Egg

I once had the idea of going into a restaurant, just as they are closing and ordering something small. They would tell me that they're closed and I would offer them 1000 euro. I wonder if they'd serve me then, and if they did, what they would serve me.

toilet: the drunk ones' church

there is a sacred place near me. it's a center of some flux of this dirty city. it's a center of some dirty flux of this city. it's where my life happen. too. not only mine. it's the corner of the graveyard, where there are a bus stop, a bakery prison and a cheap tavern. the street ends and starts the mud with all those plastic bags and bottle caps and food for vultures. but the dead humans aren't vulture food. maybe the alive ones. anyway, it isn't any kind of nightmare to me. it's life. one of its sides, the one where i am, when i am. alive and outside. high and clear. alive and outside. and end to this bullshit

well, i stoped at the bus stop to... wait for a bus to stop. there is a seat in the corner where i used to sit everytime i wait for my bus. i don't know why, but people go outside their homes to sit in the graveyards sidewalk. i could be old people nasty habit, but the people wasting their time there are young too. and they aren't waiting the only bus with pass them by. it's a kind of trainspoting, don't you think? well, there where someone siting in the middle of that seat. ok. it was a large seat, enough for five people. well, why not sit there. but the guy there, a bald skinny tanned man with glasses, wearing t-shirt and shorts and sandals, as me, started complaining. he yelled at me: "hey, why are you sitting near me?! are you gay?!" i've just watched him while he stood up and went to the sidewalk, five metters away from me. i was looking almost at his direction, to see if the bus was coming. i think he thought i was staring at him, and he began to make some gestures, as he was searching for a fight, or asking why i was staring at him. i just ignored him while he went away and disappeared from my sight.

this same day, when i was going outside home, i found my neighbours. it's a very narrow corridor until i hit the street. my home is the last one. that time i caught them when they were just exiting their home, locking the door. they were a couple. the woman saw me, but the man was locking the door. i said good morning, and the guy jumped as scared as someone being robbed. i opened my largest mute smile and i went on, whithout caring about their explanations.

it's daylife. it's my life

heart failure

my heart has no owner. this heart in my chest isn't mine. it isn't yours. it belongs to no one, miss someone. because it beats without a reason. all the other muscles get tired. this one i don't even feel moving, crushing into itself and exploding more than a thousand times per minute. or less. much less now, i guess. and while it happens the dna sequence gets tired of its work and begins to make some mistakes. one of those mistakes could get me a wing, or a new tail. but most of those changes ends in great failures. no planing. as i said, this heart has no owner. no desirable end

Slow Motion

Riding the underground, I saw a group of women talking. Two of them were lesbians, I'm not sure about the third. They were speaking German. They weren't foreigners, no... they were native speakers but something was just not quite right.
I could hear their speech, but their mouth movements were somehow not synchronized. I felt like I was watching a low budget, badly dubbed movie. I wondered if they had some sort of speech impediment or if it was just my fucked up perception.

Coincidences

There's something about the air in Neukölln, it makes you feel as though you've got to live life over and over again.

Last year, I met an Austrian guy called Andreas, who was a politically involved anarchist. He was staying near Boddinstraße and met with contacts at the anarchist café in Prenzlauer Berg "Morgen Rot".

Last weekend, I met a German guy called Andreas, who is a member of a political party called the 'Pirate Party'. He was staying with a friend near Boddinstraße on Schiller Promenade and met with contacts before the "Freiheit statt Angst" demo at café Morgen Rot.

On Wednesday, I met a German guy, who is also a member of the Pirate Party, who was running to be the lord mayor of Dresden. He was also staying with a friend near Boddinstraße on the Schiller Promenade.
We were walking along Flughafenstraße at 10PM and saw the political candidate for the suburb of Neukölln, Yusuf Bayrak, handing out plastic roses with his picture on them as part of his campaign for the election.

What's waiting for me this weekend?

Identify

Who are you? Are you a lawyer, are you a mathematician?
Are you an economist, a humanist, a specimen?
Who are you? You are a planet, I planned it.

Australian

Today I was Australian. I said, the next time you go there, just call me. I didn't mean it of course, although I gave my real number. All I wanted was a better story to tell. A better story, I need to start writing again soon. I don't know what's with my future, whether I'll go or whether I'll stay. There are positives and negatives of course, like always... I just have to figure them out again. New or known? What is it that I really want?

Accents

I've started tutoring again, and of the three accents I have to listen to regularly, the Chinese one is really starting to shit me. Although that's the best paid one. Damn.

Boobs

Today I saw a short, slightly chubby woman with the biggest breasts I'd ever seen for someone of her size. Hell, they were the biggest breasts I'd ever seen in a long time.
At first I wondered if they were the right size to have surgically removed due to back pain.
Then I wondered if surgery was the reason that they were that large.
In any case, I was in awe as she didn't trip-stagger forward, making her way along the U-Bahn.
I don't know what I would do in her situation.
I felt a little perverted, truth be told, that I seemed to be the only one who noticed.
I wonder if they - those around, noticed me noticing her. Noticed my noticing her not noticing that I noticed her.
Perhaps it was in fact all a pretence, that she did not notice. And maybe after all, I'm more noticeable than her, just for the colour of my skin and minus the possession of miraculously gravity-defying melons.

And I hate those kinds of people

Always happy, dumb.
But not at all numb.
Ant-like in their actions.

Self important,
Self indulgent and
Egotistic

With big tits,
Big dicks
Or a harpoon.

Feeling sorry for me,
For themselves,
Saying that they are.

Sometimes they have my pity

Yet I hate those kinds of people.
I hate them.
The weak, the strong, the defiant.

I hate those kinds of people,
The ones who write this kind of shit.

no love at first sight after the first sight

i hope i die before i get old
it's a shame to die young

suicide is a escape route. the emergency exit. or just fleeing. and death is the solution of all problems, it is the solution of all solutions too. death by its own hands is for cowards. a live being must face it. as a smile throw into the abyss.

but i don't fear the dead. a fear being alive, being a waste of lungs with air without scent. because if a tree falls in the middle of the forest and there's no ear to hear it, there is no sound. and beethoven was almost deaf. anyway, everything is ok, everything is alright, warm, soft and numb.

is it victory? to survive the random illness which kill babies. every year after birthday to celebrate the cycle of seasons. every summer. i'm a winner. second place. i'm the second one after me in auto analysis. watching myself from outside and describing my sight. the sight which prefers the background. the soul which travels in dreams instead of reality.

(deleted phrase)

the descriptions lacks traits. because one image has many words to describe it. and words have many meanings. and every tongue is the ambassador of a mind. misspelling. mistranslated. then i read books. at least i have a word to describe it. i have a meaning to find. to answer. to not be a blank sheet.

sometimes i think i did my best. the best world possible. my miserable efforts were all i could do. i had to fight lazyness, apathy. the rests of my efforts. the power within my breath and the voice. it isn't loud enough to travel across the oceans, between the continents. electromagnetic waves shining from our homes. the light that entered through the windows of my room, shine on me. and be lost. diffused. it's only noise in the radar without power to be noticed, without power to interfere in the main signal. the tv anthems don't throw my face onto the screen, it's me on the mirror. plus the dirty in the glass

i'm not young anymore.
no surprises

carpe diem
memento mori

Sunday hung over philosophy

Today I feel like I could be in love with anyone. With everyone. And yet I feel so low. Lower than ever. Is positive emotion linked to self degradation?
All those times, feeling like superman, did I think that everyone was beneath me?
Maybe that's what it was.
Last night, Katrin told me that I was lucky. Lucky because of my passport, unlucky because of my face. But lucky nevertheless, because I have a better perspective of the way things really are. Even if that doesn't benefit me.
I forgot, she was a philosophy graduate. And is older than me. She hugged me. And I felt so strange, some how guilty. For feeling lost, and strange.
These are good people, they're willing to help me, hide me. So, why do I feel like the token foreigner? Why do I feel like to ask for help would be to use someone?
Your tale of the little boy and barbecue lands.
What's in a land anyway?
Today I was at the Karneval der Kulturen. There was a Hari Krishna float. It irritated me, masking cult religion as culture. The carnival is commercial anyway, what do I care. I've been walking way too much - without a monthly card, I've walked a total of 20 hours this week. And ate a lot of bananas.

the taste of the bullet

there was a boy. a little one in the middle of the dirty road. he is almost naked, he was wearing only shorts. his skin is the shade of the land. he was standing, watching the car coming in his direction. fearless. maybe just ignored it because this boy never saw a car crash. it was a native. the road to the resort in the beach passes through his tribe lands. he didn`t move at all. and the car past him by. we watched his silly courage from inside the windows, with the air conditioner on. we felt a deja vu. it might have happened several times.

this world is too small for both us. there is no place to hide. if the mountain will not come to muhammad, then muhammad will go to the mountain. in the cities many babies never saw that dangerous world outside home, and after some time, those babies will grow and not leave the mother city. medieval globalization. see the round globe in the plane window.

lula said that our financial crisis is white men with blue eyes fault. he is racist. our little boy doesnt have a bank account. many critics said that the financial crisis is white men with brown eyes fault, as lula. as me. its my fault. im richer than the average joe here. i was inside the car, i wasnt the one standing on the ground. im guilty.

then i think about german people. they are descendants of people who watched the nazis within the stage. two world wars. completely destroied. completely rebuilt. which doesnt kill make us stronger. its the taste of the bullet. the most recent war which happened here that i can remember is against paraguay. paraguay was developing too fast. but it didnt have a coast to build ports. brazil, argentina and england had. brazil didnt have enough guns, but it had lots of black slaves to fight unnarmed. unnarmed and chained. genocide. 99% of the male population of paraguay perished. even children were recruited. there is a tale of a fleeing army inside a florest. the enemies burnt the whole forest. barbecue of paraguayans. but, back to the main matter, the germans rebuilt their country twice in a single century. the paraguayans dont.

it doesnt matter. it is its land. is it its land? is there a place for it? how many cars full of tourists will dodge little boys without causalities? will they survive to strike back? can i turn my back to those facts?

you-no-her

i was roaming and i saw her

she is a copy of you
...
better
she is a copy of whom you're not
she is a copy of whom you should be
...
correction
she is whom i wanted you to be

eb ot reh detnaw i mohw er'uoy

noitcerroc

...

eb dluohs ehs mohw of ypoc

ton s'ehs mohw fo ypoc a er'uoy

...

retteb

reh fo ypoc a er'uoy

uoy was i dna gnimaor saw i

Junkie

At the train station late last night, a middle-aged man hiding two beer bottles, with bloodshot eyes and dirty clothes asked me which direction to take the U-Bahn to get to Kurfürstendamm. I directed him, and he asked me whether I knew my way around the city. I replied yes, and he asked me where I was from because of my accent. I told him from Australia, and he nodded and began to speak in English. He was disappointed in himself because although his English was quite alright for conversation, he didn't have a very large vocabulary.
He told me about his dreams of travelling, of seeing New York one time. He said that little by little he was collecting money in a bank account to go there, he felt that it was perhaps impossible, even though it doesn't cost so much to travel there from Germany. I told him that I was sure he would make it there one day, and a hopeful smile came across his face, "Oh, you think so, do you?" "Ja, es wäre bestimmt ein Abenteuer, aber trotzdem ist es möglich." I replied.
He boarded the train with a cheery expression on his face, and it made me wonder why people avoided these kinds of persons, they're harmless after all. Sometimes it's nice just have a little chat with a stranger.

Berlin in the transient state.

Ich hinterließ sie, ohne darüber ein zweites Mal zu denken.
Jetzt bin ich an der Reihe, ich wird hinterlassen, aber und abermals.
Flüchtig kommen sie ins Leben und die Seele berühren,
Bevor es höchste Zeit ist, mich wieder zu verlassen.
Aller Arten lieben können eine Manier leiden.

I left them behind, without a second thought.
Now it's my turn, I'm being left behind, time and time again.
They come so briefly into life and touch the soul,
And then it's time to go.
Loving in any form can be a way of suffering.

Adjectives

Sweet?
Cuddly?
Emancipated?
Harsh?
...Am I?

How do people describe you?

Plain

The raw edge of the voice,
What paints us unique,
That inner glows within our eyes,
What let us be judged.
I wish to grasp it in my palms,
For proof of want of something real,
Needing not that of materia prima,
But spurting forth instead a delta innocuous.

The girl with the smiling eyes

I want somebody to come fuck me tenderly, as I lie there unmoving, like a starfish.

Numb, numb, numb as they come.

I don't care any more, anyway.

Taste

How do you like them?

I like them...

polite. shy. innocent. kind. smiley. friendly. /quiet. bisexual. quirky/ mysterious. confident. ambiguous. androgynous.

tall. slim. doting. soft\beautiful. artistic. rebels\average. solid. defiant. tough.

but if possible, not blonde.

lack of something to want to love

a tree. a plant. grass. eating light until being eaten
and the death harvest with its scythe. but
humans don`t have roots, do they?
then run away. until you run out of fuel

like a machine. like a flame. with
faces? masks? animated statues
someone must be too distracted to not see eyelids shuting
or stunned lips in slow motion. with no word at all. no one to speak. lots of people to speak
no desire
maybe fear

or desire to be alone. no effort to loose in lost cases

it's too strange to have too much hair only in the head
or to wear clothes. to have nails. to befriend
because. because the wind is invisible. the light is visible
the color can be red among many reds possible
but none talks with your language

and because silent people don't talk to silent walls

give me YOUR money. without it there's no sense in selling MY things

...

i was the first to name an unknown star. it's mine now, isn't it, my friend?

and all i wanted to say is just
you can idealize what you want, but once you have it you will need something else
i had. i had enough

The lovesick unloved at 1AM

And why won't you fucking look me in the eyes, when I'm all you can see as my face is turned?
You can't even admit emotion, as if you were numb.
I would've fucked you then and there, I would have loved you, would have kissed you -
Had you not been such a coward.
But it's always that way, with men.
Sleeping with men, is nights alone spent in company.
And it's not as if my being foreign counts for shit in any case,
Because it's not as if you don't speak my language.
What is language, communication, anyway?
The sounds that come out of our lips,
The touch and movements that interconnect, allowing us to interact with one another.
Why can't it be that simple?
I call you, you call me.
Happy and free.
None of this nonsense about seeing each other again at a later time in life,
No regrets, and no jealousy attached.
Just love.
Fulfilling need.
Bodies made of coffee and cigarettes.
Something like a warm heart feeling, nothing sexual.
And if I can't have that,
If I can't even have a taste,
Then tell me lies,
Tell me sweet little lies at least.

Confidence

There's no one who can give you as much happiness as I can,
No one else can protect you better than me,
And there's no one else who loves you more than I do,
So, you need to choose me.

Valentines Day

Tonight, I danced with scissors in my pocket like the wilting of a thousand roses. At the front row of a crowd full of people, with no one watching. I shook my hips and screamed at the man standing in front of the crowd.
I did the bum dance without joking about it and fantasized about an orgy.
And finally, after following her carefully tweezed eyebrows emit an enchanting stare, and her pouted lips point hither, I was led to question my own sexuality.
Or at least, if I was even there at all.

I had too much to dream last night

This morning I lay awake, unable to sleep. Just thinking. And tonight it's become something of a habit. Everytime I close my eyes I'm dreaming, yet when I'm awake and lying in this bed I feel lonely. Perhaps because I know it's not mine, and I'm somehow influenced by the atmospheric melancholy of the one who owns it.
I think about all the people I've ever met and cut ties with, and I think about sleeping with them. Simply that, a warmth to wake up to in the morning.

the writer, the character and their three worlds

joão was born. it is a fictional human as any other human in any imaginable world. it grow and went to school to study, to outside home to work, to mate, to marry, to inside home to watch tv, to shit, to wake, to outside home to look for a job, to bet in the lottery, to get a beer, to cure a cancer, to inside home to fear death, to write its will, to pray, to outside home, to get into a bed inside a hospital, to leave it outside a coffin, to see its offspring forgetting, swearing, to receive a letter from its god. the god is me. i'm the writer of this short story and i must tell you, my creation, that you have the chance to change your past. but you don't have free will to do so, because i chose for you already. you have bad luck, you was created in the first world.

joão was born. it is a fictional human as any other human in any imaginable world. it grow and went to school to study, to outside home to work, to mate, to marry, to inside home to watch tv, to shit, to wake, to outside home to look for a job, to bet in the lottery, to get a beer, to cure a cancer, to inside home to fear death, to write its will, to pray, to outside home, to get into a bed inside a hospital, to leave it outside a coffin, to see its offspring forgetting, swearing, to receive a letter from its god. the god is me. i'm the writer of this short story and i must tell you, my creation, that you have the chance to change your past. but you don't have free will to do so, because i chose for you already. you have bad luck too, you was created in the second world. i will change your fate and you won't meet me in this end and have the chance to undo everything. you will change your past and you won't kill your grandfather and eventualy not be born to kill your grandfather at all. because you will be rich the next time. you wanted to be rich, and you will. now you will send a letter to yourself in the past with the right numbers for the lotery and you will buy a porshe and a big castle and a woman with big breasts and blonde hair that will kill you and all you get.

joão was born. it is a fictional human as any other human in any imaginable world. it grow and went to school to study, to outside home to work, to mate, to marry, to inside home to watch tv, to shit, to wake, to outside home to look for a job, to receive a letter from nowhere, to bet in the lottery and win, to buy a porsche, a big castle and a woman with big breasts and blonde hair to kill yourself. i'm the writer of this short story and i must tell you, my creation, that you had the chance to change your past. but you don't have free will to do so, because i chose for you already.

view from the sky

it was the first time i was inside an airplane. and over the clouds. the whole country was stormy. that cloud gray day. but the airplane got very high, higher than everest. above the clouds. it was very strange to me. to see a sunny day above that cotton clouds. it was so sunny that many passengers shut the windows because the white clouds were so shiny and blinding. it was like reading those white pages under direct sunlight. it was like trying to read. white blindness. whitout the clouds, the land without during daytime wasn't amazing. it seemed as photos taken from sattelites. those crops filling the rural lands with silly geometrical shapes. and there were the town, too small. and even the cities seemed small. all made of light brown roof. no one cares about top view, unless some extinct tribes of the deserts of america. maybe the great wall. the rivers were struggling big snakes. but one city amazed me. it was são paulo. inside it, steping on the floor, it was just scaring big and poluted in every way. but from the top of it, while landing, it impressed me. because even from the top of it, every side i looked at was full of buildings. i think that even a giant ant would get lost on it. godzilla is small. and that was during daytime. during nighttime it was even more impressive. the cities seemed alive. the light brown roofs turned to a deep black, as all the land surrounding the cities. all the could be seen was the street. yellow lamps. veins. urban veins. and it seemed to have blood running through it. i guess it was the cars, small blood cells. those cities and towns looked as shiny algae in the bottom of the sea. or microorganisms in a microscope view. so tiny. one after another in matter of seconds in a flight while i would need minutes or hours traveling by bus. from above, i discovered why the sky is blue. i watched distant lands in the horizon, but they turned to be more and more blue as far as i watched. sea of air. as a giant swimming pool. and the sea. the sea from above is a little boring. i saw many beaches, and the waves arriving, i think. or just white sand banks almost on the surface.

then i wonder why you never told me about your flights. only about jet lag. maybe you're so used to it as the passengers next to the windows that take a nap after shuting them. soon i will preffer to sleep too rather than watching the view, as i do while traveling by bus. but maybe, those are impressions that can't be shared at all over words.

A Brazilian in Saigon

It's not so surprising, actually. Though if you come to the Philippines, I'm sure you'd be the first one in Bambang. There are a lot of white people here. The kind that I don't like, more than any other. The kind that bargains with prostitutes over a sum less than $6 USD. Coming from Belgium, as far as I can tell by the accent, or some other European country. Makes me sick. Anyway, the Brazilian tried with Skype to call his mother, but the connection just wasn't that great. I'm here, thinking about whether to buy some juice or be stingy by saving that extra dollar, due to having to have taken a more expensive room tomorrow night. I'm skimping on juice, while the other tourists here are going for foot massages :). But damn, it's not even that cheap here. I suppose if you're from some cold scandinavian country and not a poor brownie like me... maybe that's why when I sat down at the computer this morning the white girl pulled her bag closer to her.

Update: I thought it was pretty safe around here, it not being nearly as crowded as some places I'd been in in the Philippines, but now I'm just listening to this Chinese woman asking for her passport from the hotel reception, because she was just robbed and the police need to see some identification. Apparently sometime earlier another couple were also robbed. Man... maybe I'm just lucky these days, or at least I hope so, shit how many times can I have had my camera stolen if it weren't the case *knock on wood*? I suppose it's like in Romania, there weren't so many people there... goddamn it, means I'll have to go back there if ever I want those photos. I think I will return to Hungary some day, but definitely not to Romania...