I want the pain when there’s still the hope of it all working out.
Oh yeah, we’ll be a revolution, babe.
I feel the 1950-ies creeping up on me.
I used to talk too much.
You ask, “Where have you been?”
And I tell you all my life.
I know it’s too much.
But you say, “I, I, I like it that way”
You get me?
All my words are jumbled.
I lose all track of time.
Nothing is coordinated.
I was bound to break.
I just wanted to be myself.
Why is it so hard?
I’m beginning to hide because I could get hurt.
So I hide.
Safe to hide.
Will you take me like this?
I know what it is.
I think I’m ready now.
If you take me like this, I think it is…
If you still like me like this, I think it is…
I think it is…
I’m not trying to run from anything.
I’m finally doing what I am.
Me enfrento a mí misma.
Por primera vez.
Reflections of myself.
I see myself in spheres and mirrors but never myself.
I want to be avant-garde.
“Human beings learn to read pictures before words.”
I like Dalí’s work and dislike his character.
It doesn’t have to all make sense.
“The world doesn’t make sense, so why does my art have to make sense?”
Learn from the best.
Many realities exist?
Isn’t there one realer than the rest?
That we all agree on?
What to agree on when everyone lives in their own world?
Would the world be a happier place?
My world was reduced to im- & expression.
There was nothing more.
I never went past that stage.
I never came close to the magical.
Never near Surrealism, Cubism, Dadaism or Fauvism, never mind Symbolism.
The colour of the psyche was never open to me.
Expression comes from feeling.
Interpretation, valour, openness are not easy to attain.
The literal is what everyone asks for, what everyone craves.
What is expected.
You’re always supposed to know.
How can I know?
Is not the mythical what we crave internally far beyond the control of sensible thought and the power of our rational brains?
Beneath all the layers of consciousness.
And conscious control.
Don’t we need to be in wonder to live?
I want it to be something exquisite.
Therefore I can’t have it all the time.
Fear of losing the magic.
Mostly fear of losing the good.
What if the good goes because you wanted better?
I run from the good.
It could turn bad.
What if I turn everything bad?
What if no one can escape disappointment?
Does everything – even the best in the world – have to disappoint sooner or later?
Does it usually happen sooner to me?
Is there any worth in postponing the suffering?
Shouldn’t we get over with it as fast as we can?
Can there be no hopes?
Do they all need to be destroyed?
What comes after destruction?
What we have can last.
What if it changes, though?
Isn’t change natural? Unstoppable.
Like a crashing wave it can only break you when you try to resist.
I’m a playball of change.
All out of control.
Control is the overestimation of one’s understanding of the world and first and foremost an illusion.
I can’t even control myself.
It can’t be too much because it would be too painful.
Just enjoy a good friendship.
I want to be my best self with you.
That’s why I can’t talk to you when I’m not feeling good.
I only want to show you my best.
You deserve only my best, I think.
You have me suffering from severe fear.
This is getting too close now.
My subconscious wants to find a problem. Why?
You see who you are before you know it.
Copyright Hannah Knaack-Völker
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