Monday, November 22, 2010

The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood

Translated from English to Dutch, French, Polish, Finnish, Italian, Icelandic, Latin, Welsh, Hebrew, Hungarian, Chinese, Afrikaans, Russian, Turkish, Haitian, Greek, Spanish, Thai, Arabic, back to English using Google Translate technology.
By Bard Neeus (2010-11-22)

However, the city was old as well. Grandmother loved her despite the high pressure: Red Riding Hood, a young woman named in Red Hat.

One of those days, she said: ‘my mother, my love and I came to this very bad feeling after the rumours I have heard about the bread and butter.”

Never withdraw from your grandmother in another city Red Riding Hood!

In the wild, the wolf spirit is also a tree which fears deforestation marches that can never be found. Some writers have to go if you know that wolves pose a threat to grandmothers who hear the mission for the poor. She said, “the bread and butter are my mother.”

"I tend to break down what is.”

"Yes”, said Little Red Riding Hood, “in the first office of the village.”

"Why," said Wolf, “it seems they knew what they wanted when they visited first.”

The wolf fought against the economy as soon as possible, in fact, he was nuts. The butterfly curve of industry against the old house, turns out to be wild animals after a short time when the content is not a step.

“What's this?”

“I am Hood, the son,” said Little Red Riding Hood, “the opposition to beautiful, cereal, bread and butter. I come to see your mother.”

“A little girl in a big city," said the beginning of photography.

Good Bobby opened the door and saw girls for more than three days, winning seven of their index fingers. He waited to at last trust Red Hat, then sleep. Grandma blows.

“What's this?”

Red Hat is more difficult than he thought. Grandmother said, “I was surprised to hear the sounds of the first harsh winter so I sent the daughter of Red Riding Hood’s mother and her jar of cream pie.”

Wolf called, "I hope that the opening of the bottle is safe.”

Bobby with the red hat opened the door.

Wolf said, “put the bread and butter in a pan on the double bed, and take another chair with hair skin.”

Little Red Hat made the bed. She was surprised how many reservations grandmother had made. She said, “my grandmother in bed is significant.”

“I want to kiss the child.”

"Great, and a good friend in the legs.”

“Children are the best.”

“Move your ears.”

“I left the best for Israel.”

“Grandmother looks great!”

“It would be better to see my children.”

“Grandmother, girls have big teeth!”

"All the best food.”

The man who was with the big bad wolf, ate the red hat.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Doris Lessing

This is the sort of thing we accepted as normal. Yet for all of us there were moments when 'the game we were all agreeing to play' simply could not stand up to events: we would be gripped by feelings of unreality, like nausea. Perhaps this feeling, that the ground was dissolving under our feet, was the real enemy...or we believed it to be so. Perhaps our tacit agreement that nothing much, or at least, nothing irrecoverable, was happening, was because for us the enemy was reality, was to allow ourselves to know what was happening. Perhaps our pretences, everyone's pretences, wich in the moments when we felt naked, defenceless, seemed like playacting and absurd, should be regared as admirable? Or perhaps they were necessary, like the games of children who can make playacting a way of keeping reality a long way from their weaknesses?

Monday, August 30, 2010

Monday, April 05, 2010

From a friend

"Think of Easter as a resurrection. It's gonna get better from now on."


What would my life look up if my name were Anthony? Or Christian? Mark, Damon, Benjamin, Jonas, Louis, Magnus, Conrad, Gregory, Ivan or even Alejandro? Would I be prettier if I were a Dante? Would I be smarter as a Joseph? Would I be straight as a Daniel? Would I be a world-famous painter if I was named Gustav? Would I be sick more if my name was Elias? Would Mauritz be more adventurous? Surely if I was a Bjorn, I would be more into sports? As a Rico, would I be into science?

Couldn’t I have a different name for each day of the week?

Monday, March 22, 2010

3 years of my life in status updates

I’m scratching my presto lot. I’m meditating and losing my hand. Time to enjoy a cigarette. Gotta make some paninis and chocochinos. Now I’m drinking a martini and I’m turning around. I’m kicking my heels. I’m a chicken. I’m not touching, can’t get mad. I don’t like YOU! Just kidding. I want to sleep. I’m studying journalism now and getting up from my lazy ass. I still want more sleep. I just am. Now I’m thinking: huh? I’m blown away by something. I am not going to break. I’m singing and making strange noises. I will hammer your toe like a pediatrician. I say rarrr. I want more sunshine. I have a pen and I’m not afraid to use it. Blabla. Trust me, I’m a professional. Let's party! Let's work! I'm in Utrecht and waving hi. I'm sleepy again. I'm cleaning something.

Your actions turn from conquest to dust.

I’m heading out to Brussels. So sleepy. I’m hatting it mad! I’m in a loving mood. Happy birthday Sharah, happy birthday Grandma! I’m transcending. Why am I going from Vilvoorde to Holland? I’m baked and obsessed with Mortal Kombat. I’m in Paris. I’m loving Paris. I’m blind. I’m dancing the samba. I’m writing fairy tales about a golden deer. I want some brass goggles with dual magnifiers. I will get kung fuy on you! I’m lost. I’m wondering what you are doing right NOW? I’ve had 3 full days without paper cuts. I’m lost again. Now I’m on a good path. I’m welcoming my nephew to the world. I’m in my veal-fattening pen. I am going back to Antwerp. I’m thinking love is a blast. I’m writing, thinking, drinking and partying. I have an appointment with professor Pieters. I’m waiting for an important letter. I am going to rock! I can see Russia from my house too. Wait, what? I am going to tackle some classical mythology. I want you to stop photoshopping my head on sexy bikini pictures. I am trying to read The English Patient by the next day. I’m confused and need a day planner. I am narrowing down subjects for my thesis. I am on a flying Persian carpet. I need more bookshelves. I’m betting my bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun. I’m writing again. I will give you language advice. I’m living in the 1930’s. I am facing a lot of Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead. My style is da bomb digi bomb dideng dideng digidigi.

All right Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up.

I am glad that knowing that the best part of waking up is not Folgers in your cup but knowing that Chuck Norris didn’t kill me in my sleep. I like maxims that don’t encourage behaviour modification. I’m having a princess blues. I’m stressed because I have an important presentation today. I’m taking the special bus to school. I helped put up the Christmas tree. I finished my portfolio and I’ve been waiting all week to say that. I’m flattened and then recharged. I’m working and making a list and checking it twice. I’m studying Canadian literature but forgot about my reading assignment for African literature. I’m telling people to check their mail.

Her lips were saying ‘no’, but her eyes were saying…’read my lips’.

I say your work is puerile and under-dramatized. It lacks any sense of structure, character, or the Aristotelian unities. I made it through my first exam and my grammar courses. I’m wondering what a geminate is and why it disappeared. I’m reading about Berbice Dutch. I’m studying and rooting for Obama. I’m telling people they look cold and someone dumped a present. I am wondering what’s going on with Becky and those midgets. I think chitty chitty bang bang is shitty shitty gang bang. I am an early bird. I am at a very late Christmas party. I’m sick.

I sometimes seriously doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion!

I am going to buy new glasses, turns out vision isn’t overrated. I picked 5 books that influenced me. I’m singing eerie yarn owls and retainers. I’m off to Paris. I am wondering if I will wake up with some gray hair tomorrow.

Precious and fragile things need special handling.

I am thanking people for their birthday wishes. I don’t understand the use of twitter. I really thought The Curious Case of Benjamin Button sucked. I am going to a party and wondering what to wear. I’m sick of it. I’m loving it. I am spreading the WTFitude. I am thinking of buying a classic Mercedes. I am having sushi on a boat. I am having the strangest of Mondays. I decided firmly against watching Stephen King’s IT. I am making my BFF proud. I’m studying, studying, studying and studying some more. I’m having my first exam. WTF? I just need a convertible and a silk head wrap and I’m good to you. I am forced to acknowledge the existence of the incorrigible. Time for the final exam! I’m having family time. I’m covered in books. Books, books, books, all is in books. I want to draw stick figures. The latest episode of Wipe Out was amazing. I have seen a human being act at his worst. I am Zen. I am looking at the man in the mirror. I’m thinkering. It’s almost naptime. Bridal shower today! I need more coffee. The favourite anagram of my name is ‘nerd abuse’. I think it’s time for some serious job hunting. I want Vonti to hang in there. I’m smitten. I’m on set today and people should wish me luck. There’s a beached whale in Antwerp? I’m getting up at 4AM for make-up and wardrobe. I feel like Gregor Samsa.

As my dear departed friend Lotus Weinstock used to say; I used to want to change the world, now I just want to be able to leave the room with a little dignity.

I’m pulling it together. My godchild is going to be a girl! I ain’t bothered. I’m happy and I tell it in Spanish. I wonder if this is a good title for a short movie. I’m violently happy.


I am wishing people a merry Christmas in 9 languages. I am going to see him in a heartbeat. I keep on smiling. I can almost feel him. 0 days, 21 hours, 42 minutes and 38 seconds. I think isolated sleep paralysis sucks. I love my song!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.

It’s 12h45. I’m going to watch my boyfriend perform for the first time. I’m going for it. I’m in Lisbon and thankful for trendy hotspot cafés. I’m eating the rich. I am a minion of fortune. My heart is in Rome now, but I’m going to join it on Friday. I feel like kicking something, preferably a small cuddly animal. I’m in a pressroom in Rome wondering if I should write a review. I’m back in Antwerp. I am an evil giraffe. I think that being 18.706 kilometres apart is really far. What would little baby Jesus do? I’m a ninja. I’m a ninja in London. I’m fixing things.

Monday, January 04, 2010

Part Sephenn - Dead Letter, Numb Twat, Drifting Stones

A boy (hungry) left the country
That empty stomach of his! That burning hole
Where once a lost Jesus
Was his groom, a greasy shining God,
A healing stomach ache against banality
Of rooting, saving, building, owing.

But banality is nothing?
Ah no? But oh, the joy!

On the city square friendly scholars sat
Reading Ovid by a full moon, they laced
Chaos to cosmos on their quoting tongues
And I presented my empty stomach to their feet
And nobody yelled that I confide in fantasy,
That you are nothing but a dead letter.

No sir, I don’t need a vision, no disclosure
And no revelation through higher powers, no ma’am,
A summer morning, black coffee, cigarettes,
The singing example of a fly, a mosquito,
Which bombards my absence with her drunk figures,
Such things suffice to lift up the skirt
Of a moist soul, to blind your critical eyes
With her numb twat, oh yes sir.

I don’t care about words, you see, but about constructions
That marched the street this morning out of nowhere
When the yawning children, still drunk from sleep,
Carefully played with each other’s desires
And caught balls that no man would toss over the hedge
They lie down on the curb, hugging each other
And kiss without caring about their distant futures
It is about these constructions, without meaning.

I dream with head and hole
Around the clock, I braid and I knot
With all ten toes, ten fingers
At once, I walk on my bare hands

Into the night, of this paper

My lips pluck drifting stones
Of the road, my climbing feet churn
The constellations, my voice
Comes up and runs away

I have nothing to gain.