Air - All I Need
(To remember this. From the first downwards. Opening.
It must come.
It moves, finds its own place. All sadness, smiling into flow. Small stream of what is.
Moody tones of new sunlight. Moving past; desert-born winds. Opens its arm around who i was, some time, some other time, and now still. It tells me who i will become. As i remember, and find back, and find back. And never fight back.
It knows me. We tumble on. I do not mind the sand it brings.
What we became; i so remember. Like the first summer i ever saw. It would tell me how all others were but follow-ups, trying to be. As much as. The first. Painting a palimpsest of green-feet blue. All cataclysms of one root.
As i was once. A different same. And needed so. To find me in here. And did.
As i was once. Me. And did not know if this would ever change. And yet the song. We were there. Ready to listen to. With eyes closed. Ready to touch. With hands near. Only the music. Low-angled shadows. Windows shining in through unbreakable yellow. And how i hoped to find. How i hoped to find. And knew the time would come, and stay. As i was once.
As i am still.
Along the blur of long-past midday.
A slow-falling afternoon, a non-descript day. It could be any day, but it can only be this one. Suspended, i would say. Suspended in the windless streets, the neverblown rooms. Hanging in the foothill of heat; a night that will never come. The simple melancholy moves.
There's the repeat. But only to take along with it. The streams no day can bear. The streams no day can bare. I move my feet so. In the shallow waters that tell. That this is right.
That this is how it should be. And that.
It will stay with me.)
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
post 300
We get only so few shots at happiness. So few, in fact, that it seems strange we can ever get happy at all. Still, so many seem to succeed. So many seem to fail. But what it all comes down to, is the possibility of the moment, and the courage, oh so often the courage, to step up and move in the way the world does.
There are times when we are thankful for what rain falls on us. There are times when wind cuts our face and we believe it is happening only to us. In either case, we thank or curse a God, or the absence of a God. And smile or cry, and move on.
We are such frail and fragile creatures, that it is almost impossible to believe we still feel the urge to cut each other short of breath. We need so much space, and at the same time curl up inside ourselves so deeply that we contradict the very essence of location and space with our own thoughts.
And all of us - all of us - want the same thing. To feel in a way we cannot describe with words. We can only point at by-products, at symptoms of this state of happiness, of the things that cause them, but never the feeling itself. This, one scholar might argue, is exactly one of the reasons why we should feel happy about it. Another scholar, one from a more so-called 'exact' science, would find fault in this argument, and see the lack of definition as a lack of consolidation, and replace it with a fear that it might all be one giant mistake by the universe, tricking us, luring us into unknown territory. Thing is, both scholars still want the same thing.
We get only so few shots at happiness. A smile from a random girl at the other side of the street. Helping an old man pick up his groceries for no reason but to help him. Deep, true sunlight seeping through eyelashes and into your head. All of them brief flickers, all of them volatile, staying only in memory, making us crave for more. But without these shots, all would be lost. The desolate world would become nothing but a haven for those who had abandoned all hope in the first place, and would now see their certainties - which are, in truth, fears - confirmed. Brief flickers, short dashes, glimpses, soft, tuneless winds on a mirror of water, are all we have. And they might still feel as enough. If one can see them.
Most of this will become apparent only through hindsight, that crack in time that always leaves the door open to see but the threshold too high to cross.
Only so few shots at happiness. And still we throw them away more often than not. That we keep our lies to ourselves is worse enough, but keeping our truths to ourselves is unbearable. We smile in silence in hope of salvation out of the other's mouth, as the other awaits for salvation as well. And thus we all wait, and end up waiting alone. To die, to sleep -- no more?
Why then, why two hands if we do not reach? Why thousands of words if we do not speak? Why knowing all what is going on inside ourselves, why feeling all that we feel, if we do not act like these indisputable verities? Why don't we ever burst open with all that has been there, and will be there, and has been there? Why don't we, if all that we have, are but a few shots of happiness?
There are times when we are thankful for what rain falls on us. There are times when wind cuts our face and we believe it is happening only to us. In either case, we thank or curse a God, or the absence of a God. And smile or cry, and move on.
We are such frail and fragile creatures, that it is almost impossible to believe we still feel the urge to cut each other short of breath. We need so much space, and at the same time curl up inside ourselves so deeply that we contradict the very essence of location and space with our own thoughts.
And all of us - all of us - want the same thing. To feel in a way we cannot describe with words. We can only point at by-products, at symptoms of this state of happiness, of the things that cause them, but never the feeling itself. This, one scholar might argue, is exactly one of the reasons why we should feel happy about it. Another scholar, one from a more so-called 'exact' science, would find fault in this argument, and see the lack of definition as a lack of consolidation, and replace it with a fear that it might all be one giant mistake by the universe, tricking us, luring us into unknown territory. Thing is, both scholars still want the same thing.
We get only so few shots at happiness. A smile from a random girl at the other side of the street. Helping an old man pick up his groceries for no reason but to help him. Deep, true sunlight seeping through eyelashes and into your head. All of them brief flickers, all of them volatile, staying only in memory, making us crave for more. But without these shots, all would be lost. The desolate world would become nothing but a haven for those who had abandoned all hope in the first place, and would now see their certainties - which are, in truth, fears - confirmed. Brief flickers, short dashes, glimpses, soft, tuneless winds on a mirror of water, are all we have. And they might still feel as enough. If one can see them.
Most of this will become apparent only through hindsight, that crack in time that always leaves the door open to see but the threshold too high to cross.
Only so few shots at happiness. And still we throw them away more often than not. That we keep our lies to ourselves is worse enough, but keeping our truths to ourselves is unbearable. We smile in silence in hope of salvation out of the other's mouth, as the other awaits for salvation as well. And thus we all wait, and end up waiting alone. To die, to sleep -- no more?
Why then, why two hands if we do not reach? Why thousands of words if we do not speak? Why knowing all what is going on inside ourselves, why feeling all that we feel, if we do not act like these indisputable verities? Why don't we ever burst open with all that has been there, and will be there, and has been there? Why don't we, if all that we have, are but a few shots of happiness?
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
and here it ends again. no, forget that. here it begins--
happiness # 57:
over the past year i've written 13 happiness-posts. this means there was, on average, at least one thing every month to be happy about.
and i had a spare.
moreover, it's been a year since i last wrote a 'sadness'-post. which is nice.
sadness # 8:
all that passes
song of the day:
Eels - Fresh Feeling
nice words # 11:
cataclysm
nice cd cover #14:
Moby - Wait for Me (deluxe edition)
over the past year i've written 13 happiness-posts. this means there was, on average, at least one thing every month to be happy about.
and i had a spare.
moreover, it's been a year since i last wrote a 'sadness'-post. which is nice.
sadness # 8:
all that passes
song of the day:
Eels - Fresh Feeling
nice words # 11:
cataclysm
nice cd cover #14:
Moby - Wait for Me (deluxe edition)
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
