My life as an amateur. Part 103.

 Two days ago I was caught by a poem by Wislawa Szymborska, ‘Sommigen houden van poëzie’. We were with friends in Belgium for the weekend, and came back with Astrud Gilberto. I told them about ‘my’ waiting list. I feel like I need to play with it through art, words.

valt dit nog terug te draaien

het is niet vies

het kan

wegstromen binnendoor

dus waar ik blijf 

blijf ik, velen denken

het werkt direct velen denken

wildgroei

u kunt het beste

My daughter sent me five different podcasts on non-binairity. (Is that even a word?) . I tried to find books on the subject on the internet. The first that popped up was Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble written in 1999. It’s on my bookshelf. I bought it in 1999. Where have I been?

My life as an amateur. Part 102.

 I got up at six to be ahead on time. To be on time in Almere for my appointment. I had to pay for parking, I really don’t like that. The escalator only went to the third floor, instead of the fourth. A corridor with doors and not a soul to be seen, a lot of depressing art on the walls. Just before nine a woman came running up the stairs because of the broken escalator and she told me that after starting up someone would come and get me. And so it happened. After an hour of talking they told me they needed another hour for the intake, to ask questions about my childhood, next month, they are very busy. And from there it would most probably be forty weeks till the treatment. I thought I was going to start right away after the intake. 

I went to the nearest cheap gasoline pump and the next door thrift shop. I bought four jazz records. By the way, the new amplifier I bought from the same person as from who I bought the turntable turned out to be extreme rightwing minded, like thinking that is a great thing that Trump takes over Greenland. The amplifier works good.

The poet Joshua Jennifer Espinoza (1987) wrote a beautiful poem. I heard it spoken by Ellen Deckwitz translated in Dutch: Ik ben gedrapeerd in hemelse huid.

I feel like officially non-binary now I had this halftime intake at this official gendercare institute. Besides that my best best friend and I had the best conversation ever.

I am thinking about stopping buying clothes.

My life as an amateur. Part 101.

 I am not such a friendly person these days. I should visit a friend who didn’t want to see me for seven years. Now he has a progressive brain disease. I think I need a barn next to a nice house in the countryside. In that barn I would like to show art from fellow artists. Tonight I listened to the record Greatest hits by Marianne Faithfull full of scratches. Mono. So, from  ‘Springvossen’  by Hans Faverey ( after death ) I stole two words that are meant to be written on an object of art I am creating: zich uitzondert. Yesterday I got a call from a genderhealth care institute. The person on the phone told me that it is my turn, Monday morning 9.00, in Almere. Only one year waiting, it’s really right on time. Today I bought ten second hand jazz records, one euro and twenty cents each. Mental note, I am listening to the podcast Poëzie Vandaag , 800 poems read by Ellen Deckwitz. While cycling I heard this poem written by an American transgender, it was fabulous. I have to trace back the name.

zich uitzondert

zich uitzondert

velt de hemel, velt

de hemel de verkleuring

vooral dat laatste, hoe 

wit en nagelaten de rossige

vos de niet-vos achterop

springt

bladerdek alleen

wit gelaten

hoe wit; zich

uitzondert

My life as an amateur. Part 100.

This is my third poem 

of this month I don’t mind

about languages every day it’s mine

my turn to sit and watch the questionable

batteries

half full half empty the plan was to learn bookkeeping and fluent Japanese, collect jazz records and be occupied with all kinds of art including leftover fashion.

natuurevenementen

de nieuwe wereld in automatic. drive grootmoeders op vervalste

voedselbonnen de nieuwe 

wereld kan wachten luister!

de nieuwe wereld niet pitch

de rozebottel de oude hersenen

wachten op mazurka’s; ietsje

zuur van het midden

I am listening to Stan Getz on ‘I Giganti del jazz’ number 20, stepping besides me

this day

My life as an amateur. Part 99.

 I skipped the poem on the second day. But I read an interview with Louwrien Wijers, she speaks as a poet and she was befriended with all the great ( male) artists of the past century. She liked Rauschenberg and Beuys best. Because they were very kind and loving people. I planned to do nothing today. To get rid of the panic I am feeling when thinking of all the things I want to do. I plan to do nothing today. Paint one painting totally white, take all the oil tubes from the floor and clear one wall of my studio so I will be able to film a performance titled ‘all yours’. Maybe read one poem. One poem from ‘Springvossen’, nagelaten gedichten by Hans Faverey. 

My friend friend bought me a new Dual turntable because the other went too fast. I couldn’t find where to adjust it, it was an automatic system. Never go automatic is what I think, except when running. I am not sure about that even.

Each day there is a homeless man waking up in the front of our studio. He is really on himself, and doesn't wants too much fuss about his well-being. We don’t think it’s a good place to sleep, without cardboard or anything. But he thinks it is. 

I am not very good at hospitality, so I am not in a good mood with the sleepover sitting at my place at the table. It’s a friendly person but forgets to offer to help with the dishes. Probably he thinks that the kitchen is a sacred place. Genau.

I have been reading the poetry by Simone Atangana Bekono. Some poems are nicely rough in unorthodox forms. In my life as an amateur. Part 100. I will write my third poem of the month.

My life as an amateur. Part 98.

 I have decided to read one poem a day. I need an undefined area to linger.

ik weet helemaal

nergens van behalve dat het vandaag was

het leek wel op gisteren, een beetje

nieuwigheid in feite wit

ik lees afgedankte dichtbundels

van mijn buurman, mijn

buurman, mijn elegante doorrookte buurman

ik weet nergens wat van, bij de voordeur springt

morgen net op tijd terug, vele

vogels van die ene dichter

loop ik altijd achter ben bang

dat ik onbetamelijk droom 

The poem ‘Vele vogels’ by Kees Ouwens is from one of the poetry bundles my neighbour abandoned. It was so completely smoked I couldn’t hold it in my hands and close to my nose much longer than one poem. 

My life as an amateur. Part 97.

 Middenin

jouw land

eenzijdig

dat betekent 

middenin vanaf die kant

de zijde

één is