falling out of love

The best thing I did yesterday was falling out of love with you

I surrounded myself with the sadness, the loneliness and the doom

the creeping expectation of abandonment was no longer in the dodgy shadows

it was as present and clear as my oblivion

It was the best thing I did that day, because I fell in love all over again

Sat at the edge of your bed, unable to breathe, drifting in doubt

your rested your head on my lap

and I couldn’t avoid stroking your thick hair again

betraying doom, like it had betrayed me

diving in the unknown once again

felt like the first time you came over

so unsure I don’t even remember how anything started

all I remember is a sense of relief

realising that this is what I wanted, you

my heart deepens with every narrative

deeper in a hypodermic tunnel

where everything you are is my journey

reborn every sunrise with the realisation that you are greater than me

every moment of the new day

I long to fall out of love

because I know I will be falling in love with you again


bros before hoes

Pretty boys with pretty souls

loving each other like girls without the fearful emotions created by the notion of belonging to a powerless sex in a patriarchic society

observant like lovers are of each other’s movements and clothes

non-coherent abstract thoughts and emotions comfortably framing co-existence

willing to talk but unwilling to explain too much to anyone who desn’t get it

laughing loudly at utter bullshit, about the creation of the universe

laughing painfully at their own failed attempts at suicide

reciting poetry like characters out of the big Lebowski

desperately vulnerable between testosterone peaks

drinking, smoking, spitting, falling over

secretly fantacising of being each other’s girlfriend

strong muscular arms tenderly enclosing each other

dancing dances contemporary dance performances haven’t reproduced yet

some kind of balance between regularly stumbling on things and falling over

some divine rough grace

keepin’ it real when hoes don’t seem to understand shit

knowing each other’s silence

feeling the pain

bros just want to be gay meeting inside Di Prima

hard to understand why girls became the pretty sex and testosterone was denounced as the aggressive hormone

I follow the smell of flower scented testosterone

The closer I get the more I think about how Burroughs makes more and more sense

A schizophrenic girl-only upbringing

No one is to blame for this communal boredom girls share on social media

no one but their powerless disposition

a social norm wanting them to be more productive, more motivated and more independent

than any man

feeding them fairytales and encouraging adorable lameness

up to the point where they realise what it is they’ve done

a point of no return, since they are no longer virgins

they are grown up women who have learned that happiness comes from good sex

sex which you get when you’re pretty

ungrateful bitches of shared perception on social media

talented artists who challenge everything

but hardly ever get any joy out of it

as they have to try harder

jealous tarts who blame each other for their own shortcomings

something has gone terribly wrong

girls can’t enjoy themselves and boys can’t enjoy them either

everyone’s gasping for contact

but they are ever so hesitant due to the constant guiding guilt of their parents

maybe there should be a shift in investment

an appreciation for the terrible worrior girl

who fights for survival

maybe feminism is not about combing girls’ hair and telling them how pretty they are no matter what people say

but about telling them to their face that they’re on their own



In the realm of the senses

No one likes people who are in love, because they know that they mock and laugh at all of them for their miserable existences.

But then love is like a flu that lasts for a while and then leaves you just like everyone else and probably a bit worse off… corrupted and frail.

So the miserable people are always proven right at the end and the people in love always end up hurt.

Some miserable people though still remember what it was like and that’s where the beauty of growing old lies.


The house is in ruins

dog hairs cover everything

sticky sweat

haven’t cooked a proper meal in days

lists of things to do hanging on cigarette smoke

I finally remembered what love feels like

not entirely sure I can grasp all aspects

have been trying for days now

initially came those intense dreams

realistic and disturbing

then came oblivion and denial

then came some sympathy for oneself and existence

not feeling very scientific

feeling entirely practical

entirely emotional

a practically emotional state of affairs

and the realisation that one can’t but love what it is they love

can’t help but protect what it is they need to keep alive

people’s faces are melting

I’m reviewing summer photos

now always seems so far away

tomorrow is a long way

personal symbolism

personal objects and shared memories of enormous significance

wasted time

feeling for one another

the war is upon us

or is it the peace?

making peace with war

the war inside

the social war

the family war

the building war

the family pet war

the peace of a forest to live in and a warm body to live by

the ugly  and the beautiful

all merged together in midst

the new and the old

the beauty and the beast

the nightmare and the sweet dream

the violent awakening in the middle of the night

not knowing if that dream was a nightmare

because you care too much to make a personal descision

a shared existence

is always a heavy affair

an enormous risk

smelling of doom

sweet doom like the birth of a child

destined to die

destined to live

destined to feel pain

destined to change every cell in our bodies

think more, not less