STILL HIM

Sometimes rationality reaches a state of mind where everything can flow freely and drip out of it as small bewildering clots of confusion. It is not clearly to make out what is true and what is phantasm. It does not matter.

Something gets warmed up, old wounds rip open, far gone situations come to life again. How can you know if he has changed, when your mind keeps it perfect; pain and distance in abstraction, melted into one?

I am confused right now.

I am sitting in front of you, my face controlled, a war in my head.

Under the table my sword is drawn. Your eyes are stable, but your mouth sometimes twitches.

I hope your weapons are of same strength as mine. I hope the fight will be fair.

My fair lady in the grass, what are you dreaming of?

Greater blue, wider horizon? How far have you drifted away?

Still I know that your ears recognise my steps. You sense me.

And I am approaching. I slowly creep towards you.

The more often I look at you, the more confused I get. Every time I face you, your eyes rest on me. It is like getting swallowed deep inside of your gaze and I am not able to stop me from falling.

It is this room, we once created just for the two of us.

It is the space we fill. It is this place far from rationality… far from morality.

But there is no need to get between the borders, to lose steady ground under the feet. There is no need to wander through tender nights. Is it?

And it still fits. Even if the jacket is too big, it keeps me warm.

You always kept an eye on the wind, on an upcoming storm. I still smell the smoke of your cigarette, I can taste it. I will never tell you, how much I actually liked it.

Your hands that were always right. Your touch as sweet as night. You as my darkest days. The ones that bear truth.

I want to see you again and again.   Clandestine behind the window.

When the snow is gone, I will be there.

I feed that amber juice to you.       Slowly you let it drop out again.


from "STAINS - Zwischen Macht und Mitternacht"

Tango Minded, Delicate Bodied

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R--wCqB1qUQ

EINDEXAMENWERK BK 2013

Performance 24./25.05. - Opening Museum Complex, 's-Hertogenbosch

Performance 19.05. - Proeftuin, Duizel

THE IMPORTANCE OF DESSERT

One text of my book "STAINS - Zwischen Macht und Mitternacht"

THE IMPORTANCE OF DESSERT

You have just had a splendid meal. Your whole body is still trembling from that sensation of taste, exploding in your mouth, taking your taste buds on a trip to a place far beyond. Everything else was irrelevant. Your eyes were closed, you surrendered to this moment of pure ecstasy.

There is silence enveloping you, maybe a slight sound in the distance. You are alone.

You have licked the plate, ran your tongue over your knife. Your fingers still try to hold on to that perfect scent, convulsively.

Now you are desirous.

You have tasted blood.

Your body starts twitching. Your eyes begin to roll. You are drooling : You want it. You need it. You cannot be without it.

This has nothing to do with addiction, you tell yourself. This belongs to you. It always has done, you have just never realized that until now.

Then you smell something sweeter. Something… mysterious. It has a subtle influence on you, it changes your perception. The utter conviction of what you need.

There is nothing that imperative, you tell yourself.

Control it. Breathe in. Breathe out. And freeze.

The scent gets heavier. It creeps towards you, surrounds you, swallows you, even before you can place it. Recognition dawns on you. Your mind opens, your tongue is overwhelmed ,

your soul tries to break through the roof of your mouth.

Where there was a wound, where there was blood you have licked, an even stronger, a sweeter taste emerges, covering up everything that has been before, all the sensation which you are already beginning to forget. This is dominance.

From red to yellow. From liquid to viciousness.

To superfluousness.

To go through with it is an absolute necessity, to stay on course.

This is the last course.

And your tongue touches it, your whole body is moving with it. Thrilling. A revelation.

It goes further than you could have ever expected. It opens a complete new vision to you, it does not just take place in your mouth: it is physical. Solid. Flesh.

The last dish. The last meal. You merge into something larger, more infinite.

You rear up.

… to collapse.

Out of your ashes, a new life is developing. A new universe is growing from your fertile ground. The flames of your burst soul are amplifying your existence. In you everything is one and you are everything. In embryo, already knowing the absolute form in the end. Still taking the effort of growing towards it.

Dessert is not just about the form that it has when it is finished.

It is the whole process with a ceremony of meals towards it.

Dessert is about the celebration of creation.

It is about the beginning of the end that forms a new start. It is the source of a new existence. Dessert is the coronation. The thunderstorm that cracks your throne. The one thing too many that you can spare, which forms new ground. In your body you can create a base for new life.

Feed it, breed it, give it more than it can take.

Fulfill it, still it, mill it. Make it, break it, forsake it.

Satisfy yourself with a meal and trust in the absolute overwhelming power of dessert.

Afters as superfluity.

After us: tranquility.

Indispensably stimulating.

"A Question of Identification"

"A Question of Identification"                           3:07 min