novemberist impressions by Aad de Gids

one moment the azure of the morning in the air as water

indiscernible what what,while during the day into evening

an indigo threatening and the storm already had been,sun

late,reflected in the glass of a higher building an,apex


of a weekend abundantly and slanted throdden,sudden silence

aftera series of explosions and the metallic sound of a gun

in the hands of emptyheaded zealots,le Bataclan a stage

for sudden existentialism to the hilt the world again,up


loaded with the newest hardware. we live in a continuous

state of post-this,post-that nothing past,an eternal begin

the sound of storm still,forms a guide how to move on in

these torrential times,subsequent tides rolling,roaring


calm candle inHouse without thoughts pillar,nevertheless

lands all events to further domains,unforgotten but veiled

seemingly,ready to be outspun in identities,persons,grief

direct loosened from locales and venues,flying to higher


a heavily mixology of “summertime” universalizes the last

occurrences in a domain of lostness,destitution another

layer of the illusionless world is laid bare,inerasable

the almost filmic sounds of real artillery scented death

One thought on “novemberist impressions by Aad de Gids

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