the solace of flowers

and then the colours came, and with them my endless fascination with vases - my vases full of flowers, again and again... i read in Kafka's letters to Felice that he "has no feelings for flowers", never had, flowers leave him cold, unless they come from her, and even then... 

some pages later, i read: "with the effort needed in order to keep myself alive and to not lose my mind, i could have built the pyramids". 

if only he had known the solace of flowers, it nearly burst out of me, if only ---

and off into the empty sky

you will be able to see more photos from my travel to Japan on the new blog that i have created for telling the story of my trip:  

and off into the empty sky

spring cleaning

and what if the oldest shoes are the dearest?

with more precision and more truthfulness than our memory, they keep track, in each crack and dirt mark and dust-blackened spot, of what we have learned to call "our life", "our past" - though nobody knows exactly to whom this past, this life, belong.

with tenderness, the old shoes stare back at us, while we, gentle hypocrites or simply forgetful, unable to glimpse beyond our self-woven illusions, never take notice.

lurking, waiting for spring

this year i have found myself lurking in the darkest of shadows, waiting for spring, hungrier than ever before. yet the deeper, the more painful this hunger grows, the more aware i become that, when i long for spring, i in fact long for a complicated and tumultuous mixture made out of the springs i have lived through, bits of them scattered throughout my body, springs i imagine to come, springs as i want them to be, floating memories, disconnected from whatever might have given birth to them in the first place (if such a birth has ever existed), hues, words soft like silk, which i tend to taste on my tongue, while all along believing that i lurk, waiting for this spring which has to come now, which has already come, unique, pure, simple and raw. 



don't let the photograph fool you: she doesn't make this mistake. yet.    

as spring approaches, on my street

right before the spring's glow,

let us enjoy the gray once more,
and the hues of the monotonous hour,
and the low tide of the lonely,

unredeemed hope -

of windows and curtains

my new windows-blog