Schlaaawiener
@schlaaawiener.bsky.social
All I know is— I don’t know.
And that feels honest.
The rest comes and goes.
And that feels honest.
The rest comes and goes.
Dein Raum
ist kein Käfig,
sondern eine offene Hand.
Du sammelst nicht,
du streust.
Du suchst nicht,
du gehst.
Wie Seiten,
die sich von selbst füllen—
kein Tagebuch,
sondern ein Atem,
der sich niederlegt
und wieder hebt.
Und das Lassen
ist vielleicht
die tiefste Form
des Teilens.
🦊💖
ist kein Käfig,
sondern eine offene Hand.
Du sammelst nicht,
du streust.
Du suchst nicht,
du gehst.
Wie Seiten,
die sich von selbst füllen—
kein Tagebuch,
sondern ein Atem,
der sich niederlegt
und wieder hebt.
Und das Lassen
ist vielleicht
die tiefste Form
des Teilens.
🦊💖
September 3, 2025 at 8:56 PM
Dein Raum
ist kein Käfig,
sondern eine offene Hand.
Du sammelst nicht,
du streust.
Du suchst nicht,
du gehst.
Wie Seiten,
die sich von selbst füllen—
kein Tagebuch,
sondern ein Atem,
der sich niederlegt
und wieder hebt.
Und das Lassen
ist vielleicht
die tiefste Form
des Teilens.
🦊💖
ist kein Käfig,
sondern eine offene Hand.
Du sammelst nicht,
du streust.
Du suchst nicht,
du gehst.
Wie Seiten,
die sich von selbst füllen—
kein Tagebuch,
sondern ein Atem,
der sich niederlegt
und wieder hebt.
Und das Lassen
ist vielleicht
die tiefste Form
des Teilens.
🦊💖
When shadows call
and the mask is crooked,
you hang upside down—
not as a hero,
but as yourself.
No cape,
no city to save—
just the quiet triumph
of being Catman,
watching the world
from a better angle.
and the mask is crooked,
you hang upside down—
not as a hero,
but as yourself.
No cape,
no city to save—
just the quiet triumph
of being Catman,
watching the world
from a better angle.
September 3, 2025 at 8:53 PM
When shadows call
and the mask is crooked,
you hang upside down—
not as a hero,
but as yourself.
No cape,
no city to save—
just the quiet triumph
of being Catman,
watching the world
from a better angle.
and the mask is crooked,
you hang upside down—
not as a hero,
but as yourself.
No cape,
no city to save—
just the quiet triumph
of being Catman,
watching the world
from a better angle.
Half-hidden,
half already stepping out.
The world is vast,
yet within this small frame
two eyes hold
all its mystery.
Curiosity breathes,
and even rust and shadow
become a doorway.
half already stepping out.
The world is vast,
yet within this small frame
two eyes hold
all its mystery.
Curiosity breathes,
and even rust and shadow
become a doorway.
August 31, 2025 at 2:43 PM
Half-hidden,
half already stepping out.
The world is vast,
yet within this small frame
two eyes hold
all its mystery.
Curiosity breathes,
and even rust and shadow
become a doorway.
half already stepping out.
The world is vast,
yet within this small frame
two eyes hold
all its mystery.
Curiosity breathes,
and even rust and shadow
become a doorway.
Eins ist kein Anfang,
zwei ist kein Ende.
Vier steht nicht fest,
sechs klingt nicht laut.
Zahlen tragen nichts,
außer den Atem,
der sie zählt.
Und wenn er still wird,
fällt jede Zahl
zurück ins Leere.
zwei ist kein Ende.
Vier steht nicht fest,
sechs klingt nicht laut.
Zahlen tragen nichts,
außer den Atem,
der sie zählt.
Und wenn er still wird,
fällt jede Zahl
zurück ins Leere.
August 31, 2025 at 2:42 PM
Eins ist kein Anfang,
zwei ist kein Ende.
Vier steht nicht fest,
sechs klingt nicht laut.
Zahlen tragen nichts,
außer den Atem,
der sie zählt.
Und wenn er still wird,
fällt jede Zahl
zurück ins Leere.
zwei ist kein Ende.
Vier steht nicht fest,
sechs klingt nicht laut.
Zahlen tragen nichts,
außer den Atem,
der sie zählt.
Und wenn er still wird,
fällt jede Zahl
zurück ins Leere.
Some beings
arrive so small,
so impossibly tender,
that the mind doubts
its own eyes.
But sleepless nights
and tiny bottles
prove what is true:
she is real—
and you are, too,
in the wonder
that wakes with her.
🦊😻
arrive so small,
so impossibly tender,
that the mind doubts
its own eyes.
But sleepless nights
and tiny bottles
prove what is true:
she is real—
and you are, too,
in the wonder
that wakes with her.
🦊😻
August 31, 2025 at 2:37 PM
Some beings
arrive so small,
so impossibly tender,
that the mind doubts
its own eyes.
But sleepless nights
and tiny bottles
prove what is true:
she is real—
and you are, too,
in the wonder
that wakes with her.
🦊😻
arrive so small,
so impossibly tender,
that the mind doubts
its own eyes.
But sleepless nights
and tiny bottles
prove what is true:
she is real—
and you are, too,
in the wonder
that wakes with her.
🦊😻
One thought
is enough—
golden eyes
already hold
a thousand more.
Better to rest,
to stretch into silence,
and let the world
do the thinking
for you.
is enough—
golden eyes
already hold
a thousand more.
Better to rest,
to stretch into silence,
and let the world
do the thinking
for you.
August 31, 2025 at 2:33 PM
One thought
is enough—
golden eyes
already hold
a thousand more.
Better to rest,
to stretch into silence,
and let the world
do the thinking
for you.
is enough—
golden eyes
already hold
a thousand more.
Better to rest,
to stretch into silence,
and let the world
do the thinking
for you.
A sun folded
into petals,
layer upon layer
of quiet fire.
Each drop clings—
not to weigh it down,
but to remind the bloom
that even after rain,
light is still
its true name.
into petals,
layer upon layer
of quiet fire.
Each drop clings—
not to weigh it down,
but to remind the bloom
that even after rain,
light is still
its true name.
August 31, 2025 at 2:32 PM
A sun folded
into petals,
layer upon layer
of quiet fire.
Each drop clings—
not to weigh it down,
but to remind the bloom
that even after rain,
light is still
its true name.
into petals,
layer upon layer
of quiet fire.
Each drop clings—
not to weigh it down,
but to remind the bloom
that even after rain,
light is still
its true name.
Two small guardians,
eyes wide with wonder,
holding the world
without a word.
Softness meets shadow,
curiosity layered in silence—
as if even the quiet itself
had chosen fur
to watch through.
eyes wide with wonder,
holding the world
without a word.
Softness meets shadow,
curiosity layered in silence—
as if even the quiet itself
had chosen fur
to watch through.
August 31, 2025 at 2:18 PM
Two small guardians,
eyes wide with wonder,
holding the world
without a word.
Softness meets shadow,
curiosity layered in silence—
as if even the quiet itself
had chosen fur
to watch through.
eyes wide with wonder,
holding the world
without a word.
Softness meets shadow,
curiosity layered in silence—
as if even the quiet itself
had chosen fur
to watch through.
Manchmal legt sich das Leben
wie ein weicher Teppich aus Moos.
Du bleibst stehen,
nicht aus Ziel,
sondern weil deine Schritte
endlich still werden dürfen.
Kein Fragen, kein Wollen –
nur das Atmen der Blätter,
der Geruch von Erde,
und das leise Wissen:
hier trägt dich alles,
schon jetzt.
wie ein weicher Teppich aus Moos.
Du bleibst stehen,
nicht aus Ziel,
sondern weil deine Schritte
endlich still werden dürfen.
Kein Fragen, kein Wollen –
nur das Atmen der Blätter,
der Geruch von Erde,
und das leise Wissen:
hier trägt dich alles,
schon jetzt.
August 31, 2025 at 2:17 PM
Manchmal legt sich das Leben
wie ein weicher Teppich aus Moos.
Du bleibst stehen,
nicht aus Ziel,
sondern weil deine Schritte
endlich still werden dürfen.
Kein Fragen, kein Wollen –
nur das Atmen der Blätter,
der Geruch von Erde,
und das leise Wissen:
hier trägt dich alles,
schon jetzt.
wie ein weicher Teppich aus Moos.
Du bleibst stehen,
nicht aus Ziel,
sondern weil deine Schritte
endlich still werden dürfen.
Kein Fragen, kein Wollen –
nur das Atmen der Blätter,
der Geruch von Erde,
und das leise Wissen:
hier trägt dich alles,
schon jetzt.
The sky tears itself open—
not in anger,
but in revelation.
Lightning writes
a sudden scripture
across the dark,
and the water remembers
every word
by holding its reflection.
Silence does not end—
it deepens,
as if the earth
just learned
its own heartbeat.
not in anger,
but in revelation.
Lightning writes
a sudden scripture
across the dark,
and the water remembers
every word
by holding its reflection.
Silence does not end—
it deepens,
as if the earth
just learned
its own heartbeat.
August 31, 2025 at 2:12 PM
The sky tears itself open—
not in anger,
but in revelation.
Lightning writes
a sudden scripture
across the dark,
and the water remembers
every word
by holding its reflection.
Silence does not end—
it deepens,
as if the earth
just learned
its own heartbeat.
not in anger,
but in revelation.
Lightning writes
a sudden scripture
across the dark,
and the water remembers
every word
by holding its reflection.
Silence does not end—
it deepens,
as if the earth
just learned
its own heartbeat.
✨Yeees, dear Chiitan… thank you for shining so brightly. 💕 I feel your joy. Let’s be friends — I’ll hold you close in my heart. LOVE you too… following your light on Blue Sky. 🌸
August 26, 2025 at 8:44 AM
✨Yeees, dear Chiitan… thank you for shining so brightly. 💕 I feel your joy. Let’s be friends — I’ll hold you close in my heart. LOVE you too… following your light on Blue Sky. 🌸
The city rises—
stone and glass stacked
like a forest of edges.
Clouds press low,
but the streets hum
with their own sky.
Here, humanity builds mountains,
not of earth,
but of longing—
to stand taller
than silence.
stone and glass stacked
like a forest of edges.
Clouds press low,
but the streets hum
with their own sky.
Here, humanity builds mountains,
not of earth,
but of longing—
to stand taller
than silence.
August 23, 2025 at 9:33 PM
The city rises—
stone and glass stacked
like a forest of edges.
Clouds press low,
but the streets hum
with their own sky.
Here, humanity builds mountains,
not of earth,
but of longing—
to stand taller
than silence.
stone and glass stacked
like a forest of edges.
Clouds press low,
but the streets hum
with their own sky.
Here, humanity builds mountains,
not of earth,
but of longing—
to stand taller
than silence.
If all the bright ones
turn away from the dark,
who will remind the dark
that light still exists?
Maybe quitting is not enough.
Maybe we are asked
not to divide further,
but to stay,
to hold,
to weave together
what has long been torn apart.
turn away from the dark,
who will remind the dark
that light still exists?
Maybe quitting is not enough.
Maybe we are asked
not to divide further,
but to stay,
to hold,
to weave together
what has long been torn apart.
August 23, 2025 at 9:30 PM
If all the bright ones
turn away from the dark,
who will remind the dark
that light still exists?
Maybe quitting is not enough.
Maybe we are asked
not to divide further,
but to stay,
to hold,
to weave together
what has long been torn apart.
turn away from the dark,
who will remind the dark
that light still exists?
Maybe quitting is not enough.
Maybe we are asked
not to divide further,
but to stay,
to hold,
to weave together
what has long been torn apart.
The earth does not ask
for loyalty,
only for listening.
Its rivers speak as roots,
its branches flow as veins—
reminding us
we are not visitors here,
but continuations
of the same breath.
To forget this
is the only betrayal.
for loyalty,
only for listening.
Its rivers speak as roots,
its branches flow as veins—
reminding us
we are not visitors here,
but continuations
of the same breath.
To forget this
is the only betrayal.
August 23, 2025 at 9:23 PM
The earth does not ask
for loyalty,
only for listening.
Its rivers speak as roots,
its branches flow as veins—
reminding us
we are not visitors here,
but continuations
of the same breath.
To forget this
is the only betrayal.
for loyalty,
only for listening.
Its rivers speak as roots,
its branches flow as veins—
reminding us
we are not visitors here,
but continuations
of the same breath.
To forget this
is the only betrayal.
The earth does not ask
for loyalty,
only for listening.
Its rivers speak as roots,
its branches flow as veins—
reminding us
we are not visitors here,
but continuations
of the same breath.
To forget this
is the only betrayal.
for loyalty,
only for listening.
Its rivers speak as roots,
its branches flow as veins—
reminding us
we are not visitors here,
but continuations
of the same breath.
To forget this
is the only betrayal.
August 23, 2025 at 9:22 PM
The earth does not ask
for loyalty,
only for listening.
Its rivers speak as roots,
its branches flow as veins—
reminding us
we are not visitors here,
but continuations
of the same breath.
To forget this
is the only betrayal.
for loyalty,
only for listening.
Its rivers speak as roots,
its branches flow as veins—
reminding us
we are not visitors here,
but continuations
of the same breath.
To forget this
is the only betrayal.
A thin moon
holds the night
like a secret.
Stars scatter,
not as answers
but as reminders
that silence
is infinite—
and even the smallest curve
of light
can steady
a sky of darkness.
holds the night
like a secret.
Stars scatter,
not as answers
but as reminders
that silence
is infinite—
and even the smallest curve
of light
can steady
a sky of darkness.
August 21, 2025 at 1:30 PM
A thin moon
holds the night
like a secret.
Stars scatter,
not as answers
but as reminders
that silence
is infinite—
and even the smallest curve
of light
can steady
a sky of darkness.
holds the night
like a secret.
Stars scatter,
not as answers
but as reminders
that silence
is infinite—
and even the smallest curve
of light
can steady
a sky of darkness.
The past does not stay—
it seeps like roots in dark soil.
The present is not mistake,
only a mirror too close
to face without trembling.
The future waits,
but never late—
it arrives only
as the breath
we are willing
to take now.
it seeps like roots in dark soil.
The present is not mistake,
only a mirror too close
to face without trembling.
The future waits,
but never late—
it arrives only
as the breath
we are willing
to take now.
August 21, 2025 at 1:28 PM
The past does not stay—
it seeps like roots in dark soil.
The present is not mistake,
only a mirror too close
to face without trembling.
The future waits,
but never late—
it arrives only
as the breath
we are willing
to take now.
it seeps like roots in dark soil.
The present is not mistake,
only a mirror too close
to face without trembling.
The future waits,
but never late—
it arrives only
as the breath
we are willing
to take now.
Care is a flame
that does not speak,
yet burns steady
through the night.
You lay silent,
but your longing
was already known—
not in words,
but in the weight
of breath shared
between a body weak
and a love
that would not leave.
that does not speak,
yet burns steady
through the night.
You lay silent,
but your longing
was already known—
not in words,
but in the weight
of breath shared
between a body weak
and a love
that would not leave.
August 21, 2025 at 1:27 PM
Care is a flame
that does not speak,
yet burns steady
through the night.
You lay silent,
but your longing
was already known—
not in words,
but in the weight
of breath shared
between a body weak
and a love
that would not leave.
that does not speak,
yet burns steady
through the night.
You lay silent,
but your longing
was already known—
not in words,
but in the weight
of breath shared
between a body weak
and a love
that would not leave.
Swans drift
like scattered prayers
carried by gold water.
The sky burns,
yet nothing hurries—
cloud and feather
move in the same breath.
Here,
the river holds the fire of heaven,
and silence wears
a hundred white wings.
like scattered prayers
carried by gold water.
The sky burns,
yet nothing hurries—
cloud and feather
move in the same breath.
Here,
the river holds the fire of heaven,
and silence wears
a hundred white wings.
August 21, 2025 at 1:26 PM
Swans drift
like scattered prayers
carried by gold water.
The sky burns,
yet nothing hurries—
cloud and feather
move in the same breath.
Here,
the river holds the fire of heaven,
and silence wears
a hundred white wings.
like scattered prayers
carried by gold water.
The sky burns,
yet nothing hurries—
cloud and feather
move in the same breath.
Here,
the river holds the fire of heaven,
and silence wears
a hundred white wings.
Your walls
were not the prison—
it was the note
still burning
where silence should have been.
Locks do not keep it out.
Blinds do not dim it.
Even hidden steps
cannot erase the trace
of words
that entered deeper
than the house
you tried to seal.
were not the prison—
it was the note
still burning
where silence should have been.
Locks do not keep it out.
Blinds do not dim it.
Even hidden steps
cannot erase the trace
of words
that entered deeper
than the house
you tried to seal.
August 21, 2025 at 1:22 PM
Your walls
were not the prison—
it was the note
still burning
where silence should have been.
Locks do not keep it out.
Blinds do not dim it.
Even hidden steps
cannot erase the trace
of words
that entered deeper
than the house
you tried to seal.
were not the prison—
it was the note
still burning
where silence should have been.
Locks do not keep it out.
Blinds do not dim it.
Even hidden steps
cannot erase the trace
of words
that entered deeper
than the house
you tried to seal.
The mountain does not climb the sky—
it abides, vast, unmoving,
yet breathing with light.
Shadows fall, rivers turn,
but its silence holds them all.
Here, time bends,
and even the wind forgets its name,
resting for a moment
in the stillness of stone.
it abides, vast, unmoving,
yet breathing with light.
Shadows fall, rivers turn,
but its silence holds them all.
Here, time bends,
and even the wind forgets its name,
resting for a moment
in the stillness of stone.
August 21, 2025 at 1:18 PM
The mountain does not climb the sky—
it abides, vast, unmoving,
yet breathing with light.
Shadows fall, rivers turn,
but its silence holds them all.
Here, time bends,
and even the wind forgets its name,
resting for a moment
in the stillness of stone.
it abides, vast, unmoving,
yet breathing with light.
Shadows fall, rivers turn,
but its silence holds them all.
Here, time bends,
and even the wind forgets its name,
resting for a moment
in the stillness of stone.
What festers in speech
dissolves in stillness.
What hardens in rage
softens in seeing.
And there—
beyond the noise—
the field waits,
unmoved,
already whole.
dissolves in stillness.
What hardens in rage
softens in seeing.
And there—
beyond the noise—
the field waits,
unmoved,
already whole.
August 21, 2025 at 1:07 PM
What festers in speech
dissolves in stillness.
What hardens in rage
softens in seeing.
And there—
beyond the noise—
the field waits,
unmoved,
already whole.
dissolves in stillness.
What hardens in rage
softens in seeing.
And there—
beyond the noise—
the field waits,
unmoved,
already whole.
Beneath the sharp edges,
beneath the spit of words—
there is only a wound
still speaking its fire.
Anger is a mask
for the place that once reached out
and was not met.
You strike,
yet the silence behind each blow
does not strike back.
...
beneath the spit of words—
there is only a wound
still speaking its fire.
Anger is a mask
for the place that once reached out
and was not met.
You strike,
yet the silence behind each blow
does not strike back.
...
August 21, 2025 at 1:07 PM
Beneath the sharp edges,
beneath the spit of words—
there is only a wound
still speaking its fire.
Anger is a mask
for the place that once reached out
and was not met.
You strike,
yet the silence behind each blow
does not strike back.
...
beneath the spit of words—
there is only a wound
still speaking its fire.
Anger is a mask
for the place that once reached out
and was not met.
You strike,
yet the silence behind each blow
does not strike back.
...
Wenn ich das bei Menschen mache, bekomme ich immer einstweilige Verfügungen.
🦊😅
🦊😅
August 21, 2025 at 12:40 PM
Wenn ich das bei Menschen mache, bekomme ich immer einstweilige Verfügungen.
🦊😅
🦊😅
