I ate all your bees.

                                                                                         ---Taxi Driver

Een smerige inktvlek bederft de eerst zo witte bladzij.

Wie ben ik en wie ben jij; vraagt de naïve dichter met een zweem van

ironie –

Als we dat eens wisten

als we dat eens wisten zaten we niet veel verder

anders, heren en dames:

een kort intermezzo; 

één minuut stilte voor hen

zij die zwichten onder dat wat wel eens

-smalend-

‘existentiële crisis’

 wordt genoemd.

...

...

...

 oef.

weer één nutteloze minuut voorbij

tijd voor een nieuwe pagina.

                      "Music is a journey.   Jazz is getting lost."

                      The skyline was beautiful on fire
                     All twisted metal stretching upwards
                     Everything washed in a thin orange haze

                     I said, "Kiss me, you're beautiful -
                    These are truly the last days"

                     You grabbed my hand
                     And we fell into it
                     Like a daydream
                    Or a fever 

                                    - GYBE

             First photograph ever of a human being.
                         - Louis Daguerre

                          We lost the skyline
                                We stepped right off the map
                           Drifted in to blank space
                                And let the clocks relapse

“Because to influence a person is to give him one's own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of someone else's music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one's nature perfectly—that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one's self. Of course they are charitable. They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it. The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is the secret of religion—these are the two things that govern us.

And yet, I believe that if one man were to live out his life fully and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream—I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of medievalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal—to something finer, richer, than the Hellenic ideal, it may be. But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself. The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the self-denial that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture Of Dorian Gray