...buiten zit ik op een breed terras. Ik hoor het geroezemoes van gezelligheid, en toch ben ik de enige hier. Het diepe glas koel witbier lijkt niet op te kunnen, en de vloeiende jazz heeft me al jaren geleden de ogen doen sluiten. Ik geniet van de warmte en leg enorme afstanden af, ondanks het feit dat ik stil zit. De dame naast me, haar hand in de mijne, lijkt een witte fee in haar zomerjurkje, en ze reist met me mee. De avond is oneindig, of is het middag? Het maakt niet uit, deze zon gaat nooit onder.
Ik wil je schrijven, ik wil je tekenen, ik wil je vertellen...
...ik wil je naam in de maagdelijke sneeuw schrijven, het witte canvas gebruiken om over jou te vertellen. ...ik wil je naam op het ijs schaatsen, scherp spellend met een flair. ...ik wil je naam fluisteren in de wind, die de bloemen aait en jou naar ze toe brengt. ...ik wil letters op je rug tekenen, je laten raden wat ik spel, jouw lichaam het avontuur laten opnemen wat ik je wil laten leiden. ...ik wil jou kunnen schrijven, ik wil je kunnen tekenen, ik wil je kunnen vertellen, hopend de woorden te vinden die van jou zijn, woorden die me laten struikelen, die me laten vallen in de zee, woorden waarin ik wil verdrinken, de letters, de tekeningen, tot me nemen tot ik niets anders meer kan schrijven, tot ik niets anders meer kan tekenen, dat ik niets meer anders kan zeggen.
...ik wil over je schrijven, ik wil over je tekenen, ik wil over je vertellen... wil iedereen laten weten dat jij de alpha en de omega bent, de oneindige kleuren van de regenboog, de proloog en het slotstuk.
Jij bent mijn alfabet, mijn doos met kleurtjes, mijn boekenserie... ...en je bent oneindig jou.
But the morning will come. New light. Clear thoughts. Thoughts you don't want to hear. Thoughts why you drink.
Why you try to forget.
You don't like where you are. The role the universe picked for you. You know you're supposed to be here, the way it is supposed to be. Supposed. Ugly word. You don't want to be there. But it doesn't matter what you think.
It feels unfair, but as soon as you accept your role, it will be okey. But how can you be ok with what you see.With what you feel.
The tragedy of it all. Knowing that they will learn. Learn about life. Lose their naivety. Lose that unsoiled look, on how life is supposed to be.
You don't want them to learn. You want them to keep that outlook on life. Never get to that point where you have been. And went beyond.
You think you don't care anymore. You think you've seen so much, it doesn't get to you anymore. But when the blood flows, soils the clear water, it has gone down the stream without you being able to do anything about it. You try to shout, tell them to stay back. Don't bleed in the water. Let it be clean, let it flow.
But they stray near. Try to get to you. They feel you can help them. They step into the river. That clean river of promises. They talk. But you don't hear them anymore. Their faces, added to a long line of empty shells. You try to forget.
Forget they talked. Forget they tried. You wish for another start. But the blood is there now. The water has been soiled.
Another empty promise.
But they'll find you again.
And the blood...
It will flow again.
They say an end can be a start Feels like I've been buried yet I'm still alive It's like a bad day that never ends I feel the chaos around me
A thing I don't try to deny I'd better learn to accept that There are things in my life that I can't control
They say love ain't nothing but a sore I don't even know what love is Too many tears have had to fall Don't you know I'm so tired of it all
I have known terror dizzy spells Finding out the secrets words won't tell Whatever it is it can't be named There's a part of my world that' s fading away
You know I don't want to be clever To be brilliant or superior True like ice, true like fire Now I know that a breeze can blow me away
Now I know there's much more dignity In defeat than in the brightest victory I'm losing my balance on the tight rope Tell me please, tell me please, tell me please...
If I ever feel better Remind me to spend some good time with you You can give me your number When it's all over I'll let you know
Hang on to the good days I can lean on my friends They help me going through hard times
But I'm feeding the enemy I'm in league with the foe Blame me for what's happening I can't try, I can't try, I can't try...
No one knows the hard times I went through If happiness came I miss the call The stormy days ain't over I've tried and lost know I think that I pay the cost
Now I've watched all my castles fall They were made of dust, after all
Someday all this mess will make me laugh I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait...
It's like somebody took my place I ain't even playing my own game The rules have changed well I didn't know There are things in my life I can't control
Dark is the night, cold is the ground In the circular solitude of my heart As one who strives a hill to climb I am sure I'll come through I don't know how
They say an end can be a start Feels like I've been buried yet I'm still alive I'm losing my balance on the tight rope Tell me please, tell me please, tell me please...
If I ever feel better Remind me to spend some good time with you You can give me your number
It is shredded wheat. Not frosted. A big block of it in a plain white
bowl, half full of milk.
It is on a table, where a man sits. There is
no other food on the table.
The man is dressed in a white
shirt and black slacks, and he'll put on a tie when he's finished.
he's not alone, it's just very early and his family is still asleep. He
takes his spoon and
turns the block of shredded wheat over in its bowl,
so that the other side can soak. He feels his
hunger, but he waits
anyway. After a period of time, of a length roughly the same as
and the day before (this time-period has become instinctual
for him), he picks up his spoon and
begins to break the block up. Not
completely of course, just into chunks that fit squarely onto
The chunks usually have one side that's soggy and one side that's still
a little bit crunchy.
The way he spoons each into his mouth, along with
an appropriate quantity of milk, puts the
crunchy side at his teeth and
the soggy side on his tongue.
As he chews, the crunchy side
gets pulverized while the soggy side is mashed up by the natural
of the tongue while chewing. When he has eaten all the chunks, there is
still milk left in
the bowl, and in it the crumbs that resulted from
breaking the initial block. He does not raise the
bowl to his lips to
drink the remainder; even though no one is there to see, he sticks to
and dutifully drains the bowl spoonful by spoonful. When
he is finished, there are still crumbs in
the bowl. He gets up from the
table, takes the bowl to the sink, and quickly rinses it out.
the bowl in the sink; it will be dealt with later. He walks away to get
his things, and then
...heel even waan je je op het balkon van je villa, waar je met een warme deken op een lounge-chair zit,
kijkend naar de vallende herfstbladeren en het palet van bruin, geel en donkerrood,
op een achtergrond van een zachtblauwe hemel.
De down-tempo jazz die uit het atrium golft geeft net genoeg aanzet om net niks te doen,
en de french maid is dichtbij genoeg om je theekop, handgemaakt en beschilderd met een herfstlandschap,
bij te vullen op het moment dat je de bodem bijna kan zien.
Geur, smaak, het uitzicht, het gevoel, voor even is alles goed met de wereld. Je bedenkt je
dat de enige keuze die je vandaag hoeft te maken over het eten gaat.
En je hebt de hele middag nog.
Langzaam zweeft er een havik voorbij, zeilend op de warme lucht. Ik kijk ´m na,
tot ´ie achter de bomen verdwijnt.
"Our brittle guinea-pig cookies are handmade by utilizing a large hammer and a large supply of fresh guinea-pigs. Our employees are all mastered hammer smiths with a degree in Hammering from the school of MC Hammer. Because they know where and how to strike none of the original flavor is lost during the process."
Proudlot heeft weer een nieuw product op de markt gebracht. Bekend geworden door o.a. onderzoek naar de Bulgaarse Zeehamster en foto -en videobewerking, weet het bedrijf wederom de aandacht te trekken met een gedurfde versnapering. De koekjes zijn heerlijk krokant, en zonder toegevoegde suikers, kleur, geur -en smaakstoffen. Er zijn plannen voor compleet assortiment met diverse rassen cavia.
It seems like she'd stand there silently, just looking at me. No, looking slightly over my shoulder, staring with unbending intensity at whatever she sees there. As I realize this, I turn to look. Nothing is behind me. I turn back, and she's still there... still staring. She hasn't moved a muscle, yet I could swear she's closer to me than she was before. I take a few steps to the side. She continues staring just past me, her head turns ever so slowly to follow my movement. Still unblinking. Always unblinking. I can't help but blink my own eyes with extra frequency to make up for it.
She begins to walk toward me with such grace that it seems like she's gliding. Her feet are moving, and with an odd irregularity that it seems should result in a noticeable limp, yet everything above her waist is so absolutely rock-steady. Once she is close to me, she raises her hand, and ever so gently touches me on the shoulder. I feel something... a spark? A tingle? Her very touch is calming, soothing, like a river washing away all my worries and cares.
Then she smiles. It starts tiny, an almost imperceptible rise at the corners of her mouth. It grows, spreading across her face. I see her perfect teeth, all shiny white and straight. Not perfect exactly, now that I look closer, it almost looks like every one is an incisor. I stare, frozen in awe as her smile continues to grow. She's showing off a lot of teeth now... a lot of teeth. More than I would think possible. Her once tiny mouth has grown to comical proportions, yet her eyes are unmoved, not a blink, not a twitch.
Transfixed, I can't look away. Her jaw begins to lower as the corners of her once dainty mouth creep onward toward her ears. I see the teeth, they must number in the hundreds. No, no the first row numbers in the hundreds, and there are more behind them. As her jaw lowers, seemingly unhinged, a black ichor begins to dribble from her lips. Framed by hundreds of sharp teeth, a long pair of insectile pincers begins to extend from the place where I would have expected a tongue.
I finally manage to avert my eyes, stealing a quick glance over to my arm where she touched me. There's something there, like a thorn from a rose stem, but bigger. The top end of it is pulsating, pumping, growing smaller ever so slightly each time. I try to be afraid. I know with every scrap of logic in my mind that I should be awash with terror, but I don't seem to remember how to fear. I don't know how to feel fear, or anger, or anxiety... or anything much really. Besides, my arms and legs feel as if they're made of lead, I couldn't run or fight if I wanted to. I don't want to anyway. I don't want anything in particular. I don't want.
My eyes grow heavy as her face grows slowly closer to me. My, how it's changed since I last looked. The eyes though, the steel-blue eyes are still staring, unmoved and ever unchanging. My eyes droop, they close, I see no more. I feel something gently wrap itself around my head, I feel her embrace, she holds me so tightly. She holds me close, I hear the beating of her heart, feel the warmth of her body, the acid burn of her against my skin.
There's a crunching noise that seems to be coming from somewhere very close. A deep, hard crunch, like listening to my mom cracking walnuts. As I begin to fade into the blackness it almost seems that I can feel that noise in my very bones.
God heeft in Nederland een telefoonnummer. Je krijgt echter direct zijn voice-mail, en ik heb nog niemand gehoord die teruggebeld werd of daadwerkelijk contact met hem kreeg. Ik begrijp ook wel waarom niet: ze hebben het verkeerde nummer opgegeven. Expres of per ongeluk, het nummer lijkt niet op het nummer wat ik heb.Je kan hem sowieso beter niet proberen te bellen, want hij neemt zijn telefoon vaak niet eens mee als hij op reis gaat. E-mailen is dan ook verstandiger, want God bekijkt elk uur zijn e-mail! Hij is ook zeer attent als het om afspraken gaat, zoals bij deze afzegging, welke hij ruim van te voren naar me had verstuurd. Daar kunnen sommige mensen nog wat van leren!