Butterfly

What I have is little.
I'm stuck in the middle.

To me it's a lot,
'cause it's all I got.

Whatta you wanna be?
I wanna be free

With what little I know,
gonna give it a go!

Der Parasit III

Kind, du bist...
weisst du denn nicht
wer mit dir spricht?
Ich brauch dich auch
so wie du mich.

Bete, kenn' is'
doch kein Hindernis.
Des Lebens Sinn es ist:
Bedeutung inner
vorab nicht
konstruierbaren Welt
jeglicher Zusammenhänge
-auch wenn dir diese nicht gefällt.

Erkenntnis
durch Erfahrungen
deren Bekenntnis
im Angesicht von Offenbarungen
eines Denkers
Herausforderung ist.

Was du siehst
ist was du bist
und was du sprichst,
versprich dich nicht!

Und fürchte nicht,
das Leben ist
kein Urteil
es ist Unterricht.

Der Graben

Mich plagen die gleichen Fragen
die jene in vergangenen Tagen
schon sagen taten.
Welche Antworten werden in diesen Tagen hervorragen?
Mal sind sie schwarz wie Raben,
dann pflegen sie pastellfarben Kragen zu tragen.
Was mag man dazu noch zu sagen haben?

booked

I'm hooked on books
now, I read all the books
yes, all the books I can
that is
so much a heavy book
I read
that my arms are sore after Sunday

Der Parasit II

Tu' es doch!
Sprich mit mir
ich brauch' dich noch
du lebensgebendes Elixier
Gefährte,
Ohne dich
bin ich
doch
nur flüssig Fleisch und Härte.

NMP

Geschichte zum Gedicht: Ein paar verrückte Sprachwissenschaftler haben die Sprache als Parasit beschrieben, der im Gehirn lebt, relativ autonom wirken kann, und Bedeutungen reproduziert. Einer beschrieb den Sprachorganismus stattdessen als Symbiot, der im Einklang mit dem menschlichen Gehirn auftritt. Ich habe mich mit ihren verrückten Theorien befasst und die Idee der Sprache als quasi eigenen Organismus erforscht. Was ist der menschliche Organismus ohne Sprache? Was ist Sprache überhaupt? Und wie existiert sie im und um den Menschen? Hat Sprache ein eigenes Leben? Inwiefern verhält sie sich unabhängig von den Menschen die sie reproduzieren? Gibt es Sprache ohne Denken, Sprechen, Schreiben und so weiter?

Chichi

Teeth, don't leave!
Spite the white liquid
from my bosom's sleeve
Teeth, please stay!
Spite the white Angel
me arms doth sway

I'm a slave to her lips
as she grips to my heart
and to my twisted hips
can no wits will apart
a mother's wild love
for her child or her art

Pilgrim Soul

Will you be there
when I return?
When I'm ready
I'll be back
when it's my turn.
I wonder lover
will your heart
still burn
with the fire
that brought us together

The cave

The kids mostly outside they play
But she must go back into the cave,
sometimes, and stay
And take the children with her
To where the dancing shadows sway
To where the babies lay
To dream about the play by day
Til the darkness goes away

Der Parasit

Organismus: Warum lässt du mich nicht einfach in ruh?
Parasit: Weil ich Teil von dir bin.
O: Aber du verletzt mich nur.
P: Tu ich das?
O: Wer bist du überhaupt?
P: Na, ich.
O: Und wer ist das?
P: Der mit dir spricht.

O: Tu das nicht!
    Wo du bist drückt der Schuh.

Womanhood

A family trip to a place of my childhood and youth  has made me realize that I am coming to terms with womanhood. I am a woman and I am worn. Being a worn woman makes me vulnerable.

Spent so much time of my life trying not to be a woman. Whatever that meant to me then it was not as cool as being a girl or a boy, a man, or perhaps a young woman. But not a woman. I'm not sure what 'woman' meant to me then, but it wasn't desirable. I know what woman means to me now.

woman: sensual sentient creature of creation capable of unconditional love, life and pleasure. daughter of nativity, mother of nurture. mujer. full of faith in life, fluid flow of freedom. woman: like the moon sometimes full, sometimes new. every month an opportunity for creation as fertil energies thrive and drive. then a purge with the possibility for renewal.

I used to feel like every full moon was a fertil egg that bore no consequence. Little did I know! Today I howl at the moon. I embrace my womanhood and the blessed energies my magical body bears. I love being a woman. Once annoyed with my breasts as they bounced around uncomfortably when I ran. If I was a warrior armed with a sword, I would not hesitate in cutting off at least one breast. Breasts get in the way of physical activity...certain physical activity. Now I love their bubbly bounce when I walk. Being a woman is a feeling. Sure, vanity and narcissism may be part of the package and I love to take care of my body and my appearance. I love pretty dresses and sprakly things. I love my mysterious curves, my delicate contours and fine lines, my volumptuous corners and gentle flacidity as it playfully flirts with Earth's gravity.

No man made me a woman. My children did, life itself: a process that has torn me apart and worn me out in many ways. A Mexican physician told me it would take years for my body to recover from childbearing and breastfeeding, from making another body from my own. Sometimes I wonder, will I ever recover? I gave of my body and my body gives at least every month again: life and the possibility for life. My body continues to give though worn. Tales told by my legs, my joints, my everywheres. The second pregnancy was like walking on sword blades daily for months. The body remembers pain. I'm worn though not worn out. When I feel vulnerable I don't like it. Coming to terms with my limitations.

Though being a woman makes me strong with a high tolerancy for pain, tenacity, regeneration and moments of sheer fearlessness amongst other things. But oh how it tears at my body, how it tears at my soul: life! Worn woman that I am.

Watch out for the temper on hard days! Coming home with two hungry and tired kids, both screaming, the dog with its high pitched piercing bark waiting by the door. Patience already stretched to the limit. The three year old refuses to walk up the stairs, I have the big baby girl on one arm, groceries in the other. I leave him and take her upstairs to go back for him after dropping her  and the grocery bags off. Screams and canine screaches echo in the hallway. The downstairs neighbour comes out and starts yelling at my boy to be quiet already. Fumes!

You yellin' at my kid Sir?
You think you the only one who can yell?
Well I can yell right back at you!
Oh you can call me names?
Well I can call you names too!
Sure I am crazy, be scared!
Back away from my son
and scare him never again!

Motherhood.

when in doubt, differentiate

Trying to hold on
wherever she could
she would
woman of nowhere
now she wanted
just to let go