schlachtenbummlerin

https://open.spotify.com/track/4bJygwUKrRgq1stlNXcgMg?si=c72489a762e54f76 who am I when nobody's watching? unfortunatly I immediatly could fill two pages of my note book with possible answers to this particular question like: I'm a peaceful gangster who uses her voice as a delicate tool, I'm an energetic, loud fangirl kissing the book cover of crime and punishment, I'm a half-Revolutionist living in the shadows, only appearing when nobody's watching. I'm an amateur poet, a thrilled story teller, a late night (terrible) singer, an unknown fashion icon, a dirty dancer and a drowning ship full of unwanted melancholy and self-pitty.  I'm a bouquet with delightful flowers and every one of them represents one of my souls, one of my personality traits. Like everybody else I'm a person colored in diffrent nouances, covered with multiple layers. secretly.  Why do I hide behind an avarage, narrow, finite version of myself?  Probably because of fear of rejection, o...

  https://open.spotify.com/track/4wajJ1o7jWIg62YqpkHC7S?si=5f5dc6d0d2114df9 "Most people do not want to swim, sooner than they can", quotes Hermann Hesse, Friedrich Nietzsche in his novel "der Steppenwolf". Swimming as well as thinking are skills acquired by human kind, yet not divine gifts by mother nature. A little faintness, one too violent wave and you swallow the sea, you burn your flappy lungs until you can kiss Hades hand and find resolution in the underworld. The same can be applied on thinking, only this time a hurtful memory or a bloody insecurity will make you take the cold blade, slice your warm skin open, until the soulkeeper arrives and collects your spirit. It's as simple as that. I look again at the quote on my handkerchief that I wrote onto the crinkled paper with my red lipstick some minutes ago. The letters awake and start dancing in front of my sparkling eyes, seeming like the most perfect work of art, letting me draw all the meaning out of t...

I always keep a lighter in my bag. Always. Besides of practical purposes like burning down houses and corpses in any time needed, there is more to this little habit. Light is not only meant for me. It is meant to be transmitted, it is a breath of energy, it is in its nature to change forms and never go out.  My first thought of a lighter is a shallow and almost helpless romantic one: it is around midnight or long after, I am with my friends or alone in the asleep city, listening to the loud music playing in my head, noticing the dopamine running through my veins, tasting life; when you see me. You ask for a lighter and I grab my bag, feel the cold metal of the demanded tool and then your warm rough hand in mine, while im passing it over. I become the saviour of your night. You light your cigarette blowing off the lovely fading smoke, thinking about the mysterious pretty poet, who lent you her lighter. I'm your lighter-girl.  However, it then hit me like a thunderbolt: I'm mor...