Music, I know you're not from around here. The size of

dark skies we live by in physical day light. Earth! Empty

driveway, a dream place of our own. The coming of home,

new scene. Cellulair senses, dual, men to women, vice

versa. A New age, flat screen Tokyo picture, panavision.

Sky high above Los Santos, smog experience, blasting

red dawn wide across. Everywhere is heaven, angle

shots. A streetfight, people moving like ants. Another shot

is taken, softly in his chest. Mission starting all over again.

The storyline or headline, how will it end? San Andreas,


I've been there, swimming? The place where it never

rains, only transparency & figher jets. Area splitting. Bird's

eye view, being here upgrades your reality, speeding. The

girls, muscular, and speechless. I've been here, sandbox

mission games. Found dead in redneck rampage, GTAV.

Airports, nice feelings. I can't see my hands, perhaps I am not

here. Time is waving back at me... Who is afraid of dying, violently

coming down, back to the real world? Compulsory, the kiss that

is making it all too weak, this voice speaking to new arrivals...

Airports, terminals, violence is a critical mass. Center of the world.

Tipon & Maria

From porous debris, our house, rebuilding renais-

sance. Tiny streets, part wisdom, a long path, mar-

riage? Tipon & Maria, name, family, familiarity. Roasted

peanuts, to some. We need a small document, in time.

She knows, our work, labor of love. Poetry and poems,


under the tree, what was first and second. Thrid time too,

agreeing, too many times. Years, dissolving moments

of delay, to be or not reversed. Nay, Aye, indecisive, yes-

terday. We love the howling of the owl, renaissance or

nostalgia. From porous debris, home is best and kindest.

New start, perfection. Opening, music list. Chet Baker, only

when you're lost. My age is ageing fast, at 20. 'Where will I

be in five years time?' Unborn, still. Visions, not educated

enough. Abandoned, this is realistic. Let's do reality, you need

lot's of cries. The cinema, repetitious. The End, 'A' cigarette ad.

Friday evening, 100 years seen in seconds. What can this

world need right now? A busy city, sirens going beserk all over

again & again. Friday nights are for fun, social opinions, close,

and then extremely close. I need a streetrace, crashing before

I finish, a hologram. Dad is not dead. Fraction is timeless here.

Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, steen of potlood. De

aanklacht is welluidend, een thema. Er lang bij stilstaan maakt

je dwaas, verdwaasd. Een eed wordt het niet, episch ook niet.

De verblikte beschaving, ver- blikt. De mens leert zichzelf sardien

worden, als hij 't niet al eens was geweest. Het lot kijkt ons toe.


Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, wolken en zonnestralen.

Calamiteit, plastic. En herten worden afgeschoten in het bos.

Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, werelden vol, theorieën?

Intussen: wie zegeviert? De hieros gamos van tijd en aarde, mens

-usurpator, de vraatzucht. Prehistorie gemoderniseerd, 21ste eeuw.