zaterdag 9 augustus 2014

farewell to bloodway

Sometimes I need
The confirmation of a mirror that reflects me in all my deformity
A quiet canal where I can remember the sound of my footsteps 
A building with barricaded openings 
The raw immediacy of graffiti messages that reduce the machine-engraved paraphernalia on the facades 
   to the relics of a lost faith

At the start of the creamjourney I am young;
a green twig in a forest of old wood

Unsalaried in the service of the many-headed magician
I inhabit dismissed attic rooms

I fill up with immunizing noises, 
mingle disinterested with the tormented 
and am on call to spoil the addicts

I endure the whims of the divinities of fate,
get entangled in the nets of totem companions 
and enter into relationships that glow long after the golden foliages that were promised withered

White flagged and with pinched nose I enter the camp of the professional judges, 
hope for a quick and skilful executed coup de grĂ¢ce, 
but run adorned with misplaced wounds around in a web of insinuations without ground

I take walks on the mudflats
   listen how the winches roar
scroll through the files
   and a pony turns into a mare

I follow the furrows
   as always properly drawn
shine a light on the baptism certificates
   and a bone turns into a rose

I fill cakes with silver salt
   throw a hard dice with the vultures
remove the sphincters
   and a hymn gets vowels

I graft sprigs
   to a genealogical tree that has been forced on me
unmask the executioners
   and a doll gets wings

I understand

Where an unresolved collective guilt results in uncontrollable bouts of collective repentance
a low country remains submissive
a submissive country remains hollow
a hollow country remains empty

Where century old trophies are shaking on fermenting pedestals
the hard headed beat their inability into money
the soft headed ghettosize themselves in the hearts of battle-weary cities

Where it is considered a sign of prosperity to shower the daily ration of nightshade with blood and fat
aromatic herbs and sun-ripened fruits generate suggestions
that short-circuit in the imagination soaked in animal juices 

Where the image of the lactating mother is doted upon
the tattered ridden anuses publicly adorn the pillories

I hum

Blow little man
slave yourself to the sweetest tongue
do not dawdle when the enemy knocks
stay afloat when the water rises

Turn little woman
slave yourself to the most frightened tongue
do not dawdle when the enemy knocks
stay afloat when the water rises

Grab dear child
slave yourself to the longest tongue
stay afloat when the enemy knocks
do not dawdle when the water rises

Featherlight now and all balance lost I start again —
my lap sprays liquid crystals that for a fraction of a second freeze – beautiful – on the border between inside and outside

I hang garlands and when the languished have gathered I kindle – as always – the fire
When the fire is almost narcotic, I whisper

Do not leave me alone with these loads that laugh as soon as the snake yearns for more
Do not walk with me to the track where maniacs go down as bags as soon as the smell of burning leather
Do not cut me to size with this dagger, but cleave me – the most handled – gaggingly through and down
And I swear – once and for ever
   I will fall in with the tightest trap
   I will deliver cod liver tears to the lowest bidder
   I will openly disclose without invoking any existing word

Then I reach the age when I wish in vain that my hunger is satisfied by pride any longer 
What remains of the hijackers I routinely send to the coast and tell them to go swaying along with the dune grass
while I – solo now – wander on from sale to sale, my hands rough from the small change

Because my forefather hesitated to extinguish the kiss of the burning horse 
I too failed to destroy the painted sunflowers

Three houses on the Bloodway
I can dream them
as if they stand there forever

The first house has two rooms
one whose existence I only know from stories
one where as a child I once have been in

From a family member – much more familiar with the former residents than I – I later got the two pictures
the tombstone with inscription
the portrait of a sweet woman
The pictures belong together and they come out of the room that I never saw with my own eyes

From the room I have known comes the cane;
a very ordinary cane, that stood in the corner more than it walked

The second house also has two rooms
one large 
one small 
I have often been here
more often in the large room than in the small room
more often when I was younger than when I was older

In the large room was always something going on
without importance
but nice
The large rainbow colored handkerchief 
and the sentence as a girl I had the first bike in the village
make clear what I mean

Both I found when the large room was already almost empty
the handkerchief around the head of the fleshy nice smelling doll 
   who sat on the chair in front of the piano on which the television sat
the sentence in an old wallet of moroccan leather
   that held many pieces of paper of all sizes, so that it had to have a rubber band around it to keep it closed

What I got from the small room is not much
a whistle
a bottle royal crown cola
a bag with meters and meters scald bandages

In the third house, I have been the most by far 
It also had two rooms once, but I know it from the time when there is only just one room left

To this merged room then a number of bays were added, and also bricked up again

whereupon the bay where I always sat, again later – through a door in the outer wall – has become a garage;
the door hacked from the outside
the garage big enough for a tomato red renault 4
and a navy blue triumph spitfire

Because I have been in the third house by far the most, it is all the more peculiar 
that neither from the room – the scream room – nor from the bay – my bay – I have something worth mentioning 

What I do have, are two letters
one dating from the time my bay was still bricked up
one dating from the time that the garage is already in full use

In the first letter is an account of a blush
after a conversation in broken german
taking place at a campsite near the Rhine

the second letter reports a shaking motion
after urination
taking place along the road to Echt

Oh how this love seemed chaste and sweet 
and, compared with the coarseness of previously experienced shackles
how she could – at times – be thoughtful and free

I am the I one can find inside
the expression broken loose and disintegrated in a hundred anonymouses

Admittance to the feast of recognition is no longer affordable
I open the window and listen to the rustling of the tree

I work

The main tent got a woven crown pattern
and the crosses I paint dead with living blood

The animal drinks

Bestialities play a crucial role
As counter contrasts they direct the second look
The second look digests my capital like benzedrine

All that remains is my time

Shapeless I keep following where the animal leads;
again I come where the anger rages
again I come where the poor warm themselves

When the clock strikes eleven times I turn around

Self satisfied now I lay me down
Surrounded only by the smell of my sweat, 
in the dark I can be caught collaborating with the enemy

Collaboration precedes liberation

© mc 1992-2014

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