The shirt is nothing special. The floor is though.
Lots of cheese has been ripening here. Now they mature beer at the same place (Brouwerij de Molen).
I can wear it today. Nobody who knows me will meet me today.
But she has seen me standing in my underwear. Even more, better: even less than that.
So I shouldn’t be ashamed too much wearing a shirt I don’t like.
I decided to take some days off.
I informed my employers. Told them what condition my condition is in.
They said it’s alright.
So I’m gonna hang out at my own place. Look how the birds & the wind are emptying my garden.
& Cats trying to fill it again.
Visit some art galleries.
Wear T-shirts I don’t dare to show myself in in ‘public’.
They decided to take me to the AMC (Amsterdam Medical Centre).
An ambulance was being phoned & they put me on the stretcher.
Protocol, they said.
They asked me whether I was nervous.
I said I wasn’t. I just let it happen. Let it roll. Let it. It.
But probably, I said, I will get nervous when I get home.
I’m still not nervous.
It all happened. I wasn’t taking part in it.
So if you’re trying to reach me: I’m not here.
I’m somewhere else.
The whole week I decided.
Maybe I’ll respond.
But that’ll be all.
I said: Yesterday evening I felt kind of a pressure on my chest.
She said: Oh, and did you feel dizzy? Did you have a feeling of nausea?
I said: No, I didn’t. I was immediately paying attention to my left arm. But I didn’t feel anything special there either.
She asked: How long did it last?
I said: About an hour.
She said: Well, we better check. I do have some time at ½ past 3.
I said: ½ Past 3. Alright.
& Then I started thinking about which T-shirt I should wear.
Something anonymous will suit this occasion, I thought.
This is not too much. It can be worse.
Loads of garbage we have each week. Boxes, trays, sixpacks, plastic.
We collect it, put it into 1 of the boxes & at mondays & thursdays give them to the garbage collectors.
I don’t have to do that anymore. I don’t work at the right moment.
Actually, I do work at the right moment. So I don’t have the responsibility for it anymore.
How I can’t stand cleaning up.
People tend to think that it’s all organised at my place.
Well, it is. But it’s a mess too. A mess where I can find my way.
Untill the moment I get visitors. That’s the moment I lose control.
I put things at places people won’t notice them anymore.
& That’s where I lose track of them too.
It’s not really wallpaper, but those loose ends do remind me of my father.
He used to paper the rooms at a home for elderly. While he was director of a girls’ school.
He earned our holidays with it, he told us.
He had special clothing for doing it. Old clothing.
& A hat.
Underneath his hat, on his ear, he had a pencil hanging.
A short one, that during his life never shrank.
That one pencil. I’m sure he never changed it.
One of the last rooms he papered was mine. He still used the same pencil, hanging behind his ear when he didn’t need to mark something down.
That’s why I thought he wouldn’t die.
Everything would remain the same, change slightly, but remain the same and wouldn’t shrink.