conveniently
wereword
domela
nieuwbouwhuis
bliss
children
of the desert
Shadows
through the asphalt, outernational version
blazing
sanity
no
b b-boy but bill-board
it’s
those bomfukkerz ...
CHANGE
...
conveniently I am gradually found
digested wrongly in the grey sea
which is blown up in my head ‘till it’s larger than life,
in the ecstasy-phase daze phrases
blow through my groggy brain lobules
such as machines blazing and bladdering or landscapes raging and rattling
when trains rip them open, I say: split the script!
do not get the joke and I do not want to get it either
the climax has been anti for some time now and me,
I’d rather be like that too but I strive for balance, dancing biliously,
break! break! through your fake chance on an empty glance
the harvest of masked lands, gleaming in the brilliant sun
whereas me, I roast my skin on balcony 49a
and splutter with a mouthful of oysters on Cinderella’s destiny,
every, every, everything falls apart, life festers and digests,
destiny purrs with zest, and in order to give birth to nutty sticky sluts
without any shame we rush towards carcasses
high above us ravens slake themselves to the briny ventilated air
anxious and inappropriate my hand stretches! stretches! itself out,
and picks all that develops in the wet glass grass that was
indigestible eligible through my brain and existence the weeds grow
and whereas the fool lazes in the sun, yet
the man of concrete smells a rat,
and me, I sit here in a small corner
without deeper meaning.
and how often still my face in full submission will have to tear itself out
of
the brutal slick sludge which appetites full dispossession from acquaintance
and continue, continue, continue,
until my ecstasy drenched in despair will throw off the fruit
for which I not even dare to crave
do I grant this sanguinarily celestial hell to the scatterbrains,
however, this path so slippery never ending, perhaps non-existing?
a sort of hesitating yes, yes...
rather open-minded crisis with a notion of the shade
then this disposable freedom
miserable vampire systems with bloodshot
tropical old ’n’ teak foundations
nature, where art thou in this post-forestial stage, this golden cage,
wait for me... but no, nature’s packed its trunks;
fled the city, fled that place where one cannot recognise her,
where one tries to compensate with samples,
third hand testimonies of luggage lost underway,
the emptiness drowns in the repressed emptiness
not even aware of what misses exactly, only vague uneasiness,
suspicions, comforting ideas that elsewhere it even would be far worse
where they only have each other still
and their dreams
the export of our own distorted tempting poverty
undertakes meantime the dauntless gullying of the world
with a self fulfilling prophecy: happiness in cut-price selling
happiness in pill-form on recipe or by means of infiltration
in rings wet rings wet friend rings on the tabletop of the vicious city
one lays lines with their credit-card and snort shit through rolled up money
happiness on display in the window
as with love insurance, skin products, and sex are sold
so devoted to piling up buying up so-called conditions for well-being
blind for the happiness which lies under every paving stone
there are countries where they have no need for no jokers to laugh
no porno to feel love, no chat-box to be in contact,
no cunt, tact -, only holy disturbance,
and we bang our fists on the Plexiglas condoms
between us and between us and the demons and
between us and the dream-on’s and we learn on TV
what we should understand with the word happiness
do we even understand each other
I bawl there where others bow down and whisper
because perhaps I care about fools
and I cannot cannot cannot eliminate the Big Myself
and long live this more and moreover merciless land of
Dutch sanctimonious merchants, missionaries and
pirates who talk with sham-tones and scorn,
ignorant but only if it rewards,
but in spite of Domela's who do not shun
to plant their skilful boot in those foul traders arse
one frequently silts up in half-measure chattering
and our seed slackened as in nada-latter days of Rome
is it a nada gene? creating sinister nihilistic cynics
there yes there where one has everything already?
Hence that one laughs at blue helmets
in the streets of Mogadishu and Srebrenica
and Kabulkabulkabulkabulkabul and Baghdad allow that?...
and plant them there, who live through hell generally this way so daily
to the waned brain the gruesome grasp that ‘freedom’ and monitor
lies
without heaven or hell can form in com-bi-nazi:
a nation of anxious citizens such an easy subject for terror
where no insurance can be closed against
has the world been changed after the fall of the twin towers
why not then after the previous hecatomb?
is twin tower dead more dead than another forgotten dead,
travelling box calf, medicine factory bombardment, menthol candy,
mental confusion, so lovely: living in a soap bubble, zoöp-call minutes,
soaped latex hookers on a random party animal with ten horns of
nineteenth-century telephones on channel 666,
blabber-box, box ring, teething ring, wingdings, head-in-the-sand,
warm glowing damp rinsing over my feet, sparkling, breaking thumbs, staying
numb,
cross one's fingers, permanent stuck stinging, not knowing, not forgiven
and whatever I reach in a thousand years will be washed away
as squelchy steps in the flood line, we line up for diets,
will it be for A: love or B: for world food? the right answer wins you a range
rover
Oh god feel the engagement, pedantic subtlety-lacking;
for lack of depravations I put the heating off and the TV on:
organ - banana - orgasm - phantasm - teletubbies on mescaline; "off."
between thought and action lie 40 channels 4x crayfish time rings
on the table wet in my glass, warm glass, suspiciously warm glass
plexibel diabolics lick my little arse,
feel-good-movies and self-abuse in the wings
in swarms we seek along moaning vagrants and shepherds
celebrating oblivion, feasting, foam collars, glass shards and tagged out ash
we moves ourselves over streetlight in name of the night. Rest.
I wake up. Six o’clock in the morning. Birds whistle differently now
than with misted block searching wobble-keys.
beautiful world. Simple. Cold, but fresh.
I enter the balcony, inhale a cold sun, and the rest?
The rest is silence
I give wereword,
as a werewolf
bad weather for wannabes,
real beavers want to vibrate
against the will of the killer-ambitious
word ‘em up to the survivors
downpressers will go down
strap neckties peel without any class
but stammer under the givers
and the enemy flees on killer beetles
will confront themselves still
are you escaping from the wannaknows
resisting illusion-foes
you are down-dater and sure, you know better...
and I know better
and he knows better
and they know better
you know
better
we know better
we know better
situation
there are
playthings fumbling around
bungling
from the window
there lives
a pregnant scorpion
in her black
articulations under the desk
faces jostle
in my earlobe
everything
in my way moves in the direction
of the gap
there at my threshold
purple udderherb
develops
out of side-splitters
beside the couch
one of these
days a shade spots,
a pair of
taut tighty whities,
if only
it does not ask what’s up
but the
rings in the ink that I breathe
touch side
nor rampart and me
I hang upside
down between torn coats
and bring
a kind of (jet ear) guitar flicker-flea to whine
and I don’t
know in which hand my kerchiefs hide,
or how I
should comfort that little long-neck crocodile girl
or hum her
into more creative melodies
haphazard
surely, like melted pen that from my pulse
throws itself
on paper
- flicker-flea
gulf streams -
cheeky then
the brazen door opens its crack
like a plug
yes, like
a cracked pipe
I flow outside
where it’s raining pleasantly
in round
drops
here at
least someone draws a line or two
can I in
peace
drown
(Ferdinand Domela
Nieuwenhuis (1846-1919): dutch anarchist leader.
Nieuwbouwhuis: newly-built house)
foolish times
to live in transit zones
from blunt survival to absolute madness
the history has not stopped but
- drums roar, red carpets-
future has begun
and panic overpowers the wardens
attention (celebrates entity) unit 4;
tuck in the horde (time-false-driven)
with those blankets
strap-on the observation
and pump up the seducers
what they want this time is timelessness:
a bed, a book and complementary sunlight
standby, I repeat: attention, standby
be shattered, glass of cube
skin the asphalt from my heart
and for the audience at home,
don’t hesitate to build
your own Ikea-barricade
please burn your local mall
burn and become burned, you vessel of fear
one fears this feast of needling judder
strangling tight lines must be curved
strength crunches, just be generously
with this chafing end and it must
plough me up, somewhere
somewhere on a stealthy spot
I reflect signs into the night
for those who - in this city of coincidence
leer to the same stars
I’d rather become a question mark
for those who look
stubborn as ideas
stray, fixing matters chatter, limbs linger,
speak in tongues to life the speech mills
but dulls in chilly partition flags and wall tiles, rules,
my co-brats fire greetz like: take it easy
race is balding
and on every tongue lies the word relax
still it is I, it is us making this world complex
headless hopping through stumble-cities
living backwards and spending time
emptying inbox and committing green murder weighing elbows
sharpen your rapier; on/slash/off/slash/on,
we bind ourselves to rampant shackles, giving way to the warders
the luxury which cages us puts ointment on the wounds
still rain falls like blue sweeps, I sing love words to the counter strivers
and shadows draw over the walls of the city,
even blessing deaf carnivores in their more and more filthy Babel tower
in the reedbanks by the sick water the old tree talks about the days
that the slander will lie down
on the ruins I will settle with you
love will remain like sun on the rocks
glowing weeds on broad highways
it, ‘cause,
many times and also oft in between that
stomach is split up by evil eyes that do not really want to see you
don’t want to see, don’t want to feel, only want to beat through
time and time, likewise, and at every turn, in abusive choruses as grist on
the mills
of the fisticuff gesticulation gesturing towards you,
so tired of the world that I want to smash to feel the slap,
toss around in our sleep, wounds in our shoulders, in our face pour over
torn by cruel dreams, served up by satellite dishes
which do not taste anything anymore; gorging
the choking cables, as sables
and harsh, and vile, and vain,
and fateful the signs on the wall; `out of my way!', up to the bay,
even up in the arms of their mother we cling our fists,
the dirt of the street bottled up in our carbuncles
the pimply ass they want to be
no faith in this heap, no illusion,
no sign of authenticity in our bloodshot eyes
no drop of love in our poison veins
the vicious blood knows the sweet,
but only in prefab portions as thirsty making chemical love
dried out, cold swirling of that seething shrieking
we seize tenderness with grasping hands
puts the cogs in burning desire,
clutching claws drill themselves in the flesh
blood mixes with the grime on the city walls, crumbled safe deposits,
darkened by artificial light that bleaches the stars
no frankness, no unconfused glance, none,
no fragility in our army of pain
children of the new desert, all lost
our armour shiny black blank silver
the tongue empty
the heart jumbled
the eyes burning
no purity in our army of pain
children of the new desert, all in vain
our armour proud black blank silver
the tongue empty
the heart jumbled
the eyes burning
the eyes burning
the eyes burning
Shadows through the asphalt, outernational version
I’m walking through a city that isn’t mine. Outside of me faces stream by. Conversations. Lies. Loves. Shreds cling to my trousers. I feel good. I‘m quite fond of the comedy today. I play my part, but according to my rules. Even I mistake myself for playing the head part. Lives unfold, while passers-by let me pass them by, full of memories, honest lies… Proudly, warehouses full of extras tower high above the street. With my feet I deflower the asphalt. Around me, agitation makes fools roam, searching for an illusion with which they can fill the void.
I am not like you, I scream. I don’t buy it, that truth does not exist, that you can therefore only believe in yourself. That there would be no option but to flee, in either parties and drugs or status and money, lying that our whole life needs to be perfect in order to be perfect. And lonelier than ever, we mistake ourselves for kings. In reservates of wealth we suck the last milk out of the earth. Dependent. Destructive. Passive. Superficial. Scared. Scared of weakness. Scared of fear. So scared that day after day they hit the smile off of my face. The system has penetrated my body. No reason to complain and yet I complain. About the trains, about myself, the government, crime... But what is crime? The rich exploit the poor, the poor fight back, all according to the rules set upon them. Our cities are built on blood. And we are the innocents. We know better. We still do.
I’m walking through shadows. Anonymously. I am a shadow. My bag rattles, I’m on a mission. From shadow to shadow I walk, and run, and climb over fences and rooftops. My voice appears on the walls like weeds. Mould, I am mould, I grow rampant in this well-kept garden of concrete and asphalt. Dead walls, steel and glass: hear my name. All straight must go crooked. All that shines must rust. You will never control or understand this mind called chaos. I will have been there. I won’t disappear. It’s me who lets the ass of the city rot en flower with weeds. Highways, industrial parks, building blocks, railways, white tunnels, not dead, no; at most a bit lifeless. Contorted nature, without the honesty of death. Darkness has been silenced and glossed over. Thinking rules, but the lie is in command. Glass and concrete, concrete and steel, steel and concrete and glass and steel, marble and glass, asphalt, steel, all this will bleed for my restless soul.
Does anybody get it? Does anybody understand that this slavery has begun to itch unbearably under my skin? One evil day I began my ping-pong pondering, and now I just can’t stop. It rattles on and on in my head all day long. Agitated. Bored quickly. Far to easily I can escape for any so-called ‘empty’ moment. One little push on telephone or remote control, and there we are! Thousands of little animated icons. Skittish videoclips, circumventing commercial breaks. Noise. Young and wild as if there’s still something to fight for. Partytime. Believing in being young, in oblivion. Believing in the great escape.
But me, I have let my wings down. I have alighted in shadow. After all, you have to love the game to change the rules. Fuck the system, but do it with love. I am the system.
And I walk through the shadows. The ashen backdrop of the drizzly weather, the stench of the city and the mortifying rush is dangling tediously and heavily from the folds of my brow. Suddenly the spell breaks, the greyness breaks open. Thinking stops. Drops fall. Streets glimmer. And with all their whispering dignity the trees stretch out their wings like earthly lungs. Patiently, they break open the asphalt.
Silently I thank them, and walk on.
we might that
we
ought must
shouldwhile the silence that fraids us
is lost in the twentyfourth storm
of worms of the connery
I fear ourselves eachother I know
I need I shatter me daily
and free myself
abnormal
cling crushed
and open my hand
dilightful
craze
of the fearless
darkness
being shed on my light
and I thank me
I entered the
shop and only wanted toothpaste,
now my caddie resembles your pregnant mummies uggers, so full of waste and yo
I feel a bit abused, fucked over by cheap thrills
‘cause I can work my ass off for some cash to pay the bills
sounds like stressin’, quenchin artificial thirst
the merchant spirit burst the bottle and runs a swindle of the worst
kind; look at that prick Loeki, the Dutch star highest degree
most commercialised lion on channel 1 2 3
how fun if we see euro’s getting Jah lion tame
illustrative for what we cheese heads do for fortune or fame
`asjemenou ', December ’s coming near
hang your stockings though slavery yet officially disappeared
santa shop with its slave boat, type: battery cage, you see?
gives shopping addiction a pepper and shit; this we call free
and if you thought you had it all still Christmas ’s yet to come
in competition with the neighbours, who this year will go beyond?
businesses are on marauding, your heart is the booty,
the child without a new consoler by new year’s eve will be moody
an industry of billions, continues to grow forever
the fact that the earth slowly perishes, ‘yea whatever’
adds have our minds in their grasp, ‘resistance is futile’
from scents in hypermarkets to the cell phone you gave your child
a tsunami of manipulation for the blind and fearful ones
the sweet receive candy the rebel incarceration
this all under the wings of short-sighted policy
protected by echelon and interpoll; that shit is eerie
in the land of… merchants and hypocrisy
nobody is safe for the dictatorship of security
kids in Asia sew the clothes that you adored
and you but brag with those nikes; you ain’t no B-Boy but a Bill-Board
branch of sport
where is the anger coming from?
yo let me guess; a bad youth?
did pops do that type of no-good shit with you?
ah shit bummer dude, I’ll get you a beer in a bit
and also some
tips on paper for your empty rhyme bullshita
lot of nasty probably buried in your past has been up
I bet you
were shattered when those boys of Take That had split up
It’s
okay dude, here is my fucking shoulder man
and I can
also refer you to a fine shrink in Amsterdam
I did not
come to bring the sword onto earth, it’s already there
and all
those apocalyptic horses are of stable on my derriere
so if you
want to go and battle, go ahead, hear hear
I am more
the man of turned cheeks then a battle-musketeer
I am exactly
as non-ghetto as that pimple-face I see
competition,
very cool, I rather keep my spirit free
is comparing
of apples and pears still the gimmicks?
chump, this
is poetry hop, not the fucking Olympics
I spit poems
not the kill, not choking, I grow still
another
branch of sport
I spit poems
not the kill, not choking, I grow still
another
branch of sport
(try the other counter ya know...)
inside out and
pure I roll the shiva and myself I’m heavily healthy
if nothing
to say I keep shut up like stealthy
you blew
a fuse? probably stuck to the time bomb, cultivate your ass
you smell
shit hitting fans? probably you talking shit, lads;
I spin a
web round fakers of the zap-generation, enter a space
to you feast......
Ya see the core of the beast?
no kidding,
ammunition of anger is nothing but fear, miss;
and do you
still miss what I diss?
yo this
ain’t no business or diss that feeling or miss election,
in that
sense I can head on, mining for your passion
you thinking
shit ain’t never gonna change, indifference
what leads
to losing yourself and your particular sense,
you have
lost your egg, however, but yo you live in regrets
all that
time postponing your life to future threats
e yo empathise
in one another; open for the change dancer
now you
saving, imagine: tomorrow fronting cancer
so don’t
complain on now ‘cause it’s what you’ve got G
and do not
come at me wailing for a prefab recipe
the road
itself is the aim, so gotta think for yourself and bow,
cause silence
is only truth
so shut
up now...
(...it’s those RAASKALbomfukkerz: dr. snoodaard and the silent partner; it’s those bomfukkerz) ...
I continue my
monologue; the aimed words had flown away above
the eyes
of the holy unbelievers, gone astray
deaf wizards
under their own spells choose to refuse the light
deriving
all their powers from the crypts of the night
what the
tender ones thought and tangled up the vile and the vain,
yo, all those
shreds are squabbling quarrelling wrangling ‘round my brain............all
those shreds are squabbling quarrelling wrangling ‘round my brain............
all those shreds are squabbling quarrelling wrangling ‘round my brain............
all those shreds are squabbling quarrelling wrangling ‘round my brain............
so here’z the blitzkrieg... of semi-chaotic eventz
in the slipstream
of some hip steam presented through
the maze
of your vivid vision unaware of any direction
except for
the lonely question from the observing-well pedestrian
we walk
over your captivity strange enough we pardon
ourselves
like ghosts in shells or gnomes and elves rough
like nature
itself, you dwell in cirkels while we linger round the fire
your parking
time perspires while the face you wear is hired
but we be
cleaning up all this conception, universal lying breed
you call
this progression i call it a desert, u be the insecticide we be the seed
so dr. snowdart
where u at –ooohhh, somewhere in the middle-
this be
the two-dutch-brats developing rhymes for epitaphs
so don’t
gimme the oh wow you’re from amsterdam that’s so coool, you forgot
the gig
you gave out here all buckshot-eyed and drooling fool; you kept me waitin’
so be cooling
that we be schooling cats while you be doing that so who you fooling?
just don’t
be doing that keep the beat phat
and gimme
my weed back, keep the change, black
two toungue
double dutch raskalls, talking gibberish, bombfukkerz talking gibberish,
amsterdam
fucks the bomb, talking gibberish gibberish gibberish
harass the
bomb talk gibberish 2x
bring it
back
conservative
hip hop is none of my concern
I watch
yall fake your real stance and burn as tables turn
i’ll
spread the content of yall urn all over my morning boring
hip hop
sandwich y’all better learn, like we all earn
if i pose
a threat to your miskonception; take a dive in your ego and never return
if i pose
a threat to your miskonception; take a dive in your ego and never return
if i pose
a threat to your miskonception; take a dive in your ego and never return
if i pose
a threat to your miskonception; take a dive in your ego and never return
it’z
greed we that we fronting, greed ‘cause love leaving
greed, corporate
octopussy dove eating
multinationals
chew corpses, democracy greaving
cultural
diversity fucked over by mediadeceaving
stealing
indymediaservers, what u seek?
the right
to remain silent but not the right to speak?
don’t
make fear drawn you to the logik of enemy lies
i mean fuck
terrorism everybody dies; i’m worried ‘bout
the xtinktion
ov unikornz, babies in uniformz
batteries
blabbering to the pace ov the metronomez
poor drunken
neocons in parasite airco-homes
givin their
children for the sake of the oilthrones
y’all
quit acting older talking colder
and just
wait for the great unfolder, bolder than
to boldly
go where no bald beauty been
simlockin
simcity that’z truely a sin
that will
be all, that will beyond, that will be all, that will beyond
hollanditis
from the neverlandz, huhuhuh...
once again
two toungue
double dutch raskalls, talking gibberish, bombfukkerz talking gibberish,
amsterdam
fucks the bomb, talking gibberish gibberish gibberish
harass the
bomb talk gibberish 2x
so while
u working 4 bigger cage I’d B on the barricades
fightin
4 a better age, so what is the better stage?
so y’all
better wait before ya validate the grateful
don’t be
afraid
don’t
look away
this is
change
simple beautiful
violent change
I’ll
be here, and you can hold my hand
indeed there’s
aggression in this and yes
change is
uncertain, chaos, disturbance
change is
a birth bringing
death to
the safe to the known
in order
to grow, slowly or explodidodidody
like big
bangs, banging existance out of silence
with violence,
banging existance out of silence
bloody and
messy this beauty of birth
aching escapetunnels
from nothingness
change digs
through tunnels through
chains of
blood into the light of the world all this
revolution
revalation evolution evolution, yes
birth is
violent, devinely cruel
even killing
the mother, sometimes…
chaos, evolution,
change into the light of the world
out of death,
into light, into life, life itself
is violent
indeed
consuming,
surviving, striving for more
for the
core
for escape
from sorrow and pain of a borrowed life
it’s
insane, insane, this game,
it’s
devine yes it’s crazy creation destructing
creation
destructing
life out
of death out of life out of death out of life
out of death
out of life out of death into life
that blossems
with all the wisdom and love
sparks of
freedom like sprawling weeds through
concrete
fear and hate
a foolishness
you, selfish one, choose
choose to
forget, playing hide and seek with
the enemy
they play
they show
but they
don’t know
that they
shouldn’t fear; I’m right here
don’t
be afraid, don’t look away.
This is
change.
Simple,
beautiful, violent change. …
Simple,
beautiful, violent change. …
Simple,
beautiful, violent change. …