What = Life

Science made me think
Atoms, endlessly subdivisible. They can infinitely be squeezed. The universe, a 4D sphere, its surface our space. Our limited space I mean. Floating in innumerable D's, annulling any distance. Seconds, endlessly subdivisible. They can infinitely be squeezed. Time, always moving. A standstill our life. Our limited life I mean. I still can't reason time as space, but I'm sure they're one. So everything = nothing. Everything = clear. There's nothing new beyond the sun and I hate being aware of this. I could do what I like. I could steal, kill and rape. It just doesn't solve anything. The only solution would be ignoring this nasty knowledge. But the point is that I can't forget all the things I've learnt. Well I won't protest, cause the world won't get better or worse. I'm one of the masses and this is a single cry... CRY.. I'm leaving for Slumberland, the only reliable world. Here at least I can't philosophize. I'll be a direct object, cause dreams can't be controlled. Which I’m not aware of and I’m not aware of dreaming either. There is no future, no past, just today.

Turquoise
My eyelids a screen and my bed starts sloping. Far away I can hear my clock ticking slow. At this moment I'm travelling through my subconscious past. I see things I perceived today out of the corner of the eyes. Then... the dark an audience, gets dazzled by light. And a turquoise world opens itself for me.

At the gate
He and I, we woke up in this house. A house full of daybreak, daylight. Bordered on the gate of Turquoise. And we left it ajar... A city at daylight, so bright. Manoeuvering the crowd, underground. And we're the only being ones. Acting in the logical way of dreaming. When reality is a dream. There's nothing to worry about anymore. The enturquesation of white. The problems as a white painting on the wall.

When there 's nothing to dream about
Monday after Monday another week again. Monday after Monday closer to the end. Monday after Monday it obsesses me. Monday after Monday makes me feel so down. Makes my life stagnate. The more time proceeds, the less I feel to do something I'm used to. But what am I to do then. Don't know alternatives. Which only makes it worse. Anyway I want to live. I could expand the measure, but it doesn’t make the song have more bars.

Would the balance be restored?
Friends. Yesterday. Friends. Again. Friends. Today. Friends. At last. Would the balance be restored, or did it flip to the other side. There are friends this morning. There are friends tomorrow. And after tomorrow. After after tomorrow. Well I don't care of course, it's just that I wonder. Would the balance be restored, or did it flip to the other side.

Balances
Musing over dreams so clear, coherent, so near. Longing for the beautiful days, but they're past, they're past. I wonder why I'm so boring, few years ago everything was alright. Bad times weren't as bad as now, now I only see balances, balances. Nothing ever changed after all, the balance never restored. Me the great philosopher and here I am again.

Waves
Turquoise, the rhythm of my clock. I felt its pulses all my life. The ticking clock in my mind calling me back from playing day-life. Balances, another heartbeat. Never did it strike until now. Calling me back from playing life, for I was jamming at the wrong side.

Ne soyez pas si ironIQue
The bloody sun shines bright, the awful sky is white. World turns black, world turns white, nor does it shine at night. Keep on buttering the loo, for I've so much to do. If I just only knew there would be something new. Oh how I'm aware I must change my hair. But no energy there to come out of my chair.

Being Snobbish
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Back to Bourgeois
Silence in this room, the room that isn’t mine. Time is in the atmosphere, I can feel it breathing. Memories of a little boy, a boy that lived his life with his eyes closed until now. And time went by. How I remember now the uncomplicated days. Protected from future, just playing the day. What would it be to have a boy that hardly takes or gives. Halve a year later. Invited at a family birthday-party. Observing the close relationship. Feeling humble, they really must be happy. Crowded in that room, the room that isn’t mine. The answer in the atmosphere. Back to bourgeois is a fact. The awareness off a grown up guy, a guy that tries to live, finally opening his eyes. And time is pausing. How I am aware of the complicated days. Attacked by future, clinging to the day. What would it be to be a guy that dares to give and take. Back to Bourgeois is a fact. A sentimental fact. Picking up the thread after so many years. It feels good however.

Go to sleep
Go to sleep, while the others do, while the others talk, talk about you. You. Go to sleep, while the others are, ignoring you. No. They’re no friends. They’re no foes. You ignore. You. Must have friends. Must have foes. Show yourself to those. I wonder what I should be doing here. Expecting someone to feel sorry. The someones that rather keep on slumbering and I’m just waking up. I need to fight. Can’t stop no more! I know mine. Sitting in the same train of calling in vain. They don’t know my name. I. I will meet. Meet quite soon. Out of the gloom.

Ode to death
I've been walking this road all my life. Just now I recognize its surroundings. Noticing everyone claiming to walk the right route. And they're right, cause they all lead to death. It's so logical an answer to life. Why didn't I see they're just the same. One point the extremities touch, where everything finds its answer.

Hair
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Final memorials to a scene
I saw you that day, dressed in punk. And made me aware of missing you. My life should have been the same as yours, but I was to leave the scene prematurely. You came into my dream that night. There we met so fragily. My ear on your back I realized it was YOU I was seeking not myself. Berlin, an island. You and I, a couple. Beyond intelligence we’ll live the primitive way. Berlin, the last train. You with Me, a life-line. Beyond the past we start new memories. I bloody know sticking with you would lead me to the outlet I've been waiting for so long now. But as I suppose I'm not the missing link in your life, I'll just consider it a nice dream.

The rehabilitation of a quantum
Bowlding, moulding, swelling like grass. Crashing insanities nevertheless. Convulsive movements, CRYING FOR BREATH. Cancerous tumours more or less. The yellow head of the pimple has gulped open. The cure. Nobody cares. Nobody has to.

Altruism
Altruism, Altruism...
Altruism, Altruism...

Colours come from East
So this is my pink room. A new born room still empty. There's some pink on the wall. It reflects the light. I will grow in there. Join and smoke the cigarette to fill this just sprouted thin air with your being voice. Listen to the smoke. In this 10/8 time I'm tipping around you. Colours come from East rejoining the grey twittering sounds. Hey I want you to undress! Show me your roundings that I can kiss you all over. Your face, your nipples, your fragile triangle. Let me into your body. Let me into your packing. Life is just an exception in life. A moment of its own colour. Thus we will paint this room today to grow the colouring in my mind.

The waltz of life
The waltz of life. Beyond intelligence there mustn't be brains. They keep me dancing. The waltz beats the rhythm of my clock. The missing fourth keeps me dancing. ..It's the chaos.. ..must enchaos.. Eve. Happiness-eve. Chaos stalagmite. Out of the masses as dark as blind. And they better stay. The better I'm able to distinguish my bright friends. ..It's the chaos.. ..must enchaos.. ..need the chaos..

The Honest Way
Intermezzo. Blow my nose. And everyone seems so grey. Manoeuvering through the days and the air is fresh, manoeuvering through the flesh. Estimating their minds, analyse them, testing, finally a possibility to put into practice. It's good to be honest. It's good to be honest. It's good to be...then why I’m alone? In the name of God they ridicule mine. It makes me move to the room, the tiny little room. I know. This is my world. And I'll splash it all over. So they can embellish it to themselves again. If honesty is the right way, then why I'm alone?

The Bridge
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Morgen
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Brakes loose
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Built myself a garden
Guitars crawling around, papers reading the ground. Monday, Tuesday, Fridaynight oh, what a beautiful sight. And it's spring 1983. Life begins. OK I did it so far, built me a garden. A splash in the world. And that's my hedge. I said that's my hedge. I said... So now what. I have to define each day. It soon will be May. Life takes so long, give me a break. Unsatisfied feelings: piss, fuck off. OK. I know. Me. From this side the sight so bright. From this side the sight so BRIGHT.

Correcting the amplitude
Down, down, I'm still going up. Near the ground, staring in emptyness. My spirit keeps growing, a tumour. How bright I grow, how smart I am. Deep, deep, I’m still going on. In the mist, staring in water. My body keeps glowing, an endless match. How bright I glow, how smart I am. Each stripe on my face, a correction. The less I care, the more I dare. Each stripe on my face, a correction to keep me from uncontrolled actions. Death is an answer, for it completes all expectations. Suicide, an amplitude too high. Each stripe on my face, to keep the amplitude low. There is no intention at all, but what about '84?

A normal day
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You're mine as much as yours
I’m alive in the human world as human as any being. Walking through The Hague, the scenery my life circles. It’s my city as it is yours. I crash in it as I crash in you. Walking through its veins, throbbing forwards. You’re mine as much as yours. I crash in you as I crash myself.

Let the rain fall down
Feelings in this sound. Scattering uncountable fragments of feelings. I always use an umbrella when they rain, cause they're too broad to fit in my line of life. The churchbell originates this sound as he used to do at the roots of my life. I didn't know an umbrella then. I was just a little square.

I won't be eaten, I can myself
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The Paradox
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Through the yellow glass
Shrink... no crashing windows. As fragile... yes as fragile as glass. The glass in my hand tinkling in this nowhere air. No, this is somewhere. Somewhere in a garden. And it's yellow. I mean the air, but not visible. Sitting in a chair, a table on a pavement. Holding the glass in the somewhere air. And it tinkles, waving at me. The way it looks. The many sides of vision. A chair in the air.

The sea will look after me
Let me go to the beach. The black sea that swallowed the history that's mine, before I was born. The sandy colour covering my feet. This is all I need. This is all I need. No I want blue, the sky above me. Crashing insanities to develop a sane one. A mother, a hand, a talking moon. Boy, am I confusing. But it's the child's language. The simple cry raised out of the sea. No-one can hide its stretched out arms. So helpless, but it needs the water it comes from. You just wait child. Everything's gonna be alright. Back to the sea. And when you're sound asleep I'll wake you in a heaven's dawn.

Eat the Children
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Ain't that a trumpet

Seems like early daybreak. Streets are cold and silent. Didn’t plan to walk, but some pain worked me out of bed. So walking around… So walking around. Calling on my imagination. What way to follow, what way to go, how to spend this bonus time. The bend of the street drives my direction and points me to the dark side of my mind. So moving ahead…

I'm Blind

I'm blind, simply won't see. So would you mind not pity me. I won't need a stick and I won't need a dog. Just don't care a fig for I didn't plan to walk. I just want to find my way in a black and shapeless day. I want to sink in a sea of sounds washing me. No light. Don't need no light to lighten the world, to lighten the mind. Things I say sound better at night and things I grab are more solid than light. I just want to find my way in a black and shapeless day. I want to sink in a sea of sounds washing me.

The Hunt

God would I like shooting castles in the air. God would I like shooting islands in the sea. And see the air and see the sea crying castles
drowning islands, RIP. Castles made of air, islands made of sea. Then what is there to give hope, then what's there to be shot.

Let's go crash cassetterecorders

Peter, listen to me. You're my friend, aren't you. There is something I never told you, I'm sane! Long ago I saw you throw a spear. Not bad at all. It's just sad that no-one cared. Even the spear did not return. Let's go crash cassetterecorders one for you and one for me. Let's go dieing, just for fun, me a few times, you a few times. Hanging in curtains, like Edward does. He's still looking for the spear you threw away. A dark morning by accident, I glimpsed you scattered all over the street. A lot of eyes spearing you, though no-one cared. So let's forget it. Let's go crash cassetterecorders one for you and one for me. Let's go dieing, just for fun, me a few times, you a few times. Peter, pass me the coffee. And let's drink the morning away. Peter, listen to me. You're my friend, aren't you. Don't you worry, cause I know: We're sane! Let's go crash cassetterecorders lots for you and lots for me. Let's go dieing, just for fun, me a few times, you a few times.

Factory

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Once in a while

Once in a while I'd like to know the way I am. I'd like to show a face that's mine leaving no doubts about the years it spent to grow that smile, that then will glow the very warmth of the flame I kept alive. Once in a while I'd like to know the way I am. And talk and talk all day long about things of no importance. But to me they are the crumbled feelings I refused to eat in wintertime of life. Now, that time still runs I'm glad to know that I'm still there. That I can go a way I want leading without any roundabouts right to that place I once belonged and where I'll find my goal that's still alive. Now, that time still runs I want to show the way I am. And walk and walk all day long through streets I crossed so often. But to me these are important streets that give to me some bread, to simply stay alive.

We've come to take the child

I'm so in love with a girl I make believe she is my sister. But when she puts her hand in mine I can't resist her. So I take her by the hand I was taken by the hand myself. And show the sea the way it was fixed in my memory. There in the sand she just wants us to play. She fails to see the whole intention. But when I squeeze her hand a bit, she pays attention. Then the sea, she starts to dance and the wind lifts her high up in the sky. It's quite a show. It nearly made me forget the reason why I'm here. We've come to take the child to play. is all I dare, I dare to say...

The shadow-frame

It never shines it shades the way I line the day, define my play. It always leaves an empty frame and ample room to sign my name. But what's a name when you never meant to play some game. I surely claim the life I spend to reach my aim.

The picture

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