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Archive for May, 2012

the young and the old

published on: 29.05.2012 in: All entries

Everyone loves the young pianist, whose star is rising. Up and up it goes and we so hope that this young man, the one who just shook our hand, is something else. Something of genius, something extra special. This young man sweats while playing. Rests in between rehearsals. Drinks cola. And prefers texting messages to [...]

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i am a green balloon

published on: 26.05.2012 in: All entries

I am a green balloon. I wish I was red. People always pick red. It’s because people like clich├ęs. I am much stronger than most other balloons, though. You can kick me around, and I’ll be fine. I’ve been lying here for over two days. I won’t tell you where I came from and who [...]

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the creative paradox

published on: 20.05.2012 in: All entries

The violinist is young. The stage is hers. She throws herself into the music, with intensity and drive. With ambition. She is mature enough to understand that what drives true creation is focus, is concentration, is an internalization of that very thing she is externalizing, is expressing. And so she closes her eyes whenever it’s [...]

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the art of stealing

published on: 12.05.2012 in: All entries

A man I have worked with visits me in my dreams. He is accompanied by a woman. His curly hair is even wilder than it was in real life, and he is skinnier, younger. A cooler version of him. Harsher too, because in real life he’s big and cuddly. He isn’t nice at all though, [...]

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tomorrow could be the end of spring

published on: 08.05.2012 in: All entries

A fisherman throws the net onto the deck. The fish die, slowly. They lie on their sides and their gulls open and close. One fish manages to flip over. A woman and her daughter watch them for a while. As if wanting to correct something, the woman picks one of the fish up. Just walking [...]

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in the other me’s world

published on: 02.05.2012 in: All entries

The Other Me envies The Original Me. It’s The Original Me people should be listening to. She sings beautifully, in a silent voice that nobody hears. She used to write stories of lost love and forbidden desires, of running away. She used to draw buildings that could one day become the tallest in the world. [...]

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