sunset-thoughts

The summer air is intertwined with the smell of autumn. The faint dusty smell of fallen leaves. The sunlight is golden, like the silence. There is nothing for it. It is destined to be so. Life is quiet. Silence is loud. Fantmories and songlyrics. Blood rushing around and around and around. Nowhere at all. But all around me. Pianoman pours a little Moonlight sonate into life. Run like hell, freeze on the spot. Why so...why not?

Night

Alone, in the woods
he talks to the moon
and the moonmaiden answers
Her silver glass voice
trickles down from the sky
and falls like rain on the earth,
on his hands and his eyelids
nobody knows
and nobody goes
to this place beyond the mists
that veil the midnights' wanderer

Run through your soul
from your echoing footsteps
Run to the woods of your heart
talk to your moonmaiden
in the place that no one knows
and nobody goes
beyond your mists
that veil the midnights' wanderer

Naar Willem Kloos' "Ik ben een god"

Iedereen is god in 't diepst van zijn gedachten
en zit in 't binnenst van zijn ziel ten troon
Het is speciaal en zeer gewoon
Glorie, geest, scheppende krachten

Iedereen is satan, in het diepst van zijn gedachten
want een go(e)d alleen bezit geen kracht
De maan in 't duister van de nacht
Storm, woede, 't lange wachten

Iedereen verlangt in het diepst van zijn gedachten
en zit eenzaam in 't binnenst van zijn ziel ten troon
buigt onder de steeds zwaarder wordende kroon
van goddelijkheid, en 't lange wachten

Sonate voor de pianist

The chamber of the heart is empty and dark.
Not the kind of pitchblack darkness one fears. More like the dark that veils your eyes when you come inside, after lying in the garden in the sun all afternoon.
Not the kind of painfull emptiness of a broken home left unrepaired. More like the silent emptiness of a desert, that can burst to life in a few hours when the long awaited rain comes. The kind of gentle emptiness of a room, when the sound of aproaching footsteps echoes through the hall.

In the middle of the heart, in this anticipating emptiness, in the gentle veiling darkness, stands an old piano. Its strings brittle, its wooden keys so very old. They don't make them like that anymore. It is the last remaining treasure of a forgotten age. No one knows how it got there, in fact, very few people know that it is there at all.

An unseen pianist feels his way through the arteries. He sits down on the weathered antique wooden bench, his fingers exploringly caress the keys. Faded black and greyish white, but all the same in the dark. With a sigh he pours the music from his fingers into life. The body resonates. Forte, pianissimo, andante, allegro... A smile unfolds, unexpected tears, a glow of happiness, the sudden pain of forgotten desire.
Broken strings cannot be fixed. But the pianist plays around the missing ones. They form the beautiful tears, the meaningfull pain. It adds character to the music.

In de donkere kamer van mijn hart
Zit een virtuoos pianist aan een oude piano
Vanuit zijn vingers stroomt het leven
zoals het hoort, op het gevoel.
En als je nu eens heel goed luistert
hoor je misschien wat ik bedoel.

Noodlotsbestemming

Fantmories haunt her as she stands in the doorway, staring at the nightly garden. The moonlight rustles trough the leaves of the old cherry tree. What lies behind the garden fence? This question has been on every mind since the beginning of time (cfr. Adam and Eve). She wants to scream but smiles, and a tear rolls over her cheek (the left one), bittersweet (Apocalyptica). The starlight is deafening tonight. She goes in and quickly locks the door. But there is no escaping destiny. The vines of destiny creep through the mailbox and wind their way upstairs. Silver moonlight. Vines of destiny. Sleeping beauty. What lies behind the garden fence? Who stands outside the gate?

Inside my head, I can be anything.

Onweer

Een diepe schaduw verspreidt zich over de heuvels rond de toren.
De zonsondergang wordt afgeschermd, op een laatste rode gloed na, ver weg in het westen.
De wind huilt, eerst zacht snikkend, daarna schreeuwend, alles overstemmend.
Dan wordt het plots stil, stiller dan normaal, stiller dan nodig, stiller dan gewenst.
Elk levend wezen zit met verwijde pupillen vol angst te luisteren.
Een flits verlicht gedurende één schrikwekkende seconde het landschap.
Het noodlot barst los.