my friend told me once
looking at the stars in nights when it was -20 degrees celsius, as a fifteen-year old boy, in hours he laid there.
he told me that it was not that cold, really, and that he waited for the northern lights- which he never got to see.
I have this wonderful memory
sometimes I think that people would deem it sad deem the snow constant, but first, to with a few words try and light the light of
I got to know him a couple of years ago at a poet-gathering;
I arrived with the lingering loneliness and anxiety and the forceful self-hatred of one like me, one of the Not-Beautiful
one of the Fearing
at least I know a lot about a little. about the wrong things.
and we talked and he told me where he came from;
The Northern part
and that kind of sprung a leak of
i don’t know, but he did not say anything to make me think
the silence that ice and snow and darkness and the midnight sun creates when combined that’s the life of barren land and crumbling heavens but steady mountains
it’s infinite. eternal. what does it create, in a man and, how do one handle the black sky and the red and the pale nights and
it ended there
afraid. afraid of all the questions. they are forever too
and they grow. they are voudou-born-snakes in the belly
i won’t ask my friend if i’m allowed to write about him. some questions, some- well you know
we were in many ways unlikely to be friends, but we learned how to behave around each other, to know.
he can’t comfort, or so he says, and I know nothing about how it was is for him; was is forever or never
even if i suspect some things you just don’t ask
i don’t know if he knows the truth.
that he does not give me comfort. no,
he lights the spark that the storms blew out
he wraps me in words soft as feather duvets and I want to give so much to my friend, if he could only accept it
about lighting the spark: when I’m sad he reads to me.
and then I fall asleep
sleep is the ultimate gift from all good things
(“the God of Sleep has made his house of marvellous designs”/Current 93, lovely song)
“Strange Fruit” with Billie Holiday. I believe it was the very last video she made, she probably suffered from neurological damage caused by alkohol and pills (some call it love and i don’t know there is no way to ask or to know but yes, i believe so, love, we die for love) and that’s why her eyes looked like they did- but that look, that infinity, I know it, and I said to my friend”those were my eyes”. and he answered “do you really believe that they’re not your eyes anymore?”
then we sat in silence watching Robbie Robertson duelling Eric Clapton in a guitar-battle of titans
content. i believe that’s the right word for it. we were content. the smell of coffee boiled in a kettle was in the air like velvet
you could taste it, like it was floating, like liquid, invisible smoke
the sun smiled outside the curtains. we did not need it to smile that particular day. such a thing is rare
we went to the beach the day after that or maybe it was the day before it doesn’t matter. what matters is that i was honestly completely happy. t’was the joy of a child- the giddy giggle, playing mermaid, splashing, toppling over, that’s when i look like a seal, my head popping up far out, out in the water
i don’t know why i didn’t tell him i was happy. but i know i didn’t.
Fear is forever
some people will never let go and i am one of them and that doesn’t mean escaping from conflicts that means what can not be said because if you’re such a person you know
my friend, he’s sometimes like a father
and i don’t know at all how it feels for him
and i really know, i do know
i do know.
i have no idea how i came to write about this.
but it’s not necessary to get an answer
i’ve rid myself of questioning for now
it’s moments, only moments. but they are moments of freedom and, Yes,
they will pass all to soon but now i can’t care
i’m wide awake
i’m gloriously empty-