Hi David 17-11-2007

To myself 17-11-2007

He Alexandra 16-10-07

Stop reading my body. Its not a book nor an key nor a tool, not a signpost that gives directions. It's only flesh and yes, the uncleaned edges of my nails might mean something, as much as the uncut eyebrow, the slow pulse of my growing tootache, the locked shoulders and my beard wherein you spotted some grey hairs, may mean something, but my physical presence is no mirror of my soul, it doesn't provide you with the ammunition to kill my presence, I do not live in the shadows and surely my body is no terrain for incursive reparations as if your purifying gestures would tune my being into harmony. It is no mirror except for your own, you the image of boundless perfection that cannot stop, invades me, conquers me, drowns my love.

He David 13-10-07

I compared you with spiderman, that's true, but that was because sometimes you have to use metaphors for pedagogical purposes just like they used the cross and a bleeding body to make the abstraction of Almighty God visible etc. and so it is with spiderman as well. Who could understand that you acquired special powers? So no negative qualification intended (why do you assume that so often?). On the contrary: i am so amazed about your metamorphosis. Take yesterday when i was lecturing about this Shock-doctrine, the evol powers in the world that use a state of shock to push through their nasty neo-liberal policies. Irak, Honduras, China, Japan. Stunde 0. Destruction, shock, the nothingness, the bare post-atomic landscape that is invaded for egoistic purposes. And i was impressing the audience. They got so angry at all these evol manipulators. I went from 1789, to 1871, and back to 1848 and forward to 1917, 1989 and 2001 and then you softly remarked that destruction can be creative, that the helpless can be shocked into the right direction and then you quoted Meister Eckhart and although the other people liked my negative speech more because it justified their abstract anger, this mysterious words that nobody seemed to understand hit me in the face.

Hi sister 13-10-07

Maybe you should consider freedom for what it really is. You are not a piece of matter that is moved back and forward by cosmic and earthly forces. The evol others, merciless society, the gods, or even Almighty God are not behind your steering wheel. Instead of prayer and prozac you should look the dark undercurrent of Freedom straight in the eyes. A friend said to me last night: 'What freedom, what responsibilities.' And that's what it is. A burden maybe? But the stuff you carry can be sculpted like wax in the forms you imagine. It makes you into a magician. You have always been a magician. Do you remember these extraordinary stories you wrote when you were a child?

ps: on the card the leftovers of a present i once bought for you but forgot to give. It will come your way.

Hi Ems 30-9-2007

What if the cure worsens the pain? You pull out the stitches and then look closely to the wound and what if you find out that its deeper and darker and dirtier than you thought. So much for a cathartic enlightenment as a bonus for digging up the sources of your sorrow. I believe in the survival value of denial and more than that: painting over your bright history with dark colours. 'We never had fun'. 'That was all in illusion'. All the time convincing yourself that the past was a rehearsal for better things to come. Things can only get better. What nonsense. The skeletons i dig up are made of diamants. I see you, that first image that still bewilders me, you in the Art Institute, in that big dormitory almost compeletly abandoned for the summer break, you in these bright yellow red hotpants with blue flowers on it with matching top. Even a night alone in a dorm was occasion enough for you to shine like a diamond. And i just stood there. Watching. Longing. Dreaming. What cure is there in digging this up to overcome my past when i dont want to overcome anything. In wanna be there. Impossible as it might be.

ps: and yeah, rumours are correct. I am seeing someone if seeing is the approriate term here because i only see yellow red and blue.

Hi brother 9-9-2007

As i lay there in the park i tried to remember where things went wrong. There was you acting like you owned the place, the champagne you ordered and spilt on every irrestible bitch that you could spot, the redberrie-wodka's and redberrie wodka's and how you gave me a lecture about my history of female failure, this elaborate theory about the correlation between my money failures and girlfriends leaving me especially Ems that you described as 'my only trophý woman' that vindicated my poor history with that stupid bitch Doris and what i weener i was for still wanting to be a 'sincere good friend' for Ems and that i should really do something and act and here take another wodka little brother and hit on the bar woman and, jesus, i was so drunk, i tried to hit on her and could think of nothing better than to compare her beauty with that of Vanesse Williams the first coloured woman to win the crown of Miss America and how she lost that when nudi pictures of her past hit the playboy pages and how she redeemed herself with that stupid 'sometimes the earth goes around the moon' ballad until things went really wrong because i heard myself reciting a Philip Larkin poem to her about how your parents fuck you up, they do not mean to but the do, they fill you with your faults they have and add some extra just for you and then there was nothing left to do then to leave the club and find this park to lie on the grass and think about where things went wrong.