for four fortepianos, fine females – have highest hot heaving heavy heartbreaking nice notes right at right hand
calming constantly comforting composer – your yummy yearning – naughty nerves – by far the best – ever even
surpassing seven-teenth centuries' Sweelinck as best composer: SIMEON TEN HOLT's CANTO OSTINATO
Sweelincks name crowns the current Conservatorium of Amsterdam, Simeon will som time surely be the second
Recorded less than ten kilometers from the place where we were born, the three eldest in Eindhoven, in Veldhoven
near the new airport: Marjoleen (in hospital), Hans and me both with midwife 'auntie' Geertekee, elder s!ster of
the ten girls in auntie Puck's birthplace in Smitshoek, near Rotterdam, where both my parents lived as ch!ldren,
allhough both were born in Gelderland and mom spent first five years in Amsterdam, living less than half a kilometer
from me, and three to five from Hans' house, only two to three from Pauls place at the other side of Westerpark as I.
Twenty to thirty years back I took her for walk of five minutes there 1980-90. She recognized the block and stairs.
She wasn't sure which number though. She did remember that ten or twenty or thirty years before her eldest br0ther. Frits had tried the same and took a look after his retirement. He stood there pretty sure of looking at the right house.
Hesitatingly an elder lady in waiting at the doorstep asked him politely if she could ask him maybe a queer question.
She is of the generation, some year in the 70ies which doesn't dare to speak unasked for at an unknown gentleman.
Writing this, is the third time I cry in ten minutes. Firstly the music. Secondly as result at a flash of million memories.
Thirdly from this romantic short erotic encounter, like from a famous novel which won world wide amazing attention.
“Sir, You do look like Frits van der Ploeg! Did you perhaps live here for some years, much more many years back?”
“Well by Jove, I am indeed!” (Influence of his father G. J. van der Ploeg, who spoke no other tongues
but was good at quotes, like all of us after him, the power of the words spoken, in the 'Tale of Kanaän'.
“QUOD LICET JOVI, NON LICET BOVI”*, he said some Sundays of relative richness, well-to-do wealth,
cutting the roast beef and taking the thickest portion for himself. We all inherited this tasty trick, isn't it?
Anyway, she was his neighbour next door great girl. Guess she had an eye on him and never forgot.
How could she? Her first love from first sight. Still missing him so much. For some sexy sixty years?
Like in that Noble Prize winning novel from Gabriel Garcia Marquez. “One hundred years of solitude”:
I am sure suddenly that her name was tiny titted Tineke just like the s!s born after him, who died at age four
I am sure tight tough tasty tiny Tineke played her puffy pretty pussy every evening saying her preppy prayers
I am sure she doesn't live here anymore. I do NOT believe in God, but I believe in Heaven, as I told at their funeral
I am sure they all have a lot of fun there and consume all the sex they failed have here on our mighty Mother Earth