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Sometimes pictures come to mind
I close my eyes and let the images that Dr. Bengals conjures up in my inner temple pass me by.
At first it's just colors, dark brown, dark green, a little yellow.
Then it tastes spicy, herbaceous, tart.
In the next picture it burns. I don't know what's burning. ...
Suddenly, an image appears that is very familiar to me from the early 70s. It's the last verse of Reinhard Mey's song "Sometimes pictures come to mind"...
Someone puts the LP on inside me. It crackles and crackles familiarly. Guitar. And then this verse... The tears roll...
I find everything in this song, in this scent:
The shame of not belonging,
Admiring the greatness of others who seem to have everything, can do everything
Finding my way in my own little world
The undeserved privilege of being born here
The intimate togetherness
Being happy, despite everything, with everything...
"Sometimes, images come to mind
Of a piece of bread in mutilated hands
Of an old woman that she alone
Dragged out from under bursting walls
Of burnt faces, buried in hands
Sometimes I am ashamed of having been ashamed
I wanted to tell you that, are you still listening to me? No, you're already asleep, you'll be tired from the day
I'll put out the light and cover you up warmer
Sometimes I'm ashamed to be so happy despite everything"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h87QhohzdRE
Dear Can and dear Floyd, thank you for these pictures, the music, the scent that I carry inside me today.
At first it's just colors, dark brown, dark green, a little yellow.
Then it tastes spicy, herbaceous, tart.
In the next picture it burns. I don't know what's burning. ...
Suddenly, an image appears that is very familiar to me from the early 70s. It's the last verse of Reinhard Mey's song "Sometimes pictures come to mind"...
Someone puts the LP on inside me. It crackles and crackles familiarly. Guitar. And then this verse... The tears roll...
I find everything in this song, in this scent:
The shame of not belonging,
Admiring the greatness of others who seem to have everything, can do everything
Finding my way in my own little world
The undeserved privilege of being born here
The intimate togetherness
Being happy, despite everything, with everything...
"Sometimes, images come to mind
Of a piece of bread in mutilated hands
Of an old woman that she alone
Dragged out from under bursting walls
Of burnt faces, buried in hands
Sometimes I am ashamed of having been ashamed
I wanted to tell you that, are you still listening to me? No, you're already asleep, you'll be tired from the day
I'll put out the light and cover you up warmer
Sometimes I'm ashamed to be so happy despite everything"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h87QhohzdRE
Dear Can and dear Floyd, thank you for these pictures, the music, the scent that I carry inside me today.
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BeJot
