who’s nearby: a ghost called till & the spirit of white christmas
music: franco battiato – sequenze e frequenze
gut feeling: asian duck, sweet almonds and a bubbly soft drink (500ml)
the heart is spinning and in the first snow it is slowly growing stone cold. what can I say. tis my creative duty to write down all the thoughts I had in the diner an hour ago and put them together to something agreeable. after that maybe me count the money that be left for december and new year.. and then count prime numbers until spleep arrives.
location: nothing’s changed
who’s nearby: no one
music: Wim Mertens – Bresque
gut feeling: I don’t understand. – Try to. – Why? – Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. It’s the new sexy.
1. what do you do when someone says the most wonderful’n deep things to you and then hurts you with mere detachement? did I miss something? anybody got an advice? today in the shower I scrubbed everything off me, long and extensively. after that I felt pure. but it did not last. all fucking quiet on the western front.
2. I met Alex this evening and it felt wonderful to see him again. had been for quite some years I think. he’s a good looking bloke, his hairstyle rather 1920s, just the berlin way, and his tan golden like honey from the last trip to southeast asia. and while he chatted, drinking his tea with rum, he casually mentioned his days at boarding home. I already knew his father had outcast him when A came out of the closet at the age of ca. 20 and revealed his immunodeficiency. But it left me speechless to hear that during the years at this school he was permanently being abused by some minder(s). “I mean, my father and my mother had to realize that something was wrong at one point. I had to be taken to the hospital. testicles don’t fall off like that, right? so I begged my mother not to take me back to boarding school but she just said: that’s not up to me. you going to have to talk to your dad.” decades later they still don’t talk about it. A is 40+ now and the sharade is killing him.
after a few hours of half-serious talk he said goodbye and headed to his hartz IV- flat in west berlin. “gonna take a long walk, perhaps. otherwise I’ll be home too early and won’t know what to do with myself.”
I really wanted to hug him then.
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