come back, the air will be warm and the weather clear, I will go dream by the water. Faded out and born again. Only a memory, that's what I am.





I saw another moon in the sky. I tried to imagine this moment. It was a moment my mind will always chase to ease the storm that plagues me. When silence has tied me up so tight that I can’t breathe, with blackness so vast upon me, heavy on my mind, when I am lead through my own nightmare, a vision of terror right before my eyes, this moon was a torch that would ever burn and give me light as I closed my eyes. I still believe that the moon and I were meant to be one. Each dawn I die a bit more when I know you are gone. Wandering pale under cold skies fading grey, my shadows slowly closing me in, I want to sacrifice all I am for a last moment.

There is always someone else talking in my head. I find myself thinking over and over again - the same. Crucified emotions struggle to survive in a world of confusion. Distance is innocense. Monuments of obstacles. Wings of stone. Victimized innocent. I whisper gently: It's deceiving, but that's all right. Fools are not to blame.

I get a funny feeling,
It comes from deep inside.
I get all mad and angry.
Wanting to go and hide.

My doctor calls it depression,
My friends say it's just me.
But the thoughts and feelings,
No one will ever be able to see.

Some say I'm psycho,
Some say I'm just weird.
It's like I'm a different person,
And the old me just disappeared.

I get really edgy,
I want to commit suicide real bad.
Then I get a headache,
Followed by feeling sad.

I wish I could get help,
I wish it would go away.
Maybe if I keep looking in me real hard,
It will some day.






I cannot stand still: time is dying,
I am dying: Time is farewell!

Restless I wander through the landscapes of my mind like a dead leaf carried on a gale. Black emptiness surrounds me. A chill drips silently. Everything becomes a naked experience in a world that is addicted to fiction. Collective insanity, anxious, boredom at unease, identity lost in pseudoneeds - produced labels; Never Enough fuels the engine of shallow satisfaction. Profit the only blind aim pursued with absolute ruthlessness. The masses are the mirror reflection of the One - behind bars; the lifeless objects to be used, then discarded and finally disposed on the landfills of greed and power - the lawmakers. Hungry ghosts label, price and consume the pieces of dead meat from the shelves of corporation - corruption. Loneliness has filled me. Robbed of my imagination, my creativity, my ability to think and act for myself, I want to stop the waiting for nothing. With no home and no exit in sight, knowing it’s just an illusion, I wander with the masses in pain to find … find!? … My spirit is calling; and my soul is crying; and my shadow is weeping. But one day when hopes or fears passed, I close my eyes and after the dark, I know, the earth will take me back, and knead and shape me into something else - a tree, a bird, or even a cloud - but please not into me again.

The absence of unhappiness doesn't mean happiness

The absence of suffering doesn't mean well-being

Not to judge doesn’t mean to have compassion

Not to hate doesn’t mean to love

To be free from desire doesn’t mean to be needless

Thinking to be doesn’t mean being

The sun, the clouds, water, birds and insects have a purpose. What is mine?,

Tick tock

tick tock

Tick tock - time is fleeting, time is passing by. I am only passing by. Only a fleeting image is what I am. I know I am but don’t know why.

Trouble

Trouble

Trouble

That’s what they say. They say that I should fear this and that. I hear the church bells and don’t know what they are calling upon on. The true God of eternity? Trouble they say. You are in trouble. They say that they are my friends and want to help me. But I know they lie. I only see emptiness in their souls, darkness, like a cold grave. They have hateful minds and are trying to pass on their hallucinations. We are in trouble. Distorted bells sound for God. But what does it all mean?

What does it all mean?

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My tribute to Dresden this weekend, February 13th/14th