maandag 25 augustus 2014

DIARY OF THE MOST BELOVED DEATH 3 one to one; my shadow side

Prologue
From the last year of her life.

Little horse throw off your reins and go alone now
At a trot through the forest and over the heath;
get yourself aquainted with the erratic boulders

Then come tumbling back and I will take you on my back
Just a little stretch, not to the end, even though you are dead tired

Everyone has a proper fate, heavily protected, but not by a lock
So even though no one can offer you a key, my advice to you is to enjoy,
yes, the grief as well

Yes I hear you Darling and I will take your advice to heart.



1     From the first year after her death.
                                                               How to take into account the question of how to take into account sorrow? 

                                                               Occasions as the death of a most beloved occur very rarely and if I must leave some weight 
                                                               behind anyway, I rather leave it because of this loss. 
                                                               No need for me to add to the melodramas that are already touring. Although what I have to 
                                                               offer would be perfectly suitable; all the ingredients I have in the cupboard and in sophisticated 
                                                               combinations these could produce countless variations.

                                                               How to take into account the question of how to take into account sorrow? 

                                                               Without taking on extra provisions the ship has weighed anchor. The programmed pleasure will 
                                                               have to make do with the leftovers of previous trips. Although the circumstances are far from 
                                                               favorable the vessel seems to be holding up excellently; the shipping company seems to have no 
                                                               reason whatsoever for any dissatisfaction.

                                                               How to take into account the question of how to take into account sorrow? 

                                                               Oh how short the days when chaos rules. For me no castle on the edge of a desert, nor a 
                                                               monastary on top of a rock. For me no tradition in which I can mirror myself; the color of my 
                                                               skin does not match my origins.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



2     From the first year after her death.
                                                               How to take into account the question of how to take into account sorrow? 

                                                               Arithmetic dramas, now that is different; measuring, counting and capturing in formulas. Loosely 
                                                               – applying the formulas loosely; a frivolous dealing with the esoteric legacies might result in some 
                                                               delight. Look two times, hesitate three times. And then nod; horizontally or vertically, depending 
                                                               on whether the tongue sits or doesn`t sit right in the mouth. 
                                                               Also possible: get lighter, as mentioned, bend or sob.

                                                               How to take into account the questionof how to take into account sorrow? 

                                                               Give me a fate and I examine it by the light of the stars, give me a dead body and I lay it on the 
                                                               book.
                                                               Babbling about trajectories and transformations I reduce terrestrial lives to a composition of 
                                                               numbers with see-through vision on the real truth, which can be added up yes, be told no. The 
                                                               amount of trajectories is huge, but not infinite; about twelve million, that`s it.

                                                               The small joys and great sorrows are in balance.

                                                               Rats somersaulting in the moonlight were the cause of the diversion. During the diversion I 
                                                               encountered her. 
                                                               She laughed as only she can laugh and my delight was boundless; the dimensions that unnamed 
                                                               are the real infuence flowed together.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



3     From the first year after her death.
                                                               Trust the wind to be kind to us

                                                               To dwell in forgotten grottos where sea urchins lay being rotten. Magical the rhythm with which 
                                                               the foam mouthing waves gasp for air. Salty water is no water, if I want to quench my thirst. Just 
                                                               a little while longer and the sound as well will transcend the time-bound dimensions.

                                                               Trust the wind to be kind to us

                                                               It is a warm wind,

                                                               arriving steady from the southwest
                                                               It brings the scent of pepper and mint,
                                                               the sound of the kasbah
                                                               Ah intoxicating! Quench your thirst Darling, I quench mine.

                                                               Trust the wind to be kind to us

                                                               Oh how short the days when chaos rules. For me no prefabricated mold in which I might fit; my 
                                                               ambitions include neither an office nor any other post; the animal and I looking each other in the 
                                                               eye, now and here, is my happiness.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



(4)     From the first year after her death.
                                                               Trust the wind to be kind to us.

                                                               Honey Girl, hurry inside. Now and here! 

                                                               I have turned up the heat while having the window open. Am I crazy?
                                                               If I don`t hold my heart, if I let it go, it might bolt.
                                                               Can I please lay with my Healing-beast for a delightful little while? Now and here?
                                                               Rise wide Darling, so I can feel you.
                                                               Ah intoxicating! Quench your thirst Darling, I quench mine.

                                                               Trust the wind to be kind to us.


                                                               Can I count on your recommendation, Most Precious, as soon as my worldly position is at 

                                                               stake once more?
                                                               I know I can! Nobody cares about me as you do, the only one who ever dreamed a dream 
                                                               for me.

                                                               Trust the wind to be kind to us.


                                                               Well de bragan vrang. Rem de sinoied. Begare melatti. Tem posta es. Salove dranbare. 

                                                               Ken to falla kwor. Staman.
                                                               Sellowee fronsa. Diabolo men te. Mon ti. 
                                                               Prot.
                                                               Yes Darling, you understand me.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



5     From the first year after her death.
                                                               The crack is narrow and closes fast.

                                                               On the sharp teeth I do not only cut my hands but burn them too. 
                                                               Increase the pressure, let the heat rise and they curl.
                                                               The vistas show flashes of colors, but form volumes are not yet apparent.

                                                               The crack is narrow and closes fast.

                                                               I let myself sink in a straight line. My feet made heavy by everything what has been stolen from 
                                                               me. Until I swirl through the water as a snowflake in the wind.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



(6)     From the first year after her death.
                                                               No use to wait any longer.

                                                               Resurrection please on the day of the elves, when the hare masks come out of the autumn 
                                                               closets and the bare birches light up, bathing themselves in the long low morning rays.
                                                               Good news! My chances for the next dance went up one hundred per cent!
                                                               From where the elves conjure up their ball dresses? They get them as gifts; they are of cosmic 
                                                               make and guaranteed for life. The applications have a unique quality; a cool temptation resulting 
                                                               in an eternally flowing comfort.
                                                               And did I ever encounter such an elf? Yes I know one; she is my mother and she is my 
                                                               daughter, she is my muse and she is my confidente, she is my friend; the prettiest and dearest 
                                                               and softest and sweetest and warmest and strongest, the toughest and purest and wisest and 
                                                               freest, the funniest – oh well, she is my great love.
                                                               And am I careful with her? No that is not necessary; on her own she can take on the truest truth 
                                                               and the world four times over!

                                                               No use to wait any longer.

                                                               Oh my elf has a secure self and her ego does not like stratego; straight – by sea, land and sky, 
                                                               no passion clatter makes her shy. It`s true Darling, isn`t it, you understand me. But we are 
                                                               not going to exaggerate, are we, we stick to reality. Come, change your clothes, your 
                                                               bathing dress, and we go outside. Walking on stilts through the water of the swirling 
                                                               river. Sweet Honey come here, so I can see you so I can see you. Oh it always gives me the 
                                                               shivers whenever you are out of my sight, stay by my knee stay by my knee, swimming to 
                                                               the other side. Yes hold on, we are almost there, really it can be done my Darling, really 
                                                               we are going to make it.
                                                               You swam and you won and are you going to swim some more you will do an encore. Yes 
                                                               you are an airy type, like an arrow like a feather. Not afraid of the nothing, not afraid of 
                                                               the all and therefore attached to what is fine and what is small.
                                                               Didn`t I already mention it: on your own you can take on the truest truth and the world 
                                                               four times over!

                                                               No use to wait any longer.


                                                               Any hope still fostered will come to a disappointment.
                                                               Deep was the wound and slow the healing process; a diet that goes against any sense of taste in 
                                                               combination with a metanatural stamina. Which can be mustered up by mortals, certainly, but 
                                                               only with the help of a witness who at the rim of the birth bed also noticed the drawn digits of 
                                                               time.
                                                               The elf I know happens to be one of those. Not afraid of the nothing, not afraid of the all and 
                                                               therefore attached to what is fine and what is small.
                                                               Didn`t I already mention it: on your own you can take on the truest truth and the world four 
                                                               times over!



(7)     From the first year after her death.
                                                               Throw the rod my Angel, collect the stardust. 
                                                                I am waiting for your word, I am waiting for your sign.

                                                               Sweet beast what kept you so long? – now I`ve had it, what have you got to tell me?

                                                               What are you telling me? – that your love for me is gone? This I cannot believe. I must be 
                                                               misunderstanding.
                                                               You say that it is my heart that is chained once more? – that once more I have to loosen it 
                                                               till lost? You are right! 
                                                               But if I don`t hold my heart, if I let it go, it might bolt Darling.

                                                               With a few people I had a few mourning chats, in a businesslike manner, as a display of 
                                                               normality in keeping with the zeitgeist of progressive make.
                                                               Also, stretching the elasticity a bit, but not too far culturally.
                                                               No Darling – strictly between us – you are not a special object that is over and done and 
                                                               that has left a few funny anecdotes. Culturally this may be so, but naturally it isn`t. 
                                                               Naturally it isn`t – isn`t that right Darling! 
                                                               Naturally I am a dogwidow, eternally faithful. That`s simply how it is. As long as it 
                                                               pleases you. And it pleases you – and it will please you. Or won`t it? And it pleases me – 
                                                               and it wil please me. Yes, no doubt about, no doubt about it.

                                                               Throw the rod my Angel, collect the stardust. 
                                                                I am waiting for your word, I am waiting for your sign.


                                                               Yes, the looser my heart the further the vibrations reach. You are right!

                                                               But Darling, even if I promise to loosen my heart, so you can take it with you as if it is as 
                                                               free as yours, sometimes I am in a tight spot Darling, sometimes I am in a tight spot.
                                                               The atmosphere is not always clear; the winterskin closes thicker and thicker, so it seems. 
                                                               And you Magic Beauty, you slip through the cracks of my earthly consciousness, as soon 
                                                               as my now is not pure.

                                                               Throw the rod my Angel, collect the stardust. 
                                                                I am waiting for your word, I am waiting for your sign.


                                                               You see, don`t you, when I drag my feet through the dust of this world? With halting 

                                                               breath, each step a distorting victory. With miles to go before I get home.
                                                               Yes Darling come on, the two of us together superior through the revolving door, that 
                                                               shouldn`t be hard for us!



(8)     From the first year after her death.

                                                               Throw the rod my Angel, collect the stardust. 
                                                                I am waiting for your word, I am waiting for your sign.


                                                               Still an amateur, I, and you Darling, the professional. Still the ignoramus, I, wrestling with 

                                                               the shifting shadows. Such patience you have with me Darling. But perhaps this is because 
                                                               you appreciate how I do my utmost to be in optimal circumstances with you, even though 
                                                               I sometimes fail; if the hormones don`t cooperate, or the weather – but are we ever 
                                                               having a bad time? No, never! It is a privilege that I may do my utmost. It is happiness 
                                                               that I  may experience that my utmost is accepted with love.
                                                               Yes Darling, now and here I share with you – and shared with you and will share with you.
                                                               Come, be my partner in playing nothing. Flowingly intelligible. Minimum productivity 
                                                               leads to results that will keep the longest. Generous and lazy we build houses like 
                                                               boudoirs, where we surrender to the chastest pleasures. 
                                                               So we will glow like the clearest jewels – just as you already glowed Darling and just as 
                                                               you glow.

                                                               Throw the rod my Angel, collect the stardust. 
                                                                I am waiting for your word, I am waiting for your sign.


                                                               Nice the days Darling, when your smile reaches me fully. A brain searing intimicy; the 

                                                               tears bring some relieve.
                                                               But sometimes, yes sometimes, also a heart-tearing distance; if I do not succeed in 
                                                               breaking through the shell of this terrestrial reality.

                                                               Throw the rod my Angel, collect the stardust. 
                                                                I am waiting for your word, I am waiting for your sign.


                                                               Darling, with your face of gold, lead me into the innermost interior, where no sleep has a 

                                                               scattering effect.
                                                               Utmost Intimite One take possession of me, yes lie near near clear by my side, so that I 
                                                               can move under the protection of your freedom.
                                                               The tears Darling, inspired by you, reach my blossoms. Fruits will ripen; the skin soft and 
                                                               edible, the flesh firm and sweet, a stone that turns liquid when touched. Fruits that are 
                                                               preserved by heat, and decay by cold.



9     From the second year after her death.
                                                               The bed that received me will be the bed that forgives me.

                                                               Proto attempts were lost, were substituted for compulsive dance moves that raw rawer rawest 
                                                               buzzed along the lake of thirst. Where mention is made of lucid waking states the strain climbs 
                                                               high higher highest, tightly and rigidly following its own generosity, without giving way to the left 
                                                               nor giving way to the right.
                                                               Ah, deserved was the calculation, charged were the raisin and the snake. Caught were the 
                                                               wishes, then trampled, after they were promised, then believed.
                                                               Can this be the moment in which tradition and trend meet each other?

                                                               The bed that received me will be the bed that forgives me.

                                                               Sulking child drags little boat over bloodstained sheets; existance in its barest form bounces 
                                                               back.
                                                               Hot overcooked caresses fan out in the twisted wind; existance stripped of  sweet rim-batter 
                                                               curls the tongue throatwards.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



10    From the second year after her death.
                                                               The bed that received me will be the bed that forgives me.

                                                               Flaunting. The soil raked. From port to hinterland, of foreshore and waterline. 
                                                               The arsenal, spoiled by the rain, glistening. 
                                                               The dream, of cotton polish after kiss, faintly glowing.

                                                               Drilling yes, through the valley of thawed tears. 
                                                               The wide banks eroded, the bands of birds departed now.
                                                               Tiny water fliers swarm against the current. Roaring yes – losing.

                                                               The bed that received me will be the bed that forgives me.

                                                               Once again the ship weighs her anchor. The deck thumping, the steel carcass shaking, the scents 
                                                               from the galley filleted ultra thin.
                                                               Wrapped in sweet soft mist the sun comes and goes, the moon comes and goes. 
                                                               Soon the city will be deserted, except for one single attic room. Here will be singing with bated 
                                                               breath – sparking; an aria from La Traviata.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



11    From the second year after her death.
                                                               No use in waiting any longer.

                                                               The apple tree is pruned, has blossomed and is beautifully foliated. The top is broken but has not 
                                                               fallen off yet; the neccesary huricane, will pass in time.

                                                               No use in waiting any longer.

                                                               The colors have slowly laid themselves down, the shapes slowly take on form.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil.



(12)    From the third year after her death.
                                                               And sometimes, yes sometimes, I am very angry.
                                                               Not with you, no naturally not. You to me are always and eternally the purest. 
                                                               Beautie beautie beautie. With your beautiful eyes. And your delicious nose. And your 
                                                               gorgeous feet. Oh, everything and all enchanting.
                                                               My happiness Darling, that is you. Irreplaceable happiness. Indestructible happiness. 
                                                               Stay with me Honey, stay with me. 
                                                               Even though I have not so much to offer, I offer it to you.
                                                               My sweet Sugarheart, alone together with you. Vanished, all the hassles of what and how. 
                                                               You and I, not routine. 
                                                               Free fall. Free flight.
                                                               Do you like it Sweet Delight, this opera from New York that sounds in our room via 
                                                               Budapest?
                                                               Well this kiss tells it all, so I will leave the radio on a little whilet longer.

                                                               O how to combine them; the desires of the earth and the desires of the more indifinite spheres?




13    From the fourth year after her death.
                                                               The story that could be told
                                                               is a story that likes water
                                                               A story that, once it comes into contact with water,
                                                               starts crowing for joy

                                                               Yes I hear you Darling and I will take your advice to heart.



14    From the fifth year after her death.
                                                               Tell me about the music that  sounds in the wind.

                                                               If only I could make somenone else hear what I hear. No, not you – my Most Delightful One – 
                                                               who makes me hear clearly what I hear indistinctly. If only I could make someone else 
                                                               hear you.

                                                               Tell me about the music that  sounds in the wind.


                                                               To present themselves identically for their performance the three Marita's each have cut up their 
                                                               prettiest party dress and laid together the pieces of fabric. No, not she – my Most Delightful 
                                                               One – who seems to be playing a game with me. She blinks her eyes when I look at her and she 
                                                               can barely keep from laughing. Now her foot comes moving towards me. My head bows to the 
                                                               left.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



(15)    From the sixth year after her death.
                                                               You – my Utmost Delight – have not yet lost one bit of your sweet appeal.

                                                               Ah tears and silence – delicious. Eyes big, looking, looking. With an expectation that knows it is 

                                                               going to be fulfilled – most delicious.
                                                               She rests assured that I will not dissapoint her. This makes her strength strong. And of me in 
                                                               advance a glorious winner.
                                                               So full, full of confidence – so full, full of loyalty, this delightful lady dog. 
                                                               Still wearing the most beautiful dress in the world.The most beautiful shoes too. And smell 
                                                               as she still smells – hmm hmm. And her tongue still the softest.

                                                               You – my Utmost Delight – have not yet lost one bit of your sweet appeal.


                                                               Going through the opening to Love is the highest good. Of which I consume too little. Yes 

                                                               Darling.
                                                               Although I am most certain that this opening exists – and will exist – sometimes I behave 
                                                               as if there is an even greater good. Yes. And what it is then that I – against my better 
                                                               judgement ­ – give priority, relates to my worldly position. So, ambitions of a lesser 
                                                               quality.
                                                               For didn`t I already mention it: my worldly ambitions include neither an office nor any 
                                                               other post; you and I looking each other in the eye, now and here, is my happiness.
                                                               So you-are-always-on-my-mind must be more you-are-always-in-my-heart. Not that you 
                                                               are not always in my heart Darling, but I am – as before – not always in my heart. Yes.

                                                               You – my Utmost Delight – have not yet lost one bit of your sweet appeal.


                                                               Ah, and still occasionally these circumstances Darling, in which my body is claimed by 

                                                               unprocessed experiences from before our time. Chains that unchain and the 
                                                               accompanying pains. And the dizzy spells. They take all my concentration away from me. 
                                                               They take me away from me. And so they take you away from me. And then you make 
                                                               yourself tiny ­– rightly so Darling. But tiny yet wholly you.
                                                               And here you are, and you kiss me and you give me back to me. How fortunate. This 
                                                               immediately feels a lot better, lighter, homier, safer, happier.
                                                               Joy and sorrow in one, this we know as no other. Although I obviously cannot presume 
                                                               this, and we wish it for anyone else, don`t we Darling, because then this world would look 
                                                               different. Then this world would look better: lighter, homier, safer, happier. 

                                                               You – my Utmost Delight – have not yet lost one bit of your sweet appeal.


                                                               And ah, Great Great Love, sometimes, if I stretch the elasticity too far, I can go all dizzy 

                                                               of the fight I put up to do you, and what is yours, justice in this world. Knocked out 
                                                               Darling, I lie, completely catatonic.
                                                               Yes Great Great Love I still sometimes forget – and then I realize it again – and then I 
                                                               need to re-apply – that if I connect with you, nothing or no one gets into me.
                                                               Yes Great Great Love, if we connect with each other, we can break any spell.

                                                               Children of a dead culture are orphans.

                                                               But being the orphans that we are, we are not in the gutter – no no no. We are warm in 
                                                               our own bed. 
                                                               With views on a tangible future. Love the soft fragrance that surrounds us.

                                                               You – my Utmost Delight – have not yet lost one bit of your sweet appeal.


                                                               And ah, Great Great Love, such circumstances where a beautiful morning mirrors itself in 

                                                               your beautiful eyes.
                                                               Ah my tongue curls for joy. NCC. Himalaya Baby. Dancing on the highest tops. With a 
                                                               straight back. And a click-a-dee-clack in your feet. And where did you get that butterfly 
                                                               tie? It looks good on you Darling – but not for too long. This ledge dance puts me in a 
                                                               trance. We float – but not for too long. This mist dance gives me my chance!
                                                               Yes we like dancing and we are not so much for climbing, yes Darling. Ah, my tongue 
                                                               curls for joy.
                                                               No, willpower isn`t our kind of power, now is it Delightful Patchouli Girl!



(16)     From the eighth year after her death.

                                                               The crack is narrow and closes fast.

                                                               I am still dragging the weight of the shadow.

                                                               The shadow that once was invisible, the shadow that once became visible, the shadow that now 
                                                               sometimes is visible sometimes invisible. But the shadow hasn`t disappeared. 
                                                               My assumption was that the shadow – if only it would be visible – would disappear. The 
                                                               assuption proves to be unfounded. The assuption proves to be a case of deranged intuition.
                                                               The shadow – now that at last it has been visible– became recognizable. This brought quite 
                                                               some peace. If I strain myself it means swearing some or crying some, before hurrying back to 
                                                               my Darling.
                                                               A shadow can be nutritious ­– is the whisper. Why don`t I eat some, instead of dragging it to the 
                                                               setting sun?

                                                               The crack is narrow and closes fast.


                                                               Being a good girl, I veiled my gaze. From the outset, understandability was the standard. Which 
                                                               didn`t please my tongue.
                                                               Talkhappy mouths allow the wounds no rest. I did shut up. Until it showed that my silence held 
                                                               many messages, given back to me by my Darling in clear aha`s.
                                                               Has the trophy now been stripped of all decorations?
                                                               Little Jumblebox crosses swords with little Sweeptail. The evidence is efficient, but falls into the 
                                                               catagory of The Truth Tolerated Only As Infantile Fantasy. Especially since the danger doesn`t 
                                                               distinguish itself in the least from a cooling breeze on an over sunny day.

                                                               The crack is narrow and closes fast.


                                                               Some simple arithmetic confirms that once zero always zero.

                                                               And this is why, yes, I have to make an effort not to drown in the happiness, that without an 
                                                               effort I can easily appropriate in a continuous two-unit with my Darling.
                                                               The two-unit within me seems lifted. This two-unit – that once was the big engine behind my 
                                                               activities – doesn`t even sputter any more.

                                                               The crack is narrow and closes fast.


                                                               Nowadays I move slowly and I measure my speech by words. I stopped coming where rage 

                                                               rages; the rage has stopped raging. I stopped coming where the poor warm themselves; I warm 
                                                               myself with my Darling – and oh Darling what a delicious warmth you offer.



17    From the eighth year after her death.
                                                               The crack is narrow and closes fast.

                                                               The sharpest teeth are bent and stabilized.
                                                               The vistas lure.

                                                               The crack is narrow and closes fast.

                                                               I let myself rise in a straight line. Until I navigate through the air like a starfish through the salty 
                                                               water. I land in the shadow of the discarded puppet, who in the glow of the night bodies 
                                                               rehearses her last dance. 

                                                               The crack is narrow and closes fast.

                                                               Further down holes fall into the firmament. However, the seams can be repaired, without any 
                                                               loss of quality. So what am I waiting for?

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



18    From the eighth year after her death.
                                                               The slight truth can be added up yes, be told no.
                                                               The dominant color is peacock blue.

                                                               Due to randomness closed. The delightful show windows getting more delightful, the slight 
                                                               assortment getting slighter.
                                                               What is a delight may be slight, what is slight may be a delight

                                                               The slight truth can be added up yes, be told no.
                                                               The dominant color is mint green.

                                                               With each turn of the merry-go-round I enter a new experience. 
                                                               Written out and illustrated, they go into the vault of the database. Which remains closed for 
                                                               everyone who doesn`t have access to the right combination of six passwords. But I am not 
                                                               putting up any firewalls; I leave the project open and hope for the best. Of which I cannot even 
                                                               approximately make an adequate projection without the help of my Darling. 
                                                               As practice has shown.
                                                               Generally counting, came and come coincide, and come and will come coincide. Generally 
                                                               counting, where-it-is-from escapes the numbers. But as soon as it is here, you can make some 
                                                               calculations. From which you, if you take the results into account, can benefit. 
                                                               As practice shows.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



19    From the eighth year after her death.
                                                               O how short the days when chaos rules.

                                                               Do the shadow; 
                                                               crumble away the edge,
                                                               give in and give resistance

                                                               Do her, do the shadow;

                                                               make yourself live inside of her, make yourself live outside of her
                                                               color the body black, feel the absorbed heat

                                                               Do the shadow; 

                                                               break and glue the edge, and break and glue,
                                                               until the splinters have a size so small that, when you come across them,
                                                               they can be swallowed easily

                                                               Do the shadow, do the shadow;

                                                               roll through her from the sides and shake yourself dry,
                                                               roll through her frontally and jump yourself dry,
                                                               shimmy under her, sneak past her, fly over her,
                                                               make yourself live inside of her, make yourself live outside of her

                                                               Do the shadow, do the shadow;

                                                               weigh her, blow her up

                                                               We do the shadow. We blow her up. Yes Darling, let us concentrate and synchronize and 
                                                               yodel a yell together, that will make the roots of the trees start itching.

                                                               Now you can collect the elixir of life,
                                                               provided you`ve been successful in making the earthen bowl yours
                                                               I see your broad smile
                                                               So no problems there, my Sugarheart,
                                                               I knew I could count on you

                                                               O how short the days when chaos rules.

                                                               In the shadow of the chaos order hides. Through the entrance and the exit of my hiding place 
                                                               only those few can pass for whom a secret is a secret. Yes there`s only a few of us, I know. But 
                                                               we exist and are proud to be present.

                                                               Trust the wind to be kind to us.

                                                               The turnips and the lemons are served in one earthen bowl
                                                               A whole lot of shadows dance under the tree
                                                               Yes Darling, on our plate the food is the best.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



20    From the eighth year after her death.
                                                               The slight truth can be added up yes, be told no.
                                                               The dominant color is flour white.

                                                               It is not the chirping of the birds, but the jingling of the rain that greets me when on that fragile 
                                                               morning I open my ears. The realization is a pleasant surprise; the cocoon I spun that night can 
                                                               remain intact; no sky to be reached, no grass to be mowed.
                                                               Air bells chime, ring three times. Wealth wealth wealth.

                                                               The slight truth can be added up yes, be told no.
                                                               The dominant color is fire red.

                                                               Wealth wealth wealth. None are left, of the cookies of my own making. Except for some crumbs 
                                                               the provision boxes are empty.

                                                               The slight truth can be added up yes, be told no.
                                                               The dominant color is yellow ocher.



21    From the eighth year after her death.
                                                               Tell the whole story twice
                                                               And the second version you leave behind you unsigned 

                                                               Yes I hear you Darling and I will take your advice to heart.



22    From the eighth year after her death.
                                                               The small joys and great sorrows are in balance.

                                                               False light places me in a forest of shadows. For 9 hours we have been on our way in the studio. 
                                                               Whether or not I am happy with the result, I am not sure; a lot is being suggested, but a trifle 
                                                               crude I am afraid. One might say that there is little humanity left in how I am standing there, but 
                                                               perhaps I should take into account the probability that this is the truth I must face.

                                                               The small joys and great sorrows are in balance.

                                                               In the guise of a bird I encounter her. She sings as only she can sing and my delight is unlimited; 
                                                               earth, air, fire and water unite.

                                                               The small joys and great sorrows are in balance.

                                                               I let myself fall into a straight line. A fall through the thinnest air, directed and with great speed. In 
                                                               the fall I bud. 
                                                               From my shoulders a calyx opens, somewhat like a topless parachute. Very colorful and trendy, 
                                                               even though I am no longer young.
                                                               The now denser air slows me down, and when it turns even denser it stops the fall.
                                                               Isn`t it wonderful how, if only you have an eye for it, everything fits together.

                                                               Ah the journey is short, the luggage almost nil. 



(23)    From the eighth year after her death.
                                                               Ah the real truth can be added up yes, be told no.
                                                               The dominant color is lilac.

                                                               In the mystical mist my Darling and I are at ease. Our sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth sense can 
                                                               hardly keep up with the impressions.

                                                               Trust the wind to be kind to us

                                                               Locked up the waiting room for a while, Darling. No I didn`t blind the windows.
                                                               We, keeps me from performing my routine without hesitation. We, keeps me from taking a 
                                                               chance and picking me up and knocking off the mud and going on.
                                                               Your eyes Darling, as always, a world where I want to live. De sight of your face, as 
                                                               always, makes me ageless. Your mouth, as always, knows the way of the kiss.

                                                               Yes the small joys and great sorrows are in balance.





© mc 2003-2014





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