Tuesday, June 12, 2012
i searched the woods today for orchids. do you still buy them in the store? orchids, it was the rage right? i know how they grow them, it's called money. i've seen it, i do not understand it. i don't know why. a man goes to the bank and gets a loan, big, he builds big, he hires cheap workers and they call it progress,.i have heard it is collapsing such an economy. the orchids were beautiful i have to say, they are big and i search the woods for something smaller then the nail of my pinky, i polished his pinky nails pink too. that's a lie too, how men are real men. i found two orchids today, searching endless swamp land through the dark spruce forest. i know i think them beautiful because they are what i call a perfect flower. like the perfect man is very feminine. and i a nymph. i wish. nagoon! there suddenly in all that endless swampy forest, only three. can you imagine each grows one berry, a raspberry, so actually many droplets. and the man says i should not cry. and i don't, when i am in the forest i am the goddess and i don't even know sadness does exist. have you ever sat on top of someone lovingly, and try to remember why you were sad. well it doesn't work. when you are happy, you can't be sad. olli just skyped, he's such a playing hard to get, such a gorgeous specimen of manliness , he says hi and gone, nagoon, three berries in that whole forest, who gets to eat them, which little mouse is so lucky? i like to write like this. i forgot to pay attention to dialogue. olli didn't know i could hear him, but i did, and i can still here his voice, i love his voice, everything about him, he is one person in this big big world, he lives in a big big city, one person and he granted me three words, i forgot which ones, it started with, oh! and then mumble. mumble jumble i wrestle me on top of you, laughing and the tiny orchids, we can't crush them because there's only two. don't we realize how fragile is this world, that we really have to try connect. that no matter how small, it matters big time. still it is a miracle that in this land where forest are so endless, tiny flowers grow, one day i will paint your toenails love, when i sit on top of you.
it was me and now i am a so sad, it was me who cut him off and i didn't even know. one orchid less , but i know , the roots still there and next year it will be back.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
look at the evening light. more golden and softer, when we experience harshness in our relationships, maybe we look at it in bright sunlight. the sun too high in the sky. let that sun come down a bit. or sleep well and wake up early, with dew from the lightest frost sparkling. i speak to people. as a writer i was working on writing dialogue, i realized, what i already knew,i don't listen very well, i can't recall what they said. I can still hear him, the sound of him in the background when his wife gets him on the phone, but the words are gone. at another conversation today, i can still feel my heart jump because i am so happy he phones, and i remember what he said but not the words. i hear the the birds, it's woodpeckers i think,teeteeteeteetee. was that it? it's silent now. the evening sun shining straight through the window lighting up my face.
someone was wondering how to make real friends.
"squeal" who was that?
someone, was observing how this certain person is always negative. no these are my words, i would say that.
she said it different. i couldn't get a word in, i wondered if maybe people start swearing at us , because we do not listen to sweet whispers of evening sun rays.
i believe what we don't like in someone else, has more to do with ourselves, but how do i break the circle?
the squealer keeps squealing.
lately people start something with me, but don't finish, "later", but when's later? now here the night doesn't really get dark anymore.
do i have to be accommodating, or shall i tell them when the sun is so hot it makes my naked skin moist in the folds of my breast, is it then that i have to say; that's it, no more sweating with you, ever. Or shall we just lay strangled, in the winter when the wood stove burns too hot, or in the heat of the midday sun, when everybody is working or being productive, or having a late lunch or making phonecalls or shopping, rushing because we want..... what do you want? when i experience something i do not like, i now will try to let it soften and turn golden, yes and while waiting for that i lay in your arms on a beach, sand sticking to us. I do believe that men just should listen to me.