Beyond Words

Could you write your favorite word in calligraphy, please?

It is the german word „Agonie“ (eng. agony).

Manchmal sind es die kleinen Dinge, die für einen kurzen Moment Zufriedenheit an mich tragen. 

Wie kleinste, marginale, in ihrer Wirksamkeit nur kurzlebige Alkaloide des Schlafmohns, welche an meinen körpereigenen Opioidrezeptoren ansetzen und diese für einen Augenblick betäuben, während sie die graugetrübte Sicht meiner Augen mit ihren verheißungsvoll knisternden Lippen hinfortküssen.

Doch hinter jeder ihrer kleinen Berührungen leben Lust und Angst, ihnen wieder zu verfallen, weil man sich solchen Küssen schon einmal zu intensiv hingab und sich nicht rechtzeitig von besagten Lippen löste.

Spiegelung deiner Augen

Das Tor zur Seele steht

niemand Zugang zu erlauben

mit Ausnahme von Einem

jene Spiegelung in den Augen.

So stand ich zuletzt vor dir

deiner Augenblicke streifend

Vertrauen in der Luft

mit bloßer Hand zu greifen.

Vernahm besagte Spiegelung

in deinen schönen Augen

und als sie meines Bildes trugen

konnt' ich es gar nicht glauben.

Dein Tor es stand nun offen

nur mir war es je frei

der Schwelle immer näher

trat ich mit Kuss vorbei.

by Weltenasche.

What would be something you would want to say to your younger self if you could?

I think I would share a quote from Robert Jordan with him: "The oak fought the wind and was broken, the willow bent when it must and survived."

As with nearly everything in our world, this quote, offers myriad interpretations. Yet, I interpret it in a way that might have pointed my younger self in the right direction.

The oak embodies strength, steadfastness, and resilience - its very identity. It feels invincible, unyielding, a necessity; should it encounter something matching its strength, it would break. However, as anyone who is living knows, nothing matches life's strength, which strikes relentlessly and unapologetically. An oak, taught only to be strong and never to bend under life's winds, is destined to break. In contrast, the willow symbolizes flexibility, adaptability, and endurance - capable of bending with life's challenges without ever breaking.

The perceived strength of the oak thus becomes its greatest weakness, while the perceived weakness of the willow reveals its true strength.

Yet, I fear these words would fall on deaf ears, for the mindset of "having to be strong" is and always was deeply ingrained within me. Despite years of reflection, I have been unable to purge these thought patterns. It is a deeply rooted behavior, a toxin coursing through my blood, likely forever poisoning my veins.

Can we be pen pals so you can send me such beautiful letters? 😇🥰

Shouldn't we become friends for that first?

So you don't have any preferences when it comes to women?

I did not say that. Preferences are human and it would be strange if I lacked them. I just find the division into thick and thin too meaningless, since many other factors play into it. And I don’t even necessarily mean the interplay of character and appearance; that just adds complexity and depth.

Rather, I mean small, almost inconspicuous details, such as not standing out from a large group of people or the lighting up of deep-looking eyes that can talk for hours about their passion.

If you could change a thing on your body what would that be?

Arising from my perfectionism, I would probably want to change many things. But if I could change one thing in the short term, then I'd adjust the ratio between my forearms and biceps/triceps. It's not that my biceps/triceps are small but my forearms genetically seem to just grow at a much faster rate.

Reviewing your profile, it strikes me that you say that you are no stranger to erotic texts.I also write poetry and short stories, and I have received requests for erotic. In my case, I feel that it is something too intimate, to put it on the table my own experiences and kinks. May I ask if you don't post it because it's too intimate? Nice poetry, btw.

On the one hand, it certainly has to do with the fact that such writings bring certain thoughts and imaginations to light. For me, desire, lust and eroticism are linked to so much more than just a beautiful body and could never be satisfied only by such; there's more to it.

And this "more" is something I do not want to disclose so freely to everyone, just as I do not want to make deep feelings and thoughts accessible to everyone. True intimacy is a gift not to be shared with everyone.

Another reason is the fact that our language is limited and we can only ever try to translate sensations into it - an endeavor doomed to failure from the start. This insufficiency of language, the errors in translation, the inadequacy that becomes so painfully apparent with each successive word, is something that also bothers me a lot in this field, just as it does in the field of poetry.

But it also has to do with the fact that I - at least here on tumblr - do not have the feeling that many people are capable of looking at such a piece of writing in a detached way and possibly understand it as an invitation to approach me with sexual advances, as that has already happened through one or the other text or image post on my part. In general, I have made the experience that writings of this kind are far too often understood as some kind of invitation and far too rarely as an expression of feelings or art.

As you can see, there are a lot of reasons and in the end it will be a mixture of the ones shared above and those that I have not explicitly mentioned.

Thank you for the compliment, by the way.

Kleine Künstlerin

Meine Jugend war lange Zeit von unbunten Farben durchzogen; wirkte wie eine Farbfeldmalerei, in welcher homogene, schwarz und graulich gefüllte Felder dominierten.

Doch all das änderte sich mit dem Eintritt einer kleinen Künstlerin in mein Leben.

Sie verstand es mit dem ihr geschenkten Talent umzugehen wie keine andere und so verwandelte sie das starre, dunkle Farbenspiel, was ich bis dahin meine Jugend nannte, mit mehreren liebevollen, geschickten Pinselschwüngen in ein farbenfrohes Meisterwerk. 

by Weltenasche.

I don't want to invade your privacy but reading your poetry and blog I can't help myself but feel like you have been through a lot and I find myself in some of your words. Life's been pretty bad lately and I don't feel like it's worth it. I don't want to annoy you but since I feel like we kinda both had it rough .. what keeps you going? I just don't feel like my life holds any meaning anymore

Since we are all different, as are the lives we live, it is difficult to relate my situation to yours or to really give you advice that might help you at this point. Given that you speak of a loss of meaning in your last sentence, I would like to open up a thought that made life more bearable for me.

To me, the thought of a meaningless existence plagued by the individual's need for meaning seems burdensome, and accepting this absurdity and meaninglessness is breaking out of the self-made cage that hates and holds said individual.

What I am trying to say is that your life does not have to have meaning and we as humanity may only have such a strong need for meaning because we cannot bear our own insignificance to the greater whole.

Personally, this thought helped me as it gave me a lot of freedom; Whereas I also know people who would find such a thought confining.

I don't know if I'm the right person to help you in your situation, but if it would help you to talk to me, just drop me a message.

To answer your question about what keeps me going:

A promise I made to someone who meant the world to me.