The clouds over Antwerp (so far from home)
Caress the cathedral, barely brush the dome.
The sun is mild, and the wind soft,
Yet darker, boiling things come aloft.

Tendrils of remembrance, making me a liar –
I said I'd extinguish that treacherous fire.
A torch that shouldn't be, let alone be carried,
What should stay hidden, locked, and buried.
A flashback unbidden - your easy laughter -
There is no hope, not in the After.

The sky seems paper-thin, a fake screen of blue,
Threatening to peel back, revealing only you;
The cottony clouds, an illusion that will melt,
Spilling the intensity of all that I felt;
Still feel (oh god), and I can't disperse,
You are woven in the fabric of my universe.

I wonder if you're gazing, taking in the stars,
Or dark forests whose trees seem to me like bars;
A prison: I'm trapped, without being held,
My heart saw yours and decided to weld
Us together, but the alloy didn't match –
My forever, your bad batch.
Bleeding, I hold on to the damaged patch,
Too stupid to let go, too stupid to detach.

My life stands still, as chances pass through,
And all I see, all, is that they're not you.

*

There's fog now, heavy like lead -
I wonder if the veil seeped straight from my head;
Shrouding the world in a numb ache,
Distracting my thoughts, for sanity's sake.

And your presence pulses, a soft thrum of power,
Pitter-patter of rain, a ghost of a shower.
Just like a ghost, you're gone, but you're here,
Too far to touch, but to forget - too near.

On the streets of Antwerp
There are visible areas
There are borders dividing
Different ethnicities,
Cultures and languages
There are areas
By income and colleges

There are also invisible areas
Corners taken in by the homeless
There's Antwerp's most famous
Louis, alcoholic and ex-military
Best known for saving two children
And writing a book
He said he never liked to live within 4 walls
Making about €150 a day
Sitting on Astrid Square
Going on 30 years now

There's the Scottish poet
Who spits rhymes
Like they came off a conveyor
He cited one for me once
I regretted it instantly
But at least I know now
What rhymes with *****
He hangs around the Central Station
And enjoys summer nights

There's Chippy the one with the dreads
Hangs around the Cathedral
And keeps an eye on the youth
In good terms with the police he is
No fights or broken bottles
Where he roams
Surrounded by the usual Gang
Of surprisingly well kept
Ladies and Gents
With their trolleys and carts

There's the very skinny one
Who once kept company
To a friend of mine
And exchaned his bike
For a loaf of bread
She smiled and told him
To keep the bike and the bread
He felt it was his job
To protect her
And guide her back home

Then there's "Santa"
Not much known about him
His spot is by Frituur N* 1
Best fries in the city
He wears a kilt and a red jacket
White beard and hair
A shiny bald spot in the center of his head
He speaks German loudly
To everyone and anyone
Bright red nose and square glasses

Now as I stroll about the streets
I know where to expect to see them
But to my surprise one day
Santa was gone
Had they taken him away?
Did the City of Antwerp
Reclaim their streets?
Did he die in the winter cold?
I put my pink glasses on and figured
Maybe he went to get beer.

And then one day years later
I spotted him... Yes it was him!
He wore neat blue jeans
And a purple well kept sweater
Glasses with a modern green frame
Hair and beard cut and brushed
He walked with a quick pase
Seemingly on his way back
To Frituur N* 1
Roaring in German louder than ever!
With a sting in my heart I watched him go back to his corner.

THE CROWD at Raf Simons’s Spring 2017 menswear show at Pitti Immagine Uomo in Florence seemed more uptight than usual, yet that’s exactly how Mr. Simons intended it: Scattered among the wound-up throngs of editors, buyers and gate-crashers were 266 secondhand mannequins, some seated stiffly, others frozen into upright positions, all clothed in archival pieces from his 21-year career in fashion. Though the dummies were arresting, the Belgian designer, 48, later downplayed this unconventional look back. “The pieces weren’t chosen with a certain kind of curatorial intention,” said Mr. Simons. “I didn’t want it to look like a typical kind of retrospective.”

Mission accomplished: Between the spooky setting in a cavernous former train station, the wooden mannequins and his decision to show “off calendar” (forgoing his usual Paris Fashion Week time slot), it all felt more like a Robert Gober art show than a museum tribute. Mr. Simons is, after all, still hard at work, his every move watched by industry insiders amid speculation that he may be joining Calvin Klein—after concluding 3½ years as creative director of Christian Dior’s women’s collection, in 2015.

Mr. Simons continued to riff on his signature elegance in his Pitti Uomo menswear show. The cornerstone of the collection was a series of loose, photo-enhanced shirts, knits and jackets created in collaboration with the Robert Mapplethorpe Foundation: voluminous pieces emblazoned with images of Debbie Harry or eroticized flowers by the photographer, who died in 1989.

Much like his designs, our chat with the usually circumspect Mr. Simons reflected a broad array of preoccupations and influences. He was outspoken about tailoring (“so much bad suiting out there”) and his design process (“no system, no rules, no structure”) but also about mobile phones, the African countryside and ’70s dance music.

One of my favorite spots in the world is: Puglia in Italy. There’s a house by the sea I go to, and outside, it’s just a horizon line. It’s that feeling of eternity: It allows you to think. If you put me there, I wouldn’t need love or anything anymore.

Between the country or the city, I prefer: the country. I live in Antwerp, a city that’s kind of like a village.

A place I’d like to visit again is: Kruger National Park in South Africa. It’s mind-blowing how it sits so far away from anything you’ve ever experienced in a city. There were no people, no proof of human life, just animals and animal behavior. It’s survival of the strongest, which is fascinating.

One thing I’ve had forever is: A yellow T-shirt with a black print on it from the movie “The Shining” that goes way back to when I was a teenager.

If I could be granted one wish, it would be: solidarity. That may sound emotional—politically emotional—but with everything that’s happening, I wish everybody would just let each other be in peace.

A current band I love is: The **. At first they seemed weird but they overwhelm me—massively—all the time with their intelligence. They may be the group that’s had the most impact on me in the last five years.

An old album I still listen to is: Kraftwerk’s “The Man-Machine” [1978]. My 1998 show was called “Kraftwerk” because I had four boys in red shirts in it who looked like replicas of the band members.

If I could tell my 20-year-old self one thing, it would be: grab and protect love when you find it. Cherish it, focus on it, concentrate on it.

My dream client would be: anyone, really. When I design, I am thinking about a lot of people, not just one. It’s more about connecting to a certain kind of generation or a certain kind of person that will connect to what we do.

I always wear: Adidas Stan Smiths. I have had periods where I only wore Stan Smiths, maybe from age 15 until I was 25.

The place that most inspires me is:everywhere. Some people have to go for a swim or have a holiday to be inspired, but for me, it’s there when I walk out the door.

My favorite movie directors are: Stanley Kubrick, Todd Haynes and Alfred Hitchcock.Kubrick’s movies are so visually striking, especially “2001: A Space Odyssey” and “Eyes Wide Shut.”

I collect: art. I started collecting more than 15 years ago. Cady Noland, Richard Prince,Cindy Sherman, Isa Genzken, Rosemarie Trockel, Charlie Ray, Robert Gober are artists that have made a huge impact on me on all levels, emotionally, conceptually, visually.

The hardest part of a man’s wardrobe to get right is: the tie and suit. [There is] so much bad suiting out there in terms of fit, style and fabric. So, when I design, I don’t start with fit or fabric, but with meaning. The phrase “suit and tie” has a special place in our vocabulary.

One of my favorite books is: The Christiane F. book [“Zoo Station: The Story of Christiane F.”—about a teenage ****** addict]. The movie [1981] was an amazing interpretation, but the book is more striking.

I feel most proud about: simple things like being able to handle love and friendship and family. Or taking care of my dog. Of course, I do also feel proud of what I do.

I am a big fan of: furniture design, especially French or Swiss designers such as Jean Royère, Pierre Jeanneret and Jean Prouvé as well as Japanese-American designer George Nakashima. I love how beautifully designed furniture sits in history—it’s unpretentious.

The one thing I always travel with is: my sweatshirt from Vier, a skateshop in Antwerp. “Vier” is the Dutch word for four. I always take it on flights because I refuse to put on the pajamas they give to you.

I wish I could always be with: my dog, Luca, a Beauceron, who behaves like everything except a dog—more like a cat or a frog. She’s still a baby.

The one thing I wish didn’t exist is: mobile phones. I am old enough to remember how it was before them. There was something much more beautiful about not having one. We communicated in such a different way with each other.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2016 | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses

Thou hast nor youth nor age
      But as it were an after dinner sleep
      Dreaming of both.


Here I am, an old man in a dry month,
Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.
I was neither at the hot gates
Nor fought in the warm rain
Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,
Bitten by flies, fought.
My house is a decayed house,
And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,
Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,
Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.
The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;
Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.
The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,
Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.
                                        I an old man,
A dull head among windy spaces.

Signs are taken for wonders. “We would see a sign!”
The word within a word, unable to speak a word,
Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger

In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering judas,
To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk
Among whispers; by Mr. Silvero
With caressing hands, at Limoges
Who walked all night in the next room;

By Hakagawa, bowing among the Titians;
By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room
Shifting the candles; Fräulein von Kulp
Who turned in the hall, one hand on the door.
    Vacant shuttles
Weave the wind. I have no ghosts,
An old man in a draughty house
Under a windy ****.

After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities. Think now
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions
That the giving famishes the craving. Gives too late
What’s not believed in, or if still believed,
In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soon
Into weak hands, what’s thought can be dispensed with
Till the refusal propagates a fear. Think
Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices
Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.

The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours. Think at last
We have not reached conclusion, when I
Stiffen in a rented house. Think at last
I have not made this show purposelessly
And it is not by any concitation
Of the backward devils
I would meet you upon this honestly.
I that was near your heart was removed therefrom
To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition.
I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it
Since what is kept must be adulterated?
I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch:
How should I use them for your closer contact?
These with a thousand small deliberations
Protract the profit of their chilled delirium,
Excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled,
With pungent sauces, multiply variety
In a wilderness of mirrors. What will the spider do,
Suspend its operations, will the weevil
Delay? De Bailhache, Fresca, Mrs. Cammel, whirled
Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear
In fractured atoms. Gull against the wind, in the windy straits
Of Belle Isle, or running on the Horn,
White feathers in the snow, the Gulf claims,
And an old man driven by the Trades
To a sleepy corner.

                    Tenants of the house,
Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season.

I met a boy
His name starts with B.Finally.
He's small but charming.He speaks French and Dutch.(genius)

First I thought he was boring(cause everybody says that)
But in fact, he's well educated and humorous and endearing.
Though he lives on waffles and beers(and chocolate),
I don't mind, cause he's care-free.

He calls his heart Brussels(weird huh),his head Antwerp and limbs Ghent,Namur and fingers Brugge.
I love every part of him.

I once lived in his head, Antwerp, where he hides all of his best assets.
Full of whimsical,creative and splendid thoughts.
The weather in his head is unpredictable.I still love it

He's sometimes proud and sometimes kind, but mostly very caring
I love him, but now i should leave.

The tie is in
There are several ferries
Standing still here
I think of grandpa
And how much
He would've loved this

I think of all
The sunny after noons
I sat here with Esther
Before she got cancer
At the age of 17
Survived it, she did
But she never laughed
Like she used to

The platform is up
As tie comes in
The water covers
The words spelled out
Across the stream
At low tie, it would say
"Love"

Here we sat
And cried our
Youthfull tears away
Boys are still mean
But we're better equipped
And they're smarter too
Somewhat kinder
And we're milder

A smile of understanding
Appears as I watch
Flandria1 struggling
As the boy tries
to dock it here
It's not that easy
To move a vessel

A black bag floats by
And I wonder
What will it learn
Where is it's destination
And silently hope
That the city will scoop
It all out...

The Saturday night crowd, all here to see Dave Van Ronk,
sit huddled in the fashion of Antwerp diamond cutters,
sipping cinnamon/marshmallow coffee at the tables.
Caffe Lena is Saratoga's happening place in the 60's and
we're here to forget the war and civil strife in the ghettos.

Sister Mary Katherine, sans frock, is the warmup act,
but no one really gives her any mind,
as she struggles to seat herself upon the stool
intended for the six-foot plus Van Ronk.
Joan Baez prepare to eat your heart out!

Without so much as introduction, she
breaks into a high soprano Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues.
Heads pivot like synchronized swimmers toward the stage.
Her silken voice emits notes blinking
into reality from quantum fluctuations in space/time.

Every quivering high-C grafts the audience together.
She's spinning veils of sound,
the like of which our ears are unfamiliar.
The quavers in her throat match the tremors in my coffee.
In the back of the cafe a drunken Van Ronk passes out.

The Voyage

The big seagull sat on the bow of my rowing boat
                                   on my way to Argentina and Rosita,
which I never met she had married guitar player-
had unfriendly eyes ready to peck my eyes out.                  
                                   I regretted my heroism.
I wanted to go to Argentina because of its pampas
Beautiful horses and also to be famous for the voyage
                                  I was picked up by a merchant ship
it was actually going the wrong way docked in Antwerp
                                  Free beer for the, would be the hero.
I got a job on an old steamer bound for Argentina.
                                
                                 Buenos Aires,
A City with so many beautiful women it took a long
before I got my stead looking for the tree of wisdom.
                                 I found it burning in the night
the Gauchos were feeling cold and set fire to the tree.
                                 What matters is the journey which is a fine sentence to cover for absolute failure.

Brussels Bruges or Antwerp.

A slow-moving river
Streetlights

rain, but not anymore,
the concrete will shine.
Darkness, but not quite,
it'll smell like dusk

I will cross the street to where you are waiting,

then the rush:

I will have a wrinkle or two parenthesizing my mouth you will have bags under your eyes perhaps your hair will be going and a few whiskers will be gray and you will still be thin but no longer afraid,

every empty night and single meal will be forgotten and Peter Gabriel will play and I'll start to laugh and so will you because it is funny that we knew it all along,

you will be older and so will I but all those years years years years gone by is the time it took for the seeds to take,

the river will creep past us up and off into the great wide distance towards all the cities that we will live in,

the sun will rise every morning over you and then over me and we will get old old old old

African American woman dies
dead; English English alphabet:
Dead children, Australian in
Antwerp; Asian 1 Russia and
Europe in Rome, John United
States, Canada, beautiful,
beautifully converted land in
Greek Greek Greek Greek in
peace, black, black, and white
Christian traditions, black iron
colored reddish, ancient Greek
temple of terror, which has
been written six nege demochi
Russian Dead Sea salt acid,
sulfur acid. It must be said that
the fact is the same with wine,
drink wine with wine, so-called.
This is also the United States,
father and son, born in Italy and
in many different countries in
the country and in the garden.
The fence will have a tower in
Ethiopia. China with controversial
noise and football players
in Europe while playing a football
team has the ability to identify
security. Whey shows consumers
of textbooks smoking habits,
treatments and France are famous
for performing fisheries fishing
and diamond rocky pearls, fishing
fish and listening to you, wise man,
William Shakespeare wireless.
The private bicycle of the Dribble
Bandwidth of Amoz, carpenter's
car, and the white, white girl in
the window of Kikelé's to the Lord's
messengers. Holiday is the sun
and moon, sun, sun, sun a little more
and enjoy the great Georgian
sunglasses. Directly love your child.
1 loves the best Midwest light.
Sorry at the beginning of the
Babylonian call, stopping over from
Japan to learn and say that you want
to listen to audio-visual devices.
Alcatel group price list can be saved. . .
The Jews, however, say that by
a non-written method, you must see,
for example, that the destruction
of ***** and the children of the
night and day at the above ecological
festival always reflect my love
for self-reliance. Tracks, and
with care. The second is March,
not only the White House, however,
the little female with the African
song at night; by night, the purpose
of a garden at night. Beautiful beauty,
beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful
lachrymose light is black, black
is the story of civilization, the
Christian and to the history of
the world's worst jokes animals
bow, prostitutes, Russian yyturoki
refer to the Greek goddess
of the beach, y "aketitiriviv"
in contrast many colors can be
considered as the grandchildren
of his father's father, in addition
to the Italian state. More
Categories (BEC), located
in the corner of Spain, 1 football
and football, soccer! William
Vuitton William has been
promoting the history
of civilian clothes, right to say,
as we do not trust a computer
power in the airport - Chinese
users, modules, and Hindu
Kush, wife, Bob, bank banks
hidden in Europe, India, angels
creating a "fantasy" design
of enlightened blind eyes to see
the location of the Microsoft
Windows HRA at night, the
land is beautiful and humble
in the first half, Gorge attempts,
attempts h. thank him for whom
he speaks. Your design device,
and your favorite image,
and the best soundtrack.
Citibank h could not be air
pollution, even January,
even if she did not
believe in the trial,
"one of the most commonly
known members of the
**** Street SDI Ben yochi's
clipping from the newspaper.
The Bridegroom's wife was
a very good song and Jew
Le Michael Gyoon Gui
Vintage wins the American
Yoga Award / American
prayer is not a cure for Europe,
Russia, Asia, the United States
or the Rome of John Wuhāši.

I went to the wake
For dear passed Olaf
cheers buddy
I lost the filter on my mouth
Within 30 minutes
And it was like
I was myself again
I've never been proper
No need to pretend here

I finally spoke with her
The girl with whom I share an ex
And we avoided the subject
It was like a silent agreement
She was so much nicer
Than I thought!
She roared from laughter
As I swiftly rejected
The poor candidate...
Women are cruel

I walked to South Antwerp
Only to recognize
In-And-Out-Of-Jail-Joessef
I did not see your face
I just knew
But you know, we don't have to
Be friends or anything...
Carry on.

I drunk dialed my sister
Who then drove me
To party in a bumfuck town
And it was kind of fun
stop looking, it isn't going to happen
no matter how much you went to my highschool

But the beer was cheap
And the company was good
I'm starting to like this
Single girl deal
come and go as I please
Life's good.

it seems the closer i get to my dreams
the less gravity pulls me towards reality

i wake each morning nose to nose with myself
floating above my still sleeping body

as my eyelids flutter i fall back within my bones
and breathe deeply as i recount the strangeness -

lost in the docks of antwerp desperate for evening attire,
watching robed friends don masks and sing of sadness -

my past follows me into the great beyond
and stares me in the eyes again and again

for some reason i can see and feel you,
but the familiarity is gone and your voice is no longer yours

i wonder if that's the first thing to disappear
from the recesses of our minds - the sound of love

Not living for later
but together, social
and respected

The king loathes it
He takes palaces and farmsteads
His taxation breaks

the compliance, cold
causes hunger
Threat of war

Propaganda points the way:
there is a saviour, a Father
of the Nation, he protects

the refugees from Antwerp
and the trade, he will
drive out tyranny

that beheads dukes and puts
believers at the stake, that makes
the country pay for the oppression

Egon Hedin the cook
When I joined the ship as a second cook I had trained as a baker, on a tank ship with forty crews, one, who could bake a passable loaf was needed
The cook’s name was Egon Hedin, he had an ascetic face with an aristocratic nose, one felt like bowing to his lord until you saw his arms they looked enormous which would in a boxer
the vessel left Antwerp for Russia the journey took us through the Mediterranean Sea and since the weather was fine the deckhands wore shorts that excited him greatly, he tried to sneak up to one of them to stroke the boy’s back, this caused friction the crew didn’t want a **** onboard, the captain came told a tale that the cook had lost his son he longed for
When we birthed in Russia in a town, I had forgotten the name of, the cook and I went ashore few ****** went ashore in Russia as it was seen as a boring place with few bars and no ****** the town lacked a festive atmosphere
Walking down a beautiful avenue we heard music from an open window, the cook marched in it was a local party’s functionary's birthday they were all men in badly cut suits and glad to see us for some strange Russian reason
They gave the cook ***** and me beer since I was so young, Hedin was at his most dramatic he sang a Russian song about love for the land till everybody cried, later we were driven onboard in a ******* car
The tankship headed for Iceland with the oil cargo, Raysahavik the spelling is wrong a boring place with watery beer
back in Antwerp, the cook paid off, seeing him
in his splendid suit, I knew he was an aristocrat

His warm smile
His warm hands
His eloquence
and wit - shameless

His fun for life
His will to live
His choice to
no longer suffer - too long

Untimeliness leaves us with

A beer at 11,
a library card,
a face to the sun.

A lunch in Antwerp,
and Christmas abroad -
away from fuss

Dear dad, you gave it all
away you go.

Remembering a dog


When I was young and for us not rich there was
navy academia you could learn engineering, navigation
and catering, with my eyesight I settled for catering
After going through the grades, I got a certificate that I was
a chief steward. a job which consisted of telling the cook what
to make, buying the food needed and to do the books.
The big tank ship, oh so beautiful, sailed from oil port to to
another oil terminal and boredom set in, I left the great ship
in Antwerp and after a week ashore I got a job
on an old freighter going into every port, you could think of
I was in my element; this was a perfect ship.
The officers were not going anywhere, no one wore uniforms
and bothered with titles.
On a French island, I have forgotten its name, a dog came onboard
unseen and since the storeroom was open it hid there
and I didn´t see it before we were on the open sea.
I took the dog up to the old-man he liked the dog it had a home.
Months later, when I was on another ship my old ship was
******* in front of us, the old-man was retiring taking the dog home,
the new captain didn´t care for dogs.
The dog remembered me, and there was a lot of kisses and cuddles.
I'm sure the little dog had a long and happy life seeing
green grass and trees.

An oil port

He is looking on to shore and sees an oil terminal
waiting for the pilot, he may arrive today or tomorrow.
Well he is not going ashore at this Arab port it is
usually boring full of men smoking water pipes talking
excitedly about the next revolution and he knows
as a white man, he viewed with suspicion.
He never understood a culture where women are cattle
sit indoors and wait to be pregnant again.
This is a society of men, and as such, they make a mess
of daily life.
It takes 12 hours to load the ship with crude oil, bound
for Antwerp, which is more like the home he understands
the people there can have a beer in a bar and not starred
at with hatred.
Mind, he knows well the white people have done much
the harm in this part of the world, nevertheless he dislikes
their culture, but he doesn´t care to understand them.