All posts in The Original Stuff

One Day

A single drop of rain falls from the sky and hits the window above your head. You stare up at the tiny black cloud in the otherwise blue sky and you wonder, if it feels a bit awkward being up there with its white and fluffy cousins. Maybe this wasn’t a drop of rain. Maybe this was a little tear from a little lonely cloud. You smile up at it and give a little wave, letting it know that it does not need to feel alone. That everything will be okay soon.

“Just fly a little further and you will probably find a mighty storm or a couple of rain-clouds that will be very glad to see you.”

Read more…

Life, the universe and a new flatmate

I was on the phone to a friend and we were talking about life, the universe and everything. It was dark outside as is usually the case on a chilly January night. Read more…

Fishing

And there it is again. That bloody first sentence. You’ve done it again, ignored the words in your head for so long, that they actually got bored and left. Read more…

white boots, blank pages

A white plastic bag crosses your path and you stop to let it pass. It tumbles down towards the other end of the platform, moving in erratic circles, but always avoiding falling down onto the tracks. You watch it and feel a bit guilty for not picking it up and dumping it into the nearest Read more…

White Space

Why is this so hard? Why are there no more dragons? Or unicorns? Or starships? Monsters? Mysteries? Why do I only see 26 letters on this keyboard instead of a million stories waiting to be told? Why am I even looking at those keys? I do not need to, I can type quite well, I usually do not have to see my fingers to know what words they bring to life. Why is writing suddenly so hard? Read more…

Sunday Silence

Light streams into the room from the window above my head. If you can call it that. The light, I mean. It’s grey. It’s dull. And it’s a problem, because it means that it is too dark in the room to work properly, but not dark enough to switch on the lights. I sit on the sofa and stare up into the sky. Looks very familiar. This is what my soul must look like, I’m thinking and watch a small, very dark cloud pass over my head. This is me. Just a dull, grey mess. I wonder if there are sounds up there in the sky. If the clouds are whispering words to one another. Down here there are no words left. And no sounds. Read more…

Churchyard Silence

There is a sound. I can hear it, but I cannot identify it. It’s not the muffled “thump” of my feet on the muddy path nor the rustling of leaves or the hum of passing cars in the nearby street. It isn’t caused by the birds in the trees or the squirrels on the ground. And it has nothing to do with the low chatter of other people around me. I don’t know if there is a real cause for it. It’s just there. Right here. And only here. And its name is silence. Read more…

I am Sam

I have never been good at poetry. I wrote a few poems as a kid, but more of the “it is not fine, if you will not rhyme“-kind, really. I do not claim that this is in fact poetry in the technical sense of the word, since this is something quite spontaneous and has not seen any analysis of stance and rhythm at all. Besides, English still isn’t my native language. Therefore I am a bit shy to post this.

But not uncomfortable enough it seems to delete it again and be done with it. As always with posts of prose and poetry to those who know me: this is fiction, not fact. Thanks for listening ;-)

Read more…