That's what I wrote him month ago. He enters the café in black artists business dress, it's his lunch break. Shake hands feels wrong. We hug, feels strange, too.
This guy is a stranger to me. Still he is. And will ever be.

For the first time I was not nervous before, during and after.
A slightly anger creeps along my heart when listening to his words.
How could I be that blind? How could I not be able to see that you never ever won't, even can't have a healthy relationship? I don't count your gfs anymore, I lost the hook-up how you hook up one after the other.

Small. Cute. Dark long hair. Slim to skinny. That's all, then she's yours.
"I know that I am a good-looking guy, smart too - and if it didn't work out I just have to go out; I will meet the next. Going to a pub, writing in the internet klacklacklack ..."
You continue to praise yourself: " I can cook, I'm writing poems, I'm traveling, I'm reading the newspapers, I'm working, earning good money."

I sip the hot coffee to prevent me from saying stupid cruel - but true - things.
I learned you to be honest with me. And - here we are: that's what I get.
A honesty, to be honest, I'm aghast at.

"She has no job, she just hang up with her child in front of TV. - Of course she has no money to travel and do things."
"I see ..." I mumble "... dark long hair, skimmy and money to travel...."
Not the slightest irritation in your face.

"I do everything for her. But then I want to get sth back. And: I wanna be equal of somebody!" you complain.

"I told her: listen you have NO JOB!" and I'm deeply hit, felt thrown back when you said the same words to me, when I was unemployed.
"Do you remember this sms you wrote me??? That you were happy finding this "new gf with money to travel"??? Do you even know which one of your ex it was? your exex? or your exexexex? This was of a breathtaking cruelty. It hurts me deeply - did you get that????"

You didn't even listen to me, you just go on:
" .... I even told her about my plan to go to A. during Eastern. - I did not mention YOU - because she is even jealous about a lesbian friend of mine - " you're saying and - just a moment please - am I suddenly finding myself in a center of cheating? Possible cheating rather? You have told your still gf that you go to A. for some days ALONE????

"I told her: listen, you have no money - should I stay at home? Just to BE equal?"
You're telling me about the quarells with her this weekend and that you fix a meeting to talk. Sunday. As you're used to - everything via sms. "And then, she smsed, that she could send me my things back and I answered with "Yes". And her answer was "You won't fight for me?" "So I answered "Guess not." - well, and I think that was it. Well, we didn't really fit." Just another brake-off via sms. How cruel.
With a simple shrug you change to your second best topic: yourself. So - am I not only totally replaceable but also negligble?

"All in all, I'm a smart guy and good-looking, am I? - and I could find someone new. Anywhere!" Saying it without anger, smiling mildly and a kinda coquettish in my direction. ARE YOU? Should I really answer this?

Indeed, you ARE a smart guy. How stupid and blind I was not seeing your breathtaking arrogance. Today your mask of arrogance wins; hidden: the unsecureness of your soul. That's what's exhausting me.

I remember that we want to meet to talk about the details of our trip to A. and your invitation months ago to a concert - frankly, an expensive one - to my surprise. And now it's you who surprise me again. "... and by the way, you must understand - if we won't get the cheeper tickets - that I will book them to the regular price - and that you could pay me the difference, ok? And - check it out where you stay, I choose sth for me"
To my own surprise I say: "Okay, that's no problem!"

But: when you leave, thinking about that, it WAS a problem.
Not the money aspect. I think it was okay to pay for my ticket, I even felt strange with this expensive gift.
But I feel - hum - pretty degraded.

First it was a gift you announced to me. A kinda date. This concert. Not in A. but somewhere else. Then you changed it. I suggested another time and place, same concert. Great idea, still: the tickets as a gift. I have to organise where we would have been stayed. At this "somwhere else" only tickets for regular price.

Now - other date, other time, other place. It's like we're occassionally travelling to the same city, to the same concert. Separated traveling. Separated stay. Separated evening plans.

Am I keen on that?

You're a lonely boy on your lonely planet.
You can't offer continuity. Something I'm really longing for.

A handshake good.bye.
I will NEVER kiss you again.

Who the hell are you? Who the hell I have been?

Have to think what to do.
Stupidly I already paid my train tickets ....

schreibt mir jemand. Und: "Ich bin auf der Suche nach einem Dackel. Für das Cover."
Sehr charmant dieser Faux-pas.
Unbeabsichtigt. Schade fast.
Und ich, ich kriege nix gebacken, ausser Apfelpfannkuchen.
Die machen Bauchweh, der dritte wars. Zuviel.

"Wie wär's mit einem Okapi?" frage ich zurück,
"Die eine Hälfte auf der Forderseite - als fisuelle herausVorderung, die andere auf der Hinterrücksseite?"

*kichertvölligsinnlosalleinevorsichhin

Manchmal bin ich schon komisch.

Ich spreche mit mir selber. Laut manchmal. Sogar in der Öffentlichkeit.
Twoday with you. In English. Sure. What else?
Imitating a phone call. Saying: "Sure, we can stay at my parent's. They have three guest rooms, one with a small bathroom even - but" and trying to listening what you would have answered. But you didn't. No answer.
Thinking: I want to cover you with my new warm blanket.
Before I'm going to get lost
- again.

A twentysomething girl came up to me asking
"Do you speak English?"
"yes - I do - how ...?"
"I guess I am lost."

einen Roman-tik.

Verlieb mich gerade schriftlich.
"Du, wunder dich nicht, wenn wir uns dann sehen, wenn ich dich dann länger intensiv anstarre angucke, weil ich muss doch dann all die Augenblicke nachholen, die ich bei den Mails und Telefonaten nicht gehabt hab."

I've lost my romantic ...
I can't float with you
Picking the flowers
From centre of heart
But this is a true
Lovesong for you
I've lost my romantic ...
There's a hole in my heart
Times they're changing
Too fast for your hearts
But, please understand
This is a lovesong for you
Now it's my fear
That the things come back
In the same way
Like ever and ever again
But this is a true lovesong for you
Now it's my fear
That I've lost my heart
To the wind
Whitch never, never comes back
But, please understand
This is a lovesong for you

(m walking on the water)

und nein, es lohnt nicht mit dem Schlagzeuger nach dem grandiosen Konzert darüber zu diskutieren, dass jenes Konzert wo du dir ganz bestimmt sicher warst, seinerzeit, im Stollwerk - war es wirklich 1997 - nein, es MUSS doch 199 gewesen sein, höchstens 1998, weil wegen deinem Exexexfreund kennenlernen und so, ein "m walking"-Konzert gewesen sein muss, denn er weiss es einfach. *lacht So kriegt dieses Gespräch eine herrlich absurde Komponente.

"Es war wie früher aber ohne nostalgisch zu sein" sage ich später.
"Oh" und du warst sprachlos. "DAS ist ein großartiges Kompliment"
"Ja, das meine ich auch so. Übrigens, erinnerst du dich, dass wir vor Jahren mal nach deinem Solokonzert einen - ach was - mehrere Becks getrunken haben?"
"Oh ja - ja, stimmt. Aber das war nicht hier - "

Ich dachte ganz viel an Gina. I miss you. And you. Und prompt ne zweite sms. Die ich halbtrunken versuche zu beantworten. Und im dritten Anlauf wird sie ein drittes Mal gelöscht. Was soll ich auch antworten auf ein "Ich denke an dich" - ich doch auch. Immer noch viel zu oft. And only for YOU I cry when THEY are playing the "Lovesong for you".

And it's YOU they are singing about. MY FEARs. About YOU. Und dazwischen mischt sich das zweite DICH. Genau DICH, den ich fast erwaret habe auch zu treffen hier und heute. Und dann niemanden traf.

"Times they're changing
Too fast for your hearts
But, please understand
This is a lovesong for you
Now it's my fear
That the things come back
In the same way
Like ever and ever again."

They're singing about us.
At least about ME. How could they know? Knowing that this is the question what makes a good song. A faboulous song. And THEY KNOW. NO way out. They KNOW. Almost everyboday knows. You are NOT unique. Although you're convinced about it. No. You aren't.
They're singing about us. It hits me. Tears run down my dancing face. I stare at you, singing, I stare at the drummer, he stares back and we are one. I stare at you who is caught in the music, too and you're running around the word, always the same words.

"Like ever and ever again."

Und du, der das so süß gesungen hast gerade, entschuldigst dich nach dem Song bei deinem Publikum mit einem Blick in die Menge - "DAS war jetzt gerade seltsam. So ein Flash in die Vergangenheit. So ein Flash, dass ich grad die letzte Strophe vergessen habe."

Mir ist danach dir diesen Song zu schicken. Obwohl ich weiss, dass er dich musikalisch nicht interessiert.
Und ausserdem ist er miesses Englisch. Clear German accent.

Einfache Worte. Aber manchmal ist es das einfache was zählt. Ob's zählt weiss ich nicht.

But this is a lovesong for you.

wie das vierte Buch einer sechsbändigen Trilogie, welches sich noch auf dem Postweg befindet und weswegen man einfach nicht anfangen kann Band fünf und sechs zu lesen. So ohne Band vier.

(Ganz präzise: DIESER doppelten Trilogie.)

Ja, und Band eins und zwei sind auf Deutsch Und five and six auf Englisch. Und eben, eben musste ich feststellen, dass mir auch noch Band drei völlig fehlt.

Ja, genau SO fühle ich mich.

Yesterday - as a guest on a funny international party in a villa with space for a family of ten or two families and at least 2 habitants in it (amazing always to me being confrontated that there ARE indeed people who are rich and have a bad bad taste so that there IS indeed a market for golden edged furniture which doen't say more than I WAS expensive!) - who have let the house to a summer student - I felt like 26, like the average age of most of the guests.

And then, when suddenly finding myself involved in playing "truth or dare" not anymore. Really extraordinary funny to find the right questions just the right measure inbetween this intensed embarassing fun of the game and the challange to let the one who is forced to anwser by choosing "truth" open in a way that the others see the heart of the one which the bottle's turned has chosen. Strike! "Damn good question!" "Thanks, I know". Although - got used to this game in numberless actor's trainings it was a kind of not-challangening to me. I wished to be asked MORE. Only one question tickled me. At least it was one to my neighbour. A funny guy always with a smile on his lips and quite witty. He was asked which position he would prefer having sex with me.
And realized that it's a great game. Altogether. I realized that I want to have continuity in being explored. Someone who is interested and someone who I am really interested in.

Realizing that there IS this someone. Still. (Could not point out the events of the last weeks, which haven't been real events but strange encounters so far.)

Trying to get some sleep at 4 in the morning in a bis american bed, a cat visiting my face, and although i love cats I was frightened to death when awakening from half asleep by an furry ANIMAL walking over my face - I snoozed again when an sms from YOU woke me up and I thought - NO this wasnt real - this stupid bird in front of my window again which learned the exact melodie of my mobile - even both the calling and sms-ringtone and imitates it as often as he wants to lark me. I took a look onto the display and read something like "I am sorry" and something I couldnt post here and (now I don't remember even) "that's the truth" and the I fall asleep again. In the morning I immediately remember this, and the first thought was " I have to note the sms" and in the second second (what does it mean that in English the second is not the first of a part of time?) I was aware how stupid I was because I would have had it on the mobile, so I concentrated on getting awake, having a shower and having breakfast, because I was sure that this sms won't please me for the rest of the day. And later in the train when checking my mobile, I had this very strange moment of parallel universes when NOT finding your sms anymore. And getting aware that in front of THIS windows I slept this night here could never be my bird being able to sing the ringtone of my mobile!

Sure. There wasn't one. In the night! You obviously had something better to do than writing me sms about your inner affectivities.

And later when thinking about truth and honesty I found something very important but nonetheless not making things easier:

I always put the closeness REAL honesty brings out above the CONTENT of this spoken honesty.
Means: if someone says "NO, I don't love you enough to ... " or something like that even less important, I value this person for its honesty - and feel closer again instead of taking the content for real and take one or better several steps back) - if I am worth this honesty - there must be more. Liking? Love even? Despite of all (others, things have happened? have NOT happened (yet)?).

That there could be more if I just stay. I'm afraid that there are others who are more consequent on - well, stopping hope at this point. (the post from 26. Juli) But IF it's hopeless, so why don't stop hoping? Is it?

Stupid or just human?
Even the morst worse thing: Don't know if it's just a trick of my mind to handle my heart or vice versa.

"It feels like I am moving, but I'm standing still." - same with me when reading our silly, mailcorrespondance where I feel forced to missunderstandings there and back and there and back ... Apart from knowing this medical situation very very well, the fear of Akkustikusneurinom last year, and still the sounds in my ear and always suprised about parallel living as well here and there -

"It feels like I am moving, but I'm moving." would be the better saying. For ME NOW.

Or just the other way round? Am I really moving?

I get rid of looking too close, it feels like a self- blindness, just to throw me down on other senses. Which works. Which works as good as stumbling blind. No surprise that just yesterday I told the story of hurting my eye deeply when I was trying to blow up a balloon years ago. which bursted right into my eye.

Call me crazy, but just now I'm having a picture in my mind of YOU under a big wooden desk, and it was a cave with a candle lightening the scenery of a play of a child and there is a smell of vanilla and cinnamon and winter tea and I'm sitting silently near you and holding your hand ... just NOW.

And as if having all the time in the world,
I
let
you
be.
The one you are.

You are looking for the secret. And consequently you are loosing interest as soon as you found it. As soon as the woman opens her soul and heart to you. As soon as you hear the story she wants to hide most. You fall in love with the secret.
I was too open hearted for you.
Feeling sad.

Und wenn ich mit dir meinen Tag teilen will, dann halte ich mein Handy ans Ohr und tue so, als ob ich dir erzähle was ich heute erlebt habe.

Im Woyton's sitzend, daran denkens wie ich das letzte Mal hier gewesen bin, mit B., der mich mit seinen Worten so gerührt hatte, weil er so recht hatte. Und auch an dich denkend, N., der du mir heute gemailt hast, der du mich vor noch viel mehr Jahren ebenso gerührt hattest. Und wen ich dich das nächste Mal treffe, werde ich dich fragen können: "Sag, war ich damals dein Übungsobjekt für spontane Trancen?" Weil ich damals nicht wusste, was du mit mir machtest an jenem Abend, wo ich dir sehr viel privates erzählte und du mich mit deinen Fragen so weiterbrachtest, dass ich nicht mehr genau weiß, wo ich damals war, nur dass ich danach losgehen konnte. Und auch wohin das weiß ich nicht mehr so genau.

An einem belgischen Bistro vorbeilaufend, drinnen E. Koska, die Nina Hagen von K., mit Hut und Hexenwallehaar in Rot wie immer. Ein LKW (Lebenskunstwerk), die man wegen ihres Seins mehr kennt als wegen ihres Tuns.

Und wenn ich dann mit dir meinen Tag teilen will, halte ich mein Handy ans Ohr. "Nur so sind Selbstgespräche legitim, nicht wahr?" und lache meinen Caféhausnachbarn an, der wie fast 70% der anderen Besucher in seinen Laptop vertieft ist. Komisches Café. Ja, die Menschen kommen her, um sich zu unterhalten. Mit elektronischen Geräten, aufgeklappt und ganz weit weg. Das Unmittelbare verliert zugunsten des Mittelbaren. Fast scheint es als die Menschheit authentische Begegnungen verlernt. Direktes Ansprechen wird damit immer mühsamer und peinlicher. Hast du KEINE Internetbekannten, wieso musst du mit MIR im real life sprechen? Der Freund am anderen Ende, der mir zuhört ist ein erfundener. Er ähnelt dir. Er wäre DU, wenn du jetzt nicht so weit weg wärest. Und ich wünsche mir, dass du, neben mir, genauso gerne fremden zuhörst bei Telefonaten wie ich selber. Und gerade weil ich damit rechne, dass du mich ansprechen wirst, tust du es selbstverständlich nicht. Und dann ist es mir doch egal und ich rede weiter.

Im Traum heute nacht habe ich Mike getroffen und es war so normal wie es auch real sein könnte, und nach einer äußerst realistischen Verlegenheitsphase haben wir gescherzt, darüber wie man sich verändert hat. Oder auch nicht.
"Küsst du noch immer so gut?" überrasche ich mich selber, flirtend.
"Probiers doch" grinst du mich an und dein Gesicht nähert sich meinem. Und alles kommt wieder, ist so normal, dass ich es tue. Und es ist schön und warm und weich. Und dann verschwimmen die Bilder und wir liegen in deinem Bett mit Blick auf den schweren gelben Vorhang, den der wievielte Nachmieter deiner vorvorvorigen Wohnung übernommen hat, den Vorhang, den ich gestern noch ganz real gesehen habe und an dich dachte und zugleich an D. und wie unterschiedlich und zugleich ähnlich sie doch sind - du und du und auch du. Und ich weiß plötzlich nicht mehr was ZEIT bedeutet, die vergeht. Denn in mir vergeht sie einfach nicht. Und wir liegend noch immer knutschend in deinem Bett und es ist JETZT und HIER. Und ich wache auf und die Stadt stimmt mit dem HIER überein, nur du, du bist natürlich in einem ganz anderen Leben. Wenn auch sicher noch HIER. Und ich frage mich, was wohl wäre, wenn ich dich anriefe. Und ich frage mich, wie ich mich fühlen würde, wenn ich erführe, dass du nochmal geheiratet hättest oder gar ein Kind hättest und ich glaube, es würde mich zutiefst schockieren.

Der erste Traum in neuer Bleibe. Und ich weiß nicht, ob ich mir wünsche, dass ich abergläubig bin oder nicht.

Alleine ist man verdammt alleine.