"I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things." -Tom Waits

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Hinter Glas

Nach dem Tod meiner Mutter verbrachte ich mehr Zeit in ihrer Wohnung, als gut für mich war. Zuerst waren es nur ein paar Nächte – Schränke mussten ausgeräumt, Akten sortiert, Verträge gekündigt, Freunde und Verwandte informiert werden. Jemand musste da sein, um nach der Katze zu sehen. Ein Kunstexperte musste kommen, um ihre Fluchten von... Continue Reading →

Ein Schwarzweissstück

Der Mann bewegt sich wie ein Schatten, aber das will in diesen Tagen nicht viel heissen. Er huscht von Hauseingang zu Hauseingang, schmilzt in die Deckung parkender Autos, tanzt zwischen dem Nebelgrau der Laternen als könne es ihn verbrennen. Dem Anschein nach ist er alleine, aber er weiss nur allzu gut, wie wenig man dem... Continue Reading →


Carry me to a place where I can be Who I am, and just for me To sleep in maple leaves, so I can dream Of somewhere that is nicer than my here   I’m in a bad place where the dark is freezing And I am frozen deep within The ghosts that I created... Continue Reading →

Midnight Wine

Midnight wine And a dream still dawning Is all it takes for happiness,   Or for dreaming of happiness Trapped somewhere in there In those fickle sparks.   A few steps out the door Ancient stone steps, scented air: A night in the south is a night never happened A night in the south is... Continue Reading →

White Wind

It takes so much effort to separate the present from the past I am a dam on the verge of breaking I am a damned one And the waves are coming, surge by surge by surge I am eroding No holds barred.   So we speak to each other, but don’t believe what we say... Continue Reading →

A Tale from the Shore

I wrote this one as a birthday present for perhaps the greatest friend I could wish for. This is for J. – and, I guess, for life, with all its ups and downs and roundabouts, never easy, but always worth living.   You need not to climb mountain tops You need not to cross the... Continue Reading →


It was fairly strange, the fact how long those four point seven seconds between when the bomb detonated down in the foundation and when he actually started to feel his office floor shifting could stretch. One instant he stood by his desk with a hand on the edge, pristine black glass – he detested mahogany,... Continue Reading →

Guthrie G.

The world – if crafted right – is made up of explosions. In the quietest moments, the thunder is roaring And if you look closely Every still life contains within itself A fiery cosmos of raspberry flowers. Pluck some of them if you’d like, to your own avail.   The magician once spoke to the... Continue Reading →


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