Dressed in mama's nightgown
skating in the middle of the street
and making long journeys
with trains in the attic, yet
if someone later says

It was already there
you know, don't you?
Twelve years old...
two four six eight ten
who is not gone, is seen

just look around you:
people are on their way
all of them passengers
in a private seat joining
the flight to the same

the travel rules are clear
put on the safety belts
for extras, you have to pay
but love and fate
are nowhere for sale

then shrug your shoulders
and start talking about something else
because reason demands that
you don't take anything personally
even if it is about you

However different people are
from my thoughts about myself:
if I look better, I know that
the differences do not matter
that what is conspicuous in their behaviour
reflects my own attention

Those times when I was in love
I heard it in some songs
recognized it in movies and sometimes
someone recites a poem
with exactly the right words

that make contact and let
energy flow on a basic tone
that brings us together, the together
that I often ignore

I don't want to write nicely
about the discomfort of his life

and the success of his plans
to put an end to it. It's terrible

for me, for me
it isn't right, it is different

it should have been different, together
in one way or another

Sometimes I recognize him in a passer-by
that way I keep him here

but each time he escapes
even if I jump at him right away

and give a kiss, he is someone else
No kiss was enough

to make him light
too light to possibly die

and kisses are not enough
to make me light again

Ill again. Panic
of falling into pieces
in my own skin

Trying all I can
to hold myself
Searching for weapons
and dreaming of ruses
Waking up without

Walking the problem out
the door, having to rest
somewhere in the grass, seeing blood
well up from an abrasion

Taking a baffled look at it
My worthless body full
of fresh blood, full of strength
There is still so much to do

what I thought I could
postpone, time and attention
for friends in the waiting
rooms of my eager life

Come on, I live, I can
bleed and be ill, take care
of others, I live –
no measured hours

I watch, take a grab
of the facts, rearrange the booty
to body's own and the world

constructions of fragments
of reality and myself, the truth
of my existence, my who I am:

turbulent clouds
in my sleep
and reckless pilots

of medicinal substances
that play with me
throwing me back and forth

through the hell
they mold out of my life
and I can only watch

Sometimes they also fly by day --
from my very own memory
I am thought by foreign substances

Our beautiful life, preserved
against the cold that may return:

cans with beans, old newspapers
worn out clothes, jars of jam
up to the ceiling
the hard land, and the hard way
of the great leaders, and the little ones
who fought for their own advantage
the heroes of steel, later torn
from their home and from the books

But we are still there, in our musty house
we still share - a beautiful life

The travelling man created
the inn, later also the pub
and he saw that it was good

The forests have been felled, the trees
sawed up, carpentered and polished
- a couch on which I sit

in the back of the pub with people
talking about the curiosities of their lives
and asking me what I know

of my work, is it more
than what I do? Am how far
does its influence extend?

What is our place
in All, what is the point
of our effort?

Trolley cases on the quay, tourists
They belong to it when you live here
Thin John sitting straight on his bike
every morning three times around the block
in the afternoon on foot the other way around
And Mario the sidewalk speaker
with his dog. They belong to it

The children who jump cannonballs
next to party people in their sloop
We ourselves when we go on vacation
in airplanes every two minutes
low over the houses against the wind
The cyclists with their priority face
Ordinary people who are living here

The Americans in front of their café
on the corner, where believers sat
when the church with the tower was still there
Red Mia dutifully shuffling around
the litter bins which she keeps tidy
And neighbours arguing once again
They all belong to it

They live here, and everywhere
the world is maladjusted, so
I begin on the street, with myself
with them and with you: Hello!
A good day here
where we are at home and wish
that everything stays different

Via Via I do approximately know who I am
someone among all the people

who keep the city alive
and show me my soul
We feed each other, therefore eat
each other as one body
mankind, hungry to live
approximately knowing who we are
among each other and the rest
on our long way
up, down
and around

The goals I had, lost
and not missed, lost
in ubuntu

Speaking with hands and feet

with fists rain and furious storm

composing in passwords who I am

arm blows stamping no thinking



about who I am and if you fight with me

when there is a gale in our blood

you too are crying yourself free while you dance

my soul connected with your heart



heaven found each other's hands

our steps follow the sun

my whole body understands

who I am, feels what is moving me

I believe and I have a dream
are famous words
Obsolete now

that there are so many more beliefs
so many more truths
to dream away

from reality
which no longer can be guessed
but inescapably

is what it is, you have to
deal with it, you should
deal with it

but you prefer to wrap it up
in light-fast favourite colours
and facts thought hard

I know and I have the certainty
are our words in the turmoil
of colliding opinions

What I secretly do
but not hidden

from myself, the truth
that I do not want to know

yet sometimes see
in the questioning eyes

of others, surprised
or hurt, on the border

of judgment on me
is the truth in the eyes

of my conscience that examines me
I sweat, it's a purgatory

and as long as it lasts, it is
hell: I am not

just myself
but one of the others

That's the drama

My words and poses
my taste and helpfulness, all of it
has been demonstrated to me, time after time

Together we are a copy of people
who together were also a copy
of people of people

unique collections
of ordinary habits
and general peculiarities

in a temporary body
that draws a boundary
between you and me

between all souls and senses:
for a multitude of experiences
that we can share with each other

to erase the boundaries again
being connected in our imagination
and to be more than ourselves

Sometimes I look in the mirror
and I see a look
of recognition

that jumps from my body
to my mind, my thoughts
about myself

Sometimes mum says something
about dad that she recognizes in me
and sometimes I like it

but I prefer to be a mix
of traits from mum
dad, the grandmas, and grandads

who must have seen it
but I did not recognize their look
of recognition

Sometimes I firmly say something
and right away doubt springs upon me
while the others are certain

that those words of mine
do say a lot
about me

Half the world is free, celebrating
peace on earth, but a friend
of my husband has problems

with his wife, he stays with us
for a while (entertaining)

In the evening he tells stories
about the foreigners in our city
where he wouldn't want to live

afraid of the uninvited guests
afraid of losing what he has

his income, his stuff
maybe even his wife
I see that he doesn't dare to give

love, doesn't dare to think
and live great ideas

Only in small gestures
casually from his back pocket
his conscience speaks

of liberty
equality and fraternity

The grass is still wet
around my mat
early in the morning
in the Vondelpark

under the high dome
of vapour trails through
the blue sky above the city --
the space of my mind

My sense of reality crackles
fiercely through it, igniting
fuses in my head and
my feeling to be me

splinters for an indefinite period --
the remaining time
of «unknown»
is unknown

Do it, blame me
that you get little attention
It's true

I am
occupied with myself
I'm very well aware

that my life is too short
to postpone

what is important
not only you

also my peculiarities
pleasures, habits
and responsibilities

for my health, at home
with the neighbours and at work
I am proud of it

whatever you think of it
so do it, blame me

that I love myself

We admire the starry sky
the flourishing earth and ourselves
and we conclude: God

is incapable of creating
something improvable
so mankind must be good

Our morals don't go backwards
or forwards, nor up or down
but left and right, side-wards

to and fro, from person to person
between hard and soft, joys and sorrows
young and old, wise and stupid

busy every day
to take care of ourselves
and to be a good neighbour

Namasté, wees niet bang voor mij
Ik ben Godzilla!
Geef het toe
– Je Kunt Me Haten

Ik Hoor Hier Niet ...
Ik ben Verlaten ...
Dit is geen Droom
Dit is een Prehistorische Nachtmerrie

Soms vraag ik me af ...
Ben ik ... een Avatar geworden of Waanzin?
Ik ... zoek ... Zuiverheid
– Wezen, Geloof en Onschuld

Ik ben de muze, ik speel
de liedjes van schoonheid
uit de school van het leven
hoor de bevrijdende melodieën

geheimen in een wereld van duisternis
Ik luister naar de stem van zielen
ik geef geen antwoorden, ik adem
met de verlangens

Bevrijd mij, ik ben begaafd
Ik wil alleen maar je ziel
ik roep de kracht van liefde op
door de wil van de hemelen en de aarde

Election time: there they are
in beautiful dresses, the fairies
with their wands
aiming at my dreams

Sparkling stars
a beautiful world
is what they wish me
I get it as a gift

if I want, Say it
my vote
makes the difference
but the jester laughs

and dances around the shiny dresses
He points to the wands
they mostly point to each other
the rest is advertising paper

that wraps up the problems nicely
so be careful with wishes
they come true
the way you think

half, and inconsistent
with a bill
for others
or for later

What is one, is itself
but if you know someone else
you are also partly that person
you are also what was different
until that moment

And you observe that, it penetrates
you and you grow

That's interesting, we repeat it
in stories about people
and the gods they imagine:
the more souls, the merrier and the more
humor thanks to the differences

And the secret is to learn
to see that everyone is everything

That's why, yes for that reason
the bad sons were invited to conclude
their tumultuous lives with a feast
in heaven, while the good sons
were brought to hell

And the supreme god laughed
for their illusions

Our skin is a pleasant separation
to undo with our body and limbs
and when we kiss and are one breath

we are also one spirit
no different thoughts
one passion, nothing separating us

agreeing with each other and ourselves
complete in boundless

But where there is space
presence arrives, thoughts
tacitly sneak in, hand in hand

they build a thick wall
as a solid support
for familiar views

You no longer see a wall
only a green hedge

rampant with repetition
and rooted in the need
to be apart with acquaintances

without contradiction
ambivalence and understanding
safe and not powerless

I don't have to dream
of emperors and dragons
I know I am like that myself
a focal point

of energy, the energy
that is capable of everything
if it has a free way
and knows desires

to flow to or away from
to flow flows
of life and knowledge
that that is life

A focal point
is what I want to be, I'm dreaming of
renewing, renewing
what is stuck

or run off track, passing on
order, the fire
of life, the snorting
fire, my snorting fire

Here are people living
in wet boxes
and I don't cry
I am not campaigning
for an allocation in the budget

I feel alone
just like the others
in their houses and clean clothes
who already have so much to do
and who walk by embarrassed

with a friendly greeting
that cuts off a conversation
before it can begin
and who forget this quickly
before it becomes a problem

Sometimes we give money
What else can you do
but ponder your sin-
ful needs and spend
what you have got after that

You don't have to build a tower
to observe people
the harmony and the beauty

of a village and a city
the rub surfaces and the laws
of attraction and repulsion

In whatever clothes
there are gatherings
of souls who feel

to be one without knowing
how it works, how it can be
organized

It is a big matter
of too small groups
to really be one

Thinking about life is disconnecting
the two as much as possible
taking a distance, an unobstructed view

from an ivory tower
observing with all-hearing ears
and eyes that recognize everything

capable to understand
everybody's daily ignoring
of the deadly sins, those old

lessons about the pride
to consider yourself higher and to think
to live in a better way than others

time and again clearly measured
on a standard of your own
which you review from time to time

by climbing the tower to look
at the foolishness of the people
and be above it

The witch in me sleeps
in velvet sheets, she seduces
my dear husband into chores
in our own little house on the banks
of the Mississippi in Louisiana

earned on my own
out of the lusts of men
I was popular, I enjoyed
all my sins as long
as I needed them

for there's no success
in settling the slogan
in which nobody believes
except my dear husband
who doesn't want to lose me

We will share and share alike
without greed or anger
without gluttony and jealousy
I'll only keep the luxury
of laziness a little longer

Paradise is paved, everywhere
you can park in front of the door now
Pink walls and plastic flowers:
places where people like to be

Isn't it a shame that only afterwards
you open your eyes for what you had?
Paradise is paved, everywhere
you can park in front of the door now

All trees are saved, come, have a look
in the greenhouses of the museum!
It is not expensive to see them all
and you get bees and butterflies too!

There are greenhouses everywhere, no spots
on the apples, they won't even get brown
But last night the door slammed shut
and my beloved left in a big taxi

I met someone and asked
Where are you going? Something special?
There's a large field over there
where I will sing
to free my soul

People are golden, star
dust in the large, large field
- finally back in the garden
Oh, can I come with you?
Out of the smog!

We just spin around
in mists without a view
but very perhaps
something changes
in time, or in me

The army no longer throws bombs
but food and drinks
on all the hungry people
without money, devilish money
- finally back in the garden

There's a woman in the verge
of the highway, I know her
She looks like me, like the face
next to me in the side window

She comes closer and bends
forward to my indicator
I break a sweat in the dark
behind my steering wheel

My boy, what are you doing here?
I turn over in my grave
of all my worries
about you

Mama, I'm going to work hard
and then I'll get rich
Oh boy, don't you know?
This is the road to hell

On your journey through barren poverty
from the desert to the source
you got lost, you turned off
to hell

The river is full, it is not dry
although it does not flow, it just boils
bubbling of all conceivable poisons

It can be seen day and night
yet the light of joy is extinguished
in darkness

People are more afraid than they want
to admit and the threat of violence
has broken them of laughing

Common sense rings the alarm bell:
this is not a technological error
no, this is the gateway to hell

The believe in a happy ending jams
the roads, you can't do anything
about the piles of paper plans

Look out what happens to the world
please pay attention to where this goes
before it's too late

This is not a way forward, no no
this is a road, really a road
a road to hell

We danced to a new year
in the utopia of the music
and the Golden Oldie
songs of love, longing
and sorrow that live
in our lungs

and emerge unpredictably
all of a sudden from the depths
of our breath
caressing or storming full
of experiences that make us
feel who we are

and what it's all about, seize
the eternity of our lives
in the stream of our breath
which is also the breath of others
while we are completely
engrossed in our presence

Because he was the strongest
the richest, the cruelest, the man
who could do it, he was king
our royal body
the best protection
that we protected

We prospered well
our body became a giant
we wrote more and more laws
in which self-interests diluted
as much as our feeling
to be a strong body

Yes, there are other bodies
sometimes opponents without respect
for us and our needs
with an inflated body that is strong
and crushes millions of peace-
ful people

There are laws against that
but only the ravages of time
will change something about it
and until then we have to
put on an ugly face
knowing that we are different

You are hiding
behind a shield, you tough
man with a spear

Sure, you want me
but you have been warned
by your previous girlfriend

You can fight the world
you want to fight who you are
for ideals, amma or me

but for love, for me
you can not fight without hurting
her, without hurting me

or giving up your power
You may see your dreams in me
but I do not exist

in your dreams, you tough
man with a spear, you tough
man with a spear

Sweetheart, the earth is getting cold
we have to do something
take ourselves by the hand
The guides walk away

in different directions
guided by the wishes
of their followers, that's how

it always goes, whatever you think of it
If only there were guardian angels
with power, not the writers

who meet in this café
no, a Guardian Council
for presidents and scholars

who want to unload graphite powder
on the north pole, throw atomic bombs
upon it, or build a dam

in the Bering Strait, with pumps
on peaceful nuclear energy
finishing the job

Yet... all of us, we
must do it ourselves, guard each other
with wings of compassion and reason

Mama went to work
we stayed at home
could not get out
snow, no shoes

silence everywhere
fear of the police
and suppressed madness
which strangles desires

without killing them
impossible love
only the daily potatoes
hoping for a piece

of the repeated promises
for us, the children, and now
that we are no longer children
for our children

The sun is a diver
in the west, unreachable
for the moon, her hair
colours red from desire

And red colour the grapes
in the valley with the lighthouses
along the swamp river
in the country in the middle

between pole and equator
The days are short
With the neighbours
we drink last year's wine

dark as the nights
The moon kisses the sun
out of his sleep, kisses him
kisses, kisses him back

We celebrate, treat
each other at togetherness
Choirs pass from door to door
and we eat pastries

The barbarians have come
and they keep coming
century after century

We are polite, we give
them high titles
They give us their laws

in a nice speech
with eloquent words
about civilisation in our wilderness

that we nota bene no longer
need to live like savages
no longer in the wilderness

The barbarians have come
and they keep coming
century after century obedient

to the right and the interests
that threaten them with the strong arm
the hard hand, and a ripped out tongue

Peace got clothes to wear
that are called democracy
and are also worn by others

doppelgangers on the stage
of the power that they serve
as an extra or a puppet

It's an easy role
but in real life it is great
self-control and a matter

of patience to understand others
and to convince each other
of a public interest

This is how the Great Law
of Peace works along the Panther Lake
and the Sparkling Water

listening and consulting
without ventriloquism
or indelicate word