lighthousekeeping

So May has come, the month of passion. The rain's long-drawn-out and somehow determined, as if it expressed my state of mind. A great water wall, after which I can start with a new paragraph, although there's no doubt it is still the same story; long and dark narration with bright points within, which have to be recognized, brought out and then meditated upon to make them stretch in time into a permanent state. So, in some way there will always be the Sunday walk with M., a wonderful break with time normally filled to the brim with translations and thesis writing. In some way there will always be that cup of tea drunk at the terrace in my mother's company and that evening the previous day when I kept my head on her knees and her hand was on my temple, rough from allergy and worm from love. There will always be the moment of inebriation on wheat beer in a pub in a once Jewish district, and then Turkish food on a bench in the city center. And there will always be that afternoon in the tattoo studio, where Bob Marley's concert album is always on and where they're always waiting for you to come just like that, to talk. Where they have an amazing view from the window. All these are chopped, fragmentary, knowing their end too well. Still, it's meant to be forever.
But what to do with the dark substance. With my anger when almost every day I hear evidences of homophobic stupidity. With the injustice that might be well the motto of my university. With the sever lack. With the painful memory. With the grief. With the grim surprise when an old friend tries to make a fool of me. With the fear that I'm not gonna make it and there's nowhere I can find help. What to do with the possibility that I might never get to be the person I think I really am. And with the yearning. The load's too big for me. Too big.

UPDATE
green! green! it's all GREEN!

and the sun is speaking my mind much better than the rain did.
listening to Beirut.