Bad Technique (contribution to Lichamen van Verzet DW B Maart 2026)
I have overcome the barriers within me, Berserk!
O Czech Godmother,
The unrivaled plié of your brow,
paints shadows and smokey prospects,
As the ladies strut amok!
I no longer need your hypothesis,
The fields in Mushroom City
Are high on the fire from Carthage,
Further in Evil, Belted in wool, Marthe rides!
Entrance
Upon entrer I consent to everything beneath the waist,
I breathe through the diaphragm,
from the waist-line,
The instructor grabbed from the shelf a mammoth of an oeuvre,
Placing it upon my midriff as
I prostrated myself upon the Singel floor,
Quickly gaining confidence,
I expell the evil thoughts
through my pipes in perfect fourths,
“Diaphragmatic breathing channels beyond the sacrum,”
As in a speech bubble or thinking cloud,
A little conical arrow, or a trail of bubbles,
may not only suggest who is talking,
But from where — the origin of sound,
the orifice.
O Czech Godmother, primadonna,
Your brows in eternal tendu,
As the ladies strut amok!
Cold, colder than churches, your business of words,
Fast, Fasten this belt and I'll gasp until ties have been severed.
“You should start to get a sense of the thematics.”
How bitter the failure,
ressentiment leads to catharsis,
The class empties gradually,
“Whether or not she was abused by her Father is irrelevant,”
Says one of the fresh-faced, callow youths,
“Do you remember the guilt?”
Oma’s alpine skiing accident?
Who skis with their baggage anyway?
Overgrown nails on the ivory,
Rectify years of bad technique,
Little vermicelli in every letter of the alphabet,
I wring my vowels for unknown phrases,
Numbers,
If only I could speak with less shame,
Every word soaked in high school remembrance,
“Don’t eat the morning before you come to class”
I'm offered a glass of chocolate milk.
“Come back next winter.”