There are things we cannot explain

A smell that reminds us of them

A sound that makes us smile

A memory that makes us realise that all is well

There are thing we cannot explain

Sing me to sleep. Bring me a dream…

Worst words that were ever spoken to me:

“Who cares? I don’t.”

“You are a waste of skin.”

Both sentences aren’t nice to hear. I heard the second one all through my childhood and my adolescence. The first one was uttered not that long ago. It stings. It makes me delete many many words I write. Because the idiot voice in my brain keeps repeating “who cares?”.


Best words that were ever said to me:

“As long as there is cum in my balls and a brain in my head, I will never forget you.”

“I love every inch of you.

I can’t really explain what these words do to me, but I have a deep appreciation and gratitude that I was able to touch people in such an intense way. Yes, the first statement is crude; but for me, it is very romantic. And the second statement just makes me very happy.


I can’t sleep. I have a headache (again). In 4,5 hours, my alarm will wake me up to go to work.

My mood is good. Serene. Calm. Happy. Feeling this way is so alien to me that I have to share it. I am not always an emotional wreck after all. Who would have guessed? And who cares? In the end, no one truly does, do they? And yet, every emotional exhibitionist wants to be seen and loved.

Sing me to sleep. Bring me a dream…

I must confess…

…that my loneliness/is killing me now/

Sorry… Britney wanted to sing along.

So… My confession.

Yesterday I listened to many records, and I even wrote about it. It felt so good. I still feel the ripples of the music I heard reverberating in my soul.

But… As much as I praised vinyl, I don’t own many records. They are very expensive, and I made a rule to just invest in vinyl that is special to me.

As for CDs… I own close to 2000 of them now. Of course, they don’t look as good (or special or edgy) on pictures than vinyl does.

I wondered today: who cares? No one does. I mean… If music affects me and you can’t relate to that, then it doesn’t matter on which devices I am listening. Plain and simple, no?

Music is my daily companion. And once in a while, like yesterday, I get the chance to immerse myself in. I hadn’t done that in such a long time, and these hours were precious. Priceless, really. As you probably noticed, I shared poems afterwards. Inspired by the music.

When I was a child, I had a walkman. I found an old radio with chipped plastic corners. Later, I got a stereo (when I was 9). Music was by safe haven ever since I was a child. Lyrics touched me. Made me feel strong. Made me feel weak. Made me cry. Made me laugh. I feel strongly when I listen to music. And I am well aware that most people cannot relate. But it is a part of who I am.

I am not a particularly huge fan of this band or that. I think I’ve grown out of that. But there is one band – Anathema – which I listened to since I was 15. Twenty years. I fall back onto them again and again because their music is like a soundtrack of my life. Their lyrics touched me and still do. It gives me strength. It makes me weak. I saw them three times. Last time was last November, and shortly after their gig, I wrote a post on this very blog. Something personal. (Link to when you click on “post“).

I don’t have many passions in my life. Music is one. (Listening, and I can sing okay.) Writing is the other passion. And often I am not sure if I am any good at it. I believe that I am. But that one (1) star on Goodreads makes me worry. Am I overestimating myself and my skills?

I have a friend who keeps telling me that if I invested in advertisement for my book Unquiet Minds, I could find worldwide fame. I don’t want that. I just want a couple more people to let me know that I touched them. Maybe it is all pretense. Maybe it is all just a pile of shit.

Words are falling out of my fingers, and I cannot stop them. One thought after the next.


By the way… I went to the movies today. I saw a Luxembourgish movie. Superjhemp retรถrns. Other superheroes are young and handsome and skilled. We have Superjhemp, an average middle-aged man who is working a dull day job. He is soft around the middle and gets his superpower from cheese (Kachkรฉis – cancoillotte) and beer. He flies with both hands in his pockets and has a fable to fly through closed windows. Overall, he is very Luxembourgish. As so often, this movie was adapted from the comics with the same name. And it was hilarious. I doubt though that non-Luxembourgers will find it funny. But it was.

Ok… So… This escalated quickly. All just to say, that I am an impostor and that I only own (+/-) 30 vinyls.

Thank you for allowing me this space to ramble.

Vote for my book. And buy it. If you want a signed copy, we can make that happen too. Get in touch: catherine.micqu@gmail.com

Thank you.


Let this new week begin. ๐Ÿ’œ


There is an ocean inside of you. Deep and mysterious. I can’t swim very well, but I would gladly drown in you.

I hate prompts

Sara’s hands were roaming over the keys of the keyboard. She had always known what to write without giving it too much thought. She sat down, and the words would appear out of nowhere. Page after page were filled this way. It seemed to be a lifetime away now.

It was before Dennis had vanished from her life. Dennis had been her muse. He had been her inspiration. He had made her believe in the beauty of all things. Everything was energy in his eyes, and for a while, he had been her fuel.

Sara covered her face with her hands, shaking her head and letting out a low groan. Chuckling, she cursed. “Damn it, ” she pushed herself away from her desk and stepped to the window. It was dark outside. Pitch black. She could only see her own reflection. It was a sight she had tried to avoid ever since Dennis had left. Her mind threatened to drift from her content present to a grim past.

“Write Sara!” she ordered herself. She drank a glass of tap water and sat down in her chair again. Inspiration was still elusive. Sara began surfing the internet to find something to write about. Something that touched her enough to make her want to put it into words. There was nothing, and she decided to use the help of a site that shared writing prompts. She found hundreds of them. But there was not one that she wanted to work with. “I hate prompts,” she sighed and smiled. Once she had known a man, who used to say the same words. She smiled and let the memory take her away and onto the clouds of a daydream.

Dedicated to R.A. ๐Ÿ’œ


The hollow is threatening to eat me from the inside out. Everything I was with you is fading away. And it leaves a void. I am missing you. But I forgot who you were for me. I am fading without you. And you keep living your life. People smile at your jokes, or you infuriated them with your eclecticism. I wake up after every lonely night, and our memories keep fading. I can’t remember your smell, and nothing reminds me of your actual presence in my life. But you were there. You were a part of me. You carved yourself out of me, and my empty vessel keeps floating in the wind. Higher and higher. Lighter and lighter. Fading and fading. Until nothing is left of me. Until nothing is left of the person, you once knew.

Could I just….? Could I leave everything behind and start anew?


One moment.

All it took was one moment for us to fall in lust. It took many more moments to fall in love. โค


I joined Goodreads a couple of days ago. Honestly, I have no real idea how it works, but I will figure it out on the go. The app doesn’t seem to allow me to do much.


Come join me there, please. It is quite lonesome at the moment and I don’t know what to do. I added half of my library, but got tired, lol.

Would you like to be my friend?

Cathy ๐Ÿ™‚

Quote Cathy

There is a saying here:

You are speaking in cubes

That’s when you are speaking nonsense or something like that.

Tonight, we adapted that saying to myself:

I am speaking in cubes. Sometimes they are Rubik’s cubes.

Meaning, there is a migraine around the corner and when that happens, my words are just a huge mess. I say parrot and mean papillion.