how to improve one’s life

it's one of the days again. i am struggling with a short story. theme: utopia. deadline: next week. i did some complex maths, and came to the conclusion that if i had written it last month, it would be done already.

to solve the problem, i followed a link in a friend's mail. clicked a page further and.. was taken to an article on how to write a novel (of all themes. and here i sit, fussing about a short story ;-). the best line, as so often, was in the comments:

Like many, if not all, things in life, routine is a key to success. Physical exercise, work performance, diet, bonding with friends and family, even entertainment; routine is the key to succeeding in these things. Of course, it is easy for me to write that and very hard for me to do it. Another key is to quit reading about how to improve one's life and simply improve it.

here the link, it's part of the Moleskin-page: Advice on Novel Writing, and How to Improve your Life in General. and here, the original link that took me to Moleskin: I am having a wonderful love affair with Diana

and because it's one of those days, blogger only agreed to upload the line-image on third try. maybe because it's three lines.

snow dark red

1. Bell :: snow
2. Abuse :: dark
3. Relief :: sigh
4. List :: dots
5. Concern :: to whoever it may
6. Absolute :: beginners
7. Cling :: finger
8. Dump :: fall
9. Terminate :: three
10. Wine :: red

- Unconscious Mutterings, week 190

girl tuesday

she sat there, at the metro station Malostranska, the one in between Vlatava and Hradschin, between palais gardens and euro hot dogs. sat there in front of the key that was wrapped in the wall, looking like a version of me in another life, of me grown up in this other place, in this city named Prague.

seeing the photo now, i still wished i had asked her for the name of the book she was reading, there in the tuesday morning sun, while the world floated by, and for a second came to a halt, and focused on her turning the page, and me taking the photo.

- Photo Friday, challenge: "Girl"

mirage

she hadn't seen them
when she took the picture
had focused on the singular petal
lying there on the steps
that lead from earth to water
in three levels

it was only back home
when she looked at the moment
again on the wider screen
that they appeared
from the depth of the pool
like a mirage

first she read them
as a reflection
a string of clouds
hazy and orange
but the longer she looked
the closer they came
into reality

sometimes spam

friday morning,
an unseen moon
announcing fall

while a saint
in my mail
advices that

'text is best
stored reduced
in purpose
plain files'

sometimes spam
is word punk art.

easy

yesterday was such a strange day. after the days of jazzy motion, i suddenly was out of the flow, just when i came across the idea to write a poem every morning for the remaining days of September and felt, it would be just fitting after the posts i already had made in oil on copper in the last days.

but would you guess it: the moment i planned to capture them, the words faded. yesterday really turned in one of the days when you have all kind of things and ideas in mind, and whatever you start doesn’t want to work out. not even the simple poem you thought you scribble in 5 minutes, and that calls you back again and again, and so you find yourself, fussing over 12 lines of a poem ad absurdum. changing and changing and changing it, and ending back at square one.

to add to it, my horoscope stated “what it all means” for the title of the day. which felt double odd, as it was a day of questions rather than of answers. in a black moment of humour, i attached the line to the poem that didn't want to fall into place. but then, maybe it wasn't supposed to. for what it did, at the end of the day, made me browse the "how to be creative" pages. and there it was, the line that felt like an explanation of what the day meant.

"Being good at anything is like figure skating- the definition of being good at it is being able to make it look easy. But it never is easy. Ever."

so i put the alarm early today. and wrote the poem of this day with the first cup of tea. on the way to the bakery, the thought followed that instead of just posting the poems here, i could send them out. look for a fitting e-zine for each of them. which adds the task of checking zines and writing submission mails to the plan. but then, why make it easy, anyway.

what it all means

shine then fog then sun
rising and setting
in the pass of two tea hours
as if it was
one pair of days
entwined in each other

sliding behind the skies
carrying the first
of the falling leafs
and the last
of the newborn
sunflowers

(this poem is part of a poetry project that joined on a walk in my topography, a place i reached through waking up late. the simple difficult plan: "Start with anything—whatever happens, and write one every day.” )

one

one drop of water
falling into blue
creates perfect
centric waves

why can't we
be like water
when we fall
down
.

indigo

it was one of those days
when she needed to hear
some motion music
in matching volume

she tried tori amos,
then terence trent d’arby
then macy gray
in various levels

finally she reached the bottom
of the stack of cds
and there it was,
unheard for too long,

the album of indigo
this cd her sister
had given her once,
years ago

and that now,
in one swift turn,
filled the room
with this peculiar

very right,
very deep,
very pointed
subversity

marrakesh

coloured shadows
irradiated by marrakesh lamps
are sole reflections of hazy ghosts
on distant day trips

- Photo Friday, challenge: "Bright"

the one place

home:

the one place
with features getting clearer
the further you are
away from it

the one place
where the flowers
of your childhood are
still blossoming

- Thursday Challenge, theme: "home"

invisible star

1. true love :: forever and a day
2. age :: just a number
3. stern :: star. smile. this is a translation.
4. elastic :: bungee
5. rustic :: shining
6. enhance :: your heart
7. inherit :: gifts of the past
8. devious :: obvious
9. scapegoat :: invisible man

- Unconscious Mutterings, Week 188

beyond

have you ever been touched
by the latitude of clouds,
he asked, there, in this place
beyond stone borders

- September 2006, San Bernardino Passage