Berlin (here I come). Bébé (just visited a rather ugly one - the only way is up). Blush (I love you, nor do I).

Cocky
Dickhead
Eggnotch
Fight
Genes
Howl
Injury
Kites
Leftover
Mummy
Nasty
Ovary
Pelvis
Queen
Reverend
Steady
To do
Undies
Venom
Whiskers
Xanax
Yuk
Zulu

Just thought I'd get it over and done with, this attempt at making my own alphabet.

ABC

I like working out in the gym, but I'm in desperate need for some mental work out. So I've picked out the letter A, the Alpha and googled a picture. On page 10 it led me to this part of a German high-end amplifier. It will play music in its purest form, a bit like my old Gründig radio I assume. When I think of the songs that have passed through this wooden body ... I bought it some 10 years ago and often wonder where it first set a living room on fire. Elvis, Buddy Holly, Bob Dylan, The Stones, The Carpenters, Marvin Gaye. Hell, this radio will make lo-fi sound like high fidelity.

Talking of which. Here are some parts of lyrics I will sing along to in complete submission:

"Wrote you this
I hope you got it safe
It's been so long
I don't know what to say
I've travelled 'round
Through deserts on my horse
But jokes aside
I wanna come back home
You know that night
I said I had to go
You said you'd meet me
On the sunny road

It's time, meet me on the sunny road
it's time, meet me on the sunny road

I never married
Never had those kids
I loved too many
Now heaven's closed its gates.
I know I'm bad
To jump on you like this
Some things don't change
My middle name's still 'Risk'
I know that night
So long long time ago
Will you still meet me
On the sunny road"

(EMILIANA TORRINI - Sunny Road)
I guess I could sing this song to more than one man, but today it goes out to the one who was drinking Italian Cab Driver coctails with me last Friday, since he knows about the too many and the closing of heaven's gates.

(Which leads me to Dylan's "Trying to get to heaven before they close the door". However, I don't sing along to Bob.)

In my car I've been playing Paul Simon. Negotiations and love songs. "the thought that life could be better is woven indelibly into our hearts and our brains". Why do we think better things will come along and wait to see which way the wind blows? Do we have too many pieces of life, and feel like waiting most of it away? Waiting is the new HIV. It will pour death and despair upon us all.

M Ward - Chinese Translation


While I'm at it, here's Torrini:


Well, figuring out how to post a YouTube video on a blog proved to be a real mental work out. I'll be back someday soon, with the letter B. Nighty night!

Yes, yes, yes. Cheesy, tacky moments ... .

I threw up today. Once because I was jogging and the weather turned out to be more of a bitch than a companion. The second time voluntarily, to get rid of a humming noise. Kilts and highland bagpipers. Flies or other insects. Psychopomps. A TV set. Refrigerator?

They come into my room and stare while I pretend to be asleep.
They live in the corner of my eyes. They do no harm, wait their turn.
Just before dawn enter the wildebeest and early daylight.

In the morning I put on my jeans and everyday head.

People let me slip through their hands all the time: in friendship, love and bed. Since I have decided to dedicate my time to writing, I might as well become exhibitionistic and portrait myself with one of my favourite girls: my sister's eldest daughter. It's a good picture because I wear my hair straightened (black curls done away with for this early springtime afternoon) and no one will recognize me by this snapshot. My eyes reveal I have been drinking a little and the devilish red T-shirt contrasts well with the innocent white dress of the child. It will come as no surprise that later that day I left and set off into the night to go drinking and dancing. Another reason why no one will recognize me, is that most people don't team me up with kids. Someone clever recently told me that I have an excellent profile to become a writer: rock 'n roll life and no kids, just like many other female text-knitters. I should take up smoking again.

Anyway. This is me. My life consists of a family I deeply love, some good friends, work and a flat in an apartment building filled with elderly people who once in a while lack some sleep over my bed shrieking under the weight of 2 moving figures - one of them afterwards leaving without looking back.

Some will say I bring that on myself - the fact that men do not look back - because I don't contain sufficient seriousness to keep their motor running. However, what has never ceased to intrigue me (ever since my first major loss), is how people manage to carry the weight of seriousness along all meadows and paths they come across in life. STOP IT! Stop, stop, stop! Take it away, for seriousness has never added any weight to your love or loyalty, which are weightless and unmeasurable by nature.

In my unserious vocabulary you will stumble upon my unchangeable me.
I love you.
For the serious person you are.
For your red hair and shoes.
For the ghosts you see at night.
And you for your addictions.
You for being the doctor.
For being gone.
For eating my food.
For changing your mind.
For understanding my fears and numbed pain.
And you? You for not knowing me at all.