In my reflection
I don’t look
that smart
Nochrisis
memories
Day 1229, I squint.
Day's pictures, Poetry
I hold
a glass
filled with tears
and
I squint
at
my memories
in soft
focus
and see
a lamp
fringes
at my grandma’s
dinner
table
my past
the source
Nochrisis
Day 1146, ornaments.
Haiku, Poetry
Ordinary objects
Ideas
once used
placed
forgotten
turn into ornaments
praised for
remembered
glory
Nochrisis
Day 1138, be revealed.
Day's pictures, Poetry
After many years
a forgotten inside
stored in darkness
will be revealed
as memory
Nochrisis
Day 1116, bleed out.
Day's pictures, Poetry
Patched
contained memories
trying
to bleed out
Nochrisis
Day 1112, vessels.
Day's pictures, Poetry
I think of
time
colorful memories
fluid
stored
in decaying vessels
for…
Nochrisis
Day 1110, concrete.
Day's pictures, Poetry
Walking through
a concrete world
where the sun never sets
and the shadow always follows
Nochrisis
Constructed memory.
My thoughts, Philosophy
Curacao, 1994
Why do I think we all build a structure, a narrative, that explains or bears our existence?
First of all, it’s a story I’ve been telling myself for many years, if I tell you about its origin, I guarantee you that it is…a structure. It probably started while reading a book, but I don’t know what book or where I read it.
We all been in situations where you are certain about a situation, certain facts you remember from the past. Till you meet someone that was with you at the time and recollects it totally different.
Day 1005, time.
Day's pictures, Poetry
Memories that are forgotten
at the end of a long way
down where you never stop
where sand dunes tell
and the sun sets time
Nochrisis
Day 994, till dust returns us.
Day's pictures, Poetry
Recurring memories.
Etchings within dark fissures.
Sourced from sudden pressure.
Caught.
Deep, unable to rise from.
Scarred till dust returns us.
Nochrisis
Day 993, mist.
Day's pictures, Poetry
A calm sea
the wake
gently
moves underneath me
But I, I stand still
remembering
the horizon
obscured
for now
in a colorful
mist
Nochrisis
Life.
Our mind, Philosophy
Friedrich Nietzsche, The gay science
Book one – 26
What is life? Life-that is: continually shedding something that wants to die. Life-that is: being cruel and inexorable against everything about us that is growing old and weak-and not only about us. Life-that is, then: being without reverence for those who are dying, who are wretched, who are ancient? Constantly being a murderer? -And yet old Moses said: “Thou shalt not kill.”
Life for us human beings starts somewhere around the time we start to remember.
Day 788, memories.
Day's pictures, Haiku, Poetry
A wave filled with you
your haunting image fading
to grey memories.
Day 705, Stuck?
Day's pictures, Poetry
On the right it is me, uncombed standing crooked.
Next my wife, good-looking, all dressed up, hair in a bun.
We say goodbye to our memories you see; some parts are blocking the sun.
The sun that gives us warmth is either setting or rising, is this morning or evening?
Are we going to wait, or getting higher or are we just so rooted like the trees you see here?
Day 682, Hunted at night.
Day's pictures, Poetry
Sometimes the night takes you.
On a hunt in clouded pasts.
Your eyes are turned inwards.
Tearing in time.
Assaulting your memory.
–
Your memory is a shadow.
We can’t see the cause.
We see only its replacement.
The self that we want.
–
What we want.
A past that serves.
A future that fits.
–
A future that in turn.
Will also be hunted.
–
Hunted at night.
In the beginning there was emptiness
Poetry
Nochrisis 