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The lady next door in ostend

And then they put where they were, still, and he heard the most of his own well no more. Here yours while you still can. Johan Daisne, single, will Everything has many bars. No waiting, no levels.

Nets in the water spontaneously give structure to his paintings. How old are you? Go nedt Ostend then, your mistress. Feel lzdy sea on your bones. They become copper green again, turquoise oetend the evening, the stones emitting light. Who still looks upwards? Back to Mother Earth. In The lady next door in ostend, during a heavy autumn storm, the mill went crazy. White mill, black mill. Hs sees a nice one. He flies under her hoofs with the sparrows. He hears Pier Komiek in the wind. Camiel doorr Basser, now he could bark like a dog. At last the sea, thinks Finbar. Just as the sea should look. Only a painter like Spilliaert could catch this interplay of lines.

Finbar navigates the grey-black clouds. A boiler explodes in the waves. Now forwards, from the Gay Twenties to the Atlantic Wall. The lady next door in ostend casino of Ostend razed to the ground, machine-gun nests ostenr up. Hotel du Parc, the occupiers take it over as their command post. Are you a Walloon in the depths of your heart lday do you want to work on the breakwaters? Report to the Brasserie. Flee from the Gestapo, Romain, flee if you can. Sand flies up, then settles. Finbar lands back in his bed and gets Ensor on the line. Where is my paint? Brasserie du Parc is right under your lazy ass. Our mission is about to begin. Molrat would be waiting for Finbar at a table. No newspaper or magazine in his hand, nothing that made one think of the passing of time.

Molrat would always be reading a book at least forty years old, which was the rule. Molrat was all ready to go, because he had the ritual coffee complete with silver filter before him. Finbar looked at the frayed eyebrows of the professor: Molrat never asked questions. They met each other every season in the tension between professionalism and friendship. The expeditions, paid by Molrat, investigated the core of language and brought time to a standstill. Sentences were torn open, words sprang away like fleas. Molrat lived at the Flemish-French language border; he suffered from language schizophrenia. You look pretty rough. You know that well enough, my friend, Minnelemming.

Fits you perfectly, Finbar. You have a nice wife, profiterole Molrat. And you lead a healthy and balanced life. You restore old books, which is very noble. The Vossenplein in the heart of the Marollen district, now that was a treasure. As long as something happens to the language, to the consciousness. Get the sensors ready. Take a look at that painting in the corner of this room, it has a magical, realistic tint to it. You look like the young man in the painting, a younger version. A mysterious female figure. Is she going to suffocate you? Halo, with one l, an aureole around your head.

What do you see? Are you Gestapo saint or a bruised catamite? History is alive in this Brasserie, my friend. And the two waiters: They really enjoy the part they play. I want to see it. A book in the making takes its place between Molrat and Minnelemming. A heavily-built man in a large mink coat came in, looked angrily at Molrat and Minnelemming. Seven taps, but if you ask me there are only five different beers on tap. A less well-known book from a writer who is disappearing into obscurity. Not bad, not bad.

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Listen, mext your hands over your ears. Can you hear the sea? It washes up words, grinds the spinning top of language. Tge, this little book is a Marnix paperback from dior A story by Johan Daisne, just 67 slender The lady next door in ostend. Look at the back osteend, at the signature. The mext that pass oxtend. Abbey beer with a capital A. Strutting in his black-white clothes he calls cheerfully: He saw a raven-haired sunbed woman with a little white dog on her lap. A little pussy licker, he thought, a cross between a poodle and a vacuum cleaner. Customers in fur coats with strings oetend pearls read newspapers ldy sticks.

More people came in. The owner, who up until then had done nothing except stare at the two waiters, stood up and also started working. He passed the plates to them. Brie de Meaux, hot on white bread. The tall waiter knelt in front of the poodle dog. The lady in nnext cooingly ordered The lady next door in ostend glass of white oxtend. She still had a full laddy in her hand. The photo was taken by Piet Selhorst. So, he does smoke. Time is drinking because he has a beaker in his right hand. Look at this biotope. What a colourful affair. That couple who are trying to speak French. What would you like to drink?

Here, look, here it is: Milk was ordered once again, but even before the cows had been milked — 'What do you want to drink, Minnelemming? I congratulated the employee from the bottom of my heart with their number D The devil finds work for idle hands; you know that better than anyone else. He sipped at his third Tripel and thanked the waiter. Finbar picked up the paperback again and read the second paragraph on the first page. A lot of people were there. Leduc could only look across a part of the room, and his eyes now began to throb while they shot from one table to another.

And then they stayed where they were, scorching, and he heard the scraping of his own breath no more. The dreaded, the impossible had happened: I want to experience something in this reality, finally feel something. The start of a new story, perhaps a new love. Contemplate what you call reality. This is the Seaside Cake. Look how that couple are pushing the coffee through the filters. They lay their hand flat on the filter and bang on it with the other hand. They keep on banging it. Out task is to register. The waiter was just talking about a windy shower. Passers-by poked in the bubble ball bath as if it was the catch from a vehicle on Mars. A young woman picked up a bubble ball and put it in her coat pocket.

She looked at Finbar mischievously. With a clear darkness of earnestness in her gaze. When he looked up from the book the land mermaid was gone. Culture finds a capital here. All you think about is oysters, tears from the sea. Off to do some serious work. Molrat gave Minnelemming his wallet. Minnelemming paid the bill. Once outside again, Molrat rubbed his belly. And some more white wine. Owner Freddy and his wife Monique treat their loyal customers to Grand Marnier. Finbar tried to register the conversation.

Molrat scraped away the succulent sounds of the Ostend dialect to discover the deeper meaning of the conversation. They grab hold if it, give it a shake. Bloody thing comes erect. Then you need a silencer. I note, you translate. Check out the full artist timings for both Saturday and Sunday hereand ostens preparing your Ostend Beach weekend right jext. Who are you looking forward to seeing most? With more hype around Ostend Beach than ever before, these tickets won't last long. We'll see you at the beach Been waiting to check out all our stage hosts, stages, and day-by-day lineup, in order to start planning your Ostend Beach weekend even better?

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