Romeo, you know I used to have a scene with him

Today I woke up cold as a stone with the wind blowing through my room. The window was closed and so was the door. When I opened my wistful eyes, one after the other, I found a farewell letter on the fluffed up pillow next to me.

"It's time for me to go", the handwritten words said. "You and me, it's not working out."

My question mark has left me. For good. It took all it's belongings but left the full stop behind.

And now this chubby little chap is sitting on the wing chair in the middle of my living room, looking at me with a demanding stare and it's hands folded.

"I am not ready yet. Go away!", I cry.

The full stop doesn't care. In response to my tears it jumps up and down on the cushion and shrieks like a peacock.

"I don't like you!", I shout defiantly against the wind and the cocky yell.

"I want my question mark back. I love it! We are the perfect match."

"So why did it dump you then?", the full stop sneers and chuckles as it plunks down into the chair. "You and me, baby, we are made for each other", it adds with a sudden graveness.

"Ha, yes, oh, Romeo, you know I used to have a scene with him", I shoot back, and now it's me who giggles. "If you find yourself a perpendicular line to team up with, I might reconsider your proposal, sweetheart."

The full stop gives me a scrutinising glance and seems to ponder.

"Come on, that's a deal, isn't it?", I encourage it and point at the door. "If you come back as an exclamation mark, I will only be too happy to give us a chance and live happily ever after and all that." I underpin my last sentence with a promising nod.

"Okay", it says. "Okay, that is a deal indeed." It jumps off it's chair with a determined expression, gives me a peck on the cheek and off it goes.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I wipe the kiss off, grab my phone and give my old friend, the dash, a call. I haven't heard from him in ages.

Homo Homini Vulpes

I have got a secret, and it twines around me. It tastes bitter. It tastes sweet.

I have got a secret, and it twines around you. It sounds chipper. It sounds neat.

And so I try to be silent. And so I try to disguise.

Words. Words. Words. On my tongue. And in my throat.

Words. Words. Words. Must not be disclosed. Must not be told.

I am composing a song, and I put it in a minor key. It is about me.

I am composing a song, and I put it in a major key. It is about you.

And so I try to be silent. And so I try to disguise.

Tones. Tones. Tones. On my tongue. And in my throat.

Tones. Tones. Tones. Must not be struck. Must not be intoned.

I am drawing a picture, and I paint it in green. It is about me.

I am drawing a picture, and I paint it in blue. It is about you.

And so I try to be silent. And so I try to disguise.

Shades. Shades. Shades. On my tongue. And in my throat.

Shades. Shades. Shades. Must not be painted. Must not be drawn.

I carry a weapon, and it is pointed at me. On the trigger, your finger.

I carry a weapon, and it is pointed at you. On the trigger, my finger.

And so I try to be silent. And so I try to disguise.

Bullets. Bullets. Bullets. On my tongue. And in my throat.

Bullets. Bullets. Bullets. Must not be loosed. Must not be released.

"The cayote is a living, breathing allegory of Want. He is always hungry." ~ Mark Twain

For the Sake of Symmetry

Sir, I beg your pardon, I didn't order that.

Don't you like it?

Oh, yes, I do, I do. But still, I have been served already. And I got what I wanted.

Have another look. It suits you well.

Yes, yes, sure it does but my budget, you see, it doesn't allow for further expenses.

Touch it.

I don't know what...

Touch it.

It's nice. Fleecy.

It's handmade. A single copy.

How much is it?

Oh, it's sold already, I am sorry.

Come again, what did you say? Sold already? But why did you show it to me then? And why are you giving me that smirk?

I thought you might like it.

I do, I have told you. But how much sense does it make to present a piece that is not for sale? I didn't even ask for it, you literally imposed it on me.

You liked it.

I ordered a circle, and I got it. 360 perfect degrees. And there is no space for more in a circle, is there? 361°. What would that be? Vertigo plus 1°? 720° minus 359? Too much? Not enough? Too much! That's what it is! My 360° were consummate - a perfect blend of what I need, what I like, what I know. And now you dangle this tiny 1° in front of my tempted eyes, you let me touch it, you make me want it, and then you tell me I can't have it. Forgive me for being so frank but you should work on your sales technique - your approach won't make you rich.

You liked it.

I don't understand. What do you mean by this? I would have taken it - and probably I would have kept it on immediately.

Excuse me, Madam, but I have to go now. We would be honoured if you visited us again soon.

Oh yes, sure, go, go. And no need to lift your hat. I will put my 360° in a bag and take them home. And I will be wondering all day why all of a sudden 361° look more round than 360°. Thanks for that. And yes, probably I will be back soon. To return my circle and buy a parabula instead - for the sake of symmetry.

"I shall now recall to mind that the motion of the heavenly bodies is circular, since the motion appropriate to a sphere is rotation in a circle." ~ Nicolaus Copernicus

Munich, on Saturday you will break my Heart

On Saturday, I will climb out of my London bed, open the window and miss the scent of roasted sugar almonds in the air and that unique "Oktoberfest"-feeling that occupies a space of its own in my heart .. At night I will go back to bed knowing that I have missed the "Anstich" and a day that cannot be recreated and relived anywhere else on this planet. Munich, I miss you

About "Scorched" by Wajdi Mouawad

I am frozen with silent respect and awe. "Scorched" (original French title "Incendies") is a theatre play by Wajdi Mouawad.

For everyone living in London "Scorched" is a must-see hosted in the Old Vic Tunnels beneath Waterloo Station. For me it is one of the most atmospheric, enthralling and moving plays that I have seen in a while.

A perfectly rounded radius of story telling fed with insight, tremor and poetry, performed and staged with rational and emotional accuracy. A non-linear story line with multiple layers of time and content that are perfectly mingled and meshed without losing the thread. Embedded into the damp and impressive vaults beneath Waterloo Station that are literally vibrating and unearthly.

Thank you for two unforgettable hours at the Old Vic. Hats off.

http://www.oldvictheatre.com/whatson.php?id=71

A Season to Sleep

I need a season to sleep

to dream that I didn’t set foot on the pitch

to curtsy

I need a stepping stone to start from

to rise and shine

to wake the heart

I need a reason to plead

for the right to unlearn

to forget and be forgotten

I need a saltless scream

to be swallowed by the waves

to hush

I need to scheme new towers

to overtop the old

to grow

I need a place to water down

the ocean of history

to yield

I need to dethrone the player

to mingle with the ground

to anchor

I need a season to sleep

a stepping stone

a reason to plead

a saltless scream

new towers to scheme

a place to water down

a throne to dethrone

I need to sleep

“And the whole earth was of one language, and of one speech. And it came to pass, as they journeyed from the east, that they found a plain in the land of Shinar; and they dwelt there. And they said one to another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn them thoroughly. And they had brick for stone, and slime had they for mortar. And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth. And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children built. And the Lord said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do; and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do. Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech. So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city. Therefore is the name of it called Babel; because the Lord did there confound the language of all the earth: and from thence did the Lord scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth.” ~ Genesis 11:1-9

Greener on the other Side

I must say the grass is quite green on the other side indeed. I like green. Green is pretty cool. Green is pretty easy on the eye and on the heart. I don't care. More or less. Less or More. Give or take. Whatever. I don't care - truly and honestly. I am officially unconcerned and indolent, and I have been examining my serenity for an Achilles' heel all day with a massive loupe of doubt. There is none. Zero points of attack. Doubts baseless.

And believe it or not, I find it hard to cope with this sensation. I am well experienced in riding the sine-curve of sentiments. This sobriety, however, amazes me. I am baffled.

Another sweet lesson on the road to emotional wisdom or gruesome apathy? Am I calluous and dulled or prudent and mature? I can't really decide which of those attributes I find more vile.

On the other hand, I have to be true to my own assertation and bow before her majesty, the truth. And the truth is: I don't care - without being indifferent. This new attitude is fairly fuss-free to live with, and I am beginning to wear it with a certain nonchalance and pleasure. Nothing can happen to me in the land of "I don't care", and there isn't even the smallest trace of dismal boredom or non-inspiration attached to this posture. Quite the contrary. Casualness is sparkling, inspirational, colourful, and my mind comes up with perfect advertising straplines while I am trying to find the right words to describe this condition.

But maybe I should keep my mouth shut and not talk about it. Maybe I should store it away unuttered in the same drawer where happiness and the idle state are scratching each other's backs. I have a feeling that "I don't care" is one of the unpopular wallflowers on the playground of confessions.

But yet, it is what it is: Green. I like green. Green comes with a double-e, just like "free".

[...]Come now, you're not a brute beast, think upon these things and you'll see how all becomes clear[...] ~ from "The Endgame" by Samuel Beckett