sunday afternoon

my new hobby. walking the solace streets of small dusty villages. we stopped for drinks at a small town called la grasse. off the beaten touristy tracks. hidden away between hills cliffs and vineyards. stunning little cobble stone village. a river runs through it. i had classical music on my ipod while pacing myself through its bumpy and dusty streets. the smell of local cuisine fills the air and distant folk music. an accordion. a local walks by. a man with a big belly and the stench of last nights rose fills the aura around him. he is sweaty and on his way for another bottle i guess. the winds of the languedoc sweeps around every corner and brings a certain chill to yet another perfect day in the south of france. i turn the corner. down another gravel path only to be connected to another square. more stinky men. more dust. more wine. the dust of boules spashing out of the dust as the iron boule batters the gravel with its weight. i cross the dusty square and down another alley. i stare at the funny shaped door at the bottom of the alley. a lady hangs out form a window and mumbles some french. i think she asked whether i was lost. lost i was. but not physically. i look around to see the beautiful old lady. flowers all over the front of her house. the architecture grips me. binds me. amazing. strong and ancient buildings. rough and rugged. unfinished and rustic. the nostalgia surrounds me all of a sudden. the euphoria of being here is unimaginable. yet so simple. its only dust. its only stones. its just another river. no. it had all the components for a perfect sunday afternoon. peace. quite. tranquillity. i stopped. i sat down. i took it all in.

vineyards

we drove through the vineyards of languedoc. it was stunning. i was left emotional. i was left feeling alive. the rolling hills of the area have a certain peace about it. it lies quietly under the mediterranean sun. without complaints. it soaks up the sun. it soaks up all the components it needs for another perfect harvest. there is something mysterious about vines. as if they know something we dont. i bet they love being turned into wine. perhaps that was what i sensed as we drove past each one of them. they had a sense of knowing. a sense of belonging. it was electrifying.

across the room

i saw her from across the room. she was elegant. walked as a trained mannequin. long elegant steps towards perfection. sliding across my vantage point. i could not stop staring. a certain mystery about her. a cloud of confidence protected her. it made my eyes hurt. dressed with a spice of funk and spunk. a scent of style. it filled the whole room. was i the only one poisoned by her presence. drowning in her intrigue. beautiful yet simple. the way god made her. perfect. like a drug. i could not absorb enough. as if there was not point of saturation. no end to her excellence. then she was gone. suddenly from our presence. she kept me awake. who was she. the scent filled my nostrils. i could not wash it off. it followed me where ever i went. for weeks it bothered me. kept me awake. i could not focus. work was pointless. her dark fair hair and deep eyes. i could feel them on me. i would turn around. she was never there. around the corner i would search for her. in a crowd. at the market. pointless. she was gone. forever. forever gone.

journal

the great thing about a journal is the fact that is never lies. it never changes tune. it never changes its story. dont you just love that. the truth of who you are. black and white. no denying it. you wrote it. what woul be the point of lying. ever felt stupid about what you wrote. about what you have done. off course. that is called human. reality. i found myself paging through the leather binder. pure gold. i treasure my journal. why. cause it tells the story of my life. i. me. moi. nobody can deny what is written there. nobody can ever read what is written there. its mine only. ours actually. it speaks of great times and hard times. falling in and out of love. breaking hearts and being heart broken. winning and losing. success and failure. the past and the future. people. they play the princess. the villan. the hero. how precious are they not. they helped forming me. i am what i am. i do what i do. i think what i think. i say what i say. because of their influence. their input. their criticism. arrogant. judgemental. proud. friendly. spontaneous. crazy. selfish. loner. feather headed. never minded. absent minded. thinker. nice. what a mix. some good i think. you are in there too. find yourself. paint yourself. use colour. dont be bland. be creative. be real. be yourself. nobody is watching. write your story. tell the truth. tell it as it is. nobody is watching. nobody. nobody.

the reason

i often told people during the earlier days that i was busy writing this book. in a way it was the truth and in a way very far from it. i always had the desire to write what was going on in my head. to paint a picture of what happened in my emotions and dreams. to draw the smiles and to erase the sorrows. somehow I never got past the second page. therefore i think i have written over a dozen first two pages. they all started out guns blazing but the ideas quickly faded and die. finding the reason for this became my quest. my mission. something that just had to be done. then one night i caught up with genna. and i realised that the stories had to be told.

faith enough

ice is thin enough for walking. rope is worn enough to climb. my throat is dry enough for talking. the world is crumblin but i don’t know why. storm is wild enough for sailing. bridge is weak enough to cross. body frail enough for fighting. im home enough to know im lost. its just enough to be strong. in the broken places. its just enough to be strong. should the world rely on faith tonight. land unfit enough for planting. barren enough to conceive. poor enough to gain the treasure. enough a cynic to believe. confused enough to know direction. sun eclipsed enough to shine. be still enough to finally tremble. see enough to know im blind. should the world rely on faith tonight

alter-ego me

i will not fear as I wait for the dawn. you keep on holding my hand. im crying out from the depths of my soul. with words I just cant understand. you have set my feet upon a rock thats not moving. you have placed a song of hope in my heart and im singing. im praying. god the artist designed you and me. with his will and purpose in mind.
but i keep on striving and trying to be. someone ive made with my pride. now the fires of hell burnt high and tried to destroy me. i run to your willow god i know youll restore me. and reform me.