About Me and My Blog

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I am likely to start a career in the wonderful art of [music] and/or [writing], but still completely interested in [environmental] and [social] sciences. Therefore, on my blog you’ll find a relevant reflection of what I [think about], what I’ve [seen], what I’ve [done], what I [shouldn't do] (anymore), what I’ve

[written]

[composed]

[designed]

[produced]

[drawn]

[converted]

[constructed]

[destroyed]

and

[made up].

Most posts will be written in the universal language of English, some will appear in my mother-language [Nederlands], and perhaps so now and then you’ll spot a sentence in the [Deutsche Sprache] or a [mot en francais].

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Rain

Rain. Down on me. Hail. Cold drops. Cutting through weakened resistance. It hurts. Inside. In my head, behind my eyes, in my stomach. I wish. A lot of things. If I just did not do that. I am angry with myself. Bad situation. Hell of a situation, as there’s no one to blame, no one to shout at, no one who will understand. I only get wrong advice: ‘You shouldn’t do that.’, ‘You should do this.’ and ‘You’re just being stupid.’ As if I did not know yet.

Outside the rain has stopped. Inside there is a hurricane, a blizzard, with sharp edges  releasing more pain arbitrarily. No one could help. And I don’t want help. I just want it to be fixed. Next Thursday is so far away, like a century from now. And all will start next week. Me getting one of the flu’s is not helping. It only gets worse. And worse.

The worst changes with time. By now, there are at least five things that make me faint. Seemingly normal things I can’t stand somehow. Just added another cause. Hate it. I don’t want to faint while seeing, feeling, imagining certain things. It’s stupid, weaked, crushed truth.

Rain will wash it all away. Rain is like time, but with time the fear grows. In my imagination. It has something to do with touching, I know it for sure. Hands and cheeks are fine, the rest is no-go-area. Shaking my head: future is unclear. Can you feel scared by thinking of the future? Because some things that cause me fainting will pass by someday, unavoidable.

And asking for peace is far from curing it.

Titelloos

Blinde vlek van geestesoog

black-out v/h onbeschreven wit-

te diepe kerven, bloedeloos

schrijnend wachtend op inspiratie

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de mist wordt dikker

dan de strop rond haar keel

ze draait haar schouder

wulps, glimlacht naïef (alleen)

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de zenuwknoop verschuift

en angstig besef trekt schotse streken

in bloed, in het echt

en haar spiegelbeeld

vergaat in schemertinten

back-in de bron van

koele regendruppels die haar

kalmeren, doen herleven

voor een tijdje dan.

—

de XTC

laat haar hart springen

en schroeit het touw tot rafels:

de herinnering als drugs

die meeschrijft tot aan de laatste .

Proby guy

Some prosaic poetry:

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of all the guys I let in you were the only one

who seemed to like my little lies

all the guys who ever looked me in the eyes

are nothing compared to the way you look

so not attractive

you touched my bottom

line and violated all the unregistered laws

you are on of those guys

i rejected doubtfully

ya sticky hands and catchy eyes

and proby kisses, super sweet

16-year old who tried to get along with me

i’m sorry, dude, you

invaded places, uninvited, though somehow you

just never crossed the line

of love

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Poem by ChristinaBay