Excerpt No. 4

Hold fast on to your heart, and stay a soulful mind.

Whilst to pain be kind.

Lean on summer’s breeze, and winter’s fading light.

Whilst to emptiness be kind.

Sing, and share with all what you may find.

Whilst to the wicked be kind.

Dream with the heavens, and drink the sun’s might.

Whilst to darkness be kind.

Soar through life’s every moment, and every fight.

Whilst to lost causes be kind.

Keep yourself unbound, and free from spite.

Whilst to the end be kind.


Excerpt No. 3

Way up high. Angels see us. Being stupid. And cry.

Way up high. Upper than the sky.

Angels wonder why.

Way up. From where we live. Angels look at us. And grieve.

Way up. Way upper from where we live.

Angels shake their heads.

In disbelief.

Excerpt No. 2

The thought I give
The joy I cry

The dream I live
The kiss I lie

The luck I spill
The love I talk

The hurt I feel
The life I walk

I am man.



A little Halloween story I wrote – as first posted here, where you’ll find a whole bunch of wonderfully spooky short stories celebrating good ol‘ Jack.



Jonas Graham tried to hold on to his thought; but it slipped. Again.

He had to get rid of it! – “Not the thought, though! It ain’t the thought I wanna get rid of! I want the thought, whatever it is … I mean… was … . – But this ringing! This ringing is killing me! – It has been too long now.”

Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep …

The rhythmical monotony of Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep had been torturing Jonas for as long as he could remember; which would be for about as long as he was awake; which, to him, was an eternity now. –– He felt his face going numb, frozen in this one expression.

One expression, one sound.

Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep.

Without a doubt: he was losing his mind.

He knew, would he look into the mirror now, he would see anger. –– But should he even have a look in the mirror?


“Cause, I know it anyway, don’t I?” –– Of this Jonas was very certain. In fact, he felt, everything was clear to him now, which was different from before. Before… was a foggy place, it might as well not have existed; before … must have been before that eternity for which he has been awake now …

“I said it once, I say it again: I’m goin’ bonkers, here, folks! I’m slippin’ (like my fucking thoughts! – Good God All mighty… Do something!)!”

In any case, he so totally didn’t remember where the mirror was. Upstairs possibly? But upstairs… was not the place he wanted to go. – He wasn’t too sure, why. Still, he was sure enough not to have wanted to leave the living room, turn to the right, climb up the stairs, one step at a time, up, up, up… the milky-white, shiny marble, which he never really liked that much in the first place (but she did!).

“We should never have have put those in. Silly me!”

Of that he was sure, somehow. – Then he turned around and looked at her. It seemed to him, Julie hadn’t moved, not one bit (not for an eternity). Her airy blue eyes, still trimmed at something, something that wasn’t him. At least, that’s how it felt to him; just as it had felt for the last year. Or two. Or three… – “Yes, we didn’t get along too well lately, dear, now did we?” – Too much work, not enough money, the thing with her bosses car… Oh, and the other thing, the one with her boss per se.

Yeah, that had not been much help either. But, he had, as she had put it then, only himself to blame (which he was sure he had tried, to no avail).

“Silly me…”

“I never, never wanted it to be like this, you know?” Jonas felt sadness washing over him, like the warmth that comes with a certain kind of embrace, one that envelops one’s entire being – just that this one was an embrace of sadness. Would he cry? – “I wanted… I don’t know… I wanted it to be like it was before…”

Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep …

Jonas pushed the ringing out of his mind, at least into some corner of it where it didn’t (kill him) distract him too much. “… Just you and me. I just wanted summer every month of every year, every hour of every day. Every moment. I really, really wanted it to be like that… distant… Just summer, just…”.

Her face showed no sign of her wanting to join him in his memories; there, in the memories of this distant summer, he would have to continue to live alone. Another wave of warmth, more sadness. Still, no tears. – But water… he remembered that she had asked for some water.

Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep …

“Hold your thought,” he said to her. – “Why don’t you hold yours?” He whispered to himself, matter-of-factly, noticing the irony, but without any real reaction, without a smile.

“God (All mighty), what is wrong with (silly) me?”

“I’ll get you your water. I’ll be back,” then he left the living room, knowing, absolutely knowing, with every fibre of his being, that he wouldn’t be. Ever.

Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep …

He went straight to the kitchen, not even looking to the right, to the stairs, the shiny, milky-white marble. –– He had to switch that damn thing off – but first he would change the ring-tone. Oh, that he certainly would! Because… that tone is killing me! he thought, before he forgot all about it, as he apparently did nowadays, and instead went for the fridge. –– Jonas remembered how much he had wanted this fine piece of designer tech, brushed metal, wide, extra-wide, with crushed ice, and drinking water at just the right temperature, which he absolutely loved – because, as he always said: Water Is Life!

Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep …


“Just a moment, dear,” he said as he heard Julia’s voice behind him, somewhere, while he looked for a glass. “I will switch it off in a moment.”

“I love you, Jonas. And… I wanted you to know… you don’t have yourself to blame. I was… It was me, not you, me,” she said and he was sure he could detect tears in her voice. And he felt warm again. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but he couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t for the last year. Or two. Or three…

But that was all about to change now! Because now he would tell her. He would tell her that he loved her, that he had forgiven her, that there was no stone for him to cast at her, that everything would be fine, that he felt empty without her. Empty and alone.

Dweeep. Tah-dweeep. Dweeep. Taaaaaah-dweeeeeeeep. Dweeep …

“Doctor?! There’s something wrong here! The sound…” Her voice was distant and close at the same time. Jonas looked around him, but there was nothing, just white walls, all the walls, shiny and white and pale. – “Oh, please! Do something! – Jonas!” – He turned around but all there was was him… him on the stairs. Up, up, up …

Dweeep. Tah-dweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep …

He only noticed that he had dropped the glass when he saw the pieces flooding the milky-white, shiny marble, fanning out over the steps beneath him like an exploding star.

Dweeeeeeeeeeeee …

“I always have loved you,” she said. Jonas gazed at his hand and could almost see hers holding his. But all there was, was the warm feeling of her touch. And suddenly he knew; he knew. He opened his mouth but no word left him.

Dweeep. Tah-dweeep …

“I’ll give you a moment then, Mrs. Graham.” – Jonas didn’t recognize the voice he just heard, that gave his wife ‘a moment then’. He looked at the splinters of glass dripping down the steps, down, down, down… clanking like thousands of tiny bells.

Jonas looked at the steps, the splinters, the water flowing down, then he slipped (“Silly, silly me!”). Again. – But this time for ever.



With Thanks to Valerie for the input and pointing-out-of-things. And with Thanks to David, the top drawer!


On Being Nobel

Why am I having a big sad today? Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize! I think he deserves it too! And yet … and yet … the reactions … Oh, man, the reactions!

The majority of the reactions feel to me like this is all a big misunderstanding. And, given the context, a misunderstanding that is very telling of the state we are in – a state that most of us know is not a good one; a state most of us know is of our own doing; yet a state most of us think they have NO part in changing. That would be Obama’s job. And his alone.

By and large, the subtext of the vast majority of reactions today appears to be: you (Obama) deliver, while we (all of us) wait and see (and, if we are members of the GOP, or Iran, or North Korea, or the banks, or credit-card-users, or junk-food-adicts, we will in fact do everything so you get nowhere near achieving anything – while, of course, we continue to wonder aloud why it is you haven’t achieved anything fully).

Never mind that Obama is dragging and pushing everything and everyone in just that direction; he is sweet-talking Iran and North Korea, reassuring the Muslims of the World; hell, he is reaching out to anyone who has a part to play in solving the many problems ALL of us need solving.

The Nobel Peace Committee recognized what he is trying to do; we (or at least the majority of us), who will benefit greatly if he were to achieve it, appear not to.

As I see it – and as I understand the purpose of the Nobel Peace Prize – it is like the Nobel Committee said: here’s the ideal, this is what it’s about; and here is the guy (Obama) trying to get it done; if you (all of us) support him, then, if not World peace, at least a better life for many can be achieved.

And still, the majority of reactions were cynical, a lot of them mean-spirited, or, at minimum, doubting, based on anything but real information about what Obama has done since he came into office, how he actually has worked for a change of tone, how determined he is to get lasting solutions.

No, the majority of reactions were not what this prize really is all about: they weren’t inspirational.

As much as the Nobel Peace prize is a symbol – as it stands for an ideal, for a direction, for a state of mind – the reactions themselves are symbols as well. And what they stand for, the way I perceive it, is saddening, truly saddening.

Thank you at Joseph Lane for editing!


Taking a Stand

When even the most fantastic lies about Barack Obama’s healthcare reform don’t rock people sufficiently anymore – or when rumours about his Muslim roots or continued forgeries of his alleged Kenyan birth certificate don’t stir the pot like they once did – the last resort left to his opponents appears to be to aim their squeamishness about Obama being the President at… his penis.

As historians who specialize in animosity between the races have pointed out in numerous papers, the members of members of the darker races were always a centre of attention – and suspicion. Supposedly, because they are assumed to be huskier, more impressive, and more productive. In other words, it is hypothesised that from the moment it entered the white world, the black penis was treated as a threat. To the white penises. And the men attached to them.

In fact, some of said historians have suggested that darker penises are the real, albeit subconscious, basis of all „white“ racism. –– A tempting speculation, isn’t it? Given that also white men, being men just like any other men, define themselves – and their worth – a good bit based on their good bits.

Come on, we all know it is so: From an early age on, most men look at each other covertly, measure each other up as it were, trying to determine who amongst them is the most viral, the most strong – who among them is the alpha male. In that respect, size is a good indicator. In fact, often it is the only indicator tangible. Oh yes, it matters.

Be it fundamentally justified or not, deep down most men take it as fact that the one with the biggest one will get the best ones – women that is. Therefore, to imagine that a group of men reportedly being above their “white” average in that certain respect certainly demands respect  – and some action. Lest, as the saying goes, their women go black. And never come back.

Let’s be compassionate! What are these poor lads to do, really? – Feeling as most men do that their prospective women-folk will only come to them if they are sufficiently equipped to satisfy their demands (and desires, it is assumed) for manly protection, virility, and steadfastness. Isn’t it understandable, thus, that they give it their all to fight, suffer, and work, and that they are, in a metaphorical sense at least, hard on themselves for being the best man?

Fighting for survival, men have forever done everything to get their girl, and to keep it. Competitors with more to offer have always given them the willies and reduced their options considerably, at least in their perception. In fact, in this equation of evolutionary contest, the only way to fight a big penis would be with a bigger one. Which is harder then it seems. Because despite all those (rather recent) offers of enlargements available, most penises, I mean most men, will have to live with what they have for as long as they can hang in there.

So, to some, the best offence in that sense may be defence – and to get those dark-skinned Tom, Harry, and their dicks out of the way so they may never present themselves as the insurmountable object they are feared to be. Let’s bond, bind, and belittle the competition – it! – beforehand. Let’s talk him down, the black man (and by way of association, his penis too). Let’s withhold membership to the club from him. Let’s send him into the fields, the streets, the alleys, let’s discard him to the realm of dark fantasies of dirty animality and dreaded disease.

Therefore, at this stage, to talk about Barack’s penis may be the only option certain members of society have to hold on to; guided by primal instincts, primal fear may be all they have left. Their brains, that much seems clear from all their previous attempts to deal with the competition, are too limp to take a stand.


Excerpt No. 1

When I die

will I

become nothing at all?

When I die

what will I be?

Will I become

next a fly

when I die?

Or a tall tree?

What will I be?

Could I be

a butterfly

when I die?

When I die

what will become of me?

When I die

will I be

never more?

Will I be gone?

A soul forlorn?

Am I just … me?

Where will I be?!

Are we one

or are we not?

What’s our lot?

Why can’t I see?

Oh, why can’t I see? …


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