maandag 28 mei 2012
zaterdag 26 mei 2012
The Rains of Castamere
And who are you, the proud lord said,
That I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
That's all the truth I know.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
A lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
As long and sharp as yours.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
That lord of Castamere,
But now the rains weep o'er his hall,
With no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,
And not a soul to hear.
That I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
That's all the truth I know.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
A lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
As long and sharp as yours.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
That lord of Castamere,
But now the rains weep o'er his hall,
With no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,
And not a soul to hear.
donderdag 24 mei 2012
zaterdag 19 mei 2012
gOd sAvE ThE qUEEn
Leuk zo'n punk expo. Bak vol nostalgie.
Dochter uitleggen, nee we hadden geen OV-kaart, we gingen liften. Dat ging in etappes.
Geen nachttrein terug naar de provincie.
Met een beetje mazzel kon je na een concert pitten in een kraakpand.
Smartphone? Drie straten verderop misschien een telefooncel.
Shaggies roken in de platenwinkel, als je 'een elpee ging luisteren'.
Later misschien nog kopen. Uren hing je daar. Ja draai m nog maar eens om.
fun fun fun
& 'charge' means run.
vrijdag 18 mei 2012
zaterdag 12 mei 2012
zondag 6 mei 2012
vrijdag 4 mei 2012
woensdag 25 april 2012
zondag 22 april 2012
woensdag 11 april 2012
maandag 9 april 2012
zondag 8 april 2012
vrijdag 30 maart 2012
donderdag 29 maart 2012
woensdag 28 maart 2012
dinsdag 27 maart 2012
zondag 25 maart 2012
maandag 19 maart 2012
donderdag 15 maart 2012
Black Cat
A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:
just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.
She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once
as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Labels:
black cat,
ontmoetingen,
poetry
zondag 11 maart 2012
zaterdag 10 maart 2012
zondag 4 maart 2012
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