Bright new Things // Lying awake in New York City

I saw the clock swap


Poem Clock in central station//metro



Or better said

Three times

An hour passed

And sometimes

I don’t know why,


Ceiling at the MET

But i lie awake at night

And think about my life.

And now i write

A song while

It’s still half dark and I

Cannot write between the lines


Wooster Street

Makes me wonder

Why i even try
To sleep at al

Is there any more beautiful thing

Right now

Than watch and hear


NYC @ Night

Thoughts and days


Evolve to

Bright new things

Bright new things


What happened to that dream?

blurry uitzicht

No filter. (as far as I remember) No idea what it is either. 

A few weeks ago, I was looking a lot at the stuff some of the people that like my posts post online. I am surprised and delighted to find and be found by people that approach writing in a similar way that I do. And in fact, it reminded me of someone from my past who years ago when I met him told me he wanted to write. Now I actually don’t know any of his writing, but I do remember he was pretty open about it, open about his idea or dream. And seeing so many people online putting some kind of dream out there, I decided just bluntly ask (covered in a whole lot ‘I hope you don’t think I’m crazy and remember me and since I’m writing a lot and since I see of people that write) “what happened to that dream?”. His answer, however interesting is not the most important for today. I want to ask the question, to myself, and to you, my younger self, my older self. Myself that writes a lot of lists of things I want to do. It is interesting to talk to people you know from a previous season. A previous step in time. They remind you of the things you were busy with then. And that you’re often   not busy with them now.

kant tasje bewerkt

Photo i took for some kind of challenge. Still very happy with it. Though a little dirtier these days. Filter big time. 

It is not a sin to go a different direction, nor is it a sin to evolve or change. But it sure is a pity to forget, and it’s good to remember, to cherish a dream you once had. The thing is, often previous dreams or ideas feel kind of painful because something or someone in our lives pushed it one way or another. Our idea to study art. Or should I say, my idea to study art fulltime and to relish in the possibilities of creating a world of my own, crushed by the admission panel that did not let us- Erhm, me, in. And the fact is, something else came from that crushed dream- I ended up at a university and at a specialization I love. But funnily enough first the idea, the planning, the dream was to only study art history for 1 year, to prepare myself with knowledge about art for the next admission procedure. The password I created for my university account, still reminds me of that. I chose something that would remind me why I was there, though the truth is now I barely remember what I wanted before or how badly hurt I was when others decided I could not have that.

Uitzicht bewerkt

A view from a place that I once lived at. Filter big time. 

What happened to that dream? The dream was almost forgotten, but the story continued. In fact, this dream, although not being lived to the full inspired a new story, a new life. I don’t mind my dreams, I love them, I also don’t mind they disappear and change, but I do want to remember them. I often make lists of ‘what I want’, or elaborately think about some idea or plan which results in a mental note that I can later return to. I value this very much because dreams tell me something of who I am, and that person however grown and developed, is not completely changed. Dreams of the past do one way or another have a significant role to play in the future, even if it is just to remind of what we have become, and that we can dream for something else. Always.

dream on bewerkt

This photo is a cut-out from a larger one. All the things on the image I could tell so many stories about. Maybe this photo is not necessarily about dreams, but it’s definitely about possibilities. Filter big time.


Economy of Ethics.

I just finished a survey about consumer behavior when buying a textile product such as clothing or sheets or anything like that. The survey asked how much money you spend on clothes and such and what you would pay when the product was produced locally or sustainable etc. etc. The thing is… I think the sustainability and the quality of textiles and how they are made is very important. Truth is as well that I myself not at all pay a fair price for my clothing nor can I afford to. In fact, most of the stuff I own is second hand, bought at a second-hand market for 1 euro, or I got it at a clothing swap. And of course, sometimes I buy (high quality) products in the final sale so I pay 5-10 euros for a pair of pants instead of the 40 euros that they should have cost… the best bargain I ever had was paying 5 euro for a pair of pants that were originally 240 euros or something… Thing is, it’s not that I don’t want to pay what something is worth, or do not know the costs… I am a ‘sewist’ myself so I know how much fabric, buttons, and zippers can cost even without assembling them. I also know how hard it is or how long it takes to assemble something, or to make a pattern. Yet, when you ask me ‘this dress that you want is 50 euros, would you pay more if it was produced ethically I say: no.’ Simply because I would never spend 50 euros on a dress even, so I could never afford to pay more. It is like sitting in your favorite restaurant for 4 hours and only buying the day’s special and drinking water from the tap: I have more power over whether or I go bankrupt than that I have over the income of the restaurant.


Economy is an interesting concept, and I before have called myself a ‘hobby-economist’, like I am also very much a ‘hobby-theologian’. I find it very interesting to think about the injustices or the mechanics of economies. The thing is, Economy and ethics go so badly together because our first concern is: does this harm mé in any way, or- does this cost me in any way I can’t or don’t want to afford? In the end, we all seem to be doomed to live by the fact that somethings are valuable and others are expensive, somethings are essential and others are affordable. In the end, we all need everything that is essential, want something that is valuable to us, affordable, and inexpensive. We are all out on survival here.


Semi-easter themed collage from years ago. Lambs in the jungle.

Thinking of the title ‘economy of ethics’ I was reminded of the Switchfoot song: “economy of mercy”.  Perhaps we don’t need an economy of ethics, barely any of us can afford it- instead, perhaps looking at good Friday, the day that everything was turned around, can help us to find a new way of living:


In the economy of mercy, I am a poor and begging man

In the currency of grace, is where my song begins

In the colors of Your goodness, in the scars that mark Your skin

In the currency of grace, is where my song begins

procastination poem.


I have no idea what this is anymore.. looks like some kind of tent right? and very far way 🙂

Miles away I feel when I look into the

future and back into the past

all the things that haunt me forward

all the things that push me back.

it’s not too bad to be here.

in the sun – in the moment in between

I’ll suffer tomorrow for the things

I did not get done today.

what can I say?

procrastination has always been my talent.

Hurt. :)

So! after the last post, I prommissed to write something more cheerfull than: the worldwideweb is no longer safe and the spider has gotten to me. I was listening to a song just now ‘almost lover‘ it is more popular these days since the singer played ‘queeny’ in fantastic beasts and where to find them. And it is also very popular because it is (also to me) one of the most fantastic dipictions and descriptions of heartache. So 90% of the comments to the song refer to the commenters own heartache. Except ofcourse the comments by the users that confess that they are simply there because they love sad songs. Not unlike how I wrote about sad songs before.

So how is this a cheerful post? I just or infact currently am listening to Johnny Cash’s Hurt. The nine inch nails cover is a beautiful tribute to the strugles in life. And honestly. That’s what the smiley in the title is about. The music is so beautiful that acutally the music when cash sings : what have i become, my sweetest friend, everyone i know goes away in the end sounds like the sun is coming out. It makes me happy to listen to it.

Perhaps this all makes me sound a little crazy. Here’s to being vulnerable 🙂

All the things I could always tell but never share.

DSC01868Today on the blog.

I feel things.

Like everyone feels things.

I want to write things.

I want to tell things, like everyone wants to be listenend to at some point.

But perhaps mostly we just don’t want to be alone.

It is strange the things of the heart.

They seem easier to share with the world wide web than the person you want to share them with. But what happens if perhaps the people you want to keep these feelings from can read what you write? It makes that the big world wide web is also no longer safe. The spider has gotten to me.

So far for gloomy friday. I’m sure there will be happier times. Right now I’m just staying in the cocoon that was wrapped around me. Either I get eaten, or I’ll grow wings and fly, feed off the beauty of this world once again.

Stories that meet.


Because ther is always hope of the light of the sun. Even when you don’t see it.

Sometimes you see a story that so well tells what you had already formulated for yourself. I felt that just now when I read Dina Nayeri’s ‘the ungrateful refugee’. There are some categories in people that do not seem to allow humans as a species. When you are from this category you are either a saint or a pagan, an angel of a devil. you’re either used as a success story to lift everyone up and makes others happy to not be you or a horror story that justifies everyone’s anger, and allows us to no longer critically look at ourselves. Oh the irony. The people that we either see as angels or demons are not allowed what we sometimes don’t want ourselves- a mirror that allows us to see us as we are, not as other perceive us. ‘I am only people’ I remember our host in a small hostel in Budapest when the oven went a bit overboard and none of us really knew what to do. Of course, she meant ‘I’m only human’. But perhaps, there is space in the linguistic fault of I am only people. People means human beings, it means the collective of a tribe, it allows us to be part of something that others are not – the people of the Netherlands, museum people, and at the same time we are general. People love being loved. We are ordinary persons, without influence, might, subjects of something that is higher than any of us that at the same time can be just like us. A man of the people. I am only people. I’d like to meet you and know who you are as well.

No Questions Asked.

I cycled through the city tonight, as you do after a party. And as I do – I look around and see the memories I made in certain streets, certain buildings and where I know people. Tonight, this reminded me of an eventful evening where I met up with a friend and we ended up eating at a -to me- strangers house and later on my rooftop. And there, after the dinner with people I did not know before, and he barely, I asked him: So what did you think about it? And I remember his answer quite well but it does not matter for my story. What matters is that I was quite surprised about the answer he gave. Not entirely because I saw some of the clues in his behavior before, but still. The thing is what he shared he probably would not have shared if I had not asked this question. This reminded me again of the party I just went to- and the things you talk about at birthdays. And all the things that you do not talk about at birthdays.


Amsterdam by night


So many questions are not asked. I wonder how much we miss because of this. How much we lose, how much is hurt, or stowed away. Because there were no questions asked. When I was young I once decided that I hated people who asked questions, because they had the strength to make you tell things you did not want to tell. Questions are powerful. Let’s use them for good.