a2016

publishing date: 15.01.2016

Aino:

It was not a surprise for me that my mind would, prior to anything else, deliver a start like:
‘It was rising up to the sky as I bent down to eat it with my eyes, and it got even bigger as I started licking it and gently sucking it. It got so big that I got a little worried but… ‘
I would sensor that start and decide to take a little distance from the carnal and decided to go for a more…well, if not appropriate then more reflected version of the monument(al).
The next idea came to me in form of a tiny insect running on the floor of my bathroom and making it look huge. I wanted to compare two things: one tiny and the other one massive. I wanted to advance slowly in the description so that the tension would build up gradually, but so steadily that it was even cruel in it’s preciseness and logic. I would continue without revealing any other characteristic except of the exponential nature of the growth, until one would start feeling panic. Then I could just walk away from it, leaving it all open, but having very well explained the algorithm that had already from the start been ticking a catastrophe.
I abandoned that approach too, because I realized that I would need to define the characters at least a little bit. Why would anyone care about the proportions and the scale, if they could not relate with a feeling to what it actually was, that was gaining so much size over the other?
I decided that I should get myself out of the way of the experience. I asked my ego to leave me to go alone, so I could see properly without comparing or dramatizing anything.
It had been there right from the start. The monument.
It had been there forever I think, as it didn’t look like anything that anyone could have built. It was standing in the desert, on a galaxy of stones, and it consisted of pure light.
Nothing else could ever exist there. It shape was carved in the air and it attracted particles. Each particle had the ability to store light for a specific amount of time. The particles would get vacuumed, one after the other to occupy a position in the structure until they ran out of their glow, and then would automatically get released to the freedom again.
The monument was glowing when the night fell, rebuilding itself constantly out of the miniature individual particles that formed its body. It was breathing light. I observed the colourful gradient that displayed in front of my eyes and was constantly changing value. It looked miraculously beautiful in contrast to the dark blue velvet of the night sky that was dotted with stars.
I understood that visiting the monument meant becoming it. The sky had started changing the colour and from the dark night became dawn when I noticed a glowing mist all around me. I lifted up my hands and saw how tiny little particles were evaporating from my skin. They formed a shiny cloud of dust floating in the air, forming spirals like smoke. They moved very slowly first, then a little bit faster, and when they approached the light of the monument they suddenly disappeared. I was unable to witness that part of my journey.

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Monument

Sabrina:

Solid as a rock.

'I want to induce, as I am moving. I have contemplated on the options, working with the possessions that I carried along, summing them up and creating a whole effect in parallel.
Objects and situations have lost their effect simply in detail by superficiality, thou changed in their totality, they display a great heaping impact.'

They are progressing with a calmness like no other. As if the time and the number of things that could be done, do not exist. These breeze-less movements explore the area. More will not be disclosed, not a little thing, any millimeter or even smaller. You are able to rotate and stretch like something that is spit out. It begs the question as if they still have time to explore the total or only a granular part. Instead it is me that directs this question. Why should they? Why should I? It is the ease without destroying that impresses me the most.

Sabrina:

Evian spelled backwards.
He swayed slightly on his feet while whispering into her ears. His left hand moves from her neck up through her hair, pulling each single hair, causing goosebumps on her right arm. Many times.
She loves to solve it all, riddles, relationships, knots, problems, a broken picture frame, a wooden chair with one leg left rotting outside in the rain, the world plastic issue by fitting bananas and all other grocery into one thin transparent rolled up free of charge plastic bag at the vegetable display or the double sided tape that relentlessly got stuck to the scissors that were meant to only cut fabric. As long as it has nothing to do with herself or anything that dangles behind her suitcase. Both his hands hold her head, carefully, when she has to admit that there is no sky like this dutch sky.

Solve

publishing date: 15.02.2016

Aino:

zic..zac...zic...zac...zicazac
zic...zac...zic...zic.zac
zic.zac.zic.zac.zicazicazac
zic...zic...zic
zacazizicazizicazizicazi...zah
ziczica ziczicazac sickattack
zakzica
zikzicazikzikzika...sic
akasic akasic akasicsicsicsicsicsic
sickkk sickkk...zack

Spot the hidden virus carrier heading east.

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Aino:

A new theory about the birth of the universe was spreading rapidly: The universe had taken its shape after a galactic cat had vomited a double egg from its mouth. It had then split into the planet earth and space.

Many people, not only cat lovers adopted the idea, integrated it as truth and spread it as much as they could. Not all of them believed in it, but it seemed like a theory that children would like to learn at school, and it seemed to advance world peace, or what still remained of it.

It were violent times. There were the ones who killed brutally by hands and terrorized innocent people by exploding their bodies in public spaces. There were also the closet killers who wanted to keep a distance with everything, especially with their victims.

The cat became famous fast. It was smiling on t-shirts, on mouse pads and on paper mugs. People tattooed it on their skin. Some dressed up as the cat when they went to a party, and kids were forming long lines while waiting to hug it in the shopping mall. The cat was made into a film, and the film sold more that any other film made that year, and everyone could sing the soundtrack.

The cat didn’t manage to prevent a war. For some years the waters of the planet turned red. But both killer groups ended up loving the cat. Both groups made it their mascot, without knowing from each other. The butchers placed a massive jungle knife in its hand, and the geeks made it wear 3d glasses. They kept fighting for some years until there was nothing left to loose.

Sabrina:

Two heads are bent closely above a small rocky table, whispering in each other's ears,
his head moves away from her, swinging, similar to a muscle contraction he can not control.
But that was quite a while ago.

Dizygotic?
Something that missed out on a possible symbiosis?
Something that works perfectly in parallel.

I am sure if I would flaunt my sweater he would want to grab underneath it and a feeling rises within me like water up to my ankles. I swim with the birds, dance on the bottom layer and reappear.
I bite the loose skin on my red lipstick lips and hear him breath persistently
while he climbs from one room into the next, a castle, it seems endless, so I wait.

She just so changed her bar stool and since everything is more radiant in reality,
he is able to apprehend how everything just happens to him.
The kiss was a waist of time, their tongues would move monotonously without any clue of rhythm. The air is smokey and he sits perceptively and in an undiscerning manner on the couch that barely shows any of the colour it use to have. Musing about the particleboards (more I can not reveal), while she is hankering for passion by changing to another bar stool once again. He had told her that all words are feminine as hell to him, but I guess she simply got consumed by the structures of apparent randomness.
No, she was unqualified.

Intermezzo:
A happy yellow face.
A (blue) thumb.
Blushing cheeks and two gibbous moons on their belly.
He admits: 'You are beautifully tired', when she replies: 'and you are one of the two.'

I declare it's clear as mud, but you continue to walk on soft tarmac. So I describe the sky as beamingly clear, matching a recently cleaned metallic surface of a fitted kitchen, while the sun leaves me shivering every 5 min. Modelling clay or your soothing hand descending into a bag of dried beans, are two totally different things and I should shut the hatch of my cloud, but then again disagreement is especially delightful.
As you go on wheels through the supermarket I pursue not to move, alike fragile clay fresh out of the oven.

He noticed the puddle on the road together with the first fine rays coming from the hot sun, making the air slightly opaque. It looks pretty happy, he assumes.
I can hear the sparrows smacking, not for the first time and the windmill is chasing them leftwards. I reach for the glue for broken hearts.

He remains within the car with only a flashing red light.
' The arts my dear tend to go faster then nature.'

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Zweieiig / Dizygotic

publishing date: 15.03.2016

Zeit

publishing date: 15.04.2016

Aino:

They had been staring each other for an eternity,
and their eyes that were each others pair,
Had not blinked even once.
Seemingly nothing was happening,
but obviously
there was happening something.

It was not a staring contest nor minimalism,
but a deliberate action
combined to the natural attraction
that took place as things and beings do,
without even noticing.

It existed, like anything else exits,
and it sure had its own dimension.
On it’s sound track you could hear howling.
They were the particles of the matter
that got pushed out of the way
as meterorites shot through the dark reproducing universe.

Sabrina:

There he sits, up on the crumbling chimney, with his thin pin-legs
he is squeaking with such an effort, like his life would depend on it, which isn't far fetched.
The first sunbeams were present before I noticed them
they are pushing through the cloud, similar to a sting through the mattress.
Thou I mentioned this sky plenty of times.
He takes my hand and does not let it off, briefly.

A voluminous sound arrives with a denuded force
Vigorous and determined to reach the other side of the river.
The echo is forgotten, after the first charge reached the waves.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Any heartbeat would adjust to this mastery of precision, simply giving up your existence,
or rather sharing the certainty of the next resonance.
The vibration is so punctual, it makes the very last chime a mistake.
If he had known this was the last beat, he would have made it peal most sublime. I am certain.

Five.

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Aino:

It was a kind of a night that a rapper would struggle to get words around.
37 degrees Celsius,
a Blend of body fluids of different viscosities and their microchemical cosmos.
champagne and gifts wrapped in pretty paper were for other people.

A heavenly high, type: one that unlocks all doors.
Room bathing in the colors of the new logo of Instagram.
The burning incense injecting smoke in the air filled with gasps.
A sequence of explosive and implosive orgasms creating a pattern
that someone somewhere might understand.
Genes being wasted in abundance.

One who never ran out of ideas.
An other one who loved to get her belly filled with external erectile tissue in order to perceive her own hidden one.
The rush hour on the neural pathway.
A jam nervously waiting to get unstuck.
High speed lanes leading to the treasure chambers of the brain.
From a sober dusk till the drunken dawn.

Sabrina:

She moves in circles alike the ballerina in a wooden music box,
the numb glitter around her shoulders is sparkling towards the ceiling or any other direction.
The zombies are out
her own is hiding under the glitter, as if no one would notice.
Assuming she would resemble an ant, she would be stuck under a leaf, for the mushroom to survive
But she is walking in circles instead, repeating herself while the rhythm creates any continuation
'No need to maintain, tell, reveal, express, render or rap this again and again'.

She got no imbued acre to dig up, but rather enough time to lay with a half awaken head under the white blankets. Her belly aches and still does.

She declares herself queen of the empty acres.

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publishing date: 15.05.2016

voller Magen (full stomach)

Sabrina:

The walls are reaching high, made of orange bricks, covered with wheels,
the fine music crawls up the rickety stairs and the carpets are just soft.

She is laying on that compliant golden corduroy couch,
around her all these moments.

Blowing through each others minds like a vivacious lightning 'how could I have known'
The radiation of trust, the welcoming care, like a sliding blind pass over the blue line.
The joyful rapper bracketing away, from lawns to churches
A verbal whirlwind that knows who teaches swing in this town
Most charming compliments that only a Swedish girl could misunderstand
A sardine that swims with hands and feet
The bastion of calm, out of the blue that holds you tight
The endless room, at the end a tree, is empty and filled with the most beautiful music.
Possibly something great will be purchased after she left.

The taxi drives towards the growing sun, her flip-flops still glued to the dance-floor,
she walks up 5240 and opens the door, a smell of defined koffie is saturating the air,
from far a French birthday song is recited while she passes by an abstract drawing of a tropical island. Hermann the lobster is spreading his wings on the kitchen table,
he is just very straight forward.
She pushes through the pile of cat hair towards the balcony, deciding to take some home in her suitcase to make her own cat. Just as she is walking barefoot over rummykub stones spread systematically on the floor, the eager popcorn hit the bottom of the checkered pillow.
She loves her car subscriptions and anything that relates to these trips. These junctures, even if its simply the very first Poutin, make her heart grow, it is aching a bit, maybe a little bit more then that. The sodden green of a mountain can indeed make you feel small,
saying to herself,'thank you for letting me see your new home, so I can still relate to your life.'

She is closing the sketchbook and all sit down to a magnificently made meal,
made with so much dedication, like music in your mouth.

Aino:

There were no words for those feelings.

There was a List of code that one could Click on to get a more detailed Description of the biochemical states of the human body, by simply clicking on the code.

The parents received the file on their second visit to the clinic after having signed a
contract that entitled them to the full assistance of the professional team in producing and raising their offspring. Most of them signed the paper without reading the last paragraph that said that the contract was binding until death.

Many parents who visited the clinic were of the worrying type and they thought that
making your own child without assistance or the additional selection procedure, as the choosing of qualities was called, was irresponsible in its randomness. they wanted their children to be beautiful so they could Love them more, and guarantee them a successful life. The support of the Professional team that would Continue in Form of counseling after the birth reassured them.

Couples were going through the lists together, and they were very exited after having watched the introduction video and were finally allowed to start selecting the qualities they wanted their children to have. Some of the couples wanted to visit the equipment
store that was on another file first, and only after having made decisions there were feeling ready to start creating their babies.

Emerald green eyes were the best seller of the month. The gene had been extracted
from a black panther in south India that had been thought extinct since years but had
then reappeared. They were selected for male, female and non-gender babies in equal
amounts.

The Director of the clinic believed that the parents would Love their children even more when they could take actively part in the selection procedure.He believed in a careful and controlled reproduction of a dream, as he would call it, but also emphasized the importance of planning and management. 'A child is an enterprise, you have to manage it well’ he told the parents on their first visit to the clinic.

The parents loved to believe every single word he said.

Another best-seller, one that was not seasonal or sensitive to trends was the code C43H66N12012S2. More that ninety procent of the parents ordered it. It was given in the form of an injection before the baby was given to the parents for holding it for the first time. The pictures taken from these moments communicated the success of the clinic. These parents loved their Babies even more.

feeling

publishing date: 15.06.2016

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Archive 2016

Sabrina:

The push of the tip of the shoe into the gravel, moving it from left to right, drawing half
a circle, while inhaling the dust that ascends.
The path cleaned meticulously, resembling the bird of paradise tidying his dance floor for convincing purposes.
The hat protects the eyes from the sunbeams,
the shirt is in need of no sleeves and
the trousers were dirty before.
The square cloth hanging limply out of the pants back-pocket, possibly moving methodically from one hand to the other, a while later laying on the park bench, consequently back into the left hand and therefor round in to the back-pocket.
The slow and determined crouch down, with the target-line in the mind's eye.
Residing an instant, to splurge with the power of concentration.
Once more up for one of the plenty strike mannerisms

The Stork
The Plongeur
The Disinterested
The Yogi
The Grandmother
The Wizard
The Fakir (Player of the snake)
The Lazy

The position of the hand not in use and the pose of the whole body are not only determined
by the inevitable.
The short correcting glance, a keen blow into the empty fist, holding her up high as
she could resemble a diamond and the pitter-patter of the dusted shoes just before the attack. Ensuing the silence, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Lifting her up with a bit of a shake, then turning the hand, bending of the knees,
eye's screw up, tension in the other arm, exhaling once and finally releasing her with an appropriate velocity.
The metallic sound spreading over each field, the synchronous incipient movement
immediately afterwards.
One foot measuring the distance that otherwise could be spotted in seconds from far by a professional glimpse. A few trained arms are folded behind the back while the toe
establishes the winner and the long-time residents do not even need to waste any look.

The occasional laugh and alternating handshake, the carefree applauding and the rattling of some polished bullets across the square, make me spend hours on this bench.
When the sun is shining.

publishing date: 15.07.2016

battle

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Aino:

This morning the battle took place on my street.

Dad had just left the house to get bread, so I was worried about him.

My mother was telling me not to worry, that he was going to be fine, but I could not protect myself against the creepy fear of something being very wrong. I was
convinced that he would not come back and like a cold knife turning around in my stomach. My mothers eyes were black and her gaze was hard when she looked at me
without seeing me, repeating that my father would come back as soon as it would be
safe again. She was looking at me but she was talking to herself.

I felt relieved thinking of my two older brothers who had left some months ago. We
had received the news that they both had made it to Europe.

They had crossed the sea one after the other, but were together now. I hoped they
would come and get me now, as they used to get me from school when they were still
here and when my school had not got bombed down yet.

The noise of the guns and explosions was so loud that knifes entered my ears too. I
kept my eyes at the door expecting my father, and then my brothers, then my father,
then my brothers. They were not coming.

My mother was holding me in her arms and squeezed me so strongly I could barely
breathe. But I did not move. Just felt how my blood stopped circulating to my arms
and to my feet.

Finally the explosions and gunshots died out.

I cried when I opened the door and saw my father looking at me without seeing me.

He was lying in front of the door gazing at the door and he was covered in blood and soil.

I bent down to close his eyes and lied down next to him to hold him tight, because he could not hold me anymore.

Aino:

Counting...

it's an endless endeavour

I count nevertheless

not from the start
and not until the end
but something meaningless in the middle
that is endless.

The moist drops are highly saturated in chemical content

that's what she wants
more than me
she wants it
more than anything

some call them the tears of Allah

it's a hit of a name.

Counting the hits
yeah, thats what I do
and do it
while being sick of it to death

this is how it's like
to let her fly,
to see high
the woman you hate to love

she aint poppy no
shes a lover of the red flower
the flower has planted its seeds
in the center of her blue eyes.

She doesn't want to be a mother
and it's better like that.

Mutter

publishing date: 15.08.2016

Sabrina:

She changes her glasses and folds the newspaper most convenient.

The air combs through her hair, realising the gears need a fix.

She rolls the dice down the padded chair, encouraging the little guy to stretch his arms to the fullest.

She is the most lovely person
She gets excited about new things
She is loyal
She is very loving and
She laughs

Like you

The inflatable mattress is squeaking and I just can't fall asleep.
The umbrella is folded while moments rain on my head.

I am standing still in a huge room filled with loneliness.

A wall of my thoughts is breaking in pieces and muddles the air, but thats nothing unusual.

So many impressions that I could whisper, that could leave my body before I even understand them.

I feel numb. 'mom, I just can't let loose, I can not open up.'

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The Last

publishing date: 15.09.2016

Sabrina:

The last toilsome piece of wood to move down to the basement?
The last fizzy beer to do the eclectic dance?
The last gloomy tunnel ride to neglect you at the muted crossing?
The last skinny ocean dip to finish this?
The last noise performance to fall out of the window (not so deep)?
The last cut of lethargic hair to tell the agonizing truth?
The last time inside to value the heat being wasted outside?
The last vernissage to blame me?
The last joyous turn to hold him for the very first time?
The last Shuto-Uke in full grace?
The last picture taken to make that international call with a wooden mobile phone?
The last round of Mejuffrouw Muis to slide into dodo land?
The last night in a caravan to put up with rebellious gnats?
The last painting to pack into rasping bubble foil?

Or simply the last day of summer

Aino:

he was still holding on to his gun
without fully realising that by
then,
it was the only thing left
he was wearing.

She was not scared to touch it,
although that's what he liked to believe,
but simply wanted to save stripping it for later.

The moon had rolled up into the sky
on a parallel axes of the decending sun.

In her mind she had decided to hold him hostage of her gaze,
until the shine of the metal would be the only thing left to see.

He didn't like that kind of games.
He was a man, the last one of that city,
and of course he knew what to do to kill the time between them.

He knew how to surrender when he wanted.
Dropping the gun,
After all that was pretty much the easiest thing to do,
as long as in front him was a woman.

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The Claw

publishing date: 15.10.2016

Sabrina:

His leather shoes were once shining like an apple that was buffed with a woolen sweater.
He has shoes for each day, standing in no relation to possible occasions.
The socks are striped, some thinly knitted and others so warm inside, it would even pop a chicken out of an unfertilized egg.
His trousers are made of jeans, slightly wider then his legs are round, which are long and standing straight like the trees along the canal.
The black belt is fixed with a perfect knot, that would falsely change his total posture to
look like an feeble man, if it were not around his waist.
His t-shirt is made of a dark green color and a bit too short, so I can get a glimpse of his belly. Right in the middle of the shirt two unicorns are making love under a well-shaped rainbow. His shoulders are widely apart, forcing the two bones under his throat onto each
other, resembling an arm wrestling contest. (Not sure what part the few breast hairs would
play in this.)
The jacket is as red as the raincoat that unfolds out of its own pocket.
The arms are strong as if they always were and will be, solely seen when they're needed.
His left hand is wearing a seal ring, the nails are short and the fingers not too long with skin similar to the cover page of a well read book, simply able to hold a basketball in one's
clutch.
His head. The hair is unhesitatingly curly, which used to be forced down with coconut oil.
It is dark brown with an umbrage of grey, alike some sort of a marble cake.
His nose, in the shape of a parrot beak, is dividing his face perfectly, starting right between his eyes. Blue eyes as the polar ice caps, luminous as a kaleidoscope, wanting to understand what it sees.
His ears hear the words as they are said and meant at the same time, shaped to its detail, resembling some unknown ancient code. There is a minor idea of a beard, but it could as well just be the shadow of a passing seagull.
The lips master the kiss, melting everything that comes close, the words spoken through this mouth accompany any movement in perfect symbiosis, it is the cherry or the icing on the cake, the salt in the salad, the milk in the coffee, the power button on a mixer, the bell on the bike, the brooch on the blouse, the inner sleeve of vinyl, the lint behind the glass of a frame, or more.

Aino:

Someone else would have seen dirt,
But he saw an ocean of possibilities.

An ocean
was also an appropriate metaphor to describe
what he felt right there,
while preparing himself for the coming exploration.
He was dressed up in his white stud coat
But didn’t wear gloves yet,
And knew that the night was going to be long.

He was already in love with the girl.
He didn’t see her fully yet but knew,
That she had been a
A delicate type
Blond, blue eyes wet gaze
Smelling like a wild flower.

A light wind started to blow,
touching the surface of the water gently,
Whispering that later there would be waves.

He felt the wind kiss his balls,
and an energy that started to move up his spinal
up into his brain,
Where it deployed to create a chrystal clear focus.

He was going to find out everything.
What had been going on the last minutes of her life,
who she was and where did she came from.
For him it was not a problem that there was only a finger left of her
to solve the crime.
People didn’t understand what a tremendous sea of information
There was under the nail of a finger,
One just had to know how to look for it.
He put on the gloves and read the report through one more time.
They were always looking for different things than he was.

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(Italo Calvino - The Baron in the trees)

(Hokusai - Gian Carlo Calza)

Bratkartoffeln

publishing date: 15.11.2016

(Georges Perec - Die Dinge)

Aino:

#inthehebestcompany #ritualoftheweek

#datinmyhusband #dinneronthewaves
#wegottheprettiestkidsbutnowtheyaregone #privatechefcookingforus #afterworksailing #marriedtoagoodfamily #lifeisworthliving

#Leonardcohenonstereo #rougevintage #rosmarineinsteadofketchup #jesusitsgood #mouthwaytoheaven

#afterdinnerplans #oops..#alonetimewithmyhusby #evenbetterthanyoucanimagine
#wearingonlymyweddingring #privateparty #carefullyplannedbutstillexiting #thisisus

The window is open, she smells the food in the backyard and quiet jazz music is brushing her ears. The dishes rattle in the sink and she looks at the light shining warm through the window. A smile slinks onto her face.
It feels like ages ago, the time that she catches herself hoping in vain that he would be home before her, equally feeling pressured to make it work.
Next time better? Some relations pull things in us we didn't know we had, others we run after for a bit too long, or some are just too good to be working. She just started to feel fine alone. The recurring ambivalent combination of thoughts and feelings bring her up the stairs. The door is left ajar,

Why do I loose my winter hat every time, Maybe he is still in the climbing gym, I wonder if they agree to my offer, There it is - I do like breast-hair on men.

Sabrina:

She has been quite busy lately.
The word 'meeting' played a minor part in her agenda until not so long ago. Never before would she know what she would do on a Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday evening. Her therapist thou believes that she is on the right road. That kind of road that would lead to pass a tank-station or a highway-diner with names like Decent-Thursday or Well done-Tuesday.
Anyhow.
She steps on her bike, wondering if he left the window open for the fumes to escape.
It is indeed getting cold and the trees on the left side of her street lost all leafs completely.

All her senses are enabled and she can't wait to get inside.
His curly head peeks around the corner with a kitchen towel in his hands.'I cooked savoy cabbage for us.'

I gave him the keys, I left my computer with him, he is wearing my comfy-trouser.

Aino:

The person you are trying to reach is not picking up the phone, please try again later....

The person you are trying to reach is not picking...

The person you are trying to pick...

You are trying to reach a person who is not answering your call and you are thinking....

You are thinking you have to reach the person whom you are not reaching...

The person who is trying to reach you is not the person you think you need to reach...

You are thinking that the person who is trying to reach you is not the right person...

You don't think you can reach the person whom you think you need to reach...

You don't reach what you think you need..

You are not the person whom the person you think you need to reach, is trying to reach..

Hello?

A returning call from a person who you think you need to reach, on a subject you don't think you need to hear.

I don't think you should try to reach me again...

oh.

I think that if there is anything left to say, it's the moment to say it now, because like I already told you, there won't be next time so come on, tell me what you wanted to say.

I can't tell it on the phone, the words are not coming out, can we meet?

I told you that I don't think it's a good idea that we meet again. I don't see the point. It's different for me now (chemically). I think you should just forget about it. Forget me, just forget. Forget us.

...

I can't. I really can't.

Well, you should.

Maybe I should but I can't. For me it's still the same ( chemically).

I think you can and you should. Really. Just drop it ok? Just let go now. Let me go.

...

You have been thinking you need something you cannot have, or think you cannot have, which is practically the same thing. Chemically it's a little bit different, but you don't think it really makes a difference which it doesn't, really.

Sabrina:

The paper is white, standard thickness and arranged most horizontal.
On it a rectangular, made of fine black lines, with a noticeable distance,
parallel to the outlines of the paper.
The rectangular is divided in three parts, of which the middle one is the widest.
'In the following situation:' is written underlined in the upper left corner of the first block,
under it 'Place'.
Then two lines nothing.
Which is followed by three words in one row, divided by a comma.
'When, Date, Time'.
Six lines nothing.
'What was before?'
The paper is blank till the end of this block. (maybe eighteen lines).
The middle block has seven written lines, of which two are underlined,
creating two sections.
'Then I think:'
Next line says 'Shortly before'
Six lines nothing.
'During'
Another six likes blank.
'After'
Six lines blank.
'Then I feel:'
Right under it 'Before'
Six lines unwritten.
'After' is almost touching the lower line of the rectangular, leaving no empty space.
The most right sided block has three written parts that are all underlined ending each with a colon.
'My behaviour'
Almost twelve lines blank.
'The effect was'
Two lines of white paper.
'Short-term'
About fourteen lines nothing till the end of the block.

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Denkgewohnheit

(Robert Musil - Ein Mann ohne Eigenschaften)

publishing date: 15.12.2016

Aino:

The beach was empty except for some garbage here and there left behind by the night swimmers.

Thin red plastic bags, which the immigrant shopkeeper nearby gave to his customers for free in order to pack groceries, were lying around. Trapped under a stone or a piece of driftwood, the gentle wind penetrating them, they looked as if they were breathing. They were just a few steps away from the end. They were destined to the bellies of the fish and to cause them a slow death. How could there be god? The fish hadn’t absolutely deserved it.

I pushed my toes into the sand that had not yet warmed up, on a spot where there was burned wood and used condoms that were reminding that there had been fire.

Suddenly: gunshots. A hysterical voice screaming open up the door and hitting it so hard that it could break. I block my ears but can still hear everything exactly as loud.

Then it’s the beach again. The sky was still cloudy but in just a few hours the sun would be burning the sand so hot that it will be impossible to step on it barefoot. The same thing happens every day so you know. I look at the sea and try to understand its dimension. The water is so heavy that I could as well have understood the dark matter if I was to make any sense of its mass. But what I could understand was that there were moving forces, even greater than the heaviness of the ocean, that were able move that quantity of water by stirring its guts and making it look light by breaking its surface in little waves.

I had come to the beach to look far, and to feel righteously small. That was the feeling I needed to have. In such place the door would stay closed no matter how hard it was being hit.

Nothing could stop the world from turning. Nothing could make me feel totally safe either, except for momentarily. The longer the moments were, the happier I was. Sometimes they were prolonging into periods, and then I felt like I had a life.

I turned my head to the right and saw a man spreading chairs out on the terrace. Funnily I never noticed that place until a certain moment, but then it was there again. Always opening. The sun was coming out and it made the yellow painted wooden walls look even brighter. The man wore a cap, a white t-shirt and jeans. He was whistling while he worked, and the sun was caressing his back and his arms, but I’m not sure if he noticed it. The way he moved brought lightness in me and I started feeling like having him serve me a coffee.

Before going I wrote a note to myself. It was a question that I had been thinking about for a while without having it formulated as a question. How much fiction do you have in your life? I liked the sentence. It felt like a nice opening.

Sabrina:

A script to walk under balconies

Coleman Hawkins -Out Of Nowhere tickles her in the back of her head. The sky seems to struggle with birds and heavy clouds. This years winter Linda was outside, when that apparently everlasting rain turned into snow. For weeks she felt like walking behind a semi-transparent curtain, the one with embroidered flowers, all in cream white.
The snowflakes are gaunt like fluffs, any trifling blow could change their movement upwards. Finally, after eight years or so, she got herself a hard-earned new winter jacket. The hallway of her cosy apartment is filled with jacket when she wraps it around her shoulders, with a fast twist. The door falls close, slow, with that imminent sound that tells the whole world that the neighbour came home late, again. The snow is still falling, meanwhile big chunks that have no time to loose. Lindas nose gets cold and her cherry cheeks make her appear joyous. With her hands in the wide pockets, her feet tight in the shoes and armed with the rumpled notebook, she continues to walk out on the white blanket. She remembers Benjamin saying that he dreamed of a frozen cake with the name 'Top Secret' and imagines him how he used to stretch his back to modern music in the middle of the room, wearing only his underwear.
By now the snow is masterminded by the steady piano of Duke Ellington, twirling around each other. The night starts to move closer from behind the five-floored houses and Linda wonders how many celebrities anybody can love at the same time? She stands still under the balcony to look at the windows being lit one by one, whereas the snow resembling a kind of distortion of times when we still used antennas to watch tv.
Living in the rearmost chapters of a novel is quite a romantic situation and she makes her way back home.

Thumping / Hammering

((Haruki Murakami - 1Q84))

publishing date: 15.01.2017

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