sink lips lightly like snow

We’re doing this Shakespeare play… It’s on my mind. I have to write my next book too. But my dream is to buy a piano, one of those electrical ones that don’t make any sounds when you plug the thing in. The one that leaves the neighbors enough rest so they could open up their salon. It’s called EDEN, no joke. Do our parents photos look like tumblr blogs too?

The airline lost my luggage and my apartment lost power. Read a book yesterday night in the dark and candlelight. It’s raining and storming in Wales. In less than two years I’ll be gone from here. Maybe NY maybe somewhere else. Life goes on, but it gets harder to justify doing it. The parents thing is key, I think. Don’t do it before they die? But in the end it doesn’t matter anyway.


Six times now
I’ve started this poem.
This one about the apathy and inability to connect with other people. About the concern with self-image and how it can completely shut you down. And now, of course, everything is superficial so you never have to talk about anything real. There wasn’t much money when I was a kid, but when I got into my teens they were doing pretty good. They moved into a house. Bought their first car. Some polish car, a communist car, bright orange but brand new. I’m not sure what they envisioned for me. Something like a welder maybe, or a shipyard somewhere. A trainee vacuum cleaner repairman maybe? But I couldn’t focus on jobs like that, I’d work on something for hours and hours. Perfecting every little mechanism, observing the gears turn. The boss looked at me – I’ll never forget it – bright blue eyes just staring at me and a smoking cigarette. Behind him the sea held flowers but the stuff I threw away is washing back to shore.


Really like to play the piano. It’s calming.

Is this cryptic enough or should I try harder?


Live piano player smth in a play. Scores the play. Infuriating the stagepeople. Kinda 4th wall breaking etc?

I had to take a stand against him. Yo uweren’t going to. He pushed me around, pushed us both around and you didn’t say anything! “Brother.”

apathy and inability to connect with other people. Concern with self image and it can completely shut you down. And now, of course, everything is superficial so you never have to talk about anything real. stance of a human being, rather than a presence of one. Shiny, fake ones. Great music. aah.. It is difficult to live a meaningful life.

for hundreds of years actors never saw themselves act. when he died, it was like a whole library burned down.

past life rearranged into a theme park.

“You know that little clock / The one on your VCR / The one that’s always blinking twelve noon because you never figured out how to get in there and change it? / So it’s always the same time / Just the way it came from the factory / Good morning / Good night / Same time tomorrow / We’re in record.”

An annoying trait of smirking after every sentences as if a great point was made by him at every turn.

I hope so, but if I am a hound, at what am I baying? I am basically a closet romantic, a tame wild man.
sitting in the chair, pointig at the stars, the constallations, the big dipper, the litle dipper.

a subjective sense of becoming, clocks measure themselves

At some point (with your parents) the only thing that’s gonna change is you.

CPR on the dead father. Weird intimate moment with a corpse. There was no intimacy in my family and there I was with this corpse. Unbuttoning the shirt and trying to bring him back. And it’s weird.
The mother said:

Your sister
she looks like
_ I remember her

tears in her eyes


Her drinking drove me crazy
But now, she looks like
she’s happy
And happy is good
She said:

What a relief
more money
to invest
more ti-
To spend
There’s a whole
human life
that’s gone
and now there’s so much
I said:
You always said
you begged me
that I’d stay
raw voice, demanding
on the telephone
“don’t go.”
you said

I said:

I’ve melted
simply by watching
the stars above
they’re gone
and now here I am
watching and dead already
dead already and dead again
the family is something
that belongs in a past

there’s a sister somewhere
a river
a sea
a moment


Minu ees istuvad
kahe diivani peal
umbes kuus erinevaat meest omaette ja üksi
tüdrukud on nende kõrval
ilusad ja omaette
keegi ei tunne
liha enda kõrval
sest hing on tähtis
aga miks mitte anda
natuke rohkem
sasha nimi on elizabeth
aga keegi ei kutsu teda nii
ta õpib rahvusvahelist poliitikat ja
nutab et elvis
on vinüülis aga kadunund
ta nimi on Carrie
ta mõtleb krimonoloogiast
ta otsib maja, sest elada üksi
koos teistega
on odavam
ta nimi on misiganes
ta mõtleb kasvuhoonetest
nad on merevaigukarva kollased
kuskil võiks olla unelma maagia
sest miks mitte
ma olen surnud
ja unelen
ja inimesed elavad mu ümber
mu elu ei ole täiuslik

I’ve written
of snow
how the flakes
stand on their edges
before the white lips
kiss. I’ve written
of snow. But beside me
sleeps you and dreams
of the impossible. I want
to sink my lips, lightly
like snow.

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