I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I were a mechanic, fond of cars and can make and fix them myself or a construction worker or engineer who put all that knowledge and free time into building and renovating things instead of tinkering on paper. Would my life be different then? At... Lees verder →
The bus drives through large puddles of water. Rain falls from the sky. It drives towards my hometown. I can still hear her voice in my head, a voice that crackles a little, but otherwise neatly conceals all emotion. I turn on the sound of my earbuds, louder, it doesn’t help, I turn it off,... Lees verder →
It is urgently time to write my story. I'm studying at the film academy. Screenwriting, because I love cinematic stories, and I prefer to write them myself. My friends are better with images behind the camera, I with images on paper. I'm in my hundredth year, at least it feels that way. It is as... Lees verder →
My fingertips were chapped and my eyes half cut out by the cold, dangling from flexible stalactites as I reached my dorm, cursing. Just back from acting class. We were about to start rehearsals, because on Friday (the thirteenth) we would perform. Now it was important that we rehearsed every night. But three of them,... Lees verder →
She sat there with eyes deep and bright in dark make-up to be with her is to get her attention while she’s hunting herself I dropped my fingers, what was the point of writing as she sat here before me she told me about Wu Wei - without knowing what it was how she kept... Lees verder →
I can't focus. I am already in ecstasy when I only touch the gently broken texture of the paper in front of me. The structures of the writing, not seeing them but feeling them. Rub them with my fingertips or with my downy dry lips and then read them aloud, gently blowing, breathing in and... Lees verder →
Fastfood romantics 