Anyhow, on the way to the refrigerator, pinned up on the side of a shelf since years, Boekie Woekie keeps the German version of a sentence by Robert Filliou which I showed and translated for Raul during our talk. These lines of verbal gymnastics were not meant to get me any further than to be able to quote Robert. August 15th, I should be working on some shop matters, but for that I would have to use the pc in the back room.
The pc I write the diary on is in the front of Boekie Woekie, the actual shop room. From here I have a view out onto the sun bathed street with its lightly dressed people on their summer Sunday strolls. I'm having a beer and look more out of the window than that I write. It is as near as I get these days to a summer holiday. Or a few lazy hours on a terrace.
I might say luckily my tranquility is hardly disturbed by customers. She brings in the results of her printing - she spend the last few afternoons in our printery from where she couldn't see anything of the nice weather nor of the people enjoying it, she was printing waste paper. This may sound like all she did went wrong, or like a joke. One of the details of Boekie Woekie is however that postcard customers get since many years their cards in envelops we glue ourselves.
Originally they were made from misprints of our other printing efforts. Later, when we we were selling more postcards than that we had misprints we began to imitate them. Now we need up to "misprints" a year. We scramble printing plates which originally had nothing to do with each other and use random inks to print them. Our customers love the results - at least we get lots of that kind of comment. Hetti phoned from Iceland where she is since 10 days with her friend Ina, she had before not answered my call. She had been sitting in the sun on the south end of the house reading a German version of H.
On sunny summer days who sits at that south end which usually is in the wind shadow of the house shares his place with many many fish flies, and may listen to their buzzing noise. I'll ride my bike home tonight.
Are You an Author?
Sturla has fixed it, with spokes and all. August 11th, What do I choose to tell in this diary? What becomes topic of those few occasional lines? I think this diary has never been "the diary of a bookshop", or "my" diary. I'm not conscious of ever having made a plan what to tell and what not. It is curious what "makes" it and why. Today, just now before I began to hit the keys I thought of 2 possibilities: I could ponder in writing on an observation I made while peeing last night. Without paying at first attention to what my glance had fastened on I got alarmed when I became aware of a small bug taking off from the top spare roll of toilet paper.
Our spare rolls are stuck on a stick which is inserted into a circular wooden platform so that it stands. The stick can hold 5 rolls it is 50 or so cm high. I became alarmed because I noticed the bug or moth or what it was took off at the same moment that the whole tower of toilet rolls on a stick began to lean, to lean more and then to tumble over. I was puzzled by the physics of this event. Did the bug push itself so forcefully off "the ground" when it jumped off that tower that the tower fell?
Or did the bug maybe feel the tower falling before I saw that that was about to happen and did it prefer to be airborne than to go down with it? Would I ever find out? Today I phoned a friend on his mobile phone. He said he was sitting on a bench outside an Esso station in a small village on the shore of a fjord which was densely packed with fog, so densely that he couldn't see for 6 meters. He said he was blowing smoke out he had found his way to the Esso station to buy cigarettes. While we spoke I began to imagine that his smoke was meant to thin down the fog. With only a tiny prolongation of this awareness: August 7th, Often when a strain of daydreaming ends it does so with me thinking that which just passed through my head should become the subject of a next diary entry.
Then when the chance to write has come I almost as often don't remember what it was I wanted to write about. I suppose many people know this frustrating lack of brain power. Probably there are techniques with which one can learn to remember better. I used to carry notebooks around with me for scribbling down such things at the moment that they occurred. Voss, Jan Notizen Vom Voss, Jan Notizen Vom 6. Voss, Jan Notizen Vom 5.
I think I have given up on this project in spite of the many note books with which I could prolong this series. At least in this case. Handwriting and sketchy drawings and recognizably no editing at all stretch the patience of readers too far I think to have learnt in the process of self-publishing those books. These not illustrated, machine written texts, not scribbled away but - could I say "edited"? I hope I have found a way at least some readers enjoy. When we get to the shop we bike we need a towel.
Actually inside Boekie Woekie it is still bearable, especially when we create a draft by leaving the door open to the backyard. There are fewer people in the streets than normally, half of Amsterdam must be with its feet in the Mediterranean. There are as always many foreign visitors to be seen and heard , but they don't move as much as usually. They sit on the terraces in front of restaurants and bars. Accordingly, the business of Boekie Woekie once again is slow. That is not all that bad - things which on busy days would hardly get a chance to be registered become important.
I said we bike to the shop.
Since 2 days that is not true for me. My bike got a flat tyre. Besides fixing the punctuated tube some spokes would better be fixed too. Yesterday Hetti walked my bike to the nearest repairman. He refused to fix it, but wanted to sell her an entire back wheel. Hetti took the bike to the next repairman.
He also didn't want to fix it. Now my bike is standing in front of Boekie Woekie on the pavement, not even attractive for the thieves.
Sabrina Lockheart
She liked the food and the people. Her reports of the book fair were less enthousiastic. July 26th, I rented a car to run a few errands during the weekend. Before returning the car this morning I first had to fill it up with gasoline. When I wanted to pay the gasoline I had to use a few more Dutch words than strictly necessary to tell the man at the till which car I wanted to pay for I hadn't thought of memorizing the tap number. It took him no time to understand me but he told me the amount I owed him in German.
The brief transaction which followed was carried out by him in German and by me in Dutch. I have often before in this country been in the situation that my accent was recognized, and then referred to by answering me in German. I always felt some of the Dutch try this in order to let us Germans not forget where we belong. I don't doubt the good reasons many must have for that reminder. Special in the case of this morning however was that the man at the till was black which in Holland usually means that such a someone is from Surinam.
Thinking of his probable age he may have been close to thirty he could as well be born here to Surinamese parents. Anyhow, I told myself, if I had asked him he might have told me he was just trying to be polite - to make life for a foreigner easier. Then, when I drove off it crossed my mind that I could have asked him whether he was a German.
But at the end I couldn't help it that I thought his reason for talking back to me in German was a result of his attempt to assimilate fully the role of being a member of the Dutch nation, by even trying to share its history. I felt a desperation there which made me a little sad. The blackbird was gone before the camera was found. I begin to understand that and why words are necessary. July 17th, Wow, what a sudden storm! The postcard rack in front of the shop window had been gripped by a sudden gush of wind and thrown to the ground.
We were lucky to be able to collect the cards with the help of passers-by and the guys from the night shop across the street before a tremendous rain burst loose. It happened towards the end of an anyhow turbulent day. I know it will take me days to get acquainted with all the new or updated programmes. The latest thing plugged into one of the computers is a web cam. It would have thrilled me to be able to illustrate this, my report of the storm, with pictures the web cam had taken. July 15th, Days which brought lots of new features to our computer possibilities have passed, and I'm trying out whether I have understood how to continue my way with the machine.
If this new entry will in a few minutes appear on our diary page, I'll be confident to handle it in future. July 1st, I was on the phone with Tom on Sunday afternoon, while Hetti was tidying up Boekie Woekie after the opening of the night before. Tom had not slept at all and it was early morning for him in Albuquerque.
He was in quite an elevated state and I enjoyed his conversation when Fredie came into Boekie Woekie bringing back with him from his trip to Berlin newly released records by Emmett:. Williams, Emmett Poems "this tiny sampling of my poetic oeuvre is a very mixed bag …" the artist reads some of his poems, LP record with a picture on both sides, Berlin EUR Tom ordered one by phone, I'm happy that Hetti kept her record player. Later in the week Pieter appeared.
- Love vs. In Love.
- Single Parenting That Works: Six Keys to Raising Happy, Healthy Children in a Single-Parent Home.
- Blackout- Interracial Corporate Gangbang!
- !
I had hoped I could persuade him to sell me the Rotaprint R30 he bought several years ago and took with him to his house in the South of France. But Pieter said that he would have to break down walls if he ever wanted to get that machine out of his house again. Since years Pieter reports endless construction efforts - he keeps enlarging his property there.
My offset printery is in no good state. I will have to do something about it. As it happens, the young man is quite a computer wizard. Helgi showed up with a poster announcing a party on July 4th at the Gallery where he currently shows. He joined in the pre-party which happened to be going on in BoeWoe. Then unexpectedly Helmut and his wife appeared. The party pre to the party on Sunday took till 5 in the morning. Today Hetti had to open up Boekie Woekie. June 27th, Dizy came for a 3 day visit with Katharina and their daughter Clara 6.
Straight forward, unpretentious and enjoying it. Now he is a musician and has a job as a stage actor. One of the things Hetti reported was when she closed our temporary shop in the church and when she counted the money in the cashbox she noticed there was not one Euro coin in it from another country than Germany. The pile of book boxes Jos had brought back together with Hetti were at first put into the Boekie Woekie gallery space but there they could not remain for long, because Boekie Woekie had announced for Saturday the opening of Michael's exhibition and the presentation of his book "Legend".
This book we conjured up during the last weeks as a combined effort of the artist and Boekie Woekie. Raul and his visiting nephew Juan Paul? It will be quite a job to put them back into the storage's alphabetical order. Michael's opening of text works brought people together who hadn't met in a long time. I think everybody liked it. June 18th, Raul did not wait till all his pictures would have fallen off the Boekie Woekie walls, but took them off by hand when it was time for it. He was busy with that when a seldom guest came, Helmut from Cologne.
He was busy with it the next day, when Martha came to say good bye. Two evenings I spend with Michael. We walked around a big table. Hetti and Ineke just phoned. Ineke visits Hetti for the weekend. It will not be me who, on Tuesday, will fetch Boekie Woekie and the exhibited works but Jos.
I must not forget when I bike home now to take with me the pieces of beef heart I bought for Pietje, our 19 years old cat. June 16th, What I began to tell in the last diary entry was this: It was announced for the evening of the second Saturday after the opening of the Dieter Roth Academy exhibition in St. A big event it would be. And I think one with some tradition. In order to be able to arrange rows of chairs, our exhibition would not be open to the public on that Saturday and the Friday before. The invitation card had already announced that. The literature reading would be the only occasion where we could expect people with antennas for books to show up.
Therefore it was an unexpected blow when Hetti heard that Boekie Woekie could not be open during that evening. The pastor said "don't be angry", a member of a board I had not been aware of existed said our books had anyhow nothing to do with literature, we should understand that, or something similar. I heard this during 2, 3 days from Hetti when I phoned her. I involved Malcolm, who has been the DRA spokesman in our dealings with "the church".
Malcolm expected to be phoned back. After hearing from Malcolm during 2 days that he had not been phoned back I phoned him several times to inquire my patience ran out. We had or were about to spend quite a sum of money to add that bookshop to the exhibition renting vans, paying for accommodation before the beginning of the show and for the the time it lasts.
Next morning, Friday, when I opened BoeWoe, there was an answer to my fax, expressing the hope that a solution could be found. I did not yet order the van but expected to hear whether the hope was justified. However the obvious unwillingness of "the church" to consider not only their but also our situation resulted again in stress. At 2pm on Saturday with the reading starting at 7pm I still did not know what the outcome of this hope was. And promptly got the answer that Boekie Woekie could be open to the public that night.
Hetti reported on Sunday that Boekie Woekie had been quite a centre of attraction for the people who had come for the reading. Martha has come from England with a big heavy suitcase full of books which she is to take with her to Mexico in a few days. Raul seems a bit disappointed that not more of his pictures keep falling off the wall. He likes to stick them back on I think. This sounds like all was okay, doesn't it? I'm seriously troubled about our participation in the Dieter Roth Academy exhibition in St. I feel sorry for Hetti to have to be there. I'm too tired now, but will come with the details soon.
June 8th, Busy days are behind me. I'll try to recall. But differently from how it was scheduled we got there with a 2 hours delay because somehow they don't know how to run trains anymore. The back and forth car trips from only a few days before had taken 5 hours each. In the church the building up of the exhibition was well advanced, but far from ready. Most of Boekie Woekie's books were still in the boxes we had brought them in. At 7pm, when it was announced that the opening of the exhibition would be, the shop looked okay, though it wasn't.
The exhibition was what it was. More could not be done. The sexton, or another church employee came up to him and said he hoped the paint could be washed off again. On my previous visit a few days before he had proposed this: While he spoke it occurred to me that pastors had to cope for centuries with acoustics which would make much of what they said ununderstandable.
That may count for many churches - could those pastors have made use of that? Next on stage in no pulpit, but with a microphone in some sort on a tripod, elevated just one step up of the 3 or 4 to the altar area: I read my first few words and was interrupted and advised to speak more close to the microphone. I continued, thinking I was doing that, speaking more closely to the microphone.
What I myself heard of my voice sounded very much okay, but shortly before I had reached the end unrest ensued, it seemed most people had listened for more than 10 minutes without understanding a word. Therefore I want to paste in here the text I had prepared. On 3 occasions I took a little detour from this text in my speech. I changed the manuscript by hand during that prolonged train ride in the morning.
I wrote in German of course, but to the English only readers I say: Und was merke ich da? Ist es Lampenfieber, das in mir aufkommt? Oder ist es der Umstand in einer Kirche sprechen zu sollen? Nein, das kann auch nicht sein. Als Untertertianer hatte ich eine kurze Phase in der ich Pastor werden wollte. Da sehe ich in dieser Gelegenheit bloss die ironische Verwirklichung einer meistens schamvoll verschwiegenen Idee. Verehrte Anwesende, liebe Leute, dear friends and what ever else you may be for me: Petri Kirche und namentlich Herr Engholm.
Jetzt ist Malcolm Green dran, thanks Malcolm, for organizing and coordinating this occasion of the traditionally quite chaotic Dieter Roth Academy events. Ich heisse Jan Voss. Es gilt Emmett Williams. Diese Ausstellung, in der Sie sich befinden, ist in dem Fall wohl das erste, was sie von unserer Akademie wahrnehmen. Sie ist das Nebenprodukt der Konferenz, zu der wir uns morgen treffen. Wir wollen das, was wir hier machen darum nur einen Erkundungsversuch nennen. Die erste, wie schon gesagt, war in Basel, die 2. Zu diesen Konferenzen gab es jeweils eine Ausstellung.
Einzige Ausnahme im vorigen Jahr. Mit Dieters Tod war diese Installation verwaist. Dagegen nahmen die der Akademie an Fahrt zu und wuchsen sich unter der Hand zu einem vielumfassenden Plan aus. Da war Sprache von einer Akademie als einem Lehrinstitut. Die hat es bislang aber nur vereinzelt gegeben. Die auf der Einladungskarte "Freunde" der D. Hinzu kamen andere Aspekte der Akademie. Die Verleihung eines Dieter Roth Preises wird diskutiert. Wachhalten, daraus folgt Beschreiben und Vermitteln. Dabei helfen Sie, liebe Besucher, uns. Als Gegenleistung bieten wir Ihnen dieses Kurzseminar, bzw.
Auch wer akademisch als formal oder blutleer versteht wird sich kaum in der Dieter Roth Akademie zurechtfinden. Wenn aber jemand den Eindruck bekommen hat, dass er in der D. Ihre geduldige Aufmerksamkeit war wohltuend. Only those with their ears close to the loud speakers could follow my talk. I felt disappointed, I had been speaking, and preparing myself to speak to everyone present. A moment later Agnes took me aside to tell me how I should have done my speech better. Anyhow, that had been that. Than came Emmetts music performance with the children's instruments. Or is it childrens' instruments?
I fear a hard time to look that up, Emmett, Malcolm, Dorothy, Tom please help me. Emmett ended it with a version of this performance which would have put the Tele-Tubbies to shame. His directing the bye bye choir got me sentimental, I cried a little. Washed my face, that is, for those who remember a long ago entry to this diary. There were a lot of beautiful things to be seen and felt in this exhibition, and the mood was good of those involved.
A lively party generously supplied with the necessary party ingredients made it one of those unforgettable nights of which nothing is left but that the feeling was good. Anyhow, there was that other day, that of the conference. That was more difficult than the day of the opening of the exhibition. Little did I know that on Monday something would happen which almost made Hetti want to run away from the shop in that church.
A nut started to shout that day in the corner where our shop is that all this should be burnt and those who made it should be brought to Dachau. I was in charge on Monday of Boekie Woekie in Amsterdam. Michael our good old Michael was active on a mission in BW only to be talked more about after it has been completed. While this was going on I heard from Hetti on the phone about the Dachau idiot.
Later we ate a Turkish pizza at a place I want to make a little advertising for: It is on the corner of the prolongation of Hazenstraat which starts northwards from Elandsgracht where it meets Rozenzij- or Rozendwarsstraat. Anyhow it is the same street parallel to Rozengracht the branch office of the Stedelijk Museum is on, I think called Bureaux Amsterdam.
But since the SM is right now, for those who follow it, only a branch office of itself it makes the bureaux at its best a branch of a branch office. A bit further west on that street, at Agonda or how is it called they make fresh and tasty tasting pizzas. She has no return ticket but says she will only stay for one month.
Raul has arrived for sticking back to the walls those of his pictures of his exhibition which fell off in the meantime. Eggert tries to dry up a little. Eva comes with June. We go to eat at a Thai nearby and June's nappy leaks on Michaels trousers. Eggert needs just a few glasses of schnapps to unsoak himself. I buy myself across the street at the former Lindeman supermarket now despicable AH at the last minute a few more Grolsch, but then, alone in BoeWoe I can not get high on them and finally bike home to sleep.
The main concern being how our Boekie Woekie branch office will look. Rainer, Agnes, Erika and Malcolm where already there and busy working on their things. And Dadi came with Krassimira. Then a wave of beer in which there was a bit of a leg of lamb swept us away.
Similar authors to follow
The train which is to take Hetti and me back there leaves at 7. Now it is almost midnight. I think I'm excused, and may go home to catch some sleep now. May 30th, Raul's exhibition is now hidden behind towers of cardboard boxes. Boekie Woekie is preparing to be present during the 4th exhibition on the occasion of the 5th conference of the Dieter Roth Academy in the St. BW piles up stuff it intends to take there. Raul's stuff on our walls will only become visible again on Tuesday when we have left with our piles in a van. Hetti will keep Boekie Woekie open until I'm back sometime on Wednesday.
In two and a half weeks time from then the exhibition closes and I'll fetch Hetti and the bookshop. People who know how to organize are at work, aren't they? Don't be fooled, dear reader. The writer has just discovered the reason for all lies. It is too complicated to tell the truth. Raul's opening in Boekie Woekie was on Saturday. Many photographs, drawings and a 12 hour video recording on 4 tapes of a newspaper picture of Simone de Beauvoir plus a book which he and his wife Truus worked on hard to get ready for the exhibition constitute what is on display here.
Many of "Raul's people" showed up for the opening. Raul has a history of having a way with some prominent people, prominent in politics, they like him. Normally, ministers of state or lord mayors ignore Boekie Woekie, but in his tow some of this for us rare species occasionally show up. I drank them, and all the others away and as a captain of a ship I stayed on board to wait for the storm to abate. In the early hours I slept a little on an improvised bed in what is our gallery. I was up before ten with a desperation I hadn't been able to sleep away.
The desperation was so bad that I had to do something about it. I took a saw and tried to reduce the poison ivy growth which originates on the backside of the Boekie Woekie back house. The poison ivy has spread over the flat roof of the back house and begins to grow its way down on the front side. I had to give up to cut it away. I was itching on my hands and coughing from the dust and was only more desperate. I had no beer, but just a few steps separated me from buying it. It was amazing what a smoked eel can repair. May 21st, We had a great time with Carlheinz, his firm and his family.
They provided a stage for our exhibition which couldn't have been better. The stage is an insurance broker's office, an office where I think Carlheinz said 30 people work. The opening was a business party for those who work there I think. For Carlheinz one of the reasons to let this exhibition happen probably was the possibility to meet potential customers in a relaxed, - or in an atmosphere differently excited from usual.
Beate and Lisa, the wife and one of the daughters of Carlheinz, made an elegant effort to keep all guests happy. And Boekie Woekie which had been looking forward to show pictures without all ado enjoyed to see that the pictures worked. This forces me, with a sigh, to ask the question what I'm talking about?
theranchhands.com: Sabrina Lockheart: Books, Biography, Blogs, Audiobooks, Kindle
I at least seem to drink alcohol all the time. Recognizing this, it helps that there was this e-mail today:. Is it the alcohol which makes me thankful? May 11th, Besides to entertain with speculative and detour seeking considerations this diary also intends of course to inform its readers about what goes on in the world's The reader may fill in the dotted spot with a superlative form of an adjective of his choice. May 5th, Some, but hardly more than 10 years ago, I noticed a then brand-new inscription on one of the walls of the toilet of the house I inhabit with Hetti since more than 20 years.
When we moved into this house, the walls of this toilet were already covered with inscriptions. We liked that and didn't paint them over actually if I remember right we liked the whole house. In the years we have lived there the latrine inscriptions only got more dense. This new inscription I noticed during a dinner party. I recognized the hand of the writer: I returned to the table where also he was sitting and told him I had found funny what he had written there. I thought his reaction showed he was a little embarrassed his writing had been noticed so soon or that I found it funny. At least, when I had to pee next time I noticed he had been there again to change his inscription by cleverly overwriting it.
It was now almost impossible to read what had stood there first. What stood there now was: What had stood there first had been: It was in Dutch. I'll try to translate. The inscription made first was an ambiguous one. It could be "No sense is not as bad as no sense at all" or: It did puzzle me, I even was a little worried back then that and how Pieter overwrote his inscription. Pieter still comes to Boekie Woekie and my home occasionally.
But I have not mentioned to him that the pen he used in his second round of writing fades faster than the pen he used first. On the wall stands again "Geen zin is niet zo erg dan helemaal geen zin". I'm happy about that. But it is the detour via the guitar which doesn't fade from my mind.
April 27th, The disemboweled computer is a problem. Michael has started to pay attention to this situation, although as a Mac man, much of this is foreign to him too. I can write this on the pc that I emptied by mistake of a lot of useful functions. It luckily performs its tasks necessary for maintaining the Boekie Woekie site. Sitting here thinking about how I could relate aspects of that trip I gaze about without focus. I expect to "get an idea what to write". Before an idea comes I notice something which moves in what is indistinct in front of me.
This movement forces me to focus. I see it is a tiny beetle, maybe a millimeter and a half long, running around on a piece of paper which hangs 25 cm before my eyes. On that paper are the Alt codes for special, mostly Icelandic letters which aren't on the keyboard.
I like this little fellow who runs there and say to him, jaja, you and me we take long detours to avoid those specialists of the German language that shows how far I was, trying to get an idea. The little fellow is too short of breath to answer, he is just now performing the acrobatics necessary to get himself around the edge to the backside of the paper, and now he is gone.
I sigh, and that's my story for today. April 16th, I blundered. I had the Norton's Space Wizard practically disembowel my computer. The purpose of writing this is that I want to test the FTP program. If this entry can be read in a few minutes by those who may open www. If the FTP fails, there might come a pause before this text can be continued.
April 10th, Amsterdam is packed with Easter bunnies, lots of them German, many English and from other countries. They seem to move around quite randomly. Those who happen to find themselves in Boekie Woekie usually mumble an excuse - oops, not my warren - and are out again. Some like to sniff around a little. Often they leave after having made quite a mess on the shelves and tables. Who would have ever thought that could have been so attracted to a criminal? Despite his dark past this guy was hot! He was so exciting compared to the black guys that normally tried to hit on me.
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