All the Dreams

And what was yesterday's foam of memory is today even more tattered, at best only a fantasy spiced with hope. Guesses as to what it could have been. Nevertheless, it is striking how much more lively the night-time gossip has become since the wild ride through Europe's banal party-happy, I should have Lviv or even further, the taste of the powder on the tongue, instead of all the crimes against my foodie soul.

I'm with a couple in the south, they're hipsters escaping the city, the kids are there too, laid back and a bit of a role model, if I needed any or would it be my thing to idolize someone, but they have a house in the countryside, full of bohemian feeling, lots of animals, they actually get visitors like Snow White once did, at least that's how the dream memory reflects it.

A wild cat, a puma? , then later when I was in my childhood basement apartment, with the rotten, damp wooden floor, waking up into reality as if from a hope but still only in a dream, there are also big cats in front of my door, that is always a good thing, animals are an energy in themselves, archaic, Jungian, Freud is out of place today.

Nevertheless, scene after scene gets lost, mostly in this calf problem that can't decide between a torn muscle fiber and a bleeding Baker's cyst, Schrödinger's calf, well, no one has ever even taught me how to elevate my legs.

Oceanic

I happily reflect on the angel energy, the couple from the dream leaves me feeling sweet and sexual, painkillers relax muscles and tendons, nothing will be amputated today.

Except for the thirst for adventure, I lie fallow, neither Kerouc nor Siddharta, annoyed and misunderstood.

Lively, fresh colors, a bottle of LSD water in the fridge, my favorite Cheshire Cat brought it from Ozora. I have to wait, I'm not even wearing pants, I'm already masturbating in the afternoon, like I normally do late at night.

I can't really describe what this kind of trigger does to you, it's like a maggot in a jam jar of various escapes, annoyed by every cool pack, despised by the limping wizard, who almost becomes like a hobbit because of it, nothing against hobbits, they're always in the mood to party, no matter how shitty things are in Middle Earth at the moment.

Another mug for the gas levy while the stabbing pain leaves me. I explain to a young man on Insta the mindset of his twink, I write in a daze as an excuse not to have to read. That's too meditative for me.

Buddha Music!!, a good title from the old days springs to mind, I am a ballerina of unpolished prose, a magnet for boasting, I would have loved to have brought a lot more with me from the REM room, my safe space, I sacrificed the lucid for a little rest from thinking a long time ago, since I can no longer think so precisely I could perhaps go back to the start here.

The techno elf from Berlin who called me Falco on the phone comes to mind all the time, as a coke addict because I sometimes had heavy breathing due to a blocked nose and was wound up as she called it, who described herself as a golden vanilla gosling, who liked being in a team rather than alone in her chic old apartment in Schöneberg, tumbles into my associations, everything is fatally fluffy and misunderstood, we are all Gaga without a lady.

I'm thinking again about becoming a social worker and a mushroom dealer, ideally combining both.

Everything is water, everything is emotion.

Queer Lights

Accompany and mate with me on this path, even the onset of rain is intimidated by the heat of the city, makes little more than a wet pair of panties, lets the words twist, the phases thrash, but there is nothing you could find inner bitch, all other selves are on the Pride.

The Eden of language perhaps, but handle it with care, it is your last possession, the emptiness of your apartment is not your imagination since you no longer have any goats, no hamster cheeks, all the kittens are gone.

Now the rain is raining down more violently and more courageously from the sky. Salman Rushdie survived, despite the disgusting stupidity of his bearded henchmen; nowhere is the wind blowing more secretly than in Tehran.

But that's the trivialities of the dreamer, I never wanted to get out of bed again as long as this couple was in it. Only since everything was far away do I stumble around outside, from the bank to the pharmacy and back again.

Let's create another virtual credit card for three more months of free Spotify, my fly is a rabbit hole, I'm undressing you, I like the growing bush around your world tree, I see it in front of me, I can anticipate its growth and prosperity in my brain, I want to ride you timeless beauty vice.

Be my flesh in all forms as I am yours, for nothing is equal to what has been promised to us, every promise is a put-off, every consolation a lie, every lie a dream.

I wander across the Martian deserts into the chaos of the cold millennium. All tipping points have long been pressed. We are the babies, the guinea pigs of the corporations, still better than slaves of an imaginary god, we are the aliens of our own fairy tales, my shamelessness is the gift at the altar of drama.

The icy wind drives you far out into the black longing, when did we leave the encapsulated self in favor of more diverse togetherness, do we still see our old bodies thirstily mourning and were the illusions we made for ourselves strong enough for a new multiplicity?

We drink from each other, we revel in life, sometimes, far too rarely, what I am inventing here lights up, neither the place, the time nor the duration of the spark is important, it is the glow of a cigarette in a factionless universe.

I actively imagine, I don't give in to dreams, I take what inspires me, mermaids and tiger cunts, rainbow salsa, lascivious desires in the house of love. I am a crime against joy, a wicked little flower without remorse.

Down to Earth

The next cool pack for the torn fiber, a metaphor for the current political situation. The question of civilization itself. Europe's flames, drying up springs, youth beaten down, anxiously beaten down of course, I find myself in the waiting room, it has never been easier to act clearly.

To walk out of the system without a doubt, to design an autonomous existence, to come into contact with, to ask for forgiveness, one's own children. All children.

What my generation thought and still think is far from me, it no longer shocks me. It is like dreams, everything fades into the blue of everyday life.

Which breaks into grey and brown, which only relies on favors and theft to provide a tolerable 9 to 5, already wounded and wondering who can still put it all in order.

Hoarse laughter in the cigar club. On the islands of the rich, everything has long been prepared. I like the young Lebanese assistant doctor, the Slovakian vein specialist, the Romanian cleaning lady, here in the trauma room of the surgery are a lot of old white men and women whose tomorrow depends on the creepily diverse generation being less of an asshole than their own.

But what do I care? I'll use the next climate bonus to buy a ticket to Thailand instead of paying the heating bills, give my credit rating a clean slate and have an eternal spring. One book per life, one Blog and lots of love in color.