writing
a year or two ago i was really into writing. mostly short, poetic sketches. in english
for some reason. lately i have not been writing a lot, and not as good as i think
i have in the past, but knowing me this might very well mean there's a new wave
of verbal creativity on it's way.
when suddenly i find myself
smiling at strangers,
giggling at sunshine
and laughing in the rain.
just when you think you're stuck
and nothing ever changes:
there's a shift of perspective
and nothing's the same.
you take a deep breath
and dive under again.
28-10-2007
autumn
this is how we are different:
you like watching the leaves fall,
i like watching the trees strip naked.
i guess that means that we both like it.
13-12-2006
excitement
when it finally lifts of, and i'm somewhere in between the clouds and the shadows
they cast on the ground, i realize this is actually hapening. every time i see an
'exit' sign today i read 'exited' and i think to myself "spelling: bad. feeling:
good."
the moment
where the camera zooms out
and captures the glory of it all.
this attempt...
it's just a bad replacement
for the camera lying on my desk.
20-09-2006
There Is Truth In Our Lies, But When We Try To See It,
It Becomes Invisible
She Sees Him.
my eyes are closed and i vomit. i throw up all the food, liquor and frustration i
can get out and then some more. one more contraction of my stomach and i will be
relieved. one more.
my knees are resting on cold tiles and my hands are trying to get a grip on fancy
porcelain that is trying to make people believe that, despite of them having to
shit and piss like anybody else, they are different, they are special. i feel sick
and the thought that there is no reason to does not make me feel better at all.
in a few moments i will get up, wash my face and hands, stare into the mirror (as
if soul searching an alter ego), put on a smile and join the rest of the world in
this scheme to make ourselves believe we are worth it. this big lie we tell to ourselves
and our lovers, before we kiss each other goodnight and enter the nightmares we
wouldn't dare to share with them.
i'll smoothen my dress, put on the happiest face i can pull together and step out
of the restroom, into the chaos. please, please, let it be alright from now on.
there's no escape so it might as well be now. i walk.
i find my place again, in between the smiling faces. are any of them even partly
real? at the moment everything looks like a facade to me, as bright as the crystal
glasses standing on the table. the opacity defined by the drinks they contain. i
put on a smile, try to give some charming replies and ignore the hand sliding over
my left thigh.
"ignore it and it will go away", who hasn't heard that phrase too many times. i
stopped believing in it some time ago, but at least i've learned to not worry about
something you can't stop from happening, until it is actually there. ignorance might
not be bliss, but it can be a damn good surviving mechanism.
the waiter walks by and i order a baileys.
my eyes glide over the restaurant, looking for something from another world. an
escape route, if only in my mind. they catch my eye immediately:
a young couple holding hands across the table. her back is turned to me, the top
covered under a curtain of hair. she's hunched forward a bit, probably to be able
to reach his hand. she's tiny and fragile looking, something that would break if
you held it tight.
he looks at her as if even the wrong look could damage her. softness pouring out
of his eyes. his hand is not so much holding hers as protecting it. her head moves,
he listens.
it all looks simple and real to me and i wish i could be one of them. either one.
i wish for someone to hold my hand that gently: protecting it from the rest of the
world, but if necessary ready to pull me out of my chains to bring me to a secret
hiding place.
to be somewhere untouched and unspoiled.
but i sit here. a smile on my face to fill in the blankness that would probably
fill itself with tears otherwise. when did the irony replace itself with self-pity?
i would like to go back to that moment in time and change whatever it takes to reverse
the process. at least there used to be some fun in being miserable.
He Sees Her.
We're sitting in a restaurant and we're breaking up. this short line keeps repeating
itself in my head: we're sitting in a restaurant and we're breaking up. i am sitting
in a restaurant with the most beautiful, tender human being i know and i'm breaking
her heart. this was not what i had in mind when i planned a night out for us, but
sometimes things just seem to happen to you, like your just a leaf falling from a
tree, caught by the wind. there's nothing you can do (you have no wings), but just
fall and see where you end up. and we ended up here: sitting in a restaurant and
breaking up.
i want to hold her and make the pain go away, but i know i can't. there was a time
i could make her pain go away, but now all i can do is hold her hand and watch her
cry. (poor baby. i want to find the man that did this to you, i want to punch him
in the face till it bleeds. i want to hit myself, how could i let this happen?)
we were so happy together once. but too much has happened and we can not return
to that place. she knows it too, and that's why she sits here crying and that's
why i can't do anything to make it stop.
please people, stop looking. she is not doing this for your entertainment. you sir,
with the grey suit, matching your hair, your eyes, your life: will you please look
at the person you're having diner with?
and you miss, with your fancy dress and put up hair. you have been staring at us
ever since you got out of the bathroom. you have it all; the smiling companions
in expensive suits, your drinks brought to your table in shining glasses, a face
that could melt peoples hearts. why are you looking at us, confronting us with the
carelessness and laughter we lack? how dare you?
turn around and return to your own perfect world and leave us be.
don't look at us as we gather courage to get up from this table and face ourselves
with a million painful questions (what next? will we both return home tonight? who
will sleep on the couch? who will be the first to find another? will you still visit
me at my next birthday? how long will it hurt?) we do not know the answers to.
there's a twinkle on her cheek and i realize it's the reflection of a candle in
a tear. i can feel my heart break right now. i can feel the pieces falling down
my stomach and my legs, onto the floor. i look down but i don't see them anywhere.
i hear her soft voice, "let's go" and i look up to a sad face with a brave smile.
we stand up, we don't let go of our hands. we keep them together, because it is
the last time. it's cold outside and we should put our jackets on, but if i let
go of her hand right now the world will collapse. the earth will split in two right
before our feet and suck it all in.
she squeezes my hand and i squeeze back. our hands tell us what our mouths can not.
We See Nothing,
but we feel all the pain floating in the air, stirred around by the big ventilator
hanging from the ceiling. it seams the happier the setting, the more sadness is
hidden underneath. a cheerful flower printed wallpaper to cover up the bloodstains,
but we can still feel the hole if we let our hand slide over the wall. and we keep
wondering: "why didn't they fix it before they put the paper on? now it's too late
and the hole will never be filled."
we want the pain to stop. we want the paper pulled off (i want to do it myself,
kill my frustration as i rip it of in big pieces that will form a pile of teared
up flowers in a corner of the room), we want the impossible. we know it, and we
know it will devastate us in the end. but now is not the end, now is when i say
to you: the impossible is something to be desired. it keeps us trying, it demands
the best of us. it makes us look ahead when the present is something we do not have
the guts to face. just because we can not reach it doesn't mean it can not give
us hope. and what we want is kisses, sunbeams and hope. they are the things that
will fill the holes in the wall. rays of light used as cement. and we look to the
future with a smile on our face, because we believe the best is yet to come.
05-09-2006
dreams are made of memories
in my dreams i kissed a boy,
i held his hand and then let go.
there were traces in the snow that looked like notes to a love song.
there were sunbeams, there were flowers,
cold ice creams and nice warm showers.
there were so many of the pretty things that daily life often devours
before we even realise they're there.
my heart it holds my memories.
it keeps them like a treasure.
and they are.
you say we are dreamers, but i say we are memorisers.
you say we are dreamers, but i say we are memorisers
for when we close our eyes, we do not see fantasies,
we see fragments of reality.
and when we open them, the very things we see
are replaced by what they could be.
you say we are dreamers, but i say we are magicians.
29-03-2006
The wings I do not have
The starlings have invaded my town. They were on their way to Sweden, but mother
nature told them it was still too cold there so they decided to stop over in Utrecht.
Just when spring finally seems to have found its way up here there seems to be a
reason it should linger a bit more.
Thousands and thousands of them take off from the trees each night at exactly the
same time and then the world stops turning.
It's breathtaking: All these small birds form one shape shifting cloud, that doesn't
seem to know where it's heading but goes there very determined none the less. They
make a slow turn left, then suddenly dive down, where they're accompanied by a smaller
group that abruptly turned right. It's a captivating ballet of small black dots against
a pale grey sky, causing tidal waves of light and dark when they draw apart or together.
They're not using anything we could call language to communicate, it's more like
there is some ancient group spirit, something we have long lost touch with, guiding
their directions.There doesn't seem to be a leader and there certainly is no outside
force able to affect their speed or direction. Not even the people shooting at them,
annoyed by the amount of bird-shit in their backyard. They just continue their dance,
leaving me, breathless, standing on the street, looking up.
It might very well be the most beautiful thing I will ever see.
And then, as sudden as it started, they swarm away again. As if there was a tiny
voice, too soft to be heard by human ears, telling them "It's not gonna happen.
Go back to your trees. We'll stay here another night and see if we can leave tomorrow."
And I come to my senses, turn my head down to face the street and once again get
swept back into the daily routine.