Liefde voor meisjes : het vinden van een ander persoon tot wie je je op een irrationele manier voelt aangetrokken, meestal vanwege de onzekerheid over de interesse van de andere persoon in jou en relatief waardeloze kwaliteiten zoals “het maken lachen” of coolheid/status van de persoon, om vervolgens gewend te raken aan de ander tijdens de relatie en deze gewenning te verwarren met een diepzinnige en onverklaarbare band met die persoon.
Love for girls: finding another person to whom you feel irrationally attracted, most often because of the insecurity about the interest of the other person in you and relatively worthless qualities such as “making you laugh” or coolness/status of that person, to consequently get accustomed to the other person during the relationship and mistaking this habituation with a profound and inexplicable bond with that other person.
???????
Liefde voor jongens: het hebben van zoveel mogelijk seks met meisjes tot wie je je aangetrokken voelt, en als dit buiten je bereik is door wat voor omstandigheden dan ook, het behouden van een enkel meisje dankzij wie je op een regelmatige basis seks kan hebben, waardoor je uiteindelijk in een relatie belandt en je al je mannelijke vrijheid verliest.
Love for guys: having as much sex as possible with girls that you feel attracted to, and if this is unreachable for whatever reasons, retaining a single girls thanks to whom you will get sex on a regular basis, because of which you consequently end up in a relationship and lose all of your masculine liberty.
???????
Liefde zoals het zou moeten zijn, liefde zoals ik het zou willen: twee innig verliefde personen, die elkaar aanbidden op hun knieen dankzij hun gepassioneerde verlangen de ander alles te willen geven wat een mens maar te bieden heeft, zonder ook maar de kleinste egoistische gedachte.
Love as it should be, love as I want it to be: two persons deeply in love, worshipping each other on their knees thanks to their passionate desire of willing to give the other person everything that a human being has to offer, without even the smallest mention of egoistic thoughts.
...
dinsdag 29 december 2009
dinsdag 15 december 2009
m'endormir
Het enige moment waarop ik me waarlijk veilig kan voelen, is als ik m’n eigen paleis beklim, onder de dekens kruip die ik zelf elke nacht verwarm, waarvan ik zeker weet dat ze mij veiligheid bieden omdat er nog nooit een andere ziel onder geslapen heeft, omdat ik alleen hier mezelf kan zijn, alleen kan zijn; omdat ik niemand anders kan vertrouwen zoals ik mezelf kan vertrouwen, omdat ik in niemand zo ver kan verdwijnen als in mezelf, zodat ik me veilig voel, veilig, eindelijk veilig, niemand anders die nog durft mijn gedachten binnen te dringen, zo schijnbaar eindeloos alleen met alleen m’n eigen armen om me heen, dwalend door m’n eigen dromen.
vrijdag 11 december 2009
I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU.
YOU're the one messing up the system, supporting it like a cheerleader during a football match.
I don't give a shit about you, you're not doing anything to improve it.
What the fuck are you talking about, marriage problems, don't fucking bother me with that.
I don't give a shit about you and your rose.
What are you being insecure about? The way you look? Let's see how you'll look after having died from famine.
What the fuck is going on in this sick society?
I don't give a shit about you, who do you think you are, the queen of the proms?
Oh you are, now tell me why I would ever give a shit.
Go fuck yourself and your ego.
I don't fucking care about your facebook.
I hope you choke on your cigarettes.
Let's smash some mirrors on the wall tonight.
YOU're the one messing up the system, supporting it like a cheerleader during a football match.
I don't give a shit about you, you're not doing anything to improve it.
What the fuck are you talking about, marriage problems, don't fucking bother me with that.
I don't give a shit about you and your rose.
What are you being insecure about? The way you look? Let's see how you'll look after having died from famine.
What the fuck is going on in this sick society?
I don't give a shit about you, who do you think you are, the queen of the proms?
Oh you are, now tell me why I would ever give a shit.
Go fuck yourself and your ego.
I don't fucking care about your facebook.
I hope you choke on your cigarettes.
Let's smash some mirrors on the wall tonight.
zondag 6 december 2009
Vriendschap en Liefde
Ik begrijp iets wat ik onbegrijpelijk genoeg eerder niet begreep.
Ik begrijp waarom je zo voorzichtig bent met liefde tussen jou en mij.
Ik begrijp dat je mijn vriendschap zo erg waardeert dat je de kans het te vernietigen misschien liever niet voor lief neemt.
Maar ik kan je een ding beloven:
Niets gaat ons vernietigen, zeker liefde niet, omdat jij en ik de liefde zelf zijn, en zonder elkaar niet meer zijn dan een gesplitst hart.
Ik begrijp waarom je zo voorzichtig bent met liefde tussen jou en mij.
Ik begrijp dat je mijn vriendschap zo erg waardeert dat je de kans het te vernietigen misschien liever niet voor lief neemt.
Maar ik kan je een ding beloven:
Niets gaat ons vernietigen, zeker liefde niet, omdat jij en ik de liefde zelf zijn, en zonder elkaar niet meer zijn dan een gesplitst hart.
I sing
of battlegrounds;
Vultures dragging my heart
through the muddy grounds
and deserted prayers,
abandoned fields,
leaving it there
to rot at sunset,
throwing it around
shooting it back and forth
as if it were a bullet,
while it's a heart.
There is one vulture
that takes a long flight,
a deep dive,
plunging its beak far into the flesh
and ripping out its insides,
tearing off its pale skin
as a final symbolic gesture,
like how they often shoot
once more at a dead man,
leaving it unprotected
for the rats and armored tanks,
...
until the sun rises
and revives the corpse
of a hardened soldier.
of battlegrounds;
Vultures dragging my heart
through the muddy grounds
and deserted prayers,
abandoned fields,
leaving it there
to rot at sunset,
throwing it around
shooting it back and forth
as if it were a bullet,
while it's a heart.
There is one vulture
that takes a long flight,
a deep dive,
plunging its beak far into the flesh
and ripping out its insides,
tearing off its pale skin
as a final symbolic gesture,
like how they often shoot
once more at a dead man,
leaving it unprotected
for the rats and armored tanks,
...
until the sun rises
and revives the corpse
of a hardened soldier.
vrijdag 4 december 2009
since feeling is first... (VII)
e.e. cummings
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
maandag 23 november 2009
The dilemma of being in company
How come
one can reflect about solitude
with another person,
ou sont toutes considérations complètement inutiles?
one can reflect about solitude
with another person,
ou sont toutes considérations complètement inutiles?
Write about me
Stars, shoot me,
For I already feel as dead as fallen rain.
Snowball, cast me,
For I want to know what it feels like to be thrown away.
Waterfall, bring me down,
For I want to drown in your endless flow.
Words, speak me,
For my desire is to be the essence of this poem.
For I already feel as dead as fallen rain.
Snowball, cast me,
For I want to know what it feels like to be thrown away.
Waterfall, bring me down,
For I want to drown in your endless flow.
Words, speak me,
For my desire is to be the essence of this poem.
Alles en Niets / Tout et Rien
Nothing
Everything,
Both in my desirous hands.
---
Everything equals too much. When there's nothing left to desire, you will enter a permanent state of decadence, which will eventually kill you either physically or mentally or both. Therefore, when everything equals too much, everything equals sadness and misfortune.
---
My love for you feels like everything I will ever need.
---
My life is continuously divided by the following discrepancy, keeping mostly in mind the positive connotation given to the word by people:
Losing everything
=
Having nothing to lose
---
Is this true? When I lose you, if I lose you, will I be as neutral as if I had never met you? The obvious answer is that you will definitely FEEL worse, and that begs an altogether different and more important question. Can you separate feeling something and being something? Could it be that you feel worse but that in fact you're BEING as if nothing had ever happened? If that is true, then the ancient rational vs. emotional issue is of much more importance than I had ever imagined.
---
It is only in nothing that we search for all.
Everything,
Both in my desirous hands.
---
Everything equals too much. When there's nothing left to desire, you will enter a permanent state of decadence, which will eventually kill you either physically or mentally or both. Therefore, when everything equals too much, everything equals sadness and misfortune.
---
My love for you feels like everything I will ever need.
---
My life is continuously divided by the following discrepancy, keeping mostly in mind the positive connotation given to the word by people:
Losing everything
=
Having nothing to lose
---
Is this true? When I lose you, if I lose you, will I be as neutral as if I had never met you? The obvious answer is that you will definitely FEEL worse, and that begs an altogether different and more important question. Can you separate feeling something and being something? Could it be that you feel worse but that in fact you're BEING as if nothing had ever happened? If that is true, then the ancient rational vs. emotional issue is of much more importance than I had ever imagined.
---
It is only in nothing that we search for all.
vrijdag 13 november 2009
America
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour and twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Allen Ginsberg
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour and twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Allen Ginsberg
donderdag 12 november 2009
Collection of notes
It's a shame blogspot doesn't allow any spacing before a sentence starts. Now these notes look even more fucked up than they already did.
People that say chess is a complicated game forget what makes games complicated: the human factor.
There's no betrayal in chess!
---
The more I try to tame my passion, the more it becomes untameable.
---
If only my thoughts weren't constantly racing like this
... then I could have the perfect relationship.
---
Don't make any compromises with me in love;
it's like selling your soul to the devil
for only half of what it's worth.
---
Once more I wonder
what keeps us all going
what keeps us alive,
While I feel so much like dying.
---
Music is not and cannot be about musical sensation;
Instead, it's about human passion and emotion!
---
I keep thinking that I'm alive
But when I observe others around me
I notice that I'm barely breathing.
---
What makes me believe that this exclusiveness of love that I constantly and thoroughly feel is even a bit similar or at least somewhat present in anyone, any person of the other sex? Why can't I become aware that it's virtually the other way around?
---
Xenofobie is een geestesziekte.
---
Xenofobie is de meest serieuze vorm van discriminatie van onze tijd.
---
Xenofobie is de enige geestesziekte die onbehandeld blijft en de enige volledig geaccepteerde vorm van discriminatie.
---
The transition of idealism into cynicism is one of the most dangerous developments in our youngest intellectual generation.
People that say chess is a complicated game forget what makes games complicated: the human factor.
There's no betrayal in chess!
---
The more I try to tame my passion, the more it becomes untameable.
---
If only my thoughts weren't constantly racing like this
... then I could have the perfect relationship.
---
Don't make any compromises with me in love;
it's like selling your soul to the devil
for only half of what it's worth.
---
Once more I wonder
what keeps us all going
what keeps us alive,
While I feel so much like dying.
---
Music is not and cannot be about musical sensation;
Instead, it's about human passion and emotion!
---
I keep thinking that I'm alive
But when I observe others around me
I notice that I'm barely breathing.
---
What makes me believe that this exclusiveness of love that I constantly and thoroughly feel is even a bit similar or at least somewhat present in anyone, any person of the other sex? Why can't I become aware that it's virtually the other way around?
---
Xenofobie is een geestesziekte.
---
Xenofobie is de meest serieuze vorm van discriminatie van onze tijd.
---
Xenofobie is de enige geestesziekte die onbehandeld blijft en de enige volledig geaccepteerde vorm van discriminatie.
---
The transition of idealism into cynicism is one of the most dangerous developments in our youngest intellectual generation.
zaterdag 7 november 2009
donderdag 5 november 2009
Loveless
The value and position in society of prostitution has been occupying me as well as the apparently so fragile relationship between sex and love. Loveless sex, but also sexless love, are interesting concepts that are beyond my grasp. I will deal with them separately. This short poem is about the contradictory, or to me seemingly contradictory, experience of being with a prostitute.
--
--
You take off your bonnet
And your hair spreads the smell of love
While your hand stains my bare chest.
You make no effort to speak,
Your approach is most fair;
No sweet whisper in my ear
Just the soft click-clack on the stairs.
In observation of your sophisticated
Straightforwardness – I’ve met no-one more honest –
I’m disillusioned nonetheless.
I’m so baffled by your skills
That I cannot rhyme any longer.
You are the question what love is yourself
But considering it you wouldn’t dare;
Money is your only distress.
Remaining now is only the smell of your hair,
The stain of your worn out dress.
zaterdag 31 oktober 2009
The Mars Volta - Since We've Been Wrong
Since We've Been Wrong
Do you still remember how you wore that dress
it slit my sight beneath the eyelids
Do you remember what you said to me
What course has given you the right to stray
And in your living tomb I'm stuck but safe
The clocks are ticking fast with every breath
Since we've been wrong
I've been part awake
Since we've been wrong
You will never ever know me
What took you so long
I'm not sure all the way
But my heart it asks just one more time
Are you still a mess?
One day a rain will come to wash away
The earth that held us was no island
I have become ingrown inside this skin
I'll find a way out through those eyelids
And all the days become a cast away
I seem to think I don't belong here
Since we've been wrong
I've been part awake
Since we've been wrong
You will never ever know me
What took you so long
I'm not sure all the way
But my heart it asks just one more time
Are you still a mess?
I don’t belong here
I shouldn't stay
What falls inside me grows empty
The wall between us will never break
Just seals it shut
It grows empty
Since we've been wrong
I've been part awake
Since we've been wrong
You will never ever know me
What took you so long
I'm not sure all the way
Since we've been wrong
I've been part awake
Since we've been wrong
You will never ever know me
What took you so long
I'm not sure all the way
But my heart it asks just one more time
Are you still a mess?
Do you still remember how you wore that dress
it slit my sight beneath the eyelids
Do you remember what you said to me
What course has given you the right to stray
And in your living tomb I'm stuck but safe
The clocks are ticking fast with every breath
Since we've been wrong
I've been part awake
Since we've been wrong
You will never ever know me
What took you so long
I'm not sure all the way
But my heart it asks just one more time
Are you still a mess?
One day a rain will come to wash away
The earth that held us was no island
I have become ingrown inside this skin
I'll find a way out through those eyelids
And all the days become a cast away
I seem to think I don't belong here
Since we've been wrong
I've been part awake
Since we've been wrong
You will never ever know me
What took you so long
I'm not sure all the way
But my heart it asks just one more time
Are you still a mess?
I don’t belong here
I shouldn't stay
What falls inside me grows empty
The wall between us will never break
Just seals it shut
It grows empty
Since we've been wrong
I've been part awake
Since we've been wrong
You will never ever know me
What took you so long
I'm not sure all the way
Since we've been wrong
I've been part awake
Since we've been wrong
You will never ever know me
What took you so long
I'm not sure all the way
But my heart it asks just one more time
Are you still a mess?
donderdag 29 oktober 2009
La seule nuit (work in progress)
I picked you up somewhere along the line.
I told you I like your earrings.
Love, loveless; stars shooting
in your eyes like fake jewellery.
Your body is oh so real on touch.
Somewhere I think I can hear
your voice calling for love
but I can only see you crawling,
a shadow of a dog.
(I can't believe I'm so excited
over something which will lose
its value in about 10 minutes;
it must be the capitalist dream
keeping me awake)
Undressed; getting lost in the rhythm,
In this movement,
Until you set me free -
Eventually.
I told you I like your earrings.
Love, loveless; stars shooting
in your eyes like fake jewellery.
Your body is oh so real on touch.
Somewhere I think I can hear
your voice calling for love
but I can only see you crawling,
a shadow of a dog.
(I can't believe I'm so excited
over something which will lose
its value in about 10 minutes;
it must be the capitalist dream
keeping me awake)
Undressed; getting lost in the rhythm,
In this movement,
Until you set me free -
Eventually.
zondag 25 oktober 2009
tiny excerpt from (een) Zwarte Zomer (working title)
Onmacht doet Carlo besluiten uit de kapitalistische wereld te vertrekken, uit Nederland te vertrekken, naar Afrika te gaan, naar een land waar de maatschappelijke problemen niet zo kinderachtig zijn, niet gaan over wie meer geld heeft en het wel of niet willen afstaan van kleinzielige vrijheden, terwijl vrijheid toch niet in gradaties is te meten, althans niet meer in Westerse maatschappijen; vrijheid is een gevoel, vrijheid moet je niet kleineren met problemen die de naam niet waard zijn, met problemen die toch eigenlijk niemand serieus mag nemen. Carlo heeft de vrijheid naar een Afrikaans land te gaan wanneer en op wat voor manier hem dat belieft, een Afrikaan heeft niet dezelfde vrijheid; dat is vrijheid, niet of een immigrant in je straat komt wonen en jouw straatbeeld verpest, achterlijke mongool, vergeef me mijn terminologie; als dat de naam vrijheid draagt dan wordt het tijd ons woordenboek te herzien.
Whether or not to give in to capitalism should be the most important issue for the intellectuals to be growing up in our era. - (fictitious character) Carlo (Marx)
Het wel of niet toegeven aan kapitalisme zou de belangrijkste kwestie moeten zijn voor opgroeiende intellectuelen van onze tijd. - (fictitious character) Carlo (Marx)
Whether or not to give in to capitalism should be the most important issue for the intellectuals to be growing up in our era. - (fictitious character) Carlo (Marx)
Het wel of niet toegeven aan kapitalisme zou de belangrijkste kwestie moeten zijn voor opgroeiende intellectuelen van onze tijd. - (fictitious character) Carlo (Marx)
vrijdag 23 oktober 2009
dinsdag 20 oktober 2009
Barcelone / Picasso
Après avoir visité Barcelone, et le musée de Picasso, quelques petites notes.
Please, oh please, read Fyodor Dostoyevsky, read Crime & Punishment, for it's a marvelous book; but I need you to read it, most of all and regardless of its beauty, to confirm that Pablo Picasso has painted something which is so similar to an image described in a scene in C&P, a fantastic painting. Je l'ai cherché sur internet mais je l'ai pas trouvé. Ca me souvient d'une belle citation de Picasso:
"Je ne cherche pas, je trouve."
Demande-moi si tu veux le voir! J'ai acheté une carte postale de ce tableau. Phénoménal.
Quelque chose d'autre. Comment c'est possible pour Picasso de pouvoir déménager en France facilement comme ça, sans problèmes de barrière de la langue? Il me semble qu'aujourd'hui ils existent plus de barrières qu'avant, quand les artistes, les poètes, ils voyagaient aux autres pays sans problèmes du tout. Whereas nowadays it's not obligatory anymore to learn any language other than English, which is also exactly the mentality of the people, because of which they lose all sense of beauty in other languages and even in English.
I hope I will never stop learning languages.
Please, oh please, read Fyodor Dostoyevsky, read Crime & Punishment, for it's a marvelous book; but I need you to read it, most of all and regardless of its beauty, to confirm that Pablo Picasso has painted something which is so similar to an image described in a scene in C&P, a fantastic painting. Je l'ai cherché sur internet mais je l'ai pas trouvé. Ca me souvient d'une belle citation de Picasso:
"Je ne cherche pas, je trouve."
Demande-moi si tu veux le voir! J'ai acheté une carte postale de ce tableau. Phénoménal.
Quelque chose d'autre. Comment c'est possible pour Picasso de pouvoir déménager en France facilement comme ça, sans problèmes de barrière de la langue? Il me semble qu'aujourd'hui ils existent plus de barrières qu'avant, quand les artistes, les poètes, ils voyagaient aux autres pays sans problèmes du tout. Whereas nowadays it's not obligatory anymore to learn any language other than English, which is also exactly the mentality of the people, because of which they lose all sense of beauty in other languages and even in English.
I hope I will never stop learning languages.
Happiness Revisited (egoism and the happiness of others)
Growing up is a form of degradation. Innocence is the purest concept I know, in all my childish experience, and it’s also the first thing you lose when ageing, until you reach a stage of pure consciousness, total awareness of everything around; some psychologist of yore called this building a superego, das überich (or rather this is how I prefer using his concept). Therefore, when we grow up, we face the following duality: we either desperately attempt to hold on to our innocence, ignorant and in denial of the perception our senses give us, and more importantly, nostalgic of what we used to be. Although this might work for some, I believe the reflective human being, when opting for this, will necessarily feel discontent, on the one hand trapping himself in his childhood and on the other hand not wanting to give up the pleasures of being an adult, combined with a lack of taking responsibility for one’s actions. This is one of the hallmarks of western civilization, interestingly enough to be found throughout all education classes, from alcoholic university students to hustling youngsters in the slums. The other option is accepting the loss of innocence. Within this domain there are again multiple possibilities. The road to happiness is roughly divided by the decision to care or not to care about this loss of innocence. Those who don’t care have naturally, as they don’t care, chosen to live a life in which respect for others has reached a low; their non-innocence allows them to. They have a weak superego. The ultimate point is that they care about no-one other than themselves. How they have come to be like this is an altogether different albeit interesting question, which is of no particular relevance at the moment. The other option of adulthood, intrinsically more difficult to achieve than the one just described, is the only form which allows others to be happy not only regardless of but even because of another’s happiness. The strength of one’s superego plays a major role in this. It enables one to keep one’s pleasures of adulthood, whatever these may be, within certain boundaries, allowing those around him space to express themselves to a similar degree. It seeks a form of innocence incomparable to childish innocence but nonetheless valuable, I could argue even more valuable. Not only does one not harm others purposely but with the reflective capabilities one gains with adulthood one can better judge what will please another than with the childish form of innocence. It must be evident that it is this last category we must explore in order to be able to consider its usefulness as a theoretical approach. A debate on the realistic or idealistic mindset and which is the better (read: idealism is better than realism), is also very much appropriate, as the existence of the kind of innocence as described for the last category is very much dependent on an idealistic mindset, as is all improvement in life.
Rêver en français (reconstruction)
Je te vois, au-dessus des nuages, flotter sur la vie, criant de bonheur – ton corps deux fois plus grand que normale, quelque chose grandissant sans limite dans toi, et comme tu grandis, ta joie grandit aussi rapidement – tes cheveux se composent de roses fleurissant, et tu me vois comme j’ai déjà tout ce que je souhaiterais.
Je te promets que je reviendrai presque immédiatement et je pars, vous avez besoin de nourriture. Tu étends tes deux mains, deux autres mains dans ton intérieur qui s’etendent – il me blesse que tu penses qu’il existe une possibilité de te laisser complètement seule, même si à partir de maintenant tu ne seras jamais seule, et après avoir dit cela, tu me dis qu’en fait je suis un homme.
Sans être fâché et sans faire autres promesses je t’abandonne. Tu m’as dit assez souvent que tu me connais et si tu me connais, tu sais que je reviens. Combien de fois je suis déjà revenu ?
Je rentre, dans mes bras plein de choses pour ta survie et mon cœur plein de vous. Tu m’embrasses sur ma gorge, une fois pour toi et la deuxième pour elle, et je crie comme un bébé.
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