I’ll wear a mask for you

I’ll wear a mask for you
– Leonard Cohen

I did that for you
and kept the mask on for many days

At first I didn’t know
where my breathing problems came from

It got worse and worse
I was near suffocation most of the time

You were beginning to look at me strangely,
as at someone you didn’t recognize

I went for medical help,
explained the situation

“Is it that black thing you have on?”
the doctor said

“Now why would you wear that?”
“To please her,

and because I know
she wouldn’t like me without.

What should I do?”
“Take it off. The mask is the source

of your problems.”
“But I will lose her. She’ll be terrified.”

“How do you know?
She’s never seen you without.”

I followed doctor’s orders
and removed the mask.

“Who are you?” you said
My new looks did not please you

It wasn’t long before you left me
I went back to the doctor’s office

“Your breathing is much improved,
your face looks quite relaxed.

How come you’re back?”
“She’s gone. She wanted that mask.”

“You must decide what you want.
My guess is that she is not what you want.”

And with those words
my doctor dismissed me and closed the door

– Leonard Blumfeld

Inspired by the Lyrics and Verse Challenge at Poets Who Blog.

Happy Mirthday

An annotated snapshot from a neighborhood garden for World Laughter Day 2008.

“World Laughter Day” was created in 1998 by Dr. Madan Kataria, founder of the worldwide Laughter Yoga movement. The first “World Laughter Day” gathering took place in Mumbai, India, in 1998. Twelve thousand members from local and international laughter clubs joined together in a mega laughter session.

Where should I live?

You Should Live in a Big City

You don't want anything in particular out of life... you want it all. You crave new and exciting experiences. And you get bored fairly easily. Only very big cities can keep you entertained and stimulated.

Where Should You Live?

Looks like I live where I should live!

Still locks

Taken with my new camera, an Olympus E-410, and posted for Wordless Wednesday on Friday because I missed Wednesday.

Memoir of a reading arranged by a cowbird

Mr. Cowbird was the hyperactive kahuna of the culture scene in Badenweiler, a small spa in the Black Forest which used to be a nobility hangout in the 19th century. Its claims to glory and fame reside more in the past – it is the site of baths from Roman times, the ruins of which are still around, and the place where Anton Chekhov died in 1904.

Russian poet Vyacheslav Kupriyanov – probably better known in Germany than in his native country or anywhere else – had come to give a reading, which I attended to finally meet him in person. His and mine publisher had told me a lot about him.

The reading drew an immense crowd of about 18. Mr. Cowbird presented the poet with a lot of not so succinct words, making reference to this and that – including Kupriyanov’s more famous compatriot and old ties to Russia – and eventually allowed him to read.

Kupriyanov’s poems, particularly the funny ones and the ones he read in Russian, were received with lots of applause – much better than the prose. I seem to recall that he read an excerpt from his novel “The Wet Manuscript,” which left the audience in a state between puzzled and dazed.

Afterwards, Mr. Cowbird and his secretary led a small flock of die-hards to a Weinstube to celebrate the event with some of the excellent local wine and plenty of self-congratulation by Mr. Cowbird.

What do you do when exposed to the incessant onslaught of such an overwhelming ego? I mostly just sat there and blinked my eyes, as did everyone else.

I ordered red wine. Before the waitress could give it to me when she arrived with her tray, Mr. Cowbird, who had been impatiently awaiting the white wine he had ordered, grabbed the glass off the tray, took a good gulp and went on rambling.

Once, when he had asked Kupriyanov a question and actually let him answer it, Mr. Cowbird looked at his wine glass and said, “Did I order that? That’s pretty bad. I didn’t order that.”

“No, you didn’t. That was mine,” I said.

– L. Blumfeld (© 2008)

Written for Totally Optional Prompts.

The unlucky 26

Discovered today,
the first of May:

Rhymed ballads
of personal doom

filled with hilarious
detail of gloom.

Go visit PJD's The Unlucky Twenty-Six.

In the middle of nowhere

Dumped along the highway
somewhere in Texas,
thumb ignored

– Leonard Blumfeld

For 3WW LXXXIV. Also inspired a little bit by remembering the movie Out of Rosenheim (aka Bagdad Cafe).

In the green zone

This is a green sticker for a German low emission zone. Such zones were decreed this March in several cities of Germany. Cars that do not have a sticker are not allowed in low emission zones, i.e. if you're caught without you get fined. There are green (da cleanest), yellow (not so good) and red (barely passable, mostly diesel engines) stickers. The sense or nonsense of this government measure is subject to heated discussion. Owners of older cars – who tend to be the less affluent – are pissed because they are forced to either invest in a particle filter (which is not even available for some makes) or to get another car. While their old polluter will continue polluting somewhere else where there are no low emission zones – most likely in an East European country. While the main polluter still remains the industry, etc., etc.

Another and the final contribution to Anna Carson's Project Green, which comes to an end with take nine.

Oh such flowering

Oh such flowering in April and May!
I wish I could enjoy birch, nettle and bay.

Alas: grasses, bushes and trees, even bamboo
give me but watery eyes and endless achoo...

– Leonard Blumfeld (c) allergy season 2008

Written specifically for flowering at One Single Impression.

Downtown with a greenish tinge

Downtown Stuttgart photographed through the glass front of the new art museum café. The glass is slightly tinted, hence the greenish flavor.

Posted for Anna Carson's Project Green Take Eight.