Wednesday, December 22, 2004

My Name In The Snow

When I was about 9 years old I had a crush on a beautiful tinted boy. I thought he was an Indian, and I thought of his bike as an iron horse. We were two children in the snow.
One day he asked me or I could guess who he loved forever and ever, and I answered 'no.'
Then he wrote my name in the snow and biked away.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Sometimes I like to paint

Painting by me. Oil On Canvas.

Painting Posted by Hello

Time Out

A Moving Poem.

If time is passing, time has passed… Time is something we can’t get…
Time is flying, soaring, crawling…..
Time is a beetle with golden wings on a branch; a song in the sky; a sound on an attic, a shadow casting on a wall; a window with closed curtains… Someone said time doesn’t exist…That time is always now, never past or future…
I have no time, cause time is running. I am running out of time…
I’m losing it. Losing time… I’m leaving me…
I had some red and yellow time. I had some purple time. A sun – it was a star of time. Time is an agreement, a cloud in a sky, a sky around a cloud, a bird captured in a moment, a life… an explosion. Time is exterminating time…
Time is annihilating us and we are killing time…
If nothing would be in motion… If nothing moved…
Time’s up…..

Time out.

A Monstrous Category 4

I was in the living room when my life collapsed around me. No one but me noticed it happening. It started with a whirlwind inside me. Soon the children were playing hide and seek in a merry-go-round that couldn’t stop rotating. My husband walked in circles. He talked about himself and his mouth steamed nothing but clouds. I couldn’t take it any longer. I launched myself into the sky and kept falling until I was the rigid eye of a violent hurricane. The very next moment I increased into a monstrous category 4.

I didn't make my first stop, yet.

My Father Was A Man In A Box

My mother had a box made of papier-mâché with love letters written by my father. No one was allowed to read these letters after he had left. I kept asking for it but my mother kept the letters for herself. She opened the box several times a week and next she examined the letters and sobbed. I never knew my father. My father was a man in a box.

A Smoldering Shooting Star

When I looked outside my window a huge blizzard was infuriating the coast of Holland. I had to go outside to feel the misery of my life. When I opened the front door the wind speed choked me. Unexpectedly I fell into the sky through rain and gloomy clouds. I didn’t see a seagull. All birds where hiding under the surface of the North Sea for some reason. I kept falling into heavens. I fell beyond the atmosphere of planet Earth and couldn’t breathe. I fell into the frost of the universe and couldn’t move. I left a bright streak of light behind me when I kept falling, falling, falling... like a smoldering shooting star. I tried so bad to fall out of love…

I let the characters in my stories suffer

People say I write cruel stories and I do agree. I write about the people who say things like this to me. I just write about people in common. People like you. I write frequently on my new novel but someone I know believes writing is a way to run from reality. I have to run from reality. Reality is vicious. But the book I am writing scares the hell out of me because I see who I really am. I am vicious too. I let the characters in my stories suffer. I feel sorry for them sometimes. I cry for them and next I let them suffer even more. Then I stop writing for awhile to find out any story is better than my daily life. My daily life is more vicious than anything else. I really don’t know where I am today. I am a problem to myself lately. I like to hang out at the internet. I have a secret lover in one of my stories. Some time ago I'd found out my whole life is a story because my secret lover said something like it in this story. This bugs me. Therefore I try to live in a virtual world. Everyone is a virtual beings to me and if you invite me to your Blog I am aware of the fact you think you believe you have a Blog but you don’t have a Blog at all. All you have are words and an internet connection. This morning I woke up and I thought ‘I think I don’t exist.’ I hope I think differently tomorrow.