Not everything that stands out is outstanding.

From Routes To Crown II

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Wanneer je boos bent als Jan Roos

Moet ik mijn leven aanpassen? Omdat er wordt aangeklopt? Omdat er wordt gevraagd voor onderdak? Voor water, voor een matras of een bank. Voor één nacht? Het begint altijd met één nacht. En denk jij dat zij de huur betalen? Of mee betalen aan de elektriciteit? Water. Gas. Internet? Zilveren bestek, doe maar meteen ook mijn porseleinen afdroogrek. Dekens, mijn peperdure dekbedovertrek. En de volgende ochtend. Tijdens ontbijt een gezellig gesprek. En als afscheidscadeau, een cheque. Van 1 miljoen euro. En daarna nog mijn pincode. Oh en als hun auto vastzit, mijn krokodillenbek. Of ben ik nou gek? Het geld groeit toch niet op mijn rug!? En als het zo was, dan had ik nog steeds moeite om het te epileren. Of moet ik het soms eraf scheren? En overhandigen. Ik vraag ze toch ook niet om voor mij bij het douche putje opzoek te gaan naar goud?

Geloof me. Ik ben gastvrij. Ook al krijg ik een burn-out. Gek stelletje ros en gele spekfiguren. Ze eten al mijn bonbons op! En ik maar voor ze rondrennen als een kip zonder kop. Als een technicus die teveel MDMA heeft genomen bij pukkelpop. En ze willen zeker ook een koekje erbij. Vast wel twee. Of drie, of vier, of vijf. Continue! Geef één lange vinger en ze nemen je hele hand. Met verpakking en al. Nee weetje wat, nog beter. Geef mij maar die verpakking. Noem mij meneer de Afvalberg. Vol beschimmelde sporen van een verdorven verleden. Toen ik alles had. Alles. Toen de wereld voor mij beter was. Waar blijft de koning wanneer je hem nodig hebt? Waarom is de meerderheid zo machteloos. Oprotten met al die mensenrechten. Ik ben boos. Als Jan Roos.

Somewhere between the oons

Somewhere between
Quadroon, Octoroon
Quintroon, Decihexoon
Triacontadidoon, Hexaconta
Kunta kente all the way back to
Calling me a baboon?
Somewhere between
I’ve been mingling for many moons
So many moons
I can’t remember who made this balloon
Bubbles burst like a confused teen pimple
Life long puberty
Somewhere between
A small Brazilian owl with a beetle face
A Mexican wolf dessert gaze
An emasculated mule, dual
A Taino black bird
Samba dances
Somewhere between
White satin cloth
Black raggity sloth
And the cheap brown knot
All caught by the sun pillage
Worn out, forgotten glories
Somewhere between
Human and animal
A descent hidden and flammable
Tame and wild
Sainted and radical
Can’t speak any body language
Named like dinosaurs
Extinctious
Mixticius, sounding almost fallicious
Survived and alive an kicking
Still misfed, left for dead
Wise and cunning
Still blind and misled
Somewhere between
Somewhere between
Somewhere between
Somewhere between
The oons

Heb ik het recht van spreken?

Carte Blanche

Arbitrary, feening my own fantasies
With shivers of an ego-type heroine
Feeling profoundly weak
In between downers and prayers I keep
Passive aggressive on fleek
I close myself off, captive I yell
Super beam my thoughts to intro space
Seek the hidden caterpillars
Make them digest all my inner-conflicts
Make hope grow into inner-flowers
So I can blossom to the innermost me

The peculiar mask

A peculiar mask was found deep in a rainforest, in between vines, creepers and age old trees with trunks so wide they could house a house. The hunters who by accident found this mask, brought it back to the village, where elders observed it with a patient care only possible when endowed by long conversations with ancestors. At times their eyes sparked. At times they were lost in translation. But after three days or so, they gathered the whole village for a meeting. The elders explained that this mask is very powerful. It provides you endless rejuvenation of the spirit, that is if you dare to wear it. They also said that it is not the only mask in the rainforest. Ancestors mold every leaf that falls from an elephant ear plant into a mask. The proces takes about five million sunrises, so the masks can only be found underground, underneath all that is forgotten after all that is forgotten.

Hunters became mask gatherers and soon started selling the masks to the village. Now that the peculiar masks became a marketable good dollar signs magnetically found their way to the village. The village transformed into a town in a matter of weeks. The town transformed into a city in a matter of months. The story of the powers of these peculiar masks sold like the winter collections at Macy’s. Raggity clothes and village gowns were thrown away. Business men were now there to stay. All natural resources were used to heighten the myth of the mask. The rainforest near the village transformed into a natural park, and every elephant tree was surrounded by markets and museums. Every week their were activities, in which foreigners can learn about the application of the mask. Performances of salivating people in trance combined with purifying ceremonies where candles emulate the dance of ancestors became prestigious theater pieces visited by people all over the world. It was all possible as long as dollars entered the post-village city and masks left.

A blessing and a curse is transversed. The masks were selling too quickly, quicker than the elephant trees can produce. Every mask took a potential life full of wonder from the village. The minds of the villagers now turned city dwellers grew old and dry as limestones. And eventhough their pockets grew heavy and their stomachs full, their souls were ageing. No price could pay for a new soul, their youth was fading. And soon enough imagination lost. And without imagination hearts came to frost. But the sun was too strong in town, so every heart melted.  Slowly but surely death was eminent. And death does not play fair, but neither do marketable goods.

Frost

Darker than the blues
Age old black
The moon light shines
Like a dot that is lost
It’s all frost
Bits of bytes that turn
Mega’s into Giga’s
And forget that we all
Come from
Another age
Free from cloudy rains
Be sun stained
Sun Ra