Some of my days are the peppermint days; these are the days I take a left, as soon as I am outside.
Some days are the peanut butter days, when I take a right as soon as I am outside.
Then you have the orange days; on the orange days I stay inside.
Or the rosehip days, when I do not leave my bed.
Also there are the hop days, on which I only speak with the dog.
Furthermore there are the lilacs days, when I send out invitations for a festive get-together of people
who have not met each other in the flesh yet.
The lilacs days are extremely rare; say two.
And then, also in a different order, are the smile days.
When the smile pulls the silent tears from my eyes and the soft sighs from my chest so that the color
in my head flashes from dark gray to egg yellow so that my muscles stretch so that I start to yawn
so that the silent tears turn into simple eye-moisture, that – unlike the tears – can be easily wiped away
by my hand.
So that a smile day is inextricably linked with a lavender day, because o how nice it is, to wash oneself
from head to toe with lavender soap.
2 There are not many people I can feel familiar with. Not many animals either. Or plants. With my immediate
social circle I can feel very familiar. But sometimes I miss not having a large physical circle where my
specific familiarity is normal.
With the dog I spend many hours on the streets. On the street, I do not feel familiar. If I look through the
window of a bar sometimes, I can get the impression that the people inside feel familiar with each other.
But I do not want to sit amongst them. For me, hanging around at the door for a few minutes is feasible.
On the sidewalk across the street, about five meters away.
I enjoy the few plants in my house and they give me something to do. It is not rare for the yucca to keep
me busy for the better part of a morning. Wash, cut and dry. What comes with my age is the possibility of
knowing plants for thirty years. If it's a family heirloom, as the yucca. And in case I do not bother for
longer periods of time, I am not blamed. Then the sun does what I neglect. For I have made certain to only
surround myself with the dry ones. Not the wet ones who need a shower every second day. At times my
own thirst is all I can manage.
3 When I listen to too much music, the silence in my ears is replaced by the sound of a gas flame. Not a
sound that I am really crazy about. For playlists I take as my directive no more than two per day. Two
times three quarters of an hour. I think this is an acceptable dose. The more varied the mix, the longer
the playing time seems to be. Callas alternated with The Lounge Lizards. For example. For I have neither
Callas nor The Lounge Lizards on them. I have almost none but unidentified ones on them. Just as I myself
like to be a nameless particle of the mass.
Picture books I have too. A few with very old paintings and a few with individually signed representations.
In my head I make all kinds of combinations of these two. Keeps me quiet.
Furthermore, I dance. I prefer the Chinese way to the European way. So without tomtom. Such a violence,
often, in those rhythms. More marching than walking. More rocking than rolling. One can count me out.
I dance from my feet and from my belly. Not from my back. If I dance I rather move my neck, arms and
My legs I use for walking. And this I prefer doing outdoors. In service of the dog and, occasionally, of an
enterprise. My work, however vague it may be for anyone who is not very close to me.
4 As a rule when I got wounds they heal fast. The wound tissue turns into dry scabs, the itching diminishes
and next the scabs fall off. At an earlier stage it hurts just to look at it. Which also can bring a smell into my
nose. Say the smell of powder exploding. This is not nice. Sound is a lot nicer. Biologic functions. Fresh
skin. Not wrong. I must be healthy.
It says something about me that the dog is happy with me. That the cat is happy with me. That the plants
entrust themselves to my care. I cannot force them to bloom. This they do of their own accord. All of them
can refuse. Within a certain margin. They do not. All of them are happy with me. Because here with me
they can be who they are. And because here with me they can become who they are destined to become.
5 Death maintains life. Which is to say, that what is living feeds on what is dead. Eating is participating in
a metabolic process. In the material reality. And also in the meta-realities, metabolic processes are
continually taking place.
All phenomena are dimension-crossovers. Both the data of life and the data of death are present in them.
In some the weight tilts to the data of life. In some to the data of death. In my case, the latter applies.
Whenever I have a choice, I prefer communicating with death itself to consuming the waste of death.
When I expose myself to phenomena such as rain, wind or snow I undergo life-sustaining stimuli. How
heavier the rain and how wilder the wind the more I like it. The air streams are under pressure from all
sides, but as yet the nature-embankers have not succeeded in turning them into property and in locking
them up in a computer-controlled loft.
6 There are many love songs that testify on connected-love. Like a humus layer, some of these songs about
connected-love cover the bottom of one of my memories. Much knowledge is often represented in them.
That may come singing up in me, whenever time falls away. Also there are many love songs that testify on
made-up-love. And there are many songs about anything and everything that testify on missed-love. These
songs I prefer to the songs about made-up-love. As a concept, it is not often any more that I listen to them.
For someone like me, who grew up without ever getting a token of affection, a connection with love could
only be established when the impossibility to recognize love had faded away. This impossibility could fade
away because I had been exposed to the love of the dog, which was present and which was stronger than
my obsessive hungers. To her love for me and also to my love for her.
The obsessive hungers go by the name of love, but they are only interested in tasting again and again the
same disgusting meals they are used to. In my informative period this has been the cause of quite a few
The fact that I reconciled myself with them, has also been important in silencing these hungers. This I have
only been able to do after I was orphaned. Only after both my parents had died, have I for once and for all
been able to take in, that for once and for all my child's hand would remain empty.
7 There are two voices of which I can hear a full cd. Both a mix of missed-love and connected-love. I am
talking about the voices of Patsy and Lata. I can listen to those for an hour easily. If the time is right, for
a few conditions have to be met. First of all, the dog cannot stand this kind of music, so she must not be in.
Furthermore, I must be in a boisterous mood, because the songs demand to be howled along. And finally,
I have to be in a state where I am temporary word deaf, because those lyrics do not exactly mirror my
connection to life. In the case of Lata this is not the slightest problem, but with Patsy it is a bit more
complicated. This is why most of the singing voices on the playlists sing in languages I am not familiar with.
I also have several playlists the dog has no taste for. Almost all that is African, for example. African south
of the Sahara and east of Senegal and Mali. Kora music from Senegal and Mali and all Arabic music the
dog simply loves. Classical that is. Not the contemporary film scores. And this also applies to Indian. Never
a bad moment for a raga. An evening raga in the morning: no problem. With a little stick of patchouli
please. For I may be very fond of Lata, the dog rather listens to a ghazal. Has a straight receiver for an
expression that to me can be a bit too exalted. But not for Caribbean sounds. Or Mexican, Cuban or
Colombian sounds. Also jazz is not something I have to play to please the dog.
For the exuberant I must turn to the cat. And also for the cooking. The cat enjoys my enjoyment. Cutting
up a mushroom and resting the slices before me on the chopping board, one next to the other; this offers
shades of colors that grab me. Opening an onion, this structure, this is enjoyment. Or a ripe avocado; pitted
and cut open; what a beauty, what a taste.
I am not only cooking for just me. Due to my dental condition I no longer dare to eat corn on the cob. And
corn without the cob is lost on me. Yet there are moments when a corn cob is representative of absolute
perfection. I can also loose myself in it. Coincide with it. How a corn cob looks, what a corn cob is. A dog
who in an earlier stage lived by my side picked cobs to the last corn. That is, if they were cooked and were
treated with a touch of butter.
8 I spend much energy in the search for methods that could help me to keep myself safe. From outside
tensions I am unable to cope with. So that I can literally and figuratively open the door and yet remain
Especially in my immediate circle I do not want to have to be prepared for vibrations that are alien to me.
But it proved more than once, that I misjudged. That is why I developed a number of daily holds, for when
I am at home. As protection. I no longer expect everyone who lives with me to also be constantly in
harmony with me. Routines can be minded. For all their single mindedness. They are acceptable as social
extensions of me. My routine also allows me enough time in which I have a time off from these extensions.
And every day at least one period of nothing. Varying in duration. But long enough to catch my breath.
The dog I can have in my physical proximity, no matter what. In all of her data the dog is a stronger nature
than I am, but in none of my data I have to protect myself against the dog. The dog treats me well and
I treat the dog well. Besides the dog has a greater and more continuous sensibility for me than any other
organism in my environment. It is even true that the presence of the dog is decisive, in case all my
terrestrial awareness has flown because of a disturbing influence I was unable to avert. The other day,
when in the in the building next to mine a birth was taking place, there was such an amount of tension in the
air that the whole afternoon I lay with the dog on the couch. The left side of my trunk and my left limbs felt
paralyzed. I was very short of breath and I had lost contact with my heart. Not nice, because this means
I also have lost contact with my nerves. But through lying there with the dog she makes me come back in
my terrestrial data and makes me return to my terrestrial reality.
9 I take happiness into consideration. By taking happiness into consideration I claim my humanity. I am a
human being, because I resemble all other human beings. But as an individual I am different from all other
As category the human being is an aggregation of intelligences, which are scattered over all human beings.
Not a single individual meets all these qualities. So not a single individual is a human being. A little play with
I do not share the obsession of my culture to quantify intelligence. Everything that is alive has intelligence.
Not all intelligences are the same, but they all are tantamount. Differentiation according to value is a
weapon. For oppression, for example. An outer activity that naturally is linked to an inner passivity.
10 Natural birth-movements are not the kind of movements I like to come too close to. Fortunately one arrives
only once. I have not forgotten my own natural birth. And any other than the natural birth I do not know.
Shedding a cocoon does not deserve the name birth. Nor realizing an ambition. Or changing circles. Scoring
a tiny success. Ridiculous.
I come into a baby-condition. Each year, the days before my birthday. No use whatsoever for me to make
appointments. Neither with another nor with myself. These days I reconnect with my passage.
Then, on the day itself, I celebrate the birth of everyone who on my day has taken birth. I actually find this
a proper combination of words: take birth. An organism takes a terrestrial form and a terrestrial
circumstance. This is what I have observed. The day the birth takes place is the day the taking-activity is
settled. From one of my natural data I consider myself related to all organisms that physically became part
of the terrestrial condition on the same date as I did.
Aside from having longtime relations within my immediate circle, I am, in several different reality spheres,
connected with a number of related organisms. Through the various natural extensions I have. Who
according to sphere are aligned at a similar wavelength as me. If there is a relationship then there is
communication, whether one likes it or not.
11 The way I see, it is that in the palms of my hands the treasure map has been etched. The place where
I took myself into life gave me my name and in this name the fate of my childhood was sealed. The date
I took birth on are my durable coordinates. Hoca Poca Pass. Someone who observes. This I cannot
Would one be unnamed, part of the natural terrestrial order, then one would be free. For one's form and
one's content would coincide. But because one is named, part of the human world, it is fairly certain that
one has to put up a fight to recapture one's freedom. For the dictates of one's name and the dictates of
one's disposition seldom coincide. In the name lies the expectation in human measure. In which the child
will try to fit into. Or will start to rebel against.
12 I need to observe. And take my lessons from my observations. This may be all kinds of things. Moan while
shitting, for example. This I got by listening to the dog. And that this is comforting, I have experienced.
I also observe my own behavior, thoughts and moods. But this cannot be compared to the way I can look
at, say, a thread of wool, cotton or hemp. A dedication that would have raised the jealousy of my younger
versions. Without realizing it. No, my I's and my selves have never been viewed with the same dedication.
Nor by someone else. Would not be possible too. What a thing does to one's senses and one's
concentration is very fundamentally different from what an organism does to them.
Observation of an organism results in a relationship, whether one likes it or not. Unless one reduces the
organism to a fixed creation. Which I have experienced more than once, that I am being reduced to
someone's delusional projection.
If I do nothing but observe I have good nights, cosy dreams. Do I also have other relationships, then the
nights become a bit restless. Dreams that escape me, because of the series of different body positions. In
contrast, the day is easier. Also many different body positions, but not necessarily unpleasant. Even though
I start the day less rested. So this must not go on for too long. Lighter days should be alternated with good
nights, otherwise I get cranky. As I get cranky when for some time I do not work with my hands. I have
a specific way of doing. I designed the interior my house accordingly.
Outside my own house I rather do not attract any attention because of some peculiarity. So I look for
streets with so much traffic that the people walking there are wearing armor. Or I let the dog catch the
attention. I do not object to being just this person who belongs with the dog; I prefer being made by the dog
to being made by the clothes that I wear.
13 At tram stops I must be careful. When the dog and I are on the street. The dog will recognize them. And
this despite the notion that animals are not supposed to be capable of storing cultural signs as abstraction
into their system.
The dog simply loves to be transported by a tram. In neighborhoods where we never were before, the dog
walks up to a stop as soon as she sees one. I see that the dog sees and not smells, for example.
For the connoisseur: my experience is that, in addition to transferring concepts to me, the dog understands
concepts that I offer. Simple ones as well as complex ones. Once understood and named the dog later
recognizes the word that represents the action that earlier we went over extensively. Or better yet, the
thoughts behind the action. Making it applicable to many different actions in very different circumstances.
Take a word like coordinate. The dog does not know this word. When I introduce it, this word is the
expression of my assessment of what is going on between us, plus the change I wish for. The dog
recognizes the disharmony, acknowledges that something can be done about her concentration on the
situation and immediately does what I mean by coordinate. Now the dog knows this word and from now
on I can use it in each similar meaning. As long as I stay pure in using it, the dog keeps pleasing me by
coordinating whenever I ask for it. Or take a word like mistake, a word that already preserved us from
many misunderstandings. When it comes to an action all what is true for coordinate is true for this word,
but on top of this we also use it in situations having to do with emotion.
14 Exchange becomes impossible, if a combination of organisms does not actually relate with each other. The
dominant nature will fill the here and the now with uncleansed waste. Weak terrestrial natures like me must
beware of this, for uncleansed waste is not very fattening. Only those who are trapped in the same
fixations and projections can feast on it.
I clean my own mess. Nothing to avert. And neither the shit of the dog or the cat I find disgusting. But
I expect other humans to clean up their own messes, just as I do.
15 In the computer I have a file of quotes that one time or another caught my attention. Like the music
fragments in the playlists I registered these quotes unidentified. Although of some the source stays with
me. And some I contributed from my own writing.
Sometimes I turn to this file and print a few of these quotes. Selected on keyword. Just a word that comes
to mind at that particular moment. That can be the word source. Or the keyword is rabbit. Or any other
word. On an A4 page I get a number of statements, that I proceed to have a dialogue with. Making this file
into a guru without an ego. My private I Ching.
The written word has a strong effect on my imagination. And more than once this generates a distorted
notion, as has been proven to me more than once. What I am being confronted with in practice, seldom has
the appeal of what the description led me to think. In my exploratory period this has been the cause of quite
a few disappointments .
That the written word has a strong effect on my imagination, has nothing to do with being sensitive towards
authority. An encounter with a natural authority means joy to me and I have no trouble at all acknowledging
such an authority. But not one cultural or social authority speaks to me. I understand that those who claim
authority take themselves serious in a way that is utterly alien to me. And also, that they believe in
hierarchic structures that is utterly alien to me.
16 For my clothes and shoe wear I set the requirement that they have a comfortable fit. I do not have much
preference for style or color. But if I am given the choice I will choose old materials. Cotton, wool, hemp
and silk. Of new materials I usually do not have the necessary information so as to be able to justly
estimate how they will interact with me. My experience is that there are quite a few chemical applications
that make me tired for example, or make me sweat, or give me a headache, or my digestion gets upset.
Most clothing I make. When it comes to sewing I have a basic pattern that I use over and over again,
making small variations. When knitting I give myself a free hand, but again taking into account a number
of basics. Wide sleeves, length to the groin and preferably a high collar.
It is rare that I more than once a week change upper clothes. I have a clean constitution. I also barely
wear out shoes. In the house I like cotton shoes with a sole of hemp. For the streets, I have a chemical
alternative, but with little of the mentioned side effects. And for the wet weather I have a pair of
lightweight rubber boots. These I always carry with me and the bag I made specially for this purpose I also
use for the street benches. To sit on. At night, before I go to sleep, I give it a quick wash and the next
morning it has dried.
17 Sometimes I let someone from one of my physical circles take me to a get-together where I definitely will
feel very familiar. To my disappointment, to date this appears not to work out. And by this I mean, that
I am not running into anyone who wishes to engage in a relationship with me. However briefly. If this is the
situation, I get by with anecdotes and the accompanying sounds and gestures. Fixed expressions with which
I take part in the illusion.
I have a few such social extensions, that make it possible for me to hold my own against different cultural
environments. Wrappings in which I have put a lot of hard work. However, I always have to be careful
that I do not end up in a danger-zone. That I am outside not inside. As it is not nice to be inside not outside,
being outside not inside is not nice. The sounds mix, shutting me out.
Sometimes one runs into the kind of people who, without the slightest embarrassment, take possession of
one's organism. The kind who does not recognize any boundary between you and me. Simply because they
cannot imagine how much you can differ from me. Deprived they are, from every ounce of animal
sensibility; one lump of fixed conditioned ego. If one talks with them they do not understand, for if they
understood, it would prevent them to do what they are doing. And that is to continue sponging on one's
organism. So then there is not much choice but to defend oneself by hitting out. Which is exactly what I did
a couple of times, mercilessly with a steady hand.
The illusion rules where word and gesture have a fixed content. So where an ego that was attracted from
outside has content. But content is provided by the durable energy of your organism. Content exists as a
frequency and is also perceived by me as frequency. The word and the gesture, I see only as the titles of
Not that I am all for an eliminated ego. No more as for an eliminated self. Or the elimination of thoughts, or
being detached, or several other destinations that, depending on the culture, are being preached as the goal
to be pursued. I do not see it like that. My favorite positions are through outside inside or through inside
18 Just as a weak terrestrial nature as I cannot move too often and too long in just any company, so I also
must beware of not exposing myself to television programs or to light reading. These activities rarely have
a relieving effect. Sooner smothering. The inside of my head becomes a centrifugal machine where words,
gestures, glances and facts keep spinning around and around until all juice has gone out of them.
19 Many things that people assume that they are actually controlling, are in fact much too complex for people
to arrange. So I leave quite a few affairs unarranged. At least when I use the measures of my culture.
In practical affairs such as house and food I can adapt. But as soon as it comes to the extras I cannot.
Saving accounts, insurances and holiday resorts, to name a few of those extras.
It is not a matter of unwillingness that I can't. And no obsessional denial either. Because a belief in their
functionality is failing in me, these institutions fail to function for me. The same with many government
agencies that are intended to make my life pleasant. There is hardly one collective provision that has
anything to do with my existence. The logic behind the design of them is not normally mine. Or the
aesthetics are not.
It is my knowing, that rejects a lot of arranging activities and a lot of arranged results as not being sensible.
What I mean by knowing has a link with the durable. Knowing are informations, which come through via
one's natural extensions. Which lead to insights, that make it possible for me to cope with this earth. And
I live with the insight that what is is, because it is outside the range of the human compulsion to arrange.
20 I am someone who has to chew very thoroughly on an experience to prevent belches later on. So in my
case it is riches that by now I am settled in a way that this I can do.
My temperament requires a specific rhythm. That makes me move smoothly. On the basis of observations
I must conclude that the vast majority within my cultural family is dedicated to a very different rhythm.
When one does not beat along with the choir one never has a pause. And never a solo either. And then it is
advisable to go stand some distance from this choir.
21 Often I am relocating. In my head. To places where one time or another I spend a shorter or longer period
of time. Every place evokes something else. An existence with kennels, a hotel for silent people, a meeting
place for latent talents, a herb nursery. Also, for example, I rearrange the environment I grew up in. From
my current interests. And I position in this new architecture people, animals and plants from my current
It can also be that I move through this house I am staying in now. I imagine it empty and fill it exactly as it
is. It is quite difficult for me to, with closed eyes, be simultaneously both sensory and mentally in this room.
Especially to keep contact with the measurements. It is easier with the forms. Mentally I sooner go from
one point in the room to the next than continually being in the total of the room.
22 My wrappers I have adjusted to and tested against cultural conditions that just cannot be avoided. But if
I happen to find myself in a crowded location outside my usual walk then, without exception, I have the
experience of falling silent. For example, in a railway station. Where I rarely come. And that certainly is
not my kind of location. The vibrations here do not include mine. As if all transmitters here present, are
tuned to a similar wavelength. While the wavelengths I am tuned to are being pushed away totally. I stop
hearing my inner voices. I stop registering my desires and my needs. I forget why I came here. And before
I completely stiffen and can no longer take one step forward or backward, I just manage to move me and
get me to the exit. And then to lift this numbness, I have to be away from these vibrations for quite a while.
Spend time with the dog on our couch. So that I return to a moderate state of being communicative.
23 It has never been my aim to stretch the stretch. This is not possible, whatever whoever wants to argue. My
focus has always been to, as nicely as possible, pass the stretch it takes to cover the stretch.
To fulfill the role one has to play, this is what it is all about. To be the earthly manifestation one is destined
to be. And the more comfortable one is in the meta realities the clearer one can see the role one has to
accomplish. So that one can take care of the right preparations. And have some control over how this role
will unroll. Pleasant or unpleasant. And thus some control over the way one's life runs. Supple or stiff.
To be in harmony with the course of one's life. Although really very natural, within our culture this is a
privilege. A privilege one has to see how to get it. Therefore, it is a big asset to be in contact with an
organism who sees one's role. Or at least part of it. And absolutely optimal is being in contact with an
organism who continuously anticipates one's role in such an actual way, that one can relax and yield.
Because one can be confident, that this other being keeps one integrated in such a way that one continually
senses the meaning. In the dog, I have someone like this in my proximity.
24 Anyone who ever saw a body claimed by death, was able to see the fulfilled terrestrial destination of this
organism. At once full and empty. An expression, for example, as my late mama has shown me.
I can imagine that every living organism has an individual time-awareness. For one who is going to live ten
years, one year is the one-tenth part of one's life. For one who is going to live eighty years, one year is the
one-eightieth part of one's life. One way or the other this must be engraved in the individual clock.
And what I imagine next is that one who is dying does not have a calendar-age, but one who is dying has
the death-age. And that this death-age is the same for every one who is dying. This would be natural logic.
25 Awakening I do by breaking with the dream of the night. I do this by transferring this dream. When I do not
succeed in making the transition between sleep and wake, without losing contact with what I dreamed, then
my motives during the wake start to become meaningless. So that the wake becomes a continuation of the
For me, keeping with me the anecdote and the images of one of my regular dreams is hard. What is not
true for the atmosphere. In me, regular dreams translate into a mood. As weather conditions do. Or better
yet, as light conditions do.
Often my dream is not the movie of a wish or of a desire. It is the dream that is the gratification of the
desire. In a dream a desire can become both clear and gratified at the same instant. This specific desire
belongs to the dream. And not to my wake.
26 From the very beginning, I had indications that the dog is extremely sensitive for language. In no time the
dog was acquainted with spoken words that were not intended for her, but that did have consequences for
her. Playfully, I inserted some simple experiments. In one of the experiments I spoke frequently used
words in various tones and in diverse situations. The reactions of the dog confirmed my presumption that it
was the word itself the dog knew, and not that she recognized it from the intonation or the context in which
this word was spoken.
The dog also is very fond of getting poetry read to her. Certain poems are definitely on her evergreen list.
By now I know complete segments by heart and even if we are outdoors, sitting on a bench by the canal,
I recite them. With the same effect. Ears that straighten at the opening sentence, eyes that look into mine
and next the relaxing of the nape of the neck. Total surrender. But I must not dare to improvise; as soon as
I change only one word for another, the dog lets me know that she cannot appreciate this. And I am talking
about fragments of at least thirty words.
It is a bit extreme to state that my favorite books of verses have been selected by the dog, but it is certainly
true that all of them are in the dog's taste.
It is certainly not true that I pass my taste on to the dog. I already mentioned the exuberant and the howling
sounds. The radio is a good example too. Occasionally something comes along on the radio that also makes
the ears of the dog straighten up and makes the head turn toward the soundbox. For me, having the radio
on does not fall under the denomination of listening to music. I have preset the radio to a number of
classical music channels. Rarely my taste anyway. As soon as the noise outside of my house distracts me
from what I am doing, I press one button after the other and I halt at the broadcast that is the least
intrusive. None of the pieces of music the dog selects attract my attention before her reaction alerts me. If
I get the chance to catch a name or a title I note them down and sometimes I try to find the disc and buy it.
As with a ghazal I do not have a receiver for these expressions, but by regularly putting them in the player
for the dog I experience that they do me good.
Of some pieces of music the fixed feature is the composer, of other ones it is the interpreter and of still
others it is the instrument that is used to bring it across. The dog makes the connections. I do not hear
them. Sometimes I think I know the musical taste of the dog, but time and again I am being surprised. Like
by now I have picked up that one of the favorite composers is Shostakovich. But if his name is being
announced and I send her an anticipating look, it is not necessarily that the dog responds. And just as I am
about to convince myself that I do have a large inclination to ascribe to the dog qualities that I rather not
mention aloud in company, the announcer says it concerned a fragment that by experts is considered to be
one of the minor commissioned pieces by the composer.
We read through many volumes the dog does not care for at all. Usually I agree with her. Also there are
volumes I especially purchased, after reciting rather dutifully from an anthology a few poems by a
celebrated name and the reaction of the dog left little doubt.
27 My passport gives me a nationality. This nationality is linked to a nation. This nation is the Netherlands.
Both nationality and nation are phenomena that I resent. And the version of the past, from which these
phenomena are real consequences, I do not consider to be my version of the past. Without denying this
version of the past. I see it as an undesired legacy, I somehow have to deal with. In this day and age it is
not possible for a human being to establish a terrestrial existence without a nationality. And although I find
this fact unacceptable and obsolete, it is in my case not intrusive to the point that I am not able to restrict to
a manageable minimum the consequences on my individual existence.
After giving it a lot of attention, when it comes down to it, also in the material heritage of my culture there
is not much to my liking. Most of what the museums and the libraries have in storage is wasted on me. And
the same is true for what the theater stages and the concert stages offer. Also famous places or statues
commemorating an event or person do not make my blood rush. It is the so called worthless leftovers that
warm me. The embroidered rag and the crochet bedspread for example, or the wooden spoon that has
lasted for several generations, the doorknob that has been polished by countless touches of countless hands,
the woolen blanket that has been patched with a cotton print.
28 I do not consider myself as belonging to a certain party. In my case I had to make my own rules. And how
I live is the consequence. My rules do not have to be shared by anyone. What I experience is that, by how
I live, I am sharing.
I am kind when I can be the kind that I am. A little play with words. But truthful perception. Not that
I necessarily continuously feel good. That is not what this is about. This is about feeling me. I can feel
lousy, sensibly lousy. I am good at feeling lousy, if it is my own lousy.
Also social revolutions lie outside the range of human interference. I mean the revolutions that are truly
radical. That is why I am not a revolutionary. But it would be nice if there were more facilities for
organisms like me. Organisms with a specific sensibility, corresponding a bit with mine. That the collective
that I belong to would be a bit more considerate toward such organisms. I would not object against some
more space where I can be my normal nature, without having to expect aggressive reactions to my
behavior or to my statements. Or against services that allow me a temporary change of scenery every
once in a while. Just breathing some different air, undergoing a different climate and absorbing different
earth rays. Without immediately having to feel myself alienated from the room where I lay myself to rest
29 My care, interest and attention for the plants, the cat and the dog is riches to me. Wealth and wellbeing. To
give and to get. Without ever having to be in a position of either needing to fulfill one's obligations or having
to demand one's rights.
With quite a few exceptions to the rule, it is I who pave our path in the practice of culture and it is the dog
who paves our path in the area of nature. As a catagory, being human is a cultural wrapping. In the natural
state I exist as a living creature. Just as the dog. And as living creatures we recognize each other.
30 When one's spaces have been decorated one can stop giving them attention. Except to keep them clean.
And this means pleasure, when the spaces please one.
Sometimes when I am in my house, I sit on a chair where I do not usually sit. This gives a sensation as if
I am visiting myself. Nice. Relaxed. A feeling I would wish for another.
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