#I’mabadass//Guilty pleasure

So do you ever think that something you do or want to do is completely hilarious and enjoyable but are at the same time kind of scared to share with the world because of the fact that it exposes you being quite wierd? I was at my grandmothers birthday the other day and I did the only thing reasonable when you’re at a birthday and are in between converstations and see a book that seems intresting- I picked it up and read it. It was the Pogingen iets van het leven te maken. Het geheime dagboek van Hendrik Groen 83 1/4 jaar (attempts to make something of life, the secret diary of Hendrik Groen 83 1/4 years). The book is a hilarious diary and google tells me it is perhaps the pseudoniem of a 61 year old writer. Whatever the case what struck me as very funny was that endrik described a certain event as being very funny (someone sitting on a bunch of olibollen, traditonal dutch new years eve food) and him laughing about it. The people that were involved in the incident found that very unamusing and ‘instead of laughing harder like he should have he said his apologies because he was to afraid to show what he really thought and felt’. His whole life he spend hiding himself afraid of what people might think. And it is not completely strange ofcourse to feel this way. – what’s hilarious in your mind might be seem as rude in the best case and or just outragously crazy. So what do I do?

‘Captital Space’ or as I read it in a blink: Capital Escape: this i found very suitable for this post. One way or another, it is a great photo from Place de la Villette.

I will say that I did something that was quite a bit of a guilty pleasure that made me feel very badass. And the truth I would love to write about how the details of this whole episode made me smile so hard, but for now I think i’ve been enough of a badass so now I just cowardly write about how I and I think we all enjoy the things we tell our close friends but rather not everyone 🙂 we after all should keep up the appearance that we are actually sane.

Responsibility

Life is easier now- there is no right and wrong, no ethics- we have policy.

Things can change

So after putting some poetry up here, I want to write something else again, something different, something like I’ve written before. I love conceptual thinking. I love taking things apart and moving them around in my mind. Today I’m writing for my thesis. My field now is the very practical field of Conservation and Restauration of objects. Practical, way more practical than the field of philosophy or art history. Thankfully though -we’re related. Or in my case today, not so thankfully. One could argue I’m kind of upset and frustrated or, since I’m ‘ticking’ on the different letters on my keyboards, I’m inspired. I’m reading an article about replicas and museums. Fakes. The fact whether or not something is original or not. A quote:

[A]ll works of art are types which are identified by their physical
properties and the history of their production…there need be no
actual or potential perceptual difference between two paintings
for them to be different works; they need only have different
histories.- Mark Rowe, ‘The Problem of Perfect Fakes

Truth is I really quite like that quote, it is indeed something we find in conservation: particular circumstances create particular damages. Also: an object is more than it’s physical properties rather it is a web of values. So far I was quietly inspired. But then I read on and the discussion of ‘why don’t we display things in their original context’ came up. And I started to be outrageously inspired. Read: frustrated saying unto myself- why can’t things change? Why do we have to write down all the reasons why things are and should stay a certain way, and why they should go back to how they were or understood differently. Why can’t things change? I think change is a wonderful thing. Transformation, evolution even. Throughout the making and meaning of things change and they move on, and I am very much for embracing this change.

So how does this frustration relate to my love for conceptual thinking and taking things apart? It is true that indeed the writers and speakers that are so much hammering on concepts and meaning and true or lack of understanding use the same methods as I do. However, there is according to me (of course XD), a difference: the reason why I like to deconstruct, to move and manipulate the things I hear and see in my mind, is to add value, add frivolity and not to restrict to remove or to reduce. I usually really hate these three R’s that limit the beauty in this world. However, luckily everything can change: Ristriction, removal and reducing can lead to new problems that need new solutions, and this can be a birthing ground for creativity 🙂

In het Nederlands

Ik voel me ergens toch gedwongen

Te schrijven in mijn taal.

De taal van Wilders en de koningin

En dan bedoel ik beatrix want ik ben nog steeds niet gewend

Aan willem-lex op de troon.

En het is waar dat nederlands mijn moedertaal is

En ik deze taal het minst beperkt beheers

En toch ik ben hardleers. Het engels helpt mij

Te zeggen en te voelen wat ik anders niet zo snel

Kwijt ben. En natuurlijk is er het publiek dat ik rijk ben

Omdat engels nou eenmaal door meer dan 20 miljoen word gesproken.

In het engels worden prachtige nederlandse woorden uiteengebroken

En in die zin en in alle anderen ben ik sneller klaar dan in die andere taal.

En toch het minder nodighebben van woorden is niet waarom

Ik mij van het engels naar het nederlands voel gedwongen.

Wie ben ik, als kaaskop, om mij op een engelstaligveld te storten.

Ik woon dan wel nu in een internationale wereldstad, mijn

Geboortegrond is plat platter dan plat.

Zou ik niet met aan mijn vingers de polderklei

Nederlandse poezie moeten schrijven?

Of heb ik toch meer dan die bodem, de aarde lief.

Revisiting-A place I love.

So I’m back in the place that shaped me,

that changed me,

that moved me

and that taught me.

A place I love.

 

They asked me what I wanted-

I would love to be here once again-

but I do not dare to ask,

not yet.

 

I rhyme with my words

and of course

it pisses me off.

I’m rarely ever enough-

in my own eyes

in my own ears

in my own fears I see mirror images

that may or may not be anything like me.

I long to look like me

see like me

forgive like me

and love me like I do others-

or at least like I wish I did.

 

Gravity Within Me

I decided that I wanted to write a little less private. A little less: ‘the 10 people I know that put up with my writing’ have read it. I thought I might look for a class or a contest, just a place to see whether or not I could be a writer. Having the dream to be a writer is not new, but actually trying to more actively pursue it now is a little ironic. I was kicked out of my class because I could not deliver sufficient content for an academic paper. At the university writing has never been my strong suit. However, ideas have been graded more generously.  Presentations always were good so it is not that I’m not good with words.. However, writing is something entirely different then talking. And if you write like I do, like you are talking- only slightly slower because your fingers on the keyboard have to keep up- you bring yourself in a particularly messy situation. The truth however is that good writing has never been my aspiration. Rather I am looking for a creative way to express my ideas. To be surprised by what words, word combinations and exact coordination can deliver. What does it deliver? Poetry in prose. Not necessarily what they want you to give in academics. It is a fairly limited field, science and academics. It is so tedious and there is little space for new ideas. The ideas can exist as long as they fit in the format of being not to original a.k.a. being based on things other people have written. Excuse me. They are not based on what others have written but rather words of others are carefully selected to put an ‘Amen’  to your words. The truth is they might has well had very different ideas and would never agree with your argument. For that reason and the tediousness of trying to find words somewhere to keep your argument valid, I do not like basing my writing on that of others, or selectively quoting them just to make my argument more profound-looking.

 

Rather I like to be inspired. I love reading something and being surprised by the thoughts, ideas, arguments and poetry of sentences and paragraphs. And then a most wonderful process can begin, the process of association. The process of two things that previously had nothing in common except that they were seen by me, and connected. This association can happen throughout space and time, class and medium, culture and origin. That’s what I love about art history, some of the arguments may seem farfetched but connecting two artworks form different times and different cultures show that everything can come together, and that connecting two seemingly different things can create narratives beyond imagination. The funny thing is that there is always gravity inside institutions, disciplines and in me. I wanted to write that the idea of writing contests made me want to write things that do not come naturally from me. Fiction. Non-fiction about facts instead of ideas. Ultra-short stories or god forbid, really-really long stories. However this is what I can do. Starting somewhere and ending somewhere else. I don’t know if it’s good but it feels great. It feels like being a leave falling down the wind, gently being pulled down by gravity. The gravity within me.

Disalluted- and other words I redefine

So. like I’ve written  before sometimes you read back your own words and you are surprised.. Today I found myself having written the word disalluted. For your information, this is not actually a word. And honestly I don’t really know what I meant with the  letters. I wrote it on my non-smartphone cell and perhaps it was a mix up due to the fact that one digit accounts for at least 3 letters. However, looking at the context of the word it’s not really clear what it is supposed to mean.  I wrote the word in a poem on my phone 6 months ago and I have no idea why I wrote it or exactly what it is about but it intrigues me.

All the safety that I had

I disalluted with the tears.

I don’t know where to go from here

and fear keeps marching in

reminds me of my sins and

all our lost and unworthiness.

Today I like to dissect the words in this poem. They might not all be intended this way, I copy this straight from my phone and sometimes it is not in there ‘the right way’ form the beginning. At the same time I mostly write on my phone when I ‘have’ to write, so this was no intentional poem. Yet I find it very interesting. Firstly the word disalluted. It relates to tears, and to safety. The tears disalluted all the safety that I had. When you google disalluted google suggests  disallowed. When first reading the word I thought since it was linked to tears it should be diluted. All the safety I had I diluted with the tears.  All the safety I had I disallowed with the tears. The Merriam Webster dictionary gives Denied as a synonym for disallowed. All the safety I had I denied with the tears.  again via the Meriam Webster site diluted can mean  diminished strength. All the safety I had I diminished its strength with the tears.  These tears are very strong. They seem to diminish the strength of safety. The first sentence in itself sounds very hopeless. I destroyed with emotion all the emotional safety that I had. This is a heavy statement. Why was the safety so fragile? why were the tears so terrible and strong?

We find ourselves in this perception that these tears, this sign of weakness perhaps took away our safety and made us vulnerable.  It is unclear the writer does not know where to go from here, and it seems that there is a good motivation to leave because: Fear keeps marching in. And the fear reminds the author of something that cannot be run from, from which the only way to be free of it is forgiveness: Sins. In the last line we find another sentence with unclear meaning for the first time introduces someone else than the author. Perhaps the one ‘who made’ the author cry? All our lost and unworthiness. This is not actually a Grammarly correct sentence, but I suggest that the words should be ‘broken up’ differently. All our lost and unworthi-ness. All our lostness and all our unworthiness.

Even though I wrote the words I don’t know what they mean. Perhaps they are partly real emotion, and partly a play with words. Emotion can feel like a threat to safety, having sinned, being lost (together) and unworthiness are heavy things. Perhaps the clue to the poem is like I was taught the other day, in the middle of this ‘psalm’.

I don’t know where to go from here, and fear keeps marching in. 

The lostness in the last sentence relates to the statement of unclarity in this sentence. And at the same time we see the clue yet much clearer. Fear. Some identify fear as False Evidence Appearing Real. It would surely help  understanding the poem. It proves that the sin, the unworthiness, the lostness, the lost safety and the destroying tears not necessarily a given. But the fear that keeps on marching in affirms  the idea that ll is lost putting the writer in a conundrum. Not knowing where to go from here. Knowing that fear is the main player in this poem redefines the other words in in the poem. The safety is not lost. The tears are not the cause of loss of safety. it is only fear that reminds us of sin, lostness and unworthiness. It is not a great compass on deciding ‘where to go from here’. But perhaps the author doesn’t have to go, rather she should stay and redefine the space she’s in, through getting rid of the fear. . ‘Solving’ the word ‘Disaluted’ is interesting, yet it is more interesting to define  the meaning of the poem, and how the meaning is influenced by our or the author’s perception. It even may call us to ‘answer’ the prayer: don’t be afraid. Don’t run, all is not lost, and don’t be afraid of the tears, it’s scarier when you can’t be vulnerable.

 

Thanks for bearing with me for this experimental dissection of an unclear poem! Hope it inspires you to look at words more closely, and perhaps even dissect and redefine the words inside of you. Redefine how you feel!