I told a story.

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The jittery beauty of lights and water and under a bridge at night

So I gave up the night, and in truth, most of the day

because only now at 11.21 I’m out of bed and ready for breakfast.

yesterday was one of these tired days where you know sleeping won’t

help. you might as well wander the city, or in my case, cycle another 24 km

(there and back again) to the Mezrab. It was open night again,

like the first time I went.

So the way that works is that there are 2 times 3 storytellers,

that already applied beforehand, and then there is a ‘free’ slot,

with one know storyteller, and 2 names are drawn from the hat.

You know how it goes, one of the storytellers says :

live your life running looking death in the eye, and put your name in the hat. 

And so I did.

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Male club, church, enterprise, social advancement- I hope not. falling up, The meaning of life

It included

All the awkward hanging at the bar waiting for the guy in charge of the hat

to come by, the whole jittery feeling in your blood, the heaviness in your bones

the copying your poem to actually makes sure it’s readable.

and then the break ends. And some woman draws a name from the hat.

and it’s mine. And so I tell the story of Jonah, and what would have happened if I was Jonah.

It was nice being able to tell a wonderful old story the way I wanted to and to share one of my poems. It felt strange but right.

But mostly it is interesting how it feels that nothing has changed and at the same time that  I moved on to the next part. Whatever that is.

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Whatever it is.

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Black swan

There was a man,

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At night, around the corner with the red light.

and since he was holding

a camera with a big lens

I knew -he was standing

still with a purpose.

Because a lens or an

aimed pair of eyes,

tell you there’s something to see

 

And for me, this was the moment

to check if I did not just

see something wasn’t there

but actually something that

shouldn’t be there.

 

But it was. I saw something impossible

They live on the other side of the

world right?

And as i told the story i almost

wondered if i made it up.

but sleep deprived as i was

going home it was there once again

and then I captured it-

while it warned me-

the lights, the road blocks

and the special spiecies.

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almost looks fake right?

 

 

Hijack my feelings

Won’t you just go on,

Hijack my feelings

my thoughts and ideas

if I am soluble enough to

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Walking on your own.

share them.

I don’t want to fight

over what you think

that might be different

than what I feel

 

and oh here I am again-

I didn’t need you to tell me right

from wrong I was just curious

And oh here I am again-

I did not stop you from talking

but I don’t appreciate you walking

all over me again.

 

In the small space between

not the time or the place

I find myself back on track knowing

who I am once again.

 

And in the small space between

stepping out and rushing in

I can hear my thoughts

once again.

Snippits.

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Simplicity is the best thing.

Every once in a while I get on a writers’ flow, and man does that feel good :). This happens mostly when I am in an inspiring and busy place where there is so much to see that I find I have so much to tell. So I shut myself off of a part of the environment and get into my notebook. And I write.

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Yesterday was one of those nights when I was at the Mezrab at an open storytelling night. I had heard of the place before, but I had never been. Because although it is in one of my favorite parts of the city- along the river IJ, it is also quite far away. Yet yesterday facebooks algorithms reminded me that this place existed and that there was an open storytelling night. And so I decided and went like I do: on my own, taking a notebook (great for hiding and for getting attention without looking desperate), and staying longer than 90 percent of the crowd. And after 3 times 3 stories, I wrote. And if I’ll develop the powers of being able to perform the writing by heart as if it were a story, I will do so. So today I won’t share the whole thing, but just some part that I truly love.

 

Being where I love it, the mess of the middle, taking it in and writing it down. I hear ‘I’m actually very tired’ ‘Do you want to leave?’ and I know’ll stay here a while. People go out out to a place with more oxygen and I wonder what it feels like, to not just write but to read out loud. To tell other than talk.

The Bigger Pictures- Lost in the details

 

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Lost- one of my favorite lyrics incorporating the word ‘lost’ is from Newton Faulkners ‘Lullaby’, From his first album of which he made a 45 minutes video where he plays all the songs in his house- lullaby is the last one. The lyrics tell ‘If you’re not lost, I guess that makes you found. The last few weeks with shortening days and no clear goals I must say I felt a little lost.  At a point, I actually watched part of the first episode of lost- because I did not know what to do with myself. This week is a first of very structured weeks- work early in the morning- afternoon and evening off- though I must say these evenings are easily filled.

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Today, however, I do not feel lost- inspired by a roommate who spends her last days before work starts again with improving the house, I finally also executed some of my plans. cleaning out my room and throwing out things makes it possible once again to see some order in the chaos. I even re-arranged some of my work on the wall, and to keep this blog visually interesting I took some photos.

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Everything might still seem a little bit chaotic, but lots of things, including me, are no longer lost. I guess that makes me found.

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Beyond Imagination.

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Every once in a while, a day is so full of inexplicable wonderous moments, that you have to stand still record it, so you can save it for later.  a little bit of sunshine for a later day. The wondrous moment when you find yourself trying to climb out of your room over strangers stuff and have a dear fictional character lend you the hand to climb into your house that you agreed could be confiscated by strangers for a day. The moment that you stand next to a stranger, both locking your bike, feeling strangely connected though there is no conversation and never will be…

The moment a colleague guesses wildly and guesses right about who was in your house that day-  The moment that you realise that the ultimate safe and scary childhood figure, men with white beard and red dress is looking at you- silently. Seeing and hearing someone you have been listening to for ten years, realising it is all you love (shout out to Newton Faulkner :)). The empowering feeling of going somewhere alone.

Being cut off from wifi which allows you to do in an hour what you haven’t been able to do for more than a week. The moment you are reminiscing and travelling on auto-pilot realising you are somewhere you haven’t been before, not entirely sure how you got there. the moment you find a note on your laptop, realising a guy that you kind of liked went into your bedroom, and wrote his number name and that he will probably be back next week. the moment you write your reality as were it fiction, realising how deliciously creepy some of the statements sound.

Now. Time for bed. Off you go!

The desire of an Angel

Last Sunday I saw an angel. My guess was that she was 5 years old, and obviously, she was British. She had long gold curly hear and a dark blue dress partly covered in sequins. And this little angel was eating jello. Now I know she was an angel because I met her in a church, and because of what she said to me. Now here I was, sitting alone, waiting, waiting for a friend I just made to arrive. I was looking at the angel for a while, so beautiful, her legs adorned with blueish stripes, that might be drawn by pencil, or perhaps a sign that she had fairy blood as well. After a while of thinking of the fact, that I, in fact, had never eaten jello (we do not have this in the mundane world that I come from), it appeared that the angel also had been looking at me. She came with a spoon held out. I tried to make some conversation, telling her about that I had never had jello because we did not have it where I was from. And in turn, she told me that “Actually, it is raspberry flavoured”. At first, I was sure she came to give me a bite of the spoon, yet I was unsure how to proceed. So even though I wanted to try, I made awkward conversation, and we looked into each other’s eyes. And then she said it: ‘I’d like to share’.

 

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Not an angel, rather a drawing I made years ago, to represent Hazel from Watership down, however, it seems appropriate.

 

Relieved by her confession and eager to fulfil her desire, I told her: “Shall I take a bite?” “Yes,” she said. And so I took a bite from the bright red jello, that I for me always was more the stuff of nightmares instead of dreams, and I found out that it was unlike anything I had before. Indeed it tasted like liquid raspberry. Then, without warning, her mum came to us, half embarrassed that her daughter was bothering me, and the moment ended.

Although this was short and unsophisticated encounter, this angel taught me. Sometimes the best way to go is to just tell others about your desire. And, it is ok to do something, just because you like it. At the same time, it taught me that things that might seem horrible and fake from a distance can still be wonderful and tasty. And lastly, it taught me, that where ever you are, you might just get surprised by an angel, teaching you life.

The magic of running from a great converstation

So. Imagine this movie scene. One of the characters goes and sits on a bench on a small airport, notices the other character, who seems to be a Russian, since the book he reads has Cyrillic letters. The characters stay side by side and little to nothing seems to be happening. and then… The supposedly Russian guy starts talking to the girl who came to sit next to him. And we have no idea what he says, neither does the girl. We find out that for some reason the guy thought that maybe this girl was from his country, and for that reason spoke to her in an unknown language. Everyone can guess what happens next: they start to talk about where they came from and where they are going and the meaning of life. Since the conversation is not finished and they both have to catch a flight they travel together through security and follow the flow of the conversation. And then. In a split second the girl realizes she is late for her flight, and without knowing anything about this guy except where he is from and where he is going and his vision of life she runs off, leaving what this conservation could be when she would not be running off, to everyone’s imagination.

In the second scene, we see this girl again. This time she is in the town where she lives. She carries a book and goes to sit on a bench and there she reads it. A little later a guy comes and sits next to her, working on his laptop. Nothing really happens for a long time, until the girl puts the book next to her on the bench and the wind opens the book, and takes out one of the precious notes this girl found in this book, that she has on permanent loan from someone she loves. Of course, for dramatic purposes this bench is on a canal side and the note flies to the water and lands there. The girl runs after it and since she does not know how to get the note back she considers quickly reading it again and copying it. Yet then the guy that until now did nothing of particular interest comes over, puts away his phone and jumps in to the boat that is next to the note and rescues the piece of paper. The guy asks: “Was it a shopping list? Because sometimes when I find other people’s shopping lists I buy the things that are on there.” The girl is a bit confused and starts copying the note to a book, to save its content and to wait until it is dry. When she finishes she decides to continue the conversation and you can imagine what happens, they end up talking about where they came from and where they are going and the meaning of life. The sun moves around the sky and the shades get longer. Yet the girl has no clue what time it is until she gets a phone call from the person that she is supposed to meet: she is half an hour late. The two introduce themselves to one another, spell their first names and the girl runs off, leaving what this conservation could be when she would not be running off, to everyone’s imagination.