Multiple of 26

I want to fly away from what I have become. So I am gonna write myself down here and leave myself , forget these cold days deep in my pocket.
T for a nose and
O for a brain.
An E for a forever twisted mouth and
S for my two eyes.
Two Ss actually, because I wear glasses.
I & J for my legs, because I am always nervous so I keep one of my legs twisted at a weird angle.
M for my right hand and
N for my left one.
My teeth.
My teeth that blush and explode with guilt.
I can find no proper letter for my hair, because it is curly and expands like a flower. Like me, when I cry. Like my fist, when I shiver. Like my memory, when I refuse to remember. Like my fear, when I don’t.
Maybe Qs and Ws and Ys and Zs could sort of explain my hair, though. They are the least used letters where I come from. Because people don’t know how to put them in words. Because my hair can’t be braided, but my bones can.
X for my heart.
V for my lungs.
B for my ears, when I hear too much. Grass growing and snow falling and the darkness humming around me.


Words That Sting And Sing and Fly

Hello, hello, how are your last days of December? Mine are fine, but they don’t look like December, not in the very least. I have flowers blooming in my garden and green green green grass growing everywhere and it makes the Christmas spirit commit suicide. It is not even cold. So I am up for floral Christmas this year and not even that mad about it, now that I’m thinking about how nice it sounds – floral Christmas. The Earth laughing in colors around small lights and evergreen trees. Special, right?

So special it would need a word of itself. A word for everything, wouldn’t that be a beautiful thing. And by that I don’t mean leaf, leaves, tree, trees, cookie, cookies,  sheet, sheets, hour, hourglass, flower, bouquet, but thisfeelingIhaveinmychestwhenitachesfromtheneedofhumanaffection .  That type of self defining and independent word.A word that would act in the wordsociety the same way feminists act in a society made of women and men.  Whimsical and made out of laughter. A word to get it all. A word so full, words so full, that we would not need sentences or grammar or spelling – no, we would just get some syllabi out through our gritted teeth and we would be understood. Fully , completely.

I believe in such extraordinary words – words that name it that shall not be named, words that break and mend, words you can dive into and never get out of. Portal-words, magic-words, spells and darkness humming around blazing light. Simple words and careful ones. They are my myth, my belief and my hope. Words. And if I find them, the true ones, I hope I won’t be able to ever write them down. Because when bumping against my skull, they would lose some flavor. When fighting their way through my veins, they would lose their rhythm.

But I sort of stumble over mythical words. Not indeed mythical, but rather interesting. Peculiar. Filled with sense and understanding. I collect such words. And I decided to write them here today. Without definition, if I find it important for you to think about it a little , even if you don’t have the time to look it up in the dictionary. Just absorb letters, they are a nice conditioner for your soul.

By the way, they are not all in English, obviously. Also, I am going to write them with various colours, in various ways, because I think it is a good idea. Might turn out to be a difficult to read thing, but I am still in artist-mood today, so please allow me my little colors.



o  n  i  s  m

t h e    frustration   o f  b e i n g   stuck  in  j u s t   one   b o d y, t h a t   in  ha  bi  ts   only   one   place   at    a   t i m e

Quint Buchholz (German, b. 1957, Stolberg, Germany) – Der Flug (The Flight), 1987 Paintings

ir i d esc e n    t  – producing a display or rainbowlike colors

E P I P H A N Y – a moment of sudden revelation


brontide: pronunciation:

pronunciation |  “am-u-‘ran-THEn:

pronunciation |:

I am going to stop now and maybe edit this later with more various words. Because words are nice, but my mood is not and I feel like cheering up a bit with some shots of strong words, nice, burning ones. See you tomorrow, with an original “tag”, I hope, because I really don’t like the ones going around. May the words be with you !


My computer had what I would call a seizure. It’s just opened here, in front of me, black screen with a white arrow capable of moving around, but doing nothing more than that. Just annoying me. Not in the fundamentally annoying way. Just making my life harder than usually.  And also making me write from this app. Such a tiny keybord,  so little space for my mental floss. Such non-existent warning when I’m a master of stupidly spelled words.
I really feel like writing because I really feel like talking, or rather being listened to, and texts about useless things, this hide-and-seek type of dialogues are profoundly dissatisfying. I think I could talk for  hours out of sheer frustration. I could talk for days and days until I’m totally unable to articulate a word, until I’m numb and useless, simply because I love to talk.
Or rather,  I love to be listened to.
No, I don’t like people looking at me, gazing at me, staring at me, getting bored or annoyed listening to my ramblings. Yes, my unhealthily pale skin cam get all shades of red and my breath can become fast and shallow and my hands can become knots and the tips of my feet can sink deep into the ground, until they reach the hot center of my gravitational field. My brain can get weirdly irrational, my tongue irresponsible.  And tho, I will keep speaking . Talking. Telling. I will keep craving the high that the idea of being listened ro gives me. I will keep craving the weight I can feel forming in my stomach while words hurry out of my mouth. Out of my hands. Out of my eyes and lungs.
That is why I felt like writing. I did. Hope I’ll make a habit out of it, because it becomes difficult to breathe  with so many words stuck between my mouth and my brain.