corina.gruber

This is a nightmare turned dream of freedom. It smells of heat. photocredit: Caroline Jamhour I stare at my hands. They are small and white and underneath the pale skin I can see the shape of the blue and purple veins. My hands have long red nails which cut into my flesh when I touch it. Around the nails, my skin is constantly shredding, sick of life, just as I am.When I tear it away, red pearls of blood bloom. I stretch them on my white hands. With my right hand, reshaped by writing callouses, I grab the knife. The cold steel of the handle relaxes my tired and feverish skin. I think how the cool blade could put out the fires I constantly carry with me. Yet, they are too many, too hot for a single steel knife. My fires would be more alive. Slowly, I point the tip of the knife to my belly. I delay slicing in, but not for too long. First I feel the cold, then the pain and in the end, the blade. I cut into my own body. The pain is atrocious,  it chokes me and fills up

I frequently dream of flying. It's the most liberating feeling I've ever felt. I wake up elated and happy, a happiness coming from mere freedom. My last flying dream was in the mountains. Its memory smells like mountain forests, of trees and moss. I'm in my building, in the hallway. I walk towards the elevator and then step in. I push the button to go downstairs. The elevator starts ascending. It's rising faster and faster and I start being afraid. There's someone next to me who holds my hand. The elevator ascends and it bursts out of the roof, flying into the sky. It's floating rapidly towards the mountains. My initial fear disappears. The ceiling and walls of the elevator become transparent and I watch in astonishment as the landscape unfolds. I'm floating among mountains which defy gravity and lean towards me. Their tops are elongated and they are curved downwards with buildings practically hanging upside down. The mountaintops are covered in f

This was a water dream. It smelled of salt and sun. It had the scent of the sea. It had the feeling of relief and happiness. It's a bright and warm summer day. I arrive at the beach and park among many cars. I can't see the sea, but I can hear and smell it. Waves are crashing on the shore and it smells salty. I climb down a flight of stairs and I reach the beach which is blindingly sunny and white. I walk among people sunbathing and head towards the sea. As I approach it, water starts to form higher and higher waves and when I'm right in front of the sea, a huge wave builds up in front of me and rises hundreds of meters in the air. It stands still, without crashing and I just stand on the beach and look at its marvel and beauty. I feel no fear. I keep staring at the tidal wave and I am amazed at how it remains suspended into the air, without crashing, without killing me. I feel both as if it's inside and outside of me, I feel elated by it and indescribably

I once traveled to a fairy tale land which smelled of lavender, fresh and alive. It made me believe that I am in a classic Disney movie. I know it sounds cheesy, but the feeling is real and as long as I was there that's exactly how I felt. Nowhere in this world did I feel so much peace and relaxation. To me, places have a certain smell or feeling. Each part of the world which I remember somehow smells in a certain way or gives me a certain feeling. Provence smells like lavender. As I arrived there, the lavender had already been picked. We chose the picturesque way and drove among hills with narrow roads and turning points. After a turning point, as the road began to descend, I   saw a lavender field for the first time in my life. I lowered the car window . The sweet smell invaded my nostrils and my very soul, bringing a deep peaceful feeling. That moment I understood why everybody chose to move so slowly in Provence. They had no reason to hurry. I let lavender teach me