Run, run, run!

He is chasing me, oh my God, he is chasing me! I'm running as fast as I can, but that guy just doesn't seem to get tired. Maybe I should stop running, damn I'm getting tired. Still, I should hold on and try to get rid of him. I've been running for 5 miles, and still he is there. At times I can see him lose some ground, but he keeps regaining strength. And now he almost caught up with me, he tries grabbing me. He grabs my coat, thank God I can escape from it. He holds still, I look behind me. I see him getting smaller, surely he gave up. Ok, he is out of sight. Let me walk and breath, find some peace.

Ah, there is the bus stop. People, safety. What a relief. How good it feels to sit on the bus, just 20 more minutes and I'm back home, my safe place. All that is left is a 500 m walk from the bus stop, nothing can go wrong there. It's over, you see? It's not bad to run, you can run away from bad things. I'll take a little nap, 2 stops left. Let me say thanks to the bus driver, I escaped danger, I'm happy. See you next time, and thanks.

I get out of the bus, I breath deeply. I start walking to my house. I hear people get off the bus, they walk in the other direction. I hear nothing. I can see my house, I can hear footsteps. I keep looking straight, don't look back. It's nothing. The steps are getting faster, I hear breathing. I can't keep ignoring it, I look over my shoulder. I can see a guy dressed in my coat. He keeps breathing, what can I do? If I enter my house, he knows where I live. I start running, I run past my home. I keep running, he keeps chasing me.

I look for the next harbour, the next safe place filled with people. I try to get lost in the crowd, he won't find me in a crowd. I run into a bar, I'm amongst plenty of people now, I'm safe. He won't find me here. How long shall I keep running? When will I face him, ask what it is he wants? Perhaps he will devour me when I do that, finish me, oh lord! One day I will stop running and face him, but for now let me run. I need to run! I'm so tired but here I go again: run, run, run!

Here Comes the Sun

Summer has come to an end, rain will come. I never like to say goodbye to the sun, it denies my bad temper to take over my person, the sunshine is always a little stronger. 

But here is that rain, the one that will wash away the layer of smiles protecting my soul. And as I wake up in the rain, the will to live will fade. Maybe the rain is just an excuse to let out the real me, the me that is in love with feeling bad. The one that looks for external reasons of why this life is so hard, the one that does not blame my own being for not enjoying. It's all the fault of the rain. It is like every rain drop is filled with the things I want to do in life, and every drop falls on the floor and explodes. Every falling raindrop is a dream ruined, until the sun comes back and tells me there is no need for dreams nor hopes, there is only sunshine and love.

The rain is making me crazy, it is telling me what I want: I want to dance, act, write, travel, work, study, meet new people, live a solitary life, live in a foreign country, get used to a little basic life in my own country, it tells me I want to speak Spanish, German, Russian, Italian, French and even Tsjech. I want a girl for myself,  I want to have a lot of different women, I want to fall in love, I want to hate,  I want to change the world, help people, I want to be selfish, get a lot of money, buy a house, a nice car. I want to forget about past lovers, I want to hold on to every love I had. I want to forget about everything, at the same time I do not want to forget about anything.

The rain laughs in my face by falling all day long and throughout that day, by making my hopes and dreams explode on the ground, or even in my own hands. There are so many things I want, so many,  that because of that I do not have anything.

I keep running behind every rain drop, but never can I catch one. And after being tired of running,  I sit and wait for the wind to remove the rain and tell me: here comes the sun.

Feeding a ghost

I was unhappy being a writter, so I became a painter. At first I started painting some of the characters out of my stories, painting myself was never an option. I promised myself never to paint anything ugly, that included selfportrets. The first character I did put on the canvas was Portian. A young man with half long blond hair and a heavy beard, with in his right hand the hamer he used to make his sculptures with. Portian always fascinated me, he was a man I loved to use in my stories. In plenty of my writings he was the man that sculpted the images of lovers in an embrace or kiss, of ancient gods in which he believed, or the perfect woman, his beloved wife.

When I was happy with seeing Portian with my own eyes, the time was right to start my next painting: The sweet Anita in her lovely blue dress, laying on the grass, staring at the sky, dreaming of things to come. Anita was a woman in her twenties, always putting on a dress and wearing high heels. Long, very long, black hair. Beautiful brown eyes, a lightly colored skin, a cute little nose and   kissable lips, a woman too beautiful to be alive. A challenge to draw and put her on a canvas, a mission impossible. Nonetheless I was happy with the result, her dress just above her knees, the right knee bend and the left leg covered by the grass she was laying in. With next to that leg her blue heels, the ones she always wore under her sexiest dress.

Now I wanted to draw the Ice Queen and Cassiopeia together on one canvas. My first two works were lightly, happy work. I wanted to get some more drama into my paintings. So why not put on two of the characters that brought out the dark side in me? The Ice Queen was rather easy to draw,   an ice covered woman up in some mountains of ice. But Cassiopeia, I never imagined how she would be, she was a ghost, a beautiful one. I never could seperate her from a woman I knew in real life, my own Cassiopeia. And I became unhappy, after the unhappiness as a writer, now I felt unhappy being a painter. And all because of Cassiopeia.

The solution would be easy, I loved writing until I wrote about Cassiopeia. I loved painting until I painted about Cassiopeia. So why not write and paint about things that were not that ghost? I could not do it anymore, every story or painting would now be filled with her, I was doomed to change directions...

And so I became a singer, next a poet, next a sculpturer, but all stories ended the same. Nothing made me happy, and all because of a ghost. Ghosts can ruin our lives if we feed them...

Top of the Hill

And I was the only one able to run to the top of the hill. The ones left behind begged me to come down and help them reach the top, but I shouted: "The ones worth of the top can reach it by themselves, the ones left should accept their fate".
And it felt good to be on top of the hill, I was lonely but superior to my former equals. I made it while they kept on struggeling and were trying to get higher, to reach the top, to be as high as I was. Some did get close to the top, some didn't even make it half way. All they needed was a hand to pull them in, since I removed the branch that enabled me to acces the top. But I never gave them that hand, why would I help someone below me to grow to be my equal? I would just be 'one of them' again, and now I was finally what I always wanted to be: unique.
The people seeing me, almost able to reach me, cursed me. "How can you be so selfish? Just give us a hand, what is the problem in that?". But when I asked them why they didn't help the people, unable to even reach their point, first up there, they replied "they have no obstacles, they way up here is straight, you do not need a helping hand to reach the point where we are, but to get to the top you do". -"I see, well I was able to overcome the obstacles first, so I deserve my spot at the top. And to show you I mean good with all of mankind, I will give you a hand once all people are on the spot where you are, close to the hill."
And to this day, I am still standing alone on the hill. I never expected them to get all of mankind close to the hill, but I am wondering why the ones below me do not just lift one person up, that person next being able to pull everyone below in. So in the end we would all be up on this hill, but let's be realistic: we never will.

Aim for the stars...

And in the end it all comes down to the same thing. In the end nothing changes. You win some, you lose some.We are alive and on this earth and we need to get on with it. What could've been, we will never know. What if I had been rich, what if I was a cat, what if the sun exploded yesterday? Don't worry, be happy. Feel great, feel crappy. It's whatever you want, in the end whatever we do means nothing. Change the world? It will be changed again. Dictate your will, it shall be overthrown. We all dream of so many things, some struggle to get there while others accept they never will. Whatever works for you, whatever works... But know that after all your struggles in this life you will learn one thing, and one thing only. Meanwhile I can give you one advice: Aim for the stars, it might get you over a bridge.