Objects are closer than they appear. A rearview mirror is a funny thing. Blinding when the sunlight hits the glass just so. A shadow of what you have left behind and a warning of what is yet to come, also. The angle depends on your setting. Your setting depends on your general situation. As does […]Read more "Rearview"
She’s in a different time zone, you say? What does it matter, I love her both night and day. She’s in a different career, different phase, different world? Have you ever seen a dessert that didn’t look more enticing swirled? But the age, the nationality, the different upbringing? I know what’ll drown out that noise: […]Read more "Alex"
Hotter than hell is the furnace in which church bells are made. The knell tolls, a wedding is announced, and at the beginning there’s always fire. Oh, when I used to think my life was too cushy to ever be great. My constitution has weakened, the liver is beaten, the situation is dire. Flower petals […]Read more "Funeral march"
I landed in Istanbul at around 4 am. Having flown business class and no other flight arriving at the same time, I got through the security check that led me to the transfer gates in mere minutes. I would have a little over three hours before the flight to Berlin. How to kill those three […]Read more "Transfer"
The fascination of what might yet come… and in the background, the constant beating of a drum. Luxembourg has equipped me with the desire to understand the entire world, every language, every culture, every opinion. I may not rest until that desire has been satisfied. And yet, such an endeavour seems quite the opposite of […]Read more "Unrealized potential or education in Luxembourg"
I held on to my pen. As I always did. As had been my modus operandi since primary school. As required by my crippling fear of losing control. The veins on the back of my hand were pulsating. The skin on the palm of my hand turned whiter than snow; whiter than was the norm. […]Read more "Bebelplatz"
Why do I wear my heart on my sleeve for daws to peck at, you ask? Well, there’s no room in my chest, for there is the crows’ nest. To feed the young ones, how about nerves and and the occasional tendon? My eyes are so glassy, they’d be a window to – yes, what? […]Read more "Macabre"