With two faces in the whirlpool of a skyscraper, silence being a strange concept. Painted lips on the walls, the gaze searching for an exit. Lull me mum, lull me, I still believe in tomorrow. The fire leaves only ashes.
Before the Helsinki Book Fair I’ll show you how to circle publishers’ catalogs. Colorful catalogs are not just waste, but can be used for artistic purposes, as I did. I made four collages with a size of 20 x 20 cm, style being cut & glue. The finished collages still received a photo manipulation. They inspired my blog friend Esther Helmiä to write a poem on each.
I run, I run with winds of achieving behind. I cry alone to the dark: I don’t manage, I don’t manage! No one answers. Colorful walls are my friends and those who tap me on the back: Try try, be better, be good! Be beautiful, don’t be you, don’t be! The steps mix blood and sweat, but my soul is already detached.
You are so silent, illusion, illusion. A ragged smoke curtain a protection against the tough world. Your beauty is exhaled from the rocks, from the deep caverns. Have you already decomposed or is this a hallucination? With pink eyeglasses on my nose I’ve lost yesterday. How daring, you would say handing me poppies as breakfast.
Blood still flowing gives color to the walls. I see a drunken cat with the eyes of my soul, it lives at its own pace, does not care. I hear steps from the street, the pain labours in the waves of suffering souls. There is no one to see who would gather hearts. Maybe it's too mundane in this all-allowing world. I’m not able to reach your hand anymore.
When autumn darkness falls, what we will remember are the small acts of kindness: a cake, a hug, an invitation to talk, and every single rose. These are all expressions of a nation coming together and caring about its people. - Jens Stoltenberg
The autumn has arrived, no blooming anymore in the garden.
So it is time to remember the gorgeous rosy beauties that delighted me in the summer. #GARTENGLÜCK
Lucia Berlin’s short story collection A Manual for Cleaning Women has been published in Finland in two parts. The latter Dancing on roses has been just released and I got as ecstatic with it as with the first part. I found online quotes from her short stories and publish here one of them. My Jockey was in the first Finnish part ❤︎ - and I fell in love with it!
I like working in Emergency—you meet men there, anyway. Real men, heroes. Firemen and jockeys. They’re always coming into emergency rooms. Jockeys have wonderful X-rays. They break bones all the time but just tape themselves up and ride the next race. Their skeletons look like trees, like reconstructed brontosaurs. St. Sebastian’s X-rays.
I get the jockeys because I speak Spanish and most are Mexican. The first jockey I met was Muñoz. God. I undress people all the time and it’s no big deal, takes a few seconds, Muñoz lay there, unconscious, a miniature Aztec god. Because his clothes were so complicated it was as if I were performing an elaborate ritual. Unnerving, because it took so long, like in Mishima where it takes three pages to take off the lady’s kimono. His magenta satin shirt had many buttons along the shoulder and at each tiny wrist; his pants were fastened with intricate lacings, pre-Columbian knots. His boots smelled of manure and sweat, but were soft and dainty as Cinderella’s. He slept on, an enchanted prince.
The only reason I have lived so long is that I let go of my past.
Shut the door on grief on regret on remorse.
I exaggerate a lot and I get fiction and reality mixed up,