Ik
wil alleen
maar weten
wie
ik ben.
Een
andere reden
om te schrijven
heb
ik niet.
Maar
wie ik ben
gaat niemand
wat aan.
Translation (by me)
I
only want
to know
who
I am.
I
do not
have another reason
to
write.
But
who I am
Is nobody’s
business.
My autumn is late,
The summer is unaware
Of his intrusion.
Found on a random forum somewhere, not on tumblr.
“And my little question is: when will you start making music?”
Don’t forget you are so strong
So bloody
Strong.
The kid sat next to me
And I watched the words
Crumble from his mouth
Sticking on his shirt and trousers
with the wind blowing south.
Trash belongs in the bin.
Learn to be on topic,
Put effort in it,
Don’t slack or slump,
Don’t let the words sink,
Just try.
Coil - Fire of the Mind.
Death is centrifugal,
Solar and logical ,
Decadent and symmetrical,
Angels are mathematical ,
Angels are bestial,
Man is the animal.
“Everything was sleeping as if the world were a mistake.”
writing is shit and he is shit and the wife is shit and the baker is shit and the sun is shit and I am shit but the pancake is goddamn baked and baked things aren’t shit they’re baked.
‘Scarcely has ( a wave ) subsided than another swells to replace it, to the accompaniment of the melancholy sound of breaking foam, warning us that all is foam. ( So do human beings, those living waves, die monotonously one after another; but they leave no foamy music).’
From “Le Chants de Maldoror” by Comtre de Lautréamont.
