I hope that project developers don't dig poetry.

There is this field of mud and muck

where the dogs run free through 

through the mud and the muck, 

where dog owners wade in their Wellies 

through rain puddles

and the mud and the muck and if they are lucky

can on random days stand here and

catch some unhindered midday sun rays

where on a random moment one just might hear the cries of a 

doodlezak speler fill this open space

with the sound of the bagpipes bellwoing over the sounds of 

all the wooshing cars and trucks 

rushing between Heemstede and Haarlem Noord.

This is an empty space with no allegiance Albert Heijn, nor Dekamarkt, 

or Jumbo, or Lidl or Aldi or Hema here

or so far any signs that sometime soon 

some suit and tie or cashmere

sweater type will rip up this field

for yet another corporate casual cash money 

nieuwebouwwijk and wipeout one

of the last vestiges of raw space alongside

the Houtmanpad,

where one can just wander through

the mud and the muck and the puddles

and smile into the sun in the middle of all this 

simple and raw swampiness

here in Haarlemtown.

 

 I get up before the dawn and work at convincing myself that I can make the most of this day.

 

Roll over into a static field 

the energy between us in bed 

the morning alarm

the newswoman's voice as a bridge

from the dream world of the unconscious to the 

un•con•scion•a•ble world of waking up.

 

I roll into the blankets like a piece of sliced cucumber in a sushi roll,

the darkness oversalted soy sauce.

 

I don't remember my dreams from the night before.

But the conversation I had with myself when the alarm went off

in an attempt to convince myself to get up and out of bed this morning,

well that,

that was inspiring, 

enough.

 

At least to myself.

 

It is not me but your lazy eye

and your crazy uncle and

the way your mother constantly put hands on me everytime we visit,

the way the postman smiles at me through the window

when he walks by,

or how that woman with the pair of border collies

at the dog park just stares at me everytime my dog

gets in some sort of doggie threesome with hers.

It is not me it is you and the way you stand there

blowing the steam off of the top of your to-go espresso

with a to-go turks pizza in your North Face Parka front pocket,

that group of lycra spandex ladies doing bootcamp excercises 

as if they were aspiring Navy Seals going through Buds training 

in the Kennermerduin.

Like when the prime minister says that he is also "corona tired" and 

it causes me to yawn at two in the afternoon and I need a power nap just 

because I am also exhausted by this twist in existence and maybe it isn't

all on you and probably has more to do with me but the podcast philospher that I was

listening to this morning while boiling eggs for my family said that "the universe is

just a projection of what your past lifes are still processing"and that Antifa is to blame for

the introduction of the avondklok.

But then again you with your lazy eye and the way you look at me as i eat my pizza with 

a fork and a knife, well that expression on your face

just tells me that something ain't right.

It is an apparent contradiction but by now we have become accustomed

to the illusion of the us and the them.

The decision makers in dire need of direction and the debiel 

who can't decide any longer between 

what the truth is and how best to go about

grabbing the credit for 

uncovering all the conspiracies and the lies 

 

the lies they claim that grow like lovely little tulip bulbs

spurting finger like tentacles of treachery and deciet 

from underneath the murky muddy festering soil

under each and every parlimentary seat.

The decision makers and the debiel, distraught dance partners 

moonwalking through the dark days of this dead end disco,

moving together, twisted up in some sort of treacherous tango 

till the house lights go back on.

 

And the city council woman asks the question of all the artists invited to zoom in,

what does it mean to mean to culture when even cultural appropriation is caught in a cultural chokehold?

 

 

Noise cancelling headphones still can't keep the sound of Ipad homeschooling from invading mycreative process.

Poetry is born of small details full of 

electrons and protons that play demolition derby with

one another and seek out together explosions of reality

that make the poet aware of the oppurtunity that

all is illusion.

The juf is busy with klinkers and klanken, keeping the children focused

on the small screen before their tired eyes.

I wonder if that is tea or whiskey that the teacher keeps sipping 

inbetween sentences.

I wouldn't blame her if it was.

Poetry is born of small details,

like children and teachers seperated by screens

klinken and klanken

whiskey and tea

electrons and protons 

and the way the universe is playing with us

as if we were all beat up Oldsmobiles in a demolition derby,

headed head on into collisions of human 

creativity.

 Stuff, 

sends the moonlight quivering into dark corners

afraid to shed light upon all the dust.

Things

scattered through small rooms 

where the walls are scapegoated into hanging

grade school artwork as if a humble home

was the Cobra museum.

Cleaning up,

when guilt needs to compensate

 to quell a frustrated spouse

who grows tied of all the stuff

you have acquired, gained and bought up 

all which seemed essential yesterday

when there was more money 

to burn and places to 

in which to buy.

 dog breath

morning breath

who can blame a guy 

who can blame a gal

who can blame a dog

for bad breath at 

06.30 in the morning.

there is a sweetness to the oral stench though.

once familiar though it may make you faint

it is family.

 

  stepped out of the shower this morning with the thought of "don't lose your illusion."

Immediately called to mind the Guns & Roses album title "Use Your Illusion".

While drying off my thoughts, my mind quickly scanned the idea of free will versus everything already being determined. No new growths today.

And how we as people still feel the need to mark all the in and out roads of our mental and physical states of being with landmarks and unrelatable memory sticks.

Cruising through the countryside of existence without having packed some sort of emergency causality can be looked upon by some more "concerned" memebers of a society as a waste of gas.  Electric cars kill too, they just do it more quietly.

Butter and rum and precious minerals that make the batteries of our concerns churn on and on.

even in winter.

the dog has fleas.

and it is Monday, again.

 a double shot of oploss to get the gears chruning in the morning.

It should just say on the the back of everyones neck, just add water and stir.

To wake up the mind, to start up the body, water is the only way in the morning.

The addition of coffee grounds, be they freshly grinded or the powdered and processed kind,

either way I do not mind.  Caffeine causation. 

Full body functional and relatively free from dumb-asses.

Move

to motion to mindfulness to mind your own business to mine the murky waters for gemstones of gracious attitude in the mix.

Everyday- 

move forward - be it the page in a book you are reading - any empty page in a notebook filled halfway in - move forward towards your own self reflective reckoning.

Don't 

mind what others have to say about what you do or create but do pay attention to that which you say to yourself about yourself, about what you do and about what you create.  Your own self critique is deadlier than any Navy Seal sniper with his sights on the back of your scalp.

Judgement

of oneself is harsher than need be and even God doesn't have that sort of time to invest in such self-flagellation.  That is why it is always best to have some sort of self restraints, like duct tape or tie warpas on the hand for when you loose that control over yourself. 

Self

sabotage triage is not exactly how the subconscious imagines itself spending its time this coming spring.  

Stop 

at this line to say something steaming in graciousness to yourself.  Allow a bit of gratitude to get on the front of your shirt.  

Self 

reflection needs to be seen in a mirror clean and free from fog.  Cold shower consciousness will burn out the cobwebs and help prepare you for the wilderness of your day to come.

There

is nothing wrong with being serious about confirming to yourself about how you chose to commit to this cause, you alone are the cause of your effect.

 chaos

 everyone has got a little bit in their lifes while others seem like magnets to these forces of nature.

the poet is better off bearing witness to chaos then being the cause or effect of it.

It is the poets work to puzzle fragments of life into poetic form.

there are infinite circles of chaos spinning round and round and round, intersecting and creating more and more circles of chaos.  Like hullahoops of hope and despair thrust upon our hips.

today we are as yesterday in the midst of chaos, that of our own making and that which thrust upon us by outside forces.  

It is how we move through these circles that allows us to lay claim to being one or the other

the cause or the effect

or the witness to.

There is something stuck in the filter in the fish tank causing it to make a continious rattling sound and i can't be bothered to get up off the couch and see what is the cause of it.  

Days, filled with routine to keep busy, sentences running on and on and on like days built around propped up routine to make it feel like I am keeping busy.

I begin my day hard boiled and usually end it in a rather gelatine mode upon the sofa. Inbetween hours of the day left to walking the dog in search of neighborhood wonder, of power naps instead of social media passivity. Of reading one page in five different books before falling asleep because my focus is free willed.

Youtube motivation, self modification, reminding myself to breath in and the perils of thinking that I could hold myself in a plank position till this lockdown is over.  At least then I will some fine abs to show off this summer.  I guess being somewhat fit and frustrated is better than being overweight and frought.

This winter is exactly what we were warned it would be. 

And I am exactly were I need to be, doing what I can.

 common sense get together get us through the day.

i ask the question but don't listen or wait long enough for the answer.

I don't appreciate this aspect of myself.  It is not fair to my friends or loved ones 

who do listen to my own ramblings about my own self concern.

But I guess my friends and family know this about me by now 

and for some reason remain my friends (family is relatively stuck with me).

I tell myself over and over to just listen and acknowledge without attempting

to give advice.  I understand the universe as much as the next pseudo-intellectial does

and regurgitating information gathered by countlesss podcasts and youtube videos does 

not make one a guru, though maybe I can get a job as a High School guidance counselor.  

My family has said that I have a gift for working with kids, that I should have become a teacher.

My own teenager wants little to do with me but I figure that is normal in most households.

Other young people I have known did appreciate what I do or have had to say to them when they asked.

Funny thing about advice.  Giving it is easy, listening to that same advice myself

for one reason or another is difficult.

 

The holiday vacation is over.  Today we go back to the sort for normal that we are all becoming accustomed to.  Stay the course.  Mind, body, soul.  Three aspects to focus on so I can be prepared to handle the rest.  Family, work, friends.  Creativity, learning, awareness.

The list goes on as it circles back in upon itself.  One thing ties itself to the other.  Progress needs to be made.  The laundries need to be done.  Eggs in the pan. Boiled somewhere bewteen soft and sensible.

 Ok, so maybe this combination of lockdown and christmas vacation is getting to me.  All of us home all the time together has got me out of my routine and I seem to have a hard time with this.  In all honesty I am fortunate to have what I have, the family, the home and friends.  How I occupy my time.  But I seem to miss the feeling of excitement, enthusiasm, etc...

I can imagine that at this time in history I am not alone in this feeling.  But like I said above it important to be relative to what is going on in the world with other people.  

So I look to focus on simplicity in the things I involve myself in and the motivation to do what is necessary.  To accept the shared space and be grateful for it.  

Let's leave at that for now.

Why the 2nd of January is the day that I re-evaluate the intelligence of the average Dutchman.

 I am unsure if this whole picking garbage up off the street is a good thing for me.

Selfish right...all about me me me...but the more I walk the neighborhood picking up garbage the more annoyed I find myself with people in general.  I mean the act of picking up garbage of the streets make me feel good about myself while at the same time less about humanity.  

Oh and don't get me started on all the fecal matter on the streets.  I mean what is the point of owning a house worth now half a million in a neighborhood where people can't clean up after the animals.

And yes on the 2nd of January, while picking up all the leftover garbage of cheap thrill fireworks I begin to all also wonder about the intelligence level of the average Dutch person...excuse me...person living in the Netherlands be they Dutch, Polish, Italian, African, American, British, whatever.  

And those young teenagers lighting dead Christmas trees pieces on fire outside the Badhuis, you boys got me thinking of the future.  Of all those adults who make grand statements like, "we have to leave the world a little bit better for the next generation," or "the children are the future." Well, I can't imagine that these wiseass kids are any different than the generations before or that the generations in the future will be any different than they are either.  

Sex Pistols had it right...No Future...and why should there be when we can't even seem to respect our present.

See ya in the buurt, on the streets.

How to restart an old engine or get back into a given up routine.

set the alarm

go to bed on time

resist the urge to snooze

control the arm that reaches out to swipe away the sound

get up 

and go.

 

Didn't work out that way today.  Re-adjustments into tomorrow.

I set myself to task while the voices inside and out say, Monday - we shall start again on Monday.

Which makes no sense to me as I have never been a M/F 9/5 type of guy.  I always worked on the weekends when there was work to be had and done.

Today became 08.15 instead of 07.15 

I am up and at it, so there it is and that, at least.  

The use of small words to shake up the status quo.

 

 

 

A new year, a new page.  

How many people have written something similiar in their morning pages today

while brushing aside the cobwebs of a NYE alcohol and drug induced slumber 

to awake to the grand proclomation of this year I am going to do better.

Sure.  Aren't we all.  Well all of us except you of course.  You will stay the course.

But coffee first.  

Resolutions re-solutions. Yesterday was Thursday, today is Friday.  And so on.

For many the question of does the weekend exist while in quarantine is still paramount

but is already start to show a bit of age around the edges of this existential crisis.

I say yes and no.

Stay the course.

A healthy balance between nutrion and nuteloos 

will get you through the day.