Missing and desiring.

Unwohl – tess parks & anton newcombe

Your portrait picture speaks to me.
As if you were a dervish of your own sphere.
Your hair so impetuous and fine, as if it caresses you,
but also serve as a weapon for you.
With your sweet haughty look that blinds those like me,
that they think he is sympathetic in his contempt for them.
To me incomprehensible and charming is this multiple power of possibilities that I only know from your picture.

Do you look sad, or cold, or down from above…
attentive, critical and full of understanding.

It’s fun to oscillate between opposites like on a rollercoaster ride and to conjure yourself sometimes fiery, sometimes cool.

Sometimes your lip gloss pink mixes with your ashen hair and I fade out the rest. Then you are an ash princess, where I would love to mix the ash hair with my lips on yours, in my attitude of which I like to deny you your Self, that looks so sweet and understanding and then I shrink back in fear of not being equitable to you.

Whether you secretly like it when people see your worthiness and then denies it to you?

Your photo also hides a lot of things and I like to allow this (would I have a choice?), because secrets are pretty, because they can outlast time. The kiss as the optimum may not be appropriate for you. Even more, to caress your nose with ones own, gently and welcome in a world that is your home under lovely ashen hair. In Blushness-plucked nail-scratchy. Or then: allergy of hair with sneezing attack and reddish eyes? O sin where I speak and know not thee. You photo master, it is up to you to cling such a photo to texts that put a crown on dignity, where a man likes to give himself crawling to take a paralysis by the power of words. But against their purpose. How sad, when it is used up for its own purpose.

I was given this beautiful gift, to compensate for the loss of the essence. Fortunately, your words were so wisely chosen,
that I don’t have to starve in this half-truth.

No loss but freedom is held dear to the being that dwells in these mischievous eyes. I grant you this and let tears be a sign to me that in my delusion I am nevertheless always ready to hope for my sympathy for you in rings under your eyes, which do not plan any cruel work. How sweet when I tremble with horror then, and think: “this lady doesn’t care for me, as i stand against her innermost way”.

Alone she may be content, if I am not a burden to her.
and not obscure her view of the sun.
This contentment seems to come from her eyes…
Satisfaction of not being bothered.

I want her to have this.
I’m beginning to sense the joy of (so-called) narcissism.
For if I can sense her essence within me,
…yet I must consider myself dear also,
…where the premonition of her essence may be at home within myself.

If I may then repeat her fantasy name many times before sleep, then with a pure soul allow her image to enter into me and I then think: “oh, I may not be all alone. I feel that she cares for me as if I were you”. Yes, even if she makes me fear her ways: her charm and her beautiful clarifying ability in words seems to me to be reason enough to appoint her a place in my soul, as if she was part of me by nature. I am sure she would not condemn this wishful thinking if she knew about it, since she has often shown that she has been lenient towards me.

She’d think I was crazy in part for it. But that’s where my knowledge of her essence ends. I should have asked her more questions. It’s nice to be childish, to confess to you with your hand in mine. Or what else? To follow your hair to grab you by the waist and carry you into a cold corner where you can take your favourite play for a little playfulness, just as you like, before, but as a surprise performance.

I’d be happy to purge your pride. That when I patronize you, you’ll suddenly look different. It would then be nice to know that your beautiful cleverness and quick-wittedness of mind is locked up in this corset.

Even though I suffer from it, longing is a beautiful thing. I wish you that longing too, not forced with me. I allow you to be free of me and support you, even if it goes against my nature and I can only banish it for a while with laborious reflection until I realize that my nature would demand a lot of patience.

It seems unnatural to me that I could satisfy someone like you. It was surprising and beautiful when you wrote that you wouldn’t hurt me. When I was a little boy I dreamt that women would not mock me (for the true being) as they always do and it was as if I finally got justice. “Yes, it is nice to be in the world, because women are also soulful and strong” It would be sad if you reduced me to clichés, which you never did. You were so often very fair, although an innocent woman could have interpreted that I wanted to reduce her to a love object. The Indian Bible of the Bhagavad Gita is called Communion with Eternity. A dialogue with you would also be something very valuable. I believe in the uniqueness of life: the beautiful moment and precious moment with a person. If my way doesn’t satisfy you, that’s fine. Oh, I would love to have a connection to you, which means something to you. How pathetic to beg.

Another woman told me I was undignified, as I was clinging to a woman who apparently treated me badly. She doesn’t know the subtleties of the dialogue. The world doesn’t allow me to put all your explanations together, but all your explanations were shaped by your intentions to be understood and recognized. Then at least let me have my way, that I wanted to recognize you before I could love you. When you recognize another in your being, love can grow out of this recognition. I was lazy and slow in my act of recognizing, but I was always faithful in it. Oh, if I was not, it was for fear that you would reject me.

I had not yet understood that you do not play games, but that your harshness is your dowry. To want to make love-object out of such an obstinacy, that makes a mockery of the hard way you took to become that, I hope not. Venus in fur? That story has been told. I’d rather transcend and sublimate it like in the book “The Solitude of Prime Numbers”. Oh, but please don’t always be so harsh in your judgment. When I try to read your gaze, I too have earned an ability and dignity. How foolish of me to ask you to wrap your judgment in cotton wool. I don’t want you to pretend.

Do I detect a mischievous smile on your face?
No, it’s as if you’re not paying any attention to me.
How is it that your portrait seems exactly like your words…
The ambiguity that arises from such a clear attitude.
I find this combination very attractive.

I’m losing my gasping laugh. I feel possessed and stupid. Now if you’re like a “Schweizer-Schicki-Micki-Tussi” with the high heels and the little rat dog on your lap. The words and the profundity would then just be an accessory to you. When we meet, I’ll look like a bespectacled dude. Then the roles are clearly separated again. The presumptuous young man who has only silly nonsense in his head and plays his computer games and knows nothing of the world and the princess who is taken over by herself and doesn’t understand what this weirdo wants from her, since she likes these male bulls (so-called alpha animals) (the full program).

What reassures me is that I could accept something like this if you were secretly more than that. You know about nymphs. Nymphets are special in that they are a special kind of princess woman. One that, if born male, would certainly resemble me. It would be nice if, as a woman, I resembled a nymphet. Then we could do our hair together or we could exchange lipsticks – how stupid I am. Women can also philosophize about the world together, can’t they? Together on the flea market would be ok and together just be normal without hormones. Slowly your photo seems to me to be too little for the long term. It would be nice to talk to you and put this madness aside.

Meet at the cafe and then we talk about our lives. I know that my madness isn’t one. Maybe you’re being very fair to me and keeping your problems completely out of my face because you want to leave me alone. That would be nice of you. But the reason you gave is understandable because I’m too unpredictable. I don’t want to be passive-aggressive. I don’t want that. I wish I was sensitive and careful with my words, then you would have told me your problems. But then I would have lost my manhood? If you enjoyed it, that would have been fine. I think it’s nice that I can see that everything was just as good as it is and that I’m also well-disposed towards you, although I’m told that I’m acting undignified towards myself – and this from another nymphet; from your kind. But she did not have your ability of faithfulness to exchange. She felt conversations were wasting time and she lacked important insights.

Yes, I know, the reader now thinks that I am actually acting undignified towards me. But I have always been true to my goal to make you enthusiastic about me, because you have inspired me and anyway I don’t need other people for my dignity. In my peculiarity lies that, seen for myself, I can give myself dignity because I have already got to know trust. I do not need dignity from the outside. I just need something I can gladly fight for. I know that statements like this create aversion. It would also cause aversion in myself if someone told me something like that, but it is truth and therefore worth saying for sense and I would like to make your beautiful face smile and play. Children who play together do not care about their dignity. I would like to give you an opportunity to express yourself playfully without your superego trying to protect you. But my superego would do the same. When I see photos of colleagues on Facebook with their children, I think what a strange person I am. Good thing I have my philosophy and know about life, so it doesn’t bother me that much.

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