Under the winter sun

Dear Lenny,

A change of season is upon us now: the trees are bare, the winds blow unopposed, tears stain hard surfaces of the streets.

Weeks lie ahead: it’s going to be cold ,,,

Winter is upon us now, and I only have memories: the light blueberry fragrance in the way you smell on your skin, the penetrating gaze in your eyes in the way you look at me, the feathery yet confident graze of your finger and hands in the way you touch me, the firm and sensuous caress of your lips in the way you kiss me.

Someone once told me: where there’s something valuable to be had, standing in the middle of a frozen pond, you don’t run, you need only walk slowly and surely to find your way home. The journey is as important as the sum of its components, for us to stop long enough to hold those pieces in our hands, to look at them carefully.

I told them then, as I tell you now: I want to believe. I’ve been desperate enough to wish it to be true; I always have.

The next breath can’t come soon enough, Lenny; I need you.


— 2013 December 24


Displacement, part 2

Dear Wyman,

The curtains have just come down on our long-awaited reunion, and some clearly have gone down the path for the worse. It just goes to show that the big-time isn’t meant for everyone, that there’s someone else who’s ready and willing to take that extra step, if you weren’t already sufficiently careful, vigilant, or patient. Larry looked happy, but he didn’t speak our language nor was he able to keep with us; so, it was entirely obvious the rest of us would look upon Larry so poorly. We never said it out loud, but everyone at the reunion would look at each other with the same thing in their eyes: what the hell happened to him, or in other less politic terms to crudely put: how dare he. We didn’t particularly care if he was happy – all we wanted to know was whether he was with us or against us.

This reminds me of what cousin Selma used to tell us: go chase life, before it tracks you down and kills you. I also remember what I used to say to her: give me a gun, and I’ll give you a 5-minute headstart.

`Til our paths collide,

— 2009 June 13

An einem frühen Morgen in Prag

13. März 2009, 2359h CET

“In einer nicht fernen Nacht”

Der junge Mann, mich und eine Flasche Wein vor sich
und hinter sich eine Blitzkarriere als Geschäftsmann,
verstand viel von der Welt, nur die Welt verstand er nicht.
Manchmal vor dem Einschlafen dachte er darüber nach,
aber jung wie er war machten andere Gedanken auch Spass.
Er hatte Badezimmer, Telefone, Lichtschalter.
Danach schlief er ein und schlief gut, um am Orgen
wieder in einer Welt zu erwachen, die zu verstehen
er sich aus Zeitgründen keine Mühe gab.

Was er tat? Er kaufte, verkaufte, kaufte wieder
und war erfolgreich, weil er das Risiko liebte, den Anteil
der Lüge daran und das Geld. Die Welt blieb ihm trotzdem
ein Rätsel. Am liebsten hätte er sich, jung wie er war,
auch noch in die Ideen des Zufalls eingemischt.

In einer nicht fernen Nacht wird er schlecht schlafen
und aus dem Schlaf aufschrecken und es wissen, und
niemand und nichts, die Welt, das Geld, die Frauen
und die Frau, die er liebt, werden für ihn beten.

Wolf Wondratschek
Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 13. März 2009