Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Candles, Jazz, Wine and Truths

Four flickering candles in a dark bedroom, swaying to the smooth rhythm of jazz. Lightheaded taste buds, bathing in a light dry red sea also known as wine. One blank page and an almost alcoholic brain ready to spill the beans. Or the grapes, in this case. Synapses loose, hands clean, glass empty. Here we go again.

But. Yes, there's always a but. Again and again can be pretty exhausting. Sometimes, not always, I run out of things to say; the ideal scenario for intimidation by uncomfortable silence. But (yes), the truth is, there is always something left to say, whether you bravely utter the words out loud, or you childishly play a long lost game of hide and seek. Peek-a-boo. And the little kid inside of you giggles.

It's like living vicariously through someone else's life, even though you feel quite content with your own. It's a rare case of buy one get one free, neglecting the purchase that has already been made. It's that pinch of salt you add to make it taste better, when what you really need is a boulder. It's the romantic notion distinguishing love and independence, notwithstanding the distance setting them apart. It's the meaningful late night conversations between your heart and your brain, when one is hopeful and the other one is almost drunk.

It's a lot of things really. Mostly, it's about a fragile site under construction not yet open to the sober curious crowd.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

The Aftertaste

the aftertaste in my mouth,
fleeting happiness as it goes south,
on a six-colour rainbow in the sky,
whispering hello, i love you. goodbye.

because the wait shouldn't be this long,
deeply penetrated by a crappy love song,
mocked by the bitter sweet irony of the wall,
it's coming. yes it's coming. no, not at all.

but i still see you, in the near future.
a needle and a thread. an invisible suture.
stitching up what was never really broken,
whispering, those three little words, left unspoken.

Thursday, July 7, 2011


I was uselessly dead. Again. Like a forgotten oasis in the middle of a desert. But then, somewhere in between the screaming happiness, somewhere underneath the blue starry night, accompanied by the gentle sweetness of raw rock music, I woke up. Hello again beautiful world. Nice seeing you again.

And when the little boy in the train ran down the long corridor, away from his father, only to come walking back, I smiled. Because this right here has never been about leaving. It was always about leaving and going back again. And again. And yes, a three hour train is not really going to take me anywhere, but at least it's taking me somewhere. And the heavy backpack, like the tilted weight of the world on your shoulders, is a reminder. A post-it note telling you that the forthcoming journey may not be the easiest one yet, but then again nobody ever really got anywhere by staying in one place carrying a grocery bag.

So when this permanent shuffling of personal life and dea(d) starts scaring the shit out of you, take a breath, and make it deep. And when you don't know what day it is, just because a day becomes nothing more but a beautiful contemporary concept, take another breath, make it deep, and smile.

You're alive. Congratulations.

(Written on Monday, July 03, 2011 on the train from Rock Werchter to Amsterdam.)