https://youtu.be/Vol3J-rF5wI

Gemini 2019 (Cancer)

https://youtu.be/xxKJlmVLkKc

Cancer homogeneous disease

inflaming and incurable, the third

heaven, death inevitable catching

living tails and tissues, final ending

of the young and old. My family, my sister...


With backs against the wall, larger than life.

Beyond the white star, luminous light, en-

closing her life, suffocating her living memory.

Why cry and why tear(ing) our hearts out? Cancer

our generation, we live on, hoping and praying...

The ring of Cancer once comes around and the evening sky
is still. If you want to look back, spring while the sun was
frowning, darkened distance from winter will make you remem-
ber, head and waters, deep dive, and on your skin, everywhere
you are looking, you see the ocean and endless summer

horizons. I was then much younger, middle earth between my
fingers, father time smiling; in your reflection I saw the sun tall-
est shadow and a diamond skull. In your laughter that was
nearest, the speechless storm approaching, while the beetle
had won the race on the beach, and I ran for something out of

sight. We all long for this day, feeling a gem of ocean deep,
in the colour of blue one planet sized. And you don't say a
word, hold your silence, forever more... Heading deep in
waters and I see the nearest end is everywhere, on my skin...
My soul was the pigeon that flew to Capricorn's ring,

hearing nothing but soundless terror across the sea. Here is
the winter's window and it's blackness slowing down your
deep breath, in an instant memory is nothing, no life, no
beetle, and beaches. If you drown in your summer's dream
your eyes will be the oyster and your sky will be indescent  

in
the
wind
and
waters.

Midnight

Sweet taste, toothpaste, if I was the orthodontist. Mid-
night, wide mirror of the idiot that I am seeing, making
faces, clean and smart, I see too many sides of me in small
seconds. I have the power with me, in here, with no music
or poetry. I am on semi senses, kind and deceptive. Water

is my enemy, I turn around and you are smoking a cigarette.
A split universe, verbal and non verbal. At midnight here is
where I am, a heart that is beating in forgotten worlds. She is
still here with me, and I am crossing my toes. Ducktaping
the word 'Help' together, she smiles and I am all teeth. Weird.

Expected and dusted the fight and struggle a tiny
dead thread was alive. A few minutes, or seconds. I ought
to read it again in blind faith. And how about you in your
frozen screams? Light feathered bird and white as a turtle-
dove, this soulless creature heavy as a tear.

Know what you love, it is always the same wisdom of ad-
vice. Unexpected, this is what I remember most. Death can
be a strange miracle. It has no heaven, nor earth, or sea. At
least it was unusual physically. A tender dream brief and
gone immediately. Well, that's all I have got to say.

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.

At the age of three, pedant. At sixteen no writer of

love notes, disability number one. Returning, age

four, I curl up my toes. At seventeen, waiting only

longer for delays. At 20 I saw a jumbo jet fly in the

sky, without first taking off. Miracles happen, strange


or not. Will I have visions at 21? A birthday present, she.

Reading tweets on Twitter, drooling over Jill Masterson.

Life is a pleasant surprise at 22, suffering a premature

male menopause, some say. Ironing my friend's shirt, sun

-day is great for minimalists. By the beach, empty at 33

3.

Senses, your environment. Baby talk & walk, the

first steps. Parenthood, navigating the room on cam.

Happiness, one baby arm, up! Up! Another one, up again,

and down. Daddy's puppy love, his face, and smile.

Mom, not deleting anything. State of the art parenting.

Big dreams, planning five from now, in years. De-
livering pizza's, beverages, bubblegum for your ex-
girlfriend. Hooked on social studies, floating quietly
on sundays, and false belief. Mom's inheritance,
sufficiently, suffices. A streetname, mental blinding,

addresses as in never ending. Her lunch hours, at
the Bank, stewards of capital and data. A blonde,
blue eyes, sweetest articulation of her kind. "Been
so long beside you, as if you knew." I was sent by
my employer, pocket money. Needs: more pm...

https://youtu.be/mA54NBtPKdI

Brexit: unscathed Labour and leader, after
last night's vote in House of Commons. Where
Mrs May, PM UK, will now go, back to the people.
Quo Vadis, another question and plan, escaping.
Labour, the people, the people, the people, the people,

and Brexit again, but forgotten. What Jeremy Corbyn
could have done, if only! Leaving the EU? This unfamiliar
shake- up of government in the UK, was a mistake, or...
Imagine there's no heaven, Labour goes unscathed. Mrs
May is down, parliament is back in control, well so they say.

Hours, flying. Kites seen from far away beaches. In

your mind, brilliant colour display. A sunny day, quiet

southern wind approaching. He is rubbing her back

and shoulder under the great blue sky. The sea is

everlasting. Happy moment, she is smiling. Single kite


ascending into another blue sky. Tropical cyclone

is cutting loose, the hours are critical. Seconds away

from flooding the beds, hills, mountains, and the stars,

wake up! True romance, he is rubbing her back & shoul-

ders, a subsidy of love, only for the young generation.

R.

20 Years, capital H, honesty. Corporate career, fast
is the future. She was 19, my Maguire moment in life,
& then lost Ashley... I am not a poet, advertising before
you get lost in your world. Widowed at 20, maiden voyage. Back in life, I design my own live- models.

Here is where we are, pictures, by a railtrack, sun of a
golden brightness. A shock to my system, gone in one
centon, what is the minute man? I am not a career poet,
I live in another century. She and I are there, here, I
blame her death on the tunnel, built perhaps in prefab.

1.

The moon, waxing the night canvas. A

foreign place, waiting, eastern sun always

rises. Definition of poets. Descending, the

sun sets, west on fire. Lonely silhouette

underneath the flaming sky, Human definition.

https://youtu.be/qc2CTvJ3b_I

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.

https://youtu.be/oKxuiw3iMBE

Hot weather

Translations degrees and Celcius, thin white shirt, ready
going into town, monday... Small window opportunities
to fill my day and sky, blue and powered by the sight of you,
in the sun and the music panasonic... Office chair empty,
the day will never come, and I keep staring at you and me...

City skyline in morning goldshine, a little boat crossing the
river, life can be so simple when looking, but new watch tells
the story is different, big is cosmopolitan, metropolitan, closing
the angles, and corners where you are buying your stuff. Beauty
is unmoving through buildings and traffic jams inside my mind

Ahead of time the paper says it all, when unwritten. Hot
weather and you need to splash with something that isn't
water, so you are told. I am listening to your words, songs
to build expectations coming from near and far, a new in-
spiration dripping from your fountain, I see the city...

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...

My great American story, get in the car! The amusement

park, but children are not interested. Underground, the

Great Snake, mom buying tickets at the gate. Arvin and

his little sister, 'Mom, I want a snake." Take a peek later,

America ends. Route and tourists, industrial wonderland.


See DD in various poses, M.M. actually feels some-

thing. Buy your cousin a postcard, General Motors.

Not growing up in America, children admire souver-

nirs. Flat earth, make believe world. Visiting the US

, losing track with time. Mom is in the sun, DD's an-


gry face. America's sunny place, on TV, a billboard.

LED, Have yr beer at the local bar. Watching a

smaller world, Walt Disney's crystal ball. Factories

are second, where and everywhere. Sending out

an email, she again and her two children, rushing.

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.

Friday evening, 100 years seen in seconds. What can this

world need right now? A busy city, sirens going beserk all over

again & again. Friday nights are for fun, social opinions, close,

and then extremely close. I need a streetrace, crashing before

I finish, a hologram. Dad is not dead. Fraction is timeless here.

Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, steen of potlood. De

aanklacht is welluidend, een thema. Er lang bij stilstaan maakt

je dwaas, verdwaasd. Een eed wordt het niet, episch ook niet.

De verblikte beschaving, ver- blikt. De mens leert zichzelf sardien

worden, als hij 't niet al eens was geweest. Het lot kijkt ons toe.


Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, wolken en zonnestralen.

Calamiteit, plastic. En herten worden afgeschoten in het bos.

Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, werelden vol, theorieën?

Intussen: wie zegeviert? De hieros gamos van tijd en aarde, mens

-usurpator, de vraatzucht. Prehistorie gemoderniseerd, 21ste eeuw.

Humanity alarming at historic low, generation Z high

expectations 100% out of poverty. Success sound bite,

21st century. Globalization fictional future, phantom racing.

The planet is home to all humanity, seas, earth and sky. Where

do you buy your meat? Consumption, the largest beast, unfitting


discriptions what we know as civilization. Humanity, a living

creature, pointing into a direction and not knowing. Slow motion

of earth's axis, something is happening, currents' systems

burning at paces fast or too slow. Patrons of industries, count-

ing their blessings in bliss. 'Do you care' petitions, $$$$$$$$$$$$$

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.

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.

Tipon & Maria

From porous debris, our house, rebuilding renais-

sance. Tiny streets, part wisdom, a long path, mar-

riage? Tipon & Maria, name, family, familiarity. Roasted

peanuts, to some. We need a small document, in time.

She knows, our work, labor of love. Poetry and poems,


under the tree, what was first and second. Thrid time too,

agreeing, too many times. Years, dissolving moments

of delay, to be or not reversed. Nay, Aye, indecisive, yes-

terday. We love the howling of the owl, renaissance or

nostalgia. From porous debris, home is best and kindest.

https://youtu.be/_TjPmQp0WRo

https://youtu.be/-0SmXVrLlZ4

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.

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."

3.

We live in a world unborn, living is nevertheless real. It

is tough meat. Try selling it. Poetry was never politics, white

nor green. We are trying to end in the same ways and places,

for the rich a few less or more. I think that I won't make it, one

lifetime will fall short. Come sit here with me, let's talk fly fishing.


Was it too premature, the world in which we live? Let's have a

shave in the morning, you and I, before we start the journey.

Try holding it, the ocean, like sand in the desert. Success is

relevant here more than conscience. I see an animated formulation

of the president in this timelapse. The world is but a sad place, ut supra.

1.

God... I did see the eyes, but it was not raining, or the storm.

2.

Dad's not here, I don't understand. Mom is in the kitchen,

feeling so old. We're part of life that no one envisions, except

when you are exchanging the world for your dreams. Progress

is in the sky, aliens speaking to us through the moon. I will

one day give up this yearning. What is love, tell me? Dad?

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.

1.

Swipe, time & splice. Hello, the argument. Pizza,

say cheese. Hello again, should we talk? ok.com

Writing a new message. Easy to see where we're

going tonight, reply. Sending you pictures, 'Here

is where I am', no angles. A deep conversation, 'Hi!'.


2.

Cool I, Cool II, Cool III, multiple cool, XXXXX... Naked

fresh mint in my heavy mouth. Chewing, chewing, slow.

I see you, crossing a busy street. Am I hearing some-

thing? My heart is beating fast. Cool everything, when

looking around. Who am I? If I told you, it'll be so un-cool.


3.

Love, what is love in modern days? A timeline, thinking

about it all the time, tracking device, eyes and mind. What

is love, simple as revenge? Rage is easier. New defini-

tions, physical devices are real & smart. Once you go

blank, you never come back. Love is superficial, science.

4.

I have a future wife, she is in the mist. She brings me

apples, and I give her pears. We are very provincial,

e.g. in living farm places. Love is under my hat, and

she is smiling back at me. Early mist, I call her name.

I love the smell of green grass. Totus tuus, I am all hers.


5.

I am not experienced, in terms of coitus. It's almost

a discipline, if you know medicine. Your energy, it's

amazing. A fact, you need response. Oh, yes, I see

what you mean. The body can be effectively responsive,

If we both agree. I am not experienced, please, teach me.

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.

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.

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

roads, through the tunnels. Age between 20 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.

Sand through my fingers. Seth is watching, 4 million

counting. A quiet myth, post or pre- natal, we don't

understand the breeze and twilight. Wishing, upon

multiple stars, dad could be here with us. A sentimental

thing, sis is happy being married. Counting white flowers


in the fields by the old churchyard. Weather report, the

mainland hazards always maximized, pointing. Seth's

hair in the wind, masking his face 4 a moment. Dutch

dikes, incandescent strong as they stand concrete above...

My brother, & my junior, and me, standing by his grave...

https://youtu.be/tCXeYq6KYZc

Asking too much from this emptiness, structure and language. Some
love nest between the eyes lies love in complete quietness and iso-
lation, a lonely planet in the distance. Not to want, or a complete loss
of time, or both. From your hips come a tight embrace, gilded in mad
desire from another side of what is life, transferred by frequencies.

Give up defences, dropping of humanities, pyramid of eternal longing
at midday sun, eyes or desolation. We travel on, held by the heels in poi-
son Ivy below, and fly. There is a night deformed by beauty and a living
memory, just keep quiet when you see it or feel it's meteorite burn.
******* back asking too much from a lonely hell?

https://youtu.be/6s10n4LE6WQ

Sky high above Los Santos, smog experience, blasting

red dawn wide across. Everywhere is heaven, angle

shots. A streetfight, people moving like ants. Another shot

is taken, softly in his chest. Mission starting all over again.

The storyline or headline, how will it end? San Andreas,


I've been there, swimming? The place where it never

rains, only transparency & figher jets. Area splitting. Bird's

eye view, being here upgrades your reality, speeding. The

girls, muscular, and speechless. I've been here, sandbox

mission games. Found dead in redneck rampage, GTAV.

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...

House by the beach, life is cotton dry. Once every

two weeks, a tall light through the window. Loneliness

has kind eyes, or fiery. High waves, some people are

having fun. A hidden inability to create life, and

substitutes, in the rush. House by the beach, my life story


in short. Endless motion, on and on, parting me from

what's real. I leave my footprint behind, in a chase of

the windstorm. Wealth in a tiny grain of sand, from ancient

Israel, a riddle. He tells you how to change, technically

and productively. House by the beach, castle of dreams


I see in a nightmare. Greyhound express, from wide

expanses, dust unearthly spacewalk. Where does it hurt,

questionbox. *** is a ***** word, from 9 to six. Was

it love? The ocean is not blending in, nor the blue sky.

House by the sea, your only happy memories.

Music, I know you're not from around here. The size of

dark skies we live by in physical day light. Earth! Empty

driveway, a dream place of our own. The coming of home,

new scene. Cellulair senses, dual, men to women, vice

versa. A New age, flat screen Tokyo picture, panavision.

August Moon.

Plutocrat, august moon. Golden fires from lost stars in
your chandelier, a hall that was for the pantocrator. The
steward left for home, submerged in the crowded city,
something of a good sense is left. The story sails the wind,
trophies are your favourite futilities, thousands of them.

The wall between you and the sky, if clouds would be like
cows and grazing on the blue line of your terrace, than
take it as a compliment. August moon, this is a golden dream.
When do we understand, you are nature. East, west, south and
north, and tomorrows. A penny for your thoughts, autocrat.

2




Facsimile, with precision technologies in tiny submarines. Two
or three faces extracts in mid- eyed focus, flowers mistaken. A
compassionate elephant's sleepless night, to see the hunter in
his visory dreams. What are you saying about the look of love?
It is upsetting to see the ivory of heavenly beauty, spoil of a

a lost war unforgotten still. The facsimile is showing a windmill
and not a castle, in the thin- aired breeze of the southwind. The
dead animal severed by a loving hand, humanely. Your
dominant mind is not making me an ally, but quiet enemy. Or,
I will count the hours in our lives stonedeaf of love.





3.



Champion of sulking, shine like gold in the bedroom. Sleep
is the fiddler on the roof above our house, in a new concept.
A little inspiration comes back to mind: there are two choices
if we want to keep the mikvah or chuppah. LIfe and living, l'
chaim! Or mazzeltov, putting it politely. Where will the mice

live, the pigeons and me? I am trying to ignore all the bad
vibes coming from that direction. Pointing at you, index fin-
gering. But I am not worried, I got your shoe in my hand.
The world outside is getting ready for a big story. Try living
for once, my love. I am telling you, I am right about the house.

Tessa IV

Burying the mill deep inside the fire of the sun, solar winds
blazing flames high and low to keep me alive, just enough.
Half way you are near and far, with the whole world listening.
What's this new message about the Dutch windmill? She was
illumination from Mars, and I crashed millions of years across

the blue sky of lost gospels and hymns, do you know? Do I
need a second chance of change? A sharper corner into your
secret blade, but perhaps too late and I won't even know.
What do people do for love beside homicide? Money is bigger
in these eyes, yours and everybody elses. The windmill is still

burning slow, ending the story of my real time. But I am
patient and I will have another life, if she won't be my long
lost daughter. White rose of my grave, in this German myth,
is making me speechless. Innocent bystander standing by
the sun and watching how fast a wooden mill can turn to ashes.