Pulling the blue sky toward me, light kite, aluminium.
The American dream, England first, second, dinner and
a closing speech. Memories of a girl and boy, catching
crickets in the morning dew. The sky falling down, when
looking behind sweet love. A broken heart I found in her

dream, it makes me sad. I used to play outside, chasing
butterflies blue & white. A picture inside, wide fields
and green meadows burning in the sun. It was like summer
or something close to an endless groping. Ample darkness
when dawn came. Rising his wings over me, no more sky...

1.

She wants me to write. On saturdays?! I'm still smelling

of cigarettes, and the summer she is referring to, is long

overdue. Where were you in summer 2017? Sitting on a ter-

race having coffee, and enjoying the sun with a friend. 2019,

who knows, I might see another world. I am writing, she is


now sleeping in our bed. The night is bugging me, I am not

connected. Not trivial, anyway... What is happening out there

in the world when you're not gaming? AKA as privacy. Do I

love her? Only in the summer, a warm answer or not. We are

moving to another place, the writing place, if lucky, this summer.


2.

Arctic weather, I am feeling cold. From wind sails, minutes

to seconds, here it is not what you include. Drifting away,

time is frozen. Song in the sharp winds, you are now in the

shattering cold. Memory is like a prison bed, S.O.S. written

all over my face. From here planet size nothing but snowpacks.

4.

English, technically, was first not very funny to me. It happens

when you're not indigenous, a squire. He is building his marquee

just to have afternoon tea under a striped roof, red, blue and white.

A peasant and his rabbit hole, plain and simple are both life's heroic

poem, in English. If you're going to speak Dutch, technically, do a van Gogh.


Design a car, or better, a scheme. If it wasn't for English how would

you operate, here or there? And if dad or mom spoke both the same

language, they would have had only tea and not ***. But I have to

disappoint your high hopes, I was never English. My birth belongs

to the human race. My speech, obviously, is my own in this syncopate.

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.

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.

1.

Am I Dutch? No, my mother is. Dad has given me the name

of Tipon, before he wanted to throw me off the Inca, or Mayan,

sacred cliffs. Our world is bilingual, on the metro, bus and tram,

the next generation will be metropolitan on their ID- card. Europe

is also French, and German, and whatever we call the north.


Who invented the LED bulb light? One with incandescent arrogance,

a politician, and maybe Swedish? I am only half Dutch, offspring and

fresh aired. She was young and innocent, so they told me. The story

of a beautiful love, her father said in a statement. How is it that I am

ugly? This is my mystery. I'm lost and innocent too. A dad for a dog.


2.

Tipon, Tipon, BMW, BMW, white, white sideline, long

roads, through the tunnels. Age between 22 and 24, I

live in Rotterdam, a millennial, 2000+. Window and rain, BMW,

BMW, swipe, swipe shield. Ample visual, a hurting desire

to see beyond. 20 Years, dancing on a star, it's raining, I am Tipon.

Tessa II

If we could live in a grain of sand, and pick a place. Still
feeling a little unsettled, you or I? We should build that
grain of sand, together. I am listening to Blues Brothers, and
I don't know why. Perhaps trying to stop your pain and anguish,
gosh! I have never known Tessa II. A connotation like Ivan

the Terrible. Tell me the story, all of it. Before execution I need
to know the truth. In a civilized world it is integrity, your
weapon of choice. Not acting smart and uncool won't make
you last or lasting. It is purity of conscience. Connotation II,
Lady MacBeth? I have an ordinary life, you should manage that.

1.


Coffee,Bread, breakfast, smell the Eggs... What's

the date, ah... In capital letters, IT's Spring T! She

wants her 'Good morning' served to her in bed. Mr Sun

is highest at noons... Sending out the kids for wormwood,

out there is the wood. Synthetic forest. Watch out for history...


Empty sheet, a page-number self determination to destruct,

there is something fishy about writing poetry... I never hear

music, and I never see it move natural when not put to mime.

I sip the coffee, I move the eggs, frying, and butter the bread.

Easy, when life is not difficult to live. Here simplicity is emperor!





2.

I was testing time, sitting on my own, I was all alone...

I was watching her face, am I getting too close? Now,

what am I going to do, when you're not in school? Flowing

into upstream, I reach out to find another sky, I am flying

solo, I am on my own... Thinking that you matter to me,


why, why, why... It doesn't matter how you expand this view

it isn't the world to me without you... All the aches I've felt,

fame doesn't mean anything to me, not without you...


You want to be a film director: at the age of three, the horse

is in the sea, and the rich are so distant... I've had it all at one

time, I've had it all before you left me, and now I'm coming

back to tell you, that I will be testing time, over and over, and

again and again, before crashing... before crashing... Yeah!

At 25 I am a gentleman. My future bride reflections

of my mom, purple and deep puritan, she is beauty

of the flat earth. Iocaste's walls and hiding Rex Oedipus

from Laius' winged cruelty. She is wife, she is mother,

at 25 I am a gentleman. My future wife, oh pious bride!


How I detest rubies and wine, opulence and decadent

designs. At 25 I am a gentleman, my future bride, uxor,

pious as Rome's Holy Empire, or I would perish and die

in the 21st century, deeply ashamed. At 25, ode to the

future the world and his wife will be no more.

I'm on Tumblr, under a slightly different name. Switching

time to watch, and back, here I am a winner and not a loser.

Telling you my stories, about my body parts, and you're fast

asleep. Tumblr is my game, you're on the thumbnail, all over

the place. The corner inside a sixth dimension, much further


than the blue sky, paragliding from the top of a building, I can

see time is endless. Writing again, are we still on the same

show? Must be going back, it's all on the table what I need when

you're not around. I am inconclusive, end of transmission inside

my head. Endless going round in circles, I dream a new myth.

2.

Typing, "It was a good day today." Buying my present,

QWERTY, not very cheap at QUERKYTOYS, she smiled,

more smileys... She is Mrs Android, and my therapy on this

writing machine. "The sun will be closer to you, not in spring today,

but in a few months senior from now," she told me. My heart is


beating, in a full adult manuscript. "A quiet evening that I will make

my hero, in this poem, in this poem. My ***** is going red-

breasted Robin, & leaves are slightly moving in the distance."

I love this querky machine, and it's madness. In two lines, I can

make her tremble, a beating heart, functional when typing, "Without envy."

Life is young. Old age is like a brick in the wall. I am

unwise, but I can see the future. They are the future,

the elderly, a true fact. My next line could be worth a

million, my incredible luck! I say to this world, you are

in my song when I'm dying. I am a fool. How I worshipped you,



above Mars! In five years time I will give up hope, at 25.

At 30, I will despair. What is it with you and the young? There

was a time when it was the military. Now we call it seniority. End

of the story. At 35 you are a deposed king. Earth is flat, and lonely.

And we are bolts and bits, some may never unscrew.

You disappear, it is technology. The blue sky, white & blue.

The world, animation. Scale, a question, weird science. From

here to the next, momentum high. Memory, Marlyn Monroe. A

favourite, Jimmy Dean. The platform age, on running. Personal,

working projects. You disappear, technology is your answer.

Small budget movie, sunshine in the morning.
Our subject, sports car, E-type Jaguar.
Who is the owner, say something. Hus-
band & wife, there is proof of love. But she
is sight seeing in a foreign town.

A private conversation, she is on the phone.
Are you planning something? He knows his
wife. They go up flying, a private jet. Seeing
places, did you take that trip? A song on the
radio, our background is mute. Back home,

they never do things together. High tower office
buildings, the city isn't real. Two people kissing, or
is this just a dream? It's a sad song, this place is too
big for us. He is making new plans. She is driving off, street
into the distance. Our long goodbye, when shopping

at the airport. This is the end of our holidays, nights
taking off. Stranger, they are meeting at a hotel...
A lover's fight, she is shouting about her feelings. He
yawns, and has a drink instead. Time goes by, let's
talk things over. Crossing the road, husband & wife.

Thinking about us, cosmetics. Fashion statements, hot
flashes, lips, skirts, a story. Deciding to do it right, in the
middle of the night. Lover or husband, she wants to run.
It's not the scene, it's the note. The buildings are getting
taller every second, Martian skies on the horizon. Who

has lost? A letter arrives on the doormat. Dying, disease
has come a long way. What good did it do for her? Scene
24, her boyfriend standing next to her, grieving. Prayers
will be heard, someday. Love persuasion, what are you
trying to say on the internet? Life goes on, that's all...