See I The Gold
Wet All Over
The Thirstforce Playing
A Child And Its Temper
Looses First Than Gains Powder
Wet All Over
The Thirstforce Playing
A Child And Its Temper
Looses First Than Gains Powder
dinsdag 22 december 2015
zaterdag 5 december 2015
M muse Mijnsje m m
Melete, Aiode, Mneme, Mijnsje or Whom?
Identified as the Mnemosyne
Limousine
Memory of Titane
Mother of nine, nine Z musses
Flying to the top
To Olympia, Olympus
Thin, air, looking Woolf, Angel and Poet
In the eye
Globe, glove, a ball
Play, sing, rush, a flush
Poker face has left itself
At home
I rule
A moment
of
Reckless unbuttoning
Identified as the Mnemosyne
Limousine
Memory of Titane
Mother of nine, nine Z musses
Flying to the top
To Olympia, Olympus
Thin, air, looking Woolf, Angel and Poet
In the eye
Globe, glove, a ball
Play, sing, rush, a flush
Poker face has left itself
At home
I rule
A moment
of
Reckless unbuttoning
dinsdag 10 november 2015
space fishes
First the great, the generius, the brave
So glad to have you here
Ping! I have an idea
What if I started to name you
Youri Joery Joehi Joey Joer and i
Then what? What shall I call me
A light blue lady with the golden lion headed red bracelet
Smiling like the sun just came up
Swaying a large soft brand yellow bag
The train is not waiting
Hurry up, say it
That you love me, what else?
Or is it who else?
I glanced through your looking glass
Everyday is Valentina's day
vrijdag 30 oktober 2015
Women under water. Page 1.
So dry. I had to cry. What a text! People. Peoples stories. I wonder again and when I wake up I think again. What was it. Between us. What did I do. What did you do. You, solitary skinbag of bones. Shivering. Me. Shell, shelling, some thing delicious once you tasted it you would never stop. It was too late. Late afternoon. Westerbork was waiting. Something covered in glass. A greenhouse, freshly erected. You galloped the orange juice and of you went. In a whimp. For the hunt. Our children were waiting, hungry.
woensdag 28 oktober 2015
No more games
Simple playfull animations
Children learn the classics
Music by Prokofjev
How an orchestra works on the road
How director Danielle Gatti teaches excitness
Not interactieve, no
Every tree starts with a seed
275 schools adapted the applies
Free by mailing info@followamuse.nl
Children learn the classics
Music by Prokofjev
How an orchestra works on the road
How director Danielle Gatti teaches excitness
Not interactieve, no
Every tree starts with a seed
275 schools adapted the applies
Free by mailing info@followamuse.nl
Première
In July 1985
I was in Rome
Accompagning Josephine
Or was it the other way round
Did I do
The same as Napoleon
I had the bona partes
The right boobies and bills
At first glance
The Roman males thought so
Later they had to admit
It was not like that at all
dinsdag 27 oktober 2015
Mr. Vagabond
So, tell me, Mr. Vagabond
About the children
Which of them were your favourites
And whom did you neglect?
I know there were so many
Some of them coming back to you
Again and again
Too hard to refuse
And didn't we agree in that
A few days before you could
Celebrate your sixties year
To play it platonic
Weren't that the rules
Too read, write, think and speak
Now and then
Like a three month itch
Finally you bought yourself a fairhaired girl
In the play offs, down south
Lying down for a while
In the arms of Eve
My heart is black
It is full of ink
Not like yours
Bright fluid maple red white flocks
donderdag 15 oktober 2015
Vink is back
Je kan er geen chocola van maken
Ik eet het op
Iets bruins zal mijn maag plezieren
Herkauwen komt geenszins naar boven
Buiten pikt een vroege ekster wat weg op de veranda
donderdag 8 oktober 2015
Mus and man
Luister heel zachte belletjes
Rinkelen klinken fluisteren hardop
In the mean while
You could smell something in the neighbourhood of cinnamon
Fair people trade in tales
Close your eyes and see
Feel the three month itching
Like you were as a child, glowing
Outside opposite your favourite
Girl and church
Where did she go why did you loose sight of her
Stars, dust, radiance, wisdom, the sun
Fly, fly away
Come back as new
As you like the be the most
As I like you the best
Maybe, just maybe
Even love what I experience
Then, an appearance in the light
Rinkelen klinken fluisteren hardop
In the mean while
You could smell something in the neighbourhood of cinnamon
Fair people trade in tales
Close your eyes and see
Feel the three month itching
Like you were as a child, glowing
Outside opposite your favourite
Girl and church
Where did she go why did you loose sight of her
Stars, dust, radiance, wisdom, the sun
Fly, fly away
Come back as new
As you like the be the most
As I like you the best
Maybe, just maybe
Even love what I experience
Then, an appearance in the light
dinsdag 6 oktober 2015
MUZ
1000 airoplanes on the roof
Music composed by Philip Glass, 1989
City walk, girlfriend, my building disappeared, screens of memory, what time is grey, labyrinth, return to the hive, three truths, the encounter, grey cloud over New York, where have you geen asked the doctor, a normal man running
Comparsa
Deep forest III
Composed by Eric Mouquet and Michel Sanchez, 1997
Monday sun, green and blue, madazulu, 1716, deep weather, comparsa, earthquake (transition 1), tres Marias, radio Belize, ekue ekue, la lune de bat avec, les etiket ( transition 2), forest power, media luna
Music composed by Philip Glass, 1989
City walk, girlfriend, my building disappeared, screens of memory, what time is grey, labyrinth, return to the hive, three truths, the encounter, grey cloud over New York, where have you geen asked the doctor, a normal man running
Comparsa
Deep forest III
Composed by Eric Mouquet and Michel Sanchez, 1997
Monday sun, green and blue, madazulu, 1716, deep weather, comparsa, earthquake (transition 1), tres Marias, radio Belize, ekue ekue, la lune de bat avec, les etiket ( transition 2), forest power, media luna
woensdag 30 september 2015
nostradaMus
Een naam die zo bekend klinkt
En toch heette hij anders
De echte naam, in het register, was, is
Michel de Nostredame
Wanneer? In welk jaar werd de naam gegeven
1503?
Aan het begin, het eind
Ergens in het midden?
Apparently a drop out
Like you and now like me
The faculty of Medicin in Montpellier
Closed the doors for this male named body
The most beautiful thing is
The man fell in love two times of his life
One love lasted three years
The other one longer for more than 18.
Till she died. The inevidable.
And he lived on in all his wisdom.
Looking at the stars in the sky.
More people should do more often.
En toch heette hij anders
De echte naam, in het register, was, is
Michel de Nostredame
Wanneer? In welk jaar werd de naam gegeven
1503?
Aan het begin, het eind
Ergens in het midden?
Apparently a drop out
Like you and now like me
The faculty of Medicin in Montpellier
Closed the doors for this male named body
The most beautiful thing is
The man fell in love two times of his life
One love lasted three years
The other one longer for more than 18.
Till she died. The inevidable.
And he lived on in all his wisdom.
Looking at the stars in the sky.
More people should do more often.
zondag 30 augustus 2015
Mees
I was wrong
Not 1991
It was 1988
Turn of the year
La too young
Too young to die
As are you
What to do, now
I miss you
But I haven't had it yet
I adore you
Need some says who?
What is time
No idea do you
I know what is good
For me
I can wait a million years
Never grow old
Like you
Your little girl
Not 1991
It was 1988
Turn of the year
La too young
Too young to die
As are you
What to do, now
I miss you
But I haven't had it yet
I adore you
Need some says who?
What is time
No idea do you
I know what is good
For me
I can wait a million years
Never grow old
Like you
Your little girl
d
Henry, Philip, Jacob
Once they were all
So true, zo waar
Now I am here and the are
Let's dance
Have fun
First things first
Let's go
My way, my world
Limes, lines and word
Wrd, wod, ord
The origine do the d
What is a d
A line, a circle
A sound
Thee?
Once they were all
So true, zo waar
Now I am here and the are
Let's dance
Have fun
First things first
Let's go
My way, my world
Limes, lines and word
Wrd, wod, ord
The origine do the d
What is a d
A line, a circle
A sound
Thee?
Mus & me
Year after year
Me was so puzzled
Trying really hard
Day in day out
To, to do what?
Exactly
Looking off course
And questioning
Who are we?
Now, today, at this very hour
Me generated a thought
Thinking about
The pair of kings
As I heard in F tones
Mus & me
We
Are love
As thin as air
Me was so puzzled
Trying really hard
Day in day out
To, to do what?
Exactly
Looking off course
And questioning
Who are we?
Now, today, at this very hour
Me generated a thought
Thinking about
The pair of kings
As I heard in F tones
Mus & me
We
Are love
As thin as air
donderdag 27 augustus 2015
e Musch
Na no komt yes
Eerst a dan z
En tussendoor
Een s- je
How old are you
C14 marsh land
And how deep
Dark and cranky
Remember Gilles
Down south
Half way up
Lifting the light blanket
Eerst a dan z
En tussendoor
Een s- je
How old are you
C14 marsh land
And how deep
Dark and cranky
Remember Gilles
Down south
Half way up
Lifting the light blanket
dinsdag 25 augustus 2015
Once
I was the shadow of the whitewood slain
By the false emerald in the windowpane
I was the fur of flesh and fluff
And I lived on, swam to, hide away
How delightful when a rain of men
In a distance I saw falling down
They promised the sky, the top floor
For being good as they
Two more years day's dull white
I heard late at night
The dark unites the viewer and the view
Finding your China right behind my house
Look at the wrists are they cut or what
Was he in Sher was she in lock
The fellow whispers tracks
Clouding myself a mist
I want to be in
zondag 23 augustus 2015
LookingfortheMouse
I felt fear
And uneasiness
Phantoms, immature spirits
You were right
About what, exactly?
Interpreting indubitable omens
Stone age inscriptions
Know yourself
Now it goes merry like
It takes one to know one
Waiting for the day
The giants finish their work
Can I, did I realise the number
Three words prologed the rythm
Of what was physically squared
Framed, a window a building, earth
From my window
I look constantly in skies
Triangular spirits
To come closer
Including a heptagonal
Pure, highrising moving object
Five sides, senses, visible outside
Witholding vaguely the rest
A trial, doors opening and closing
Not getting far, nor higher
Looking in the glass the dungheap
Too intelligent to plunge down
When did you decided to
Fly, to counter counter
To encircle, outcircle, move on
To the next mountains
Or did you got stuck
Between seven hills
Addicted to gentle changing views
Really the best you aim for?
Can you do it again?
Choose, decide so definitely
On your behalf
Meaning, what is best for you
Undermining, not estimating
Feeding day in day out
This perfect fit body
For me
For your information only
Confirmation if you wish to read so
It is possible to count to ten
Nowadays, a very contemporary thing to do
You know what I am
I am the patiënt hunter
The beauty up high
Lady Ocelot, longing for you
And uneasiness
Phantoms, immature spirits
You were right
About what, exactly?
Interpreting indubitable omens
Stone age inscriptions
Know yourself
Now it goes merry like
It takes one to know one
Waiting for the day
The giants finish their work
Can I, did I realise the number
Three words prologed the rythm
Of what was physically squared
Framed, a window a building, earth
From my window
I look constantly in skies
Triangular spirits
To come closer
Including a heptagonal
Pure, highrising moving object
Five sides, senses, visible outside
Witholding vaguely the rest
A trial, doors opening and closing
Not getting far, nor higher
Looking in the glass the dungheap
Too intelligent to plunge down
When did you decided to
Fly, to counter counter
To encircle, outcircle, move on
To the next mountains
Or did you got stuck
Between seven hills
Addicted to gentle changing views
Really the best you aim for?
Can you do it again?
Choose, decide so definitely
On your behalf
Meaning, what is best for you
Undermining, not estimating
Feeding day in day out
This perfect fit body
For me
For your information only
Confirmation if you wish to read so
It is possible to count to ten
Nowadays, a very contemporary thing to do
You know what I am
I am the patiënt hunter
The beauty up high
Lady Ocelot, longing for you
Art Tramp
Politics can be discussed in history, this is mainstream
Power can be discussed in history, this is mainstream
Violence can bediscussed in history, this is mainstream
Buildings can be discussed in history, this is mainstream
Art can be discussed in history, this is mainstream
Mindfucking is discussed, polematically, in newspapers, making history, this is new.
Mindfucking is talked of and sang by musicians, this is not really new, but not mentioned as such yet.
Mindfucking in its essence is practiced by people aiming for power, for ages.
It appeals to a basic, a primary, an economic attitude, action reaction, ask question, of humans.
Demogagy it is called, now and then.
What now, when we all do Mindfucking. Where does that leave the power. Our power, peoples power, at last? Is it here. Do you have it, act upon it, now?
Consequence.....you don't have to tell me, give me advice, seduce me, teach me, how to live, how to make art, how to do science. So please, stop. I am begging you. Just enlighten me with surprises, gifts, presents, knowledge, money if you whish. No guns please. Making everyday a christ MAS day.
Power can be discussed in history, this is mainstream
Violence can bediscussed in history, this is mainstream
Buildings can be discussed in history, this is mainstream
Art can be discussed in history, this is mainstream
Mindfucking is discussed, polematically, in newspapers, making history, this is new.
Mindfucking is talked of and sang by musicians, this is not really new, but not mentioned as such yet.
Mindfucking in its essence is practiced by people aiming for power, for ages.
It appeals to a basic, a primary, an economic attitude, action reaction, ask question, of humans.
Demogagy it is called, now and then.
What now, when we all do Mindfucking. Where does that leave the power. Our power, peoples power, at last? Is it here. Do you have it, act upon it, now?
Consequence.....you don't have to tell me, give me advice, seduce me, teach me, how to live, how to make art, how to do science. So please, stop. I am begging you. Just enlighten me with surprises, gifts, presents, knowledge, money if you whish. No guns please. Making everyday a christ MAS day.
zaterdag 22 augustus 2015
Counter, communication, art
Just some words.
When a reaction contains a counter reaction and a counter counter reaction, then we have communication. Art is a part of culture, so it is not an individual action and it must give something to communicate with. In one of Duchamps essays, he mentioned that someone could think him the worlds amazing artist and he could stand on a rooftop and shout I am the most amazing artist. This evaluation would still need to be accepted by later generations. He saw this very clearly, he said It might take many years for my artwork to be recognized. Here he touches upon a few issues, one of which is the existentie of art. Art exist through communication.
Art.
An uncooprative way of thinking
When a reaction contains a counter reaction and a counter counter reaction, then we have communication. Art is a part of culture, so it is not an individual action and it must give something to communicate with. In one of Duchamps essays, he mentioned that someone could think him the worlds amazing artist and he could stand on a rooftop and shout I am the most amazing artist. This evaluation would still need to be accepted by later generations. He saw this very clearly, he said It might take many years for my artwork to be recognized. Here he touches upon a few issues, one of which is the existentie of art. Art exist through communication.
Art.
An uncooprative way of thinking
donderdag 20 augustus 2015
Goudhaan
Regulus regulus
Kleinste Europese vogel
Zeer rusteloos en beweeglijk
Altijd eten aan het zoeken
Regulus regulus
Zeer gering van afmeting
Geelachtig olijfgroen
Met veren all over
Regulus regulus
Op een tak
In takken en bossen
Met je naaldfijne snavel
Regulus regulus
Ziekelijk op zoek
Vind haar maar eens
Regulus ignicapillus
Kleinste Europese vogel
Zeer rusteloos en beweeglijk
Altijd eten aan het zoeken
Regulus regulus
Zeer gering van afmeting
Geelachtig olijfgroen
Met veren all over
Regulus regulus
Op een tak
In takken en bossen
Met je naaldfijne snavel
Regulus regulus
Ziekelijk op zoek
Vind haar maar eens
Regulus ignicapillus
vrijdag 14 augustus 2015
roleVink
It can be found
Rarely, occasionaly
While in the company
Nine year old boys
Equiped with ultralight
Data, micro loggers
Around 1900 they were
With 10.000
And now?
The search ends
In the vast and the concrete
Silence rules there
The treasure hunter
Definitely needs glasses
Sharpened by popeye
Or some one with a spinach like name
It happened to Vladimir
Once
Once upon a time
The puppet plays power
His girl near
The seaside
In the arms of a younger species
Carrying an ordinary name like de Vries
Never had a station
To play with
A toy, tool
Something to hold
His mother knew nothing
About Teddies
Nor bears
Brown, black or white
What a happiness
Nowadays
To let it all role
To set the rules
Rarely, occasionaly
While in the company
Nine year old boys
Equiped with ultralight
Data, micro loggers
Around 1900 they were
With 10.000
And now?
The search ends
In the vast and the concrete
Silence rules there
The treasure hunter
Definitely needs glasses
Sharpened by popeye
Or some one with a spinach like name
It happened to Vladimir
Once
Once upon a time
The puppet plays power
His girl near
The seaside
In the arms of a younger species
Carrying an ordinary name like de Vries
Never had a station
To play with
A toy, tool
Something to hold
His mother knew nothing
About Teddies
Nor bears
Brown, black or white
What a happiness
Nowadays
To let it all role
To set the rules
donderdag 13 augustus 2015
How good it is
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Muse_-_Supremacy_-_Roma.jpg
Mus, Rome, supremacy
Yellow brick road
Coming home
Thank you, sister
Mus, Rome, supremacy
Yellow brick road
Coming home
Thank you, sister
Opening the doors Mus
I walked with you
You walked with me
I talked to you
You talked to me
And we are on our way
We can't turn back
And we can't turn back
Cause it is too late, too late
Go real slow
You like it as it comes
Don't move too fast
I want your love to last
Time to live
Time to die
Time to walk
Time to run
Time to aim you arrows
At the sun
dinsdag 11 augustus 2015
Magpie
I saw a Maggie on the roof
The fidler had stopped playing
In dream and time
We like we the most
Just an intuition
For as long
As it last
Often home again between a partition
Near the church, under the bell tower
Can you hear it
The hour in the valley
Big bang red beech, whispering leaves, lower
So peaceful so it seems a bit
Didn't you enjoy former times?
Magnify the moment
And then, it can take care of it
There you are, young again, waiting for the bus
It rains, its not coming fast
The darkness is falling, where is Rome
The knight and stars, no mus
The moment dispears half asleep
Did the adventure already ends?
Unlimited, unthreatened, printemps
There a barking dog, white owles make you peep
The fidler had stopped playing
In dream and time
We like we the most
Just an intuition
For as long
As it last
Often home again between a partition
Near the church, under the bell tower
Can you hear it
The hour in the valley
Big bang red beech, whispering leaves, lower
So peaceful so it seems a bit
Didn't you enjoy former times?
Magnify the moment
And then, it can take care of it
There you are, young again, waiting for the bus
It rains, its not coming fast
The darkness is falling, where is Rome
The knight and stars, no mus
The moment dispears half asleep
Did the adventure already ends?
Unlimited, unthreatened, printemps
There a barking dog, white owles make you peep
New beginnings
A new beginning
Doesn't exist
Off course
It is new, some thing I like
And beginning,some thing I don't know of
Doesn't exist
Off course
It is new, some thing I like
And beginning,some thing I don't know of
All the way
Roooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmme
Room roooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom
Rau au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au m
Ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim
ruimte
Give me more, all the way
Room roooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom
Rau au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au au m
Ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim ruim
ruimte
Give me more, all the way
zaterdag 8 augustus 2015
Zaterdagochtend
Verse broodjes uit Denemarken
Een ketting aan reacties
Wit, bruin, barn
Zo van het strand geplukt
We hebben helemaal geen boten nodig
vrijdag 7 augustus 2015
Man
There is more than life than this
Come on man
Let's sneak out if this party
There is more to life than this
It's still early morning
We could go down to the harbour
And jump between the boats
See the sun come up
We could nick a boat
Sneak off to this island
I could bring my little notebook
There is more to life than this
We'd have to rush back
To the town's best baker
To get the first bread of the morning
There is more to life than this
Nightingale
Come to me
I'll take care of you
Protect you
Calm, calm down
You're exhausted
Come lie down
You don't have to explain
I understand
You know
That I adore you
You know
That I love you
So don't make me say it
It would burst the bubble
Break the charm
Jump off
Your building's on fire
I'll catch you
I'll catch you
Destroy all that is keeping you back
And then I nurse you
I'll nurse you
Come to me
I'll take care of you
You don't have to explain
I understand
woensdag 5 augustus 2015
All ways lead to
When did I do Rome
In the first year
Josephine...
You were my woman
I was your S.
1985
We met horse gamling
Italians
I talked to
Guys in nice red cars
They thought
We were
Together but I
Was in love
With a designer back home
Rome
Once there was a time
To visit thirteen churches
To drink
Amaretto and white stuff
Back home
We were sun burnt
You were broke
I had the time of my life
So much stories to tell
What a wonderful world
To impress the older guys
With incredible adventures
Just being a twenty year old
And then you came along
Much funier
More moon like
Younger, fresher, not invited
How was I suppose to
Deal with you
In the first year
Josephine...
You were my woman
I was your S.
1985
We met horse gamling
Italians
I talked to
Guys in nice red cars
They thought
We were
Together but I
Was in love
With a designer back home
Rome
Once there was a time
To visit thirteen churches
To drink
Amaretto and white stuff
Back home
We were sun burnt
You were broke
I had the time of my life
So much stories to tell
What a wonderful world
To impress the older guys
With incredible adventures
Just being a twenty year old
And then you came along
Much funier
More moon like
Younger, fresher, not invited
How was I suppose to
Deal with you
dragonFLY
Purple rain
The colour purple
The puinhopen van paars
Me wearing purple today meeting wil & mine
Rome...
Blow it away
Have it it in your mouth
A room with a view
A balcony you mean
TOP DOWN
SMS
OKAY, leuk
Meaning...
I am
We did it
What now?
Order your mom
We can
Yes you can
Drink good wine now
Like the experience
Of the light tower
There the publisher is
What happened here
Beautiful friend
No safety or surprise again
Desperately in need
Love in romance
Wildernis of pain
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain
There is danger at the edge of town
Ride the snake
The ancient snake
He is old and the skin is cold
The west is the best
Hear hear, it will do the rest
The blue bus is calling us
Father, yes son, I want to kill you
Mother, I want to
Come on baby take a change with us
Try to wake it put its boots on
He walked on down the hall
Come on , Yeah!!!!!!!M!!!
Please, please,please...
The colour purple
The puinhopen van paars
Me wearing purple today meeting wil & mine
Rome...
Blow it away
Have it it in your mouth
A room with a view
A balcony you mean
TOP DOWN
SMS
OKAY, leuk
Meaning...
I am
We did it
What now?
Order your mom
We can
Yes you can
Drink good wine now
Like the experience
Of the light tower
There the publisher is
What happened here
Beautiful friend
No safety or surprise again
Desperately in need
Love in romance
Wildernis of pain
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain
There is danger at the edge of town
Ride the snake
The ancient snake
He is old and the skin is cold
The west is the best
Hear hear, it will do the rest
The blue bus is calling us
Father, yes son, I want to kill you
Mother, I want to
Come on baby take a change with us
Try to wake it put its boots on
He walked on down the hall
Come on , Yeah!!!!!!!M!!!
Please, please,please...
dinsdag 4 augustus 2015
HIs
I am
I am good
I am good in
I am good in naming
New names, please
I name you
Torian
Six letters, close to
Tory, Tony, Ian
Also miles away
I want then
To remember you
Your name
Therefore it needs more
More o and a
Nooteboom, nabokov, Armando
Roth, palmen, van der Woud
Koch, Houellebecq, Dostojevski
Doris, Woolf or something completely different
like Hemingway
Where can I find you
The name
The name of the father
The name of the rose
Umberto, uncle Albert Umberto, yes?
I
I am
I am not
I am not good
I am not good in guessing
I don't know
Your name
You know what
You make it up
Yourself
In the meantime
I wait
I wait as long
I wait as long as
I wait as long as it takes
I am not going to die
I am going to live
Just another more
Fifty years
Okay?
Deal!
I am good
I am good in
I am good in naming
New names, please
I name you
Torian
Six letters, close to
Tory, Tony, Ian
Also miles away
I want then
To remember you
Your name
Therefore it needs more
More o and a
Nooteboom, nabokov, Armando
Roth, palmen, van der Woud
Koch, Houellebecq, Dostojevski
Doris, Woolf or something completely different
like Hemingway
Where can I find you
The name
The name of the father
The name of the rose
Umberto, uncle Albert Umberto, yes?
I
I am
I am not
I am not good
I am not good in guessing
I don't know
Your name
You know what
You make it up
Yourself
In the meantime
I wait
I wait as long
I wait as long as
I wait as long as it takes
I am not going to die
I am going to live
Just another more
Fifty years
Okay?
Deal!
His
Since I am you
And you are me
Who the Hell am I
And who the Hell are you?
You kept me running around
in circles
I keep you looking
For circles
What if it is above
Our heads
In space
In the stars
What would I be
And where would you
Be swimming
If it is about the touch
If only once
And you are me
Who the Hell am I
And who the Hell are you?
You kept me running around
in circles
I keep you looking
For circles
What if it is above
Our heads
In space
In the stars
What would I be
And where would you
Be swimming
If it is about the touch
If only once
maandag 3 augustus 2015
11 September 2014
Soakie soaky soky
The real question is
Why? Why do you want to save me
Don't you know you
Can't save anybody ?
Do you love me?
The real question is
Why? Why do you want to save me
Don't you know you
Can't save anybody ?
Do you love me?
I see you
Nergens leef je zo intens als aan de rand van de dood
Everytime you go away I die a little
I invented you inside my head
Now you are always here
Kerst CHRIST
Als je kanker hebt gehad heb je geen zin in oorlog
Me, the most peaceloving person in the world
MissesMAS
What I create I can understand
What I cannot create I cannot understand
You see? I am talking to you
The essence of thinking can be
Making analogies for instance
The most beautiful method, the most beautiful way the most beautiful field
Is to do it together, according to me
I creating all the stars
You setting out the lines
We making history
The government paying all the bills
You have more experience than I
You should know by now
That is the hardest thing
To do. Think. Know now.
I love IT
Everytime you go away I die a little
I invented you inside my head
Now you are always here
Kerst CHRIST
Als je kanker hebt gehad heb je geen zin in oorlog
Me, the most peaceloving person in the world
MissesMAS
What I create I can understand
What I cannot create I cannot understand
You see? I am talking to you
The essence of thinking can be
Making analogies for instance
The most beautiful method, the most beautiful way the most beautiful field
Is to do it together, according to me
I creating all the stars
You setting out the lines
We making history
The government paying all the bills
You have more experience than I
You should know by now
That is the hardest thing
To do. Think. Know now.
I love IT
Summerlove
Walking along a rumbling line
Lying lolita square shaped
Two circles are not going to work out
Let's make it a three way stream
Lying lolita square shaped
Two circles are not going to work out
Let's make it a three way stream
zondag 2 augustus 2015
FlyBullyfly
Feel the light, the feathers
She only were there
For. A short time
In the Woods
The the night the knight
The king came
How to know the road
Night was falling
Tired, so tired
She laid her head
On the Moss
A quiteness, soft Breezers like today
She touched the stars
The shining little Worms
With her eyes
Like branches fields of thoughts
He is here
In me
A force
To take care for
She only were there
For. A short time
In the Woods
The the night the knight
The king came
How to know the road
Night was falling
Tired, so tired
She laid her head
On the Moss
A quiteness, soft Breezers like today
She touched the stars
The shining little Worms
With her eyes
Like branches fields of thoughts
He is here
In me
A force
To take care for
zaterdag 1 augustus 2015
greenCow
The grass is much greener
There were misses cow
Has chosen to chew
Waiting for something to happen
And if you think
The grass is not greener
At the neighbours
You are so wrong
Why don't you come over
To see for yourself
How she is doing
On the isle in the middle of nowhere
She might have company
Sisters, more sisters named clara
You could indulge
In a life
Away from the pink, the red
Writing lines on white moss
Shouting sweet commando's
For the hounds to tremble
Heart affairs need attention
Nora and the Irish man
Know all about it
Warming your hands for a while
There were misses cow
Has chosen to chew
Waiting for something to happen
And if you think
The grass is not greener
At the neighbours
You are so wrong
Why don't you come over
To see for yourself
How she is doing
On the isle in the middle of nowhere
She might have company
Sisters, more sisters named clara
You could indulge
In a life
Away from the pink, the red
Writing lines on white moss
Shouting sweet commando's
For the hounds to tremble
Heart affairs need attention
Nora and the Irish man
Know all about it
Warming your hands for a while
Nog 1 keer Gerrit K.
De bloem lezer
Voor woord
Terra ingonita - zo verging het mezelf tenminste . Ik had weet van Jantje zag eens pruimen hangen, jawel, maar van de meeste dichters die verderop in deze bloemlezing het hoogste lied zingen had ik zelfs nooit gehoord. Niet alleen wat dichters betreft uit vervlogen tijden, ook waar het om dichters ging rondom me heen, dichters die ademen terwijl adem. Een beetje bloemlezing begint met de verbazing van de bloemlezen. Daarna hoopt het dat de verbazing overslaat. Pionierswerk is het niet. Wat deze bloemlezing onontkoombaar maakt is de manier waarop ik zelf poëzie onderga. Laat ik het zo vriendelijk mogelijk zeggen: er lopen mensen rond met matig verstand van poëzie. Dat zijn geen bloemlezers, dat zijn turfstekers.
Er gaapt een wereld van verschil tussen gedichten voor vierjarigen en gedichten voor twaalfjarigen. Daartussen telt elk jaar. Wat moet een puber in de dop met kleuterpoezie? Waar eindigt de pure poëzie en begint de poëzie als uitlaatklep voor frustraties.
Het corpus telt twee rafelranden. Gedichten die er niet bij horen en heel soms toch ook weer wel. De gedichten, ten eerste, waarin dichters al of niet vertederd mijmeren over hun eigen kinderleven, gedichten met de kinderjaren als onderwerp. En voorts, bij bijna alle dichters valt wel iets kinderlijks te vinden, een vleugje dada of een tikkeltje baldadigheid.
Ik had dit boek nooit kunnen voltooien als ik niet zonder belemmering had kunnen grasduinen in de Koninklijke Bibliotheek in Den Haag, die over de rijkste en breedste collectie kinderboeken van Nederland beschikt. Voor hun gastvrijheid en behulpzaamheid ben ik innig dank verschuldigd.
Uit: De Nederlands kinderpoezie in 1000 en enige gedichten. Verzameld door Gerrit Komrij, vijfde druk 2008, Prometheus, Amsterdam
Voor mij, een oefening in elegantie en scherpte.
Voor woord
Terra ingonita - zo verging het mezelf tenminste . Ik had weet van Jantje zag eens pruimen hangen, jawel, maar van de meeste dichters die verderop in deze bloemlezing het hoogste lied zingen had ik zelfs nooit gehoord. Niet alleen wat dichters betreft uit vervlogen tijden, ook waar het om dichters ging rondom me heen, dichters die ademen terwijl adem. Een beetje bloemlezing begint met de verbazing van de bloemlezen. Daarna hoopt het dat de verbazing overslaat. Pionierswerk is het niet. Wat deze bloemlezing onontkoombaar maakt is de manier waarop ik zelf poëzie onderga. Laat ik het zo vriendelijk mogelijk zeggen: er lopen mensen rond met matig verstand van poëzie. Dat zijn geen bloemlezers, dat zijn turfstekers.
Er gaapt een wereld van verschil tussen gedichten voor vierjarigen en gedichten voor twaalfjarigen. Daartussen telt elk jaar. Wat moet een puber in de dop met kleuterpoezie? Waar eindigt de pure poëzie en begint de poëzie als uitlaatklep voor frustraties.
Het corpus telt twee rafelranden. Gedichten die er niet bij horen en heel soms toch ook weer wel. De gedichten, ten eerste, waarin dichters al of niet vertederd mijmeren over hun eigen kinderleven, gedichten met de kinderjaren als onderwerp. En voorts, bij bijna alle dichters valt wel iets kinderlijks te vinden, een vleugje dada of een tikkeltje baldadigheid.
Ik had dit boek nooit kunnen voltooien als ik niet zonder belemmering had kunnen grasduinen in de Koninklijke Bibliotheek in Den Haag, die over de rijkste en breedste collectie kinderboeken van Nederland beschikt. Voor hun gastvrijheid en behulpzaamheid ben ik innig dank verschuldigd.
Uit: De Nederlands kinderpoezie in 1000 en enige gedichten. Verzameld door Gerrit Komrij, vijfde druk 2008, Prometheus, Amsterdam
Voor mij, een oefening in elegantie en scherpte.
vrijdag 31 juli 2015
EverMus
Mijn huid
Voelt als de bladzijden
Van een boek
Net als het geluid ervan
Hoe vaker je door het boek
Bladert hoe meer je het
Leert kennen
Snuffelen gaat ook
Dat lesje heb je wel geleerd
Er waren ooit problemen
Nu liggen er voornamelijk kansen
Wat gaat er dan verkeerd?
Denk je nu nog steeds
Het mysterie te ontrafelen
Hoe een koe is
Onder de hoge elzen?
Voelt als de bladzijden
Van een boek
Net als het geluid ervan
Hoe vaker je door het boek
Bladert hoe meer je het
Leert kennen
Snuffelen gaat ook
Dat lesje heb je wel geleerd
Er waren ooit problemen
Nu liggen er voornamelijk kansen
Wat gaat er dan verkeerd?
Denk je nu nog steeds
Het mysterie te ontrafelen
Hoe een koe is
Onder de hoge elzen?
donderdag 30 juli 2015
Got you! Mus
Aha, jaja. Even in het Nederlands om dit feestje te vieren.
Vogels, ja, maar wat weet ik er eigenlijk van. Jacob Cats heeft een prachtig gedicht over Vinken geschreven. Daar ga ik het hier nu niet over hebben, te dichterlijk. Er bestaat namelijk het boek 'Vogels van Groningen', waar bibliotheken en biologenvrienden niet al goed voor zijn. Uitgegeven in 1983 door de vereniging Avifauna Groningen ( bestond die al tussen 1800-1810 of 1900-1910?, voor later zorg), onder redactie van E.J. Boekema, P.Glas en J.B. Hulscher. Op blz.12 schrijven zij, of een van hen, ' In 1828 werd door de Commissie van Onderwijs in de provincie Groningen een vragenlijst voorgelegd aan schoolmeesters in alle gemeenten. Een van de vragen betrof het voorkomen van planten en dieren in hun omgeving. De schoolmeesters gingen aan het werk en noteerden hun waarnemingen in rapporten. De zogenaamde Schoolmeesterrapporten, nu in het bezit van rijksarchief te Groningen'. City of Groningen.
Work to do! Voor mijn PhD bedoel ik, want het vogelboek wijdt natuurlijk verder uit over vogels. De schat aan informatie over de planten ligt al bijna tweehonderd jaar op mij te wachten. Right under my nose! Plant- denken, here I come! Nu ben ik echt aan vakantie toe, ik ga lekker wandelen vandaag.
Opmerkelijk: het werk wat de schoolmeesters deden, wellicht samen met de leerlingen?, wordt nu gedaan door plantenecologen, ook die met een phd titel. Zie het nieuwste boek over de Drentse Aa, dat net uit is, o.l.v. prof. dr. T. Spek. De onderwijs industrie! Meegelift met de goederen en bouw industrie?
Wel leuke namen voor de vogels hebben ze bedacht, die biologen: jaarvogel, zomervogel, jaargast, wintergast, zomergast, doortrekker, onregelmatige broedvogel, toevallige broedvogel, voormalige broedvogel, onregelmatige gast, dwaalgast.Wat een pluimage! Ik kan hier wel wat mee.
Zou ook zomaar in het culturele media veld gebruikt kunnen worden, als amusement. Was het programma Zomergasten in 1983 al op de NederlandscTV?
Dan ben ik weer terug bij af met Mus, mannelijk voor Muse, of beter nu, genderloos voor Muse, dat past beter bij mij. Geen biologisch onderscheid. En die gast vogels, zou zo maar met de huidige gastvrijheid van Groningen te maken kunnen hebben. En daarmee bedoel ik dat zowel mannen als vrouwen hun gasten fêteren. Dit is in Italië nog heel erg not done, in the city of Groningen normaal. Of is het iets van mijn peergroup? Ga ik over nadenken.
Vogels, ja, maar wat weet ik er eigenlijk van. Jacob Cats heeft een prachtig gedicht over Vinken geschreven. Daar ga ik het hier nu niet over hebben, te dichterlijk. Er bestaat namelijk het boek 'Vogels van Groningen', waar bibliotheken en biologenvrienden niet al goed voor zijn. Uitgegeven in 1983 door de vereniging Avifauna Groningen ( bestond die al tussen 1800-1810 of 1900-1910?, voor later zorg), onder redactie van E.J. Boekema, P.Glas en J.B. Hulscher. Op blz.12 schrijven zij, of een van hen, ' In 1828 werd door de Commissie van Onderwijs in de provincie Groningen een vragenlijst voorgelegd aan schoolmeesters in alle gemeenten. Een van de vragen betrof het voorkomen van planten en dieren in hun omgeving. De schoolmeesters gingen aan het werk en noteerden hun waarnemingen in rapporten. De zogenaamde Schoolmeesterrapporten, nu in het bezit van rijksarchief te Groningen'. City of Groningen.
Work to do! Voor mijn PhD bedoel ik, want het vogelboek wijdt natuurlijk verder uit over vogels. De schat aan informatie over de planten ligt al bijna tweehonderd jaar op mij te wachten. Right under my nose! Plant- denken, here I come! Nu ben ik echt aan vakantie toe, ik ga lekker wandelen vandaag.
Opmerkelijk: het werk wat de schoolmeesters deden, wellicht samen met de leerlingen?, wordt nu gedaan door plantenecologen, ook die met een phd titel. Zie het nieuwste boek over de Drentse Aa, dat net uit is, o.l.v. prof. dr. T. Spek. De onderwijs industrie! Meegelift met de goederen en bouw industrie?
Wel leuke namen voor de vogels hebben ze bedacht, die biologen: jaarvogel, zomervogel, jaargast, wintergast, zomergast, doortrekker, onregelmatige broedvogel, toevallige broedvogel, voormalige broedvogel, onregelmatige gast, dwaalgast.Wat een pluimage! Ik kan hier wel wat mee.
Zou ook zomaar in het culturele media veld gebruikt kunnen worden, als amusement. Was het programma Zomergasten in 1983 al op de NederlandscTV?
Dan ben ik weer terug bij af met Mus, mannelijk voor Muse, of beter nu, genderloos voor Muse, dat past beter bij mij. Geen biologisch onderscheid. En die gast vogels, zou zo maar met de huidige gastvrijheid van Groningen te maken kunnen hebben. En daarmee bedoel ik dat zowel mannen als vrouwen hun gasten fêteren. Dit is in Italië nog heel erg not done, in the city of Groningen normaal. Of is het iets van mijn peergroup? Ga ik over nadenken.
woensdag 29 juli 2015
AhaMus
Now I know
You sang it all the time
While I was feeding you
Crums du pain
Now I see
Meaning understand
What I am
Something with feathers and a voice
Now I want
A crystal nest
For my order
Yet to come
Now I shine
For the eyes
Of the ones
Who really dare to look
You sang it all the time
While I was feeding you
Crums du pain
Now I see
Meaning understand
What I am
Something with feathers and a voice
Now I want
A crystal nest
For my order
Yet to come
Now I shine
For the eyes
Of the ones
Who really dare to look
dinsdag 28 juli 2015
ModelMus
I looked at you. You looked at me. I smiled at you. You smiled at me. And we are on our way. There is no turn back.
It happens everytime
With other variations
You might think Bach invented this
There is another truth
Only the end is my friend.
It happens everytime
With other variations
You might think Bach invented this
There is another truth
Only the end is my friend.
finneyVink
I spotted you, your head, in some paper
A black and white photograph
Taken from your front
I distinguished eyes, nose, mouth, hair
Perfect complete impression, no ears
The story goes you are an expert
Laureated as a doctorate from overseas
I have been over this water many times
I have been laureated over and over
Not yet was I seen as they name you
While I am drinking red Berry's out of my garden
I am thinking about my life
Fifty years I have been looking for a fire
A thing you know more and less about
Now I have the space to counter, to complete
It is about my fire now
Fifty more years to come
So I councelled you
Give me some words I can play with
Vortex, ground, cardboard squares, risk control
In a short while there is
The opportunity to hear you speak
On the other side of the world
I really hope I find something earlier
Like you, a tube from wood, wise smiling
A black and white photograph
Taken from your front
I distinguished eyes, nose, mouth, hair
Perfect complete impression, no ears
The story goes you are an expert
Laureated as a doctorate from overseas
I have been over this water many times
I have been laureated over and over
Not yet was I seen as they name you
While I am drinking red Berry's out of my garden
I am thinking about my life
Fifty years I have been looking for a fire
A thing you know more and less about
Now I have the space to counter, to complete
It is about my fire now
Fifty more years to come
So I councelled you
Give me some words I can play with
Vortex, ground, cardboard squares, risk control
In a short while there is
The opportunity to hear you speak
On the other side of the world
I really hope I find something earlier
Like you, a tube from wood, wise smiling
maandag 27 juli 2015
Mus, Gerrit en poëzie
Waarom het woord Mus?
Er zit veel meer achter, er hangt veel meer aan, dan ik ooit kon vermoeden.
Vogels, vogala, komen voor in de tot nu toe eerst gevonden poëzie regels in Nederland, geschreven in het Latijn. Ik heb het over de eerste vijfentwintig jaar van de twaalfde eeuw.
Hoe kom ik aan deze kennis?
Well, ik was op zoek naar iets meer over plant-denken, er stond een artikel in een Nederlandse krant over Gerrit Komrij, ik heb het uitgeknipt, ik dacht, in welk boek van Komrij zal ik het uitgeknipte artikel bewaren (mijn onfeilbare archiefsysteem, associatief, but okay). Het eerste boek van Komrij die ik in mijn boekenkast zag staan, was het boek met de titel 'In liefde bloeyende. De Nederlandse poëzie van de twaalfde tot en met de twintigste eeuw in 100 en enige gedichten'. Voor de volledigheid: eerste druk januari 1998, zesde druk november 1998. Omslagontwerp Tessa van der Waals. Ik heb een paperback versie, overwegend donkere groene omslag, beschaafd glanzend, witte en goudkleurige letters, afbeelding van een tulp in gesloten toestand, steel wit, knop overwegend groen kleurig. Wit en groen zijn volgens 'kenners' de kleuren van de poëzie, ooit. Ook bekend bij architecten, by the way. Ik heb dit boek, toen, net voor alle millennium feestelijkheden en computerstress van deze en gene, gelezen.
Wat ik nu ga doen is schaamteloos bijna de hele tekst die Gerrit heeft geschreven op blz.5-7 overtypen. Het is zo goed, het duidt zo perfect wat ik beoog met Mus, ja, en met Mouse en Vink af en toe. Nee, dit is niet helemaal waar. Ik ben Mus gaan schrijven, omdat ik dacht dat ik een trigger nodig had om geschiedenis te schrijven. I just did it. Nike. Het gaat vanzelf, ik hoef er geen enkele moeite voor te doen, het stroomt uit mijn rechter wijsvinger. Ik ben wel bewust begonnen Mus een lijf te geven, a life, a body, a corpus, content, so you can image it, picture it. Not to confuse with imagine it. When you start imagining, then it is your mind 'running'. In a way that is a compliment to me, it means that the same words streaming out my body, streaming in your body, reaches your mind, inspires you. Dode materie leven in te tikken, by touching. My last sense to be sure, safe. Ik denk zelf voornamelijk in ruimte, in ogenschijnlijk niets. Sound sensitivity takes place in space. En mijn ervaring is dat op een aantal 'sporen' tegelijkertijd inzetten, levert vaak, niet altijd, hele goede resultaten op, of tenminste resultaten waar ik heel blij van wordt, zogenaamde vondsten. En waar, uiteindelijk, vaak veel later, de rest van de wereld ook heel blij mee zou kunnen zijn. Ook wel bekend onder de term 'pionieren'. Volgt u mij nog?
Gerrit Komrij gebruikt zelfs het woord drietrapsraket, (1, 2, 3, op naar de maan!) bijna aan het einde, op blz. 7, een ruimte verkennend verhaal dus. Te beginnen met 'olla vogala'.
Hebban olla vogala quid expectamus nunc abent omnes volucres nidos inceptos nisi ego et tu hebban olla vogala nestas hagunnan hinase hic enda thu wat unbidan we nu
anoniem, eerste kwart van de twaalfde eeuw
We hebben het een beetje getroffen, met dat eerste zinnetje uit de Nederlandse literatuur.'Zijn alle vogels aan hun nesten begonnen- behalve ik en jij - waar wachten we nu op?' Het had ook een ander zinnetje kunnen zijn, zomaar een notitie. Het is een lief ding, dat zinnetje. Het heeft iets naïefs en simpels, en tegelijkertijd blijft het in het geheugen hangen, het prent zich gemakkelijk in, als een unieke formulering: men is, al staat er geen enkele genre- aanduiding bij, onmiddellijk bereid het te herkennen als poëzie.
't Is een beetje een dwingeland, de dichter van dat zinnetje. Hij/ zij heeft het over ik en jij en niet hoffelijk over jij en ik. De toon is er een van ongeduld: Wat unbidan we nu? Het klinkt als een salvo na de lange aanloopzin. Waar wachten we nu eigenlijk op? Wat dralen we dan?
Die sfeer van ongeduld wordt overgedragen op het ontstaan van de Nederlandse poëzie. Want zo zie ik het gedichtje graag, omlijst door de Latijnse regels: als een kuiken dat uit het ei kruipt, uit de schaal van het alomvattende Latijn. De schaal breekt en daar komt het snaveltje van de Nederlandse poëzie naar buiten: fris en nog ietwat schuchter, maar vooral ongeduldig.
't Is maar een fantasietje van me, want de geleerden zijn het er inmiddels over eens dat het Nederlandse zinnetje er eerst stond en dat het Latijn er daarna bij wijze van toelichting omheen is gekrabbeld.
Daar gaat mijn eierschaal verhaal.
Vanzelfsprekend is dit ook niet ons eerste zinnetje, alleen maar het oudste zinnetje dat toevallig bewaard is gebleven en dat ons al even toevallig bewaard is gebleven en dat ons al even toevallig onder ogen is gekomen - daar in 1933 in de Bodleian Library in Oxford op een schutblad van een uit de benedictijnerabdij van Rochester, Kent, afkomstig boek. De Nederlandse literatuurgeschiedenis
begint ermee, tot iemand over enige tijd in een Poolse of Oekraïnse etcetera.
De literaire historici zijn er een halve eeuw mooi druk mee geweest, met dat zinnetje. Er zijn polemieken over gevoerd en theorieën over ontworpen. Het zinnetje kon en mocht gewoon niet zo simpel zijn als het eruitzag.
Voor de een was het niet genoeg dat het een spontaan minnedichtje of de herinnering aan een bestaand minnedichtje zou zijn, nee, het had te maken, daar in het verre Engeland, met het heimwee van een Vlaamse monnik naar het Vlaamse moederhuis. Voor de ander was het weer het verlangen naar het nest van de kloosterwarmte dat zich in dit zinnetje een uitweg probeerde te banen.
Over een mystiek Godsverlangen hadden ze het ook nog kunnen hebben, want 'zelfs vindt de mus een huis, en de zwaluw een nest voor zich, waar zij hare jongen legt, bij uwe altaren, Here der heirscharen, mijn Koning en mijn God', staat er in Psalm 84, vers 4.
Gelukkig hielden de literatuur historici het over het algemeen bij het minnedichtje zonder meer, wat me gezien het feit dat zoveel vogels (allemaal) het met elkaar doen (nestjes bouwen) wel zo
verstandig lijkt.
Denk even zoals de monnik denkt. De monnik staat over zijn boek gebogen en probeert de pen: een routineklusje. 't Is voorjaar buiten, want de vogels zijn met hun nest bezig. Ook onze kuise monnik krijgt de voorjaarskriebels. In het hoofd. 't Werkt daar associatief. Zijn heimelijke gedachte staat, nog voordat hij/zij er erg in heeft, op papier. Onbespied en onbewust, zoals dat gaat bij een probatio pennae. De verliefde monnik is dichter geworden.
Lees het zinnetje zoals het er staat. 't Is een drietrapsraket. Eerst de constatering. Alle vogels zijn bezig. Dan de ontkenning, het gemis. Behalve ik en jij. Als derde de ongeduldige vraag, de bijna existentiële vraag. Waar wachten we nondedju nog op? Nu!
Die ritmische en emotionele sequentie, gevat in een metafoor ('ik en jij zijn vogels'), maakt dat we dit ontglipte, verdwaalde zinnetje geen niemendalletje mogen noemen - het dwangmatig heldere gedachtebeeld, in een spanningsveld van klanken, maakt het tot lyriek, tot een gedicht.
Er zit veel meer achter, er hangt veel meer aan, dan ik ooit kon vermoeden.
Vogels, vogala, komen voor in de tot nu toe eerst gevonden poëzie regels in Nederland, geschreven in het Latijn. Ik heb het over de eerste vijfentwintig jaar van de twaalfde eeuw.
Hoe kom ik aan deze kennis?
Well, ik was op zoek naar iets meer over plant-denken, er stond een artikel in een Nederlandse krant over Gerrit Komrij, ik heb het uitgeknipt, ik dacht, in welk boek van Komrij zal ik het uitgeknipte artikel bewaren (mijn onfeilbare archiefsysteem, associatief, but okay). Het eerste boek van Komrij die ik in mijn boekenkast zag staan, was het boek met de titel 'In liefde bloeyende. De Nederlandse poëzie van de twaalfde tot en met de twintigste eeuw in 100 en enige gedichten'. Voor de volledigheid: eerste druk januari 1998, zesde druk november 1998. Omslagontwerp Tessa van der Waals. Ik heb een paperback versie, overwegend donkere groene omslag, beschaafd glanzend, witte en goudkleurige letters, afbeelding van een tulp in gesloten toestand, steel wit, knop overwegend groen kleurig. Wit en groen zijn volgens 'kenners' de kleuren van de poëzie, ooit. Ook bekend bij architecten, by the way. Ik heb dit boek, toen, net voor alle millennium feestelijkheden en computerstress van deze en gene, gelezen.
Wat ik nu ga doen is schaamteloos bijna de hele tekst die Gerrit heeft geschreven op blz.5-7 overtypen. Het is zo goed, het duidt zo perfect wat ik beoog met Mus, ja, en met Mouse en Vink af en toe. Nee, dit is niet helemaal waar. Ik ben Mus gaan schrijven, omdat ik dacht dat ik een trigger nodig had om geschiedenis te schrijven. I just did it. Nike. Het gaat vanzelf, ik hoef er geen enkele moeite voor te doen, het stroomt uit mijn rechter wijsvinger. Ik ben wel bewust begonnen Mus een lijf te geven, a life, a body, a corpus, content, so you can image it, picture it. Not to confuse with imagine it. When you start imagining, then it is your mind 'running'. In a way that is a compliment to me, it means that the same words streaming out my body, streaming in your body, reaches your mind, inspires you. Dode materie leven in te tikken, by touching. My last sense to be sure, safe. Ik denk zelf voornamelijk in ruimte, in ogenschijnlijk niets. Sound sensitivity takes place in space. En mijn ervaring is dat op een aantal 'sporen' tegelijkertijd inzetten, levert vaak, niet altijd, hele goede resultaten op, of tenminste resultaten waar ik heel blij van wordt, zogenaamde vondsten. En waar, uiteindelijk, vaak veel later, de rest van de wereld ook heel blij mee zou kunnen zijn. Ook wel bekend onder de term 'pionieren'. Volgt u mij nog?
Gerrit Komrij gebruikt zelfs het woord drietrapsraket, (1, 2, 3, op naar de maan!) bijna aan het einde, op blz. 7, een ruimte verkennend verhaal dus. Te beginnen met 'olla vogala'.
Hebban olla vogala quid expectamus nunc abent omnes volucres nidos inceptos nisi ego et tu hebban olla vogala nestas hagunnan hinase hic enda thu wat unbidan we nu
anoniem, eerste kwart van de twaalfde eeuw
We hebben het een beetje getroffen, met dat eerste zinnetje uit de Nederlandse literatuur.'Zijn alle vogels aan hun nesten begonnen- behalve ik en jij - waar wachten we nu op?' Het had ook een ander zinnetje kunnen zijn, zomaar een notitie. Het is een lief ding, dat zinnetje. Het heeft iets naïefs en simpels, en tegelijkertijd blijft het in het geheugen hangen, het prent zich gemakkelijk in, als een unieke formulering: men is, al staat er geen enkele genre- aanduiding bij, onmiddellijk bereid het te herkennen als poëzie.
't Is een beetje een dwingeland, de dichter van dat zinnetje. Hij/ zij heeft het over ik en jij en niet hoffelijk over jij en ik. De toon is er een van ongeduld: Wat unbidan we nu? Het klinkt als een salvo na de lange aanloopzin. Waar wachten we nu eigenlijk op? Wat dralen we dan?
Die sfeer van ongeduld wordt overgedragen op het ontstaan van de Nederlandse poëzie. Want zo zie ik het gedichtje graag, omlijst door de Latijnse regels: als een kuiken dat uit het ei kruipt, uit de schaal van het alomvattende Latijn. De schaal breekt en daar komt het snaveltje van de Nederlandse poëzie naar buiten: fris en nog ietwat schuchter, maar vooral ongeduldig.
't Is maar een fantasietje van me, want de geleerden zijn het er inmiddels over eens dat het Nederlandse zinnetje er eerst stond en dat het Latijn er daarna bij wijze van toelichting omheen is gekrabbeld.
Daar gaat mijn eierschaal verhaal.
Vanzelfsprekend is dit ook niet ons eerste zinnetje, alleen maar het oudste zinnetje dat toevallig bewaard is gebleven en dat ons al even toevallig bewaard is gebleven en dat ons al even toevallig onder ogen is gekomen - daar in 1933 in de Bodleian Library in Oxford op een schutblad van een uit de benedictijnerabdij van Rochester, Kent, afkomstig boek. De Nederlandse literatuurgeschiedenis
begint ermee, tot iemand over enige tijd in een Poolse of Oekraïnse etcetera.
De literaire historici zijn er een halve eeuw mooi druk mee geweest, met dat zinnetje. Er zijn polemieken over gevoerd en theorieën over ontworpen. Het zinnetje kon en mocht gewoon niet zo simpel zijn als het eruitzag.
Voor de een was het niet genoeg dat het een spontaan minnedichtje of de herinnering aan een bestaand minnedichtje zou zijn, nee, het had te maken, daar in het verre Engeland, met het heimwee van een Vlaamse monnik naar het Vlaamse moederhuis. Voor de ander was het weer het verlangen naar het nest van de kloosterwarmte dat zich in dit zinnetje een uitweg probeerde te banen.
Over een mystiek Godsverlangen hadden ze het ook nog kunnen hebben, want 'zelfs vindt de mus een huis, en de zwaluw een nest voor zich, waar zij hare jongen legt, bij uwe altaren, Here der heirscharen, mijn Koning en mijn God', staat er in Psalm 84, vers 4.
Gelukkig hielden de literatuur historici het over het algemeen bij het minnedichtje zonder meer, wat me gezien het feit dat zoveel vogels (allemaal) het met elkaar doen (nestjes bouwen) wel zo
verstandig lijkt.
Denk even zoals de monnik denkt. De monnik staat over zijn boek gebogen en probeert de pen: een routineklusje. 't Is voorjaar buiten, want de vogels zijn met hun nest bezig. Ook onze kuise monnik krijgt de voorjaarskriebels. In het hoofd. 't Werkt daar associatief. Zijn heimelijke gedachte staat, nog voordat hij/zij er erg in heeft, op papier. Onbespied en onbewust, zoals dat gaat bij een probatio pennae. De verliefde monnik is dichter geworden.
Lees het zinnetje zoals het er staat. 't Is een drietrapsraket. Eerst de constatering. Alle vogels zijn bezig. Dan de ontkenning, het gemis. Behalve ik en jij. Als derde de ongeduldige vraag, de bijna existentiële vraag. Waar wachten we nondedju nog op? Nu!
Die ritmische en emotionele sequentie, gevat in een metafoor ('ik en jij zijn vogels'), maakt dat we dit ontglipte, verdwaalde zinnetje geen niemendalletje mogen noemen - het dwangmatig heldere gedachtebeeld, in een spanningsveld van klanken, maakt het tot lyriek, tot een gedicht.
I have been treasure hunting
What we see before us is a part of the world
Does he mean, what I see before me is a part of my desired world? To imagine?
We can get into a way of thinking, this is the world.
Same again, does he try to say, I can get into a way of thinking, this is my world?
The world doesn't exist. Is that a fact?
The world of Haruki is a dark and deep place
Much of his world is occupied by jellyfish
And things
Inspired by a text, fantasized by Haruki Murakami, with the title/ name ' Three'.
Does he mean, what I see before me is a part of my desired world? To imagine?
We can get into a way of thinking, this is the world.
Same again, does he try to say, I can get into a way of thinking, this is my world?
The world doesn't exist. Is that a fact?
The world of Haruki is a dark and deep place
Much of his world is occupied by jellyfish
And things
Inspired by a text, fantasized by Haruki Murakami, with the title/ name ' Three'.
zaterdag 25 juli 2015
hetstukMusmoore
So strange to me
So accustomed to you
Include
Exclude
The dancers of Galili said it in
Open circle
2007
Why oh way
Did you stop dancing
Play boss
On the beach
WhT happened
What happened while you were
There
So eager
Funny hungry testing trying
So beautiful
I cry inside for you
For your life
The hours to remain
A trillion I can't count
A square so it starts
Compatible multiplyable
And the the space phase comes in
Like lingers, slierts, throw away art moves
Again and again, again again
Niemand then
It grows it reads, it exists
The children
Why didn't they come
Why did they die
Why do I wear the five diamonds
No one can
Give you these answers
The truth is
One looks exactly like you
When you were seven
You don't believe me
Why should you
You didn't look
Forgot your glasses?
It ran away
The lookalike
Because of the fear
You know so well
The loss
Of control
You never have
Is not the answer
Nor solution
Trust
Trust you, yourself
Because
The beauty
You already
So accustomed to you
Include
Exclude
The dancers of Galili said it in
Open circle
2007
Why oh way
Did you stop dancing
Play boss
On the beach
WhT happened
What happened while you were
There
So eager
Funny hungry testing trying
So beautiful
I cry inside for you
For your life
The hours to remain
A trillion I can't count
A square so it starts
Compatible multiplyable
And the the space phase comes in
Like lingers, slierts, throw away art moves
Again and again, again again
Niemand then
It grows it reads, it exists
The children
Why didn't they come
Why did they die
Why do I wear the five diamonds
No one can
Give you these answers
The truth is
One looks exactly like you
When you were seven
You don't believe me
Why should you
You didn't look
Forgot your glasses?
It ran away
The lookalike
Because of the fear
You know so well
The loss
Of control
You never have
Is not the answer
Nor solution
Trust
Trust you, yourself
Because
The beauty
You already
hisMus
Do you want to sleep? Not from fatigue but because of the promise of dreams. Try all kinds of methods. Exhaust yourself. Then gather together to converse endlessly, to tell over and over for hours and hours the same jokes. Complicate to the limits of exasperation stories of the dead. Which is an endless game in which the historian asked if you want to tell your stories about ancestors and ancestress. When you answer yes, the historian would say that you were not asked to say yes, but whether you want it, you said no, the historian will tell you that you were not asked to say no, but whether you want the historian to remain silent, you are going to say nobody asked you to remain silent, but whether you want the historian to write the story of whom had passed, you could leave because the historian never asked you to leave and so on and on in a vicious circle that can go on for ever.
But doesn't need to, of course.
But doesn't need to, of course.
donderdag 23 juli 2015
SafetyfirstMus
It is hard
It was hard
It is all soft now,
Melted
What a handicap
To do one thing at the time
Like me
Now I do nothing
And what happens?
Insight, no clouds this time
Just the need
To be safe
What is taking so much time?
Where does that come from
Your core business
Black and white landings
Accompanied by electricity lights
Thanks to you
My dear Musses
I know what to do
And once I will whisper it
I promise you
It was hard
It is all soft now,
Melted
What a handicap
To do one thing at the time
Like me
Now I do nothing
And what happens?
Insight, no clouds this time
Just the need
To be safe
What is taking so much time?
Where does that come from
Your core business
Black and white landings
Accompanied by electricity lights
Thanks to you
My dear Musses
I know what to do
And once I will whisper it
I promise you
woensdag 22 juli 2015
Musses, muses and history
Once in a while a cross- over thought can be very clarifying.
I introduced some musses, as you could have been reading in previous blogs. Musses, a pluralism for mus, distracted, inspired on the word 'muse'. The mus is also a fine tiny brownish bird, very volatile, which can be spot near houses and restaurants in the Netherlands. The mus, the bird, happens to have a very alightning sound. According to me. And it seems that even biologists find it very hard to distinguish the male from the female.
The ancient Greek, ( not to confuse with ' the ancient regime, with illustrious characters like Josephine, Belle van Zuylen, Napoleon Bonaparte and Benjamin Constant) so goes the story, had nine muses. I found two tableaus on the Internet, theio.com , named ' the nine mousai'. With credits to Aaron Atsma, copyright 2000-2011 for this knowledge. One mosaic is kept in the archeological museum of Cos, Cos, Greece, coded: Z20.2. The other mosaic is kept in Trier, Germany, found in Neustrasse, coded: Z20. Both tableaux have being typed as mosaic and both are placed in the Time of Imperial Rome. On both mosaics, nine portraits and bustes of male/ female looking persons can be identified. Genderbenders one could be able to name them today.
What is derived from/ interpreted from Z20.2?
Kalliope with scroll
Euterpe with flute
Thalia with comic mask
Kleio with writing block
Melpomene with tragic mask
Terpsikore with a lyre
Erato with a lyre
Ourania with globe ( !)
Polymnia, without attributes
What is derived from/ interpreted on Z20.3?
Thalia with shepherd's crock and comic mask
Terpsikhore and Erato with lyra's
Kalliope and Kleio with scrolls
Ourania with globe
Melpomene, Euterpe and Polymnia without attributes
Interesting, isn't it?
Well, there is more.
In short, Muze, Mus, Muses, Musses, as words, are derived from mousai, ancient Greek. Then, or later, for instance in classical times ( this is written with a great probability sound), the muses were assigned specific literary and artistic spheres. Kleio, Clio as it is written nowadays, was assigned as the muse of history. As a statue, she can be pictured with mostly female characteristics features. A standing figure, with the leftside hand and arm leaning on a pole and a scroll. The rightside arm and hand, holding horizontally in front of the mid-reef (middenrif). Sometimes, so Aaron wants us, you and me, to believe, Clio was seated besides a chest of books. I have seen no proof of that yet.
And, what did they say, sing, write, declare? These so called muses. They were to amuse, no doubt about that.
Maybe, just very very very maybe, Mrs. De Wit, the historic teacher old languages, gymnasium Schoonoord, 1970-1995, did sent so many sounds in space, my ears incidental caught some words from these sounds, then. Now they come out my pointing finger, right hand.
Well, and I use the word Mus, pretty short, efficient, to counter off course the too much female value given to the word muse. Someone has to balance things, once in a while. The only thing I am not going to do is to give Mus real names, because there are no real names and because that would be too unmystifying. It is about the sound, to amuse, to bring along other thoughts, to counter the dominance of mainstream, copycat, thoughts. Art, duz.
What about Vink? Yeah, what about Vink. I do not have to amuse myself everyday and isn't like the saying goes: change does the eating / verandering van spijs doet eten.
I am so hungry, you don't want to know.
I introduced some musses, as you could have been reading in previous blogs. Musses, a pluralism for mus, distracted, inspired on the word 'muse'. The mus is also a fine tiny brownish bird, very volatile, which can be spot near houses and restaurants in the Netherlands. The mus, the bird, happens to have a very alightning sound. According to me. And it seems that even biologists find it very hard to distinguish the male from the female.
The ancient Greek, ( not to confuse with ' the ancient regime, with illustrious characters like Josephine, Belle van Zuylen, Napoleon Bonaparte and Benjamin Constant) so goes the story, had nine muses. I found two tableaus on the Internet, theio.com , named ' the nine mousai'. With credits to Aaron Atsma, copyright 2000-2011 for this knowledge. One mosaic is kept in the archeological museum of Cos, Cos, Greece, coded: Z20.2. The other mosaic is kept in Trier, Germany, found in Neustrasse, coded: Z20. Both tableaux have being typed as mosaic and both are placed in the Time of Imperial Rome. On both mosaics, nine portraits and bustes of male/ female looking persons can be identified. Genderbenders one could be able to name them today.
What is derived from/ interpreted from Z20.2?
Kalliope with scroll
Euterpe with flute
Thalia with comic mask
Kleio with writing block
Melpomene with tragic mask
Terpsikore with a lyre
Erato with a lyre
Ourania with globe ( !)
Polymnia, without attributes
What is derived from/ interpreted on Z20.3?
Thalia with shepherd's crock and comic mask
Terpsikhore and Erato with lyra's
Kalliope and Kleio with scrolls
Ourania with globe
Melpomene, Euterpe and Polymnia without attributes
Interesting, isn't it?
Well, there is more.
In short, Muze, Mus, Muses, Musses, as words, are derived from mousai, ancient Greek. Then, or later, for instance in classical times ( this is written with a great probability sound), the muses were assigned specific literary and artistic spheres. Kleio, Clio as it is written nowadays, was assigned as the muse of history. As a statue, she can be pictured with mostly female characteristics features. A standing figure, with the leftside hand and arm leaning on a pole and a scroll. The rightside arm and hand, holding horizontally in front of the mid-reef (middenrif). Sometimes, so Aaron wants us, you and me, to believe, Clio was seated besides a chest of books. I have seen no proof of that yet.
And, what did they say, sing, write, declare? These so called muses. They were to amuse, no doubt about that.
Maybe, just very very very maybe, Mrs. De Wit, the historic teacher old languages, gymnasium Schoonoord, 1970-1995, did sent so many sounds in space, my ears incidental caught some words from these sounds, then. Now they come out my pointing finger, right hand.
Well, and I use the word Mus, pretty short, efficient, to counter off course the too much female value given to the word muse. Someone has to balance things, once in a while. The only thing I am not going to do is to give Mus real names, because there are no real names and because that would be too unmystifying. It is about the sound, to amuse, to bring along other thoughts, to counter the dominance of mainstream, copycat, thoughts. Art, duz.
What about Vink? Yeah, what about Vink. I do not have to amuse myself everyday and isn't like the saying goes: change does the eating / verandering van spijs doet eten.
I am so hungry, you don't want to know.
maandag 20 juli 2015
ToorealforaMus
I was in shock
Grounded
Only my eyes couldn't stop working
Yesterday
On the beach
I was sitting south
The wind blowing away
Luke was hiding
Behind me
A dog without fear
Running like bold ones do
Totally unpredictable
You! Sand in my eyes
I didn't care
Big feet in loose sandals
Grey and Greek!
Grounded
Only my eyes couldn't stop working
Yesterday
On the beach
I was sitting south
The wind blowing away
Luke was hiding
Behind me
A dog without fear
Running like bold ones do
Totally unpredictable
You! Sand in my eyes
I didn't care
Big feet in loose sandals
Grey and Greek!
donderdag 16 juli 2015
Vinkoptions
Vink pronounced, Fink written. B'cause Vink pronounced sounds so much better.
What does Fink has to do with Mayer. Fink, the mort gage guy. Mayer the writer. Fink, the last nail of your coffin. Mayer and his glass room story. Fink, known from L.A. Mayer not really known, but possibly a bit known from Europe. Later, now. Fink could be known from N.Y. Later, I mean much, later, Mayer will be known by me citing him. What would you prefer? A big Apple or love? You know, love is in the air. Love is not a body. Both do not exist. Both are to be created. If you are a hard believer, like the other Fink, from Italy, who is coming along Europe pretty soon. Then. Yes, then what?
What are the options?
I have some ideas. Please, do appreciatie them on the level of ideas as well. You could open some thing. You could open a new bankaccount like Fink the First did. And still does all the time. And then call yourself director of board. Meaning, the boss of that same account. You can open up your mind and write another song, like Fink the Second does all the time. He keeps on singing. I listen to him on the internet. Again and again. Imagine you are Fink the Third. Not to confuse him with yourself, of course You understand. Imagine him, what would he do? What would you do?
I am not good in answers. You know. Especially here, I make up the whole world around me. But this time, I think I know the answer. Well, that's my answer. Not yours of course. Since you are some Else, Fink the Third for instance.
What does Fink has to do with Mayer. Fink, the mort gage guy. Mayer the writer. Fink, the last nail of your coffin. Mayer and his glass room story. Fink, known from L.A. Mayer not really known, but possibly a bit known from Europe. Later, now. Fink could be known from N.Y. Later, I mean much, later, Mayer will be known by me citing him. What would you prefer? A big Apple or love? You know, love is in the air. Love is not a body. Both do not exist. Both are to be created. If you are a hard believer, like the other Fink, from Italy, who is coming along Europe pretty soon. Then. Yes, then what?
What are the options?
I have some ideas. Please, do appreciatie them on the level of ideas as well. You could open some thing. You could open a new bankaccount like Fink the First did. And still does all the time. And then call yourself director of board. Meaning, the boss of that same account. You can open up your mind and write another song, like Fink the Second does all the time. He keeps on singing. I listen to him on the internet. Again and again. Imagine you are Fink the Third. Not to confuse him with yourself, of course You understand. Imagine him, what would he do? What would you do?
I am not good in answers. You know. Especially here, I make up the whole world around me. But this time, I think I know the answer. Well, that's my answer. Not yours of course. Since you are some Else, Fink the Third for instance.
CreaVink
How the great dje Theirs rediscovered the obscure historyproducer who once made a text accompagning the legendary music of the first play station game ( Playstationgame, derived from play a game at the station, because waiting is boring here). My son, Sony, who likes to play with trains from Brio and Lego, doesn't know this first play station with the name Ape Escape. So, there is an escape.......the comeback van zero. Nix. Talent rather than hardworking. Vink doesn't know his talent, a talent Jet would had liked to have. Talent is a spiritual fortune. Once Vink will know, maybe in time, maybe too late. It is just a matter of focus. Or of listening. But, to what or whom?
Once a collegue Vink asked me, is Vink any good? I answered, Vink is very good to me. O. He flew away. Flying Vinks and swimming Vinks. Who do you think have the most money? And using 'street' things. Language, off course. How do I know? I just know. I was in the garden, in the house and on the street in the first three years of my life. Although you can learn about things all your life, the first impressions of your life always play a role. Higher or lower. Today Freddie is no more. Selah Sue is now. SO, what is your talent, Vink, besides making money.
What are you waiting for? Show them!
(Vink, other spelling for Mr.Fink, the one from Black Rock)
Once a collegue Vink asked me, is Vink any good? I answered, Vink is very good to me. O. He flew away. Flying Vinks and swimming Vinks. Who do you think have the most money? And using 'street' things. Language, off course. How do I know? I just know. I was in the garden, in the house and on the street in the first three years of my life. Although you can learn about things all your life, the first impressions of your life always play a role. Higher or lower. Today Freddie is no more. Selah Sue is now. SO, what is your talent, Vink, besides making money.
What are you waiting for? Show them!
(Vink, other spelling for Mr.Fink, the one from Black Rock)
dinsdag 14 juli 2015
BilliondollarVink
Vink, associated wit Mr.Fink, the one from Black Rock
Traces tracing stacey
The urge to make big money
Not the borders of Serbia
The borders of the law
Almost 16 again
Are you becoming eight?
Jajajajayesyesyes
Don't you want to talk
About the things you don't know
Like everybody else
One exception to the rule
No risks no assistance
The stone the stone
Is it green or is it Black
Apollo and the highpriestess
What do they know
About rock the baby
Did they talk about it?
Traces tracing stacey
The urge to make big money
Not the borders of Serbia
The borders of the law
Almost 16 again
Are you becoming eight?
Jajajajayesyesyes
Don't you want to talk
About the things you don't know
Like everybody else
One exception to the rule
No risks no assistance
The stone the stone
Is it green or is it Black
Apollo and the highpriestess
What do they know
About rock the baby
Did they talk about it?
Gast!Mus!
Stuck niemandsland, mein herzhaftschje.
Dicke, exclusiv, salzig schonsten
Bieten reichsgefullt augenblicklich
Siebenmeilenstiefeln eigensinnige paradiesvogel
Ausgedehnt, dynamisch, faszinierend
Einzigartig, langweilig, bizar
Lichtsignalen, dunkelheit, lieblingsort
Ehrenambtliche rettungs schwimmer
Mutter und vater zugleich
Die farbe des meeres is das schonste
Stille, ruhe von wind getragen
Coral ist zu sehen
Meisterliche handwerk
Pure zutaten verhaltnisse
Du bis an spitznamen gewohnt
Das herstellen blick hinter
Wissenwertes kluge grinst
Wieder scharf eine trane
Dicke, exclusiv, salzig schonsten
Bieten reichsgefullt augenblicklich
Siebenmeilenstiefeln eigensinnige paradiesvogel
Ausgedehnt, dynamisch, faszinierend
Einzigartig, langweilig, bizar
Lichtsignalen, dunkelheit, lieblingsort
Ehrenambtliche rettungs schwimmer
Mutter und vater zugleich
Die farbe des meeres is das schonste
Stille, ruhe von wind getragen
Coral ist zu sehen
Meisterliche handwerk
Pure zutaten verhaltnisse
Du bis an spitznamen gewohnt
Das herstellen blick hinter
Wissenwertes kluge grinst
Wieder scharf eine trane
zaterdag 11 juli 2015
MusvanGoes
Off stream since July?
A red nobelman
Fascinated to go up on the street
It was exactly 1900
When his mom
Gave birth to a naked hairing
The long winter of mankind has come to an end
My friend and I were fascinated
By the role one can play in a party
First we thought of no rules
The world was our oyster
Time on our side
Then the tree of knowledge was written
Some 36 pink things as well
Numbered Nijmegen, van Nimwegen, Anguilla rostrata
Time still faces you not me
Growing so immoderately old
Twenty year spans seems like nothing
Than ten plus ten makes
It back you can calculate
More than in thought terms of months
Ah, a century is a mathematical construct
Isn't it reasonable doubt
Who said this who wrote this?
All these questions all these answers
What do I think of 2000 ?
I remember the fear
The fear of people with money and a computer
A red nobelman
Fascinated to go up on the street
It was exactly 1900
When his mom
Gave birth to a naked hairing
The long winter of mankind has come to an end
My friend and I were fascinated
By the role one can play in a party
First we thought of no rules
The world was our oyster
Time on our side
Then the tree of knowledge was written
Some 36 pink things as well
Numbered Nijmegen, van Nimwegen, Anguilla rostrata
Time still faces you not me
Growing so immoderately old
Twenty year spans seems like nothing
Than ten plus ten makes
It back you can calculate
More than in thought terms of months
Ah, a century is a mathematical construct
Isn't it reasonable doubt
Who said this who wrote this?
All these questions all these answers
What do I think of 2000 ?
I remember the fear
The fear of people with money and a computer
vrijdag 10 juli 2015
NanoMus
Nanananana. Nanaaananana
And again everybody!
Nanaaanaanana. Nanaaabaanana
Na na comes no
No more no less
That explains everything
Why na and no and tech no logy
Are so succesful today
No original thought
No original word
No original logos
Is Ancient Greek
Giving birth
Being original
Hurts really hurts
It takes some
One who is fitted
For pain
The rewarding of giving stays longer
Than the memory of pain
You will know when you are dying
Talking about certainties.......
And again everybody!
Nanaaanaanana. Nanaaabaanana
Na na comes no
No more no less
That explains everything
Why na and no and tech no logy
Are so succesful today
No original thought
No original word
No original logos
Is Ancient Greek
Giving birth
Being original
Hurts really hurts
It takes some
One who is fitted
For pain
The rewarding of giving stays longer
Than the memory of pain
You will know when you are dying
Talking about certainties.......
dinsdag 7 juli 2015
The Great Story of Greeningen. Scape one.
My name is Sarah Mijnsje Anne Marie Sival van Andel van Groningen. With my right hand pointing finger I touch buttons, buttons with codes on it, letters, figures. My left hand or my lap, that changes now and then, hold the machine in good order, the machine, a device, known today as an iPad. Not to confuse with a tablet, because a tablet today, anno 2015, is something else. The iPad and the tablet almost look the same and almost work the same. The children are correcting me if a name an iPad a tablet and viceversa. It makes me think, not alarmed. Does it something have to do with the software? Influencing the naming of the hardware? Think about what I have read, what I have seen, whom I have seen, whom I have heard, etcetera. I like doing this. I thought about how I am going to order all the figures, so you are able to look at it, to read it, to get to know it. First things first. You know there is an on-and-out button, do you? And you have fingers and a head. You are in control of. How you read is not up to me. How I am going to write the Great Story of Greeningen, according to my ability to name things, is filling in or up the idea that each blog I write is a portrait, or maybe better: a scape. Scape? You will learn in time.
The Great City of Greeningen has almost 800.000 citizens. They are not all named Kane. Citizens are people who mainly occupy buildings they like to call Home, as the British are used to say. It is happening today that other people than the citizens of Greeningen are in the Great City of Greeningen. These other people are counted by some governmental organisation and this organisation publishes counted figures on these people now and then. The most contemporary counting shows the figure which looks exactly like this figure: 400.000
I am a citizen most of the dayandnighttime. Once the 24 hours economy understanding was introduced, I dare writing this. It is a fact. It is true. The last 35 months I have been exercising as an historian, training for becoming an historian as you wish or 'struggling in the mud' another person have said. I had the best teacher you can imagine. The last 10 months he even acted as a friend. How good life can be in the Great City of Greeningen. The age of 50 came to me this year. I can name myself Sarah now. My parents didn't have any idea how to name me authentically. They did the same with my elder sister. They didn't do the same with my younger brother. My parents are still quite succesful, as grandparents, they are able to embrace seven grandchildren. How should they have had a clue about which child was to become extremely creative, extremely intelligent and extremely sensitive. And so tall! We are talking 1960s now. At that time I lived in the Great City of Utrecht for a period of three years. The first three memorable years of my life. The beginning of a life which has not ended, yet.
The Great City of Greeningen has almost 800.000 citizens. They are not all named Kane. Citizens are people who mainly occupy buildings they like to call Home, as the British are used to say. It is happening today that other people than the citizens of Greeningen are in the Great City of Greeningen. These other people are counted by some governmental organisation and this organisation publishes counted figures on these people now and then. The most contemporary counting shows the figure which looks exactly like this figure: 400.000
I am a citizen most of the dayandnighttime. Once the 24 hours economy understanding was introduced, I dare writing this. It is a fact. It is true. The last 35 months I have been exercising as an historian, training for becoming an historian as you wish or 'struggling in the mud' another person have said. I had the best teacher you can imagine. The last 10 months he even acted as a friend. How good life can be in the Great City of Greeningen. The age of 50 came to me this year. I can name myself Sarah now. My parents didn't have any idea how to name me authentically. They did the same with my elder sister. They didn't do the same with my younger brother. My parents are still quite succesful, as grandparents, they are able to embrace seven grandchildren. How should they have had a clue about which child was to become extremely creative, extremely intelligent and extremely sensitive. And so tall! We are talking 1960s now. At that time I lived in the Great City of Utrecht for a period of three years. The first three memorable years of my life. The beginning of a life which has not ended, yet.
The Great Story of Greeningen Let's start with poetry
On a frisk October morning
Coming from the East
One can experience the glittering of crystal golden meth in ones eyes
This is only a foreplay
Proceed further with the speed of a cyclist
And one will be rewarded
In the heart of the city
By the sight of the Golden Office
A market space, accessible to everybody
Lies designed and made
For you
A person with the pace of a human
Cicaden, ten times a church clock like a drum bell
Boys on the street
Neighbour girl in bed, Windows checked by mom
Anne Meike is over ten
Twelve years ago when I started living right here
I hadn't seen nothing of her yet
Thin, blond, creative, darling and daring
And she already cooky
Something I don't do
Are you coming?
And once you have been here
The wind. The wind moves by cars and sounds of tires on tarmac
Wintersport
Night, father driving, mother, sister, brother sleeping
Me, looking through the front window
Feeling no sleep
It is the rythm of the night
And endless black lava road
An airstream going south
To the white powder
To Austria or Switzerland, to poetry, beauty, oblivion
To crystal white blinding
SO, Alexander Slobbe, are you
Home, or what!
Or is there something you need from Gert?
Sarah Mijnsje Anne Marie Sival van Andel van Groningen
7 th July 2015, early morning
Coming from the East
One can experience the glittering of crystal golden meth in ones eyes
This is only a foreplay
Proceed further with the speed of a cyclist
And one will be rewarded
In the heart of the city
By the sight of the Golden Office
A market space, accessible to everybody
Lies designed and made
For you
A person with the pace of a human
Cicaden, ten times a church clock like a drum bell
Boys on the street
Neighbour girl in bed, Windows checked by mom
Anne Meike is over ten
Twelve years ago when I started living right here
I hadn't seen nothing of her yet
Thin, blond, creative, darling and daring
And she already cooky
Something I don't do
Are you coming?
And once you have been here
The wind. The wind moves by cars and sounds of tires on tarmac
Wintersport
Night, father driving, mother, sister, brother sleeping
Me, looking through the front window
Feeling no sleep
It is the rythm of the night
And endless black lava road
An airstream going south
To the white powder
To Austria or Switzerland, to poetry, beauty, oblivion
To crystal white blinding
SO, Alexander Slobbe, are you
Home, or what!
Or is there something you need from Gert?
Sarah Mijnsje Anne Marie Sival van Andel van Groningen
7 th July 2015, early morning
zondag 5 juli 2015
Mus on sundaynight
What do I hear?
I look through the only window
Of my room, my library
I see a thousand pointing roofs
One time up two times down
Where does it comes from
I open the window wide open
To the inside
Contemporary building regulations
I hear, I hear a beat, a beat, a beat, beat beat
A black cat with white fur
Legs and tummy. She!
It is her, the Lolita of
The lane. Facing her computer
Hair already up. What a shame.
Becoming a leader, no doubt.
Tigermom, watching, down stairs, some
Other screen
The sound of a steamed vacuüm cleaner
My hair on my forehead moves a little
It is becoming a bit curly
Have only been swimming twice
Tan us, howling wolf
Hungry dog
Supper has been served hours ago.
I look through the only window
Of my room, my library
I see a thousand pointing roofs
One time up two times down
Where does it comes from
I open the window wide open
To the inside
Contemporary building regulations
I hear, I hear a beat, a beat, a beat, beat beat
A black cat with white fur
Legs and tummy. She!
It is her, the Lolita of
The lane. Facing her computer
Hair already up. What a shame.
Becoming a leader, no doubt.
Tigermom, watching, down stairs, some
Other screen
The sound of a steamed vacuüm cleaner
My hair on my forehead moves a little
It is becoming a bit curly
Have only been swimming twice
Tan us, howling wolf
Hungry dog
Supper has been served hours ago.
Mus o dear
Stephen, from the RAW sharks
You remember the demon
Learned it is necessary to be calm
He wrote it down
He took that effort
You write and you whisper
Is it such a surprise
That it calms
This whispering into the good direction
As a sound sensitive person
I do sound tests all the time
It calms me
Other people name it
Phoning, calming, ringing
I call it contact
Is it so shocking
To hear a delighted voice
Because of a calming voice
Funny how beautiful things
Happen outside
Carried by wind and water
The most intelligent, intellectual
Thing to do
Mind matching
It is so rare
To be calmed
By the opposite sex
I am patiënt
I am here
As long as it takes
You remember the demon
Learned it is necessary to be calm
He wrote it down
He took that effort
You write and you whisper
Is it such a surprise
That it calms
This whispering into the good direction
As a sound sensitive person
I do sound tests all the time
It calms me
Other people name it
Phoning, calming, ringing
I call it contact
Is it so shocking
To hear a delighted voice
Because of a calming voice
Funny how beautiful things
Happen outside
Carried by wind and water
The most intelligent, intellectual
Thing to do
Mind matching
It is so rare
To be calmed
By the opposite sex
I am patiënt
I am here
As long as it takes
zaterdag 4 juli 2015
MindtheMus
Today Gabriel brought me flowers and sun. When sundaymorning will be over you start listening to music from far away in time, hitting midges to death and try to hit the cockroaches in your ears which delay you to think, you are looking at the sun going down, the lighttower, shining through the curtains every thirty seconds, transforming you in a green tiger, the natural breath of daily life, returning the way it was, like always, changing your death into the death of all the others from the past, the continuous stream of reality, slowly carrying you to the nomansland of pity and oblivion, TO HELL WITH DEATH you scream once in a while, leaving your hide out, shocked by the security for the last hour, as a ghost on big feet, shuffling through the large empty spaces outside, the remains of a former life, shimmering and smelling to dying flowers and candles with the purpose to enlighten a funeral. Everybody was so in greed, looking in the depth of heritage, nobody minded the presence of you, the inburied Mus.
Goodnight Mus, sleep well compagnon, lying with your stomach on the mosses of stones as old as you, you will bent your right arm under your head, for sleep is not far away, lonelier than ever, yellow, red and brown leaves caressing you good night, into to Indian summer, started last night for ever.
Goodnight Mus, sleep well compagnon, lying with your stomach on the mosses of stones as old as you, you will bent your right arm under your head, for sleep is not far away, lonelier than ever, yellow, red and brown leaves caressing you good night, into to Indian summer, started last night for ever.
vrijdag 3 juli 2015
cooleMus=keizer
Zo schattig spreekt Meisjesauto
Nee, ik ben cool
Antwoord Jongensvehikel
uit: Helden van de stad
In deze heerlijke zomer
Iets geplukt van Intenet
Voor kinderen, natuurlijk
Its the rythm of the night......
Nee, ik ben cool
Antwoord Jongensvehikel
uit: Helden van de stad
In deze heerlijke zomer
Iets geplukt van Intenet
Voor kinderen, natuurlijk
Its the rythm of the night......
woensdag 1 juli 2015
MUSni
Twohundred times the Mont Ventoux
Chain on chain off
Cause: too loose
There we go again
Save the queen
Let's roll
It's summertime
Forever
I promise you
zondag 28 juni 2015
Mus Cruise
Let God look after you, my Mus, it is a huge honour to die for the Country. I stayed alongside you during your slow going battle, we were alone in the room, I saw my hands spooning you softening the pain, mus, you accepted it without grace and told me, I will let you alone now for a short time with your blurry world , top gun, my heart tells me we will meet again, soon, in the deptness of the underworld, I will be more bent and look like a mudcrawler by this poison and you are looking there for a place to rest your head, I tell you without a trace of respect, my professional, cause I can tell you now I never loved you like you think, but since the Maydays of the pilots, when I was struck by the faith to drop in your hands, playing and pleading you to be killed, it is not a violent act to let you pay for the life of orphanage you delivered me by flattening my feet so they became the same sleepwalkinglegs you seem to have, by forcing me to act in public you didn't dare yourself , and not because the country needs you alive like you used to say, but because the most famous hero freezes when he has to crown a beauty addict, without knowing from which side death will shoot him.
maandag 22 juni 2015
The military? Mus?
Order and discipline. Straight body and parts. Parts? Part! I read a book written by Tolstoy the other day. Normally/ in general I only read the text written by the author. I inherited the two volumes entiteld 'Anna Karenina' from my grandmother and grandfather belonging to the Sival en Baarda families. Beautiful volumes, the hardcovers in karmozin red, enriched with golden threads curving all over the cover. A golden ribbon for remembering the pages read. Including the names of my ancestors, in elegant and small handwriting. Done with pen and loose ink. Anna Karenina, woman of the flesh. Walking around with her favourite military person. Why would they have named me Anne Marie? Secondly and thirdly. To remind them of all their sisters? To remind me of military men? To remind me of my own flesh? Me, the complete person, walking circles. A perfect mathematical shape, a very worldy shape as well. A circle includes and excludes. Parents, they don't have a clue. They even couldn't come up with an original name for their daughters. They did for their son, their only son. The last child. Like I did. But then, the four daughters and sons before the last one didn't live longer than seven weeks. Unlikely my parents I don't exclude anybody. I have included you from the beginning. I walk circles, I have drawn so many circles, on paper. It is all invisible. Not material. I do not really need the material. Everyday I am fulfilled with the air I can breathe. The air being moved by you, beautiful Mus. Your breath, your sounds, your fortunately not so loudness, your thoughts, your knowlegde, your writings, your wit whispering to me.
zaterdag 20 juni 2015
Another interesting rose
Instruction:
Google on Ruby Rose
Go to : video's
Tab in first picture
Nice term: gender fluidity
Latin Luis
La sitiera he perdido contigo donde estabas tu? Mariposita de Primavera canta la sentimental. Ella y yo, no me vayas a enganar. No me llores mas veinte anos el hombre que yo Amerika. Siempre en mi corazon.
woensdag 17 juni 2015
It is time for rose peony by Bernd Eilts
All you need is................
http://nl.blurb.com/b/1469623-rose-peony
http://nl.blurb.com/b/1469623-rose-peony
http://nl.blurb.com/b/1469623-rose-peony
http://nl.blurb.com/b/1469623-rose-peony
Mees
Dubdubdubdubdub dubdubdub. Any time.
You asked me. What do you think of me. What a nerve! What? You are asking me? You have no idea of what I am! Do you? A digibesitas I answered, very rapidly. Something I do no more. Not any more. And it suits me. It makes me more myself. I know what I am! Why I gave you that answer? I never think something of anybody. I only feel a lot. So, in less than a second I remembered a conversation with red wine and a nice twentier about something that happend in Rome. You were there too, according to the talesperson. There was something with a device you seemed to be in charge of. BUT. It did not work the way you wanted it. It had a plug, so the story goes. In the end, the problem was plugging in. Acting to rapidly, forgetting the socket. A digibesitas could be characterized. Here Alpha, Beta calling. Grounded zero. Landing is permitted. How much time do you need?
Suppose, you are asking me the same question now. What do you think of me? I could describe what
I see when I study you, you walking, you talking, you sitting, you showing an immense world of compassion. I didn't recognize it in the first place. I did not look, too many distractions. Me, not able to recognize compassion. What would you think of me. Something I wouldn't care for if you were somebody else. What has bodylanguage do with this? A coach communication skills told me once. Eighty percent.
How now? Do I have to go south? It seems you know all about north- south axes. I would die for more knowledge. My curiosity will carry me as far as taste, despite the nineteenth century scientist and his smell research. I can be characterized as experimental.
For this summer I have this image in my mind. You don't know, but I am telling you now. I am an open water swimmer. With real tattoos and scars. The sharks are never far away. I found a way. I have developed a method, to smart them out. Or even better: to silence them. Yes, them. There are always with more than one. The protectionists. The ones which have something, some one to loose, they think. So many thinking misstakes are made in the world.......one could write a book about it.
Suppose you happen to be in the middle (place) of the middle (time). Suppose you and me share the same idea of space and time. Where would that be, do you think? And when?
I give you two clues: Circles in the sand. Circles in the former sea.
Off course I am inspired by Eco (1980), by Steven Hall (2007) and by you (Januari 2014). Say no more.
You asked me. What do you think of me. What a nerve! What? You are asking me? You have no idea of what I am! Do you? A digibesitas I answered, very rapidly. Something I do no more. Not any more. And it suits me. It makes me more myself. I know what I am! Why I gave you that answer? I never think something of anybody. I only feel a lot. So, in less than a second I remembered a conversation with red wine and a nice twentier about something that happend in Rome. You were there too, according to the talesperson. There was something with a device you seemed to be in charge of. BUT. It did not work the way you wanted it. It had a plug, so the story goes. In the end, the problem was plugging in. Acting to rapidly, forgetting the socket. A digibesitas could be characterized. Here Alpha, Beta calling. Grounded zero. Landing is permitted. How much time do you need?
Suppose, you are asking me the same question now. What do you think of me? I could describe what
I see when I study you, you walking, you talking, you sitting, you showing an immense world of compassion. I didn't recognize it in the first place. I did not look, too many distractions. Me, not able to recognize compassion. What would you think of me. Something I wouldn't care for if you were somebody else. What has bodylanguage do with this? A coach communication skills told me once. Eighty percent.
How now? Do I have to go south? It seems you know all about north- south axes. I would die for more knowledge. My curiosity will carry me as far as taste, despite the nineteenth century scientist and his smell research. I can be characterized as experimental.
For this summer I have this image in my mind. You don't know, but I am telling you now. I am an open water swimmer. With real tattoos and scars. The sharks are never far away. I found a way. I have developed a method, to smart them out. Or even better: to silence them. Yes, them. There are always with more than one. The protectionists. The ones which have something, some one to loose, they think. So many thinking misstakes are made in the world.......one could write a book about it.
Suppose you happen to be in the middle (place) of the middle (time). Suppose you and me share the same idea of space and time. Where would that be, do you think? And when?
I give you two clues: Circles in the sand. Circles in the former sea.
Off course I am inspired by Eco (1980), by Steven Hall (2007) and by you (Januari 2014). Say no more.
dinsdag 16 juni 2015
Weet je MUS
Mus
Weet je wel
Wie je bent
Als ik je onder mijn vergrootglazen leg
Dan zie ik
Ik hoor een brullend leeuwenland
Wat kijk je?
The remains of an Italian creation
Valentine
Een gouden adelaar
How do I know you?
Shock. I was shocked
I felt a muscle fall
Gompert writes about it
A recognition makes over hours
This time no Mexit
J No way and J No escape
When all colours are united
The whitest of white
Are to be felt in your toes
Weet je wel
Wie je bent
Als ik je onder mijn vergrootglazen leg
Dan zie ik
Ik hoor een brullend leeuwenland
Wat kijk je?
The remains of an Italian creation
Valentine
Een gouden adelaar
How do I know you?
Shock. I was shocked
I felt a muscle fall
Gompert writes about it
A recognition makes over hours
This time no Mexit
J No way and J No escape
When all colours are united
The whitest of white
Are to be felt in your toes
maandag 15 juni 2015
Mega mus
Nu het bijna zomer is
Verlang ik naar de herfst
De mooiste van alle jaren
Ik weet je houdt niet
Van de zee
Ze is er wel
En ook haar getijden
Volgens mij
Ben je lang
Gedepriveerd en geweest
Van het eb
Je veren zijn kleddernat
Mijn geluk is
Je berust niet
In het misverstand
Magistraal
1 2
1 2 3
1 2 3 4
Almost summertime now
Longing to autumn
Most beautiful of all
Seasons
I know you
Don' t love the sea
She is there you know
As her tides
According to me
You have been deprived
An orphan is low
Drowned and soaked
I am so happy
No resting in peace
Understanding in the end
Magical
Verlang ik naar de herfst
De mooiste van alle jaren
Ik weet je houdt niet
Van de zee
Ze is er wel
En ook haar getijden
Volgens mij
Ben je lang
Gedepriveerd en geweest
Van het eb
Je veren zijn kleddernat
Mijn geluk is
Je berust niet
In het misverstand
Magistraal
1 2
1 2 3
1 2 3 4
Almost summertime now
Longing to autumn
Most beautiful of all
Seasons
I know you
Don' t love the sea
She is there you know
As her tides
According to me
You have been deprived
An orphan is low
Drowned and soaked
I am so happy
No resting in peace
Understanding in the end
Magical
zondag 14 juni 2015
Hello WORLD here Arjen Boerstra
Arjen begint steeds meer op Vladimir Nabokov ( de schrijver ) te lijken. We schijnen allemaal alweer een dag ouder te zijn geworden
Te leuk om niet te delen.
http://www.arjenboerstra.nl
Te leuk om niet te delen.
http://www.arjenboerstra.nl
MUS or Mouse?
Strakke lijnen van toen
Rivieren, een delta, huizen en steden
Draaien abrupt honderdtachtig graden
Een open deur, ontsnapping
Er komt thee op negentig graden
Het gesprek moet nog beginnen
Samengaan van hoofd en hand
Een verwijzing naar een universum
Begint zich te ontvouwen
Lichte lijnen met grafieten punten
Tekenen een behoefte
Op de grens van hoog en laag
Or
What might have been
Which is always present
Echoos and memories
Down the fields
Towards the doors
We shall open
Into the rose
My mind
To what purpose, aim
Disturbing the dust on pink leaves
I know.
Courtesy to Els & Eliot
Rivieren, een delta, huizen en steden
Draaien abrupt honderdtachtig graden
Een open deur, ontsnapping
Er komt thee op negentig graden
Het gesprek moet nog beginnen
Samengaan van hoofd en hand
Een verwijzing naar een universum
Begint zich te ontvouwen
Lichte lijnen met grafieten punten
Tekenen een behoefte
Op de grens van hoog en laag
Or
What might have been
Which is always present
Echoos and memories
Down the fields
Towards the doors
We shall open
Into the rose
My mind
To what purpose, aim
Disturbing the dust on pink leaves
I know.
Courtesy to Els & Eliot
woensdag 10 juni 2015
South America flying
definition MUS is
male for Muze
Latin for Mose
.....Mose mus does not have a moment rest. The immediate reality fascinates him. It is becoming more fascinating than the sentimental universe of his memory. He is losing all the interest in the British literature, puts to rest the material that had become attended with years and years of reading. He goes back to being the man of earlier days when he had decided upon the layout of roads and the location of empty buildings so that no one would enjoy privileges that everyone did not have.
He will acquire such authority among the new arrivals that decisions would not be made without his being consulted.
male for Muze
Latin for Mose
.....Mose mus does not have a moment rest. The immediate reality fascinates him. It is becoming more fascinating than the sentimental universe of his memory. He is losing all the interest in the British literature, puts to rest the material that had become attended with years and years of reading. He goes back to being the man of earlier days when he had decided upon the layout of roads and the location of empty buildings so that no one would enjoy privileges that everyone did not have.
He will acquire such authority among the new arrivals that decisions would not be made without his being consulted.
dinsdag 9 juni 2015
MUS of the world
36 golden globes
Around the world
In a cirkel
I saw gou look at my right finger
You might think
This is about fidelity
For some one else
How wrong you are
Something in your eyes
Did I do something wrong
Will I ever understand
Compassion
32 in the past
I am counting down
4 minus three
That leaves you
What
If you just
Asked me?
Around the world
In a cirkel
I saw gou look at my right finger
You might think
This is about fidelity
For some one else
How wrong you are
Something in your eyes
Did I do something wrong
Will I ever understand
Compassion
32 in the past
I am counting down
4 minus three
That leaves you
What
If you just
Asked me?
maandag 8 juni 2015
sorry MUS nu Liesbeth Takken
Sorry MUS, dit was even te mooi!
[https://gallery.mailchimp.com/e3574931944f8f4083b2208a9/images/0cb4a770-a629-45f0-b113-b9e6e660855d.jpg]
Aardmonument 'Inner Circle' voor Symposion-Gorinchem
Artist: Liesbeth Takken
zondag 7 juni 2015
MUS next door
U la la
What a surprise
Perfect length
Smile
No, no no
No talking
Okay a bit
But no more
What happend to your hair?
Short fifties
Four months long
You are in the thirties now
My gift is a lettice
Young as poison
For in your cage
My vlamish rabbit
What a surprise
Perfect length
Smile
No, no no
No talking
Okay a bit
But no more
What happend to your hair?
Short fifties
Four months long
You are in the thirties now
My gift is a lettice
Young as poison
For in your cage
My vlamish rabbit
MR Bird is coming
Green point pink nails
Coetzee is never far away
Just, once a week
Structurally organised somewhere
Golden opportunities
Fiftytwo times a year
Fifty more years to go
The week of dreams has just began
The morning is mine
Vladimir is butterflying in my head
After midnight
I have to be at home
Knowing the fairytales
You know or understand
In between there is
Time for a new space
Fit for the pain
That is what she said
I felt it
When I saw you touching a little brown diamanted fur
And again I did' t see it coming
Unprepaired for all this giving
Trying to find words
In loads and loads of Spanish red
It is time to fly
My wings look like chicken
Jumping up and up
He is coming to town
Coetzee is never far away
Just, once a week
Structurally organised somewhere
Golden opportunities
Fiftytwo times a year
Fifty more years to go
The week of dreams has just began
The morning is mine
Vladimir is butterflying in my head
After midnight
I have to be at home
Knowing the fairytales
You know or understand
In between there is
Time for a new space
Fit for the pain
That is what she said
I felt it
When I saw you touching a little brown diamanted fur
And again I did' t see it coming
Unprepaired for all this giving
Trying to find words
In loads and loads of Spanish red
It is time to fly
My wings look like chicken
Jumping up and up
He is coming to town
vrijdag 5 juni 2015
AMUSe
It is the same as one year ago. Being intellectual longing for the sight of softness. Your skin is so smooth. Everybody notices that Seeing you for the first time. You asked: Why? Do they do that.
Took my breath away. An image in my head. A picture in my phone. You. Delicious memory. Blurred white and blue.
When do you come over?
We could swallow.
Now, I can start the day.
dinsdag 2 juni 2015
A second of June 2015
Speciale for you
I am wearing pink and green
Henry henry remember
More and more
Of twothousand and one
This late morning
The last match
Was used
To ingnite the candle rabbit
Seeing it, burning out
A flame, a wake warming
Rosemary, rosemary,
The weed, the herb
In the end, the end
You shall smell my hand
I am wearing pink and green
Henry henry remember
More and more
Of twothousand and one
This late morning
The last match
Was used
To ingnite the candle rabbit
Seeing it, burning out
A flame, a wake warming
Rosemary, rosemary,
The weed, the herb
In the end, the end
You shall smell my hand
maandag 1 juni 2015
When the Mouse is away let's play
Mouse, little mousy, moosypoosy
Where are you?
The wind has come
From the North
Blowing, blowing, sighing
As a rat, trapped
Memories of Mr. Mouse
Are startling my grey inner parts
I love to play
Like a dog
Lying on my back
Looking at the clouds hunting by
A little white mouse
Is playing its tablet
I am the genius
Where are you?
The wind has come
From the North
Blowing, blowing, sighing
As a rat, trapped
Memories of Mr. Mouse
Are startling my grey inner parts
I love to play
Like a dog
Lying on my back
Looking at the clouds hunting by
A little white mouse
Is playing its tablet
I am the genius
vrijdag 29 mei 2015
CAT and MOUSE
I found you in the river
A river silent and cursing
Day and night we drank
Tea, made by you
For you and me
Vedisch, a long time ago
Camera in front
You dived into roses
You bought for yourself
On the fish market
Night in night out
Twohundredfiftysix times
Exhaustion made you
Sleep a long time
You found yourself married
My dear Mouse
My, your, highness
I am going to make you
Famous, rich, whatever
Loved by every one
A river silent and cursing
Day and night we drank
Tea, made by you
For you and me
Vedisch, a long time ago
Camera in front
You dived into roses
You bought for yourself
On the fish market
Night in night out
Twohundredfiftysix times
Exhaustion made you
Sleep a long time
You found yourself married
My dear Mouse
My, your, highness
I am going to make you
Famous, rich, whatever
Loved by every one
dinsdag 26 mei 2015
MUS in memoriam
In sadness we meet. Our heads through the clouds. Safe, safe, safe. Where can we be safe together. Sometimes you come to me. To drink, to rest, to feed yourself. With information. Your spirited self. Cold hands, holding something warm. Something feeling beautiful. Imagine!
maandag 25 mei 2015
Master Mouse and Me
My master of St.Petersburg
Thinks in Amsterdam
Once he thought in Germany and France
He changed his name
A masters life is like a dog
Or did I turn into a master
They call Me Misses.
zondag 24 mei 2015
Its raining Mice
Yesterday
All my troubles seemed so far away
But now: paaaaaaaaartyyyyyyyyyy!
The world has never been more pink than today. Mommy what are you hip today. It is so funky what I have been thinking of, you never believe it. And am not going to tell you either.
I always and also recentelijk thought that touch was the latest of all senses. I had this idea about touching. Old hand young hand. You know, the painting, just restored somewhere in Italy. Printed manymany times. Spread all over the world. Artist and their fingerspitzengefühl. Pianists and their Black and white ivory sense for music. You can not imagine how wrong I was. Was I?
The secret is it happens all at the same time. Like a spider walking with six legs. Ask the spider: 'Which leg did you move first?' And see what happens ........too bad for the believers in progress. Circular web economy is dominant now. All my efforts to walk the nortpole, year in year out, has been rewarded by the funiest, icecreamhugging, very nearby Mouse of the River. The River Aa, YES. the Rivera you wish, darling.
Mouse, you follow, Mus with something round and something ieeeeeeee. Probably about four musses will fit in this one. I am very looking forward. Next week we 'll meet again. Maybe we will even talk about the children then. The never borns. Their never heard names. Their never opened eyes. They were so small and so red. I remember now. Do 't cry for me, Middle East.
All my troubles seemed so far away
But now: paaaaaaaaartyyyyyyyyyy!
The world has never been more pink than today. Mommy what are you hip today. It is so funky what I have been thinking of, you never believe it. And am not going to tell you either.
I always and also recentelijk thought that touch was the latest of all senses. I had this idea about touching. Old hand young hand. You know, the painting, just restored somewhere in Italy. Printed manymany times. Spread all over the world. Artist and their fingerspitzengefühl. Pianists and their Black and white ivory sense for music. You can not imagine how wrong I was. Was I?
The secret is it happens all at the same time. Like a spider walking with six legs. Ask the spider: 'Which leg did you move first?' And see what happens ........too bad for the believers in progress. Circular web economy is dominant now. All my efforts to walk the nortpole, year in year out, has been rewarded by the funiest, icecreamhugging, very nearby Mouse of the River. The River Aa, YES. the Rivera you wish, darling.
Mouse, you follow, Mus with something round and something ieeeeeeee. Probably about four musses will fit in this one. I am very looking forward. Next week we 'll meet again. Maybe we will even talk about the children then. The never borns. Their never heard names. Their never opened eyes. They were so small and so red. I remember now. Do 't cry for me, Middle East.
dinsdag 19 mei 2015
Death of Mus back to black poetry
I gave something on my sleeve
We can' t work it out
Michel is so right
The sink is the only place to be
Thousand parts of thousand luftballoons
In the light of life
Bright is the dark
A cinema noir
No sounds but the humming of men
Comfort, comfortable.
If, if, if you only had
Touched my sleeve, my foot
Caressed me there
Without passion
Only to care, care for me
You have been raised
In front, your duty is
But what happend, happens
When you are at home
Dear provo, dear Jack, dear you
In staed, on the contrary
You turned your eyes inside
With a little help
Out of the Belle epoque
Mama bloem mooi
Now it is your day
The day of Death
The day of no more
You, the king, the spirit
C' est le fin, what else?
donderdag 14 mei 2015
F# Mus page eightteen the real thing
Now I am eightteen
Grown up
Ready to F and L the world
F# skijongen
F# wielrenner
F# Paul 2x
F# Zeeland
F# pigface
F# Alexander
F# wodkarus
F# pianist
F# Arthur 2x
F# Martin
F#Wes
F# Willem
F# Joost
F# Ton
F# Volker
F# dichter Rotterdam
F# architect
F# Arjan
F# Erik
F# Bananalies
F#Marlies
F# Koert
F#Dirk
Love you
Grown up
Ready to F and L the world
F# skijongen
F# wielrenner
F# Paul 2x
F# Zeeland
F# pigface
F# Alexander
F# wodkarus
F# pianist
F# Arthur 2x
F# Martin
F#Wes
F# Willem
F# Joost
F# Ton
F# Volker
F# dichter Rotterdam
F# architect
F# Arjan
F# Erik
F# Bananalies
F#Marlies
F# Koert
F#Dirk
Love you
woensdag 13 mei 2015
Musiness Page seventeen fiction
If you want to
Shoot me
Do it now
My fingers, my hand, my elbow, my shoulder. On the right. Are trying so hard to ease the pain I feel inside. Why are you so far away, my next door boy. Leaving me here just by myself and my yellow bag.
The rosemary is drying up, the azelea turned mango and my heart is choking. The train, the train, you had to catch it for another job. What is the point of me being here, in cloudy air.
Don't cry for me. I'll wake you up on a day you least expected. Bringing you, bringing you, well, you know where the fridge is.
Your icequeen is melting.
Shoot me
Do it now
My fingers, my hand, my elbow, my shoulder. On the right. Are trying so hard to ease the pain I feel inside. Why are you so far away, my next door boy. Leaving me here just by myself and my yellow bag.
The rosemary is drying up, the azelea turned mango and my heart is choking. The train, the train, you had to catch it for another job. What is the point of me being here, in cloudy air.
Don't cry for me. I'll wake you up on a day you least expected. Bringing you, bringing you, well, you know where the fridge is.
Your icequeen is melting.
dinsdag 12 mei 2015
Muzzzzzzz. page sixteen Writeons
Today I am so happy
Cause I found a friend
In my head
One year. Only one year I had to stand you. You irritating, noisy, bossy piece of orphan. The darling
of the real king, the office Top Dog. What was I doing there. Me, snoopy, the genius. Pulling lines. Something very hard to do for others, language people. Alpha they were once called. Well, that is old school. Everybody knows that by now. Especially you. You blond, bold, Nordic kind of Viking. Sound territoriing piece of space.
The only good thing you left me was Nirvana. This weeks special in The House, almost two o' clock in the afternoon. I am on a plane. My baby is diving after paper money. Naked. All fingers in the water. Greedy and drown. He refused to do the dishes. It is so quit now.
And then I remember you. You muzzzzzzzzz. You underthing. I wish all your teeth are brown by now. Who said all memories are sweet. You wish you looked like a colourful car called desire. You are nothing compared to the owner of the pink cadillac. Above all, I met you on the train, much later. When the thick wooden bridges were build. Two ugly fat monstruous products of engineering.
Fortunately I gave up driving a car. I would have driven more than thousand miles more. Only to avoid these creations of yours. Founded till the end of times. There is so much water around, it is very unlikely they will burn down one time. You talk easy. You don't have to look at them. You don't have to undergo through them. I bet you are smiling your fake glory to some new clients now. I bet they are female and amusing your attention. So far for women without taste.
This felt good. This was excellent to go through. I razored you out of my system by doing this. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar.
Cause I found a friend
In my head
One year. Only one year I had to stand you. You irritating, noisy, bossy piece of orphan. The darling
of the real king, the office Top Dog. What was I doing there. Me, snoopy, the genius. Pulling lines. Something very hard to do for others, language people. Alpha they were once called. Well, that is old school. Everybody knows that by now. Especially you. You blond, bold, Nordic kind of Viking. Sound territoriing piece of space.
The only good thing you left me was Nirvana. This weeks special in The House, almost two o' clock in the afternoon. I am on a plane. My baby is diving after paper money. Naked. All fingers in the water. Greedy and drown. He refused to do the dishes. It is so quit now.
And then I remember you. You muzzzzzzzzz. You underthing. I wish all your teeth are brown by now. Who said all memories are sweet. You wish you looked like a colourful car called desire. You are nothing compared to the owner of the pink cadillac. Above all, I met you on the train, much later. When the thick wooden bridges were build. Two ugly fat monstruous products of engineering.
Fortunately I gave up driving a car. I would have driven more than thousand miles more. Only to avoid these creations of yours. Founded till the end of times. There is so much water around, it is very unlikely they will burn down one time. You talk easy. You don't have to look at them. You don't have to undergo through them. I bet you are smiling your fake glory to some new clients now. I bet they are female and amusing your attention. So far for women without taste.
This felt good. This was excellent to go through. I razored you out of my system by doing this. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar.
zondag 10 mei 2015
MUZ page fifteen literatata
Mussen vallen in bosjes
Van her dak
Ik begrijp je wel
O, o , o wat was ik blij vandaag. Gisteren eigenlijk al, maar toen wist ik het nog niet. Ik had er geen idee van dat een konijn zo kon kijken. En zo kon schrijven. Jaren geleden vond ik een konijn op het dak van de roze gespoten bunker. Die ten noorden van De Groeve. Het. Hij. Zij. Ik heb het niet gecheckt. Ik durfde het niet aan te raken. Hufters. Zo nonchalant je over het staal lag gebogen. Je rug gebroken. Je oren, zacht, nog warm. Doorbloed. Waterschapsheuvel.
En vandaag biedt iemand me gemarineerde lam aan. Alleen leven op glazen rood ziet er zeker niet meer uit. Zal ik het vertellen? Van rabbit trouve. Hardware van een oude tuin verdwijnt in het vuur. Vroeger lachte je nog wel eens. Denk je wel eens na voordat je wat zegt? Een beloning met rust. Zo makkelijk is het dus. Mussssss! Waar zit je.
Sometimes you are so hard to find. Waarom heb ik je boek niet gelezen toen ik dertien was. Dan had ik nooit in deze herrie gezeten. Pretenties? Verlossing? Een keer. Al is het een keer. Naar je schuchtere hoofd te reiken, zijdelings. Je mag blijven kijken. Naar wat jezelf wil. Mijn lange koele vingers zullen eerst langs jouw handen moeten zien te komen. Het geeft je iets Zuid Amerikaans. Die gebaren in de lucht. Die alle kanten op wijzen, behalve de jouwe.
Hoe zal ik dat nu eens gaan aanpakken.
Van her dak
Ik begrijp je wel
O, o , o wat was ik blij vandaag. Gisteren eigenlijk al, maar toen wist ik het nog niet. Ik had er geen idee van dat een konijn zo kon kijken. En zo kon schrijven. Jaren geleden vond ik een konijn op het dak van de roze gespoten bunker. Die ten noorden van De Groeve. Het. Hij. Zij. Ik heb het niet gecheckt. Ik durfde het niet aan te raken. Hufters. Zo nonchalant je over het staal lag gebogen. Je rug gebroken. Je oren, zacht, nog warm. Doorbloed. Waterschapsheuvel.
En vandaag biedt iemand me gemarineerde lam aan. Alleen leven op glazen rood ziet er zeker niet meer uit. Zal ik het vertellen? Van rabbit trouve. Hardware van een oude tuin verdwijnt in het vuur. Vroeger lachte je nog wel eens. Denk je wel eens na voordat je wat zegt? Een beloning met rust. Zo makkelijk is het dus. Mussssss! Waar zit je.
Sometimes you are so hard to find. Waarom heb ik je boek niet gelezen toen ik dertien was. Dan had ik nooit in deze herrie gezeten. Pretenties? Verlossing? Een keer. Al is het een keer. Naar je schuchtere hoofd te reiken, zijdelings. Je mag blijven kijken. Naar wat jezelf wil. Mijn lange koele vingers zullen eerst langs jouw handen moeten zien te komen. Het geeft je iets Zuid Amerikaans. Die gebaren in de lucht. Die alle kanten op wijzen, behalve de jouwe.
Hoe zal ik dat nu eens gaan aanpakken.
vrijdag 8 mei 2015
Male muze page fourteen literature
In een groen groen groen groen knollen knollen land
Daar zaten twee hazen heel parmant
En de een die blies de fluite fluite fluit
En de ander sloeg de trommel
In a green green green green carrot carrot field
Do the British really sing such songs?
And the other bammed good dammed
Wat een herrie moet dat geweest zijn. Wat een genot. Alarmerend ook, want, waren zij alleen?
Op het eind van het nulnummer schrijft Mr. Eco iets wat ik me niet meer precies, letterlijk herinner. Wat me in grote lijnen deed herinneren aan het einde van Liefde in tijden van cholera. Bij meneer Groenberg is juist dat nu het begin, wat dan net weer wel beëindigd is. Alleen Joke en ik zien het net iets anders. Joke schreef het al, het feest van het begin, in het midden van de achttiende eeuw. Hier gaat het feest nog steeds door. The party is still going on. En het worden er steeds meer.
Wat? War? Meer hazen of meer feestjes. Of allebei ? Hebben die twee met dat ene te maken?
Waar heb je het nu eigenlijk over? Over die roze bril, natuurlijk. Konijntje. Doggie dog.
Daar zaten twee hazen heel parmant
En de een die blies de fluite fluite fluit
En de ander sloeg de trommel
In a green green green green carrot carrot field
Do the British really sing such songs?
And the other bammed good dammed
Wat een herrie moet dat geweest zijn. Wat een genot. Alarmerend ook, want, waren zij alleen?
Op het eind van het nulnummer schrijft Mr. Eco iets wat ik me niet meer precies, letterlijk herinner. Wat me in grote lijnen deed herinneren aan het einde van Liefde in tijden van cholera. Bij meneer Groenberg is juist dat nu het begin, wat dan net weer wel beëindigd is. Alleen Joke en ik zien het net iets anders. Joke schreef het al, het feest van het begin, in het midden van de achttiende eeuw. Hier gaat het feest nog steeds door. The party is still going on. En het worden er steeds meer.
Wat? War? Meer hazen of meer feestjes. Of allebei ? Hebben die twee met dat ene te maken?
Waar heb je het nu eigenlijk over? Over die roze bril, natuurlijk. Konijntje. Doggie dog.
woensdag 6 mei 2015
Male muze page thirteen bloglit something
Maybe you have become
The elephant you were
Looking for so long
Misschien ben je zelf
De olifant geworden
Die je al zolang zocht
And because I am looking in the air, all day. Viewing the clouds passing by. From the right to the left. Seeing the rain coming down, for only one minute. My head is not connected with any other words than the words I read. Shall I share it with you, my dear elephant?
I do not take a no for an answer. And I also do not want to hear any comments with a sound that makes it less dramatic.
Joakim Zander wrote on page 206, De Zwemmer:
Zijn ogen waren niet langer kil, maar teder. Zachte pijltjes uit het verleden. Beloften gefluisterd op de galerij in Carolina Rediviva, op regennatte bruggen over de Fyris bij zonsopgang, na slapeloze nachten, twee lichamen op een smal bed in een uitgewoonde studentenkamer. Ze was vergeten dat ze van Mahmoud had gehouden. Dat hij de enige was van wie ze ooit gehouden had. Hoe kon je zoiets vergeten? Ze richtte haar hoofd op en voelde hoe de sneeuw als tranen op haar wange neerkwam.
His eyes were no longer chilled but tender. Soft arrows from the past. She had forgotten she loved
Mahmoud once. She had forgotten he was the only one she ever loved. How could one possibly forget something like that?
The elephant you were
Looking for so long
Misschien ben je zelf
De olifant geworden
Die je al zolang zocht
And because I am looking in the air, all day. Viewing the clouds passing by. From the right to the left. Seeing the rain coming down, for only one minute. My head is not connected with any other words than the words I read. Shall I share it with you, my dear elephant?
I do not take a no for an answer. And I also do not want to hear any comments with a sound that makes it less dramatic.
Joakim Zander wrote on page 206, De Zwemmer:
Zijn ogen waren niet langer kil, maar teder. Zachte pijltjes uit het verleden. Beloften gefluisterd op de galerij in Carolina Rediviva, op regennatte bruggen over de Fyris bij zonsopgang, na slapeloze nachten, twee lichamen op een smal bed in een uitgewoonde studentenkamer. Ze was vergeten dat ze van Mahmoud had gehouden. Dat hij de enige was van wie ze ooit gehouden had. Hoe kon je zoiets vergeten? Ze richtte haar hoofd op en voelde hoe de sneeuw als tranen op haar wange neerkwam.
His eyes were no longer chilled but tender. Soft arrows from the past. She had forgotten she loved
Mahmoud once. She had forgotten he was the only one she ever loved. How could one possibly forget something like that?
dinsdag 5 mei 2015
My male muze page twelve bloglit something
Een wereld van verschil
Tussen helpen en delen
Mooie mussen on the side
André, jongen. Wat een tijd geleden. Op naar den Haag en weer terug of toch door? Het eerste jaar uit het nest. Wat een praatjes, jij. In die tijd was ik de helderheid zelve en genoot van al het nieuwe. Nieuwe mensen, nieuwe gebouwen. Veel hogere ook. Nog dramatischer zonsondergangen, de westkust vijfentwintig kilometer verderop. De stad was uitgestorven, wij waren samen. Een feestje verderop. Een huis met alleen maar kamers, mensen op de grond. Ogen open, geen contact. Kom, we gaan. Jij bleek het spoor bijster. Man, wat moest ik je bijsturen.
En nu zie ik je met bagage achterop. In een andere stad. Na de voorstelling drinken we wat. Jij met je lelijke meisje, according to Jan. Ik met jullie. De vriendin pulkt aan haar net gestoomde dikke jas.
Pink cadillac. Als een Canadees, galant , afwachtend, bevrijdend. Ik zit naast je, in het eerste oude stadje. Of beter, ik zit tussen jullie in, hoogst comfortabel. De een stuurt, de ander streelt mijn oor. Met woorden, uiteraard. Ik moet telkens lachen. Onder mij een opwindende trilling. Wat anderen ook wel hebben als ze alleen motorrijden. Anders wordt het als je stopt. Kunnen we hier niet eindeloos mee doorgaan? Rechts stapt uit. Ik kijk naar links. Zeg iets. Wat hoor ik? Wat ik zie. Te snel sta ik op de stoep. Links blijft zitten. Portier gaat dicht, geronk, verdwijnt. O, wat heb ik gedaan? Ik kijk naar beneden, ik val. Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Tussen helpen en delen
Mooie mussen on the side
André, jongen. Wat een tijd geleden. Op naar den Haag en weer terug of toch door? Het eerste jaar uit het nest. Wat een praatjes, jij. In die tijd was ik de helderheid zelve en genoot van al het nieuwe. Nieuwe mensen, nieuwe gebouwen. Veel hogere ook. Nog dramatischer zonsondergangen, de westkust vijfentwintig kilometer verderop. De stad was uitgestorven, wij waren samen. Een feestje verderop. Een huis met alleen maar kamers, mensen op de grond. Ogen open, geen contact. Kom, we gaan. Jij bleek het spoor bijster. Man, wat moest ik je bijsturen.
En nu zie ik je met bagage achterop. In een andere stad. Na de voorstelling drinken we wat. Jij met je lelijke meisje, according to Jan. Ik met jullie. De vriendin pulkt aan haar net gestoomde dikke jas.
Pink cadillac. Als een Canadees, galant , afwachtend, bevrijdend. Ik zit naast je, in het eerste oude stadje. Of beter, ik zit tussen jullie in, hoogst comfortabel. De een stuurt, de ander streelt mijn oor. Met woorden, uiteraard. Ik moet telkens lachen. Onder mij een opwindende trilling. Wat anderen ook wel hebben als ze alleen motorrijden. Anders wordt het als je stopt. Kunnen we hier niet eindeloos mee doorgaan? Rechts stapt uit. Ik kijk naar links. Zeg iets. Wat hoor ik? Wat ik zie. Te snel sta ik op de stoep. Links blijft zitten. Portier gaat dicht, geronk, verdwijnt. O, wat heb ik gedaan? Ik kijk naar beneden, ik val. Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
vrijdag 1 mei 2015
My male muze page eleven bloglitsomething
Er was een mijsje
Liep door het park
Naar de vijver met groep drie
Dit jaar heb ik als doel gesteld dat ik je leer mij begrijpen. Begrijpen, MuisMetVleugels. Grijpen met een b. Hoe bgrijp jij de mensen? Mensen die niet zijn zoals jij? Als je me dat kan uitleggen, dan kan ik tenminste mijn doel halen. Ga je dat doen? Mij vertellen, schrijven, mimespelen of me roze koeken laten eten. Om jou mij te bgrijpen. Of wil je me leren kennen. Wil je jezelf beter leren kennen, door mij. Ben je een volger, een gehoorzame wereldgast van het imperatief, ooit, op de tempel van Apollo, Griekenland someplace. KEN U ZELF. De Grieken begrijpen dat sinds eeuwen. En handelen ernaar. Reisje Athene binnenkort, samen? Of denk je nu al dat het een expeditie wordt, met zo'n onvoorspelbaar Mijsje. Is onvoorspelbaar synoniem aan ongrijpbaar? Jij mag het denken. Synoniem aan de gedachte 'Wat heb ik nu aan haar?' Gedachten vanuit het bezit. Ben je bezitterig? Nu gaat het pijn doen. Niet zo hard knijpen. Llaaaaaaaat me los. Ik krijg al zo snel blauwe plekken.
Als je je donkerblauwe jas aan hebt, in het bezit van iets nieuws, een vondst, ergens van een andere plek. Zie ik je vliegen. Ik heb er lang over na moeten denken waar je me dan aan doet denken, met drie treden tegelijk de trappen van de stad op. Het heeft met film te maken. En iemand met een cape, het gezicht bedekt, de ogen uitgeknipt. Ergens in Zuid Amerika of was het toch Mexico, Los Angeles? Ergens in die buurt van de wereld. Prachtige landschappen met sinaasappelbomen, eindeloos. Ik denk aan Mus met een Z. Zus. Jantje Zus, als ik Antj weglaat krijg ik Jezus. Goh! Wie had dat nu nooit gedacht? Drieëndertig was je, toen je stierf. Uitgeput. Genageld, bekrast. Bevroren. Aan de kant gezet, uitgesloten, verblind. Bloedend. Leeg.
Liep door het park
Naar de vijver met groep drie
Dit jaar heb ik als doel gesteld dat ik je leer mij begrijpen. Begrijpen, MuisMetVleugels. Grijpen met een b. Hoe bgrijp jij de mensen? Mensen die niet zijn zoals jij? Als je me dat kan uitleggen, dan kan ik tenminste mijn doel halen. Ga je dat doen? Mij vertellen, schrijven, mimespelen of me roze koeken laten eten. Om jou mij te bgrijpen. Of wil je me leren kennen. Wil je jezelf beter leren kennen, door mij. Ben je een volger, een gehoorzame wereldgast van het imperatief, ooit, op de tempel van Apollo, Griekenland someplace. KEN U ZELF. De Grieken begrijpen dat sinds eeuwen. En handelen ernaar. Reisje Athene binnenkort, samen? Of denk je nu al dat het een expeditie wordt, met zo'n onvoorspelbaar Mijsje. Is onvoorspelbaar synoniem aan ongrijpbaar? Jij mag het denken. Synoniem aan de gedachte 'Wat heb ik nu aan haar?' Gedachten vanuit het bezit. Ben je bezitterig? Nu gaat het pijn doen. Niet zo hard knijpen. Llaaaaaaaat me los. Ik krijg al zo snel blauwe plekken.
Als je je donkerblauwe jas aan hebt, in het bezit van iets nieuws, een vondst, ergens van een andere plek. Zie ik je vliegen. Ik heb er lang over na moeten denken waar je me dan aan doet denken, met drie treden tegelijk de trappen van de stad op. Het heeft met film te maken. En iemand met een cape, het gezicht bedekt, de ogen uitgeknipt. Ergens in Zuid Amerika of was het toch Mexico, Los Angeles? Ergens in die buurt van de wereld. Prachtige landschappen met sinaasappelbomen, eindeloos. Ik denk aan Mus met een Z. Zus. Jantje Zus, als ik Antj weglaat krijg ik Jezus. Goh! Wie had dat nu nooit gedacht? Drieëndertig was je, toen je stierf. Uitgeput. Genageld, bekrast. Bevroren. Aan de kant gezet, uitgesloten, verblind. Bloedend. Leeg.
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