When you go away, shadows will remain...

...something or other of your beauty's grace will remain.

I will meet you again
Where? How?
I don't know
Perhaps as a figure
Of your imagination
I will appear on your canvas
Or perhaps on your canvas
Appearing as a mysterious line
Quietly I will keep staring at you.

For Krishna, thank you for leaving me with that much.
Read the rest of this entry...

Gehazi's Folly

Hannibal Lecter: First principles, Clarice. Simplicity. Read Marcus Aurelius. Of each particular thing ask: what is it in itself? What is its nature? What does he do, this man you seek? He covets. That is his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we seek out things to covet? Make an effort to answer now.
Clarice Starling: No. We just...
Hannibal Lecter : No. We begin by coveting what we see every day. Don't you feel eyes moving over your body, Clarice? And don't your eyes seek out the things you want?*

Convince me please. I want you to.

The way you say my name means grace in Hebrew. Ann. Anneke. The way you see me, revealing the hollow inside myself - peripatetic, threadbare griefs in hazy winter ( I will find you shivering among the rocks, asking me to wear a sleeve of your navy smoking jacket ) The way the moon sleepwalks ominously in the dark as the night wind howls, replacing your voice, and the dawn shuts its eyes for an hour more.

And this soul, so restless for you...

I'm so wishful that way.





*Silence of the Lambs (1991)

Read the rest of this entry...

The Music Lesson

Jan Vermeer, 1664

I met up with my former music instructor and opera star A. in Berlin, where he was doing a recital. Set against the chill in a jaunty deerstalker, sunglasses(!), charcoal greatcoat and signature red cravat, he was every inch the diva. He was living his dream, and as he liked to tell me, he'd metamorphosed into his very own Hoffman.

We tucked into a small pub, got our drinks, and caught up fast. I told him of my foray into the Dutch indie scene some months back, and even sang him a few lines of the new song I've been working on.

He drummed his fingers disapprovingly on the table. "Your passagio's a little wobbly. It affects your projection. You might want to sing in a lower key."

I took out a pen and scribbled something on a napkin, sighed, and began listlessly picking at our shared torte.

"I guess I'm a little rusty."

As if on cue, he whipped out a CD from his coat and handed it to me. "Vocalises. Knock yourself out with it for a week, and it'll be like the old times."

I wryly raised my mug in salute. "I missed you, A."

"No less for the most difficult woman I've ever met. Die frau ohne schatten."

I looked outside. Darkness was setting in, but the snowing had abated a bit. "When the streetlights come on, I'll stand under every one of them to prove you wrong. Why don't we take a little walk?"

"Looks like a fine night for it."

I smiled. "Just like old times."



Read the rest of this entry...

A feeble stew...

Most people like the idea of certainty; all that I claim to know about life is just a result of several conjectures I hope to be true in all cases.

Truth is just a personal approximation of universal wisdom - proof of it is immaterial, and it doesn't always set a person free.

The attempt to affect a profound tone on cynicism makes it all the more conspicuous and unattractive.

The more a person evolves, the more he finds ways to conform with everyone else.

Genius is the scourge of a sophisticated society, that's why it's only recognized posthumously.

A fine bottle of Stella Rosa 1917 is a stimulating companion to late-night musings. Makes you feel a bit randy too.




Read the rest of this entry...