Dream fragment

Howl page 46

– wading through the waters of sleep in this medial place

and time, thinking I am lucid feeling everything in reverse,

inhaling bubbles of air and absence and exhaling

everything but the words I need the most, falling through

the cracks and wrong turns I imagined and executed myself,

tumbling deformed hallways of ghosts and don’t leave me’s

and dreams are only dreams but if that is common knowledge

why don’t I feel you anymore since you left me in the night.

*illustration from Allen Ginsberg & Eric Drooker’s Howl

Older song travels (poem)

Now, let me travel inwards instead
Flow through waves and waves of
unrecognized feeling, cords of words,
weave through without fading like I do now
Soft melodies from buried days, far away
through blinding rays, cinematic memories
in my mind to play, to float away
amid this – eternal – nightfall

Somehow I went back in time but differently, waves
of colors I felt before, but I don’t recognize –

See a girl, conquering a snowstorm even though
it was summer and the wind had already left me,
nothing I can do or say –

Another place, only similar, different faces and
different voices, enough to remind me but –
Somehow all it does, is remind me of
what I lost

They told me to give everything its place,
Don’t drop your sadness, or it’ll chase you,
Pack my moments below my chest, with feeling,
I said goodbye the best that I could –
Then, doctor, why did I walk,
from sadness to madness?

I met me but without the body,
Asked for the way but I was evaporating,
Turned into the moon and, eclipsed
And the road curls up to the sun and starts raining
puddles into puddles into puddles into puddles
into –
How else could I create life again?

Loving my life was the greatest gift I ever got
Pandora opened her jar, but I have an
ocean to feel, memories come in waves
of notes that haven’t changed
And I breathe through the cracks
of time, being there still –

Older songs, uncover
Travel carefully, back
through memories
almost real
in my dreams

Borderline: bad days

And to know the fundamentals of being alive,
Am I?
Zack Hemsey

Wake up. Check my surroundings, check my body, check my brain. No one has left, nothing’s gone missing; yet I feel as if, somewhere during the night, everything I know has shriveled and died.
Clench the day into my cramped hands; drop it anyway.

It’s just the way it is sometimes. I think that there’s the difference between sadness and illness, the intensity of it. Sometimes I go outside and the streets I’ve known for years have slightly shifted, changed meaning. The outside world was real and here yesterday, but who can say about today? Pop-up houses, paper trees, on the translucent ground in a cellophane sky. My eyes are separate beings and they might be lying. I woke up in an unknown world on a different planet. Visual illusions, my heart aches for home without being sure it’s truly gone. How can we know that what we see is what is there? If I cannot feel the ground, myself?

There’s a glass wall between me and everyone. I can’t destroy it, I can’t get out. Now, more than when I am alone, do I feel the shattering sadness of isolation.

I am untouchable. Flesh is all that separates my mind from existence. My body is a prison and I can’t breathe. Do you know the full meaning of claustrophobia? I need to cut it open so that I can escape.

A movie reel of atrocities plays behind my eyes. Colors darken, dissolve in a bloody red. My body is the victim and executor of a million violent deaths.

My brain can’t grasp my mental pain and turns it into something physical. An aura of phantom pains surrounds my chest; someone put knives in my lungs.

I hope my thoughts mean that I’m crazy because if I am crazy, my fears have not come true.

These are the bad days. Sometimes I wake up and they’re just there. Some time during the night, in a dream, perhaps, or a slumbering forgotten thought, something just went awry. I wake up and the world has shattered, and I can’t remember what it felt like before. This is a far cry better than once upon a time, when everything was disordered, and the bad days were just days. They’re a shadow, now, from what they were before, they come less often and farther in between; and I am concrete, touchable, both body and mind. But you don’t forget insanity, even though, some moments, I come very close. I wear “before” on my arm, “before” is weaved through my disintegrated memories, reminding me not to turn back. I’m starting to believe that I can do it; but some days, still, the ground shifts, I stumble, almost cross over. I live on the borderline of existence; I think too much; I’m never sure if I am alive.

Am I?

Borderline (poem)

Wake, the day cracked like glass
Feel through shards of past
I ache – it’s okay to be sad
Just that, sometimes I forget
I am, life is more than me
Then, to breathe mountains
Sing morning without a sound
One day falling can be flying –

Today I cracked – no solid ground.

Tumbling, alive (poem)

Are you safely alone, tumbling
through the whistling of the birds,
having quiet conversations with the trees
The city’s buzzing far ahead
I was in love, but to make clouds, darkening,
using nothing but my breath, or
weave bracelets of colored pain,
like childhood’s daisy strings
I loved but didn’t let me –

Wanting to die, life, was my biggest lie
I only wanted to go home, ever falling
through the silence between words
I wanted – I didn’t say –
But if I am transparent, only visible
I can see the stars reflect at night
I can ask the sun, to shine through me,
and make rainbows dance inside

Brussels adventures

Brussels is a strange name. Why is it in plural? Anyway. I had to travel to Brussels today to fetch a code from the Belgian government to do stuff with – immigrant life, yes -, and I’m not paying 20 euros (= 21 US dollars / 17 English pound) train fare just for some code, so I did some tourist things as well. Since I don’t really seem to have followers from Belgium, I thought I’d tell you some things about our cave of a capital that no one here likes. The parts around Brussels central station are alright – there’s the pretty city hall and such things. But don’t go anywhere else, it’s all gray concrete and it sucks.

train ride
is quite nice, because Belgian landscape – if you travel south a little – is just these calm, flowing undulations, which makes it look a bit like the ocean. You know, a (mostly) green ocean with houses and cows and trees and stuff. I always find it really calming to look at when I’m on a train here.

je ne parle pas français
Brussels terrifies me because it’s big and strange, and most people speak French and my French is, well, pathétique (yes I know that my blogging name is French but that’s just for exotic reasons). I have absolutely no idea what’s going on when people suddenly start talking French to me. My social anxiety can’t handle it. But I conquered the city of foreign tongues! Also, I found a secondhand bookshop (those are the best!) and bought a copy of Jules Verne’s Vingt mille lieues sous les mers 20.000 Leagues Under the Sea in English – so I’m going to go ahead and read that until I can read French.

getting lost
so Brussels is big. It’s so confusing. Took me about 20 minutes to find the government building, which is right next to the train station, but the train station has a million exits, which is nice. Also, their sign is about 3 centimeters big and right next to a hotel sign, which is about 2 kilometers big. Because who needs to find the government? Not Belgians. But at least you’ll have no problem finding a hotel to spend the night, in case you need an additional day to search for the government. That’s nice of them. But I found it and got my appointment etc., and then I wandered around the train station again for about 30 minutes looking for the exit that I had memorized from my former visit, which I knew I needed for my touristy stuff. Couldn’t find it. Turns out I was at the wrong train station (Brussels has like 15, it’s hard).

we live in a potential war-zone etc. these days, so Brussels is filled with militias. Plus, Brussels has 6 police districts (Belgium is divided and strange and I’m not even gonna try), so they seem to all be there, plus, someone from the railroad apparently decided that it was a good idea to hire a scattering of security companies, so they are all there, too. Brussels is so nice and cosy, it’s great (Antwerp too). But you get used to it. Their big automatic guns are fascinating, in any case.

Manneken pis
our national pride, AKA the little pissing man statue (it’s this), AKA “the noble Lord” (quoting manneken-pis.be). If you’re wondering why I love Belgium: this is it. I’ve lived here for 3,5 years now and I still hadn’t seen it, so now was as good a time as any. Walked right past it. It’s 61 centimeters (24 inch) tall. Luckily, though, there was a group of tourists around it calling for my attention, so I did see it. So yeah. Totally worth it.

Brussels has quite a lot of museums, so that’s cool. I Went to Bozar, an art museum, which was a mistake. Should’ve gone to the museum of Belgian beers instead. But what can you do. Anyway, Bozar can have nice things too, it’s just so … expensive. You pay per exposition and they’re not that big, so if you want to see all of them (or, if you’re me: 2), you’re broke. Kind of annoying. The lockers are free though, so that’s a plus. I just picked a random expo because it was crowded + I suddenly had to pick one and I wasn’t prepared so I panicked, but it turned out to be quite all right. I suppose you have to like modern conceptual art, which I don’t always do, but I quite liked this one. Saw Yves Klein: he “made” his own shade of blue and they’d put a big, hmm well I don’t know how to call it but this, on the floor, somewhat like a river, which was kind of mesmerizing. I find his shade of blue very calming. He also did thinks like painting with fire, where he’d spray with something on a canvas – water? I heard some people say “spray de l’eau”, I’m trusting the French -, as in, he’d position naked female models against the canvas and spray their figures. And then he just went over the whole thing (except for the models, they’d leave first) with a flamethrower, so he’d end up with a canvas filled with strange colors and figures. Pretty cool. They had little clips of that, among other things. So it was kinda worth my 16 euros in the end.

train ride II
took the wrong train back. I mean, it was the right train, but it also wasn’t because it was the snail one that takes a massive detour. Took me almost 3 times as long to get back to Ghent. Don’t do that. Unless you feel like spending time in a train, then do.

Ghent is better
that’s my conclusion. I’m not biased at all. If you’re ever around here, come to Ghent, it’s super fun and pretty. Walking through the city center feels like walking through a fairy tale.

Okay that was it thanks for reading bye