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Voor Emmy

Zijn het pluimen of bladeren
die ontsnappen uit je binnenste hartkamer
of is het de gloed van de kleur van kloppend bloed
hunkerend naar de stilte van rimpelloos

Als haar handen vloeibaar worden
krijgt de piano vleugels op het doek
Een boom verbijt haar vergezicht
In de diepte luisteren wortels verrukt
naar de zachte braille van haar bestaan
Tuinen hangen van de wolken
omlaag, omhoog groeien vreemde bloemen
uit een ingebeelde notenbalk.

Guido Vermeulen
14 november 2011

Muziek bij de video: Claude Debussy

zaterdag 12 mei 2012

Cascade of dreams ending in a Dutch poem

More dreams from last night, cascade ones, so no inner relations unless you are a psycho-analyst:

1) I want to know where my cats are and arrive in a strange garden. A small white bear is sitting there on the shoulder of a giant lady. She is breathtaking, has large black hair ands wears a bright black dress. I look to the bear who is quite happy and tells me he is on her shoulder because it highlightens its white fur!
Still no signs of my kittens. A flock of movement appears in the sky, I try to focus on them and understand it is a flock of birds, a flock of pelicans even, but when I focus even more my view they are not photographic but cartoon drawn with an abundance of colors that blinds my eye sight! I am living inside a comic story I think disgusted and try to leave on the spot!

2) I decide to return back from this strange garden. I walk into even stranger halls of what seems to be a very narrow factory construction. First I meet what looks to me like slave workers, they ignore me because they are quite scared and avoid any possible eye contact. Second room is a filled with laborants in white coats, they experiment with whatever is available in the room and are quite angry with my presence: I am an unwelcome intruder! Some of these assholes I recognize from former job situations and I run away as quick as I can, disgusted by seeing them again!
Why all these cancers have not died of awful cancers goes thru my head and I am regretting this reflection on the spot!
Third and final room is full of naked workers coming from the showers, men and women mixed, they all have doom and gloom in their eyes, look to me as if I do not really exist. They are all incredibly ugly, hair growing from every part of their bodies, even the femail ones! They all look terribly angry and unhappy, almost ready to committ rape and murder at any second! DO not stay here, a woman shouts, this is not your crowd! Get OUT, pleaasse, get OUT !!!
    3) I try to escape from this nonsense factory and come into an open field when I break a door without any pain or bloodshed. I check my own body in awe!
4) I close my eyes and try to see colors to escape the past nightmare.
A labour manifesto text I cannot read is projected before my eyes:
The first 5 statements are in black: the next 5 one are in white but the 10 sentences are all on the same blue background. I have no clue what this is about BUT breakthru!

5) So it is possible to dream in colors I reflect and then an abundance of strange and even stranger images shoot before my eyes in all the colors of the rainbow.
I do not bother much because after all I still have not found my kittens! And a man has to do what a man has to do, it is all a question of priorities or not?

6) The most simple things in life are often the most complex, goes thru my head; it is the start of a complete poem based on what Mike Dyar labeled or recognized as cognitive memory!
When I wake up I remember every sentence and write it down but in a reverse order; starting from the final phrase to first one, but it is all in Dutch.
Which makes me think: Okay, I can dream in colors now but still not in different tongues, so I still have a long way to go!
One kitten licks my feet, the other one nestled himself in my upper arms, close to my face, almost suffocating me! I can hardly breathe, so this probably caused this dream cascade, thanks a lot Buzzy!!!


voor Simonne

De simpele dingen des levens
zijn wellicht de meest complexe;
de geboorte van een luchtbel,
de nerven in het blad van een boom,
het insect in je vinger die me aanraakt,
de vogel die ik hoor zingen in je onderbuik,
een ingedommelde traan in een ontwakende oceaan,
een slapende kater op een schilderstafel in een kelder te Brussel,
en mijn slapeloze herinnering aan waar jij sliep.


Het wakker worden met het geheugen
van dit gedicht op mijn versteende lippen.
Het onmiddellijke neerschrijven of al goed alsof
omdat Buzz probeert te spelen met mijn pen.

May 12, 2012
NOTHING of this story has been invented, cross my heart and hope to die!

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