June 8, 2010

Page One

8 June 2010

I’ve always been depressed, from the earliest days to today. Always afraid, ever unsmiling and deeper than my years. I’m dead now, on this day at this age, in every way that has any real significance for a life. Everything I wanted most and needed most to keep, has been taken. And being in this way dead, I try now to describe what all this was — all this everything that I wanted and needed in order to still be alive.

This is the only advice I have to give myself at this age, on this day, that has any real validity in the context of what was the past:

                          Bite the hand before it feeds you,
                          feeds you poison, feeds you shame.
                          Bite the hand before it beats you,
                          beats you to a bloodless name.


I wish with fervor, wish with regret, wish with tears and remorse, that I had been this sort of person. That I had bitten and run before anyone, ever could get too close. Like a frightened animal, which, in many other ways, I have really always been.

 Forr the fourteen stolen, murdered friends, which disaster has left me the mostly dead soul I am at this moment:
Manchmal wünschte ich,
            meine Gedanken wären ein Buch,                                                    
                                und ihr könntet darin lesen.              
                                          Was ich glaub’, was ich denk’,
                                         was ich zu tun versuch’.
                    Was richtig, und was falsch gewesen.                             
 Ihr könntet darin blättern                                                                                                          und euch sehen;                                                       
es erzählt euch                                                           
Zeile für Zeile,                                            
Gedanken, die ich mit euch teile                                                   
ohne das Worte                                                                                          
                       deren Sinn
                                                                        ~~  reinhard mey
                                                                              (with license)
read…  Braon…    Stolen stars                                                        
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 all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2010-2012 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.



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