Categorie: zijperpost

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.
I’m lethargic.
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 phoned.

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.

I had to have this T.

So I told Tony my brother was an ‘eendenkooiker’.

Yeah, try to find a good translation for that word yourself.

Duck decoy keeper?

Sounds stupid.

I thought I sounded quite stupid myself at that moment.

Then I told Tony that I had a huge collection of beershirts.

Didn’t help either.

He liked my stories though.

I said to him: Shall we shop shirts?

That he understood.

He even gave me

Gepost door Ton om 20:18 uur

Laat een reactie achter op quacking, want nog geen reacties

The last time I wore this T it was itching.

I hate itching T-shirts.

I hate itching.

I have to though. I once bought this T. I have to wear them all.

But please, don’t let it itch.

For safety reasons I’ll wear a longsleeve underneath it.

Somebody got to explain to me how this is possible.

I turned the lamp 5 cm into the direction of the T and that resulted in flat colours.
I turned it back and in this picture the wall was yellow again.

How come those camera’s (maybe not only those) in cellphones do see the world differently from what my eyes see?

I have to admit I love yellow though.

Yesterday I visited Brouwerij de Molen again. This time it was a small trip with my colleagues from work.

I had brought some T’s with me. Last time I felt sorry I didn’t bring more. So I could take some pictures of them.

But I hate it when people look at me taking those pictures. Makes me feel really uncomfortable.

So I waited for my colleagues to look for something I already had seen last time.

Rits rats klick.

That’s how we say it in Dutch.

Within some seconds I had photographed 2 more T-shirts.

They came back when I was putting the T’s in my backpack.

I still felt uncomfortable.

I said to the man: My brother got his pub called ‘Monk’.

Thelonius Monk.

Don’t you want to swop shirts? I also asked.

But it was a rare 1, he said.

A ½ year later he sent it to me via snailmail.

It’s the 1st time I’m gonna wear it. I didn’t need an extra longsleeves yet.

The pub doesn’t exist anymore. I gave my brother another T though: Monk’s Café in Philadelphia.

This 1 I keep for myself.

Since I started taking pictures of my T’s I came to realize that there is more colour than just colour.

As if I didn’t know before.

I’m more aware of it now.

The garden has 100 types of green in it.
& Suddenly a green seems yellowish.

I don’t just look at the birds anymore, flying around, collecting tiny bits of food I can’t see.

I look at colours I can’t figure out how they came into life.

Look at these wooden boxes. Boxes I stand on at my work for reaching out for higher shelves.

I thought they were just wooden.

Now I know better.

But is my life richer then?