In my subconscious, I have to carry piles of archives. One day is a drop in the ocean, no exaggeration. It seems to me to be made up of chaotic layers.
Of knowledge and feelings, let us say all the ups and downs, innumerable experiences are interwoven in body and mind up to the moment of the present and I seem to be already far into my time, I dare not say how far, but I can already say that my image is slowly decaying or quasi immortalised after the still unknown last moment.
I admit that I don't need to write a memoir, it would be a sum of virtues that would remain with a smile. There are blind spots, too. But people are used to denying them.
Of course they will surface somewhere.
Besides, not long after my deepest sigh, all of the present will disappear from me and everyone else, or be absorbed into a rumour, individual or otherwise, or a commonplace, perhaps with a watered-down photograph.
The thing is, having come this far, at least in years, and this is called modesty, I seem to be part of something I cannot know, so big and wide, but I do not feel like denying myself.
Yet I do not have a complete picture of myself. Nor have I ever really known myself.
I am passing from something to an indeterminate nothingness, from being to oblivion. And where no one takes precedence or stands out from the other.
It is in a fit of complete contentment that I make this observation.
The earthly is often addicted to power and honour.
Or surviving to oppress
Surely I too have known much happiness and pain
and therefore now know of my relative insignificance.
I am what I am. So become and indulge or wean myself between coming and going.
in the moment when I am seen or when I am with you.
I console myself when I am called upon to remember (when I do not yet feel tomorrow's day, let alone the fact that in my
you and I and I come and go.
I weave my way through my existence and hope for a happiness that forces or sings with the letting go that is inherent in my existence.
And so I walk, like everyone who is surrounded by life, towards the great circle.
On the way I sometimes experience a peace within myself, created from dying and happiness.
Yes, this is how I gradually experience the time given to me. And I taste something of eternity, for which I stoop thoughtlessly and humbly on fragments of inner peace.
I bought a pair of glasses, tinted black, so to speak, from the optician's range, where you can find a thousand and one different types. Before a knowledgeable lady offered her services or announced a temporary promotion or advertisement,
I already had the two nose rings in my hand. The lady was quick to say, "Yes, your choice is very much in fashion.
My thinking had matured over the years. It was a contemporary look in black and white; Letters on white paper, my organ keys and not forgetting my own experiences; Even the country's government knows how
A vision in which I do not dig deep. It is either good or bad, perhaps straightforward, but simple. and supposed to be civil Years of study preceded it. Every day I flick through my favourite newspapers, like the Daily Mail.
Ik ben , en gebruik soms ook wel de schuilnaam Julius V.E. Dreyfsandt zu Schlamm.
Ik ben een man en woon in Nijnsel (Nederland) en mijn beroep is proza dichter/poet.
Ik ben geboren op 14/07/1948 en ben nu dus 76 jaar jong.
Mijn hobby's zijn: Mijn hobby's zijn: music improvisations organ and other instruments. julius.dreyfsandt.zu.schlamm@gmail.com.
Ik ben , en gebruik soms ook wel de schuilnaam Julius V.E. Dreyfsandt zu Schlamm.