tea for two

I will never understand why people make a huge fuss about the transition to a new year. Time is just one long permanent straight line and we will never live to see it loop back on itself. Apparently clocks run slower in regions of lower gravitational potential.

The point perhaps, is that the people who weave in and out of your life will be the same regardless of the hands on the clock quivering in anticipation at 11.59pm. I will remain the same. Time is but a parenthesis in an unending sentence which meanders on and on but never really gets to say what it wants.

Tonight the air is a little warm. I'm guessing it'll be slightly more chilly where you're at.

Copenhagen, to die in your arms would be such a heavenly way to die.

re-dream

christmas in berlin

i am in a hotel corridor. i walk along the corridor and it is bathed in a dim yellow from the highly mounted lamps hanging from both sides of the wall. the carpeting under my feet feels soft and is blue in colour. or red, it doesn't really matter. the smell in the air brings back vague recollections of ikea. clean and airy with pinewood undertones. i am holding someone's hand. that someone is much younger and much smaller than i am. the face is as clear as glass at this very moment, but like all dreams will slowly be rendered unrecognizable. i walk from room to room pressing on each individual doorbell, asking the guests inside if they know me. none seem to recognize the face staring back at them through the narrow space between the frame and the door which is restricted by the door chain. all of the people inside tell me the same thing, that they're sorry and that i should keep looking. i continue pressing doorbells. i persist in the rapping of wood till my knuckles thin and turn white. there is a hope that these opened doors will eventually be accompanied with someone smiling in recognition. i reach the end of the corridor. there are no more rooms, no more bells to ring, no more sad bewildered strangers. i see one last door against a drab empty wall where paint has begun peeling off at its sides. above the door there is a single dimly illuminated sign which spells out the word EXIT.

padraic revisited

split me open at the veneer
take everything you see
i’m letting out the emptiness
so plant your roots and remain

the words they’re all lost at sea
anything tangible would fill these _____
they’d fit but never for very long
linger for awhile then outstay their welcome

disembodied thoughts drift unconnected
can you string meaning from disaffected feelings
you’ve been educated you’ve been told
these fractions form part of a w(hole)?

breath warm and palpable on the cheek
feels like august through the streets
oh staccato lover, why so brief?
but permanence is _____, permanence is me.

I remember reading somewhere that Denmark is the happiest country in the world. Completely plausible considering you can wake up in the morning to something like this:

by Mario Reisner