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Of Glass & Paper

Sisyphus47's writing blog

Prelude #Cityscape

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Exploring a city is like discovering a lover: the unknown sounds, the long avenues, the blind windows so much like eyes shut, the undecipherable scents… Then there are the enticing corridors, the forbidden cellars, the lovely peaceful cafés hidden behind trees, as islands of lust. The city does not yield easily: one has to be patient, one has to enjoy the foreplay, wait for the moment, the right time, observe and love.

The city is full of strangers, as many alive and as many ghosts, like the thoughts and dreams in the mind of the one we seek, as puzzling and provocative. She has its angry, even furious, side: thunder and lightning, when the pavements become hostile, the noise unbearable. She can reject the presumptuous, ignore the fool, she’s sovereign on her territory, she does not forgive.

Although many claim to possess her, she has no master. She has seen murder and rape, she knows much about war, about invaders… In our eyes she’s more alive than ever, risen from the flat sands, slowly stretching her wonderful limbs…

Image: via lightsindarkuniverselightsindarkuniverse.tumblr.com

Nightmare #TheDailyPost

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You haunt our nights, not the you, seductive, smooth, sexy, not the one we meet in full daylight, but the one whom we cannot name. We see you in the shadow, beyond those trenches, beyond the cloud of blood and murder: for you are the Enemy, armed and pitiless, the one we, humans, fear.

And yet we fight, under a sky without light, where no stars shine. We fight and sometime push you back, you and your legions, and then we have to take shelter, in the depth of night, carrying our dead comrades with us…

There is no end, this fight will last forever, as dawns succeed to nights, and we pretend to live, and then the nightmare begins, again.

Image: Crow and Moon, by Valya. 2016, via valya47

Guest #TheDailyPost

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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I cannot recall when you came. Probably long ago. Probably in one of those moments of sadness, of pain, perhaps of love. You stayed. You shaped my thoughts, my feelings. Nothing has been the same since.

“The same”? Do I mean, before I knew? Or simply before awareness came? We are not alone. And you are many. Are you from this world, or from the next? Are you beyond time, juggling souls, from one to another?

Image: Patrick Gomersall – All these things, via tauchner

 

A wall, and a tower #BerlinDiary, July 10

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In my street the only trace of the Mauer is the brass inscription on the pavement. All round everything is new: Berlin is being rebuilt, or renovated, but trees also are planted, here in Mitte, and elsewhere in this fascinating city. In the evening a fine rain started, veiling the profile of the television tower, built in the DDR days, and one the vantage points of the city (I prefer the monument to the victories of 1814-15 in Viktoria Park.)

I went earlier in an exploration of the centre, from the Columbiadamm in Tempelhof, the Alte Jacobsstraße, in Kreuzberg, to Seestraße in Wedding. To get a sense of who the city really is, one has to walk, or cycle. There is a lot of this in perspective…

Landmarks, in stone or time, are everywhere. 17 June, the Landwehr Kanal, Museeumsinsel, Kennedy’s speech at the Schöneberg Rathaus… An eagle still stands proudly on the façade of the old airport building in Tempelhof, on Luftbrückeplatz…

Island #TheDailyPost #BerlinDiary, July 3

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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We are ready, almost. A lot to pack, a lot still to plan. Will it be Wedding, or Schöneberg, or Tempelhof? The search will continue for the next few months. But now we have a foothold!

So, soon, we will be leaving this little foolish island. Maybe forever? We don’t know. The present atmosphere does not give us reasons to stay! And then we have so much to do, far from the politicking of monkeying politicians and their media puppets…

The diary to write, the photos to take, the novel to restart!

And you, my dear, to worship as ever…

Photography: Pelikan Haus, Ritterstr., Berlin-Kreuzberg, © 2016 Honoré Dupuis

Burn #TheDailyPost

Inspiration

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We shall burn the old days, the boredom, the struggle; we shall forget the rain; we shall find new dust.

We will live again, as if, we still had life to spare…

We know we must cease the instant, before the City becomes like all the others, before she forgets her soul…

Fall will succeed Summer, and we will haunt those streets, seeking the ghosts of a past we want to travel to…

We belong there, and nowhere else, prisoners of our own dreams, like dry wood in a fire…

Water #TheDailyPost

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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From the Wassertor, the watergate, we walked slowly, hand in hand, along the bank of the old canal, and reached the Engelbecken, the angels’s lake. You looked at the sky, then at me: I understood, no need for word. Sunlight vibrated through the little fountains, antic roses shone on the brick walls.

The water reflected our thoughts, deep down ancient spirits awoke, to remind us that time is the great healer.

We found our place, and we knew it would take time for the dream to be realised…

Photo: Engelbecken, Berlin Luisenstadt, © 2016 Honoré Dupuis

Voyage #TheDailyPost

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The deed is done, my dear, so there is nothing to hold us back: we shall return to the City, among the youth, and the ghosts, and the walls full of memories. We will walk along the canal, remembering Rosa, and the heroes of the revolution, we will walk along the river, our souls in unison, our limbs alive – despite the attraction of Death.

For the City lives, not in her past, but in the present, forever renewed, walking resolutely to her future, a tall, blond walkyrie, who speaks your language with an accent. Along the tree-lined streets we will observe, and be observed, by those, like us, who have found themselves again.

Photo: Pietà, Käthe Kollwitz, Neue Wache, Unter den Linden, Berlin, © 2014 Honoré Dupuis

Companion #TheDailyPost

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

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You follow me everywhere, awake, on the long walks through the valleys, and the lazy summer evenings, at night, in the deep, dark dreams of lost kingdoms and evil wizards… You know my tastes, and you know how to ensure I know yours, this exchange as old as the tribe, our tribe, of dreamers, of wanderers, of lost boys.

I am yours, your dopplegänger, your ghost, your victim, when you want it that way. People who meet us see us as brothers, and we are not. For you can be everything, a brother, or a sister, my lover, or my tormentor.

For the devil who inhabits you will never, ever, leave me in peace. We will go to hell, together.

Image via silent-musings

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