said and done

said and done

I can’t wait for those nightmares

bad choices snicker at my scares

on the fence I’m drying my sins

guts of a scapegoat fixed with pins

*

Light the fuse, I sit on bombs

I’d stick to the world in your palms

I can’t stop grinding my teeth

Excuse me, let me breathe!

*

Don’t tie me to the back seat!

You can’t hear me praying on repeat.

When I wake up I’m afraid,

I feel cold and betrayed

*

Secretly hiding your good-bye letter

into the sleeves of my favorite sweater

knotted around your swaying waist

We dance – a death tango, fast paced

*

Somebody’s beneath my face

Somebody else took my place

Let me go, or start listening!

 you look – my heart’s blistering

Where to Mr. Jones?

part 1

The thin man walks up to you. “Mr Jones?” In his hands a cup filled with mealworms. “Your car is waiting. This time the driver won’t be naked. I promise.” He sips from the cup, makes a delighted sound. 
You try to fight back the overwhelming nausea. You’re gonna throw up, if he smiles!
“Come on, Mr. Jones. Don’t make that face. It´s not polite.” Thank god, you turn your head the other way. You just nod. You don’t want to look at that face, ever again. You hope he is not your driver.

There is a car waiting. A black limousine. The door opens, as you walk towards it.
“My god! You were here all along? Mr Jones! Are you alright? We worried sick! We’ve been to the Professor, Mr Jones. He told us where to look.” A man from the backseat jumps you, hugs you crushing your ribs. Even though he is smaller, he lifts you from the ground – effortlessly. He seems relieved and happy to see you. “No time to chat! You’ll be late. We already are. You know what happens if we’re late…” You shrug and nod, but have no idea. The short man releases you.

“Come now, Mr Jones. Ziggy and me, we missed you great deal! Just happy, that we found you – that you are safe and unharmed. It would have been problematic, if you were dead… You know. We do not make business with dead people. They simply don’t respect privacy!” The thin man snorts.

“Don’t worry, you’re no freak! Ziggy knows you well!” The short man says and points at his nose. So he is Ziggy, you think. He pulls you in, onto the  backseat. The thin man shoves himself in, right after you.
You pray, that the cup is empty by now, and you don´t have to see it again. The driver floors the gas pedal and the limousine accelerates with screeching tires. Ziggy and the thin man, they both look at you.

“Where to, Mr. Jones?” It´s the driver who asks you, with a neat english accent. With shock you realize, it is a full grown gorilla driving that damn limousine. The thin man smiles at you. “Told you, he won´t be naked. He has his driver´s cappy on. He won´t upset you any longer. I gave him enough cigars. Bananas of course too. He´ll behave. I swear.” He looks pleased with himself.

You just swallow hard, and admit that you have no idea what´s happening. What is it you have gotten yourself into? The gorilla looks disgusted at the thin man, rolls his eyes. You ask yourself how a gorilla manages such an annoyed look.
Your mouth dies up, as you raise your hand. “I have a question, if you don´t mind.” The thin man and Ziggy look at you expectantly. “Am I… Am I high?“

Ziggy laughs, he puts a hand on your tight. “No, Mr Jones. No, sadly not. We´d be high too. And we are not, that I can tell. No. It is much simpler than that. You are nuts. Understand? We are part of your hallucinations.” He makes a  patronizing gesture. “And you have to admit, dear Mr. Jones, if your hallucinations tell you, you are nuts. Better believe it. We have to know.”
The thin man grins. “We´ve seen some weird shit!” He nods approvingly to himself. “Weird. Shit.”

———————————————————————

part 2 – soft spot

part 3 – don’t forget the salmon

part 4 – threats

part 5 – …and you thought you had problems 

the name of the morning star

the name of the morning star
I’m in love with the morning star.

This is not only about me, my stories, or my search.

It’s about the sky and the stars, and everything behind that deep blue void. Behind that distance, the stone cold space, deprived of… meaning?

No.

That’s not right.

It isn’t the lack of meaning.

Continue reading “the name of the morning star”

twisted

twisted

I don’t know what it is…

We just sit on the stairs, outside, in the darkness. No one speaks. Rain. It is a gentle, silent rain like in autumn; still summer though…

Inside, the party is in full swing. Laughing, music and shattering glass. Next to me she moves suddenly. The ice cubes clinks in her glass. I still have liquor left in mine.

„You know“, she states, letting her voice slip away into the blue. „You know, I’m different.“ I wait if she throws a meaningful look at me, but she doesn’t.

I stare at her silhouette, trying to spot the thing that isn’t right. Feels like… Don’t know. She is weird. Definitely. She talks with an accent I don’t know where to put…

Besides, who else would prefer the chill outside over a party? Who cares? Something about her face catches me, in first place. I think it is her eyes. She keeps them casted down. But from time to time, she seems to forget it, and I catch a glimpse.

She has unusually bright yellow eyes, glowing with a soft golden light. As if there is a lit candle in the depth of her scull.

„I’m a foreigner.“ She says in a flat tone. This time she looks at me. „You should not be here. With me.“ Her eyes darken. „Leave! They come to pick me up.“

eloquent baby sitter

The door to the office isn’t closed. My desk is nearby, so I can hear Mr. Ribinsky yelling at someone on the phone.

“What? It’s been now; let me check my… Two hours and forty minutes straight. Well. I can say that you are a persistent little shit. Congratulations on that! You get your assignment alright. But don’t come and complain about the client. I told you – you are not ready. Yet. You are going in anyway? I guess, you do. But if you insist… Don’t expect mercy from me, or anyone else. Got that? Good!”

The noises from the building lot cover the rest of the conversation. The construction workers are making a fuss. All that yelling and whistling… What’s up? I only guess, that Smith finally got his appointment. He is the only one not-ready-cause-still-recovering.

I´ve been doing his job lately. Mine and his, that is.  He’s sloppy, unfriendly, reckless and lavish… Lately, there have been a lot of complains about him, and his little problem.

Smith is one of those guys, who just don’t know when they have enough… Which is not my problem. Mr Ribinsky stands in the door way, smiling at me. “No. Whatever it is. Just no!” I tell him, but I already know it’s too late… “What?!” I ask.

“Dear Wellington, even if you roll your eyes in that eloquent head of yours. It´s already decided. You do such a great job! I think a promotion and a nice raise is going to be in this month. If!” His voice is so sweet.

“If…?”

„If-you-watch-over-Smith-and-he-doesn’t-fuck-up.” His eyebrows -and his chest-shoot up expectantly.

“This is a fucking joke?!” No way I’m going to do that!

„I’ll fire you, if you don’t.” He laughs. “You know you’re good, but-  you want to bet your job on that?” He’s right. “It’s a nice raise. Big money. And a paid holiday. Anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.” He’s reeling me in.

“Damn you! I swear, I’ll punch Smith so hard, he’s going to need an ambulance, if he annoys me. You know he merits it!” He has a stupid grin on his face. So satisfied with himself.

“Do as you wish. Whatever seems suitable for you. I give you plenty of rope.” With that said, he turns around and goes back into his office.  Babysitting Smith won’t be easy. A hell of a week.

“Look at you, you poor poor Mr Know-it-All. So you are going to watch over Alex, hm?” Estelle, Mr Ribinsky´s secretary, is leaning over her desk to me, with an amused look. “Mr Smartypants, you look so annoyed… Boohoo. Now  listen, you bookworm! If you lay a finger on Alex, or harm him in any way, I swear I´m going to cut you!” Obviously she hates me. But this means that she likes Smith… So, this is how he gets his informations. I’m not impressed. Not at all. Raising an eyebrow to her, she pulls a switchblade knife from her handbag and makes a distinct gesture. From left to the right, across the skin of her own throat, just under the jawline. Then she points it smilingly to me.

What’s under Lady Luck’s skirt?

“Kiddo. You need luck! Without it, you don´t even start.”

The old man looks friendly. His wallet lies on the ground, near his seat. He’s already finished his  coffee and  his pie, rumbles on about something in the newspapers. There isn’t even one he could be lookin’ at. Anyway. He stares at me. He talks to me. What the hell?!

And me? Lookin’ busy. Studying my books sprawled over the tiny coffeeshop table. Old man, why you keep  looking at me? I’m not interested in social contact… Except for that wallet. Yes, that wallet… I’ll keep that in mind.

Continue reading “What’s under Lady Luck’s skirt?”