http://www.mixcloud.com/TheWildBunch/een-nachtzoen-van-vitalski/
donderdag 31 mei 2012
press
http://www.mixcloud.com/TheWildBunch/een-nachtzoen-van-vitalski/
state of cranky - 31 mei 2012
het valt zeker niet te onderschatten, zo'n blog consistent onderhouden. het vraagt de hele dag je aandacht, en zorgen dat je er steeds op tyd je camera byhaalt is niet altyd zo vanzelfsprekend. hoewel ik vermoed dat het na een tydje wel een automatisme wordt. alle respect voor vitalski die dit zo netjes volhoudt.
ik moet eerlyk toegeven dat ik het best ga missen.
maar wie weet; misschien wordt dit nog wel vervolgd...?
links: de buren op bezoek.
goed gerepeteerd en de rest van de dag keihard gelachen met the law, schade inhalend na elkaar enkele dagen in huis te zyn misgelopen, tot we beiden 'het voos' kregen en ik met lichte tegenzin moest gaan werken.
maar gelukkig toch weer een fyne shift gedraaid, met vaste klanten die het allemaal weel wat draaglyker maken.
zoals hier sonetten paul.
cranky & the law
vanavond, vrydag, om 21u live in het reuzenhuis van irene.
meer info op het facebook-evenment:
http://www.facebook.com/events/236114579827811/
the lyrical law
After Work
The Devil goes Home
Voor Carmen
With a dull click all the lights go out. I sigh deeply. Somewhere in the distance some girl starts screaming.
It seems silly to be afraid of the dark when you’re in Hell.
The lights jump back on. The girl screams again.
She must have been screaming for another reason after all.
The lights go out for a second time.
We have got to find another way to show the shift is over. A nice bell or something.
I scribble it on a note, ‘bell or sth’, and place it in the middle of my desk.
I’ll get on it next week.
Keys, ID-card and money for the bus. I put it in the left breastpocket of my vest.
Newspaper, files, a box of matches and some other stuff. I put it in my briefcase.
I leave my office and for a second I want to jump in it again.
After a while you get so used to air-conditioning. I always forget how hot Hell actually was.
The girl screams again and I try to locate her.
‘Ah, there she is’, in the oil barrel. That’s what you get for Gluttony, fried.
It’s an incredibly long way from my office to the exit. I used to have a kick scooter but the interns crashed it.
So now I have to walk past all the seven sins, which takes about half an hour on foot.
Damn those interns, but not too literally, off course.
Half an hour…
Well, I guess it’s nothing compared to Dante’s walk.
First of there’s Lust. I never did quite understand why this was considered a Capital Vice. That’s why I gave them the lightest punishment.
I’d tell you what it is, but some of you are just too young.
Then there’s Gluttony. I think the girl will stop screaming any minute now.
Around Greed one of my employees comes scurrying towards me.
‘What?’ I try to sound as angry as possible. I really want to get home.
The worker starts babbling something.
Just what I needed, someone who speaks Latin.
‘I don’t understand you.’ And I leave him behind me.
His ass is fired, but once again not too literally, of course.
Sloth, this part of the walk always takes the longest, logically.
Maybe I should buy one of those portable music-devices.
What are they called, Ai-Pots or something?
Wrath, Envy, Pride. Hell is such a grim place.
I start wondering, am I actually making enough money on all of this?
Finally I reach the exit. The guards open the gate for me and I leave Hell, just to enter another one.
The bus is late. My bus is always late. The driver can go to hell, and he will.
I pay for my ticket and go sit in the back. A man gets on and takes the seat in front of me.
He’s distracted, not focused at all. Picks his nose, wipes it on the chair. Takes a mint, sucks on it loudly. Looks out of the window, at his watch, sighs.
Then he looks at me and the focus returns as his colour leaves.
He turns the strangest shade of white, the colour of new-born squirrels.
Then it suddenly flushes to purple and he starts yelling:
‘You are Demon! You are Demon!’
I wonder what part of my appearance had scared him the most, pull the hat further over my eyes.
After a one-hour bus ride I stumble out of the vehicle. I’m really close now, thank God. But not too literally, of course.
My bike is where I had left it a week ago. Its bell however, was not. Some kid must have stolen it, I’ll get my revenge.
I unlock my bike and attach my briefcase to its rack.
I honestly hate cycling. I look silly on a bicycle, everybody says so.
But there was no alternative, they have taken my drivers license away.
And of course it starts raining.
In the distance I can see my house, all the lights are out. Closer, closer.
I put my bike against the wall. I don’t lock it. Take the keys out of my pocket and stumble a bit in the dark.
I walk up the stairs, taking of my vest and my tie. Stop in front of the door to the bedroom and take of my shoes.
I enter.
Softly, I press my lips against her sleepy eyelids.
‘It’s good to be home.’
…
‘Honey?’
‘Yes?’
‘Your lawyer called.’
the lyrical law
The Carousel Keeper
There, in what literally must have been The Middle of Nowhere, stood the carousel. It is rare, a carousel of that type. Especially one that stood in a place like this, in a time like that. And next to the carousel, a small trailer where the carroussel keeper could sleep. Not that she slept that often.
She was a remarkable person, this carousel keeper. She seemed timeless and was in many ways indescribable. She gave the impression that she lacked an age and you could never really tell if she was young, old, or something in between. Nothing could be said of her appearance either. She was not ugly or pretty. She had no distinctive features but she was not bland either. Everything about her would ultimately be a judgement call, made by whichever individual that lay his or her eyes upon this carousel keeper.
It might be worth noting that this ‘upon-laying of eyes’ did not happen frequently. In fact, it had been a couple of years since someone had visited the carousel. The carousel keeper truly missed the customers; the cries of the children and the reluctance of the adults to pay their fees.
Ah, sighed the carousel keeper, how bored she was. How much time she had to spare and to ponder upon this feeling that she labeled ‘l’ennui’.
There was some work there and she completed her tasks gratefully. The carousel keeper cleaned the animals with great care. She polished the metal horses, the pigs and the birds. She tried hard not to look them in their mechanical eyes. To her these red and grey brass creatures looked terrible, terrifying. They silently put an emphasis on her solitude.
The carousel was cleaned every day. The mechanisms were tested and the fairground organ was playing from sunrise until sunset. This music, carousel-music, is impossible to describe to someone who has never heard those ambiguous melodies. Music that fuels enthusiasm and expectations when it is in the company of a lively carnical, but that transforms into something different completely when it is played in desolation.
Yes this particular carousel filled the carousel keeper with terror and despair. Why did she stay here then? And why did she brush up the awful animals and play the menacing music, when there were never any customers?
But look, here comes one now.
Here comes a child and oh my, what a strange specimen this is, thought the carousel keeper.
Is this little girl not a bit too big to be a child? She was taller than the carousel keeper or even her trailer.
And did she not have a little too much beard?
She told the carousel keeper that she was The Bearded Lady. The carousel keeper thought it best to believe her.
Will your parents be joining you soon, inquired the keeper.
I very much belive not, said the customer with a trace of grieve.
No worry my little customer, this is not one of those places where everything has to be analysed and accounted for in advance. Tell me, would you like to ride the carousel?
Oh yes, answered the customer and she asked about the cost.
Well that depends on your experience. Please, if you will, take a ride first. When you are finished, tell me whether you have enjoyed yourself. If it has been enjoyable you can make a donation you see fit. No donations should be wasted on an unpleasant experience.
Strange economics, thought The Bearded Lady, as she went towards the carousel. She spent a great deal of time selecting a suitable animal for her to ride on.
First she approached an impish looking pig. She decided against it after she heard the carousel keeper refer to it as ‘a boar’.
And that one over there? That fiendsih iron bird with an overall prehistoric vibe? The Bearded Lady appreciated its looks but could not sit on it gracefully. Her skirts and shawls always got in the way.
Ah, over there, that colossal horse. A realistic looking steel stallion. He was all muscles and flaring nostrils.
The eyes, thought The Bearded Lady, it had such terrible eyes.
The carousel keeper helped her customer up on the horse and hurried over to the carousel-booth.
She changed the music into a fast paced, dizzying waltz that seemed more fit for her customer. Then more lights, yes, the carousel lit up in bright whites, reds and yellows. Now they were getting somewhere. Finally, a button was pushed, a handle was moved and the carousel started its motion.
The carousel started slowly and for a while it seemed as if it would just stop again. But no, the speed increased. The whole machine spun round, bright and surreal. All the metal animals, the Lady observed, had their own specific movement. Going up or down, jumping forward. Almost lifelike, thought The Bearded Lady, and started to smile. Her stallion moved in accordance with his sculptured muscles. Hurling forward with surprising force.Suddenly The Bearded Lady noticed that she had nothing to hold on to. Should she shout at the carousel keeper? No, if she leaned forward deep enough she could hold on to the beast’s neck.
The speed of the carousel kept increasing and the distance of the horses’ hurls increased along with it. What an amazing machine it was. The wind became stronger, rustling through skirts, shawls, hair and beard. They were going very fast now, the Lady and the animals. Even faster, yes, it started to seem impossible.
Those lights, were they growing brighter as well? The Bearded Lady could not tell. She dared not to look up; instead she leaned forward even more to tighten her grip around the brute mechanical force beneath her.
The speed grew immeasurable and the lights grew as bright as if they were each a tiny sun. The Bearded Lady grew slightly terrified. Was that smoke she smelt? Yes, it was. She could see the smoke clearly now. An impossible smoke, not from a fire or from a cigar. The smoke came from those terrible nostrils.
The Bearded Lady let out a small cry. Could it be true that this mechanical animal was not mechanical at all? Its movements became too authentic. She could hear its excited breath. The awful creature turned his head slighlty, looking at The Bearded Lady with its red metal eye. The Lady closed hers, this she had not expected. Was the ride not over yet? No, not yet. She heard a series of metallic noises. Did the carousel break loose? It was spinning so fast that it must have let go of the ground. Slowly it rose higher to the sky. The Bearded Lady could sense it, but was too afraid to look. Higher and higher the carousel rose and all the while its lights were turning brighter.
The Bearded Lady opened one eye and saw that this was not true.
No, the carousel had not rissen above the ground. On the contrary. They had gone underground and slowly everything was growing darker.
The Bearded Lady did not believe in hell but she was sure that this was where the horse was taking her. She screamed.
The carousel stopped, not abruptly. The Bearded Lady was trembling all over and the carousel keeper had to carry her of the machine. Cradling her in her arms. The trembling did not cease. The carousel keeper offered the Lady a type of liquor which seemed to help.
The Bearded Lady gazed up at the face of the carousel keeper. She slowly lifted herself up and pressed a kiss on the cheek of the keeper.
Have you enjoyed it, wondered the carousel keeper.
The ride had been horrifying, but the customer was someone who was born to appreciate terror.
Yes, but is appreciation a form of enjoyment?
Oh yes, appreciation was very much like that, thought The Bearded Lady, and a donation should be made.
Well, that is entirely up to you. The carousel keeper asked several times if she was quite sure.
A decission had been made and the Lady felt that an experience like that of the carousel could not go unrewarded.
Very well, said the carousel keeper, you are allowed to donate. Any donations will be put straight into the maintenance of the carousel-animals.
The carousel keeper helped the Lady up and guided her to the centre of the carousel. There was a red tarp there, covering a shallow pit. The Bearded Lady stepped down into it. It was a small circle that smelled of dry sand and grease. In the middle stood an old wooden table. The Bearded Lady went to lie down on it. Where had the carousel keeper gone?
The music stopped and the keeper returned, carrying a set of surgical equipment.
You are quite sure? The keeper did not want to rush anything, but the Lady was quite sure.
Shawls were removed, skin was removed, a heart was removed.
The Bearded Lady smiled as she made her donation.
The carousel keeper finished up her tasks for the day. She cleaned the carousel and turned it off. Then she went into her trailer, put on one of her favourite jazz-records and softly hummed along.
dinsdag 29 mei 2012
vandaag niet veel uitgestoken. laat opgestaan en wat rondgehangen en gelezen terwijl Mijn de (voorlopig) laatste retouches afwerkte, vervolgens de stad ingetrokken en een terrasje gedaan aan de muze.
tegenwoordig lopen myn maaltyden nogal door elkaar, dus uiteindelyk hebben we nog heerlyk brinner (= brunch + dinner) gegeten in de walrus, aan de troonplaats.
morgen & overmorgen sta ik weêr in de linde.
the lyrical law
Zij bewoog enkel haar benen. Zwierde ze eerst naar en dan over de rand van het bed.
De stenen vloer was koud en ongastvrij voor haar voeten. Ze hees zich uit haar dromen.
Stuntelend door het halfdonker liep ze door de kamer. Ze draaide zich om en keek naar het meisje in haar bed. Ze had het meisje twee uur eerder ontmoet en kende niet eens haar achternaam. Twee factoren die bepaalden dat het meisje waarschijnlijk niet haar type was.
Ze liep verder voorbij haar gitaar. Haar vingers gleden ontoombaar over de hals, dan vlak over de zes snaren.
Ze ademde uit en voelde zich tot rust komen.
Ze kwam binnen in de badkamer. Ging terug naar buiten om het licht aan te doen. De spiegel begroette haar.
Ze bekeek zichzelf. Bijna naakt. Een pyjamabroek waar ze de te strakke rek uit had gehaald hing los rond haar dijen. Je kon ver voorbij het begin van haar billen kijken.
Ze kon net zo goed geen broek aanhebben.
Dat was meestal ook het geval.
Toen kende ik haar nog niet.
agenda
deze vrydag spelen we met cranky & the law op de opening van de nieuwe expo van nonkel jeroen in het reuzenhuis van irene.
meer info vind je op de facebook-pagina:
http://www.facebook.com/events/236114579827811/
the lyrical law
This is a Story about a Fish. It is not a Christmas story, even though the events took place on Christmas Eve in 2009.
The Fish had no name and almost no memory.
The popular myth that Goldfish forget everything every three seconds has been proven wrong by science a while ago.
This fish, though, had not been informed and he still did all his thinking in lovely three second sequences.
And, since this narrative will continue in his point of view, it might get a bit annoying.
Snap
Dear lord! It’s cold. Wait, where am I? What is this?
Snap
Dear lord! It’s cold. Hey! I’m in a bag.
Snap
Oh look, it’s snowing!
Snap
Wow, I’m moving, okay, panic, panic.
Snap
Dear lord! It’s cold. Wait, where am I? What is this?
Snap
What’s with all the swinging? I’m feeling nauseous.
Snap
Hey, I know this guy next to me from somewhere. Didn’t he feed me once?
Snap
Hey, I’m on a bus. That’s weird; I can’t remember getting on here.
Snap
Who the hell is that guy sitting next to me? Personal space, sir, personal space.
Snap
Hey, I’m on a bus. I wonder where I’m going…
Snap
Oh hey, that guys leaving. Bye bye!
Snap
Wait where am I? What is this?
Snap
…
Snap
Wasn’t there someone sitting next to me just know? Where did he go?
Snap
Huh, nausea stopped.
Snap
Hey I’m on bus. Are we there yet? Why are we standing still?
Snap
That’s a cool uniform that guy’s wearing. I should get one too.
Snap
…
Snap
Is that guy coming over to me? … Oh my god! He’s going to grab me!
Snap
Panic! Panic! Stress! Stress!
Snap
Hey look! I’m flying! Wheeeeeeeee!
Snap
Panic! Panic! That’s it, this is the end of me.
Snap
Oh look, it’s snowing!
Snap
What are these uniformed guys saying to each other?
“Yup, that’s a fish all right. What kind of person leaves a fish on the bus?”
“Do I look like I care? My shift’s over. I’m going home.”
Snap
Good lord! It’s cold. Am I going on that bus?
Snap
Oh look, it’s snowing!
Snap
…
Snap
Crowded here. Are those people going on the bus as well?
Snap
What’s this guy saying?
“Does anybody want a fish? No? Alright then.”
Snap
Hey, I’m moving again. Where is he taking me?
Snap
Panic! Panic! Stress! Stress! I’m moving!
Snap
Oooooh, what a pretty red box.
Snap
Look at me! I’m flying.
Snap
…
Snap
Hey, no, wait! Don’t drop me! No! Aaaaaah!
Snap
Oh look, it’s snowing!
Snap
…
Snap
Good lord, it’s cold.
Snap
Wait, where am I? What is this?
Snap
Why is this water getting so hard?
Snap
Hmmm, I’m feeling a little sleepy.
Snap
…
Snap
Oh look, it’s snowing!
Snap
It may seem cruel to many, to die in a garbage bin at a bus stop, but the Fish didn’t mind.
maandag 28 mei 2012
the lyrical law
Palindroom
(voor serge)
Ik droom van palindromen.
Van palindroomse idiomen:
Mooi, dit idioom.
Ik droom van palindromen.
Van palindrooms fruit:
No melon, no lemon.
En er is ananas, Irene.
Ik droom van palindromen.
Van palindrooms genot:
Tevreden kneep een kneder vet.
Neen.
Er is daar nog onraad, sire.
Ai, de media!
Ik droom van palindromen.
Van palindrooms onheil:
Tot
droommoord.
Tot
dood.
God, red nu 'ns 'n underdog.
Mooi, dit idioom.
zondag 27 mei 2012
state of being - 26 mei 2012
waarin cranky zich wentelt in het fenomeen van het tydelyk bezitten van iemand anders' blog...
toen vitalski afkwam met het voorstel om enkele dagen zyn blog over te nemen terwyl hy in het buitenland vertoeft, was ik uiteraard in eerste instantie zeêr vereêrd;
maar kon ik my in godsnaam niet voorstellen wat ik met een blog zou kunnen aanvangen. tot stilletjesaan de ideeën begonnen te komen: ik houd simpelweg hetzelfde format aan, maar vul deze in met mijn eigen dagelykse bezigheden en bekommernissen.
op deze blog zal dus nog iédere dag een nieuwe bunnie (én een haas) verschynen, zullen de dagelykse lezers zich al dan niet geïnteresseerd in myn activiteiten kunnen verdiepen en bovendien elke dag een vers stukje proza of poëzie van the law voorgeschoteld krygen - want uiteraard kon ik deze missie niet trotseren zonder daarby myn trouwe handlangster in te schakelen.
gelukkig had ik meteen een zeer rykelyk gevulde dag vandaag, met als allereerste en belangrykste reden dat die dag al begon om negen uur s ochtends - mensen die myn ritme kennen weten dat ik normaal niet of amper actief ben voordat de kerkklokken van de st. wilibroduskerk hier om de hoek twee uur smiddags luiden - na bovendien amper drie uurtjes slaap te hebben genoten en een zware nacht in de linde - en dus sowieso al veel langer duurde dan gewoonlyk.
dit ontwaken was uiteraard niet spontaan en gebeurde met een meermaals "snoozen" (of in het nederlands: "snoezen"), zoals dat tegenwoorig heet - het meestal herhaaldelijk, om de vyf minuten, afdrukken van de wekker om je tydelyk verblyf in dromenland nog wat te rekken - meestal gepaard gaande met bovendien de meest absurde en avontuurlykste dromen.
de reden voor dit vroege opstaan was dat ik Mijn had beloofd om hem te helpen by een photoshoot.
nadat we de auto bij zyn pa waren gaan ophalen (waar we onthaald werden met een heerlyk koffietje, wat des te aangenamer was door het gebrek aan echte koffie in eigen stulp), trokken we naar een boerdery in schelle, voor een reportage over een meisje dat haar eigen groenten kweekt binnen het kader van een ecologisch leven.
door de hevige wind werden we gedwongen het licht op te stellen in een plaatselyke serre, wat een mooi beeld opleverde maar bij dit weêr voor een sauna-achtig broeikasteffect zorgde.
achteraf zochten we, na een korte stop bij het tankstation (ik snap vitalski's verslaving voor tankstationwinkels volledig - ze hebben daar byna altyd alles waar je op dat moment zin in hebt, ookal weet je dikwyls zelf niet wat dat precies is voor je er binnenstapt) verkoeling aan het galgeweel
savond ging ik als vrywilliger tappen in jongerencentrum kavka, aan de oudaan, voor een benefiet om het gestolen materiaal van organisator en technieker filip stickr te recupereren.
door het terrasjesweer was de opkomst een tegenvaller en heb ik eigenlyk het grootste deel van de tyd zelf in de zon gezeten en sigaretjes gerookt (hoewel ik al flink verbrand was van de hele dag buiten te bezig te zyn), en een heerlyke noodlesalade - door zijn kersverse vriendin bereid - gegeten.
lobotomy - de eerste band
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