Colour Ink

german girl living together with a very dead and bony roommate and an army of books, sketchbooks and inkpots.

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That's the problem with language. In Germany we say "Brustkorb", which literally means "chest basket". In our language it's a basket, that prevents the heart from damage. Hearts are wild creatures. That's why we have a basket, to hold them back softly when they're going to wild.

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December, my love

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reading and drowning

They said, reading can become a therapy.

I yet have read so much that I must be cured. But after a billion of pages, thousands of tales, hundrets of poems, that all touched my soul soft as well as knives, I am not cured.

I feel like a drowning gasping for air, but swallowing water that fills my lungs instead.

I don't wanna read anymore. I want to escape myself.

But if I read, I escape myself. And I escape reality. And I completely take the pain off of the characters and make it being mine.

And when I wake up from the book, Im damaged with everything that has tortured the protagonist.

~MissTorch

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Fire

Is it strange that I love sitting in front of a wood oven, enjoying his warmth and heat, that's making me cozy and well? Watching the flames dancing on the wood. Listening to the gently sound of cracking logs, where the flames are nibbling.

But I know it easily could burn down me and my home, if I'd fall asleep and a piece of burning wood falls out. It could easily kill me.

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Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

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This made me think of my own time in school when we had to make art as the teacher always told us. Only at home I could do it my way.

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Is it strange that I love sitting infront of a window watching raindrops falling down, to watch them how they hit the leaves of trees and make them move, to watch them how they hit the streets just to jump up and hit the ground again, to watch them covering the whole world with clear water?

Just as if heaven wants to say "I love you, my earth, and together we will destroy the parasites, that are living on you and hurt you. And I will give you strength by sending sun and rain onto you, so you can grow your army of pure nature. And I will hit the parasite with waterdrops and ice drops and kill him very slow."