I find myself staring. It would be hard not to. Everything and everyone is moving, wondering, laughing. My world is immovably focused on her. As time passes, she haphazardly glances at me. I flinch, and try not to look too caught off guard. But she notices, smiles, and wanders on in her mind, and in mine. There's something special about infatuation. She is ravishingly beautiful. It feels as if we've already spent an eternity together. It feels as if we belong together. It feels like we've always been together, and always will be. And right as I'm being engulfed by pure, eternal, love...
Woken up by the sunlight seeping in between the cracks of the ceiling, he makes his way towards the table in the center of the room. From the old bookcase, he picks up the first book he can reach and places it at the round table. He starts up a small fire and boils some water with leaves from the garden, neatly tied together. The smell of tea fills each and every corner of the wooden house. As he sits down and takes his first sip, he hears her coughing from the bedroom. He brings her a few slices of bread and some tea, and sits by her side.
I miss her already, I think to myself, as the rain trails along my forehead. There is no telling when we will meet again.
Maybe...you'll fall in love with me all over again." "Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?" "Yes. I want to ruin you." "Good," I said. "That's what I want too.
In my hand I hold a six of spades, and an eight of clubs. I look around and watch them play. The sun, relentlessly trying to break my concentration, to no avail. A drop of sweat makes its way onto my brow. I pass the ante and there's the flop.
A six of diamonds, a six of hearts, the King of diamonds.
I raise 100. Fold. Fold. Fold. Call. She calls, and I look at her, but our eyes don't meet. And then the turn.
The ace of hearts.
I see her eyes widen, and she goes all-in. I look at her again. All she is focused on, is the game and the cards in front of her. I call, and so the river falls.
An eight of hearts.
I look at her. She looks back, and I am lost. She looks right at me, right through me, and no longer can I resist or focus on anything but her.
And as I blink, I remember. I remember the house, that no longer is. The dock that once cradled my feet in the clearest of waters. None of that remains. This is the same place, it's the same feeling. No longer can I see the hill with the tombstone, or the field with the trees. I'm standing on a redstone floor. Redstone laid out in the most perfect of patterns. On the horizon, I see buildings that weren't there before. Here even more, the sun lashes at my feet and arms. As I reach the first house I sit down in the shade and catch my breath.
"Come on, make a move.", I hear her say as I open my eyes again. But I can't. I'm stunned, I'm there. Her eyes are still locked onto mine. The few seconds that pass seem like an eternity. And I blink again.
I am pulled away, back onto the shaded pedestal. The dust clings to my hands and feet. I remember the old man that I never said goodbye to. I remember the graves where they have. None of that remains. All I can see is the sun, dancing through the space with the whitest clouds. And in the distance I see her. In sunglasses and shorts, she walks over the dusty road. Gusts of dust follow her feet everywhere she goes.
Through the gusts and wind, my eyes open again. "What do you have?" I ask tentatively. And she reveals her hand. A king of clubs, an ace of diamonds, as she speaks the same words. Her smiling eyes have shifted, to the most beautiful of smiles. My eyes find no firm ground between her eyes and my cards. I glance back at my full house, and back at her beaming eyes. My heart skips a beat. I look at her, she shyly smiles.
Fold.
Her hand trails alongside my shoulder and I hold her closer to me. Night has fallen and she sits there with me. On the small patches of grass that separate the rocky surface, we lay down our heads. We look at each other, and at the stars, naming them and the clouds. Her soothing voice guides them to their safest haven.
She looks at me with a hint of smug and kindness. And I say nothing, for I am lost.
"You'll meet many girls along the way son, too many to count. There are the ones you'll dance with, the ones you'll kiss. But then there's that special one. The one you name stars with."
Another morning breaks dawn, another morning alone he wakes. He grabs one of his books, and sits down. When he reads he is reminded how odiously perfect the words he is reading are. They predict, they enthrall, they tell stories and lies. "Baudelaire", He hears but is not bothered. He picks up his book and goes inside, takes a small glove box from the highest shelf, and makes his way over the beach to the rampant nature.
Perched on a protruding rock sits the old man, clad in timeworn linen. In his left hand he holds a lighter and a batch of letters, in his right, his old army pistol. The happiness has made way for thought and reason. He flicks through the letters, picking up the first one, tossing the remaining ones to his side. As tears slowly roll down his cheek, he reads each word, each sentence as if he had never read them before.
"This place is madness, Nicole. Remembered, I am, every day by the sorrow we've bestowed upon each other and the sorrow we've all experienced in this world. You imagine not how strong I long for you my love, for the things I've seen here hurt so much. [...] Do you remember when we were young, we would live life carelessly, and tackle every burden on our path. Again I must say goodbye, but remember that soon we will be back together.
See you soon, Forever and Always, J.
May 11th, 1940, Gembloux, Belgium."
Trembling in his hand, the lighter burns away at the letter, until nothing more than charred earth remains at his feet. Letter after letter falls, drowning in the void that is the fire, until but one sheet remains. From the small box he takes a pen, chucks the cap away, and writes.
"So long it has been since I've been able to see you, to feel or hear you. It hurts so much to think that each day I forget more of who you are. Some days I can hardly remember your voice, the clothes you wore, the touch of your hand in mine. Each night I dream and I am tortured, for I know I cannot retrieve what I lost, not even here. Every night I speak to you, I tell you what kept me going, and you listen. I know you always asked me to never give up, but I have fought long and hard in my life, and this is a battle I cannot fathom winning on my own. When we meet again, only then, will I be happy again. All the hardship will be long gone, when my hand will rest in yours again. [...]
See you soon, Forever and Always, J."
Tears pouring down his cheeks, he lays down his pen and throws the letter into the fire. From his left hand, he removes the ring that's been there since forever, and casts it into the sea. Fumbling his hands, he picks up the gun and loads it. He puts it to his head and looks up.
Bang.
"There
are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in
insanity. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to
escape that pain, the mind must leave reality behind."
It has been about 2 weeks since I have seen my grandfather since he has left. Life alone has its perks. On the other hand, playing chess against yourself only gets you so far. The majority of my days are filled with laying on the beach. The clouds tell stories, an infinite number of times. I've been growing more and more detached with everything. I hardly think about the life I used to have before I came here.
It's in the early days of May, and my birthday is coming up. Equipped with a shovel and some string and wood, I make my way up to the hill where my grandfather buried - the memory of - her all these years ago. At the top of the hill lies a beautiful grass plain, and I make my way to where I'm heading. Her grave looks as if it hasn't aged a year, as the memory he kept for all these years. "In memoriam Nicole - Difficile longum subito deponere amorem. Tempus fugit, amor manet." I read from the improvised tombstone, engraved with what I think was a chisel. I tidy up the grime that has collected in the weeks my grandfather hasn't been here. I place back upright the tilted clay vase, pick a flower from the nearby field, and place it in. Next to hers, I place his. From the little scraps of Latin I remember, I carve "Semper una".
My grandfather always used to tell me that even though she had passed away long ago, they still talked. He would tell her how his day went, he would tell her how much he loved her. And even though she never replied, it made him feel whole again. During that small period of time, he would feel happy again, because he would be with her. I used to never understand when he told me, I thought he was going crazy. As I grew up, as I loved, as I lost, I understood. I came to understand the pain and the healing.
Leaving the graves, I walked for a couple of minutes up until I made my way up to the cliff side. As I stood there, towering over the gaping ocean, I felt powerless. I felt weak, but amazed at the same time. I sat down, my feet dangling over 200 feet of nothingness. I closed my eyes, and as if a stroke of wind, I felt something touch my shoulder. I flinched and looking, but there was nothing. I closed my eyes again and then I heard the voice I'd missed for so long.
"It's been so long," the voice whispered, "you cannot believe how much I've missed you." And as if lightning struck I started crying. I sat there for what felt like an eternity, crying my eyes out. "Don't cry," she said "there was a time for that and it has long gone." And in my mind she wiped the tears from my eyes, and looked at me. And even though she wasn't there, it was as if she stood right before me. -"I've had to miss you. For so much. For all this time. For all what has happened. It's just so unfair." I said almost angrily, twisting the grass between my fingers. "I feel I have done so wrong by you. I never wanted to listen to anything. I wanted to push it out when all you really needed was me. I wanted to act as if it wasn't real." "I know you did." She said, and I felt a warmth come over me as if her smile made it all alright again. "You were a kid, you were my kid," she said jokingly, "how could I ever blame you for that. It's not something you should ever have to suffer through."
We spent the next hour or so talking about what we should've talked about so many years ago. It was as if all the sorrow was gone from the world I was in. There were no more bridges. No more barriers. The bridges had been burnt, the barriers crossed. After a long silence, she spoke again. "I believe this place has finally served its purpose, no?" -"What do you mean?" "It has matured you. You have moved on from the sadness. Maybe it's time to say goodbye again." -"I don't want to. I'll never get to see you again." "Hasn't your grandfather told you anything? Whenever you need me, I'll be listening, just talk to me." She sad complacently. -"So then how do I get away from here?" "Sometimes all you need a little push to get where your going to end up." A loud bang startled me, and as I tried to look back I lose my grip on the edge of the cliff. I fell. I closed my eyes again and came to terms with it.
As a chill went through me I opened my eyes again. I'm sitting on a park bench. I gaze out to the stars when suddenly. -"What are you thinking about?"I heard, looking at the pond in front of us "The behaviour of ducks." I say stupidly. She smiles, and as she does she grips my hand even more firmly. I look at her for a while and say nothing. We sit there, and even though we don't talk, it feels like nothing I have ever had before. It feels just right. No awkwardness. For the first time since all this shit started happening, I felt happy again. A feeling I hadn't felt for so long. Right there, the night could've stopped. Right there and then.
The tragedy of this world is that no one is happy, whether stuck in a time of pain or of joy. - Alan Lightman
Winter. Shards of ice burn into my forehead like tiny pellets of buckshot. The icy winds feel like razorblades shredding their way through my skin. This time of year yields solemnness. Everyone is closed, the willows just weep that little bit more. The beauty of snow untouched, the disgust of disturbance. The snow covers everything and everyone. Nothing is the same.
Tired, I take the bus home. Getting off three stops early, I'm forced to take the long road home, trailing through the park. My feet are frozen, my fingertips frostbitten. Yet all of it fades as before me lie white fields of pure beauty. Of pure calm. Ignoring most of the scenery, i stumble and almost fall, and stop at a fence, surrounding a frozen lake. Climbing over the fence with my mind set on autopilot, I get down on a small stretch of land separating me from the lake. I tread on the ice with the utmost care, and as my feet touches the ice, the lighting post flares, my eyes closing to shut out the light.
I stumble backwards while shielding my eyes from the light that seems to have gone. I crash my feet against pebbles, making the most gruesome sound amidst the silence. As the rocks make way for my feet, they are soaked in the ice cold water of the sea. I make my way back, tripping and falling backwards with only the snow breaking my fall. The moonlight being reflected by the white snow lights up everything as if it were noon. A small house at the end of a simple man made pier lies ahead. A boat lies tethered with a short rope, looking awfully beyond repair. I make my way to the house and see no one, the door is open, I go in and heat up in front of the fireplace. I fall asleep, and sleep like a baby.
I wake up by the gleams of sun being amplified by the ceiling glass. I get up from the rug at the now cindering fireplace and walk into the next room. At the table, sits an aged man. Late fifties, already balding at the top of his head. At first I don't recognize him. But as I reach the far side of the table, and see his face, I remember him. He's my grandfather. He's the man I remember from my oldest memories. A strong, tall man, caring and sweet. He taught me how to think, to play chess, to play cards. To reason logically. Most of the memories I have of him are those of him and his wife. Life, for him, ended when she passed away from cancer. He gestures me to sit down, and as I do he picks up a plastic bag. And all of a sudden I remember, as if it has been yesterday. The bag contained copper and tin chess pieces. The ones we used to play with every Wednesday, after he had picked me up from school.
"White goes first." he says, and moves his pawn forward. I'm having the time of my life, reliving my childhood memories. I wasn't ever able to beat him, at least not that I remember. He was always great at things like this, and taught me them as well. "Check and mate" he says, and I lay down my king. "Best two out of three?" I say tentatively. "Maybe tomorrow, I'm going for a walk now, I'll be back around dinner time." He says while grabbing his coat and moves towards the door. Winter has mostly gone, give today was particularly cold.
After having played through an uncountable amount of games the next day, winning none, I decide to finally ask him. "Why isn't she here? I'd reckon it would be possible here, even though I have no idea what this is." -"Alas, you aren't given what you aren't entitled to." "What do you mean?" -"I've done some bad things as well, I guess it's a sort of karma. Having to live here without her for so long." "I'm sorry..." -"Don't be. She used to live here with me, but she was taken from me. She died of an infection a long time ago, I don't remember how long it has been." -"I still talk to her every day, I buried her over the hill, close to the mountain cliff. I guess that was my repentance for my wronging." -"This place is beautiful, more beautiful than anything you will ever experience in your life. Cherish the time you have here, it does not come cheap nor frequent. It's a last resort. A lifeline. It saved me. It gave me the strength to hang on after she had passed away when you were still young." -"We should go to sleep, sun has already set." Not knowing what to say, I just said I'd go for a walk and left the cabin. The sand crunched between my toes. The sea is roaring, spring is taking grasp of the trees. Flowers are sprouting from the dense forest trenches. I'm heading for infinity, sun has just set and I decided to check how long the beach actually goes on for. While the sea bashes into the beach, it carries something perfect among it. Something serene and yet powerful. Devastating and constructing. The sublime. Perfect stasis. Happiness. Perfection. The sun is still hidden when I see the cabin again in the distance. Tired I go back to bed, dreaming of what is to come.
My grandfather is already awake when I wake up. He's sitting on the front porch, reading.
Usant à l'envi leurs chaleurs dernières, Nos deux curs seront deux vastes flambeaux, Qui réfléchiront leurs doubles lumières Dans nos deux esprits, ces miroirs jumeaux.
"Baudelaire," I say, "The flowers of evil." He looks up and smiles, and continues reading. I go back inside and look on the bookshelf. I chose L'étranger, by Camus, and made my way to the beach. When I go back inside to get something to drink, my grandfather is no longer there. There is a notepad with scribbling on it that I miss when going for the bottle of water on the kitchen table. As if startled by the sound of bang, or the come of Spring, Winter has finally gone.
Slowly crawling further, wiping the salty water from my face, glancing away from the gleaming sun, I finally reach dry land. The rocks hurt my feet as I walk on them. When my eyes have adjusted, I faintly see the outlines of where I am. I remember this place. I remember the damp log I used to sit on. I remember the beaches being... not like this. The dull, yellow-white sand had been replaced by acres of ground rock. Lonesome, a few feet from the stone beach, stood a lone willow tree.
After walking for a few minutes, I reach the wooden scaffolding that I remember used to be a sort of dock. There are no boats and neither do I ever remember there being any. I sit down and let my feet drown in the clear tepid water. And I wait for what seems to take ages. Yet she never shows. It's not like the last time I was here. It doesn't bear the same happiness, the same joy as it did when I was last here. This place has nothing to care for. It's untethered. I strand along the graveled coast, unsure why. She didn't come for me as she had promised. I was all alone on what seemed to be even more lonely than the road Orpheus had taken.
Sun was setting, and I was still looking for my Eurydice. I decided to return to the house - or what was left of it - at the dockside. As I awoke the next morning, the first thing I heard was the embering as it suffocated the air around it. "I hope you like the maple over there." She said. And as I turned around, she sat there. She was different, yet the same as she had been the last time. Different from what I used to see. "I hope you don't mind I've refurnished a bit," She said smiling "I know it's not what it used to be, but it does the trick.". Through the newly hung curtain I saw a full grown sapling, in a patch of green soil. I stood up and walked outside, unintentionally ignoring her as I found her trailing behind me. I sat down again, my feet feeling the warm water. She sat next to me, twirling her feet through the crystalline scars.
"I don't want to go back." I said. -"You don't have to if you don't want to, you can stay here for as long as you like." She replied confidently. I was still unsure why this place had changed the way it had. There was nothing that felt right anymore, yet nothing that felt wrong to begin with. "What happens, if I don't go back, I mean." I asked her, looking at the distant horizon. -"Nothing at all. This is all happening at the same time." As she looked at the sea as well. "Then I want this to last forever." -"Don't be silly". She said with a condescending voice. "Why can't it be real?" -"Because it isn't." "And what if I decide it is, what if I decide that this is my reality?" -"Then you are a fool."
She was still sitting beside me as night fell. The damp wood felt warm. It felt as if the sun never set. The light never drowned by the darkness.
"What happened to this place, when I wasn't here?" -"We thought it wasn't needed anymore. So we let it all wither. We felt that you shouldn't have returned here." "What do you mean not needed anymore?" -"You can only come to this place when you're malcontent with the world. When you're done. With everything. When you just need that little moment, to scream to let it all out. This is that moment. This is that place. It's different for everyone of course..."
And the days went on. It was as if I was picking up my normal routine while I was here. I couldn't even remember the date, the amount of days I had been here. It seemed like years had passed yet it felt so little. And as I woke up, I saw her sitting at the table of the now decently decorated house.
"What day is it? You know, in my world?" -"The same as it was when you came here. Time doesn't work like it does there." And I sat opposite of her at the table. She was staring at the ocean, and I was looking down at the table. "You know it's weird. It's now more than ever that I need someone. Someone to tell me that it will be fine. That the darkness will dissipate. That the weight of the world will no longer be on my shoulders. That..."
And as I looked up - expecting to see her - I was looking at an empty crossroads. And as I looked back, I saw the light that I had been given, fading in the distance.
Never should you mistakenly consider fate, a game of chance.
And as I gaze into the fire, I realize what I have missed. The flakes of ash come down upon me and mesmerize me. They want to take me away from this place. The wind blows them upward, spiraling into infinity. The voices in the background slowly fade into the darkness of the night and the radio goes mute. The bottles at my feet are gone and the scenery is changing. I look to my left first, nothing is the same. Everyone is gone. The garden has changed. Tiles have replaced the almost withered grass and a brick cylindrical construction has taken away the scorched dark earth where the basket of fire used to be. The walls of the garden have gone as well, all there is, is an infinity of plains. I stand up from my former wooden bench which has changed into a log and I look for a landmark. In the distance, I see a small figure, wearing a blue dress. She's dancing in the field, between butterflies and through the forget-me-nots. I go closer and sit near the bank of a small river. I watch her from a distance, she notices me and sits down near me. -"It's been a while hasn't it..." She says with the smile I've always remembered. "I've missed you. You know I wanted to talk to you for a while but..." -"I know, we live in different worlds." "I have so much to tell you, so much I want to tell you..." And throughout the night, the moon was our safeguard. Our light in the darkness that I had missed for so long. We talked like we used to do. Which I had missed so dearly. We talked about the most important things. Yet I felt as if everything had been said.
"Where exactly are we?" I asked in a quiet voice. -"They don't have a name for this place. They call this many things, I've always found The Asylum to be a suitable name. People come here to recover, when they're done with the world for a bit. To shake off the crazyness that people mark them with. This is a place where everything is possible." "Is this...real?" -"Does that truly matter?" She said, and I knew it didn't. "You're right. But why are you different here than you are in the real world?" -"This world is not like yours. It's ours..." And when she said that, I felt the ground weaken under me. As if it were falling apart. -"Time to go, I guess." She whispered. She looked at me with the eyes which I had missed for so long. "How do I get back here?" Trying not to sound desperate. -"I'll come for you when you need me, I promise." She said, waved goodbye as everything went grey. And as if nothing had happened, I had a bottle of beer in my hand and I was looking at her. She looks back at me. I went on talking about whatever I was saying when the world changed the first time. She smiled and looked at the fire, as did I.
There goes another day. A day wasted, nothing goes to plan, as it ever has. It's been ages since I've had the need to put up something. A few letter are stuffed in a box awaiting their receiver, to never be delivered. Others are stuck inside my head, which will never see paper. I was born a few hundred years too late. I'd love to live in a time where words would still mean something. A world without all this hypocrisy. In hightime of romance. Somewhere I'd like to be a writer, but I don't know what to do. This time of day, the nightingale abides by the law of king Noble.
And I'll write a story about how I want it to...
"I adore Miss Shepherd, she is a girl, in a spencer, with a round face and curly flaxen hair. I cannot look upon my book, for I must look upon Miss Shepherd. In the service I mentally insert Miss Shepherd's name; I put her in among the Royal Family. At home, in my own room, I am sometimes moved to cry out her name, in a transport of love. For some time I am doubtful of Miss Shepherd's feelings, but, at length, fate being propitious, we meet at the dancing-school. I have Miss Sheperd for my partner. I touch her glove, and feel a thrill go up the right arm of my jacket, and come out at my hair. I say nothing to tender her, but we understand eachother. Miss Shepherd and myself live but to be united. Why do I secretly give Miss Shepherd twelve Brazil nuts for a present, I wonder. They are but expressive of affection, they are hard to crack, even in room doors, and they are oily when cracked; yet I feel that they are appropriate to Miss Shepherd. Soft, seedy biscuits, also, I bestow upon Miss Shepherd, and oranges innumerable. Once, I kiss Miss Shepherd in the cloack room. Ecstacy! What are my agony and indignation next day, when I hear a flying rumour that the Misses Nettingall have stood Miss Shepherd in the stocks for turning in her toes! Miss Shepherd, being the one pervading theme and vision of my life, how do I ever come to break with her? I can't conceive. And yet a coolness grows between Miss Shepherd and myself. Whispers reach me of Miss Shepherd having avowed a preference for Jones-A boy of no merit whatever! The gulf between me and Miss Shepherd widens. At least, one day I meet the Nettingalls' establishment out walking. Miss Shepherd makes a face as she goes by and laughs to her companion. All is over. The devotion of my life-It seems a life, 't is all the same- is at an end; Miss Shepherd comes out of the morning service, and the Royal Family know of her no more."
I like the numbness that comes with insomnia. The deadening that comes with exhaustion. The oblivion and silent chaos that lurks within me. The problems of the world are a sudden far away, the only thing to deal with is me.
The rain seems to be the only thing that tethers me to this plane. I read and I overanalyze. I think too far where others don't go. I wonder and I hope. I get crushed. Inactivity to Ignorance. I hear but don't listen, I look and I don't see. Indifference as a mask. No emotion, no hurt, no love, no gain. Feel nothing but the blunt rain smashing down. Hooded, cloaked, secluded. A spark. Complexity, uncertainty. The loss of what I have to gain what I utmost desire. I want to change the course I'm going. I can't. Powerless and scared. Alone.
I look up. I see. It's you, or atleast you'ish. My heart skips a beat. It can't be. I analyze, you aren't here. You can't be here. And again I'm here. The flood is coming. The banks will flood. The rain will pour.
I see this world around me and I know I don't belong. It's ridden with poverty, hatred, anger, aversion. I walk the streets at night and see the beggars in miser's rags. I walk straight past, hoping they don't bother me. And I know it's wrong, I do, but I can't help it. I let the world pass me by. People pass me by. Headphones up high, shoulders down low, shielding themselves from a world I know, they know, they want to change it aswell. It could all be so simple, so easy. There's so much money in the wrong places, so little in the right. In this dark world there's only one thing we all thrive to have. Only one thing we want, I want, togetherness. Nothing but a warm shoulder to crash down and cry on, after eternal darkness, a ray of light. To hear that it's going to be allright when I know it's not. Simple words, to make a world of difference...
Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you'enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Zes jaar man, zes jaar. Het lijkt een eeuwigheid, maar het is zo kort. Ik weet nog steeds de eerste keer. In Sint-Lievens. 1G. Het eerste wat je tegen me zei, "Mag'k je kleurpotloden gebruiken?", en sindsdien zijn we steeds vrienden gebleven. In die zes jaar heb je een grote rol gespeeld in mijn leven, je bent een van m'n beste vrienden geworden. We deelden dezelfde muziekstijl, we hadden dezelfde meningen (al waren ze dan soms controversieel), dezelfde smaak van games, meisjes. Diezelfde nieuwsgierigheid en passie. Er is nog zoveel te zeggen Wilssens, zoveel. Onze afspraak voor de WINA-WINAK-Cantus gaat dus niet door, maar ik zal er zijn, en jij zal op die lege stoel naast me zitten. Dat weet ik.
Mijn hart gaat uit naar Greet en Willy, de ouders van Philippe. Niemand verdient het om door zo'n hel te gaan.
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
Na een vermoeiende dag loop ik naar huis. Oortjes in, afgeblokt van de buitenwereld. De muziek dreunt in m'n oren. De nacht is licht, niet zwart. De sneeuw die overdag alles kleedt in een witte deken, verhult de wereld nu in een grijse schade. De café's zijn gesloten, de lichten gedoofd. Alles krijgt die monochrome grijze sfeer. Een eenzame ziel loopt aan de overkant van de straat. Ik verdwaal in mijn gedachten, met de dreunende muziek die steeds zachter wordt in m'n oren. Halfverwege loop ik perongeluk verloren in het dode landschap. Ik loop rechtdoor, blik op oneindig, muziek op oneindig, gedachten op nul plus één.
Het bedroevende grijs is veranderd in een hoopgevend oranje. De zon komt net op en overvloeit de wereld in geluk. Ik sta alleen, in een grote grasvlakte, door de lucht stroomt een gevoel van gelukzaligheid. Langs mijn zij loopt een iets. Ik voel een iets en dat blijkt me genoeg, ik kijk niet om. In de verte zie ik een schim, een vrouw. Ik weet niet wie, maar ik heb een gevoel. Ik wijzig m'n koers en loop op haar af. Het lijkt wel alsof ik met elke stap naar haar toe, een stap verderweg van haar ga. Het iets naast me is verdwenen. Ik sta alleen, overspoeld door een gele gloed.
Wanneer ik wegkijk en probeer te denken aan andere dingen, komt ze net dichterbij. Alsof het lot me tart. Ze is binnen handbereik. Een stap tussen mij en haar. Maar één. Maar één brengt me net één stap verder. Het is een onbegonnen strijd, maar ik wil hem niet staken. Keer op keer, dag na dag, week na week. Ik spreek niet tegen haar, want dat doet pijn, enkel wanneer zij me spreekt. Het toont de afstand. Die veel te grote afstand. Met de diepe rode gloed op m'n gezicht, staak ik de strijd.
De wereld wordt weer grijs, maar is toch net een beetje witter. De muziek is zacht en soothing. Een troost in koude tijden.
And it might be sad to say, that that little bit of you made my entire day yesterday.
De lucht is tintelfris en hagelwit is hier het ijs,
Het knispert als je loopt, dit is het laatste paradijs.
Als alles daar zo klein is, ben ik hier dan een molloch?
Of kijkt iemand nu omhoog en denkt, wat is dat stipje toch?
Ik sta op 2100 meter boven zeeniveau,
Beneden is de wereld lekker overzichtlijk zo.
Hele kleine mensjes gaan hun minihuisjes in,
Maken hele kleine foutjes die je goed maakt met één zin.
Alles is zo zwart, en de hemel hemelsblauw
Alles is zo zwart, en ik zei ik ook van jou
Alles is zo zwart, omdat ik deed wat ik nooit zou
Alles is zo zwart, en de hemel hemelsblauw
Ik moet nu naar beneden, maar de top heb ik gezien,
Dat overzicht bewaar ik, valt het toch nog mee misschien.
Alles wat ooit groot was, dat word een keertje klein,
Een probleem word een probleempje, dat hoeft geen probleem te zijn
Alles is zo zwart, en de hemel hemelsblauw
Alles is zo zwart, en ik zei ik ook van jou
Alles is zo zwart, omdat ik deed wat ik nooit zou
Alles is zo zwart, en de hemel hemelsblauw
And as I sit here writing, the outer world is being embellished by rain. A world that is at this point inconceivable and only exists because I am told it does. I am told to believe it is there.
In our world it does not rain, not a single drop will even touch the draughted earth. A field laced with flowers forms the scenery in this realm of ours. Nothing but the sweetest of daffodils and lilies soothe the hardest of
storms. Between the tall grass and the ambrosial flowers we lie, hand in
hand and side by side. Clouds form hearts in the untainted sky. Clouds
form of the most beautiful figures. They form our memories we don't yet
have. They form our future. I have never felt more happy as I see you
staring at the skies. We smile and look upward, we don't say anything
because there's nothing to say, I feel your hand in mine, I believe you
are there.
And as day turns to night and you lay closer to me, we gaze at the stars. You feel safe with me and I have never had any greater bliss in my life. You start talking and I listen as I've always have. I stare into your eyes which could keep me pacified for ever. I love to listen to you talk, as I love to look you in the eyes, as I've always loved you, as I will forever have drowned in those eyes. There is no such thing as time in our world, time does not pass and nothing ever changes, but the presence of night and day. Our hands will never let go and our shoulders will keep as one. My grip will never remit and never will I stop drowning, as I've always loved that smile.
I've made the most dulcet of bands play the most beautiful of songs as we walk on an endless strip of white sand. The placid sea has no traffic, as no one knows of this world. And we walk, hand in hand, watching the orrery the clouds have formed before us. I find myself staring into infinity, enjoying the sound of silence and solace of our dualitude. There is so much I have to say to you, for which are no words. So much I feel for which there are no words. I cite the most precious poems to win over your heart...
All I think about is you. You're in my mind, you're in my dreams You seem to be the only thing that makes it alright. Come here, lay with me, no one has to know. All I have I will give to you, I'm wide awake, I look to see, if you're lying there, right next to me, but it was a dream. I lay back down and go to sleep, your hazel eyes, I long to see. You're there in my mind. All I have, I would give to you, but I can't, so I guess this will have to do. (Chase - Rosemary)
En plots word ik wakker. De druppels die op m'n gezicht vallen, maken me wakker. Ik ben alleen, niets rondom me waaraan ik me herken. De grasweide waarop we lagen is nu een dorre vlakte geworden. Hoog gras en riet geven het een overwoekerde indruk. Het bloemenveld is veranderd in een drassig moeras. Het witte strand is veranderd in een mozaïek van keien, en onze tweezaamheid is ver zoek. En ik leg me neer op de harde stenen, val weer in slaap en ontwaak in een grasveld vol bloemen, met in mijn hand de jouwe, met voor mijn ogen die van jou. Die mooie bruine ogen. En ik weet dat het een leugen is, en ik weet dat het onwaar is, maar dat maakt niets uit. Het is echt voor even, en dat is wat echt is.
For me; loving someone close to you, that doesnt care for you in the
same way is a horrible feeling not just because I cant be with her;
but because I have all these mixed emotions, and feelings that I cant
vent. I just love her and I cant do anything about it. I can think up
stupid poems, stories, think of crazy ways to win her over, drone on and
on to my friends, but I can never get that feeling of emotional bliss. I
just want to be able to clear my mind of everything and everyone, but I
cant; because you will always be there, just out of reach. Just so out of reach.
You're always there, it makes me go crazy. I see you in the way people walk. The way they laugh, the way they smile, the way they look. It's unbearable. Songs remind me about you, when I think, you are on my mind. Even with this whole new world about, I can only think about you. And it hurts that you don't feel that way. It hurts that you ignore me now when I happen to meet you. It hurts that you look the other way and don't talk to me. It hurts that I've felt I meant something to you, when you don't even come to say hi. It fucking hurts.
Quod est amor, Catulle? Wordt aan Catullus, een voor menig al
meer bekend als anderen, Latijns dichter, in een brief door een vriend
van hem gevraagd. Het is een vraag die al lang de wereld bezig houdt.
Natuurlijk was Catullus niet de eerste die zich er mee bezig hield, het
is een thema van alle tijden. Sappho vòòr hem, die sprak over de liefde
als de tiende muse. Ovidius, die in zijn Remedia Amoris
beschrijft hoe je met de liefde moet omgaan. Vergilius die schrijft dat
de liefde alles overwint, je hoeft er niet tegen te vechten want het
gebeurt, geef je over. Omnia vincit amor, nos et cedamus amori. De liefde overwint alles en laten wij ons nu ook aan haar overgeven. Met daarna de komst van de boekdrukkunst en de gevorderde taal probeerde men in woordenboeken betekenis te geven aan het onbeschrijflijke gevoel. Liefde is de diepe genegenheid die je voelt voor, de welgezindheid of toegeving tot een een bepaald persoon, dier of zaak. Maar toch voel je aan dat dit niets zegt. Dit is niet de liefde. De wetenschap bewijst de liefde op haar kille manier van verklaren. Enkele chemische reacties in de hersenen gepaard met hersenactiviteit zorgen ervoor. Maar zelf voel je dat dat niet klopt. Het kan niet enkel dat zijn. Ik vind me in de woorden van Catullus. Nouja, woord. In één woord verklaart Catullus de liefde. Met een woord zegt hij alles wat er gezegd moet worden. Ea est amor. De liefde, dat is zij.
Liefde is alles doen voor die ene. Liefde is de tijd die je eigenlijk voor jezelf nodig hebt, aan haar spenderen. Liefde is aan niets of geenander kunnen denken. Liefde is luisteren naar wat zij zegt, terwijl je al zoveel aan je hoofd hebt. Liefde is alles doen wat ze vraagt, alles doen wat ze zou vragen. Liefde is zij.
Liefde is zeggen, 'Ja is goed hoor' als zij een chocomelk bestelt en vraagt of jij er ook een wil. En ik zeg ja om niet moeilijk te doen.Want er is één ding dat zij niet weet...
Twee dagen na het familiefeest belt m'n opa me op. Hij vraagt of ik de volgende morgen tijd heb om eens langs te komen. Ik voelde me onwennig, bijna 3 jaar heb ik niets van de man gehoord. Hij heeft me nooit gebeld en dat vind ik spijtig, nog spijtiger is het dat ik hem nooit heb gebeld. Met gemengde gevoelens besluit ik te gaan. Hij doet nog steeds op diezelfde exacte manier de deur open als ik me herinnerd heb en dat stelt me gerust. Wanneer ik boven kom zie ik een opgeruimd appartement, dat herinnerde ik me niet. Hij is veranderd. Zijn appartement was vroeger eerder vuil en onordelijk. Dat is zo gekomen nadat zijn vrouw is overleden. Ik zet me wat ongemakkelijk aan dezelfde oude tafel en hij zet zich moeilijk op een stoel. Hij staat weer recht en neemt een enveloppe die op kast ligt en schuift ze in m'n handen. Hij had me op het familiefeest horen praten over hoe ik nog een laptop nodig had en die ging kopen met het geld dat ik in Juni had verdiend. Hij zegt: ''Is het genoeg? Het is 500." Ik was sprakeloos en stond daar, nu nog ongemakkelijker, te kijken. Nadat ik het geld heb aangenomen, zegt hij dat ik mag doorgaan als ik dat wil. Ik probeer nog een gesprek te starten, maar tevergeefs. Het is niet meer zoals vroeger. De man heeft parkinson en ontkent het. Ik zeg het hem dat hij misschien toch eens naar een dokter moet gaan. Maar hij zegt dat het heus niet zo erg is. Ik voel dat hij door die ziekte terughoudend is geworden. Hij maakt geen leuke grappen meer zoals hij dat vroeger deed. Hij vraagt niet meer om te kaarten zoals vroeger. Hij is niet meer zoals vroeger, en ik vertrek met gemengde gevoelens. Voor de rest neemt het leven haar gewone gangetje weer op. 's Avonds een filmpje meepikken met vrienden, of gewoon iets gaan drinken en een kaartje leggen, het moet allemaal zoveel niet zijn.
Waar gaat de wereld toch heen. Mensen gaan als een gek tekeer als er ergens een hond van een brug wordt gegooid, maar je hoort ze nooit wanneer er duizendensterven door natuurrampen.Mensen verliezen hun vermogen tot relativeren. Mensen moeten overal een mening over hebben. Mensen hebben overal een mening over en dat is net wat die meningen zo ontzettend waardeloos maakt. Ze zeggen dat iedereen gelijk is, hoewel toch zoveel duidelijk wordt, dat net sommige mensen gelijker zijn dan anderen. Er gaat zoveel geld rond in onnuttige dingen. En ik weet dat het niet zo zwart-wit is, dat weet ik. Maar met het geld dat de mensen elk jaar uitgeven aan overbodige luxeproducten, kunnen we elk kind naar school sturen. Kunnen we elke dag mensen voorzien in hun noden. Maar dat gebeurt niet. Net omdat de mensen die een verandering kunnen veroorzaken er baat bij hebben dat alles net blijft zoals het is. En dat is er mis met de wereld.
Her smile of great splendour, shines more than rays of agleam sun. Reality may shatter in days of woe, the dreams spring like flowers dun. I know your love for me is a mirage, were - I wish - it to be true, I'd show the world howmuch I do. I would hold the world inside my hand, Show you the finest golden strand. Thousand and one roses show my love to you, for until the last one withered, unconditional and true. My love will never die, Thousands were to have decry, yet one lives, forever and ever, as woven with silk, my love is forever. Zurezat ilargia, iapurtuko nuke gauero, Eta zu itsu zaude bere argia ikustko, ez zara gaueko izar bakarra, ez zara. Une baten sinisteko zegaren guztia.
To see a world in a grain of sand And
a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your
hand And eternity in an hour. A world been built on sheer
respite, Craving nothing but mere delight. Faint tears come
aforth the brow As bruises mark the broken vow. Delusion breaks
the mirrors of love Never men'd nor healed thereof. We sit
alone, scared of few, Yet no salvation comes from the pew. The
Eternal Saviour beloved by man Will perish by the Devil's
clan. Perdition rules among the land Deprived of divine hand.
Le train-train cotidien. Het leven gaat zijn gewone gangetje en dat vind ik niet erg. Nog één maand vakantie. Na lang twijfelen tussen Fysica of Informatica is het dan toch
Informatica geworden. Bij je eerste gedacht blijven, dat is altijd het
beste. Ik ga het missen die middelbare school. Ik ga het zo erg missen.
Zoveel moment die nooit meer zullen terug komen. Er gaat ook een nieuwe
wereld open, een nieuwe tijd, een nieuw begin?
Zaterdag zak ik samen met vrienden af naar het huis van Tom voor een avondje in de tuin. Alcohol, waterpijp, muziek en vrienden, meer moet dat niet zijn. We zakken samen even af naar een feestje maar zijn al snel weer terug. Rond drie uur vertrek ik samen met Jim en Bram, die dan al van de wereld was verdwenen. Om vijf uur kom ik uitgeput thuis.
Familiefeest. Mijn jongste nichtje wordt 5 jaar en heel de familie is uitgenodigd. Praten over hoe lang het geleden is dat iedereen elkaar nog heeft gezien. Afspreken dat het zeker vaker moet gebeuren, wat nooit het geval is. Ik hoor mijn nonkel achter de rug van mijn peter over hem praten. Enkele minuten later staan ze weer samen te lachen. Ik zie in de verte mijn opa zitten. De man die me heeft leren kaarten, schaken. Of ten minste wat er van overblijft. Hij is mager maar verzorgd. Hij zit stil en alleen, zijn vrouw is jaren geleden gestorven. Hij is veranderd in de jaren die ons scheidden. Hij is niet meer de man die me van school kwam halen, hij is oud geworden en is ziek geworden.
Ik ga binnen om weg te geraken van de schijnheiligheid. Binnen vind ik de dochter van de nieuwe man van mijn nicht. Ik neem een glas wijn en ga tegenover haar aan tafel zitten. Ze zegt niet veel wanneer ik vraag hoe het op school gaat, naar welk jaar ze gaat. Ze is aan het schrijven op een blad papier. Wanneer ik mijn glas ga bijvullen, loop ik langs haar. Ik lees "Soms ben ik een beetje verlegen. Ik ben bang dat alles verandert. Maar ik ben blij dat ik hier zit, omringd door mensen van wie ik denk dat ze van mij houden." Haar stiefzusje komt binnen en vraagt wat ze aan het doen is. Zij zegt schrijven en dat het privé is. Ze stopt met schrijven, scheurt het papier af de blok en steekt het in haar zak. Ik begeef me terug naar de tuin en meng me weer tussen de mensen, van achter me hoor ik haar stiefzus roepen, zij roept niets terug.
That look you give that guy, I wanna see...
Looking right at me.
If I could be that guy, instead of me...
I'd never let you down.
It always seems like you're going somewhere,
better than you've been before.
Well I go to sleep, and I dream all night,
of you knocking on my door.
I never thought that I could be so bold,
to even say these thoughts aloud.
But if let's say, it won't work out.
You know where I can be found.
That look you give that guy, I wanna see...
Looking right at me.
If I could be that guy, instead of me...
I'd never let you down. I'd never let you down.
De waker ziet een wereld. De waker ziet een afschuwelijke wereld. Een wereld van moord, verkrachting, haat en bejag. De waker kan niet meer slapen, hij kan niet meer vergeten. Hij is aan zijn lot overgelaten en dwaalt de wereld rond, op zoek naar dat ene licht dat hij nooit zal vinden. Als een nomade loopt hij door een desolate beschaving, op zoek naar een oase. Hij weet dat er niets meer te vinden is en hoopt niet meer. De waker is verloren. Nee, hij is de enige die de echte wereld ziet.
De slaper ziet geen wereld. Hij ziet niets. Hij slaapt en hij voelt niets. Geen pijn en geen geluk. Hij hoeft nooit te zoeken, want hij heeft niets te vinden. Er is niets en daar is hij blij mee. Hij is blij bij afwezigheid van het onbekende. Hij zoekt niets nieuw, hij hoopt niet. Hij is verloren. Nee, hij is de enige die de echte wereld ziet.
De dromer ziet een wereld. De dromer ziet een prachtige wereld. Geen pijn maar geluk. Een wereld van liefde, schoonheid, natuur, vriendschap en vrijgevigheid. Maar de dromer wordt nooit meer wakker. En dat hoeft hij ook niet. De droom geeft hem alles wat hij wil en daar heeft hij genoeg aan. Hij leeft de illusie, een waanbeeld, hij is verloren.
Een lange dag gisteren, 's morgens vroeg op om een kadootje te zoeken voor moederdag. 's Middags naar Linkerwoofer en 's avonds even langs Jazz Middelheim gegaan. Het is niet echt mijn ding die jazz. Ik zou er zelf nooit kaarten voor kopen, maar het brengt je wel tot rust. Ik legde me neer en keek naar de donkere hemel. Ik kwam tot rust en dacht aan bijna niets meer. De avond vond zijn einde in een gezellig cafeetje aan het Mechelsplein. Sommige mensen kunnen blijkbaar niet zo goed tegen drank. Tegen 5 uur ben ik terug thuis en kruip ik licht beschonken mijn bed in. Morgen zomerfilms, Y tu mama tambien.
