the weight curse

the weight curse

Part 1

It was the clattering in my kitchen that woke me. Stupid cat, I thought and turned under my blanket. Wait. I have no cat! I sat bolt upright and listened, heart pounding. The kitchen clammed up. I croaked a ‘hello’ into the dark apartment.

My dry throat begged for a glass of water and a panic room. Gosh, all these wishes were as likely as an oversized cockroach making me coffee. The air moved. Something smashed on the tile floor. It must be rats. ‘Mr. Burglar, go away. I’m broke.’  Continue reading “the weight curse”

bad blood

bad blood

One cold night the full moon’s blaze burns

The children tremble and pray, taking turns

The sky bursts its heartbeat into buzz’n thunder

Black turning into whistling metal, going under

My sweet baby, there’s only blood for your baptize

ready for bed, after the noise and havoc slowly dies

Stay in your cellars, a howling beast is out tonight

It’s something beautiful, deadly and cruelly bright

The night shivers with autumn stars

Highways packed with abandoned cars

Dark and deep silence solidifies into absence

shifting days and nights back into balance

Wishful thinking, being covered in leafs and  mud

Meat and saliva, sweet baby, this is bad blood

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.

Continue reading “Where to Mr. Jones?”

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.“