welcome to my ~writings~ page

here you can find my
journalings
musings
&
other written thoughts

dreaming -
i dream you dream
we all dream
(right?) 

but that is all it is
a dream?

a fantasy world
an alternate reality
a nostalgic memory
(dis) appearing before us,
gone with the wind

only allowed to be
fed
nurtured
sustained
at night
when we sleep
when we are not expected to be

(productive)

where we feel safe
in creating and wishing
upon *stars*
to finally make our dreams come true
until

we stop dreaming
right?
because that is only allowed during childhood
right?
in my private time
right?
shared with no one else but my self
right?
i have to 'grow up', right?
become 'realistic', right?

left.

because what would -no-

what could happen
if we all share a dream

if these thoughts are shared by a greater collective
than just me, myself
and i
? 

just what could happen.

when we have not only our own thoughts
and dreams
to crush and shoot down

but those of a group
those of a community
those of a people
(would you think twice?)

cycles spirals seasons circles




from winter to summer; the journey from dark to light
the celebration of the return of the sun, of new energy
don't we make this journey everyday?
we awake from the dark,
morning light comes in and tells us its time to rise;
we live, and create, and work
from sunrise to sundown
until the light has had enough and tells us its time to rest
don't we also rest when it is dark?
don't we also make this same journey
from winter to summer;
from dark to light and
light to dark?
for the rest of our lives?
don't we live with the sun, and die with the moon;
our continuous rebirth.

perhaps i should learn to embrace it; these are my seasons. i guess.
maybe i should start asking what i need to do when the time / change comes; learn to live with the extremes and how to deal with them when they come. or is this perhaps just what it means to be alive ? to live through all the seasons;

winter turns to spring, then to summer, & then to autumn

night turns to dawn, then to day, & back to dusk

depression turns to change, turns to happiness, turns to change ...

we don't judge nature for her change of seasons; why judge our own ?

my bed;
is so much more than just a mattress with some sheets and one or two pillows.

it holds my past, present, and future self;
my realm,

where i sleep and rest, and awake to create
where my mind clouds in distraught, and where i can burst out in tears,
without disruption.

it's where i have learned to comfort myself;
rocking gently back and forth,
where i breathe in and exhale
life
and eat any type of food at any time of the day;

where i spiral down, and think much too much,
where i build up tension and find release again;
it's where i learned to be alone for the first time.

and it's where my childhood is carefully stored in the stuffed animal that still lives between my pillows, and in my arms.

i dress it up every morning, erasing all traces; of the night before
i give it freshly washed and folded sheets and covers, a (re)birth of my realm

i wish i could bury myself every winter\
dig my way through uprooted earth

to submerge myself in togetherness of nature
to give in to the darkness
both in the outer world
as inner world

and to become part of the cycle \ where everything
goes quiet and rests its heavy limbs
to become part of all those who await rebirth

shedding everything that feels heavy to
bear \ nestling my way into the spaces and
crevices of the soil
let it fill all the gaps
i dont fit into \
let the earth take root of me
and bury me deep within its branches

letting go of the things that don't serve me anymore
to let my breath become the clouds in
my personal hollow
and to let the soft thumping of heart \ beats its way
through weary bones
becoming one with the earth
and its hibernal slumber

though connected to all living things \
saving and sharing the remaining rays
of light and warmth
just enough to sustain my roots \
my home

to bury my head
and await the sweet song of birds
announcing the start of life

to arise with the new tide
of the sun and moon
regrowing new flowers and leaves
baring new fruits

every birth a new version of myself
to fully let every season have its
creation \

my forever rebirth \

thawing with the new rise
of sun \ and her warmth
embracing slowly and arousing my slumber
seeds finding their way
to the most upper layers of the earth

nourished by the old
and supported by the new

*flowers grow back, even after winter,
so will you.*

fellowwwcreature@gmail.com

I am the Theatre. 
Spiralling, performance to 
Performance. 
The curtains draw to a close.
Switch
Mask
The curtains open.
New performance 
New mask 
New me
I am the Theatre. 
Continuous dance of all 
Past
Present and
Future 
Versions 
The curtains draw to a close.
Switch
Mask
The curtains open.
New performance 
New mask 
New me
I am the Theatre. 
Housing all 
Embo-dying all
Shapeshift 
Mask
Dance
Switch
Mask
Dance
Switch 
Performance.
Open and close. 
I am the Theatre. 

(who am i?) 
(Where am I?) 

And this is my playground. 

(Who are you?)

*29/05/2025*

*thoughts_13/10/2024*

my interest in the natural world has always been there i believe – from a young age i liked to be surrounded by animals, to play in the mud, climbs trees, jump over little rivers, and to make ‘witches’ brews with whatever was laying around. I imagined worlds where a certain type of magic existed, where living and being outside in nature was my reality. 
in my teenage years this fascination shifted in a way; instead of being and doing, i started learning – about how vulcano’s and mountains are formed, how seeds are able to grow and adapt, how human and other animal behaviour has evolved, and how these traces can be seen, experienced and studied. 
however, i too learned about greed, about consumption, about war and destruction, about domination and racism. this world i had constructed in my head started to slowly fade away, struck by the reality of our created society. 
it’s easy to feel hopeless in a world built on despair and oppression. 
it’s easy to feel powerless in a world built on right and wrongs, rich and poor – on strict binaries. 
it’s easy to feel homeless - placeless - non belonging and un deserving - to feel uprooted in a world built on gain and isolation. 
in fact, one might argue this is its goal. to be as divided and separated from all beings as possible – so what would happen if we retrace our roots; to plant the seed; to care for others and ourselves; to build a stronger collective. to find our place among the family of things – among the land, among the peoples, among the plants, among energy. 

desecrated land

mounds
engravings of earth and stone
like scars run across
landscapes, once from honour
celebration, and remembrance
(burial mounds)
decay passes time
wounds run across our landscapes
markings deep buried beneath layers
of earth and waste-
land covers everything some say
our newly gained wounds gently
tucked in by toxic
behaviour and wastelands
now new mounds
replace our ancestors’
sacred sites, desacreted
engravings run across our
landscapes mark sites of disposal
stitched closed
toxic waste now trapped beneath
layers of earth and waste-
land covers everything they say
how often can we patch up the same wounds?

*13/08/2025*

little bird 
what will you do
with two left feet
how will you dance 
without bearing your teeth
go
wash your mouth with soap
or 
sharpen you teeth and 
bite back
little bird 
do not lose hope 
but be aware,
with two left feet
to watch your neck 

*30/07/2025*

clock ticks
care s
when
who
decides

sustainability
will be(es)

maybe sustainability means
eternity

just wondering
maybe words become words
when
it's written down

worthy
wordly
(worldly)

in the middle of responsibility
i would like to sit on a cloud

be

is there beyond
me and us?

i wonder...

wonder why
wonder how

dreaming dreaming is i think
the only way to
sustain
in the rain

yesterday you told me about
the blue sky
and all i see
is just a yellow lemon tree


*soft rebellion _ family of things 2024*

it's the only place i feel at peace being naked,
where all the parts i don't want to see, or feel;
are hidden under its blankets.
the place where i bleed the most, where i go to dull all aches

in this place we call 'bed'; we hold (new)
life and death,
where we say our first hello's and our forever goodbyes.

where i laugh with friends, and hold lovers,
it's were i rest when my body is tired; and my soul is weary.

where i sometimes hope to never have to leave,

and slowly can become one with my realm;
as it reveals and vails all that can be.

today i drift, and float,
from body to body
parts that are no
longer mine, i think?
im not so sure actually,
perhaps this vessel did once
hold me closely
spoke the right words
and communicated in a language others
seemed to understand,
but (to) me,

it now sounds foreign
the feeling of my tongue trying to remember
and pronounce a childhood's
friends name, or
your village's streets,
the little winding paths you
once knew as the back of
your hand, now carry scars
and other markings,
of things to remember or rather
not to forget,
clawing teeth and nails
try to cluster the ashes of the self
(what is left of it at least)
and morph, and mold,
breaking and mending,
'it' into places
'it' might fit
(or where 'it' used to fit at least)

perhaps here, 'it' is my synonym for
'her',
(where 'she' used to fit.)

but this body has outgrown those
words, those syllables
foreign to the tongue,
those melodies of noises, this
language no longer sounds
like home.

a war cry instead
carries this body and name
to splaces where they
might settle and exist,
quietly.
to where the movement of
earth and time, force
me to softness,
towards warmth, of
a body
i perhaps one day
could speak and be spoken to
in a language
i do understand.

*29/11/2025*

i pushed my hands into
your sleeves
arms and limbs melting in embrace,
some days i wish i could crawl into
your skin and body
so as not to feel or
inhabit mine,
so as to feel for once,
as if this flesh belongs.