the lion roars


The rain gutter dripped. My eyes were already open. I felt like shit. The shutters rattled with the wind gusts.  I’ve been staring at the dark ceiling for nearly an hour. I wanted a drink and thought of the Vodka in the kitchen. Sleep was busy somewhere else. Brushing over my  burning face, my forehead was sticky with sweat. There was this nagging icy feeling wrenching my guts. Another night was wasted, another night spoiled.

The phone rang. The sinking feeling sank deeper. I got up. The cold floor burned  under my soles. I went to the hallway to pick it up, but my hand hovered above it. Important? Work? Catastrophe? Which is it? I asked myself. It did nothing  to buffer the leaden dread sitting on my chest.

I grabbed the phone. “‘llo?”

“Dr. Hoia?”

“Yes,” I swallowed.”Who is this?” The man didn’t answer. Statics filled my head. This was a catastrophe, I decided. Someone was writing something. I heard a pen scratch on paper.

“I’ve got a young man here, a Hungarian Jew. He says, he knows you.” The man snorted. Benny… What have you done this time? It must be someone from the police, or worse. Securitate. “His name is Benjamin Ekes.” The man said, not hiding his yawn.

“Yes.” I croaked. “I know him.” My throat was stinging, I couldn’t suppress a cough. I heard a faint echo of myself coughing. They were recording the call. Securitate it was. My heart knotted in its race. A big drink, I rubbed my lips, a whole bottle.

“Do you, huh?” He paused amused. “Then come and pick him up. Police station.” The man hung up. Damn, now I was on their watch list.

“On my way.” I said, listening to the disconnected tone in the line. With every heartbeat it grew louder and louder.  I stood in the darkness. Pull yourself together. I needed to get going. Who knows what they did to Benny. I grabbed some clothes and spares for Benny, gauze and disinfectant. On a second thought, I called the ER at the polyclinic I work, and had Rose on the phone. At least, some silver lining. She understood immediately what was going on. She said, she’d  had the scrubs ready, if needed. God bless good old Rose, the smartest nurse I ever worked with.

Two minutes later I was on the deserted main road, heading downtown. My car seemed to be the only one. I lit a cigarette, and thought of all the peaceful people who could actually sleep. No use to be jealous, I told myself, Benny needed me. And I- I needed a drink, and a month worth of sleep.

the onks


The vicious little thing, that looked like an ordinary eight years old boy, had a rotten day. He had the onks. Gnomes were prone to get the onks, especially  the young ones; and being a member of the royal family did nothing to prevent that. It was bearable in human disguise though, mingling, watching these oafs, and doing little mischiefs was entertaining enough to stand the bad days.

He strolled down the Bridle Path, enjoying the sweet shadow patches beneath the canopies of the trees,  minding his own business, slurping his fifth Vanilla jalapeño tabasco topped tripple Espresso, when a big bright blue man knocked him down hard, spilling his coffee. “BRAT! Look were you step,” the man yelled at him.

Since when dared a man to step on a prince’s foot, knock him over, spill his coffee, call him brat, and expect to get away with it? His eyes flashed red, his back burned, summoning enough magic to vaporize the whole park in one heartbeat.

That would be too easy on the human, annihilation went too fast. Severe punishment was waiting for that man, for more than a lifetime. Something nasty… Nasty… He had a brilliant idea. He snapped his fingers. Clap of thunder filled the air.  The man who jelled at him, transformed into a small pug.

The boy went to the dog. “I’ve always wanted a doormat,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. He picked it up by the scruff and shook it.“Who’s the brat now?” His eyes lit up with magic. The dog yelped and wiggled his little body out of the sweaty electric blue spandex shirt.  It started to pee itself, terrified beyond the capabilities of his little doggy brain; the bulging eyes, and the heavy shorty breathing made the gnome prince giggle. “Now you’re mine! Forever.” The pug whined. “What’s your name?” The dog whimpered. “Fine. Don’t tell me, pug.” The boy plucked a blade of grass and twirled between thumb and forefinger. A long green rope emerged between his fingers, and tied it around the dog’s neck. He put it down and looked at it quizzically, tapping his forefinger to his chin. “Hmmmm… Let’s see. Sit!” The dog sat. “Speak!”

“Hi. My name is Carl.” The dog answered with a yelp of surprise.

The boy grinned  satisfied. “Take that onks.”




the birds fled as /

the smart trot and jingling  of the rimy harnesses/

cross the laughing woods


How it went:

I was on the prowl to take some photos of the wildlife, in a little wood nearby. I do that a lot. The weather was cold, the wind bit my cheeks. Curiously, the  birds started singing, and I did my best to sneak up on them.

Suddenly, the sound of approaching hooves startled the birds, and they took off.  As the carriage passed by my position, the people on it started laughing. I must have looked foolish, standing there in the ditch, clambering unto the rimy rosebush, camera glued to my face.

Jede Regierung lügt

Marie's TV-Kritik

In der Arte-Mediathek gibt es noch bis zum 16. Februar die kanadische Doku Jede Regierung lügt, die von Oliver Stone und Jeff Cohen produziert wurde. Die lohnt es sich auf jeden Fall ansehen, schon weil Lügen-Präsident Donald Trump darin entsprechend eingeordnet wird – er erscheint derzeit zwar als besonders drastischer Fall, aber das dürfte eher auf das extrem ungeschickte Agieren seiner Sprecher zurückzuführen sein. Noch hat er sein Land nicht in einen Krieg gelogen, wie so mancher US-Präsident zuvor. Und, da sollte man sich nichts vormachen, auch ein Barack Obama und eine Hillary Clinton lügen sich und den anderen ständig etwas vor, nur tun sie das geschickter und nicht so offensichtlich wie der Donald das mit seinen Kinderlügen tut. Er muss halt immer den größten und längsten haben – im Grunde müsste man froh sein, dass er sich an solchen Nichtigkeiten abarbeitet, da wäre sehr viel Schlimmeres denkbar. Ansonsten…

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how to become a dragon

there is a spot in every human heart

a place where the beats start

where a sacred fire burns so hot

that time itself is blazed’n caught

in obsidian; frozen  in motion

peace and hope, love and emotion

like glass; such a delicate thing

hasty words become poisonous sting

a crack is all it takes; and it’s easily made

and the smiles and butterflies all fade

nervous fingers scratch, eyes dilate,

tongue meanders, nothing is straight

every touch hurts, each memory burns

every word gravitates, till fate turns…

but sometimes the hope gets chuck

the poor heart is tainted and stuck

its fire is cursed into envy and rage

melting its way through the ribcage

fusing skin into heat resisting armor

wings- easy as the smile of a charmer

bloated cynical phrases carry a bitter wind

flames to melt the soul, to make you blind

claws to destroy others, that’s a dragon’s guilt

and when the fire dies, that’s when you tilt