The past few week, maybe months, I have been increasingly fascinated by the concept of dissolving one’s own individuality. Similarly to how a stone on the beach gets softer and more uniform with repeated caresses from sand and waves. Hard…
Category: Me time
Not quite right
Sometimes things need to be said, only there is no elegant way of doing it. You struggle with words that does not seem quite right and when it all comes down to it, people hear what you say not what…
Building a boat in the desert
The days are slow. Each second tics on like torture. Often as I look at the time I realise that only minutes passed, not hours or lifetimes as it feels. An empty house with nothing to fill that is growing…
A rainy day in Bozen
The sensation of the uncontrollable muscle contraction that rushed over my skin as a water wave surprised me in its expected lack of brutality. Days of postponing a meeting that could, if not would, send a heart attack from nervous…
The Irish border backstop Frankendoodle
I’m lulling forward in a bus between Dublin and Belfast. Behind the bus the sun is patiently calling it a day and in front grey rain clouds gather ominously on the sunset ombre. Taking a 24 hour break from Dublin,…
On why I write again
Puzzle Pieces in motion is over five years old. I started it back in the day when I was lonely sitting in a sad-looking building in a small town in Germany asking myself what the hell I was doing there.…
Merry-go-(a)round the Sun once again
Next to my computer the coffee cup stands stained due to repeated use during the day and it is the second time I reheat this particular batch in the microwave. In the fridge rests the remains of the cake from…
Trying to catch a break or the almost trek to Everest Base Camp
–Desperate to catch a break, the only break I seem to catch is that which breaks me in two. — I woke up to dreams of Mt. Everest. In my nocturnal delusion Dexter had, to my surprise, decided that I…
A few shoe cartons of a lifetime’s worth
Mercilessly tucked in between the red backs of my Tin Tin comics, the binders filled with my old drawings and the random little titbits I gathered throughout life, are a few plain-looking shoe cartons. It was a long time since…
Escapism or a lack of purpose
I haven’t been writing much lately. Inspiration left me long ago to go fuck someone else into mediocre poetry or some bullshit paragraphs of gibberish no-one reads. In her place, the brain-dead nothingness of a purposeless life has made herself ever-present…