Auf dieser Bühne habe ich schon barfuß getanzt.
Es ist Februar, es ist Frühling.
Es ist so warm, dass ich es gar nicht glauben kann.
They really, really listen to you, instead of just
instead of just waiting for their turn to talk
For me, people have always been places, places have always been people.
There are questions and there are decisions.
No one is made of stone.
Kitchens here are, mostly, many, my; marble, lasting, ever and for, the surfaces, the cracks and the inbetweens. Observation one: Cleaning a plate used by someone - shared with - who is now far, far away; Observation complete.
We both know the words are empty air -
I don't want to grant them the power they have, admit it. That they reduce and constrain, they constrict and refrain; refrain.
Repeat, loop; Caught up, rain, orange light, creeping in, living low; strained, sprained ankle.
Phone calls, pick up, lose thread.
Places and things.
Sometimes places leave a sour taste. And sometimes do people.
There are truths and stories to share,
There are stories to tell yourself, the type to hold onto, to jump people, give and take, a few;
There are stories to tell others, to back up the former;
got your back, back is bleeding, want me back,
a pinch of salt
risks
and lack of sense -
And the soothing, the coherent, the comprehensive, the warming kind;
let in, leave out, breathe in, breathe out.
There are people, who know how to pull the strings of others, let loose the leash, pull tight the noose.
My heart on a string and another and a ball of wool
and pulling oneself together and pulling on different ends
as one. Change the yarn. Play, piece. Turn, tune, chord. Bast, fringe.
The needle that makes my heart sing, the nylon, the diamond, comparing the stitches, still counting;
Wild thing, sunday shoes.
I do not even have to reach out. It is there, it is a pool, a well and a fountain and the act of putting them in a place, adding up. Bearded trees, overgrown pebbles, plaster, white chalk, moss and glass houses.
Mesh wire.
Liebes Wien, du hast mich geprägt und gedrückt. Du hast mich durch den Abfluss gezogen;
Mit meinem Verstand hast du geschlafen.
Ich übersetze von links nach rechts und zurück.
Die Pfeile geben die Richtung an und ich beuge mich ihnen.
Sauber bist du, geordnet, reich an großen Häusern im Sinne von hoch und breit.
Wenn ich mit dir reden wollte, wüsste ich gar nicht, wo ich anfangen soll.
So weit bist du mir weg, Fingerkuppen.
Die sich streifen.
I met people, I have seen places. I did not make them my own, they made themselves part of me.
They were put on a clothesline, pegs and clamps.
What it does to a place, when a person leaves it. What it does to people, when places leave them.
What it means, to give a place a personality. What happens, when places change. Places change people.
States and states of mind.
What I do to tell myself to others. Why I want others to keep books of me, to archive me in their drawers, between black and blue socks.
Volumes and pages filled with the sound of an air con.
Tales of wood, carved into.
The point of exposure, laying bare, being read -
When I was another, if I were another, the others made me, the others made me up and filled me,
I don't invent, I recycle; closing in, more to the point.
They loaded meaning onto my shoulders, yours -
And I will try to make a movement, which includes my arms and your upper body and enclosing it, encompassing it, with them; and it should lighten that weight. I will not put my head on your shoulder, that would ruin the effect.
On the inside I am like ______ and on the outside I am like _______ .
Not alike, askew.
Das Schreiben habe ich mir nie wirklich ruiniert, indem ich darüber nachgedacht habe.
Es hat einen Sprung gemacht.
Oder etwas untergraben.
Das heißt nicht, dass ich mich nicht trotz allem auf einer bewegbaren, wechselhaften Ebene fühle, in etwas, einem Park, wo ich oben nur Äste und Blätter sehe und Tauben, die aus Löchern kriechen, geflügelte Ratten im Geräusch von Wasser. Grün gefühltes Gras. Steine und Eidechsen.
Es ist Februar, es ist Frühling.
Es ist so warm, dass ich es gar nicht glauben kann.
They really, really listen to you, instead of just
instead of just waiting for their turn to talk
For me, people have always been places, places have always been people.
There are questions and there are decisions.
No one is made of stone.
Kitchens here are, mostly, many, my; marble, lasting, ever and for, the surfaces, the cracks and the inbetweens. Observation one: Cleaning a plate used by someone - shared with - who is now far, far away; Observation complete.
We both know the words are empty air -
I don't want to grant them the power they have, admit it. That they reduce and constrain, they constrict and refrain; refrain.
Repeat, loop; Caught up, rain, orange light, creeping in, living low; strained, sprained ankle.
Phone calls, pick up, lose thread.
Places and things.
Sometimes places leave a sour taste. And sometimes do people.
There are truths and stories to share,
There are stories to tell yourself, the type to hold onto, to jump people, give and take, a few;
There are stories to tell others, to back up the former;
got your back, back is bleeding, want me back,
a pinch of salt
risks
and lack of sense -
And the soothing, the coherent, the comprehensive, the warming kind;
let in, leave out, breathe in, breathe out.
There are people, who know how to pull the strings of others, let loose the leash, pull tight the noose.
My heart on a string and another and a ball of wool
and pulling oneself together and pulling on different ends
as one. Change the yarn. Play, piece. Turn, tune, chord. Bast, fringe.
The needle that makes my heart sing, the nylon, the diamond, comparing the stitches, still counting;
Wild thing, sunday shoes.
I do not even have to reach out. It is there, it is a pool, a well and a fountain and the act of putting them in a place, adding up. Bearded trees, overgrown pebbles, plaster, white chalk, moss and glass houses.
Mesh wire.
Liebes Wien, du hast mich geprägt und gedrückt. Du hast mich durch den Abfluss gezogen;
Mit meinem Verstand hast du geschlafen.
Ich übersetze von links nach rechts und zurück.
Die Pfeile geben die Richtung an und ich beuge mich ihnen.
Sauber bist du, geordnet, reich an großen Häusern im Sinne von hoch und breit.
Wenn ich mit dir reden wollte, wüsste ich gar nicht, wo ich anfangen soll.
So weit bist du mir weg, Fingerkuppen.
Die sich streifen.
I met people, I have seen places. I did not make them my own, they made themselves part of me.
They were put on a clothesline, pegs and clamps.
What it does to a place, when a person leaves it. What it does to people, when places leave them.
What it means, to give a place a personality. What happens, when places change. Places change people.
States and states of mind.
What I do to tell myself to others. Why I want others to keep books of me, to archive me in their drawers, between black and blue socks.
Volumes and pages filled with the sound of an air con.
Tales of wood, carved into.
The point of exposure, laying bare, being read -
When I was another, if I were another, the others made me, the others made me up and filled me,
I don't invent, I recycle; closing in, more to the point.
They loaded meaning onto my shoulders, yours -
And I will try to make a movement, which includes my arms and your upper body and enclosing it, encompassing it, with them; and it should lighten that weight. I will not put my head on your shoulder, that would ruin the effect.
On the inside I am like ______ and on the outside I am like _______ .
Not alike, askew.
Das Schreiben habe ich mir nie wirklich ruiniert, indem ich darüber nachgedacht habe.
Es hat einen Sprung gemacht.
Oder etwas untergraben.
Das heißt nicht, dass ich mich nicht trotz allem auf einer bewegbaren, wechselhaften Ebene fühle, in etwas, einem Park, wo ich oben nur Äste und Blätter sehe und Tauben, die aus Löchern kriechen, geflügelte Ratten im Geräusch von Wasser. Grün gefühltes Gras. Steine und Eidechsen.
