Nothing and Valencia


Wieder traf es ich Spanien. Aber alles war ganz anders. In Valencia. Ich bin hier schon mal gewesen. Auch irgendwie anders und 2006. Als ich es unlängst wieder antraf, schien es menschenleer, fast farblos anfangs. Worte sind verstummt und Zeilen gewichen.


Everything that’s born has to die, which means our lives are like skyscrapers. The smoke rises at different speeds, but they’re all on fire, and we’re all trapped.


Then, out of nowhere, a flock of birds flew by the window, extremely fast and incredibly close. Maybe twenty of them. Maybe more. But they also seemed like just one bird, because somehow they all knew exactly what to do.

Sit Down

He pointed at, Sometimes one simply wants to disappear. I pointed at, There’s nothing wrong with not understanding yourself. He pointed at, How sad. I pointed at, And I wouldn’t say no to something sweet. He pointed at, Cried and cried and cried. I pointed at, Don’t cry. He pointed at, Broken and confused. I pointed at, Something. He pointed at, Nothing. I pointed at, Something. Nobody pointed at, I love you.


I should have drowned us there in the room, ended our suffering, they would have found us floating face-down in two thousand white pages, or buried under the salt of my evaporated tears.


It’s the tragedy of loving, you can’t love anything more than something you miss.

No Palms

And then a thought came into my brain that wasn’t like the other thoughts. It was closer to me, and louder. I didn’t know where it came from, or what it meant, or if I loved it or hated it. It opened up like a fist, or a flower.


Literature was the only religion her father practiced, when a book fell on the floor he kissed it, when he was done with a book he tried to give it away to someone who would love it.


Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Ich war auf der Stelle unzärtlich verliebt.

Fifteen photos on black.

August 07 2011 | life and photography and travel | | No Comments »
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