A whimsical collection of shots derived from self-prompts using titles of popular deviations on deviantART's main page, from [May 18, 2012] to [June 8, 2012]; dealing with break-up, heartbreak, Scandinavian pop music, empty apartments; and the inevitable process of self-reinvention.
sudsee by BluestWaves, literature
Literature
sudsee
sonnenschein auf mein Gesicht,
ist das Land, was ich sehe?
(nein, nur Wellen, Wellen, Wellen...)
Ich war so einsam schon so lang,
komm her jetzt, zu mir,
ich kann dich endlich richtich umarmen. Ja, das weiB ich genau jetzt,
ich bin hier nicht verloren sonder befreit,
komm Mond oder Sonne herunter hier.
Ich kann dich endlich umarmen und schweigern. In meinem Hertz pumpt jetzt nur Einsamkeit,
komm Mond,
komm Sonne,
bring' mich um. (oder...?)
Lang schon treibe ich auf mein schmerzendes Ruck,
hier schlafe ich auf die blaueste südsee.
Schon so lang so einsam so freulich---
hierher treibe ich auf die Wellen und ich bin frei, so
I FOUND HER pinned on the Wall,
the weary kind,
a mimesis of protest propaganda colors,
she said she did not write sad things any more.
I'm crossing the river every day,
like a tourist on a day without sun,
but listen,
under the flyers I think I see the city,
and if she branches she'll be spring,
a goddamn spring shower
binding me with gold bands/
she's a catastrophe,
she's knocking my bricks down with a sickle
and a hammer and a folk song,
but yes,
under the debris I can see the city,
and now I'm the one pinned under the Wall,
not going any further,
waiting until she finds me.
(self-prompts: last week- jellyfish- girlfriend - )
It's not last week any more,
I'm not too awake and
this lame youtube window's this annoying
bubblegum jellyfish color,
as if I even cared about Scandinavian Pop Music
(it's so not-manly),
and man,
I don't know that number that's texting me
(like I cared about it anyway)
it's still raining, goddamn, still raining!
It's a day for coffee and apple pie,
but damn they're heavy like lead afterwards;
it must be those emails from my girlfriend(ex), yeah.
Weighing on me like cheap wine after a night of sparkles.
It' not my fault, okay?
It was all about stree
just stay away, kid, girl,
today I'm just in a mood that's dying,
I'm cooking with honey, baby,
and wishing you never come around again,
I spilled my green tea gone cold, baby.
I stayed up last night again,
remembering 1000 years ago when you texted me at 3 am
telling me that you'd dreamed of a carrousel,
baby, did you already forget that eclipse?
It was 5.34 that time, damn it, baby.
there are books on the carpet by the dying fire,
and I'm just wishing I'll never have to think again.
but that's not my luck and you know it, baby.
So stay away.
It's clouding so I'll close my blinds again,
remember 1000 years ago?
pacing down the room
pacing down the room
it's dark and the blinds are down so, it's dark
(icesnow is raining down the corridor like
yesternight
like the time we---)
pacing, down the room, even though it's small and it's freezing,
and all the coffee in the world
can not save me,
I think I'l mumble a serenade to the
one lunareclipse I missed when I overslept because I was
underslept,
many nights eyes wideopen until midnight.
Hello, love,
goodbye, love.
I wish you weren't a landscape in my nightmares anymore.
I hate clocks
but I still hear them tickling
(or is it me walking, walking, walking?)
I'm forever dethroned,
Kneeling
it surprises me to look out the window and see it light blue with dawn and ice,
because I've been awake for hours and it was dark,
before and after I was dreaming.
I think I remember waves.
(what is what, is life and love and death and sunflower wallpapers and
why are they all words when they should be
"happy day"; now;
no;
I can't just keep it from spinning like a fly -dyingfly in a spiderweb spinning for
life, and death, and an other sun rise like
the one that glistens out of the hive of windows in the dreams I never remember the morning after,
not until you stay away.
And about a new place, about a new place,
I don't know tha
looking up at the white ceiling
and
in another apartment building
there's a chorus of cuckoo clocks,
like a gospel of frogs in a swamp
(when did I become this sad poet?)
when it was too cold in the morning for my scarf,
I guess,
but damn, honey, I'm always walking in circles, I swear.
(that's my strength.)
make it midnight at 8 in the morning and
zone out when it's daily and bookish.
Honey, I'm tied to the hourglass
but I'm not yellow, I'm not yellow,
I guess I'm learning when to give up,
only after I finish this cigarette.
I'm always walking in circles, baby, I swear.
But that's my strength.