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I think best in empty trains
Sep. 26th, 2006 01:27 pmBono was singing and I had to think about time and lost friends. Bono always sang this song at the best of times. I don't even identify with the lyrics but still I shiver everytime his wonderful voice hums in my ears. Germany was racing along my window and I had the immediate feeling he sang just for me, had always been singing just for me. I felt the love he poured into the song and it grew to be too much, so I put him away and opened my book.
And there it stood, black on white, that Neil Gaiman had written this book just for me. Just for me. I had to grin and felt at home in the world.
The next day I was running through dusk and the city of my childhood, along the sea, where way out you could see black sails and big white ferries. I had to put the music away there, too, I had to listen to the seabirds, waves and my thoughts. I sat down in a puddle of light right at the line where the city ended and the sea began, my legs dangling over the frontier. Then I ran again, through the park which sits in the middle of my puberty. Crocuses took the weather for spring and greeted it, and I felt it again: Home is places we've grown and all of us sat down before.
I shopped adulthood with my sister who'll apparently grow to be unbelievably beautyful, secure and nice.
My dad's hair became half grey this year, and, again, I thought about death. I do that way too much, but I simply have to confront this fear. I have to grab it by the ears and look into its eyes or I'll be afraid forever. He'll die, before me if live is that fair, and that's okay. Grönemeyer sang for himself, for his own hurt but nonetheless for everybody willing to listen, too: 'It's okay, it hurts evenly.' You know, since the day I got my cat I'm counting the years left of his life backwards. 15 years left. 14. 13. 12. I thought about the time I had left in my life since I was what, 12? 13? And it's so bittersweet it hurts. We're going to die. This may be the best day of my life. It's never going to be exactly like today ever again. What we did today will never be not done. Gnarls Bakley sang: 'And I can die when I'm done.' But days before that someone died in Strangers in Paradise, and he woke somewhere else where a girl with very light eyes smiled and said 'Welcome home'. She told him he was dead and he said: 'But I didn't finish!' And she said: 'Nobody does.'
And Neil wrote about Douglas Adams, that he was a genious, but spent more time not writing than he did writing, which he thought was strange for someone who called himself a writer.
Yes, we'll all die, and way before we finish. At least I want to be able to call myself a writer and know that's not exaggerated.
It's so stupid but I actually forgot Anno 1602 at my sisters comp, and bless that, I lost way too much time in this game. Yes, I want to play for the rest of my life, but it shouldn't be the focus of my days, at least not this kind of game.
I met the family of my best friend and I looked at them and was really happy that I didn't have to put up with crap like that anymore. Family only defines me as much as I let it anymore. In Germany there's the phrase: I don't have to put on this shoe.
I met an old friend there, too, and even if we hadn't talked for ages until then, we clicked again like we'd only met days before.
Everyone and their mother told me I looked great, with these pounds lost and everything. And I just wanted to tell them just you wait, I'm not there yet.
And deep at night, while two lonely and beautyful men in Frankfurt really met for the first time, I had an epiphany so big that I'm deeply embarrased. I thought we were over that. But 'bisexual' never felt quite right, and 'gay' just wasn't true. I felt lonely, I felt bad, I felt like I did something wrong. I thought maybe I was a bad person to want everything, everyone, at the same time. But I'm not untrue. I'll never hurt you. 'I don't want your love, I just want your word', he sings, and I fight tears. I'm polyamorous.
While my old home went further and further away from me, Neil told me about how there are many sets of just 500 people in this world who are main characters, the rest are extras. The world is small, it really is. He told me about the personal song everybody has and nearly nobody ever gets to sing it. And he said another thing about writing: There are no rules. No rules at all. Tell if showing is inappropriate.
I closed the book and watched Germany race along, and then the train entered a tunnel and the lights went out. Nobody said anything for a few seconds in the total darkness you only find under mountains. Then a woman whispered: 'Okay, that's a *little* disturbing.'
I just pondered if maybe I should become afraid when the greyish light from the other side grew into a full sunny day. People shook themselves and went on with their lives.
And there it stood, black on white, that Neil Gaiman had written this book just for me. Just for me. I had to grin and felt at home in the world.
The next day I was running through dusk and the city of my childhood, along the sea, where way out you could see black sails and big white ferries. I had to put the music away there, too, I had to listen to the seabirds, waves and my thoughts. I sat down in a puddle of light right at the line where the city ended and the sea began, my legs dangling over the frontier. Then I ran again, through the park which sits in the middle of my puberty. Crocuses took the weather for spring and greeted it, and I felt it again: Home is places we've grown and all of us sat down before.
I shopped adulthood with my sister who'll apparently grow to be unbelievably beautyful, secure and nice.
My dad's hair became half grey this year, and, again, I thought about death. I do that way too much, but I simply have to confront this fear. I have to grab it by the ears and look into its eyes or I'll be afraid forever. He'll die, before me if live is that fair, and that's okay. Grönemeyer sang for himself, for his own hurt but nonetheless for everybody willing to listen, too: 'It's okay, it hurts evenly.' You know, since the day I got my cat I'm counting the years left of his life backwards. 15 years left. 14. 13. 12. I thought about the time I had left in my life since I was what, 12? 13? And it's so bittersweet it hurts. We're going to die. This may be the best day of my life. It's never going to be exactly like today ever again. What we did today will never be not done. Gnarls Bakley sang: 'And I can die when I'm done.' But days before that someone died in Strangers in Paradise, and he woke somewhere else where a girl with very light eyes smiled and said 'Welcome home'. She told him he was dead and he said: 'But I didn't finish!' And she said: 'Nobody does.'
And Neil wrote about Douglas Adams, that he was a genious, but spent more time not writing than he did writing, which he thought was strange for someone who called himself a writer.
Yes, we'll all die, and way before we finish. At least I want to be able to call myself a writer and know that's not exaggerated.
It's so stupid but I actually forgot Anno 1602 at my sisters comp, and bless that, I lost way too much time in this game. Yes, I want to play for the rest of my life, but it shouldn't be the focus of my days, at least not this kind of game.
I met the family of my best friend and I looked at them and was really happy that I didn't have to put up with crap like that anymore. Family only defines me as much as I let it anymore. In Germany there's the phrase: I don't have to put on this shoe.
I met an old friend there, too, and even if we hadn't talked for ages until then, we clicked again like we'd only met days before.
Everyone and their mother told me I looked great, with these pounds lost and everything. And I just wanted to tell them just you wait, I'm not there yet.
And deep at night, while two lonely and beautyful men in Frankfurt really met for the first time, I had an epiphany so big that I'm deeply embarrased. I thought we were over that. But 'bisexual' never felt quite right, and 'gay' just wasn't true. I felt lonely, I felt bad, I felt like I did something wrong. I thought maybe I was a bad person to want everything, everyone, at the same time. But I'm not untrue. I'll never hurt you. 'I don't want your love, I just want your word', he sings, and I fight tears. I'm polyamorous.
While my old home went further and further away from me, Neil told me about how there are many sets of just 500 people in this world who are main characters, the rest are extras. The world is small, it really is. He told me about the personal song everybody has and nearly nobody ever gets to sing it. And he said another thing about writing: There are no rules. No rules at all. Tell if showing is inappropriate.
I closed the book and watched Germany race along, and then the train entered a tunnel and the lights went out. Nobody said anything for a few seconds in the total darkness you only find under mountains. Then a woman whispered: 'Okay, that's a *little* disturbing.'
I just pondered if maybe I should become afraid when the greyish light from the other side grew into a full sunny day. People shook themselves and went on with their lives.
