My best friend H

I sit on this horrendously smelling couch. Again. That smell. No matter how often I sit here, it never escapes me. It smells like piss and vomit and still, I return here. Every day. Sometimes more than once. Because my friend calls me. In front of me is a low table. The legs have been sawed off, to make it this low. It’s full of crap. Mostly crap. Some things on the table are important. Very important. My hand sweeps across the table and I roam through the little foils and tiny bags. Most of them are empty. My hand shakes. I need it. Soon. I feel like crawling out of my skin and tearing out my hair. I need it. My legs start shaking, I can’t keep them still. It’s like they are dancing with my best friend. My hands become more desperate and less precise. A prick on my finger. But I don’t care. I need it. I leave a little trail of red drops on the table, decorating everything in a morbid manner. But I don’t care and I know that nobody else will either.

We are all in this together and we are looking for the same thing. And I found it. A precious little package. I empty it over a spoon and add a little sugar, before holding the used spoon over a candle. Candles, the whole room is lit in candles. Candles everywhere. The only light in the otherwise dark room. The stuff takes too long to melt on the spoon and I start fumbling with my free hand, to roll up my sleeve. Again, I rummage around the table and soon I find what I am looking for. A syringe. For a moment, I wonder if it’s the same, that stung me earlier and if it is clean. But my urge lets me forget those thoughts. My need is bigger than the thought about preserving my health. I don’t go to the doctor’s anyway. I have no idea, if I am infected or not. I don’t care. The others don’t care either. We share everything. We are in this together anyway. Always looking for the same thing. Sharing the same best friend.

With shaky fingers, I fill the syringe. I need it. I need it now. No more time to waste.

The needle enters my skin. I always do this softly, gently. I like the feeling of the metal breaking my skin. At first it resists, but then, it gives in and the cold needle quickly warms inside my body. I push down and the calming escape of reality enters my body. I feel it flowing through my veins. Spreading inside of me. It isn’t a stranger, an unknown. It is my friend. I pull the syringe out and throw it on the table. Not caring anymore.

My friend makes me tired. Always so tired, but he takes me to a dreamland. He helps me escape the grotesque face of reality. I inhale deeply and let myself float on a cloud that feels like cotton. High and higher up in the sky. I can see down on all those people that want to hurt me. They can’t reach me, here on my cotton cloud high in the sky. No evil can reach me. My friend is there to protect me. He engulfs me with his warmth and I feel safe as long as he is with me. Better than sex. Much better than sex. They don’t satisfy me anyway. They – the johns. They get off and I get the money to buy an orgasm on my own. One that always comes. Always. Except sometimes. Sometimes, my friend refuses to come to me and help me forget. Some times, instead of flying higher and higher up in the sky, he lets me fall, shoves me down the stairs hard. And it hurts. The deception always hurts. But it’s because he loves me and he wants me to be with him longer and more often. Only him. Only me. Only us. Together, we can conquer the world.

Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters. When he lets me fall, I fall deep. I am afraid without him. Scared to death without his warmth. It makes me cower in the corner of the dark unfurnished room. Far away, were no candle light can reach me. I make myself as small as possible. Invisible. I cover my ears. I don’t want to hear the screams. Make them go away. I close my eyes. I don’t want to see those faces. Make them go away. I wish for someone to just hold me. Save me.

Leave me alone. I don’t need to be saved. Don’t touch. I can’t have anyone touch me. I’ll break into tiny little pieces, like a glass that has fallen down and broke. And the shards will hurt and cut me deep.

Today, my friend didn’t let me fall. I open my eyes. I feel free. I feel good. I feel excited. I own the world. I see the zombies passed out around me. I am not one of them. My friend makes me invincible. I am not one of them. Not until the next time my friends calls me. Not until the next time I need him. My best friend. H.


Author’s note: This is all an imaginary writing. Nothing based on actual personal experiences!

Douglas Dare and Ólafur Arnalds

So tonight was the night for Douglas Dare, Ólafur Arnalds and a lot of piano and strings.

Opening the evening was Douglas Dare, a young man from London, UK. And what can I say?! He blew me away. Such a beautiful deep and soothing voice and a presence on stage, by simply sitting at his piano and singing his songs. I was flashed. The venue was rather small and far from sold out. People were seated. In the dark and quiet, I almost lost myself in his wonderful lyrics. Until now, Mister Dare has only released a 4 Track EP (called ‘seven hours’) and he is currently working on his full length debut, that should be released early next year. I bought the EP tonight and I am sure, that I will buy the album too, when it comes out. Really a gem of an artist.

DSC_1900(I apologize for all the crap on the picture 🙂 I came in and opened the laptop. I got rid of my “accessories” (scarf, ring, necklace and watch) and snapped the photo, without realizing that it would be on the pic… sorry!)

I seized the moment and bought the EP right away, got it signed of course. The prize… it was 10€, for a 4 Track EP a proud price, but I was in generous mood and didn’t let that put me off. I told Douglas, how I liked his lyrics and he told, me, that he usually starts writing texts or poems and that the music comes later. It’s fascinating, because many many artists how a tune first and add lyrics later. I guess, his lyrics really have a deep meaning for him and I like that. You could feel it, when he sang. Also a nice touch was, when he talked about how he had written Caroline (a song that isn’t on the EP, but will be on the album), imagining his grand-father having a affair with a woman (mind you, it’s all Douglas’s imagination) and how that exact song became his grand-mother’s favorite, although she still doesn’t know the truth about the lyrics.

(I liked the live-version better. More passion and better voice)


Ólafur Arnalds came next, but he was not alone. He had a violinist and a cellist with him and I have to admit, that I was a bit disappointed, when Arnór Dan was not with them. But more about that later. I am not really sure, what to think about their set yet. Ólafur seemed – I don’t know… distracted? nervous? The cellist and the violinist didn’t always harmonize, mostly during the first two or three songs, but it got better. Arnór Dan was there after all too and he came on stage to sing the title song of Ólafur Arnald’s latest release ‘for now I am winter’, ‘a stutter’ and ‘old skin’. I think I fell a little in love with the gentle giant tonight. I have no idea, if it’s only me, but it felt, that the whole set was rather short. Visuals and lighting were amazing and Ólafur’s anecdotes were priceless. (Driving from Bratislava to Poznan in a nightliner, not being able to sleep and starting to drink instead, only to realize, that drinking on a bad road isn’t the best idea either – the story behind the song ‘Poland’ or how he and Arnór met at a bar and drank vodka. inebriated, that suddenly had the idea to write a song for the Eurovision Song Contest, once sobered, they forgot about the idea again and wrote ‘Old Skin’ instead…)

Luxembourgian audiences a very distinctive. very reserved and sparse with applause and calls or whistles. A fact, that was even more striking tonight, when they (we) only clapped our hands, after a knowing that a song was definitely finished. But we got an encore, getting Ólafur back on stage all by himself and all alone. He played one of my favorites ‘laf fyrir ömmu’ (song for grandma) It was beautiful and simple, yet full of emotions.


I can’t say, that it was a magical night, but it was beautiful, at times mind blowing music that I heard tonight. Maybe it was the venue, that prevented the ‘magic’, maybe it was simply me… but the fact remains, that I could have listened for another hour to Douglas Dare and I wouldn’t have minded a 3 or 4 more song from Mister Arnalds!

❤ Cathy