kaermo-blog

[kaermo-blog]

The Wild Hunt

Clouds moved and the sun dimmed. Darkness enchroaged on the man blessing his own drink. He didn't notice. Neither did those around him. This was not the place to mind other people's business, or your own for that matter. Alcohol made sure of that. After the man said his last Hail Mary he put it away in seconds before ordering another. This was not his day. In fact, most of his life it hadn't been his day. Some parts had been his day, some had almost been his day, but for most it, his day it had not been. His eyes were dreary and absent, signs of a troubled mind. The cross around his neck seemed to weigh more than when he had put it on this morning. This was, of course, not the case, but it speaks to his piety nontheless. Unfortunately for Armadillo, he was not pious enough.

'Whiskey, neat.'

'Go home, Bernard'

A glare was exchanged.

'I got dough.'

'Good for you, now get lost.'

'Please...'

His voice was soft and cracked at the end. The plea did not fall on deaf ears as moments later a neat whiskey stood on the bar. An extra big tip disappeared in the bartender's back pocket. The clock's hand moved with five, the drink remained untouched. The man stared at it like a void that wouldn't even stare back. Desperation was in his eyes, pleading for it stare back. Eventually he said his prayers and blessed the whiskey. He didn't know why, but it felt right considering. Another five passed before he took a sip, the burning sensation giving him some sense of life. No, not life. He hated life. Passion. That was what it felt like. Something that he lacked, amongst other things. His pocket watch did not remain unchecked for a minute as he sat at the bar. time's arrow marched on and Bernard did not regret his actions, only that he had to live with the consequencesof them. Three drinks later, he finally moved, retreating from the bar to find the familiarity of music. he played a few keys before starting an upbeat tune. It didn't drown his thoughts, but at least it gave him something focus one in what would come. bBehind him people were talking about highwaymen, but he paid them no mind. With a certain love he couldn't find in other things, he stroked the keys. The piano had his utmost attention. he didn't slow down as five pair of boots walked in, though he knew what they meant. A hand was raised to ask the barman for another drink, but, in light of the time, dismissed the thought and went back to playing. Nobody had seen it. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to disappear into the bridge. for a moment there was even a smile on his dry lips. They opened again as the song ended. He sighed and went to get another drink. This was not his day. Stepping behind the bar, he wiped the blood out of a glass and poured himself a whiskey. Another big tip disappeared into the back pocket of the bartender's dismembered legs.

[kaermo-blog]

Wendygo

                                                 15.12.1814

They’re mad ! Ha, mad I tell you ! Oh, how far the extent of their madness reaches I cannot even fathom, because they are, as I’ve stated before, quite mad ! These mad Canadians ! With all their silly customs and royal courts. Pshaaa I say to them and you Canadians, for today you’ve shown me the essence of madness itself with a single military act. Their general must be a special breed of arrogant and narcissistic if he ever dreamed of succeeding in these of his wild escapades. To try and take Fort Laurendale in the dead of winter. It is like marching onto the Russian hills while the Siberian blizzard is avast: simply and everlastingly  impossible ! Our walls of booming stone stand tall and strong ! Our artillery armed and waiting ! And our drawbridge raised like the savior himself was raised to the heavens ! I do not fear their attack. Nay ! I urge them to strike, I damn near implore them, for they will find that no force in this plane or the next, not even the almighty God himself, can take Laurendale in the dead of solemn winter ! I may have only been in the federal army for a few years, but even I can tell you that. It’s prowess in defense is simply legendary, this border fortress of old. It’s history is rich and filled with the crimson tides of enemy blood.

Long ago, over two hundred years I should think, this yonder balustrade I am standing on was nothing more than a lonely rock of shelter in the cold and unforgiving environment. It was here that the Puritans set up  their first camp in the north and in doing so started Laurendale. Years passed and as trade grew, so did the need for security. Merchants became hesitant to walk these roads, tired of the lack of shelter and ruffians that plagued the wall. Thus an ingenuitive commander by the name of Henry Laurendale lead an endeavor to build a titan amongst defense, a bulwark that would hold off even the most tenacious of scoundrels. I believe it to be self-evident that he succeeded. The titan was built and christened with the name of Laurendale after it’s late founder, who had, at that point, died in an assassination attempt intended for his twin brother. This grievous tragedy was, however, overshadowed by the heroic tales this fort spun trough it’s steadfast defense of our great nation. At first, there were only highwaymen and Algonquian-savages, who, like waves upon the coast, crashed and flailed against the fort’s awful walls. Only in war did Laurendale rise to its full potential, thriving on battle as if it were a New York arms dealer or an ancient roman deity. In war, Laurendale bloomed. First came the Prussians, and despite my previous claims about blooming, these low-life drunks did not even pose a challenge. Then came the French, with beautiful iron-coated ships and a cornucopia of flintlock rifles, but they too fell. In a battle led by General Washington himself, they died by the dozen. A cry for independence and on came the loyalists, with treacherous tactics and a surplus of men. Cutting of the roads, they tried to starve Laurendale, but in a cruel twist of irony, it was they who starved, commanders waving the white flag by the time half of their fella’s lay dead in the snow. And now, here are the Canadians. These underdeveloped and uncivilized brutes who spend all day fishing and all night laying a moose. These sniveling idiots couldn’t even conquer an empty lake, and yet they have the audacity to lay siege on mighty Laurendale ?! The gall ! The absolute gall ! These Canadians are even more foolish than I thought, for Laurendale would never fall. They may try and try for eons, but this fort shall stand and with it, me.

 I can already feel you starting to question me and my beautiful fort, your inquisitions searing into my mind like burning flesh. Throw these doubts and hesitations from the premises of your mind I say to you and may God almighty himself send his archangels to strike you down if you fail in this. Laurendale, my dear (and ignorant) reader, Laurendale stands eternal. A fact I foresee I can prove to you soon, for here they come. Down the lonely, winding road up to my gate walk the sons of the north. The inbred hooligans who would have me surrender and fail in my duty to the American Contininental Navy. Fools! Even if our roles were in the reserve and I was facing a certain defeat at the bulwark of this fort, I would never surrender. A dishonorable act it  is, to surrender whilst still able and fit to fight. He who does so may be caged in purgatory for their sins! And yet! And yet, these Canadians ask me to. They beg me to, as I stand here on my walls. Such audacity! I believed it to be simply impossible, until the Canadians proved me wrong. I suppose you’d have to be as audacious and thick as these Canadians to lay such a foolish and barren assault. As I see them drawing closer and closer, becoming evermore the figures of men instead of the ants I witnessed on the horizon, my hope grows strong they will finally honor me with a good battle. That would be a surprise, but a welcome one !

Oh, how I still ache from the offense these kettlepots gave me when they first begun their ‘assault’, if you can find it in your heart to call it such. The dead of night, not a star in the sky. The damp air around my fire crackling as I sat in the courtyard. Just barely had I finished cleaning the remains of Buckley and Haywood, when I heard it. The soft droning of soldier marching through the snow. How lucky I am that my ears haven’t betrayed me with age yet for these devious Canadians surely would have had attacked me unawares otherwise. Straightening my uniform and holding my torch high, I stepped onto the barricade and subsequently, into their view.

Note, dear reader, that while I was in clear view to them, these people were still shrouded in complete darkness, the only indication of their existence being the vague blurs with sniveling sounds of a fresh cold acompyaning them. All I could tell was that they were around a dozen, that they were soldiers, and that they were close.

“Who goes there ?” I said with a  steady voice, surprised at my own indication of authority. Never before had I spoken in a fashion like this, having only become the commanding officer of this fort two days back when I had to bury Captain Banning. It’s a shame he had to go so soon. A smart man he was, young too! Had he not been here, that Banning could’ve still lived a full life. Yet, it was not meant to be. Such is God’s way.

It was quite a few painfully silent moments before I heard an answer. At this point I was uneasy, but there was no suspicion in my mind, for there were no facts to be suspicious of. This is of course a flawed reasoning, for if I was truly determined to protect this bulwark my state of existence itself should have been suspicion.

“Hear hear, soldier,” He cried. “Find your Captain and rejoice, for we are here to relieve you of your duties. Let us in so we may do the honours and so that my men can find their well earned rest. Captain Henry Witherfield is here as your saviour.”

I regret to mention fear of deceit still was yet to enter my mind.

“The Captain is dead, sir.” I said, a thinge of melancholy in my voice.

“What ?”

“He’s dead, Captain Banning. The Lord took him from us.”

“Then who’s in charge, good man ? Tell me, so that they can let us in and give us shelter from the cold. We Americans were not made for this weather.”

“You speak truth, sir. As do I when I lay my claim as commanding officer of this station.”

“Then hurry up and tell your men to open this gate already! Surely you can appreciate the weariness we experience every second longer we stand before a closed gate.”

I should have realized.

The way that man was pushing to get inside.

The he way he tried to manipulate me.

Damn Canadians!

“I have no men anymore, sir.”

“You’ve got no what ?!”

“No men, sir!”

“What do you mean by that, son ? Where did they go ?”

“Six feet under, sir!”

“Damn! All the more reason to let us inside, lad.”

“I will, sir. Hold on.”

“For the King’s sake, hurry up!”

That’s when it finally hit me. God, I know it should have been sooner. My vigilance was wavering. I can only thank the Lord he revealed my enemies to me before it was too late. How stupid these inbreds must think me for merely trying to fool me and how right they almost were. I was this close to letting them in, to giving up a valuable asset in this war. The shame that would’ve reigned down upon me would be enough to last for a hundred generations. Thank you Lord for showing me the way.

Needless to say, I did not open the gate as my ‘superior’ requested. Instead, I headed to the artillery, and gave them a slaughtering Captain Banning would have been proud of. Unfortunately, this fort is old, and so are its weapons, allowing my accuracy to waver as well. The count I did come the adjourning morning showed that only seven persished, all of them flying American colours, like the cowards and cheats they are.

This misfire leads me back to the present day, my rage again boiling inside me as I see those Canadians approaching. How dare they wear the uniform my forefather’s died to protect ?! Truly, Nordlings are dishonorable, king-loving folk and I would want nothing more than to devour the beating heart of those that now approach me.

Traitors and cheats, these are the men that plague society. As I sit here in the blistering cold I think of the damage such men could cause. They are a detriment that must be eliminated at all costs! This is why we fought against the cowardly Loyalists and why we will fight the Canadians now! Bah, I know that I am wrong as I say this. There are fair Brithishmen and honest Canooks just as there are lying men from Maine and cheating fella’s from Massachuscets. Know your enemy, that’s what my father always said. It got him through the revolution in one piece and through much more, only because he knew whom to point his gun at. Such is a luxury, one that I lost days ago. Do not bother to urge me for details, dear readers, for I do not wish to dwell. All that needs to be said is that Buckley and Haywood died by no accident or cold weather, but by the hand of a mortal man. My hand.

If only the Captain had survived.

I am rescued from my dwellings as the Canooks once again approach the gates. Damn them and their treacherous ways to the pits of hell. Even now, as I have seen through their lies and their disguises, they continue to make a show of it. They mock me with their formations and uniforms, challenge my honor with their very presence.

“What seek you here, Nordlings, for there is nothing I can give! Never will I give up Laurendale and never will you take it! Leave now or I shall curse the soil with your crimson blood, just like I did with your foolish preddeccors! Even the Indians with their idiot spells and warnings made a better show of force than you king-fuckers!”

As I peek my head from behind the balustrade I get my first real glance at their commander in this affair. A stout man. Standing arrogant with his chest puffed up and his moustache perfectly twirled. What I saw was the face of a deceiver and it is a face I won’t soon forget. If I do not get them, then the frost will. Banning can attest to that.

“What madness is this?! What damned madness?! Do you not see our clothes or hear the tongue we speak in? I am as American as President Maddison and my father before me! Only a fool would question this!”

Again, I take a peek, but for a count this time. The Canooks are thirty strong with two cannons at their sides, cannons that could give my walls a battering they might not recover from. I am this fort’s solitary defense, its last hope and now even I waver. Doubt strikes true and fast like a speeding bullet. How can one stand against many and live? How can I, who has only served in this corps for a mere three years, hope to annihilate thirty hard-worn Canadian veterans? God has given me an impossible quest and I am not sure I can do him justice. If only Banning had been here…

Damn this freezing weather and these treacherous roads for there are what dedicated young James Banning to his doom. To die of scurvy is not a way for anyone to go, but least of all a soldier. He should’ve stood and died by my side against these Canooks, but instead his frosted corpse lies buried in the courtyard. A salute to you, dear brother-in-arms. I did not know you well, but well enough to know the fibre of your character was strong and fit for duty. May you find rest in God’s kingdom and your kin revenge upon those who deemed their lives higher than yours.

Buckley and Haywood. They were the first and the most treacherous. Decietful men devoid of honor, who’d spend their last moments denying everything instead of confessing in the eyes of the Lord. I don’t regret shooting them, only that I didn’t do so sooner. To raid our supplies whilst on watch is one thing, but to deplete them completely and claim some beast had done it a whole other. To condemn us all with a furry lie! How far must men fall before shame hits them?! Buckley, with his crooked nose and wild eyebrows. Haywood, with his unrelenting wit and general cowardice. These are not men, but daemons. Needless to say, they were not granted proper rites; instead, a traitor’s death was given to both, their bodies thrown from the northern walls. Within a day their carcasses had been torn open and feasted upon. The sihgt gave me unsourmountable pleasure.

What came afterwards was a dark time I’d rather not speak of, but for the sake of proper documentation, will nonetheless.

In the beginning we were sixty strong. All young and fresh men with only few notches on their belt. Full of idealism and a vigourous sense of patriotism.

Four weeks later we were only fifteen, the Captain still among us at this point. All were weak and broken, our spirits shrinking along with our stomachs. We knew nothing could save us at this point, that we were meant for the wolves. The drive that kept us going was Banning and even he was fading fast. Before, his eyes were fire and justice and all that was good in this world; now they were that of a slave, a man who felt chained to his mortal coil. We spent the days by burying our comrades and lifting each other’s spirits afterwards. It didn’t help, but to keep the mind distracted was to keep the hunger distracted. James Mayfield Banning died the next day. Along with him went nine other men. This was a though day. It was the day we knew we were beaten by our damning circumstances. Our Captain was gone and so was our drive to live. We went to sleep early that day, knowing it would be our last.

My comrades were right, I was not. I awoke invigorated and with the iron taste of blood in my mouth. My surprise knew no bounds as I got up, realizing that I was not only alive, the hunger was gone too. Enthiousiastically I went to wake my fellow men, only to find out they did not share my fortune. In fact, Lady Luck deserted them even more than most. Mumford, Richardson, Wyatt, and Ferguson. These were the last few men who up until the last night had endured along with me. Now, they lie dead, not of their own hunger, but that of a beast. The snowy ground was covered in blood and organs. Before me was a sight that would make any man’s constitution falter. These men did not die a peaceful death as they intended, but they were slaughtered in wild ravings. Scratches all along their bodies, bite marks on the limbs, chunks of flesh missing. Something had feasted on them as if they were harmless hares, all of their chests ripped open and their hearts removed.  No more will I speak of this gruesome scene, except that I cleaned up their bodies in the proper way and thanked the Lord for his protection last night.

This was two years ago.

Two solitary years.

Since then I have not slept or consumed any food and yet I feel fine. To be quite ardant, I feel more than fine. My constitution has never been better and any explanation is beyond my means. All I can think is that God intented for me to survive and up until now I did not know wherefore. Now, however, now it is clear.  I already feel the rage boiling inside me, the consuming desire to slaughter these idiot Canadians, to tear them limb from limb, to pull out their hearts and eat it in front of their dying eyes! The Lord has shown me my duty and I will fullfil it to the best of my ability. Such is all I can do. Such is all I will do.

The question as to why never dares enter my mind for I know its answer all too well. I, dear reader, am sinner who must repent. A sheep who strayed from his shepherd’s way and is now  paying a wolf’s price for it. I scarcely dare speak of it, but my sin is grave and an act of unworthy of men. It is blashepmey, that I, who once consumed another men’s flesh talk of duty, honor, and God’s way. I know I must to keep the fire of my patriotism burning in this dark hour, but indoing so only damns me more. I pray that this is God’s way to make me repent and that all sin will be washed clean off when it is done, for otherwise I don’t know how I will ever be saved from my own wickedness. How foolish and weak I was to lie with Buckley. My desire has doomed us all and now I pay the price.

Thank you, my lord who art in heaven, for giving me this opportunity to do right by my duty and my country. I will smite my enemies off the face of your earth as if I were an angel in your divine service and will perform the task thrust upon me by you and the United States of America.

                                                16-12-1814

                                     They are dead, I endure.

[kaermo-blog]

a soft friday night

It was a soft friday night, a crescent moon shining amidst the clouds as a person not unlike yourself was sitting in their room. Leaves rustled outside the open window and candles flickered as a strong wind breezed. The person, a girl in this instance, did not seem to mind.  For the past forty-nine minutes and seventeen seconds she had been sitting on her bed in suspense, her eyes locked on the glowing screen in front of her. This, my dear, was the result of love. Across the room her candles blazed, scarcely lighting up a desk scattered with poems and other bearings of the soul. Due to the private nature of these I wouldn’t dare hurt her by reciting any one of them, but suffice it to say they were intensely related to her current infatuation. Some talked about longing, others about fear, and all conveyed just how alone this girl felt. More on that heartbreaking fact later. With alcohol on her breath and black strands of hair concealing most of her face she sat there, trying not to drown in emotion. Fifty one minutes and thirty seconds had passed since he first read it. As her playlist was reaching its final set of songs her last bit of hope was fading as well. Insecurity is a tricky thing. She dreaded his answer, but craved it too. Laying back, her head resting on a pillow, she tried not to focus on him too much, paradoxically both disassociating from and keenly aware of the passage of time. Mine is a kinder fate than hers for at least I know what will come next. Looking at the unturned guitar gathering dust in the corner of her room she could only think about all the ways she related to this lifeless piece of words. What this girl was chasing, just like all of us, was to make a deeper connection with someone, to be understood. This was the type of loneliness that haunted her in the wake of her dreams. Superficial friendships and obligatory families are for a human beings often not enough.  I know for I feel the same. With a surprising certainty she brought the half-empty bottle of whiskey to her lips once more, the purple lipstick stain becoming more obvious with each swig. Turning up her music to drown out the shouting from downstairs she checked her messages again, her bleeding heart clenching with anxiety as the typing icon popped up for just a second before disappearing into the void just like the last few times. This was hell, the teary-eyed girl concluded while the burn in her throat settled down. Whatever confidence she had gained from the alcohol or the bliss of looking good was slowly but decidedly trickling away. It showed in just how careful she was not to ruin her perfect make-up while she gently wiped away a few lost tears. How did she ever get this lost herself, her mind wondered while her heart neglected to answer.

Sixty-seven minutes and still waiting; Sitting on her bed while a sad beat played and tugged on her strings. A sight ripped straight from a teenage romance movie. My heart broke already broke at the beginning but hers continues as it fervently hoped he wasn’t like the others, that she wouldn’t have to glue it together again come morning. Loneliness grips this girl, my dear, and I’m sorry to say it won’t leave her alone for quite some more time. Just after the clock strikes three she feels a buzzing noise in her hand. With halted breathed she looks at it before turning over and going to sleep, hoping she won’t meet his eyes in the hallway tomorrow.

[kaermo-blog]

de volgende ochtend

soms wil ik gwn mn laarzen aantrekken en een trein pakken waarvan ik niet weet waar die heen gaat dat is de grootste fantasie die nu mn gedachten domineert die, en hoe graag ik weer gwn in de shamrock zat met pam leven lijkt zo simpeler als je een biertje zit te drinken met een vriend

maar dan is het de volgende ochtend en het enigste waar je na uitkijkt die dag is dat je dan weer hetzelfde kan doen de borrel is wel grappig en je vindt het soort van leuk maar je weet dat je je te vervreemd voelt van deze mensen om veel plezier te hebben dus je gaat er maar in mee en je tikt er wat af en dan zit je weer alleen in een kroeg met je maatje en voelt het weer even okay en dat is fijn en veilig en alles waar je ff behoefte naar had je knuffelt nog als je bij haar deur uitkomt en praat wat na, want je weet allebei dat het nog een week duurt voor je elkaar ziet

en dan is het de volgende ochtend en heb je helemaal niks om naar uit te kijken die dag je belt je moeder en zegt dat je wat eerder naar huis komt maar dan realiseer je je dat je geen zin hebt in je ouders op dat moment plus, je moet echt eens leren op jezelf te wonen dus dan bel je je moeder een tweede keer om te zeggen dat je toch niet komt

en dan is het avond en in plaats van een borrel heb je een paniekaanval en je probeert het weg te denken en te verdrinken met veel te harde muziek en ademsoefeningen en het gaat voorbij maar je hoofd voelt dan anders zwaarder alsof dit een reminder was voor hoe echt je emoties daadwerkelijk zijn en je krijgt die fantasie weer en je kan er niet tegenop dus je trekt je laarzen aan stapt op je fiets en begint met rijden

en dan sta je buiten de shop te twijfelen of je wel naar binnen wilt en je realiseert dat de enigste reden dat je nu geen drugs aan het doen bent is omdat je geen aansteker hebt en dan fiets je maar door en eet je een burger buiten de febo want je hebt toch niks beters te doen

en dan is het de volgende ochtend en de dag gaat net iets te snel voorbij en dan is het vier uur s'nachts en lig je in bed met een leeg whiskeyglas ernaast en denk je over hoe eenzaam je bent en hoe kwetsbaar de relaties zijn die je wel hebt en weet je niet hoe je de week gaat doorkomen of de maand

[kaermo-blog]

Bershka

de trein sjwoest door de donkere nacht/ de focus op het leveren van een vracht/ binnen haar ligt enorme pracht/ waar iedereen eindeloos naar smacht/

het object van hun verlangen beweegt met hoge snelheid/ bewakers om de deuren treden met beleid/ achter stalen deuren en vallen vol leid/ ligt het daar te wachten terwijl de trein zo rijdt/

talloze dieven hebben geprobeerd het te stelen/ sommigen zelfs door het naar hunzelf te mailen/ dat werkte niet, tot de spijt van velen/ want deze schat is onwinbaar en niet te verdelen/

de natuur van dit mysterij is erg goed bewaakt/ niemand mag het weten, indien het hun gek maakt/ wat er in deze trein ligt, zo kwetsbaar en naakt/ de grootste schat van allen, aardappel/

[kaermo-blog]

Blackbird

I eagerly await, Those things that cannot be. My feelings deep inside, Stirring like a sea.

I know that it is hopeless, And that I should let go. My love’s a lost cause, And another a tale of woo.

I’m a selfish, egotistical mess, A mind with problems in excess. My feelings, not fair to you, No matter how they may be true.

Yet here I sit in my room, Foolish thoughts running through my head. Dear God, let me stop loving, I scream as I fall down on my bed.

Silence is all I hear, As I slowly close my eyes. Thinking the painful truth, That love never truly dies.

[kaermo-blog]

Deltron 3030

things you can do/ some can't be done/ who do i love/ when love can't be sung/ things you can say/ say them you must/ you leave my heart/ in fragmented dust/ things we can do/ though we should we not/ please leave me here forever to rot/ things I can do/ all can be done/ cowardice strikes, anxiety's fun/ 7 am/ I am undone/ who am i now/ but doubt's own son/

[kaermo-blog]

Railroad

emotion rings, i don't answer/ it's complicated/ shield yo heart, like a panzer/ mistakes, i'm making/ don't know her sign, could be cancer/ real unrelated/ step around it, like a dancer/ i'm isolated/

staring contest with a void that doesn't even look back/ glaring compass of depression, mo the human wreck/ in the context of repression, my feelings aint got a sec/ conquest of self reflection  damn these thoughts are whack/ my mask portrays a crack as i talk about this emotion/ dashing forward through my haze with the power, locomotion/ the railroads stretch out, but the goals is pure devotion/

[kaermo-blog]

P.O. 09-07-2018

my soul blackens when i think about you/ vision turns red, and you don't have a clue/ missing you turns sour and anger consumes/ don't even want your friendship when toxicity looms/

calm, cool, and collected, that's who i am/ psalms of peace dominate my entire RAM/ hyperboles aside, still keep it 300/ buddy, we tight, but i kinda want you dead/

i exaggerate, just want you to learn/ but don't let me understate, my feelings still burn/ your platform crumbles and my judgement is stern/ Honestly, I just don't want our friendship in an urn/

my soul blackens when I think about you/ all the hurt you've caused and you don't have a clue/ I miss you dearly but anger still looms/ just want your friendship without all the doom/

[kaermo-blog]

P.O. 05-07-2018

fever dreams of unreachable heights/ wake up in cold sweat to blinding lights/ leisure regimes take their toll on body and mind/ health dropping as if there's bloody wounds to bind/ heart still sore from last night, feeling that ache/ impart me some knowledge and give me a  break/ feel like darts hit my skin for every mistake/ and i feel like a mistake/ a gangrenous snake/ nothing more than someone else's keepsake/ lay in a lake of guilt and try to awake/ insecurity drowning my senses with every thought i make/ no one wants to doubt the surest thing in their life/ but friendship can't always linger and jive/ I'm an anxious jesus, turning flies into elephants/ and thus my mind takes a nose dive, driving on negligence/ look, i don't want the world from you or keep you to myself/ i love you dearly and always hope you excel/ I ask one olive branch, not a whole tree/ please just talk to me/

[kaermo-blog]

P.O. 03-05-2018

s'ochtends staar je met je moeie oogjes/ in een zwak kopje koffie/ en denk ik terug aan gister/ zonder spijt en melancholie/

want dan zit ik in de banken/ mijn brein zo slap als klei/ brak maar onverschrokken/ want jij zit aan mijn zij/

zonder jou, liefste pam was ik aan het eind van mijn latijn/ en ik kan niet eens bevatten/ hoe ongelukkig ik zou zijn/

zei het nou de vredige stilte/ in de bus naar cordoba/ of de gezellige uurtjes/ in jouw kamer te nimma/

jouw zijn waardeer ik immer/ ook al ben je moe en dood/ wij zijn een beter duo/ dan een eendje en zijn brood/

kameraden voor het leven/ dat is mijn fraaiste hoop/ over tachtig jaar te denken/ hoeveel ik toch met jou zoop/

[kaermo-blog]

Kishmet

thunder crackling loudly in the night sky/ blunder busses blasting as they drive by/ 'fly high!', ads are screaming life's lie/ the world before it demanded you to die/ now is the time of the wolf's cry/

murder of crows circling high above/ further into the deep dark cove/ corpses rotting, mice feasting on lost love/ void of nothing, no olive branch and dove/ apocalypse has no end, when push comes to shove/

i wander, my mind as far as clouds/ a rat, walking through the house/ fat, talking, wearing a ripped blouse/ i wonder, as the alcohol has me doused/ whether the melancholy has aroused/ a new type of man, or are we still / little devils, the likes of faust/

the railway spreads thin, as does my chain/ link to the world fading, nevermore sane/ bane of words, bottle, falls, arrival Maine/ the tracks continue, this life is claimed/ of wandering and wondering, forever in twain/

cancerous radiation spreads through the corpus/ gangrenous combination of illness and yellow pus/ body fails and soul doesn't make a fuss/ it died long ago, at the end of a blunder buss/

[kaermo-blog]

P.O. 31-07-2018

There was this girl I knew/ with prideful fire in her eyes/ she felt all kinds of blue/ when a man told her lies/ so she went out and discovered the world on her own/ curiosity took hold and it would never let go/ and so the seeds were sown/

understanding is what you seek/ of the world and from others/ no time for ever being weak/ you were never another's/ and as you stood tall, a giant amonst men/ i could't ever imagine you'd fall/ but you did, over and over again/

i always admired you/ a rock in my ocean/ a friend, so steadvast and true/ your love was a potion/ and i wish you were here, back with me again/ I'm all alone and my mind is falling apart/ I could really use a friend/