The sand nestled itself between my little toes. I had never been to the beach with my mother before. Usually when I visited her we would go to the park or just cycle around the city, with me on the little seat at the front of her bike, my eyes navigating our way. This time […]
The ground underneath the feet of the quiffed reporter and his talking dog is heating up so much that the asphalt is melting. At the same time, a mysterious star appears in the evening sky, next to the big dipper. The curious reporter decides to call the star watch. It is Friday late afternoon. The […]
Maybe the man with the hat is my real father. Hiding behind his newspaper four seats away in the train. I spoke with him over the phone a couple of weeks ago, but all I had was this tiny photograph of him. His face was pushed half out of the picture frame by me, a […]
I enter the hospital room and there he is, sitting up straight in his bed with his bald head hanging low into his hands. Even though I can’t see his face, his thin long fingers reveal his bones. He doesn’t seem to notice me. Outside the room on the hallway are my mother and his […]
In mei 2011 kwam de Nederlandse journalist en schrijver Joris Luyendijk in Engeland wonen. Afgelopen zomer is hij teruggekeerd naar Nederland en schreef over zijn tijd in Groot-Brittannië een afscheidsbrief in Vrij Nederland. Hij blikt terug op zijn bijna 6 jaar aldaar en kijkt daarbij onder andere naar de verschillen en overeenkomsten tussen Engeland en […]
The road to perfection… is paved with badly written stories and rotten proof prints. However a dice has been cast. Recently I received my 178-pages little (draft) book full of short stories, diary entries & other musings, complete with illustrations and photos.
Ik loop de ziekenhuiskamer binnen en daar zit hij, rechtop in bed, met z’n kale hoofd laaghangend tussen z’n handen. Z’n gezicht kan ik niet goed zien, wel z’n botten tussen z’n lange dunne vingers door. Hij lijkt mij niet te zien. Buiten op de gang zitten mijn moeder en stiefmoeder de wacht te houden. […]
Het zand nestte zich tussen mijn tenen. Ik was nog nooit naar het strand met m’n moeder geweest. Normaal gesproken als ik haar bezocht gingen we naar het park of fietsten we wat door de stad, met mij voorop haar fiets, met mijn ogen als navigator. Deze keer daarentegen nam ze me mee voor een […]
It was already over with my girlfriend when I went to see Prince live in concert in 1992 in Rotterdam. Not that she knew it already, I hadn’t told her yet. This coincided with the looming termination of my physics study at uni and leaving the student house I was living in.
An exercise in expression Cue ⇒ Introduction mode What are the modes one can resort to when faced with the challenges of life? Here is a possible scenario: Cue ⇒ Artistic / Literary mode “Art is whether or not there is a scream in him wanting to get out in a special way.” ― […]
A poem demonstrating the irregularity of English spelling and pronunciation. Written by Dutch writer, traveller, and teacher Gerard Nolst Trenité (1870–1946), it includes about 800 examples of irregular spelling. Gerard Nolst Trenité – The Chaos (1922) Dearest creature in creation Studying English pronunciation, I will teach you in my verse Sounds like corpse, corps, […]
There is no word in the Dutch language for ‘anxiety’. There are words that come close, like ‘worried’, ‘concerned’, ‘fearful’ or ‘scared’, but none of them come close to the dreadful experience of actual, real anxiety. Does that mean that Dutch people know no anxiety? Or is there maybe something in the English language itself […]