WAY UP HIGH, WAY DOWN LOW

Strange situations often proclaim strange efforts. What is it holding us together in this way too fast driven world, just prior to World War III? Yes it may sound melodramatic, but do we ever have the common feeling of fear because of political responsibilities around us or do we focus just because of seeing the world losing its mind on more inter-human relations and begin to respect our old values once more?  How can we know that words given today will still count tomorrow? Where is stability – who will give it and what remains?  Safety stays a non-explainable construction of simple human trust, a function we often aren’t even able no more to see in those who stand right next and close to ourselves.  So what happens when we lose ourselves, forgetting about the little wonder we are? Who is there to remind us where to find us again, who we are? Who is the one behind us all the way giving us that important feeling of security? Nevertheless what we call safety today is nothing but the boundaries which once were unknown frontiers, so must we learn to leave, it doesn’t matter how frightened we are, the safe harbor as a simple consequence that ships were meant to sail the sea?

I sometimes wonder if it is really too much to ask for receiving a feeling of sureness. People nowadays seem to forget that even though we live with constant non-binding nature what sometimes helps is to think oneself safe however someway we aren’t capable to evoke this particular state of affairs. As a consequence we feel like manic-depressives – way up high, way down low, never sure what we should, will or do have to feel and so we seek refuge in old habits, hoping to maintain the unaffected. But can we expect promises to be kept?

Maybe again the support we might need is nothing but the feeling of having a home, that place which will be there for us it doesn’t matter which adventures life held for us, the blanket of our lives, because anyway all we need is crutch to think oneself safe.

And in the end we are nothing but guests of subsistence, like travelers between stop one and two – if we want safeness we have to search it in ourselves.  

Cheers

Lorax

MISSING YOU

How can two people be part of the same world if there is someone always on the missing side? Is it the illusion our soul is trying to crave for romance? To miss somebody leaves one of those empty feelings inside of us we can only understand if the other part is with us again, maybe promising she’ll remember to be yours. Sometimes I wonder if the feeling of missing somebody is nothing but the fear of a sort of imperfection of not being enough. Actually we want to leave just to avoid the steady crossing mind – but we cant!

Is it about the old times, the new times or simply tears? I don’t like to say do not cry since not every tear seems to be a scourge.

But what if we begin to understand that at some point we aren’t able to look back. Can time heal everything or must we accept that some pain is that profound it may embrace us forever? Is this the fortress of our life we must deal with or should we try to escape once again in search for the expected better one, who maybe never will come along? Possibly we sometimes forget how it feels to be alive and try to make it up for missing you. Somehow missing means nothing but the chosen one is not only a star, but the damn whole sky to ourselves – the one who might be able to change a life by making the one place of being together the place one would rather be.

I would like to quote not one of the famous authors the literal world has seen but one of my most heartily friends by saying that missing is the wish of wanting to put the others dreams in the ones eyes. But what if the other looked into my eyes, saw my heart shatter but hers didn’t? Dreams are illusions but pain is having presence in mind. Somehow we must fight bitterly to protect the roots of our leaves.

Cheers

Lorax

LOST WORDS

Do we lose some words over a certain period of time? All those simple phrases like humanity’s most famous one I love you and are we actually able to find them again by letting a bolt of bravery release them from the deepest of our hearts? Isn’t it about words coming along with us even the longest road in life expressing that, what we want and what we should – and our souls in a steady conflict with our rationality because of the one person we literally are not? Words we lived and maybe will, waiting for all those gorgeous days.

In the end lost is lost or should we get an exalted understanding of losing things, paraphrasing it with hidden? The ludicrous character of losing our words is that we actually lose ourselves. One metaphoric lost star, still in that ridiculous belief being one of a kind between a million but never even able to shine brighter then the rest.

And time runs.

So what should we search for among this mega-lie of free men who are nothing but slaves of their own profit? Love? Dreams? Luck? Maybe we shouldn’t forget that losing a part of us means a piece of ourselves is gone and instead of searching ideals of romantic imagination we might be better off getting our fucked up soul back together by facing our struggles. So why not starting to care about things again instead of standing the curios but somehow fashionable idea of giving a shit? What we mustn’t forget is that you don’t love someone for their looks, or their cloths or for their fancy cars, but because they sing a song only you can hear – so our old friend Oscar.

What he doesn’t say is who sings this song. Maybe someone, maybe ourselves or maybe the certain sunrise giving us every new day the chance to find out exactly that: Who are we? So why not loving a bit more in hope for better times - they won't be perfect, but pure.

Cheers

Lorax

AND THEN A HERO COMES ALONG

Suddenly he is there. The hero you were searching this long for. It may happen in an unexpected moment some time more or less bothering and he will make your life even only for instant that better. Who are our heroes today? The coffee shop guy smiling at you morning by morning giving you a positive start to your weekday, your best friend helping you out with some cash at the end of the month or a person coming to your life in a moment you didn’t want him to. Someone taking your fears, carrying on, simply surviving – like the very first summer wind coming up before the big thunderstorm guiding tears to rain. I am sure that there are lights to direct you home and those lights are your heroes. Could it be worse? Even if that light is missing it may be there just digging for the greater good, just because a hero is the one who he is.

So what is it about whether winning or losing, actually a key question for every hero to solve. Is it worth playing by knowing to lose or is it just about being brave 10 minutes longer? Is it a solution never to play? For my own understanding a hero can never be right as the one who gets protected is the one to decide about black or white. But don’t we all have to deal with our cursed stories to make it real at the end? Can we really be broken and do we really need someone with the literal helping hand? A quote I came across last week challenged even this question: Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, it’s at the end of your arm. So why not follow the signs right back to yourself? At the end it may not only be all about one and we must get the point that sometimes a hero can be inevitable, maybe simply because our hand isn’t that strong enough and we are lost along the way not longer able to read those signs. That might be the moment we will need somebody who is looking out for us but what if we are standing at the crossroads with even no strength to run and we can do nothing but stretch our arm and beg to hitchhike? Is there hurry anymore and who’s to blame for our poor situation? Oneself being a hopeless dreamer or our hero not even bothering to show up? Sometimes we just have to wait for the moment our road leads us down the way showing us that the only solution is to be the hero by oneself giving up the idea of remaining the one who needs to be cared for.

These are hard times for dreamers and nevertheless we must remember: anything is possible.

Cheers

Lorax

BLAME IT ON THE YOUTH

Today I came across the old Jazz Standard Blame It On My Youth. Written in the early 1930s and interpreted by a variety of crooner greats from Sinatra over King Cole to outstanding Jamie Cullum, this song keeps inspiring generations. Until we are young all our positive and negative experience might be safe out of our certain immunity called juvenileness, but what happens the day we can’t excuse ourselves that easy anymore? Is it possible to grow up at the end or is adultness a grey and old imagination of pure perfection built by moral, rules and conventions – so called noble moments? Doesn’t everybody stay this small, sensitive but jealous and angry kid somewhere in the corners of one’s mind and isn’t it even this special kind of humanity keeping us away from the remarkable façade of adult integrity? Can we ever leave the idea from adored to bored and be the one taking rational decisions? I think it stays hard to finish blaming somebody or –thing for our decisions as it may be another significance of childhood, trying to push harmful sorrows from oneself. What is an adult? Nothing but a grown up kid – if we are pleased to believe old Walt Disney.

And like the yearly procedure of buying Christmas presents we feel like kids again. Staring into those gorgeous vitrines showing us ever again our unfulfilled dreams we may realize that it might be this concrete issue keeping us aware from adultness – dreams that until now didn’t come true, because we absolutely need in our childish hearts a something we can long for. In some special periods of the year we try to keep our hearts light with troubles far away, just like the days we had someone who felt supposed to do up our shoelaces properly. But can we believe this magic of our sighs?
Where do all those great Peter Pan moments vanish during the rest of the year while we are waiting being young at heart again? No matter how we try to be mature. We will always be a kid when we get hurt – and we will cry, far away from our actual expectations. So where to search when we forget to believe in those moments waiting for us – that place between sleep and awake where dreaming is still remembered? Second star to the right and then straight on till morning.

Cheers

Lorax

I'VE GROWN ACCUSTOMED

The last days of October are usually the most beautiful and charming days of the year. The sun tries one last time more than rather hard to win the simply lost battle against the winter storms, showing us the little power it emphasizes. With the change of seasons and the detested backshift of time it is safe: Darkness does have us back and the first smell of snow blowing down from the glaciers of the Alps overruns the city’s heart. Every year this special sensation catches us again fully unprepared as we’ve grown accustomed this easily to our beloved days in July, but what are those customs we are hope- or hatefully addicted to? And why are we therefore in a state of mind we want the break button to be held? Those situations in between we maybe forgot to appreciate this outstanding moment but were still able to think and even rethink every thing out of the box besides the moment we actually should.

I wonder why we regret such movements as it is in our hands to decide. Are regrets lessons we have to learn in order to realize what we had to do, to become a better or let us say more grown-up person? Maybe it is regrets leading us to let a chance pass by out of our habitude to customs. George Bernhard Shaw reworked the great Greek Myth about Pygmalion at the beginning of the 20^th century caricaturing London’s society. One of the world’s most famous musicals was the final product of Shaw’s oeuvre – My Fair Lady, making impeccable Audrey Hepburn the one and only Eliza Doolittle. It is the very final scene of this piece of art bringing us back to the custom issue. Higgins, the grumpy phonetic-teacher, known as woman hater and treating Eliza the whole piece as a subject of science and of own success sings the following phrase after she left him for maybe ever:

I was serenely independent and content before we met

Surely I could always be that way again but yet

I’ve grown accustomed to her look, her voice, her face

Impalpable things – like the light coming down from a distant star is – do make us regret, often too late to maybe change things in a way round we might not be left without even having known what we had to lose. It is easy criticizing the world around us but it may not be that easy seeing criticism in our regrets, as they are and stay the things we had to walk through in order to even give us the possibility to be sorry for. We may make these errors but should always know never to carry them forward, seeing the future but feeling the past. The only thing we may overpower our customs is the moment we have to tell someone the way we feel for her. I am afraid that this will be the only serious regret we might announce looking back on our lives one day – that too often when we loved, we kept silent.

Cheers

Lorax

A STREETLIFE NAMED DESIRE

From time to time I have the fear, that the moment we stop suffering about our longings will be the one we might be already dead. Are our desires our final stop or will we end in forgetting that reality is made for those who cant stand their dreams? Maybe it is that longings are made for.

Watching the first leaves falling down the colored trees on a cloudy Sunday morning it is the question about our longings and desires, which concerns me. Do we need somebody to wake up with, at least on a sad day like this one to suppress our sorrows, or should we go partying again throwing oneself into the fray – on a restless search what we can find behind our desires? For now I was thinking for a rather long time, why we need to know what a feeling like longing probably do call up inside of us. Is it really about already knowing that we never will be with the one person we might have fallen in love a long time ago without even knowing her that well, is it the feeling of something forbidden or is it simply our entity we need to realize once in a while wonderland is far far away? It is funny that we do connect a metric system like miles with a distance never realizing that it is time, which is the longest distance between two places. Will our desires be forgotten before we are or do we simply relocate them towards one of our different levels of reality letting it tell a new version of our story? Perhaps it is that for we were branded with the ability to cry. Not because we are weak but because we had to stay strong that long.

Longings do affect us in rather many situations of our daily street life. We have everything we desire but nothing we need – even if it is to figure out what our need really is. Maybe we are attracted too often being panicked out of a flying time, immobile, blind and numb with no more action beyond us like an endless search, waiting for the one moment to come we want to detain for ever since now and suddenly, time stands still. This is the moment when someone walks into your life and makes you realize why it never worked with somebody else. We must carry this moment forever with us, like a picture we took with our heart just to make sure we wont lose this very special seconds somewhere on our path.

Longings make us stay alive by making us believe in encounters.

Cheers

Lorax

THE NIGHT OF DESIRES

Roundabout 1700 years ago Saint Lorenzo was martyred to death by the reigning roman emperor and till today the tears he cried to save the poor are seen as fiery shooting stars on the sky in the middle of august, so the Italian fairytale. Nevertheless people around the world and especially in Italy still see these special nights round the 10^th of august as great opportunity to make a wish with every single shooting star they luckily catch the sight of. My mum taught me this very special tradition and until today, it doesn’t matter where I am located I take the time and wait for the star rain. I never got the particularity of this night, as some might see it as every other one, but although it fills myself with a feeling of sentimentality. You may ask how can we even demand for a wish in a world we might own everything we could imagine, but in this special case it isn’t about materiality. It is about the emotion we get by confronting ourselves with the question of what we really want and maybe need. A certain kind of keeping things elementary.

The most special attribute of this night are the reactions of my friends I get back by remembering them to watch the sky. It is exactly therefore we make those wishes – to get some kind words and thoughts back to oneself, like the flying stars finding their route back home. We might say we have everything we desire, but I don’t like restricting the thought of a unique night to the basic needs. Sometimes I get the impression that we forget among all our sorrows on highest level, what it means to appreciate and be appreciated – I don’t see the necessity of suffering, because there isn’t any.

Tonight I would like to thank all those inspiring girls and boys around me, who maybe never get to know that they are and will be my very personal muses making every single of my nights to a memorable one. All those wishes flying down to earth tonight are yours – just catch them and maybe make a wish for me as well.

Thank You

Lorax

THAT'S ALL

For a friend who is afraid to be forgotten

Summer will always remain a thing people can't get at all. Totally overwhelmed by some hot feeling lying next to a lake at a place in the middle of nowhere, the hottest day of the year leaves the question of was that all? Was that our summer experience 2013 and how can the refreshing summer wind simply be the first forerunner of autumn leaves? Is our summer wind friend the one holding our hand when autumn clusters us back to our warm apartments remembering those gorgeous nights out in the heated city? Somehow the summer wind is a symbol of forgetting, passing through and in its own way of lost experience. I wonder why we forget things that easily. We feel our life on our skin like this gentle breeze but keep the feelings rather scarce – the question left remains why?

In most cases forgetting may help us to survive. If we would remember every horrible day we had to get through we probably would kick the bucket faster as we could shop the best sale item, before getting knocked down by our fashion rivals. Nevertheless we may even forget who we are and where we come from by forgetting all those great stories, people and places we were connected with somewhere in our history. Some call it life, letting things go their own way and still I would claim, that forgetting isn’t the way to get through with ourselves as we always fix things rather intense in our memories the more we want to forget it. Are we really happy by forgetting ourselves or is it more a kind of fighting for displacement? A basic instinct? Somewhere in the corner of our minds we surely aren’t that blind and may store all those attitudes, which helped us to become what we are even if we somehow don’t want to have them with us – but they are our records and one out of a range of reasons building our personality. I actually can’t decide if we should forget or better memorize, as life always teaches us no matter how somebody may have harmed us. So maybe things will only leave and let us be if we don’t forget them. It’s like an assurance they demand from by telling us, that if they thought we would forget them they will never cut down. That’s all.

One thing is certain. Next year our moody friend the summer wind will come back remembering us with poor compassion all those things we might have forgotten over the year and that will make us laugh again – and as we all know laughing helps to forget, at least for a few seconds.

Cheers

Lorax

YOU LOOK GREAT - BERLIN

A city defining itself about caring less? Berlin. Sitting on the rooftop terrace of my hotel I reviewed this past weekend in the city – which apparently accepts everyone – and came to even this conclusion. Berlin symbolizes the full range from Chanel to Kebab. Especially during Fashion Week this city gains a special sort of glamour it misses the rest of the year, nevertheless the desired laisser-faire seems forced. People need absolutely to fit the lifestyle the city imposes without reconsidering their perspectives. Everyone looks great in their special understanding of fashion anyhow I gained the feeling the city gets exploited from the rest of the nation. Two times a year the media-film-important-en-vogue-crowd overruns the hottest locations in town, celebrating an art-short-movie or the newest collection of an average talented designer before leaving behind the sleeping beauty, sucked by dry.

Back to Munich I attended one of the last performances of this years opera season. Watching Violetta Valéry die I began to understand the story of Berlin – La Traviata, the one who lost her way. Loved by the right, sabotaged by the wrong while never forgetting to party hard, in the end perishing of tuberculosis – a rather disillusioning goodbye.

So what is it about this nonchalance in life we all may appreciate about the atmosphere a city like Berlin is able to give? A whatever place to feel free? Actually I have to admit that is quite easy passing the days never thinking what may happen tomorrow. We may believe it doesn’t matter in any case – carpe diem in a modern understanding? But is it really a form of making the best of the day living the moment or do we simply appreciate the freedom of thoughtlessness? Somehow a reaction on the overload we are confronted with every single day. It might seem easier letting everything behind but was Violetta right singing the famous words of being free forever? Is a friendship with a moment at least more than a love-story with our life, while forgetting in our immense compulsion to be free that maybe the evanescent delight shouldn’t be a regular on our daily party? Maybe our bright entity permits only this certain kind of friendship because love somehow hinders a free spirit by regulating the own structures of being. What is it about my troubled soul, that nothing ever was able to set you in flame? What joy should it be to love and be loved and why do I reject it? For this life of pointless enjoyment? So Violetta’s words at the end of the first act.

At last we all should thank Berlin for being the free city we all escape to, if the rules of life restrict us that much. Being the way it is without thinking what others may hold us from. Sempre libera – free and aimless turning to the new delights, that make the spirits soar. La Traviata in a very unconventional understanding. Maybe we all should stay Berlin for a night – living the spirit just for a moment simply looking great.

Cheers

Lorax

CLASSY GOODBYE

A tribute

Lexi Featherston was one of the most thrilling characters of Sex And The City’s season 6. Memorable how she fell out of the window of one of New York’s exclusive penthouses seating her last hope to live in a brown silk curtain. Party girls are one of those really special types of a person. Always in search for the next hype or rush they seem to dismiss the world they live in. A 25 year old might be all right with living the party as she is still a girl and it effectively doesn’t matter how drunk or filled with coke she might be because her juvenility still helps her to hold the balance on her Manolos. But what happens 15 years later? Will she die like Lexi with the words You all bore me to death! on her lips? Nevertheless one out of a whole range of possibilities isn’t it? Otherwise she will make Betty Ford a lot richer by passing through her 5^th deprivation always persuaded she is wealthy enough to afford it.

Party girls are the shining stars of every Saturday night. Loved and hated they fill it doesn’t matter which hot spot with this certain kind of atmosphere, as everybody wants to get or stay in touch. Of course haters are going to hate, at least for the complete inappropriate outfit, but for my very own understanding this is whence this kind of woman takes her elixir of life out. They normally aren’t that attractive. They shout out to others trying to get their own lives in an ordered way always being behind making something out of them – somehow a kind of beauty. Nevertheless the time flies. While we had the time of our lives yesterday and sometimes try to continue starting into being a grown up these women seem to be bound to their glory days settled in the past, forgetting the present.

Having my last drink on Saturday night I sat down and watched the party people freaking out. I asked myself why the party girl never gets bored of an overfilled and overheated space like the most nightclubs are and what she hopes to find in a shabby location? What if she joins all those memorable stars in the 27 Club? Partying at least her last goodbye in a classy way and leaving the event for the very first time in her entire existence early? Will she even ever have been able to examine if the time was enough or will she somehow regret by saying there would have been enough time for a change? I wonder if she actually will achieve all she ever dreamed for from partying? I mean all talents she might have got, wasted drunk on a dirty floor running after a poshed up lifestyle, surrounding herself with more or less famous people – is it worth the while? Maybe yes. It helps not looking back. Life isn’t the party we were looking for, that’s what every Party girl somehow has to learn. However what our nocturnal excessive partiers have ahead of us is the ability to dance it doesn’t matter what they get, always prepared to every change of rhythm.

Cheers

Lorax

IT'S UP TO YOU - NEW YORK

The island of Manhattan is a strange place. Totally crowded with millions of people it conveys the feeling of being welcome and home even if you haven’t been there for years. It may be the phenomenon of skyscrapers limiting the space – though you are in between the diversity of the human race a glance up to the sky suffices to feel total loneliness and nevertheless a kind of safety. Yes, it is definitely the skyscrapers, but what do we actually define as our homes and how can we express what it means to ourselves? Is a home where your family is, are your friends you might can find everywhere in the world the better family and are homes as a consequence therefore replaceable? Somebody one day said home is where your heart is – seems easy, effectively quite hard. Maybe this quote should be taken more literal than emotional. As our hearts are inside ourselves – not in all but at least in most cases – we carry our homes along every day it doesn’t matter in which place on our planet we are located for a while by furnishing it with memories we caught up since our ability to remember killed our childhood innocence. So why can a city like New York impact our feeling of home? It’s like coming back to your small hometown, having the impression nothing will ever change while the time stands still. Of course you can discover new adventures at any time but basically the structures last. People – fashion – the subway. You are used to it, that’s why it’s common and might be replaceable much more easily than you could ever have imagined. At the end we are able to replace everything from a broken plate to a friend if we actually just want to, so why are we often afraid of doing the same way with our homes? Human’s nature of convenience? I believe things would go like they did with Rupert Everett and his VIP dressing room he was so proud about getting after his first big success at one of London’s West End theaters. We are flying high. Five minutes. After that it makes us sick.

Every time I breathe the wasted air of New York City it is the bespoke feeling that comes over. What is a home? Can we accept a certain place as the one giving us the safety we need no matter what happens or is it our actual living style we need to get into somewhat deeper in order to establish nearness around us? I am afraid we often avoid the idea of loving the things we actually got in order not to run the risk that someday that something might be gone. In some points Frank Sinatra might end up to be right by singing It’s up to you! Doubtful if he meant the city or his very self. No matter where we will make it or want our vagabond shoes to stray – sometimes home is just a feeling.

Cheers

Lorax

MAKE A WISH

For a true friend

When the magic wears off, reality will still be here and you have to deal with it. Epic moments in life seem to be rare, but why are they? The most situations we have to deal with should get the label epic as we still talk about our daily entity. When we give up the magic in ourselves nothing we ever worked for seems to have any right of existence anymore, but what is it about letting magic enter our lives? I am talking about those moments we suddenly brake out of a daily cluster and let the cold wind lead us to some speechless adventures we might never have experienced out of our natural phlegm.

I am observing a couple at my favorite bar for some weeks now. I am not sure if they are still dating or simply passing their evenings together in a more fashionable location than their proper residence might be, but what I know is, that their reunions seem to take place on a very intimate and quite magic level as they seem to descend in their very own world, with all this pulsing life of a Friday night around them vanishing to the dark. It is the way they look and talk to each other, what makes this weird kind of scene magical. I ask myself if reality will overtake them the moment they cross the doors back again to this cold spring. Anyhow I have the impression from time to time, that the magic I am talking about is still a kind of hideaway we curtain ourselves behind by establishing some fictional world for some hours. Is magic a sort of lie pretending to be the truth?

Magic encounters us more often we actually would believe, but what we never really want to face is what would happen when the magic is gone.

Later that week someone decided to stop the never-ending rain, giving the sun the chance for a comeback. While enjoying the very first summer evening on the steps of the opera house the magic of a whole city overwhelmed me in a rather unusual way. On the one side the moment of a town falling asleep in the dawn, on the other side the thought, that nothing lasts forever. Summer returns every year no matter how bad and sad we might have lived through the days before its final breakthrough. It is sort a outlandish that there is and will always be this deep wish inside of ourselves, getting things the way we certified them, even if they aren’t meant to be alike. Is this even a wish we should and could make? Are wishes meant to last or do they reflect a small sequence of our thoughts and emotional condition? Where stays the magic of a profound wish if it isn’t planned to stay with us? Maybe we all must learn and accept to be broken up with something just to get a better state of mind for our surrounding world and us. How can we even care for our wishes if we cant care? Is it allowed to make wishes in a dishonest way? Somehow we should again face reality and remind that a breakup also in a wishes context, isn’t always that bad. It may hurt but maybe it is the only way. In the end Oscar Wilde was right by telling us that divorces are made in heaven, so maybe we should start to step beside our daydreams and let reality be real.

But even if reality will only start to care when we are gone, why should we adjust our dreams and wishes? Divorces may be a celestial phenomenon but if our dreams wont scare us out of a reason of sense, they aren’t big enough.

The sky might be the limit – not for our dreams.

Cheers

Lorax

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

SUN, SEA & SUNGLASSES

There seem to be a few fixed dates during the year in which the whole world wants to board the next flight to the very same destination. The highly fashionable island Sylt in the middle of the German northern sea is the hotspot of more or less every socialite during the Pentecost holidays, turning to a certain kind of Disney World for adults for a weekend only. The funny thing about this scattershot get together is that nearly everything takes places on an area of roundabout 5 km², compared to the most central areas of it doesn’t matter which city the groundwork for coincidences. Coincidences – are they real or again a consequence of decisions we take? It is weekends like the bespoke, which let me muse about how it is even possible to hit exactly the folks we would or even not would like to see more than once within 48 hours. Is it really that difficult to avoid the one who broke your heart or your archenemy among beach parties, dinner invitations and clubbing? Obviously it is, so maybe this might be the reason why everybody on the island wears sunglasses in the dark.

I guess coincidences are those strange things between science and fate we have to accept for ourselves as those, we can’t control anymore, like the rough sea, we actually cant swim in. I mean what would sometimes have happened, if we chose in an instant to go the complete opposite direction. Would we have met someone special earlier and what are coincidences meant to be for our road of life? Are they actually comparable to destiny or might this be a something too spiritual view for deciding a path to be gone or not? Maybe it is even the point in which we have to stop worrying about the what-ifs and the should-haves in order to stay clear in mind. Nevertheless it confuses me, how it might be possible to meet someone perfectly unknown in front of a night club, the next day at the same restaurant for breakfast, afterwards at the same house party and to top it all on the same plane back home. I mean, OK. Space is limited – but suchlike? Where do coincidence and destiny meet and are those simple constructs siblings in mind or distant relatives?

While I was resting a bit at the beach from a running and rather excessive party the whole collective looked forward to on Sunday afternoon, I couldn’t resist of thinking about coincidences over and again. Basically they seem to be nothing but a consequence of choices and choices are and will stay the frame of showing, which person we really are far more than our abilities ever will. Do we have a choice? I often had those moments in life asking myself what would have happened if I chose in a situation differently before? Surely I wouldn’t be settled in life where I find myself now but maybe I would have done the one or the other more exotic and freaky thing. Moving to Berlin for my studies was one of them for example. Obviously it is better doing something than doing nothing. Being stuck is even worse than getting the wrong direction, even if I maintain the point of view that a wrong could not be possible in life-choices. Everything might be for some reason and even if we cannot realize it for the very moment, I can’t leave the feeling that sometimes I could have done better for my very own. I am and will still reach for something greater, better, more fashionable, and waiting maybe for a further moving by accident enabling it.

Maybe it is again an issue of sunglasses – by taking them off we might find the coincidences we were meant for somehow easier by clearing our visibility, but why should we take them off, when we could find our sunshine somewhere else?

Cheers

Lorax

THESE WORDS

Yves Saint Laurent once upon a time told the following phrase to a fashion journalist, who asked him what the perfect dress should look like: The most beautiful clothes that can dress a woman are the arms of the man she loves. But for those who haven't had the fortune of finding this happiness, I am there. Should this be love? In a down to earth way – maybe. Yves seemed kind of overmodest but expressed contemporarily his deepest thoughts in this great quote. By hiding his own light, no his life he expressed in designing phenomenal pieces of garment, under a bushel only saying that love described in a metaphor of two strong arms is more worth than his central point of his very own life, he puts the love issue upon nearly everything. I ask myself if he ever was that lucky to experience this feeling and will I ever do? How many unreturned love stories do we have to pass through before finding the other half or will we end like the great master of French fashion alone and secluded? Would we be worth less without someone next to us? In fact it seems not a matter of worth but one of the own appreciation. How do we feel by staying alone and are we happier with it? Do we finally need someone who waits for us at night?

Actually I do adore evenings all alone with myself. Today is one of them. Thinking about the love issue more profoundly, while examining all the Nighthawks of this mild night in May sitting next to my window, I had to note, that we lie to ourselves that often concerning our emotional state of mind. That cool and calm folks we would like to get across isn’t exactly what we were made for. We were made for kissing, loving, struggling, crying and maybe it should happen as often as possible simply reminding us that we are besides all of our daily boast still there being able to hear the words we sometimes wait too desperately for. I am sure that regardless how often somebody told us her last goodbye, knowing she can’t come back, these words still stand up. Regardless how often we got disappointed, standing back frustrated and depressed it was and will be that important to have known somebody, who stood by you loving unconditionally, no matter if the story ended up in disbelief.

Love – curtain of the past, revealing an extraordinary future.

Cheers

Lorax

YOU'VE CHANGED

A friend of mine today told me that a last piece in her still hopes to get a greater good. A place inside herself, where to find the inner needs or requirements apart from all superficial positions we have to face ourselves to in a world of the 21^st century. What is it we all are searching for? No – I am not talking as one of those neurotic characters Woody Allen tries to concern about, by trying to get his very own problems in an order to live with. I mean what is the real one thing we are looking for. A huge part of my entourage would immediately be able to answer to this question in their very simple manner, by repeating answers a society like we find ourselves in, likes to pretend:

Money – Success – maybe Family. The more forced an answer is the more clearly pseudo intellectual or pathetic the statements will be. Health or Luck will clarify the issue soon for some of us, but for my own all those requirements never really explore the complicate inside-out manner of every single person. I unluckily don’t know if my neurosis gets over me and only tries to detain me from things I should better wise do or if I absolutely need to bring my thoughts in a concrete order by maybe finding some answers. After all, things change, but is there a time for it?

By holding the status quo we seem to try to escape in a state of mind we don’t ever want to change. It seems a mistake to be stuck in the middle of any conveniences, but aren’t mistakes the simple reason how we compete in life? Somehow, what we need is more time. Time for – whatever. Journeys, love, fashion: Just a further way in finding what we are and what we want. Sounds pathetic. In fact it is. Actually I follow the belief in a never-ending development of personality. I mean everybody telling me he or she finally found THE way of life in it does not matter which case has to lie to herself. There is no THE, it is just an A. For some it might be following a career path, given from the very beginning, for others it might be simply strange adventures at midnight. Maybe our view of the system stays too dualistic. A separation like in today’s society is no more the one of bad and good. Borders are blurred in a Batman style. Nobody seems to know who is right at the end of the day – like Bruce Wayne who is fighting basically for revenge occasionally defeating the bad boys. We should accept that there would never be a right or a wrong for ourselves, too. It’s a matter of choosing a lane or even not and letting some changes enter our lives. Everything changes: seasons do, as a city or the people we surround ourselves with. Our lives seem that restless and though we would never get along without some issues involving some natural dissimilarity. But why does everything always have to change? For myself, I do believe that life is not a single picture you look at, maybe finding constantly new details. No. Life is more than rather a movie. And it’s in a movies nature to change pictures. So why are we this often afraid to rearrange our concepts and start into something completely unknown – a kind of moving on? And are we ever really able to change a situation without changing ourselves, letting a well-known darkness we probably have achieved in any of our relations behind? In fact it seems quite impossible, but thankfully the term itself declares it as the complete opposite: I M possible. Thank you Audrey Hepburn!

Cheers

Lorax

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

THE STORYTELLER

He lives the story – not his life. This might be the résumé of two hilarious and rather inspiring hours in the sun together with one of my most heartily friends, somewhere in the museums quarter on a creepy Sunday afternoon. Why I came to even this issue about telling stories, depends on a guy the both of us were talking about. A guy who might have perfected the way of living the life as a beloved or maybe even dreamed story he built around his very self. I admit that I don’t know him that well on a personal level, but in every of our always occasional getting together he symbolizes, and not only to me the belonging to another time of the 20^th century. It’s primarily about his style but all above about his eloquence bringing you to the idea this man has boarded a time machine some when in the golden twenties and has left all those great intellectuals and artists, from Ernest Hemingway to Salvador Dalí simply to get faced to an epoch his soul seems lost in. Last time I saw him, he was passing by on his bicycle, vintage of course, with a pair of gorgeous cognac-colored-calf-leather brogues, shoelaces in red and his steady companion, a tweed jacket – the accomplished Francis Scott Fitzgerald look. I often wonder if he ever gets connected to our world and our style. He sometimes seems thus affected in projecting his own understanding of an ideology to the rest of his entourage he might forget the story he lives. But are we ever able to change the story we were giving to get along with? Can we even tell a story of life while we are actually still living it? Maybe we try to display a perfect image of ourselves by telling stories we might never have heard of, by blurring the own imperfections away. But can any story be told were perfection is found? I think it was Harvey Weinstein, one of Hollywood’s most famous storytellers who brought it to the point by saying, that we are mostly fascinated of what we do, but over all we love how people look at it, that’s why we might love doing it perfectly. He also said that people love a true story, so what should we give the preference at least – the truth or a variation of it?

Later that day I began thinking in a story telling context, what we might want to achieve by telling some. I mean besides the fact of putting some records straight it remains an entertaining issue, it doesn’t matter in which range of story we are delayed: Opera – Film – Art. All of them want to tell a story in order to might letting forget the own conditions we are located in for a certain while. Perhaps we should understand our own told story more as an artistic act, in order to let us forget what we actually are having sort of a showdown with. Never complain, never explain – that’s what I was told last week and I admit that it fits even in our story’s coherence. So why should we bother about living the story while forgetting to live, when living is nothing but a story to tell.

Cheers

Lorax 

Follow my blog with Bloglovin