Saturday, 24th of December, 2005
Some of the Good news out of Iraq:
1) Vast majority of Iraqi population still alive. Many unwounded, untortured.
2) Insurgency's supply of explosives steadily dwindling.
3) Scrap metal business literally booming. Lots of extra car parts.
4) Every school in Iraq rebuilt and repainted a couple of times now.
5) No U.S. Soldiers killed or injured by candy or flowers.
6) Many U.S. Soldiers not killed at all.
7) Lots of surgical training opportunities.
8) Plenty of room for new exhibits in Baghdad Museum of Antiquities.
9) World opinion of United States gradually changing from hatred and fear to laughter and pity.
10) Osama Who?
http://freewayblogger.blogspot.com/
1) Vast majority of Iraqi population still alive. Many unwounded, untortured.
2) Insurgency's supply of explosives steadily dwindling.
3) Scrap metal business literally booming. Lots of extra car parts.
4) Every school in Iraq rebuilt and repainted a couple of times now.
5) No U.S. Soldiers killed or injured by candy or flowers.
6) Many U.S. Soldiers not killed at all.
7) Lots of surgical training opportunities.
8) Plenty of room for new exhibits in Baghdad Museum of Antiquities.
9) World opinion of United States gradually changing from hatred and fear to laughter and pity.
10) Osama Who?
http://freewayblogger.blogspot.com/
JanuS
Tuesday, 20th of December, 2005
Dat menig mens zich dezer dagen in haast euforische staat bevind omwille van de feestdagen die voor de deur staan kan ik begrijpen. Er is immers zoveel ellende in de wereld dat het voor velen een verademing is zich ongeneerd te kunnen wentelen in een sfeer van liefde, peis en vree. Alle begrip daarvoor, echt. Maar anderzijds zijn het barre tijden voor diegenen die aan het hele gedoe geen boodschap hebben. Eerlijk gezegd; het is een hel! Ondergetekende behoort tot de minderheid die het liefst een maandje zou willen doorslapen om pas opnieuw wakker te worden een eind in het nieuwe jaar. Wanneer iedereen weer als vanouds zijn medemens loopt te bedriegen en af te zeiken. Helaas is er nauwelijks ontsnappen aan. De enige plaats waar ik veilig ben is in mijn bed. En dan mag ik de radio nog niet opzetten of voor je het weet is het weer van dat. Het werk is al helemaal een ramp. Acht uur per dag zit ik voor een plastieken(!) snertboom die versierd is met afzichtelijke ballen in de meest wansmakelijke kleuren. Het enige leuke eraan is dat je die ballen met een golfclub (nr 9, Trilogy TX) best wel een eind ver kunt meppen. Maar ook die pret houdt wel eens op. En dan zit je daar weer, met dat stomme groene levensloze gedrocht voor je neus. "Straks vlieg je weer voor een jaar de kelder in!" mompel ik soms. Maar het ding lacht je gewoon uit waar je bij staat. En negeren is geen optie want overal hangen van die flikkerlichten en fake sparrentakken. Horendol word ik ervan.
Maar goed, ik behoor zoals gezegd tot een minderheid en ik schik me dan ook in mijn droevig lot. De tol van de democratie.
Maar goed, ik behoor zoals gezegd tot een minderheid en ik schik me dan ook in mijn droevig lot. De tol van de democratie.
JanuS
Thursday, 16th of December, 2005
Na een nacht vol tieterige gedachten achtte ik de tijd rijp om mij met ernstigere dingen bezig te houden. Het spreekt voor zich dat deze absurde bevlieging vrij kort van duur was. Aangenaam snel gingen mijn grijze celletjes dan ook weer over tot de orde van de dag; het hebben van kinky gedachten. Een vermoeiende bezigheid, al zeg ik het zelf. Vrouw zijn mag dan al een behoorlijk intensieve hobby zijn, een vent heeft het niet gemakkelijker, believe you me! And if not, spijtig.
't Is me trouwens wat met al dat gezeik tegenwoordig over de 'nieuwe man'. Wat is er dan in godsnaam zo fout met de oude?? En wat met de nieuwe vrouw?? Die zijn zodanig de kluts kwijt dat er geen blauwhelmen genoeg zijn om die terug te vinden. Begrijp me bitte sehr niet verkeerd wat deze materie betreft. Ik ben geen vrouwenhater, bien au contraire, my kingdom for a woman! Ik ben ooit eens droomgewijs een vrouw geweest en ik moet zeggen dat ik zelden zo diep en lekker heb geslapen. Al was de baardaap naast wie ik wakker werd een ferme ontnuchtering. Wat me er doet aan herinneren dat ik best eens wat minder zuip, u kunt zich nauwelijks voorstellen wat een mens dan al niet meemaakt. Allemaal leuke verhaaltjes voor de kleinkinderen later, daar niet van, maar toch... 'k Wou dan wel wat meer rock 'n' roll in mijn leven 't is toch net iets fijner te ontwaken naast een blonde stoot.
Soit. Waar was ik gebleven? Nergens, juist, en daar voelen we ons thuis. Doelgericht zeiken is nooit echt mijn ding geweest en dat houden we liever zo. Ernst is niet bepaald mijn beste vriend you see. Wie dat wel is heeft bij voorkeur een glazen lijf en een inhoud van pakweg 75cl. Ik heb er zo enkele tientallen in mijn ingemaakte kast staan. Ik moet dringend eens naar de vriendencontainer. Daar wordt onderscheid gemaakt tussen blanke en gekleurde vrienden. Dat ruikt naar racisme als u het mij vraagt. U hebt vast wel betere dingen te doen maar ik wou deze vorm van discriminatie toch even ter sprake brengen. Iemand moet het doen nietwaar? Ik ben de Desmond Tutu van de lege flessen, de Mandela onder de drankzuchtigen, de Moeder Theresa amongst the thirsty. Lelijk wijf trouwens, die Moeder, een goed hart dat wel, maar ge komt ze liever niet tegen in het donker. Spijtig dat ze dood is, en dat meen ik oprecht. De wereld is al zo'n zootje en dan gaan zo'n mensen nog eens dood ook. 't Is een schande. Bende lafbekken. Ons aller Grootste Belg is er zo ook stiekem vanonder gemuisd. Precies alsof ik alles alleen kan doen! Plooiers. Ach wat, elk mens heeft zo zijn grenzen zeker?
Terzijde wezende gedachte; de nieuwe Superman (what's in a name) was te groot geschapen en dus heeft het productiehuis zijn potentieel digitaal verkleind. Van zo'n dingen word ik mottig. Waar zijn we mee bezig for f**ks sake?? En waar ben ik mee bezig? Need to get some sleep...
't Is me trouwens wat met al dat gezeik tegenwoordig over de 'nieuwe man'. Wat is er dan in godsnaam zo fout met de oude?? En wat met de nieuwe vrouw?? Die zijn zodanig de kluts kwijt dat er geen blauwhelmen genoeg zijn om die terug te vinden. Begrijp me bitte sehr niet verkeerd wat deze materie betreft. Ik ben geen vrouwenhater, bien au contraire, my kingdom for a woman! Ik ben ooit eens droomgewijs een vrouw geweest en ik moet zeggen dat ik zelden zo diep en lekker heb geslapen. Al was de baardaap naast wie ik wakker werd een ferme ontnuchtering. Wat me er doet aan herinneren dat ik best eens wat minder zuip, u kunt zich nauwelijks voorstellen wat een mens dan al niet meemaakt. Allemaal leuke verhaaltjes voor de kleinkinderen later, daar niet van, maar toch... 'k Wou dan wel wat meer rock 'n' roll in mijn leven 't is toch net iets fijner te ontwaken naast een blonde stoot.
Soit. Waar was ik gebleven? Nergens, juist, en daar voelen we ons thuis. Doelgericht zeiken is nooit echt mijn ding geweest en dat houden we liever zo. Ernst is niet bepaald mijn beste vriend you see. Wie dat wel is heeft bij voorkeur een glazen lijf en een inhoud van pakweg 75cl. Ik heb er zo enkele tientallen in mijn ingemaakte kast staan. Ik moet dringend eens naar de vriendencontainer. Daar wordt onderscheid gemaakt tussen blanke en gekleurde vrienden. Dat ruikt naar racisme als u het mij vraagt. U hebt vast wel betere dingen te doen maar ik wou deze vorm van discriminatie toch even ter sprake brengen. Iemand moet het doen nietwaar? Ik ben de Desmond Tutu van de lege flessen, de Mandela onder de drankzuchtigen, de Moeder Theresa amongst the thirsty. Lelijk wijf trouwens, die Moeder, een goed hart dat wel, maar ge komt ze liever niet tegen in het donker. Spijtig dat ze dood is, en dat meen ik oprecht. De wereld is al zo'n zootje en dan gaan zo'n mensen nog eens dood ook. 't Is een schande. Bende lafbekken. Ons aller Grootste Belg is er zo ook stiekem vanonder gemuisd. Precies alsof ik alles alleen kan doen! Plooiers. Ach wat, elk mens heeft zo zijn grenzen zeker?
Terzijde wezende gedachte; de nieuwe Superman (what's in a name) was te groot geschapen en dus heeft het productiehuis zijn potentieel digitaal verkleind. Van zo'n dingen word ik mottig. Waar zijn we mee bezig for f**ks sake?? En waar ben ik mee bezig? Need to get some sleep...
JanuS
Wednesday, 15th of December, 2005
Bjorntje zag es tietjes hangen en vervolgens liep alles fout. Niet dat Bjorntje daar enigzins om maalde. Bjorntje zag, naast de tietjes, de bui immers al lang op voorhand hangen. Dat neemt echter niet weg dat Bjorntje even in een dipje terecht kwam. Na de tietjes, en de bui die daarop volgde, dreigde Bjorntje zowaar even het hoofd te laten hangen. Doch snel zag Bjorntje in dat het hangen van dingen zelden zoden aan de dijk brengt. Het hangen der dingen werd dan ook met zachte, weliswaar dwingende hand, de deur gewezen. En toen kwam de eenzaamheid. Een mens zonder dingen, ook al hangen ze, is geen mens. Een mens is niet gemaakt om dingenloos door het leven te gaan. Bjorntjes grootvader had daar altijd al op gewezen, maar Bjorntje zou Bjorntje niet zijn had hij daar onmiddelijk gehoor aan gegeven. Nee nee, zo kennen we onze protagonist niet. Hardleers zo is een echte held. De stoof is pas warm wanneer Bjorntje er zijn pollen derdegraads aan heeft verbrand. En liefst twee keer, kwestie van zeker te zijn. Tot drie maal toe om elke twijfel uit te sluiten. Maar bon. Het ging om tietjes. Ondergetekende dreigde even de kern van de zaak uit het oog te verliezen. Gelukkig had ondergetekende zichzelf vrij snel door en kon een nakend geval van verwarring worden vermeden. Tietjes... Het wiel was een mooie uitvinding, daar twijfel ik niet aan, maar het gegeven 'tietjes' is echt wel van een andere orde. Het is plastieken appelen vergelijken met gouden peren. Daar begint een nuchter mens niet aan. Zelfs een alcoholist zoals ikzelf durft er niet eens aan denken, en dan weet je het wel. Mhh...
Even een gedachte terzijde; soms voelt een mens zich als een puzzelstukje dat nergens in past. Alles lijkt te kloppen en dan sta je ineens als een tijger op een ijsschots ergens tussen Ijsland en Groenland schoon belachelijk te wezen.
Had ik zelf maar een stel leuke tietjes, 't zou mezelf, en mijn medemens, een hoop gezever besparen. Dat is echter niet het geval en dus dient Bjorntje te roeien met de riemen die hij heeft. En dat doet hij dan ook, al is het bij momenten met de moed der wanhoop.
Even een gedachte terzijde; soms voelt een mens zich als een puzzelstukje dat nergens in past. Alles lijkt te kloppen en dan sta je ineens als een tijger op een ijsschots ergens tussen Ijsland en Groenland schoon belachelijk te wezen.
Had ik zelf maar een stel leuke tietjes, 't zou mezelf, en mijn medemens, een hoop gezever besparen. Dat is echter niet het geval en dus dient Bjorntje te roeien met de riemen die hij heeft. En dat doet hij dan ook, al is het bij momenten met de moed der wanhoop.
JanuS
Sunday, 16th of October, 2005
"Freelance Lover"
Toegeven, ik was er niet gerust in na de eerste sessie. De andere partij gedroeg zich ineens nogal vreemd en ik vreesde dat de bilaterale afspraak inzake de bevrediging van vleselijke lusten zonder bijkomstigheden, die na weken 'voorspel' tot stand was gekomen, eenzijdig was opgegeven. Dat bleek achteraf enigzins ook zo te zijn maar een goed gesprek kan wonderen verrichten en al snel kwam het tot een hernieuwd akkoord. Een 'liefdevolle seksrelatie' was een constructie waarmee beide fracties wel konden leven. Het akkoord werd terstond stomend bezegeld.
Het heeft geen zin elkaar op dat vlak blaasjes wijs te maken toch? Er is al genoeg ellende in de wereld zonder daar zelf nog es toe bij te dragen, met wat voor reden dan ook. Eerlijkheid duurt het langst is een cliché als een huis, maar de seks wordt er alleen maar beter op. Zeg dat ik het gezegd heb. For what it's worth.
We mogen het tussen de lakens dan wel uitstekend met elkaar kunnen vinden, daarbuiten hebben we bitter weinig gemeen. Zo viel mij al snel de afwezigheid van boeken op in de flat waar de feiten zich afspeelden/-spelen, zelfs niet ééntje. Een detail kunt U zeggen, maybe, maar toch. Alleen de aanwezigheid van de laatste Humo kon enigzins als verzachtende omstandigheid worden aangebracht, vrij mager als je het mij vraagt. Met de aanwezige cd-collectie kon ik het nog wel doen maar dat was slechts een schrale troost. (dat zijn nu eenmaal de eerste dingen die ik check wanneer ik voor het eerst bij iemand binnenkom; de boeken en de muziek. Het zijn erg betrouwbare aanwijzingen om iets over iemand te weten te komen _hoe hij/zij is, of zou willen zijn_, meer dan de informatie van derden of de persoon in kwestie zelf.) Ook de houding tegenover ondergetekende kon me niet echt bekoren. Wanneer een ander je het gevoel geeft dat wat je ook doet of zegt dik in orde is dan krijg ik het moeilijk. Nooit de wind van voren krijgen is gevaarlijk. En als het op klappen (as in: kletsen, praten) aankomt zitten we op een verschillend level, al speelt dat niet echt een rol eens de lust de bovenhand krijgt. Maar bon, tout court, de dingen zitten, zoals ze er nu uitzien, vrij snor, en gemakkelijk als ik ben kan ik daar gerust mee leven. We zien wel wat er komt is een instelling waar ik mij best in weet te vinden. Et en plus; de ervaring van een vrouw die vijf jaar eerder het levenslicht zag dan jezelf is, hoewel ongelooflijk uitputtend, mooi meegenomen. Ik leer bij, en zij heeft haar 'toyboy'. Iedereen happy. (Alleen haar hond en mijn twee katten morren wegens gebrek aan aandacht, excuses daarvoor, de geschiedenis leert dat in het heetst van de strijd dieren altijd de dupe zijn, en geschiedenis heeft nu eenmaal de vervelende neiging zich te herhalen.)
Toegeven, ik was er niet gerust in na de eerste sessie. De andere partij gedroeg zich ineens nogal vreemd en ik vreesde dat de bilaterale afspraak inzake de bevrediging van vleselijke lusten zonder bijkomstigheden, die na weken 'voorspel' tot stand was gekomen, eenzijdig was opgegeven. Dat bleek achteraf enigzins ook zo te zijn maar een goed gesprek kan wonderen verrichten en al snel kwam het tot een hernieuwd akkoord. Een 'liefdevolle seksrelatie' was een constructie waarmee beide fracties wel konden leven. Het akkoord werd terstond stomend bezegeld.
Het heeft geen zin elkaar op dat vlak blaasjes wijs te maken toch? Er is al genoeg ellende in de wereld zonder daar zelf nog es toe bij te dragen, met wat voor reden dan ook. Eerlijkheid duurt het langst is een cliché als een huis, maar de seks wordt er alleen maar beter op. Zeg dat ik het gezegd heb. For what it's worth.
We mogen het tussen de lakens dan wel uitstekend met elkaar kunnen vinden, daarbuiten hebben we bitter weinig gemeen. Zo viel mij al snel de afwezigheid van boeken op in de flat waar de feiten zich afspeelden/-spelen, zelfs niet ééntje. Een detail kunt U zeggen, maybe, maar toch. Alleen de aanwezigheid van de laatste Humo kon enigzins als verzachtende omstandigheid worden aangebracht, vrij mager als je het mij vraagt. Met de aanwezige cd-collectie kon ik het nog wel doen maar dat was slechts een schrale troost. (dat zijn nu eenmaal de eerste dingen die ik check wanneer ik voor het eerst bij iemand binnenkom; de boeken en de muziek. Het zijn erg betrouwbare aanwijzingen om iets over iemand te weten te komen _hoe hij/zij is, of zou willen zijn_, meer dan de informatie van derden of de persoon in kwestie zelf.) Ook de houding tegenover ondergetekende kon me niet echt bekoren. Wanneer een ander je het gevoel geeft dat wat je ook doet of zegt dik in orde is dan krijg ik het moeilijk. Nooit de wind van voren krijgen is gevaarlijk. En als het op klappen (as in: kletsen, praten) aankomt zitten we op een verschillend level, al speelt dat niet echt een rol eens de lust de bovenhand krijgt. Maar bon, tout court, de dingen zitten, zoals ze er nu uitzien, vrij snor, en gemakkelijk als ik ben kan ik daar gerust mee leven. We zien wel wat er komt is een instelling waar ik mij best in weet te vinden. Et en plus; de ervaring van een vrouw die vijf jaar eerder het levenslicht zag dan jezelf is, hoewel ongelooflijk uitputtend, mooi meegenomen. Ik leer bij, en zij heeft haar 'toyboy'. Iedereen happy. (Alleen haar hond en mijn twee katten morren wegens gebrek aan aandacht, excuses daarvoor, de geschiedenis leert dat in het heetst van de strijd dieren altijd de dupe zijn, en geschiedenis heeft nu eenmaal de vervelende neiging zich te herhalen.)
JanuS
Saturday, 08th of September, 2005
Over hip en trendy volk.
't Zal aan mij liggen, aard of afkomst weet ik veel, dat ik van nature moeilijk kan aarden in het gezelschap van de moderne jonge mens. Ze zijn zo snel, en blits, en met vannalles bezig dat het lijkt alsof ze weten dat ze morgen zullen doodvallen en het liefst nog zo veel mogelijk moeten zien te verwezenlijken. Wat er te verwezelijken valt schijnen ze zelf nauwelijks te beseffen, maar dat is precies van geen belang, zolang ze er de handen maar mee vol hebben. En dan sta ik zo een beetje aan de zijlijn en bezie al die drukte en vraag me af of er aan mij misschien iets mankeert. Maar al gauw kom ik tot de conclusie dat ik akelig normaal ben. En hoewel het in eerste instantie bijster interessant lijkt om 'mee' te zijn is het voor mij een zegen 's avonds in mijn bed te kunnen kruipen met als enige storende factor twee katers die die je de nachtrust niet gunnen. Als het dat maar is bedenk ik dan, alvorens in een diepe slaap te vallen. En dan word ik enige tijd later weer wakker, met dezelfde twee katers die mij hoopvol en vooral hongerig zitten aan te staren, en zeg ik "Mornin' lads'" en voorzie ik hen in hun primitieve doch levensnoodzakelijke behoeftes en dan schijten ze een beetje en zijn zij weer tevreden en mezelf op de koop toe. Zo simpel is alles binnenshuis maar dan kun je niet weerstaan aan de drang buiten te komen en geef je eraan toe en dan begint alle ellende precies weer van vooraf aan en voel je je weer een derde wiel aan de wagen. En hoe moedig je aanvankelijk ook was al snel vlucht je terug naar de relatieve bescherming van je thuisje en je neemt je voor morgen niet te plooien voor de vele verlokkingen die je raam komen binnenwaaien. Ook al weet je dat die hoop op z'n minst ijdel te noemen is. "Heb je X gehoord vanavond? Djeezes, die was zo negatief dat ik er het op m'n heupen van kreeg. Wat een zwartgallige zeiker is me dat? Dat jij daar mee omgaat!?" "Wel, ik deed ook maar alsof weet je. Ik kon toch moeilijk anders dan zijn spelleke meespelen? Nothing comes for free darling!" En daar leeft men mee. The show must go on. Sometimes it takes a useful wanker to get somewhere. Wat maakt het ons in godsnaam uit als die zeiker zich morgen verhangt omdat ie het allemaal niet echt meer ziet zitten? The winner takes it all! The working class hero is een loser die bij 't ABVV is aangesloten en een onwelriekende scheet van zijn patron als reden ziet om 't ganse land te verlammen met een algemene staking. Opknopen die handel. "Onverwijld!" Paljassen. Ik zit te staren naar de muur tegenover mij. Die is paars. Paars vind ik persoonlijk een vrij boeiende kleur. Vooral wanneer die wordt afgewisseld met een zacht grijs. Teveel paars is voor niemand goed, maar met een likje grijs kom je al een heel end. Ik dreig hier echter van het pad der onzinnige waarheden af te wijken dus sta mij toe terug te grijpen op het idee van de 'moderne jonge mensch', want daar was het mij in eerste instantie allemaal om te doen. Ach, uiteindelijk weet ik het zelf ook niet meer, ik modder maar wat aan, ik tracht zoden aan een dijk te brengen die de houdbaarheidsdatum al lang voorbij is. Ik heb nu eenmaal de keuze gemaakt te willen Leven. En leven is liegen. Leven is zeiken tot je er bij neervalt, leven is bedriegen dat het geen naam heeft. Jezelf bedriegen in de eerste plaats. Wil je een eerlijk leven? Zoek dan een stevige tak in je buurt en doe je ding. Kun je lopen zagen dat het leven het Hoogste Goed is en al wat je wil. Wie wordt er beter van? Juist. Ik zit op café in afwachting van de plicht die werk heet. Een zwartharige meid staart verdacht vaak naar mij en ik word zo geil als boter. Sjonge wat een lekker kind. Ik probeer mijn cool te behouden maar in mijn geval staat dat garant voor afhang. Ik laat dan ook spoedig een Duvel uit mijn handen glippen wat ervoor zorgt dat de vloer onder mij een zootje is en de aandacht van de ganse kroeg mijn richting uitgaat. En dat was nu niet bepaald de bedoeling. Ook al lees je op zo'n moment De Standaard, bepaald bevorderend voor de achting zijn dergelijke dingen niet. Gelukkig werd het voorval met de mantel der liefde bedekt en kon ik al snel weer opgaan in de anonimiteit die mij zo na aan het hart ligt. De bedenkelijke blik van de barmeid bij het bestellen van de derde Duvel op een halfuur tijd (voor de zenuwen vous savez) nam ik er graag bij. 't Is een schatje, die barmeid, roodharig, een façade als die van Henin, maar niettemin... Een BH draagt ze nooit, wat mijn hormonenhuishouding reeds meermaals in de war heeft gebracht. 't Is haar vergeven. Soms mis ik dat, een stel prille tietjes, ik zou er een moord voor begaan. Echt waar. Er zijn niet veel dingen waarvoor ik vroeg zou willen opstaan dan voor een paar van die spitse levenslustige tietjes. Van die licht naïeve idealistische al dan niet carrièregericht en prontige vooraanzichtjes. Ik heb er gerust een paar jaar van mijn leven voor over. My kingdom for a pair of van die lieftallige hebbedingetjes! Ik laat me weer gaan, je le sais, maar enige menselijkheid (corr. mannelijkheid) is me allesbehalve vreemd, al was het de laatste troost die mij restte. En laat troost nu inderdaad net het laatste houvast zijn die me rest. Ik val in herhaling. Wat dan nog, al wat verstandig is is al gedacht of gezegd dus wat zou ondergetekende daar nog aan toe te voegen hebben? Overloos gezeik is mij allerminst vreemd, dus pretentie allerhande kan vlotjes overboord gegooid worden. 't Kan niet op! Kielhalen die handel! Wordt ooit wel eens vervolgd, mits de goden welwillend zijn.
't Zal aan mij liggen, aard of afkomst weet ik veel, dat ik van nature moeilijk kan aarden in het gezelschap van de moderne jonge mens. Ze zijn zo snel, en blits, en met vannalles bezig dat het lijkt alsof ze weten dat ze morgen zullen doodvallen en het liefst nog zo veel mogelijk moeten zien te verwezenlijken. Wat er te verwezelijken valt schijnen ze zelf nauwelijks te beseffen, maar dat is precies van geen belang, zolang ze er de handen maar mee vol hebben. En dan sta ik zo een beetje aan de zijlijn en bezie al die drukte en vraag me af of er aan mij misschien iets mankeert. Maar al gauw kom ik tot de conclusie dat ik akelig normaal ben. En hoewel het in eerste instantie bijster interessant lijkt om 'mee' te zijn is het voor mij een zegen 's avonds in mijn bed te kunnen kruipen met als enige storende factor twee katers die die je de nachtrust niet gunnen. Als het dat maar is bedenk ik dan, alvorens in een diepe slaap te vallen. En dan word ik enige tijd later weer wakker, met dezelfde twee katers die mij hoopvol en vooral hongerig zitten aan te staren, en zeg ik "Mornin' lads'" en voorzie ik hen in hun primitieve doch levensnoodzakelijke behoeftes en dan schijten ze een beetje en zijn zij weer tevreden en mezelf op de koop toe. Zo simpel is alles binnenshuis maar dan kun je niet weerstaan aan de drang buiten te komen en geef je eraan toe en dan begint alle ellende precies weer van vooraf aan en voel je je weer een derde wiel aan de wagen. En hoe moedig je aanvankelijk ook was al snel vlucht je terug naar de relatieve bescherming van je thuisje en je neemt je voor morgen niet te plooien voor de vele verlokkingen die je raam komen binnenwaaien. Ook al weet je dat die hoop op z'n minst ijdel te noemen is. "Heb je X gehoord vanavond? Djeezes, die was zo negatief dat ik er het op m'n heupen van kreeg. Wat een zwartgallige zeiker is me dat? Dat jij daar mee omgaat!?" "Wel, ik deed ook maar alsof weet je. Ik kon toch moeilijk anders dan zijn spelleke meespelen? Nothing comes for free darling!" En daar leeft men mee. The show must go on. Sometimes it takes a useful wanker to get somewhere. Wat maakt het ons in godsnaam uit als die zeiker zich morgen verhangt omdat ie het allemaal niet echt meer ziet zitten? The winner takes it all! The working class hero is een loser die bij 't ABVV is aangesloten en een onwelriekende scheet van zijn patron als reden ziet om 't ganse land te verlammen met een algemene staking. Opknopen die handel. "Onverwijld!" Paljassen. Ik zit te staren naar de muur tegenover mij. Die is paars. Paars vind ik persoonlijk een vrij boeiende kleur. Vooral wanneer die wordt afgewisseld met een zacht grijs. Teveel paars is voor niemand goed, maar met een likje grijs kom je al een heel end. Ik dreig hier echter van het pad der onzinnige waarheden af te wijken dus sta mij toe terug te grijpen op het idee van de 'moderne jonge mensch', want daar was het mij in eerste instantie allemaal om te doen. Ach, uiteindelijk weet ik het zelf ook niet meer, ik modder maar wat aan, ik tracht zoden aan een dijk te brengen die de houdbaarheidsdatum al lang voorbij is. Ik heb nu eenmaal de keuze gemaakt te willen Leven. En leven is liegen. Leven is zeiken tot je er bij neervalt, leven is bedriegen dat het geen naam heeft. Jezelf bedriegen in de eerste plaats. Wil je een eerlijk leven? Zoek dan een stevige tak in je buurt en doe je ding. Kun je lopen zagen dat het leven het Hoogste Goed is en al wat je wil. Wie wordt er beter van? Juist. Ik zit op café in afwachting van de plicht die werk heet. Een zwartharige meid staart verdacht vaak naar mij en ik word zo geil als boter. Sjonge wat een lekker kind. Ik probeer mijn cool te behouden maar in mijn geval staat dat garant voor afhang. Ik laat dan ook spoedig een Duvel uit mijn handen glippen wat ervoor zorgt dat de vloer onder mij een zootje is en de aandacht van de ganse kroeg mijn richting uitgaat. En dat was nu niet bepaald de bedoeling. Ook al lees je op zo'n moment De Standaard, bepaald bevorderend voor de achting zijn dergelijke dingen niet. Gelukkig werd het voorval met de mantel der liefde bedekt en kon ik al snel weer opgaan in de anonimiteit die mij zo na aan het hart ligt. De bedenkelijke blik van de barmeid bij het bestellen van de derde Duvel op een halfuur tijd (voor de zenuwen vous savez) nam ik er graag bij. 't Is een schatje, die barmeid, roodharig, een façade als die van Henin, maar niettemin... Een BH draagt ze nooit, wat mijn hormonenhuishouding reeds meermaals in de war heeft gebracht. 't Is haar vergeven. Soms mis ik dat, een stel prille tietjes, ik zou er een moord voor begaan. Echt waar. Er zijn niet veel dingen waarvoor ik vroeg zou willen opstaan dan voor een paar van die spitse levenslustige tietjes. Van die licht naïeve idealistische al dan niet carrièregericht en prontige vooraanzichtjes. Ik heb er gerust een paar jaar van mijn leven voor over. My kingdom for a pair of van die lieftallige hebbedingetjes! Ik laat me weer gaan, je le sais, maar enige menselijkheid (corr. mannelijkheid) is me allesbehalve vreemd, al was het de laatste troost die mij restte. En laat troost nu inderdaad net het laatste houvast zijn die me rest. Ik val in herhaling. Wat dan nog, al wat verstandig is is al gedacht of gezegd dus wat zou ondergetekende daar nog aan toe te voegen hebben? Overloos gezeik is mij allerminst vreemd, dus pretentie allerhande kan vlotjes overboord gegooid worden. 't Kan niet op! Kielhalen die handel! Wordt ooit wel eens vervolgd, mits de goden welwillend zijn.
JanuS
Thursday, 25th of August, 2005
How many members of the Bush administration does it take to change a light bulb?
Answer: "Ten."
1. One to deny that a light bulb needs to be changed.
2. One to attack the patriotism of anyone who says the light bulb needs to be changed.
3. One to blame Clinton for burning out the light bulb.
4. One to tell the nations of the world that they are either for changing the light bulb or for eternal darkness.
5. One to give a billion dollar no-bid contract to Halliburton for the new light bulb.
6. One to arrange a photograph of Bush, dressed as a janitor, standing on a step ladder under the banner 'Bulb Accomplished'.
7. One administration insider to resign and in detail reveal how Bush was literally 'in the dark' the whole time.
8. One to viciously smear No. 7.
9. One surrogate to campaign on TV and at rallies on how George Bush has had a strong light-bulb-changing policy all along.
10. And finally, one to confuse Americans about the difference between screwing a light bulb and screwing the country.
(www.moxiegrrrl.com)
Answer: "Ten."
1. One to deny that a light bulb needs to be changed.
2. One to attack the patriotism of anyone who says the light bulb needs to be changed.
3. One to blame Clinton for burning out the light bulb.
4. One to tell the nations of the world that they are either for changing the light bulb or for eternal darkness.
5. One to give a billion dollar no-bid contract to Halliburton for the new light bulb.
6. One to arrange a photograph of Bush, dressed as a janitor, standing on a step ladder under the banner 'Bulb Accomplished'.
7. One administration insider to resign and in detail reveal how Bush was literally 'in the dark' the whole time.
8. One to viciously smear No. 7.
9. One surrogate to campaign on TV and at rallies on how George Bush has had a strong light-bulb-changing policy all along.
10. And finally, one to confuse Americans about the difference between screwing a light bulb and screwing the country.
(www.moxiegrrrl.com)
JanuS
Monday, 8th of August, 2005
Got two kittens. One is called Louis, the other one Charles. Cute lill' bastards. Charles is the quiet one, with a lovely Siberian tiger kind of fur. Louis is a bit darker, but also has this tiger patern. Charles is mentally disordered, he sees things that aren't there. Or at least I can't see them. He often goes nuts and chases some invisible threat. Louis only attacks things that are there, me for instance.
When I come home after work they both sit next to the door, waiting for me, waiting to get food to be more precise. They eat, shit and keep me awake at night. But they're adorable.
They both love football. When I play a game on my PS2 they'd sit in front of the screen and watch every move of both players and ball. Afterwards they play a little Cat Cup of their own, with whatever they can find that looks like a football. When I'm asleep and they start attacking my feet, I tend to kick them around as if they were a football. They keep coming back though, so I guess they don't really mind being kicked around. They love a little pain every now and then I suppose.
Since I'm still working to get my flat done, there's some chalk left on the floor from the plastering job I did earlier. In combination with a couple of young cats that gives small white catfeet all over the flat, in the most impossible places.
Very likely to be continued...
When I come home after work they both sit next to the door, waiting for me, waiting to get food to be more precise. They eat, shit and keep me awake at night. But they're adorable.
They both love football. When I play a game on my PS2 they'd sit in front of the screen and watch every move of both players and ball. Afterwards they play a little Cat Cup of their own, with whatever they can find that looks like a football. When I'm asleep and they start attacking my feet, I tend to kick them around as if they were a football. They keep coming back though, so I guess they don't really mind being kicked around. They love a little pain every now and then I suppose.
Since I'm still working to get my flat done, there's some chalk left on the floor from the plastering job I did earlier. In combination with a couple of young cats that gives small white catfeet all over the flat, in the most impossible places.
Very likely to be continued...
JanuS
Thursday, 31st of March, 2005
"Bloody hell I hate those ecologist bastards!" said Wally the whale to his whale friends, "Every time we try to go ashore to catch the train of evolution they have to push us back into the ocean, pretending they're doing us a great favour, they can all drop dead for all I care! We're the bloody boeings of the sea, but because we're mamals we have to swim to the surface every ten minutes to get some air, what sense does that make?? I wish I was a fish! I'm sick of having to leave parties 'because we have to catch a breath'! Goddammit, even sardines make fun of us! The other day I was at the Anual Veteran Shark Meeting, having a great conversation with a sharkess I hadn't seen in ages, (she really used to dig me) when I had to interrupt the chat we were having 'cause I had to surface! You should have seen the look on their faces, all of them, not sure if they had to feel pity or laugh their fishy asses off. I'm sure they pissed their pants after I was gone. I'm telling ya, I'll kick the living shit outta the next two legged bastard that gets in my way! I'm fed up with it and I ain't taking their crap no more! I could eat ten of them and still feel hungry and they think they can keep us from evolving into decent land creatures? I don't bloody think so! No sir!"
"Hush now Wally," said Wanda the whale, "the kids are sleeping, keep your voice down. You've been drinking again, you know you shouldn't, it's no good for you, doctor Neptune warned you several times before, it's no good for your heart!"
"Doctor Neptune can kiss my fins woman, kiss...my...fins..." blubbed Wally before falling asleep and crashing into the sea bed.
"Hush now Wally," said Wanda the whale, "the kids are sleeping, keep your voice down. You've been drinking again, you know you shouldn't, it's no good for you, doctor Neptune warned you several times before, it's no good for your heart!"
"Doctor Neptune can kiss my fins woman, kiss...my...fins..." blubbed Wally before falling asleep and crashing into the sea bed.
JanuS
Wednesday, 30th of March, 2005
I'm the last person to be told there's a lot of lunatics of all sizes roaming the streets. But a few years ago I remember being very confused seeing more and more people talking to themselves out in the open. Very concerning was the fact that most of those 'newcomers' seemed to be upstanding citizens with apparently respectable jobs. It took me a while to realize the cause of this worrying increase in the number of fucked ups. It all became clear to me when I saw this ad on a busstop saying that 'from now on you could call or be called without having to stop doing what you were doing'. It was the beginning of the era of handfree calling. Little did I know. I soon started paying attention and noticed that most of those 'new' lunatics were indeed having a cellphone conversation without using their hands. Now, about five years later, it still looks a bit weird to me seeing people talking to themselves, but at least the real lunatics have less trouble blending in. Now that's what I call progress.
JanuS
Tuesday, 29th of March, 2005
We still have mutual friends whom we tell stuff. And since most of them are female it's no surprise that certain things get through. (Although the metrosexual man tends to be vulnerable to that too nowadays, I must admit) We're talking to each other indirectly you could say. I hear things, you hear things. Sometimes intentional, sometimes not.
I've loved you from the moment we met, I still love you and I don't have the intention to stop doing so anywhere in the near future, though everything didn't work out the way we might have wanted. The way things are today is for the best. All I want now is to be appreciated and respected for who I am/was, and a little understanding for who I am/was not. The feeling that this is not always the case is what hurts me the most. Not the past, for that was great, nor the future, although very uncertain after where I've been with you. It's the eternal struggle of man I suppose. No matter how close you get there's always a giant gap left which is impossible to cross. Either you deal with that or you keep trying till the end of your days. Who would be the happiest in the end I wonder. Questions that maybe aren't meant to be asked, but it's human nature that sentences us to asking them anyway. Taking us from hill to valley, unceasingly, without mercy. I've found my peace of mind now, but most of the fun is gone. I guess nothing comes for free.
I've loved you from the moment we met, I still love you and I don't have the intention to stop doing so anywhere in the near future, though everything didn't work out the way we might have wanted. The way things are today is for the best. All I want now is to be appreciated and respected for who I am/was, and a little understanding for who I am/was not. The feeling that this is not always the case is what hurts me the most. Not the past, for that was great, nor the future, although very uncertain after where I've been with you. It's the eternal struggle of man I suppose. No matter how close you get there's always a giant gap left which is impossible to cross. Either you deal with that or you keep trying till the end of your days. Who would be the happiest in the end I wonder. Questions that maybe aren't meant to be asked, but it's human nature that sentences us to asking them anyway. Taking us from hill to valley, unceasingly, without mercy. I've found my peace of mind now, but most of the fun is gone. I guess nothing comes for free.
JanuS
Thursday, 17th of March, 2005
Get Drunk!
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters;
that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's
horrible burden one which breaks your shoulders and bows
you down, you must get drunk without cease.
But with what?
With wine, poetry, or virtue
as you choose.
But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on steps of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the bleak solitude of your room,
you are waking and the drunkeness has already abated,
ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock,
all that which flees,
all that which groans,
all that which rolls,
all that which sings,
all that which speaks,
ask them, what time it is;
and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock,
they will all reply:
"It is time toget drunk!
So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time,
get drunk, get drunk,
and never pause for rest!
With wine, poetry, or virtue,
as you choose!"
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters;
that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's
horrible burden one which breaks your shoulders and bows
you down, you must get drunk without cease.
But with what?
With wine, poetry, or virtue
as you choose.
But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on steps of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the bleak solitude of your room,
you are waking and the drunkeness has already abated,
ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock,
all that which flees,
all that which groans,
all that which rolls,
all that which sings,
all that which speaks,
ask them, what time it is;
and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock,
they will all reply:
"It is time toget drunk!
So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time,
get drunk, get drunk,
and never pause for rest!
With wine, poetry, or virtue,
as you choose!"
JanuS
Tuesday, 28th of December, 2004
Dear friend,
I must admit I had forgotten all about you, but now you're back and that fills my heart with joy. You're looking great. It's been more than ten years now but you look better than ever. Remember those days in that hallway with no end? Remember the silence and the sorrow and the pain in the air? Almost fees like coming home don't you agree? I was alive back then. I've been dead ever since. I still feel the cold and all, but in a way I've found peace now. Don't laugh, I'm serious.
The few friends I have are strangers,
they produce sounds through cracks in their faces,
They should go now,
I'd rather see them leave.
I can't please your thighs no longer,
no ease no ease
oh no
ease
please leave me alone,
you don't want to see me suffer.
I must admit I had forgotten all about you, but now you're back and that fills my heart with joy. You're looking great. It's been more than ten years now but you look better than ever. Remember those days in that hallway with no end? Remember the silence and the sorrow and the pain in the air? Almost fees like coming home don't you agree? I was alive back then. I've been dead ever since. I still feel the cold and all, but in a way I've found peace now. Don't laugh, I'm serious.
The few friends I have are strangers,
they produce sounds through cracks in their faces,
They should go now,
I'd rather see them leave.
I can't please your thighs no longer,
no ease no ease
oh no
ease
please leave me alone,
you don't want to see me suffer.
JanuS
Wednesday, 22nd of December, 2004
Everybody wants to be 'happy', but what's the point? Once you get where you wanna be you know from there on it can only go down. And what if you've already had your happiest moment in life?
This morning, on my way to work, I felt quite happy. Now, as I'm writing this, I feel like shit. Always the same scenario, the start is great but halfway the race I run outta fuel. Only when my brain is numb, which is usually the case when I have to get up early, can I somewhat 'enjoy' those brief moments of happiness. Once my brain wakes up and realizes the state it is in the moment is over. After the rain comes sun, after the sun comes rain again. And it rains a lot in this here country.
This morning, on my way to work, I felt quite happy. Now, as I'm writing this, I feel like shit. Always the same scenario, the start is great but halfway the race I run outta fuel. Only when my brain is numb, which is usually the case when I have to get up early, can I somewhat 'enjoy' those brief moments of happiness. Once my brain wakes up and realizes the state it is in the moment is over. After the rain comes sun, after the sun comes rain again. And it rains a lot in this here country.
JanuS
Thursday, 16th of December, 2004
I Am a Book I Neither Wrote nor Read
I am a book I neither wrote nor read,
A comic, tragic play in which new masquerades
Astonishing as guns crackle like raids
Newly each time, whatever one is prepared
To come upon, suddenly dismayed and afraid,
As in the dreams which make the fear of sleep
The terror of love, the depth one cannot leap.
How the false truths of the years of youth have passed!
Have passed at full speed like trains which never stopped
There where I stood and waited, hardly aware,
How little I knew, or which of them was the one
To mount and ride to hope or where true hope arrives.
I no more wrote than read that book which is
The self I am, half-hidden as it is
From one and all who see within a kiss
The lounging formless blackness of an abyss.
How could I think the brief years were enough
To prove the reality of endless love?
Delmore Schwartz
I am a book I neither wrote nor read,
A comic, tragic play in which new masquerades
Astonishing as guns crackle like raids
Newly each time, whatever one is prepared
To come upon, suddenly dismayed and afraid,
As in the dreams which make the fear of sleep
The terror of love, the depth one cannot leap.
How the false truths of the years of youth have passed!
Have passed at full speed like trains which never stopped
There where I stood and waited, hardly aware,
How little I knew, or which of them was the one
To mount and ride to hope or where true hope arrives.
I no more wrote than read that book which is
The self I am, half-hidden as it is
From one and all who see within a kiss
The lounging formless blackness of an abyss.
How could I think the brief years were enough
To prove the reality of endless love?
Delmore Schwartz
JanuS
Friday, 10th of December, 2004
'Friend' of mine has been fuckin with me for almost four years, and now he's about to get fucked himself, having no clue of what's coming. Poor bastard, he doesn't know what he has started. It takes a long time to get me pissed off about somepin, but once the line has been crossed there's no way back. Prepare for hell boy! I actually enjoy it, it turns me on in some way, didn't get laid in a long time see.
I imagine him sleeping peacefully now, next to his mentally disordered girlfriend, unaware of the shit he'll be going through soon. The thought gives me a perverted kind of pleasure. I've never used physical violence before, but for his own safety he shouldn't get too close to me at this point, for this boy is extremely dangerous right now, and that's one hell of an understatement. The thing is that words do not affect him at all, so I'm afraid the only way to make certain things clear is to actually beat them into that ugly bold head of him. If he could get only a glimpse of what's going through my mind right now he'd run as fast and far as he could and still feel not safe.
I try to think clear but it's hard. Nevertheless I've got a mean little plan that might get the few braincells he has left starting to work somehow. Sweet vengeance. He'll probably think of me as an asshole and feel like a victime of whatever, but at this point I couldn't care less. I can't really blame him for taking me for an idiot, cause basically I am, having taken all his crap for this long. Only now the idiot has turned into a mean machine of anger, and there's no turning back. I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, you can count on that ol' boy.
I imagine him sleeping peacefully now, next to his mentally disordered girlfriend, unaware of the shit he'll be going through soon. The thought gives me a perverted kind of pleasure. I've never used physical violence before, but for his own safety he shouldn't get too close to me at this point, for this boy is extremely dangerous right now, and that's one hell of an understatement. The thing is that words do not affect him at all, so I'm afraid the only way to make certain things clear is to actually beat them into that ugly bold head of him. If he could get only a glimpse of what's going through my mind right now he'd run as fast and far as he could and still feel not safe.
I try to think clear but it's hard. Nevertheless I've got a mean little plan that might get the few braincells he has left starting to work somehow. Sweet vengeance. He'll probably think of me as an asshole and feel like a victime of whatever, but at this point I couldn't care less. I can't really blame him for taking me for an idiot, cause basically I am, having taken all his crap for this long. Only now the idiot has turned into a mean machine of anger, and there's no turning back. I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, you can count on that ol' boy.
JanuS
Wednesday, 24th of November, 2004
My first memory goes back to the age of about one second. I was thinking; "okay, been here, done this, now how do I get back?" Well you don't. That's where all the trouble starts. After the initial shock of seeing a woman acting hysterical, a guy fainting and dropping to the floor, too much light and a bunch of people dressed in clean white sheets doing all this weird stuff things seem to cool down for a while. You go from hands to hands, you shit and piss whenever you feel like, and everybody loves you coz you're so damn cute. But then things gradually start changing. "Don't touch that, it's dirty, don't eat that, it's poo,..." Then you get a sister, and they want you to take care of her, act like a grown up, while you can barely reach the handle of the door to the bathroom. And they get mad when you wet the floor, that handle was just too high to handle, you're supposed to be a big boy now. But you're not! Little do they care. They start yelling at you for reasons you don't understand, you try to look innocent, but they don't give a damn. They want you to start using your brain, coz you're a big boy now! Then they want you to whipe your own ass after taking a crap, and slowly you start getting the picture, it's a setup!! By then it's too late. Pretty soon you have little men running around yourself, and they'd call you daddy, and they don't give a shit about what you tell 'em to do or not to do, and they just laugh at you and you wish you could get a good night's sleep but they're all over the place and by the time you think you can have a break they turn up with their offspring and it starts all over again. That's life.
JanuS
Monday, 22nd of November, 2004
What happened to the gods of Egypt? What happened to the gods of Greece or Rome? Maybe they're on a break, but what's left of the once so great empires? Very little I'd say. Look at the Aztecs, what's left of them? They might rule ethnic museums, but what else? Selling woolen sweaters or bracelets is not what Montezuma had in mind for his people I think.
We have banned our god to the margin of society, we pity the ones who still believe in him but we tolerate them, and though we might feel a little lost I believe we're doing quite alright. One can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs. If only the orthodox Jews and the Muslims (and other idiots) could do the same we could move on and evolve like any other creature does. Religion is the only thing that keeps us from getting anywhere. We shouldn't fear the Jihad, all it is is the last convulsion of an animal dying. Sure, it ain't easy, denying 'god' for most people is like leaving your parents behind to start your life elsewhere, but what else are we gonna do? There's no second chance in life as it is. We like to think we're far better than ants, but in the end it all comes to the same. Cut the crap or die. As soon as god/mohamed/jahwe/bush jr. is dead we can talk about evolving into something better. Untill then we'll be as pathetic as a bird trying to escape a cage with no opening.
Let's face it, there's just you and me to rely on in this world and nothing else. If I believe in you and if you believe in me we could finally move on. Away from all this crap. Let's grow up goddammit.
We have banned our god to the margin of society, we pity the ones who still believe in him but we tolerate them, and though we might feel a little lost I believe we're doing quite alright. One can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs. If only the orthodox Jews and the Muslims (and other idiots) could do the same we could move on and evolve like any other creature does. Religion is the only thing that keeps us from getting anywhere. We shouldn't fear the Jihad, all it is is the last convulsion of an animal dying. Sure, it ain't easy, denying 'god' for most people is like leaving your parents behind to start your life elsewhere, but what else are we gonna do? There's no second chance in life as it is. We like to think we're far better than ants, but in the end it all comes to the same. Cut the crap or die. As soon as god/mohamed/jahwe/bush jr. is dead we can talk about evolving into something better. Untill then we'll be as pathetic as a bird trying to escape a cage with no opening.
Let's face it, there's just you and me to rely on in this world and nothing else. If I believe in you and if you believe in me we could finally move on. Away from all this crap. Let's grow up goddammit.
JanuS
Saturday, 20th of November, 2004
Looking back
at 26 years of 'life'
I realise
I've wasted 2/3
of the time
the rest I spent
sleeping
at 26 years of 'life'
I realise
I've wasted 2/3
of the time
the rest I spent
sleeping
JanuS
Saturday, 20th of November, 2004
I'm as many persons
as I have lived days
in my life
they all call themselves
Me but
in the end
we're all strangers
And sometimes
before the break
of dawn
I think I've figured
one guy out
but waking up
half a day later
I find another stranger
in my bed
stinking breath
and a hairdo
looking like a warzone
At least something we all have in common
as I have lived days
in my life
they all call themselves
Me but
in the end
we're all strangers
And sometimes
before the break
of dawn
I think I've figured
one guy out
but waking up
half a day later
I find another stranger
in my bed
stinking breath
and a hairdo
looking like a warzone
At least something we all have in common
JanuS
Thursday, 4th of November, 2004
Switched from beer
to wine
I might wanna
destroy myself
asap
but I wanna
do it with style
and beer
is just too casual
to wine
I might wanna
destroy myself
asap
but I wanna
do it with style
and beer
is just too casual
JanuS
Wednesday, 3rd of November, 2004
I was
somewhat surprised
finding out
how easy it is
to spend
a month's wage
in just the time
it takes
to smoke a cigarette
"You're doing great!"
the old woman said
as she helped me
carry my new life
to her car
before driving me
back to my
temporary home
still strange to me
I wasn't so sure
about that
but I hid
the doubt
and tried to
produce some kind of
confident smile
cause after all
it was the least I could do.
somewhat surprised
finding out
how easy it is
to spend
a month's wage
in just the time
it takes
to smoke a cigarette
"You're doing great!"
the old woman said
as she helped me
carry my new life
to her car
before driving me
back to my
temporary home
still strange to me
I wasn't so sure
about that
but I hid
the doubt
and tried to
produce some kind of
confident smile
cause after all
it was the least I could do.
JanuS
Sunday, 24th of October, 2004
Still don't know for sure
whether I can make
the right decision
when necessary
or whether I'm
one of those fools
who,
over and over again,
let welt
the most beautiful
flowers they
are offered
Whether I'm
one of those fools
who ignore the luck
at their feet
and focus
only
on the mud
surrounding it
whether I can make
the right decision
when necessary
or whether I'm
one of those fools
who,
over and over again,
let welt
the most beautiful
flowers they
are offered
Whether I'm
one of those fools
who ignore the luck
at their feet
and focus
only
on the mud
surrounding it
JanuS
Sunday, 24th of October, 2004
I saw you
as you passed the bar
I was having coffee at
Early afternoon
I watched you cross
the square on
the bike
that used to be mine
(but fits you so much better)
And of all the
sad faces I've seen
today
you were by far
the saddest
(followed closely by mine)
I wanted to
call you to
say I was sorry
but I figured
it was smarter
not to
And as you vanished
in the crowd
I ordered another coffee
lit another cigarette
and wondered
if you'd ever smile
again
And why the hell
things didn't work out
the way they
obviously
should have
as you passed the bar
I was having coffee at
Early afternoon
I watched you cross
the square on
the bike
that used to be mine
(but fits you so much better)
And of all the
sad faces I've seen
today
you were by far
the saddest
(followed closely by mine)
I wanted to
call you to
say I was sorry
but I figured
it was smarter
not to
And as you vanished
in the crowd
I ordered another coffee
lit another cigarette
and wondered
if you'd ever smile
again
And why the hell
things didn't work out
the way they
obviously
should have
JanuS
Sunday, 17th of October, 2004
She wouldn't mind
helping me paint the place
so she said
but there were some demands
to be made
in order for her
to do so
I was open to suggestions
I told her
and she replied
that at least I should
make her dinner
vegetarian
I didn't see no problem
there would be plenty of flesh
in the end
anyway
I figured
Little did I know
things would turn out
slightly different
helping me paint the place
so she said
but there were some demands
to be made
in order for her
to do so
I was open to suggestions
I told her
and she replied
that at least I should
make her dinner
vegetarian
I didn't see no problem
there would be plenty of flesh
in the end
anyway
I figured
Little did I know
things would turn out
slightly different
JanuS
Sunday, 17th of October, 2004
It was at work one night
when an Albanian guy
slightly drunk
was trying to hit on
a portuguese transsexual
he had no clue
she did
I was trying not to look too amused
with the situation
he offered her a softdrink
after bringing me a beer
lit her a cigarette
while i lit my own
I felt happy about
going home alone
later
about lives that weren't mine
but surely made me feel better
bout mine
when an Albanian guy
slightly drunk
was trying to hit on
a portuguese transsexual
he had no clue
she did
I was trying not to look too amused
with the situation
he offered her a softdrink
after bringing me a beer
lit her a cigarette
while i lit my own
I felt happy about
going home alone
later
about lives that weren't mine
but surely made me feel better
bout mine
JanuS
Sunday, 17th of October, 2004
Could Well Be In
Cuz her last relationship fucked her up.
Got hurt majorly, finds it tough to trust.
Looked at the ashtray, then looked back up,
Spinnin it away on the tabletop.
She looked much fitter than saturday just.
She worked in JD's with dan.
Back then I figured she was pretty damn rough,
But she was only wearin her work stuff.
And in these clothes she looked more than buff,
She stirred her straw, sat up to adjust.
I told her I thought it was important,
That you could get lost in conversation.
Chattin shit, sittin in, oblivion
With that person who's your special one.
She said she was the worst pool player under the sun,
But blokes go easy so she always won.
I saw this thing on ITV the other week,
Said, that if she played with her hair, she's probably keen
She's playin with her hair, well regularly,
So i reckon i could well be in.
She didn't look too bored with what I was sayin.
Her hair looked much better than the other day.
She had her fingers 'round her hair, playin'.
I Saw on the telly that's a good indication.
She didn't offer to buy the next drink though, Nay.
I suppose that's just our girl's way.
Im tryin to think what else I could say,
Peelin' the label off, spinnin the ashtray.
Yeah actually, yes, she did look pretty neat.
Her perfume smelled expensive and sweet.
I felt like my hair looked a bit cheap,
Wished I'd had it cut back last week.
She kept givin me this look, cuz she would speak.
Was she only friendly, or was she a keep?
Asked her if she wanted the same again to drink.
Started to turn and get up out my seat.
...
Cuz her last relationship fucked her up.
Got hurt majorly, finds it tough to trust.
Looked at the ashtray, then looked back up,
Spinnin it away on the tabletop.
She looked much fitter than saturday just.
She worked in JD's with dan.
Back then I figured she was pretty damn rough,
But she was only wearin her work stuff.
And in these clothes she looked more than buff,
She stirred her straw, sat up to adjust.
I told her I thought it was important,
That you could get lost in conversation.
Chattin shit, sittin in, oblivion
With that person who's your special one.
She said she was the worst pool player under the sun,
But blokes go easy so she always won.
I saw this thing on ITV the other week,
Said, that if she played with her hair, she's probably keen
She's playin with her hair, well regularly,
So i reckon i could well be in.
She didn't look too bored with what I was sayin.
Her hair looked much better than the other day.
She had her fingers 'round her hair, playin'.
I Saw on the telly that's a good indication.
She didn't offer to buy the next drink though, Nay.
I suppose that's just our girl's way.
Im tryin to think what else I could say,
Peelin' the label off, spinnin the ashtray.
Yeah actually, yes, she did look pretty neat.
Her perfume smelled expensive and sweet.
I felt like my hair looked a bit cheap,
Wished I'd had it cut back last week.
She kept givin me this look, cuz she would speak.
Was she only friendly, or was she a keep?
Asked her if she wanted the same again to drink.
Started to turn and get up out my seat.
...
JanuS
Saturday, 16th of October, 2004
A room filled with people
who's faces were shown on tv
every now and then
free food
but drinks had to be paid for
a bunch of starving wolves
gathering around an easy pray
I'm working so hard
she said
yawning
but I owe it to the people
who write me letters
and tell me how
much I mean to them
That's what I'm doing it
for
there's no other thing
I could think of doing
You could get me a drink
i thought
but she didn't hear me
just went on and
on I went
to get last salmon toast
left
the noise in there
was the same
as the noise
coming through my bedroom window
on an average monday morning
urging me to roll over
and wait for tuesday
who's faces were shown on tv
every now and then
free food
but drinks had to be paid for
a bunch of starving wolves
gathering around an easy pray
I'm working so hard
she said
yawning
but I owe it to the people
who write me letters
and tell me how
much I mean to them
That's what I'm doing it
for
there's no other thing
I could think of doing
You could get me a drink
i thought
but she didn't hear me
just went on and
on I went
to get last salmon toast
left
the noise in there
was the same
as the noise
coming through my bedroom window
on an average monday morning
urging me to roll over
and wait for tuesday
JanuS
Thursday, 14th of October, 2004
I can't stand praise. It pisses me off cause it always makes me feel very uncomfortable as I never see any good reason for praise. Sometimes people give it a shot and when I like them I forgive them, but when I don't I'd rather run away. I'd much rather tell them to go away, but my lack of balls makes that impossible. So usually I just stay where I am, wishing I was not, not knowing where to look or what to say. And if I'd say something it would be something really stupid.
I don't know really why I have so much trouble with it. I'd love to be praised. I mean, isn't that something everybody wants in a way? I think about it alot, but I never come up with any kind of explanation.
I never was any good at school, all the way through it all I heard was "You can do better" or "Try harder, I know you can." or "Life is not a game!". So maybe it's because I've never been used to praise that I can't handle it now. I can do better in what? Try harder for what? Life's not a game, then what the hell is it? Once, I must have been about 8, my dad promised to get me one of those globes with a lightbulb inside, if I had good results at school. That should have motivated me to study hard he must have figured. A few days before the 'exams' I discovered a big cardboard box on top of my parents wardrobe. So I guessed I would get the globe anyway. I pretended to be studying really hard for the next days, while all I was doing in my room was trying to finally break through that German stronghold that had been killing my Allied toy soldiers for too long. Of course I flunked for the exams. And I did get the globe. I never learned how to handle praise, but I sure learned there's always an easy way to get things. Although I'm not that sure about that anymore after all these years.
It's one hell of a mess, and I'm only halfway through.
I don't know really why I have so much trouble with it. I'd love to be praised. I mean, isn't that something everybody wants in a way? I think about it alot, but I never come up with any kind of explanation.
I never was any good at school, all the way through it all I heard was "You can do better" or "Try harder, I know you can." or "Life is not a game!". So maybe it's because I've never been used to praise that I can't handle it now. I can do better in what? Try harder for what? Life's not a game, then what the hell is it? Once, I must have been about 8, my dad promised to get me one of those globes with a lightbulb inside, if I had good results at school. That should have motivated me to study hard he must have figured. A few days before the 'exams' I discovered a big cardboard box on top of my parents wardrobe. So I guessed I would get the globe anyway. I pretended to be studying really hard for the next days, while all I was doing in my room was trying to finally break through that German stronghold that had been killing my Allied toy soldiers for too long. Of course I flunked for the exams. And I did get the globe. I never learned how to handle praise, but I sure learned there's always an easy way to get things. Although I'm not that sure about that anymore after all these years.
It's one hell of a mess, and I'm only halfway through.
JanuS
Thursday, 14th of October, 2004
Beginning to understand and somewhat accept who I am I still hate my guts for what I'm not. It seems to me so much easier, or better; less difficult to find peace with the way I am than it is to come to terms with what I'll never be. Ignoring it helps for a while, but only as long as I don't meet people. I'm not good with people. I don't trust myself with other people. I know I can't keep a grip on myself, I know I'm weak, that I would tell everything to anyone I'd meet, open up my heart completely to any stranger kind enough to listen. And ofcourse afterwards there's the anger about having done it again.
Worse than that is the sham, the discomfort I create playing this ongoing game, this artificial thing, without having a grip on it. Everything sounds drolly, foolish. I don't know if it's shyness. When you think others are too important, when you adore them, you are so afraid they'll turn away from you, find you boring -while you would love to charm them, want them for yourself, so they would like you- that you don't know anymore what to do. So you act like a child, twisting yourself into the most impossible positions, what an effort! Cause it always ends with fumbling, with affectation, with your behaviour turning against you. Tell me about it.
I don't like to see my own weaknesses in others.
Worse than that is the sham, the discomfort I create playing this ongoing game, this artificial thing, without having a grip on it. Everything sounds drolly, foolish. I don't know if it's shyness. When you think others are too important, when you adore them, you are so afraid they'll turn away from you, find you boring -while you would love to charm them, want them for yourself, so they would like you- that you don't know anymore what to do. So you act like a child, twisting yourself into the most impossible positions, what an effort! Cause it always ends with fumbling, with affectation, with your behaviour turning against you. Tell me about it.
I don't like to see my own weaknesses in others.
JanuS
Monday, 4th of October, 2004
I go to the same bar over and over again, at any time of the day. Not because I like the place that much, but because there's still hope. Hope usually shows up after midnight, so I sit and drink and wait. Sometimes it comes, often it doesn't, but I'm patient. I've tried to find it elsewhere, but it makes things too complicated. So I just sit in the same bar, most of the time. I only go to other places when I can do without hope for a while. Beside hope there's also the feeling of security I get in the place. When someone tries to start a fight with me for whatever reason the 300 pound bartender always comes to the rescue. He would kick the violator out, apologize to me and bring me another beer to replace the one that was knocked over by the agressor. I'm not a fighter, hell no. Through the years I've learned to either talk my way out of trouble, or to just run. Call me yellow I don't care. I can be very violent, I'm a real mass murderer, in thoughts, that's where it ends. I'd be a real threat to humanity had I had the guts to execute my at times sinister plans. That's the dark side of me.
There's also a whole lotta love in me. That's the better part of me. It's also my biggest weakness. The trouble love can bring, boy o boy. Violence is exporting pain, love is importing it.
There's also a whole lotta love in me. That's the better part of me. It's also my biggest weakness. The trouble love can bring, boy o boy. Violence is exporting pain, love is importing it.
JanuS
Monday, 4th of October, 2004
A fine lady
She was old. All dressed in black, pale skin, sad and tired looking eyes. She drank coffee and read a magazine which had the cover torn off.
He was sitting a few chairs away, neatly dressed, a hat made of felt, sipping from a glas of red wine, watching her. They were the only people in the bar, apart from the bartender. There was no music playing, the only sound audible was the humming of the refrigerators behind the counter and the monotone sound of cars passing by out front. The woman looked up, towards the bartender sitting at the far end of the counter, trying to get his attention. When she got it she pointed at her cup of coffee. The barkeep got up, put down his paper and moved towards the coffeemachine. A hissing noise broke the silence as he worked on the coffee. A few moments later he was changing the empty cup for a new one and took the money off the woman's table. There was no change. The woman nodded a sort of thank you as he walked off again. The man on the other table watched every movement and as the bartender went back to his paper he stood up. Hesitating for a moment and then slowly moving towards the lady. She didn't look up when he was at her table.
"Excuse me ma'am." he said, bowing a little, "but I was wondering what a fine lady like yourself hopes to find in a sad place like this."
The woman had heard him but didn't look up from her magazine.
"I don't mean to be bold or anything ma'am, but I've never seen you around here before and I figured maybe you was lost or somepin, and maybe I could help you."
He took of his hat.
"I'm William."
"I know you are." she said, as she looked up and straight into his eyes. William's face turned into a question mark.
"Sit down, please."
"How…how come you know my name? Have we met before? I can't remember you."
She looked at him with piercing eyes and just sat silent. William felt his hands getting sweaty and he wished he'd never gotten up from his seat.
"It took me some time finding you William, but here you are." she finally said, smiling.
"Were you a friend of my wife? Is that how we met maybe?"
"You have a lot of questions William, for a man your age. But yes, I've met your wife before."
William relaxed a little now, she was an old friend of his wife, of course she knew his name.
"Excuse me a moment."
William got up and went for his glass of wine still at the other table.
"My wife died three years ago," he said as he sat down again, "did you know that?"
"I knowWilliam, I know."
"She was I fine woman."
William's eyes looked down for while and then back to the woman.
"But tell me, how did you know her?"
"We'll get to that later William, it'll all become clear soon."
She fininshed her coffee and lit a cigarette.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Let's go for a walk William, it's nice outside."
William didn't bother to finish his drink and got up with her. They went outside, crossed the street and walked into a park. Apart from a man walking his dog and a young girl reading on a bench the park appeared empty. Birds stopped singing.
"Did you tell me your name?" William asked. His facial expression was that of a young child full of questions about life and things.
"I didn't William, but let's go sit down first." She said, pointing at an empty bench near a small pont. "I'll explain."
William followed the strange woman and they sat down in the shade of some shrubs.
"You still don't have an idea of who I am, have you William?"
"No, but I'm hoping to find that out now, who are you?"
"The thing is, I don't really have a name, I am whatever people call me."
"So how do people call you then ?"
"Lady Death, Princess of Darkness, things like that."
"That's not very nice of people, you seem to me a nice person, those names don't fit you."
"You'd be surprised William."
William visibly was trying to figure out what to think of the situation.
"In the bar you said you had a hard time finding me, why were you looking for me? Does it have something to do with my wife?"
"Not really William, I came for your wife three years ago, now I've come for you. It's time."
William just stared at her, his mouth half open.
"It's…it's time?"
She didn't answer. She looked at him with an almost friendly face.
"There's no need to be afraid William, you knew this day would come and now here it is, and there's nothing scary about it."
William now fully realized the purpose of her visit to him. And her comforting words only made that realization more painful than if she would have said it cold and without any emotion. He'd never been afraid of death, or so he thought, but now, sitting on a bench in a park on a beautiful day, with Death by his side, he wasn't so sure anymore. There still were so many things to do. He'd told his daughter he wouldn't be long, he promised his only grandchild to take her on his boat for a trip next Sunday, he was to go see…
"Why now?" he asked her. Trembling voice.
"You shouldn't try to fight it William, it'll make things worse. This day had been appointed even before you were born. It's all part of the plan and there's no way you can outrun your destiny."
"If this is the day, can't you at least give me until midnight?"
"I'm sorry William, even I can't change the program."
They sat silent.
High up an airplane cut open the skies. Birds started singing again, mixing with the sound of playing children. A cool breeze going through the shrubs lifted William's hat from the bench and took it on an elegant ride through the air before landing it in the middle of the pont. It wasn't even noon yet.
She was old. All dressed in black, pale skin, sad and tired looking eyes. She drank coffee and read a magazine which had the cover torn off.
He was sitting a few chairs away, neatly dressed, a hat made of felt, sipping from a glas of red wine, watching her. They were the only people in the bar, apart from the bartender. There was no music playing, the only sound audible was the humming of the refrigerators behind the counter and the monotone sound of cars passing by out front. The woman looked up, towards the bartender sitting at the far end of the counter, trying to get his attention. When she got it she pointed at her cup of coffee. The barkeep got up, put down his paper and moved towards the coffeemachine. A hissing noise broke the silence as he worked on the coffee. A few moments later he was changing the empty cup for a new one and took the money off the woman's table. There was no change. The woman nodded a sort of thank you as he walked off again. The man on the other table watched every movement and as the bartender went back to his paper he stood up. Hesitating for a moment and then slowly moving towards the lady. She didn't look up when he was at her table.
"Excuse me ma'am." he said, bowing a little, "but I was wondering what a fine lady like yourself hopes to find in a sad place like this."
The woman had heard him but didn't look up from her magazine.
"I don't mean to be bold or anything ma'am, but I've never seen you around here before and I figured maybe you was lost or somepin, and maybe I could help you."
He took of his hat.
"I'm William."
"I know you are." she said, as she looked up and straight into his eyes. William's face turned into a question mark.
"Sit down, please."
"How…how come you know my name? Have we met before? I can't remember you."
She looked at him with piercing eyes and just sat silent. William felt his hands getting sweaty and he wished he'd never gotten up from his seat.
"It took me some time finding you William, but here you are." she finally said, smiling.
"Were you a friend of my wife? Is that how we met maybe?"
"You have a lot of questions William, for a man your age. But yes, I've met your wife before."
William relaxed a little now, she was an old friend of his wife, of course she knew his name.
"Excuse me a moment."
William got up and went for his glass of wine still at the other table.
"My wife died three years ago," he said as he sat down again, "did you know that?"
"I knowWilliam, I know."
"She was I fine woman."
William's eyes looked down for while and then back to the woman.
"But tell me, how did you know her?"
"We'll get to that later William, it'll all become clear soon."
She fininshed her coffee and lit a cigarette.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Let's go for a walk William, it's nice outside."
William didn't bother to finish his drink and got up with her. They went outside, crossed the street and walked into a park. Apart from a man walking his dog and a young girl reading on a bench the park appeared empty. Birds stopped singing.
"Did you tell me your name?" William asked. His facial expression was that of a young child full of questions about life and things.
"I didn't William, but let's go sit down first." She said, pointing at an empty bench near a small pont. "I'll explain."
William followed the strange woman and they sat down in the shade of some shrubs.
"You still don't have an idea of who I am, have you William?"
"No, but I'm hoping to find that out now, who are you?"
"The thing is, I don't really have a name, I am whatever people call me."
"So how do people call you then ?"
"Lady Death, Princess of Darkness, things like that."
"That's not very nice of people, you seem to me a nice person, those names don't fit you."
"You'd be surprised William."
William visibly was trying to figure out what to think of the situation.
"In the bar you said you had a hard time finding me, why were you looking for me? Does it have something to do with my wife?"
"Not really William, I came for your wife three years ago, now I've come for you. It's time."
William just stared at her, his mouth half open.
"It's…it's time?"
She didn't answer. She looked at him with an almost friendly face.
"There's no need to be afraid William, you knew this day would come and now here it is, and there's nothing scary about it."
William now fully realized the purpose of her visit to him. And her comforting words only made that realization more painful than if she would have said it cold and without any emotion. He'd never been afraid of death, or so he thought, but now, sitting on a bench in a park on a beautiful day, with Death by his side, he wasn't so sure anymore. There still were so many things to do. He'd told his daughter he wouldn't be long, he promised his only grandchild to take her on his boat for a trip next Sunday, he was to go see…
"Why now?" he asked her. Trembling voice.
"You shouldn't try to fight it William, it'll make things worse. This day had been appointed even before you were born. It's all part of the plan and there's no way you can outrun your destiny."
"If this is the day, can't you at least give me until midnight?"
"I'm sorry William, even I can't change the program."
They sat silent.
High up an airplane cut open the skies. Birds started singing again, mixing with the sound of playing children. A cool breeze going through the shrubs lifted William's hat from the bench and took it on an elegant ride through the air before landing it in the middle of the pont. It wasn't even noon yet.
JanuS
Sunday, 3rd of October, 2004
The world is still on fire, what's new, but my own little world has become an oasis of peace. &nbs; Temporarly or not, it's a welcome change. I found touch with my inside, and for the first time since long I can appreciate more or less who I am. There's still a long way to go, but any improvement is a true victory. I don't think the battle can ever be won, it just keeps me going on for a bit longer. Skies are cold but blue. The bugs in my head are still around, but they keep very quiet. I'm not used to this silence anymore, but it won't take long to do so, I'm sure. That's the state of my world...
The outside world on the other hand is still as sick as hell. Thank god there's people like Bush Jr. or Sharon who keep on killing kids to protect the world from terrorism, what a relief. It must be terrifying for an Israëli tank commander to have a bunch of kids throwing rocks at him, you can hardly blame him for having an itchy triggerfinger can you? Bloody hell, the whole situation makes me think things I'd rather not speak out loud. I can live with my wolrd, how messy and fucked it can be at times, but what goes on outside mine, that makes me wanna throw up. And I am as much guilty as anyone else in this matter. Peace for one is always hell for someone else, preferably somewhere far away. Sure we see it on tv, but what do we do bout it? Jack shit. We feel uncomfortable for a while, but then we drink and eat it away, and muse about the happy, civilized life we have, free of sorrow and worries. "Look at them kids! Look at how cute they are! My heart melts seeing them happy. Anyone touches them and I'll skin him alive. Nobody touches my kids, no sir!" Then we go inside, turn on the tv set, look at some war going on far away. "Ain't it a shame, those savages raping and killing and blowing each other to pieces? It makes me sick, yes sir, they should bomb them suckers into oblivion. Look at us, we get along, why can't they? Always looking for trouble, it's their nature I tell ya."
I wish I could shut myself off from all that, but I wanna see it coming when it comes, so I face it, almost wetting my pants.
The outside world on the other hand is still as sick as hell. Thank god there's people like Bush Jr. or Sharon who keep on killing kids to protect the world from terrorism, what a relief. It must be terrifying for an Israëli tank commander to have a bunch of kids throwing rocks at him, you can hardly blame him for having an itchy triggerfinger can you? Bloody hell, the whole situation makes me think things I'd rather not speak out loud. I can live with my wolrd, how messy and fucked it can be at times, but what goes on outside mine, that makes me wanna throw up. And I am as much guilty as anyone else in this matter. Peace for one is always hell for someone else, preferably somewhere far away. Sure we see it on tv, but what do we do bout it? Jack shit. We feel uncomfortable for a while, but then we drink and eat it away, and muse about the happy, civilized life we have, free of sorrow and worries. "Look at them kids! Look at how cute they are! My heart melts seeing them happy. Anyone touches them and I'll skin him alive. Nobody touches my kids, no sir!" Then we go inside, turn on the tv set, look at some war going on far away. "Ain't it a shame, those savages raping and killing and blowing each other to pieces? It makes me sick, yes sir, they should bomb them suckers into oblivion. Look at us, we get along, why can't they? Always looking for trouble, it's their nature I tell ya."
I wish I could shut myself off from all that, but I wanna see it coming when it comes, so I face it, almost wetting my pants.
JanuS
Wednesday, 15th of September, 2004
Letter to an unborn son.
Dear son,
I hereby would like to apologize to you for not having done enough to give you a place of refuge in this world gone crazy. I know I should have known, but to hope is one of those strange characterisitcs of man.
If I could turn back time I would probably have done the same thing, so I guess your existance is inevitable. That's life, you don't choose for it, but one way or another you'll have to deal with it. Nevertheless I suffer from a feeling of guilt I hope you will never have to endure.
As I said hope is one of the things that keeps us humans going and I can understand you if you see me and your mother as selfish people. That's how I at times saw my parents, and it's probably how they at times saw their parents. As you will soon discover there's a lot of blaming and feeling sorry in this here world. I don't believe it has ever been different.
When I was six I was somewhat forced to tell hundreds of people how I was the result of the love between two people. I know how dull it sounds! But I guess it's the truth... You are the result of love, and love will be the biggest struggle in your life. It's a sour feeling I have about love, because it's no guarantee for not having to deal with lies, deceat, hate,... Quite the contrary I'd say.
Don't get me wrong though son, I just see it as my responsability to warn you about the dangers of life, so you can see the beauty of it. Because , after all, that's what it is, beautiful. Despite the mess your ancestors have made of it. I sincerely hope (there we go again) that maybe one day you can make a difference. You don't have to become a doctor or a lawyer, just try to find what's good inside of you, and live by it. Most people spend their entire life in pursuit of happiness, while all the time it has been inside of them. Most people die without ever having found the treasure inside of them; Many lives are lost in this world son, make something of your own. And listen to your mother.
Just kidding.
Dear son,
I hereby would like to apologize to you for not having done enough to give you a place of refuge in this world gone crazy. I know I should have known, but to hope is one of those strange characterisitcs of man.
If I could turn back time I would probably have done the same thing, so I guess your existance is inevitable. That's life, you don't choose for it, but one way or another you'll have to deal with it. Nevertheless I suffer from a feeling of guilt I hope you will never have to endure.
As I said hope is one of the things that keeps us humans going and I can understand you if you see me and your mother as selfish people. That's how I at times saw my parents, and it's probably how they at times saw their parents. As you will soon discover there's a lot of blaming and feeling sorry in this here world. I don't believe it has ever been different.
When I was six I was somewhat forced to tell hundreds of people how I was the result of the love between two people. I know how dull it sounds! But I guess it's the truth... You are the result of love, and love will be the biggest struggle in your life. It's a sour feeling I have about love, because it's no guarantee for not having to deal with lies, deceat, hate,... Quite the contrary I'd say.
Don't get me wrong though son, I just see it as my responsability to warn you about the dangers of life, so you can see the beauty of it. Because , after all, that's what it is, beautiful. Despite the mess your ancestors have made of it. I sincerely hope (there we go again) that maybe one day you can make a difference. You don't have to become a doctor or a lawyer, just try to find what's good inside of you, and live by it. Most people spend their entire life in pursuit of happiness, while all the time it has been inside of them. Most people die without ever having found the treasure inside of them; Many lives are lost in this world son, make something of your own. And listen to your mother.
Just kidding.
JanuS
Wednesday, 15th of September, 2004
My boss finally had it with me, and that's the signal for almost everybody else to start throwing mud at me. I'd like to say I couldn't care less, but it's not doing my already fragile selfesteem any good. I've had it with the job too, for a long time, but it's become hard to hide it. You have to be somewhat of an actor if you wanna work here. Nobody likes the bosses wife, they fear her, but they all play their part in this play. After all, she's the one who decides who goes and who stays. Not the boss himself. If you can call him a real boss that is. After 2 1/2 years I'm still not sure what his job really is. Sitting there, at his desk, is his main job.
He's a big man (both in size and weight) and looks like a manager, but there it ends. Whatever he does is based on the information given by his squad of bootlickers, who's job it is to keep their position, at any cost. And they are good at it. It is as if this place is owned by Russians with nostalgia for the Cold War. Nothing ever happens, things that go wrong are always the responsibility of the ones at the bottom and intimidation is everywhere. I'm really stupid that it took me over two years to see how it works here. I had a feeling long time ago, but I never expected it to be so bad.
I would love it so much if I could just walk out, leaving a note saying "Fed up, gone home". I would even love it more if I could express my thoughts about the whole shit before "checking out". But I too much a sissy to do so. Besides there's still this loan to pay. Life and freedom, water and fire it seems. The longer you live the more you imprison yourself. It's usually too late when you start realizing that. Time will tell, and it does, but always too late. Crap. I wish I had Al Qaedafriends, so I could resign with style. Maybe Albanians would be better, they're more subtile in their actions. I could do it myself, but I'm very busy trying to make my apartment liveable. And I would prabably fuck things up anyway, there's a certain skill required to blow up stuff. Oh well, I guess I'll just speed up the quest for another job. Got something in mind, same shit, different place.
I would love it so much if I could just walk out, leaving a note saying "Fed up, gone home". I would even love it more if I could express my thoughts about the whole shit before "checking out". But I too much a sissy to do so. Besides there's still this loan to pay. Life and freedom, water and fire it seems. The longer you live the more you imprison yourself. It's usually too late when you start realizing that. Time will tell, and it does, but always too late. Crap. I wish I had Al Qaedafriends, so I could resign with style. Maybe Albanians would be better, they're more subtile in their actions. I could do it myself, but I'm very busy trying to make my apartment liveable. And I would prabably fuck things up anyway, there's a certain skill required to blow up stuff. Oh well, I guess I'll just speed up the quest for another job. Got something in mind, same shit, different place.
JanuS
Tuesday, 14th of September, 2004
Where pretty girls go when summer's over.
I was sitting outside a café on a square in a city. Summer, been called late summer since a week or two, was really over now. The sun was nowhere to be seen but, regarding the time of day, around noon, I presumed she had to be out there somewhere. There I had it, my words were still warm and there she showed up! She wasn't very motivated though. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, the wind was too hard and too cold. A few diehards still ran around in T-shirt. (I was one of them, not because I'm tough, just because I was stupid enough to leave the house expecting 30 degrees.) Most people had their jackets on, even a woman in fur came by. I don't like women in fur, not just because of the poor animals, it just reminds me of the great Cold. I hate cold even more than I hate women in fur.
Together with summer the girls had vanished. Another thing I hate. (So much hate you might say, but I'm really a very tolerant human being.) I'd always wondered where all those beautiful creatures went to hibernate. In my wildest dreams I found them in a warehouse just outside the city. They where breathtaking as ever, very willing and very happy to see someone come by. After all the days in there were long and there wasn't much to do. There was no privacy at all so there was even less to do.
Most of the year was spent being packed together in this warehouse, so there was a lot of squabbling between the girls. There probably would be as much squabbling had they not been packed together.
There were no facilities such as toilettes, a bar or a restaurant. These people were so beautiful they had been exemted from almost all earthly needs and inconveniences. But they couldn't escape boredom, boy I'd never seen so much crowded boredom as I did in that place.
The first weeks after summer ended, when the girls one by one started to fill the warehouse again, there was always a lot to talk about, and a lot of laughter. But soon the fun was over and the first fights emerged. More because they were so close together all the time than out of jealousy. Ofcourse they sometimes were jealous, but mainly about the girls who weren't there that year. Those were the lucky few, who got hooked during the summer. It wasn't a guarantee for succes, but at least they got away with it this time. I felt sorry for those who had to spend another year in the warehouse, it wasn't easy on them. They only got like two months in which they could show their beauty to the outside world. The bigger part of the male population was very interested ofcourse, but the girls had their pride and were extremely selective. Showing their qualities was one thing, but finding a matching partner was another. The chances of meeting Mister Right were a lot slimmer than the chances of having to go back into hibernation for a year. None of them looked hopeless though, that did them credit.
I got a tour by a girl called Marie, she was one of the veterans there. She was pretty, but by then I'd got used to seeing pretty things. It was, given the circumstances, close to impossible to enjoy all the beauty with moderation. Soon I was oversatisfied. The only ugly thing left were the naked concrete walls of the warehouse. And me.
"These here are the new ones, it's their first time here." said Marie, pointing at dozens of camp beds placed along the concrete wall.
"Those who come here for the third time get a bed in the central part."
The beds were real beds there, a lot more comfortable than the camp beds.
"Unfortunately we've had some problems during the past years, too much people, not enough room. Some people are still sleeping on camp beds after four years. But there's little we can do about it."
As if she knew what I wanted to ask she continued: "I sleep up there, on the balcony. It goes al the way around the warehouse. Usually the girls who are here for the fifth time end up there, but as I said it's sometimes hard. It's as noisy and as smelly up there as it is down here, especially in the morning, but there's less running back and forth so it's relatively quiet." We were walking between two rows of semi-veterans. Some girls were sleeping, others were talking or reading.
"Usually this place is off limits for men." Marie went on, when she noticed the horny looks some girls threw at me. I noticed them too. It was a bit scary actually, but nice too. I was thinking had this been a men's warehouse it wouldn't be very smart walking around here as a woman. Quite the contrary. It was crazy enough that I was walking around there, as the only guy in the room. But had they torn me up right there and then, I don't think I would have given a damn.
The girls had little or no diffidence, some ran around halfnaked. Physical reactions surfaced.
"We can't go upstairs," Marie went on, waking me up a bit, "Our visit wouldn't be much appreciated. I'm afraid the tour ends here."
I had seen enough, with or without the upper floor. My pants were getting very tight. But the chance of getting some satisfaction here was, for my own safety, rather small. Marie explained me how I could get out of the warehouse. I felt quite fine where I was but nevrtheless I followed her instructions. A little later I found myself sitting outside a cafe on a square in a city. There were a lot of people but no girls. Only now I knew where they hung out and I was eagerly looking forward to the next summer.
I was sitting outside a café on a square in a city. Summer, been called late summer since a week or two, was really over now. The sun was nowhere to be seen but, regarding the time of day, around noon, I presumed she had to be out there somewhere. There I had it, my words were still warm and there she showed up! She wasn't very motivated though. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, the wind was too hard and too cold. A few diehards still ran around in T-shirt. (I was one of them, not because I'm tough, just because I was stupid enough to leave the house expecting 30 degrees.) Most people had their jackets on, even a woman in fur came by. I don't like women in fur, not just because of the poor animals, it just reminds me of the great Cold. I hate cold even more than I hate women in fur.
Together with summer the girls had vanished. Another thing I hate. (So much hate you might say, but I'm really a very tolerant human being.) I'd always wondered where all those beautiful creatures went to hibernate. In my wildest dreams I found them in a warehouse just outside the city. They where breathtaking as ever, very willing and very happy to see someone come by. After all the days in there were long and there wasn't much to do. There was no privacy at all so there was even less to do.
Most of the year was spent being packed together in this warehouse, so there was a lot of squabbling between the girls. There probably would be as much squabbling had they not been packed together.
There were no facilities such as toilettes, a bar or a restaurant. These people were so beautiful they had been exemted from almost all earthly needs and inconveniences. But they couldn't escape boredom, boy I'd never seen so much crowded boredom as I did in that place.
The first weeks after summer ended, when the girls one by one started to fill the warehouse again, there was always a lot to talk about, and a lot of laughter. But soon the fun was over and the first fights emerged. More because they were so close together all the time than out of jealousy. Ofcourse they sometimes were jealous, but mainly about the girls who weren't there that year. Those were the lucky few, who got hooked during the summer. It wasn't a guarantee for succes, but at least they got away with it this time. I felt sorry for those who had to spend another year in the warehouse, it wasn't easy on them. They only got like two months in which they could show their beauty to the outside world. The bigger part of the male population was very interested ofcourse, but the girls had their pride and were extremely selective. Showing their qualities was one thing, but finding a matching partner was another. The chances of meeting Mister Right were a lot slimmer than the chances of having to go back into hibernation for a year. None of them looked hopeless though, that did them credit.
I got a tour by a girl called Marie, she was one of the veterans there. She was pretty, but by then I'd got used to seeing pretty things. It was, given the circumstances, close to impossible to enjoy all the beauty with moderation. Soon I was oversatisfied. The only ugly thing left were the naked concrete walls of the warehouse. And me.
"These here are the new ones, it's their first time here." said Marie, pointing at dozens of camp beds placed along the concrete wall.
"Those who come here for the third time get a bed in the central part."
The beds were real beds there, a lot more comfortable than the camp beds.
"Unfortunately we've had some problems during the past years, too much people, not enough room. Some people are still sleeping on camp beds after four years. But there's little we can do about it."
As if she knew what I wanted to ask she continued: "I sleep up there, on the balcony. It goes al the way around the warehouse. Usually the girls who are here for the fifth time end up there, but as I said it's sometimes hard. It's as noisy and as smelly up there as it is down here, especially in the morning, but there's less running back and forth so it's relatively quiet." We were walking between two rows of semi-veterans. Some girls were sleeping, others were talking or reading.
"Usually this place is off limits for men." Marie went on, when she noticed the horny looks some girls threw at me. I noticed them too. It was a bit scary actually, but nice too. I was thinking had this been a men's warehouse it wouldn't be very smart walking around here as a woman. Quite the contrary. It was crazy enough that I was walking around there, as the only guy in the room. But had they torn me up right there and then, I don't think I would have given a damn.
The girls had little or no diffidence, some ran around halfnaked. Physical reactions surfaced.
"We can't go upstairs," Marie went on, waking me up a bit, "Our visit wouldn't be much appreciated. I'm afraid the tour ends here."
I had seen enough, with or without the upper floor. My pants were getting very tight. But the chance of getting some satisfaction here was, for my own safety, rather small. Marie explained me how I could get out of the warehouse. I felt quite fine where I was but nevrtheless I followed her instructions. A little later I found myself sitting outside a cafe on a square in a city. There were a lot of people but no girls. Only now I knew where they hung out and I was eagerly looking forward to the next summer.
JanuS
Wednesday, 8th of September, 2004
Ik weet niet of ik na 26 lentes al kan beginnen mijmeren over mijn jeugd, maar het is op zijn minst verleidelijk kan ik wel zeggen. Nonkel Jos of tante Brigitte konden niet genoeg zeggen dat het de schoonsten tijd van uw leven is maar daar heb je, als puberend mens, op dat moment weinig boodschap aan. Het is één en al ellende en dan willen die ouwe lieden je wijsmaken dat het daarna alleen bergaf gaat. Je laat hen maar leuteren en je ploetert lustig verder. Maar met de jaren begint het dan toch enigzins te dagen en betrap je jezelf erop dat je tegen neefje Marcel hetzelfde gezeik loopt te verkondigen, jaja, de schooltijd, het beste wat een mens kan overkomen! En dan bekijkt Marcel je met een blik die zowel onbegrip als minachting uitstraalt en begin je te beseffen dat je stilaan tot de groeiende groep ouderen gaat behoren. Op familiefeesten mag je nu bij de groten aanschuiven en dat is aanvankelijk een overwinning en een vooruitgang van heb ik je daar, maar de lol is er algauw af. Ok, je kan je eindelijk in de drank gaan gooien, maar dat verveelt op de duur ook wel. Bovendien is een moederlijke vermanende blik nooit veraf. Vader kan het niet zoveel schelen, hij heeft het druk met vreten en wilde verhalen opdissen. Uiteindelijk zit je je daar stierlijk te vervelen en nog meer te drinken tot je tegen de tante tegenover je aan tafel, die je in geen jaren hebt gezien, begint te vertellen hoe je haar vroeger altijd wel een zinnenprikkelend wezen vond. Want gore praat mag, nu je bij de groten zit. Alleen kan het even duren voor een mens daarin bedreven raakt. Mijn tante vond het maar niks. Die indruk had ik. Misschien wou ze het hard spelen. Ik ben er nooit achtergekomen. Ik vond mijn tantes altijd wel iets erotisch hebben in die tijd.
Dat kwam vooral door mijn eerste natte droom, die ik beleefde lang voor mijn moeder de moed opbracht mij enige duiding terzake bij te brengen. Op een morgen werd ik wakker en ik wist niet waar ik het had! Ik was ternauwernood ontsnapt uit een duistere kille grot waarin zowel tante 'geil' als tante 'bitch' van de partij waren en mij wilden inwijden in de geheimen van de liefde. Als twaalfjarige krijg je dan eerder last van angstzweet dan van voorvocht. Doch hoe beangstigend ook, je bekijkt je tantes nooit meer met dezelfde onschuldige blik. Tante 'bitch' hield het enkele jaren later voor bekeken bij haar vent en ging ervandoor met de buurman, die bij de politie was en die nog voor vele avonturen zou zorgen. Tante 'geil' bleef nog even tante 'geil', zeker nadat ik een paar keer op haar kroost moest passen en van de gelegenheid gebruik maakte haar videocollectie eens te doorsnuffelen. Wat mijn arme, onbezoedelde ziel daar allemaal heeft ontdekt hou je niet voor mogelijk! Ik meen daar mijn onschuld te zijn verloren. En aangezien die mensen ondertussen meermaals zijn verhuisd is de kans eerder gering dat ik die onschuld ooit nog terugzie. Het is uiteindelijk allemaal de schuld van de man van tante 'geil'. Voorheen was zij bijna een grote zus bij wie ik als klein ventje om raad ging betreffende allerhande zaken die een mens op die leeftijd bezighouden. Maar toen die vent in haar leven kwam veranderde alles op slag. Hij had van die kinky ideeën en die vond zij precies wel leuk want spoedig kwamen er kinderen van, en later nog meer, en daarmee was de kous zowat af. Haar borsten werden ook zoveel groter en ik was mijn grote zus kwijt. Hoe meer ik erover nadenk hoe meer ik ervan overtuigd raak dat daar de Grote Verwarring is begonnen. Het zou nadien nooit meer hetzelfde zijn. Intussen heeft tante 'geil' teveel koters om nog langer 'geil' te zijn. Het moeten er intussen een stuk of vijf zijn, ik hou de tel al lang niet meer bij, wat kan het mij schelen. Bij elk familiefeest komt er meer van dat grut opdagen en ik weet al lang niet meer tot wie ze behoren, laat staan hoe ze heten. Ik was eerst, en dan mijn zusje, de rest kan me gestolen worden. Je kiest je familie immers niet of wel?
Dat tante 'geil' een overdreven drang tot paren heeft is intussen haar zaak geworden, en die vent van haar, wel daar moet ze achteraf niet over komen klagen. Het zijn uiteindelijk mijn zaken niet maar wat me het meest dwarszit is dat die vent van haar het nodig vond het bedrijf van mijn grootvader op sluikse wijze in te palmen en vervolgens vakkundig om zeep te helpen. (Teneinde kosten te besparen op het verwerken van zware metalen besloot hij alles onder de grond te stoppen, waardoor het hele zootje natuurlijk ferm verziekt is. En ik als kleine snaak maar patatten kweken!) Hij vertoont zich zelden of nooit op familiefeesten en dat is zowat het verstandigste dat ik hem ooit heb weten doen. Bovendien probeert hij zijn kinderen naar 'Zijn' voorbeeld te schapen en dus zijn die kinderen van hem zo maf als iets. Kun je niks mee aan. Alleen grootmoeder kan ermee overweg, maar dat is dan ook haar job. Alle begrip daarvoor. Het mens is ook niet meer van de jongste. Toch kent ze al die kleine mensen bij naam. Ook zij die niet tot de familie 'geil' behoren. Hoe ze 't doet weet ik niet, maar ze krijgt het toch maar mooi voor mekaar. En ik ben nog steeds haar 'klein manneke', al klinkt dat elk jaar minder geloofwaardig moet ik zeggen. Ach, wat is dat tegenwoordig nog wel? Mijn grootvader was mijn god, tot na zijn dood gaandeweg bleek dat hij ook maar een rotzakske was. Toch hoop ik meer van hem te hebben overgenomen dan van mijn vader, wat mij normaal lijkt, ik wil mijn vader niet zijn, en hij die van hem al evenmin, dus dan klinkt het toch logisch dat ik meer van mijn grootvader heb dan van mijn eigen vader? Ach, ik weet het allemaal niet zo goed meer. Ik kijk met heimwee terug naar gisteren maar terzelfdertijd komen alleen de donkere kanten bovendrijven. En ik kan al bij al niet klagen. Het zal aan mijn aard liggen denk ik dan. Mijn grootvader was ook al niet bepaald een voorbeeld van rust. Toen zijn hart zowat om zeep was vond hij het nodig zijn tuin om te spitten, want als hij het niet deed kwam er nooit iets van in huis. Niemand durfde hem tegen te spreken. Ik allerminst, hij was God, en die zal het wel weten zeker? De idioot. Ik vraag me steeds vaker af waarom. Hij zal ook wel zijn redenen hebben gehad probeer ik mij wijs te maken. Ik herinner mij als was het gisteren de dag dat hij er de brui aan gaf. Wat vond ik hem toen een loser. Hij riep nog een keer klootzak en het was voorbij. Ik kon het niet geloven. Mijn zus en ik werden zo snel als kon bij de buren ondergebracht en hoewel mijn zusje geen idee had van wat er gaande was had ik dat maar al te goed. Het rad van fortuin, of iets dergelijks, stond op en ondanks de ellende slaagde ik er toch nog in een niet onaardige prestatie neer te zetten bij het oplossen van de toch niet zo eenvoudige vragen. Mijn zusje vond het maar niks. Zij had medelijden met de goudvissen bovenop het tvtoestel. Ze begreep niet waarom iedereen zo vreemd deed. Ze wou naar huis. Ik wou ook naar huis, maar ik moest mij kranig houden, want zij was mijn klein zusje en ik moest voor haar zorgen. De buurvrouw probeerde ons op te vrolijken, maar dat vlotte niet zo goed. Buurvrouw zat immers volop te snotteren en het was dan ook niet zo eenvoudig om als kind het spelletje mee te spelen. "Laten we naar de schapen zien" probeerde ik, maar dat was maar een flauwe poging de gedachten te verzetten. Zelfs de schapen hadden er de pest in, ze liepen te bleêren alsof hun leven ervan af hing. "Wat een rotzooi." bedacht ik toen voor het eerst. En het zou er niet bepaald beter op worden
JanuS
Friday, 27nd of August, 2004
George sat in his garden, beer in one hand, sigar in the other. He was looking at his huge mansion and thought by himself "what would hurt the most, losing my house or losing my wife?" The answer was easy, though it was less hastle getting rid of a house. "O George??" She was calling him from inside somewhere. It sounded like a pig getting slaughtered. George quickly put down his beer, threw what was left of his sigar behind him, in the bushes, and pretended to be asleep. "Geooorge!!" Even the birds stopped singing, leaving nothing but a terrifying silence between two yells.
"Geooorge!!!" it went on, "Where are you darling??"
"A few lightyears away if it was up to me that's for sure." he mumbled. He'd worked like crazy his entire life, made enough money to buy a small african country, and now found himself stuck in a golden prison. "A multibillionaire loser." as he liked to call himself among friends.
"Georgieboy!! Are you hiding from me again?? That's naughty George!! I'm coming to get you!! George??"
Her voice sounded much closer now. She had to be in the garden. George thought of the steps coming down from the house, when wet they could get very slippery. Only it hadn't rained in weeks, and it didn't look like it would in the next five minutes.
"Well there you are George!! I've been looking all over for you!"
She was right next to him, but George didn't move until she poked him gently in the side.
"Oh hi hunnie, I didn't hear you coming." he said, faking a yawn. "What's up?"
"Well...I just got a call from Marge Fawler and she's inviting us over for a garden party next sunday, ain't that wonderful Georgie? It means we are finally accepted by the neighbourhood George! I feel so happy!! We are going there aren't we George? Please??"
"Sure, sure we are darling."
"Oh thank you George! I knew you'd say yes!!"
She kissed him on the forehead and took off again. George sat up and finished his beer as he watched her frisk back to the house.
George didn't like the Fawlers. Roger Fawler was a retired undertaker with the morbid sense of humor common in those circles. And his wife, Marge, had always been his toughest customer, she just didn't want to die Roger always said to whoever was listening. George had been listening to him quite often in the two years he'd been living there. He remembered some sort of welcoming party the Fawlers gave when George and Marge moved in. George got very drunk that night. He always did on such occasions. There was little else he could do he figured. He wasn't much of a blend-in type of guy His wife never minded really when he got pissed again and started to insult people, she was always high on prozac or whatever the crap she was on. Hell, she even thought the starving kids on tv had something charming about them! Well maybe they had, but George doubted it would help those beerbellied kids. He didn't feel charmed about them, nor did he feel anything else when he saw them. "Tough luck." was his opinion.
Twilight started to immerse the huge garden in the most fairylike colors, not that George noticed any of that. He was looking at the mansion, looking at the lights inside being turned on and of, revealing every move of his wife. Why did he marry her in the first place? It must have been some fashion thing back then he guessed. Young people didn't get married that young anymore. George sighed, stood up and strolled back to the house. He'd turn 72 in a few days and he hated it. He felt like getting really drunk but his wife only allowed him to have two beers a day and he had given up discussing the matter a long time ago. He also felt like getting laid, before getting drunk preferably, but he had more chance getting hit by lightning. So George went to bed, in his own bedroom. They hadn't slept together for ages because neither did the neighbours Marge said. George didn't really mind that much, his dreams were more fun than the hours he was awake. Sometimes he wished he could sleep forever, but then his wife would get al he had. That thought was so disgusting that it was the only thing that kept him alive. It probably would be his last fight ever, but he sure as hell was gonna win this one!
"Geooorge!!!" it went on, "Where are you darling??"
"A few lightyears away if it was up to me that's for sure." he mumbled. He'd worked like crazy his entire life, made enough money to buy a small african country, and now found himself stuck in a golden prison. "A multibillionaire loser." as he liked to call himself among friends.
"Georgieboy!! Are you hiding from me again?? That's naughty George!! I'm coming to get you!! George??"
Her voice sounded much closer now. She had to be in the garden. George thought of the steps coming down from the house, when wet they could get very slippery. Only it hadn't rained in weeks, and it didn't look like it would in the next five minutes.
"Well there you are George!! I've been looking all over for you!"
She was right next to him, but George didn't move until she poked him gently in the side.
"Oh hi hunnie, I didn't hear you coming." he said, faking a yawn. "What's up?"
"Well...I just got a call from Marge Fawler and she's inviting us over for a garden party next sunday, ain't that wonderful Georgie? It means we are finally accepted by the neighbourhood George! I feel so happy!! We are going there aren't we George? Please??"
"Sure, sure we are darling."
"Oh thank you George! I knew you'd say yes!!"
She kissed him on the forehead and took off again. George sat up and finished his beer as he watched her frisk back to the house.
George didn't like the Fawlers. Roger Fawler was a retired undertaker with the morbid sense of humor common in those circles. And his wife, Marge, had always been his toughest customer, she just didn't want to die Roger always said to whoever was listening. George had been listening to him quite often in the two years he'd been living there. He remembered some sort of welcoming party the Fawlers gave when George and Marge moved in. George got very drunk that night. He always did on such occasions. There was little else he could do he figured. He wasn't much of a blend-in type of guy His wife never minded really when he got pissed again and started to insult people, she was always high on prozac or whatever the crap she was on. Hell, she even thought the starving kids on tv had something charming about them! Well maybe they had, but George doubted it would help those beerbellied kids. He didn't feel charmed about them, nor did he feel anything else when he saw them. "Tough luck." was his opinion.
Twilight started to immerse the huge garden in the most fairylike colors, not that George noticed any of that. He was looking at the mansion, looking at the lights inside being turned on and of, revealing every move of his wife. Why did he marry her in the first place? It must have been some fashion thing back then he guessed. Young people didn't get married that young anymore. George sighed, stood up and strolled back to the house. He'd turn 72 in a few days and he hated it. He felt like getting really drunk but his wife only allowed him to have two beers a day and he had given up discussing the matter a long time ago. He also felt like getting laid, before getting drunk preferably, but he had more chance getting hit by lightning. So George went to bed, in his own bedroom. They hadn't slept together for ages because neither did the neighbours Marge said. George didn't really mind that much, his dreams were more fun than the hours he was awake. Sometimes he wished he could sleep forever, but then his wife would get al he had. That thought was so disgusting that it was the only thing that kept him alive. It probably would be his last fight ever, but he sure as hell was gonna win this one!
JanuS
Monday, 23rd of August, 2004
Weah "Bigboy" Johnson was cruisin' down the highway, out of town. Partly because he had enough of running the ratrace, mainly because he'd killed a man and din't feel like spending the rest of his life behind bars. The guy deserved to die, but it's quite hard to convince a judge of that, especially when you're black. So Weah found himself driving south, not knowing where he was heading. As long as what was behind him stayed behind him he was doing great, even though he had left everything behind after some feds had come over to talk to his mother and the time seemed right to get out of town asap. All he had was his 1972 Buick Skylark convertible 350ci V8, a filled tank, some money and half a pack of Red Apple. Weah didn't care. Even if he had to run south naked he'd still be extatic about the freedom he had found out there. He felt like a kid leaving home for the first time, heading for the greatest adventures.
But there were no friends to act silly with, there wasn't an aunt Sally somewhere on the way to make him and the boys hot chocolate and blueberry pie. No time to pull over at some insignificant little place trying to hit on white chicks hanging out at the local diner. Hell, he didn't even have a clue of where to go. Weah started to care a little. The film of what happened the other night at Tom's Pool Hall played in front of his eyes over and over again. There was an argument with a redneck insulting one of Weah's friends, they left the place to avoid more problems, the redneck followed them to the parkinglot, the thing escalated, the redneck started waving a knife, Weah got hold of it and stabbed the guy. Redneck dropped down, bleeding, end of story. The next day Weah found out the guy had died where they had left him. Shit happens. It wasn't supposed to be that way, but neither does one choose to be born Weah figured. There was little comfort in that thought, but it was the best Weah could come up with at the time. Where to go? He didn't have any friends out of town that he knew of. Actually he couldn't think of having any friends in town at all. Damn, the whole thing was turning into an existencial crisis! It was a good thing Weah had never been much of a reader. Nevertheless he didn't feel that extatic anymore. Why did he drive south? Because all criminals in movies do? Because there's Mexico at the end of the ride? Pretty soon all Weah knew for certain was that he was driving his Buick on a deserted highway, that there was no way back and that there was a whole lotta shit coming his way. Weah realised freedom was about the closest one could get to hell. Before that he thought it was women.
The sun was setting, and almost blinding Weah. He drove on till he saw a dirtroad on the right. He left the highway, drove for half an hour and then pulled over. He turned off the headlights, lit a Red Apple, counted some stars and fell asleep. He dreamt of being a free man. When he woke up the next morning cops were all over the place. Handcuffed and on his way to the policestation just a little later he knew that the smell of freedom would never reach his nose again. But, well, the redneck had deserved it.
The sun was setting, and almost blinding Weah. He drove on till he saw a dirtroad on the right. He left the highway, drove for half an hour and then pulled over. He turned off the headlights, lit a Red Apple, counted some stars and fell asleep. He dreamt of being a free man. When he woke up the next morning cops were all over the place. Handcuffed and on his way to the policestation just a little later he knew that the smell of freedom would never reach his nose again. But, well, the redneck had deserved it.
JanuS
Tuesday, 17th of August, 2004
 You talk fast, you think fast, you act fast. Stop. Calm Down. Drink some decaf and go back to hitting up liquor stores. Take the What Pulp Fiction Character Are You? quiz. |
JanuS
Monday, 26th of July, 2004
There's no way I can beat the bugs in my head so gradually I give in. Drowning them with booze or suffocating them with pot doesn't seem to do the trick, but nevertheless I keep on trying. In vain of course. There's no poison nor trap you can use to get rid of them. They're there to stay. Sure it's all between the ears, it's just your mind messing with you, but you try to get rid of them! The voices some people hear are also between their ears but they do hear them don't they? So you try to get along, you and the bugs. You try to make them into something positive. But no matter how many pacts you make with them, they will always have a hostile thing about them. Damn little creapy bastards! And smart too.
Usually you don't see them, they're very subtile in their actions, but they do control the whole 'you'. And a funny thing is that even though they are very annoying I don't think I could do without them. They are a part of me and without them I wouldn't be complete. Maybe mentally in a better shape but not complete. And so we tolerate each other the best we can. Well I tolerate them, they just act as parasites and don't seem to have any moral issues bothering them. What else can I do but tolerate them? As I said, they ain't going nowhere, when men is gone bugs will remain.
I don't like people without bugs. They're different. They speak different, act different, and all I can do is try to to pretend I don't have any bugs neither. That's much harder than trying to deal with bugs I assure you. Most recognized bugbearers can be found in a mental institution near you. It's a hell of a struggle trying to hide the bugs from the outside world, no one can be trusted. Anything you say can be used against you, you have the right to remain silent but you don't have the right to an attorney. There are no rules in bug country.
Some time ago I told my doctor about them and she advised me to go see a bugdoctor. I don't see what difference it would make. After all those years together we've gotten so close no outsider could possibly seperate us. Whatever degree he/she has. It must be dull having no bugs at all, but so much easier to run the race. Having bugs is not what you would call favorable to the mental well being, but hey, that's what makes life exciting no?
To cut the crap for a second; I'm not doing too well actually, bugs or not. The line I'm walking on is so thin I can't even see it anymore. Worrying to say the least. I'd like to shout it out but I'm on an island and there's no living soul around. Just birds, up in the trees, laughing their feathered asses off. If only I could put this whole mess into words it might make things easier, but I can't, it's undefinable. It's a slumbering poison polluting every cell in my body. Usually I can cope with it quite well, but not now. Lack of sleep maybe, a bit hungover perhaps, I don't know. Need a break or I will break. The lust for life is death in me. I try to get to the core of life, but with every layer I peel off more and more dirt surfaces. Like an idiot I work my way through it, only to find myself deeper and deeper in the mud. I hate to bother people with it, but I'm not sure if I can handle it on my own this time.
I'm so tired.
Both mind and body are exhausted.
FUBAR
Eat sleep shit, that's what it's all about, but I hardly eat and my sleep is as restless as being awake. Only the shit remains shit. Whatever happens, you can always rely on that. Not much of a relief...
I am nothing.
I will never be anything.
Neither can I want to be something.
Apart from that I cherish al the dreams in the world.
Usually you don't see them, they're very subtile in their actions, but they do control the whole 'you'. And a funny thing is that even though they are very annoying I don't think I could do without them. They are a part of me and without them I wouldn't be complete. Maybe mentally in a better shape but not complete. And so we tolerate each other the best we can. Well I tolerate them, they just act as parasites and don't seem to have any moral issues bothering them. What else can I do but tolerate them? As I said, they ain't going nowhere, when men is gone bugs will remain.
I don't like people without bugs. They're different. They speak different, act different, and all I can do is try to to pretend I don't have any bugs neither. That's much harder than trying to deal with bugs I assure you. Most recognized bugbearers can be found in a mental institution near you. It's a hell of a struggle trying to hide the bugs from the outside world, no one can be trusted. Anything you say can be used against you, you have the right to remain silent but you don't have the right to an attorney. There are no rules in bug country.
Some time ago I told my doctor about them and she advised me to go see a bugdoctor. I don't see what difference it would make. After all those years together we've gotten so close no outsider could possibly seperate us. Whatever degree he/she has. It must be dull having no bugs at all, but so much easier to run the race. Having bugs is not what you would call favorable to the mental well being, but hey, that's what makes life exciting no?
To cut the crap for a second; I'm not doing too well actually, bugs or not. The line I'm walking on is so thin I can't even see it anymore. Worrying to say the least. I'd like to shout it out but I'm on an island and there's no living soul around. Just birds, up in the trees, laughing their feathered asses off. If only I could put this whole mess into words it might make things easier, but I can't, it's undefinable. It's a slumbering poison polluting every cell in my body. Usually I can cope with it quite well, but not now. Lack of sleep maybe, a bit hungover perhaps, I don't know. Need a break or I will break. The lust for life is death in me. I try to get to the core of life, but with every layer I peel off more and more dirt surfaces. Like an idiot I work my way through it, only to find myself deeper and deeper in the mud. I hate to bother people with it, but I'm not sure if I can handle it on my own this time.
I'm so tired.
Both mind and body are exhausted.
FUBAR
Eat sleep shit, that's what it's all about, but I hardly eat and my sleep is as restless as being awake. Only the shit remains shit. Whatever happens, you can always rely on that. Not much of a relief...
I am nothing.
I will never be anything.
Neither can I want to be something.
Apart from that I cherish al the dreams in the world.
JanuS
Sunday, 25th of July, 2004
Nada sou, nada posso, nada sigo.
Trago, por ilusão, meu ser comigo.
Não compreendo compreender, nem sei
Se hei de ser, sendo nada, o que serei.
Fora disto, que é nada, sob o azul
Do lato céu um vento vão do sul
Acorda-me e estremece no verdor.
Ter razão, ter vitória, ter amor
Murcharam na haste morta da ilusão.
Sonhar é nada e não saber é vão.
Dorme na sombra, incerto coração.
Pessoa
Trago, por ilusão, meu ser comigo.
Não compreendo compreender, nem sei
Se hei de ser, sendo nada, o que serei.
Fora disto, que é nada, sob o azul
Do lato céu um vento vão do sul
Acorda-me e estremece no verdor.
Ter razão, ter vitória, ter amor
Murcharam na haste morta da ilusão.
Sonhar é nada e não saber é vão.
Dorme na sombra, incerto coração.
Pessoa
JanuS
Wednesday, 21st of July, 2004
When one sees through the whole love thing, the never ending, mostly futile attempts to find 'love', one does not have the energy anymore to play the game. That is when one does not want to lie to himself. For most people who know what it's all about, or at least got a glimpse of it, are looking for truth and purity. It's not a blessing though, to be able to see behind the fog, if only because you're never sure if what you think you see is not just a proof of your mind going nuts. Whatever it might be, illusion or not, it can be as much a liberation as a torture. And once you've seen through it all, there's no way back. Either you deal with it, or you might as well just drop dead right where you are. Once you've stopped believing in santa claus the chances you will believe in him again are rather slim. And that's just the way it is with love. I always had problems with people who 'loved' me, it scares the shit out off me to be honest. Partly because I've never really liked myself, and as a teacher of mine once said, there's no use in loving someone if you don't like who you are. He also said a man should never get a woman smarter than himself, 'cause that's a recipe for trouble.
That's what he said. O, he also told me, when he was pissed off at me for some reason, to cut the crap, get off my lazy ass and do something with the talent he believed I had. I still remember his words, but I never got off my lazy ass.
A few years later an art teacher would tell me the same; "you have something most people here don't have." It could have given a lot of people satisfaction, but not me, I just can't handle people telling nice things about me.
JanuS
Sunday, 30th of May, 2004
"Hey! You're not even listening to what I'm trying to say here!" The shrill sound of her voice woke me and made me realize I had been staring at her breasts all of the time. I didn't look up immediately, I tried to make it look as if I was thinking about what she'd said, only I didn't quite knew what that was. She must have bought it, or she didn't mind me staring at her fruits 'cause she just went on. She'd calmed down and talked softly now: "I know it's hard for you Tim, and I know you're trying, but it ain't easy on my side too you know?"
I nodded. I was all ear it must have seemed, but my brain was working overtime trying to find out what it was we were talking about here. Frankly, I didn't have a clue. The thing with her was that whenever she wanted to talk serious she went on and on about details and in the end none of us would know what the point of the conversation could have been. br> "Don't you have anything to say then?" she continued.
"I still love you're tits." I tried, which usually did the trick, but not this time. That girl was serious as a heartattack. I was hoping a car would crash its way through the bedroom wall or that she would realize she was out of cigs and would go out to get some. But none of that happened. We just sat there, in silence. She was looking at me while I stared alternately at my toes and her breasts, it sort of calmed me down. The breasts I mean. I hadn't really looked at them before the way I did then. What a glorious sight it was. When she talked or moved a little you could see them rocking gently in their bed of cotton flowers. I always wondered what on earth it could be that made this part of a woman such an irresistable attraction to the male. But actually, I don't need anyone to come tell me why that is, I just love to love them. Only the trouble that often comes with them is somewhat a downer, nothing comes for free I guess. Well I knew I still loved her breasts, but I don't think that was the main theme of our discussion.
"Listen Tim," she started again, "I don't really care if you love me or not, I just want to come by every now and then, like I've done so many times before. You're so gentle to me all the time and it always helps me through the rest of the week. I don't wanna stop seeing you you know?"
"Me neither love, me neither."
"Nothing has to change Tim, we're doing great, I know you're afraid, but really, nothing has to change, I'm sorry I brought it up, just forget it, I...I had some shit at home and I....I just got scared of losing people...I'm sorry...please let me keep on seeing you..."
She bent over to me and I thought I heard her sobbing. I was sure she was when a tiny tear left one of her eyes and landed on my left thigh, causing me to jump up half a meter. I was a bit edgy at that time. After I touched down we hugged for a long time and subsequently made love till morning came. She left around noon, feeling a lot better than when she came in the night before. And I must say that, for some reason, I too was comforted by the feeling that the best had yet to come. Even though she was married.
I nodded. I was all ear it must have seemed, but my brain was working overtime trying to find out what it was we were talking about here. Frankly, I didn't have a clue. The thing with her was that whenever she wanted to talk serious she went on and on about details and in the end none of us would know what the point of the conversation could have been. br> "Don't you have anything to say then?" she continued.
"I still love you're tits." I tried, which usually did the trick, but not this time. That girl was serious as a heartattack. I was hoping a car would crash its way through the bedroom wall or that she would realize she was out of cigs and would go out to get some. But none of that happened. We just sat there, in silence. She was looking at me while I stared alternately at my toes and her breasts, it sort of calmed me down. The breasts I mean. I hadn't really looked at them before the way I did then. What a glorious sight it was. When she talked or moved a little you could see them rocking gently in their bed of cotton flowers. I always wondered what on earth it could be that made this part of a woman such an irresistable attraction to the male. But actually, I don't need anyone to come tell me why that is, I just love to love them. Only the trouble that often comes with them is somewhat a downer, nothing comes for free I guess. Well I knew I still loved her breasts, but I don't think that was the main theme of our discussion.
"Listen Tim," she started again, "I don't really care if you love me or not, I just want to come by every now and then, like I've done so many times before. You're so gentle to me all the time and it always helps me through the rest of the week. I don't wanna stop seeing you you know?"
"Me neither love, me neither."
"Nothing has to change Tim, we're doing great, I know you're afraid, but really, nothing has to change, I'm sorry I brought it up, just forget it, I...I had some shit at home and I....I just got scared of losing people...I'm sorry...please let me keep on seeing you..."
She bent over to me and I thought I heard her sobbing. I was sure she was when a tiny tear left one of her eyes and landed on my left thigh, causing me to jump up half a meter. I was a bit edgy at that time. After I touched down we hugged for a long time and subsequently made love till morning came. She left around noon, feeling a lot better than when she came in the night before. And I must say that, for some reason, I too was comforted by the feeling that the best had yet to come. Even though she was married.
JanuS
Friday, 28th of May, 2004
I had put down my old tired bones on top of the hill and was overlooking the wilderness stretched out below me. The sun was getting ready to set and a refreshing breeze came from the east. I felt quite happy. The way uphill was long and steep and there wasn't any path or anything so I had to find my way trough bushes and the scattered rocks that were all over the place, in all sizes and shapes. And I wasn't twenty anymore, so where I used to run all the way up I now needed at least two hours to get anywhere. But even if it would take me an entire day, I'd still do it, for the reward awaiting me was far too spectacular. A breathtaking view it was, especially before sunset. A painting, a masterpiece I must say, for my eyes only. An endless pallet of warm colors, changing with every blink of the eye. The river, a wild reckless stream in fall, was nothing but a thin silver line curving it's way through the valley. Few sounds reached the summit, another thing I liked about being there. I had escaped city life many years ago, trying to find some rest, and now I had found some I still felt the daily need to go up that hill and hear absolutely nothing. Only this time I was alarmed by the sound of an eagle, cirkling around the top. I hadn't noticed the bird before. The feeling of happiness and perfect balance with my surroundings went away with the speed of water evaporating in the Sahara. I got a bit upset really. I grabbed my rifle _ which I always carried with me, I was living in the wilderness after all_ aimed carefully, pulled the trigger and watched the bird stall in the air, in a cloud of feathers, and then circling down helplessly.
Life was harsh out there, I can tell. Satisfied with my recaptured rest I lay down on my back and watched the few clouds in the sky, passing by so slowly I fell asleep.
JanuS
Tuesday, 20th of April, 2004
A friend and I were talking about 'ambition', and the lack of it in our lives. Sitting outside one of my favourite bars we watched all kinds of people walking by; 'ambitious' people rushing back to work after their lunchbreak and less ambitious people spending the day drinking cheap beer, talking too loud and beating their vagabond dogs. We decided to place ourselves somewhere in the middle. Ambitious people don't look into the direction of where uncertainty lies. They have a goal in life and they're going for it no matter what. I can envy them for a split second, but never any longer. The cheap beer drinking, shouting, dog beating types on the other hand we disdain, though we realized that maybe one day we might become one of them. (I had to think about Princess' mom, who is a diehard business kind of woman who looks down on anyone who is too lazy to get anywhere in life, and the conversation we had on the way back from a wedding party. I had too much wine, as usual, and while Princess was sleeping in the back of the car I kept on whining to her mom about how I didn't have any ambition in life at all, except to be somewhat satisfied with myself at the end of the ride. Amazingly enough she still seems to like me, (she hates drunk and unambitious people), though she asks me over and over again how I am doing, expressing a great concern about my mental well being. If things went wrong with me she'd probably blame her daughter for it before she'd blame me. The second time I met my 'mom in law' she gave me the advise to leave her daughter before she'd fuck me up completely. Nice mom-daughter relationship if you ask me.) Our biggest problem, of this friend and me, is that we reduce everything in life to a point where it gets absurd and totally pointless. And that's not really a way of getting anywhere, at least not in this world. We both have a lot in common, we try to lead a good and honest life towards ourselves and towards others, but the complexity of life makes it feel ike we're climbing a muddy riverbank; three steps up, two steps down. Nevertheless we remain hopeful, for we love life more than we love ourselves.
JanuS
Friday, 16th of April, 2004
I was jerking off and about to come when I heard His Majesty George Bush the Second declare on tv that "the world had become a better place since the fall of Saddam." Talking about a bummer. Instantly my dick lost his motivation and called it the night. It hurts you know, the fact that while all you can think of is sex your fallus quits the coalition of the willing for political reasons. I see myself as a moderate lefty, everything for the emancipation of women! To name just one thing. But when Dick refuses service because of people like Bush or Sharon I can only object. Before you know it he wants to be a respected political party, "sex for justice!", my ass! What will ever become of us when even lust has to be politically correct? Now you don't hear me say that sex with children, animals or extraterrestrials should be approved, but I don't think that, when you close your eyes in the heat of passion, you should see the faces of those who make this world into what it is. Making love used to be as common as buying a bread or washing your car, but nowadays, and in my case, it's nothing but a last refuge for honesty and purity. And still, pollution is everywhere. George sees himself as the personification of Good, but you can easily turn it around and see him as the bringer of Evil. He's the forgotten anticonception pill, he's the condom you didn't buy, he's the girl of your dreams that tells you she's lesbian. If there was a beach anywhere near I'd go there, stare at the sea and think things over, but since I turned 26 I can't affort the trainride anymore. I feel like shooting myself most of the time, but again; financial reasons keep me from buying a gun, and therefore keep me alive. Poverty can save lives!
Alcohol is my weapon of selfdestruction and there's no way I'll let UN inspectors spoil the fun! It's just a pity that booze will kill me before people like Doubya do. Or maybe that should be a relief.
Alcohol is my weapon of selfdestruction and there's no way I'll let UN inspectors spoil the fun! It's just a pity that booze will kill me before people like Doubya do. Or maybe that should be a relief.
JanuS
Thursday, 11th of March, 2004
I found myself on some party, some kind of reunion it seemed, everyone knew each other. I was sitting aside, watching the whole thing without being a part of it. I remember the skies outside, dark and treathening, and I remember worrying 'cause I didn't bring a jacket or anything. I don't know how ended up there, but drinks were free, and there was food so that helped me feel more at ease. The music was loud and people were getting drunk when the woman next to me turned to me and spoke to me in a friendly voice. I hadn't noticed her presence before but I sure wish I had.
She was a very pretty darkblond young woman and the moment our eyes met I knew I'd seen her before. So did she. She spoke to me as if I was an old friend she hadn't seen in years. She said she was glad to see me and wondered how I was doing. I think I said I was doing fine, but even if that hadn't been the case I probably would still have said so. I couldn't think straight. It all came back to me in a split second. Why was she nice to me? Had she hit me in the face right there and then I would have been less surprised. But she didn't. I was delighted to see the happy look on her face. I wanted to say sorry for things I'd done, but there was no reproach in the tone of her voice. She swinged on the beat of a popular tune the DJ was playing. I couldn't help feeling very small sitting there next to her.
We talked all night, but the only thing I can remember was her being there.
As morning came, and most of the people had gone home, all hell broke loose outside. Rain was pouring down and the wind sang howling through cracks in the windows. The next thing I remember was me walking along a deserted street in a city I'd never been to before. I was alone. The rain had stopped. An old woman sitting behind a window looked suspiciously at me wandering around. Then I woke up with a huge boner, feeling very confused. I gave myself a hand and then fell asleep again, wishing the rain would come along again soon.
As morning came, and most of the people had gone home, all hell broke loose outside. Rain was pouring down and the wind sang howling through cracks in the windows. The next thing I remember was me walking along a deserted street in a city I'd never been to before. I was alone. The rain had stopped. An old woman sitting behind a window looked suspiciously at me wandering around. Then I woke up with a huge boner, feeling very confused. I gave myself a hand and then fell asleep again, wishing the rain would come along again soon.
JanuS
Wednesday, 10th of March, 2004
"But what about love?" she begged him. "What about it?" he answered indifferently as he packed his stuff, "I thought you were smarter than that darling, it's just a word, a name we give this chemical thing we don't really understand." "You told me it was forever!" she tried. "Forever lasts until midnight, tomorrow's another day. You'll see, it's just a state of mind honey. Did you see where I put my carkeys?" Tears welled up in her eyes. "Nevermind, I'll just get a cab. I'll come for my stuff later." "You're such an asshole, you don't give a damn about my feelings! I hate you!!" she cried. "C'mon honey, get a grip on yourself, it's not such a big deal. By this time tomorrow you'll feel a lot better, it's just this woman thing, to scared to let go. I'm sure it'll do you good. By the end of the week you'll wonder why you ever spent your precious time on a guy like me, trust me you will." "I don't want nobody else!" she yelled, "I want you!! Although you're a prick!"
"Relax baby, believe me, I'm doing you a favour here." She wouldn't listen. "There is someone else isn't there? Yeah, that's it, you're leaving me for some college chick half my age! Better looking, firm tits, dumb, willing to do anything you want her to do, is that it? Is that it you son of a bitch!?" "Hush now baby, there's nobody else. This just ain't working. I think I'm better off alone." He grabbed his coat and made his way towards the door when she threw herself in front of him. "You can't just leave me here like this you asshole! I left the city for you, I came all the way to this shithole for you, you just can't leave me here like this!!" "Grow up darling, your dream, my nightmare, it's over, face it like a woman!" He threw some money on the floor next to her. "There's a Greyhound leaving for the city in two hours, you just go home girl, I've had it and there's nothing you can do about it, shit tends to happen." He managed to step over her, walked out, and closed the door behind him. "My god," he thought by himself, walking down the steps, "we put guys on the moon, we nuke each other into oblivion and still we can't face the facts the way they are. We are without a doubt the most pathetic species roaming this planet."
I was calling myself on the phone, asking myself out. One thing about it, you're always around, heheh. Asking yourself out to some class joint somewhere. McDonalds or something, you know. Well I ain't cheap you know. Take yourself for a couple of drinks, some provocative conversation on the way home. You park in front of your house and you take yourself in and you put on some music, like shopping music, something not too interruptive you know. And then you slide over you know, "hey, I think you've got something in your eyes," And maybe it's not that romantic you know but christ you're just trying to get yourself into it you know. And you take yourself outside and back inside, and maybe you wanna hear some of my records and all that. And by 2.30 in the morning you've ended up taking advantage of yourself. Yeah, making a scene with a magazine, there ain't no way around. Okay I confess, I ain't no different. I'm not weard about it or anything, I don't tie myself up and all that. I just wanna spent some time with myself you know. (tnx Tom)
I was calling myself on the phone, asking myself out. One thing about it, you're always around, heheh. Asking yourself out to some class joint somewhere. McDonalds or something, you know. Well I ain't cheap you know. Take yourself for a couple of drinks, some provocative conversation on the way home. You park in front of your house and you take yourself in and you put on some music, like shopping music, something not too interruptive you know. And then you slide over you know, "hey, I think you've got something in your eyes," And maybe it's not that romantic you know but christ you're just trying to get yourself into it you know. And you take yourself outside and back inside, and maybe you wanna hear some of my records and all that. And by 2.30 in the morning you've ended up taking advantage of yourself. Yeah, making a scene with a magazine, there ain't no way around. Okay I confess, I ain't no different. I'm not weard about it or anything, I don't tie myself up and all that. I just wanna spent some time with myself you know. (tnx Tom)
JanuS
Tuesday, 9th of March, 2004
The rumour spread along the banks of the Tiber river, through the streets of Rome, like a whirlwind. First amongst the clericus, but soon everyone knew about it; "the pope got a call from the big boss!" Of course there were a lot of critics, but those who witnessed the 'event', and who had a respectable position within the church, could hardly deny it. The Lord had spoken! And what surprised them the most was not the fact that He had spoken, but the language he used to do so. The few privileged talked about words such as; "fuck" and "Goddamn". One bishop even had the impression God was a rapper! Anyhow, the holy city was buzzin' with rumours.
While the pope's advisors were trying to find a reasonable explanation for what had happened the pope himself had retired to his quarters to think things over. He felt ashamed, for God had called him on his cell phone while he was getting rid of his earthly litter on the holy crapper. There had to be some symbolism in that he figured, trying to make the whole thing more sacred. The pope thought about what the Lord told him; "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He had asked, "for Christ's sake, what are you doing to the world I left behind?" The pope couldn't utter a word as the Lord continued; "I left you in charge of things and now look what happened, look at the shit this place turned into! I left you the 10 commandments, a blueprint on how the to run the show and still you somehow manage to fuck things up, how on earth is that possible?" The pope was speach- and shitless, what had he done? "I might as well have done everything myself!" He went on, "Jeezes, look at it!" "But Lord," the pope tried, "I,...I..." "Cut the holy crap," God said, "forget those lousy excuses, you simply fucked up!" An embarrasing silence followed before the pope answered; "My lord, I was trying to walk the path of the righteous, I was trying to lead my fellow man towards the light, away from all temptations, I swear I was!" "You're a pussy popey, you're a disgrace to the race, goddammit, look at yourself, you can't even move around by yourself anymore, you can't talk straight and you call yourself the 'voice of God'? You're lucky they still take that kind of crap nowadays!" The pope was petrified but God went on; " I'll be straight to you popey; you're fired! By God you're fired, get your stuff together and get the hell outta here, my secretary will write you a check." "But Lord," the pope tried, "I...." "Shut up and fuck off you lousy bastard, from now on I'm in charge here, now go before I slam you into oblivion!" And thus the reign of the last pope ended.
While the pope's advisors were trying to find a reasonable explanation for what had happened the pope himself had retired to his quarters to think things over. He felt ashamed, for God had called him on his cell phone while he was getting rid of his earthly litter on the holy crapper. There had to be some symbolism in that he figured, trying to make the whole thing more sacred. The pope thought about what the Lord told him; "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He had asked, "for Christ's sake, what are you doing to the world I left behind?" The pope couldn't utter a word as the Lord continued; "I left you in charge of things and now look what happened, look at the shit this place turned into! I left you the 10 commandments, a blueprint on how the to run the show and still you somehow manage to fuck things up, how on earth is that possible?" The pope was speach- and shitless, what had he done? "I might as well have done everything myself!" He went on, "Jeezes, look at it!" "But Lord," the pope tried, "I,...I..." "Cut the holy crap," God said, "forget those lousy excuses, you simply fucked up!" An embarrasing silence followed before the pope answered; "My lord, I was trying to walk the path of the righteous, I was trying to lead my fellow man towards the light, away from all temptations, I swear I was!" "You're a pussy popey, you're a disgrace to the race, goddammit, look at yourself, you can't even move around by yourself anymore, you can't talk straight and you call yourself the 'voice of God'? You're lucky they still take that kind of crap nowadays!" The pope was petrified but God went on; " I'll be straight to you popey; you're fired! By God you're fired, get your stuff together and get the hell outta here, my secretary will write you a check." "But Lord," the pope tried, "I...." "Shut up and fuck off you lousy bastard, from now on I'm in charge here, now go before I slam you into oblivion!" And thus the reign of the last pope ended.
JanuS
Monday, 8th of March, 2004
For everything I know, there's a million things I don't know anything about. I'd like to think that the years will eventually bring wisdom. But it's also a known fact that the older you get the more you forget. Nevertheless it's shocking to me that so many old people seem to feel the need to vote for the goddamn fascists. They keep on whining about all those refugees looking for a better place to live, and how they take their space and liberties. Kids are spoiled nowadays, compared to the old days, but the way the old behave sometimes is more worrying to me. They've seen a lot of shit when they were young, they were hungry, on the run maybe, scared. Things only got better for them with the years and now they can't handle the changes we face. They take their pension for granted, they wanna take a bus for free, preferably on rush hours, and they want the young people to stand up with a smile and offer them their seat. Meanwhile they keep complaining about the young, how arrogant and rude they can be. O back in the old days they used to respect the elderly! They seem to forget that the younger are working their asses off to try and maintain a system that is bound to crash one day. Respect works both ways. I can hardly believe I'm saying this but we could use a hell of a war again, just blow the whole shithouse back to the middle ages! It might refresh their memory, and it would give the younger generations the feeling they are alive. Boredom is everywhere nowadays. What the hell do we tell our grandchildren when they ask "what did you do when you were young grandad?", "Well, I finished Gran Tourismo in three days, and I beat Brasil in the world cup final for PS2." Jeezes...
The more time I spend with old people the more I hope to die young. My own grandma knows what war is, she was on the run for the germans, her dad was arrested for no reason, their place was shot to pieces but it wouldn't surprise me if she voted for those brown fascist bastards. I somehow thought they could learn us not to make the mistakes they made, but apparently memories fade away like snow on a dune in the Sahara. Time is a tricky bastard.
The more time I spend with old people the more I hope to die young. My own grandma knows what war is, she was on the run for the germans, her dad was arrested for no reason, their place was shot to pieces but it wouldn't surprise me if she voted for those brown fascist bastards. I somehow thought they could learn us not to make the mistakes they made, but apparently memories fade away like snow on a dune in the Sahara. Time is a tricky bastard.
JanuS
Friday, 5th of March, 2004
Vick Volcano woke up with a heavy feeling in the stomach. He couldn't stop trembling while gasses tried to break through the crust that had been covering his mouth since ages.
Winnie Weathers, who was an old friend and always around, noticed the trouble down below and immediately sent in the Rescue Rain Squad, founded in 79 AD., to try and bring some relief. They arrived on the scene in no time. The RRS poured an enormous shower of water over Vick's head and huge clouds of steam came up. Winnie watched the scene from a safe distance, she knew how it was when Val was hungover. The rain didn't seem to do him much good. The trembling only got worse and formed wild waves in the waters surrounding Val. Oliver Ocean now got worried too, watching the futile attempts by the RRS to calm things down. "Wassup?" he asked Winnie, but she didn't answer. She knew damn well trouble was coming and that her power, however great, could not stop things from happening. She ordered the RRS to pull back and silently watched the events unfold, together with Oliver.
Things didn't change for days, the trembling went on and fountains of gas escaped through cracks in the crust. Then, finally, the crust broke into a million pieces and a pillar of fire, thick smoke and rubble was blown into the air. "My god!" Oliver thought out loud, while debris was falling all over him, "how on earth am I gonna clean up this mess!?" But he felt guilty at the same time. He knew Val was having a hell of a time now, and still he had put his own worries in the first place.
Winnie thought of Oliver, "How on earth is Oliver gonna clean up this mess?" Val would be all right after a while, but Oliver would need ages to recover. She felt ashamed for not feeling for Val enough though.
Val's only thought at the time was; "When is this shit gonna stop? Why on earth does it have to be me again?"
There was a lot of drama there, no doubt about that, but after all nobody got hurt and once it was over they all had a good laugh together, having dinner in a fancy restaurant. Val excused himself for his affectation, Oliver was sorry about his selfishness and Winnie was sorry she didn't do more to help out. There were no hard feelings. Early in the morning they all went back home, drunk as hell, but knowing they would be friends forever.
Winnie Weathers, who was an old friend and always around, noticed the trouble down below and immediately sent in the Rescue Rain Squad, founded in 79 AD., to try and bring some relief. They arrived on the scene in no time. The RRS poured an enormous shower of water over Vick's head and huge clouds of steam came up. Winnie watched the scene from a safe distance, she knew how it was when Val was hungover. The rain didn't seem to do him much good. The trembling only got worse and formed wild waves in the waters surrounding Val. Oliver Ocean now got worried too, watching the futile attempts by the RRS to calm things down. "Wassup?" he asked Winnie, but she didn't answer. She knew damn well trouble was coming and that her power, however great, could not stop things from happening. She ordered the RRS to pull back and silently watched the events unfold, together with Oliver.
Things didn't change for days, the trembling went on and fountains of gas escaped through cracks in the crust. Then, finally, the crust broke into a million pieces and a pillar of fire, thick smoke and rubble was blown into the air. "My god!" Oliver thought out loud, while debris was falling all over him, "how on earth am I gonna clean up this mess!?" But he felt guilty at the same time. He knew Val was having a hell of a time now, and still he had put his own worries in the first place.
Winnie thought of Oliver, "How on earth is Oliver gonna clean up this mess?" Val would be all right after a while, but Oliver would need ages to recover. She felt ashamed for not feeling for Val enough though.
Val's only thought at the time was; "When is this shit gonna stop? Why on earth does it have to be me again?"
There was a lot of drama there, no doubt about that, but after all nobody got hurt and once it was over they all had a good laugh together, having dinner in a fancy restaurant. Val excused himself for his affectation, Oliver was sorry about his selfishness and Winnie was sorry she didn't do more to help out. There were no hard feelings. Early in the morning they all went back home, drunk as hell, but knowing they would be friends forever.
JanuS
Thursday, 4th of March, 2004
Every day when the sun breaks through the heavy blanket of clouds I think of her. How she kisses the Atlantic, facing west. How she gently touches every cell in my body the moment I see her again. My own little Utopia. Swinging in by train after a night through desolate Spanish fields. The first sunlight caressing the hills of the Serra da Estrela and the smell of eucalyptus floating through the opened windows. I'll always be a stranger but she welcomes me warmly every time we meet and when I leave her I know she'll wait for me. She's well aware of her beauty but there's no sign of arrogance. She absorbs me fully and always takes a part of me as if she wants to be sure of my return. She's my mistress, my living dream in cold and wet Flemish nights. She flirts with me and I can never resist her, I wouldn't want to. She never rejects me. She's melancholic yet hopefully looking towards the future, she's me and I am her.
JanuS
Wednesday, 3rd of March, 2004
My god how I detest those sons of bitches. And the worst thing is they're all over the place. Like bugs they crawl around. Kill one and ten others show up. And they treat you like you're the bug. Miserable lowlives that's what they are. Sometimes I wish I was just one of them suckers. Only to get rid of the disgust. Ignorance that blessing! Some doors better remain closed, sealed forever. The bigger the enlightment after opening one door the bigger the burden gets. Once opened they'll never shut again. You can't even open them entirely, only put them ajar.
The cockroaches don't even notice there are any doors! Of course they feel supreme in their dark little narrow room. When they reach one wall they simply turn around and go for another. They know the place from top to bottom and back while I run around helpless. The walls dancing threateningly around me. Sarcastic laughter reverberating ceaselessly through my head. And the smell, how I hate the smell of the slimey tracks they leave behind. If only I could crush them but I'm the one being crushed all the time. The constant shelling of their meaningless words makes me weaker every day. I'm on my knees most of the time. I can't find the power anymore to withstand their torture. It never stops. I crawl away in the darkest corners but they always find me. Damn them! They're the living proof that something's wrong with Darwin's theory. Somehow they manage to get around the whole 'natural selection' thing. Reproducing like rabits, producing mainly shit. What a waste of cosmic material! I'm not any better. But at least I realise it somehow and I try to avoid this conceited 'know-it-all' attitude so common amongst the cockroaches running this world. Blinded by the mud in their eyes they still claim to have a perfect view on things. Heading for a fall but firmly believing they're going for the top. Poor bastards.
The longer it all lasts the more I hope to, one day, get my foot between the door, slip out and slam the damn thing shut behind me. It's not what's behind it that scares me, it's the whole mess that comes before.
The cockroaches don't even notice there are any doors! Of course they feel supreme in their dark little narrow room. When they reach one wall they simply turn around and go for another. They know the place from top to bottom and back while I run around helpless. The walls dancing threateningly around me. Sarcastic laughter reverberating ceaselessly through my head. And the smell, how I hate the smell of the slimey tracks they leave behind. If only I could crush them but I'm the one being crushed all the time. The constant shelling of their meaningless words makes me weaker every day. I'm on my knees most of the time. I can't find the power anymore to withstand their torture. It never stops. I crawl away in the darkest corners but they always find me. Damn them! They're the living proof that something's wrong with Darwin's theory. Somehow they manage to get around the whole 'natural selection' thing. Reproducing like rabits, producing mainly shit. What a waste of cosmic material! I'm not any better. But at least I realise it somehow and I try to avoid this conceited 'know-it-all' attitude so common amongst the cockroaches running this world. Blinded by the mud in their eyes they still claim to have a perfect view on things. Heading for a fall but firmly believing they're going for the top. Poor bastards.
The longer it all lasts the more I hope to, one day, get my foot between the door, slip out and slam the damn thing shut behind me. It's not what's behind it that scares me, it's the whole mess that comes before.
JanuS
Tuesday, 2nd of March, 2004
#Sally leaves work at five, drives home in her Fiat, remembers halfway that she's out of bread, stops at the bakery, buys bread, drops the change, man helps out, eyes meet, they fall in love, get married two months later, have three kids, grow old happily, die satisfied.
#Sally leaves work early, drives home in her Fiat, remembers to buy bread the moment she gets home, walks to the bakery, buys bread, meets old schoolfriend on her way back, ends up in a bar, talks and drinks, sleeps with the man, gets married three weeks later, no kids, man drinks more and more, hits her, divorce after 6 years, gets addicted to tranquilizers, dies at 40, lonely and embittered.
#Sally finishes at 5.30, drives home in her Fiat, remembers halfway that's she's out of bread, hurries to make it on time to the bakery, sees a kid crossing the street, goes to fast to stop, avoids the kid, crashes against big truck coming from other way, dies instantly.
Funny how things can go.
#Sally leaves work early, drives home in her Fiat, remembers to buy bread the moment she gets home, walks to the bakery, buys bread, meets old schoolfriend on her way back, ends up in a bar, talks and drinks, sleeps with the man, gets married three weeks later, no kids, man drinks more and more, hits her, divorce after 6 years, gets addicted to tranquilizers, dies at 40, lonely and embittered.
#Sally finishes at 5.30, drives home in her Fiat, remembers halfway that's she's out of bread, hurries to make it on time to the bakery, sees a kid crossing the street, goes to fast to stop, avoids the kid, crashes against big truck coming from other way, dies instantly.
Funny how things can go.
JanuS
Thursday, 19th of February, 2004
I hate the storm inside of me, but I couldn't do without it. When the rain stops and the furious winds become no more than a breeze something's missing. When I feel like a happy little person I know shit is coming, when I feel like shit I know it can't get much worse. Happiness is a bitch. You can expect shit to be shitty, but you're never sure about happiness. Tricky lady.
JanuS
Saturday, 14th of February, 2004
In a rather futile attempt to get a hold on time I like to see it as a long line on which past events, and even events that are expected to happen, all have their well defined position. This line is divided in days, months and years, but most distinctive is the division between centuries. That's where I experience something strange in the perception of events, future or past, and their relation to 'time'. It's a common thing I guess. You don't often hear people referring to the 'past century' when they talk about things that happened just 6 years ago. When someone does it sounds as if the event described happened a long long time ago. To me, up to 1999 all events that occured in the 20th century had something familiar about them, you didn't necessarily experiece them yourself but they happened somewhere in 'your' era.
Anything older than 1900 seemed too far away, a different time, a different world even. Now that we have entered the 21st century it sometimes feels as if someone erased the bigger part of your own little history and you just started living your second life. When my parents talk about their youth, it feels as my youth. When I will ever talk to my kids about mine, it won't be theirs anymore.
It's about the same if you turn it around, looking at a coming century only a few years away, but not half as scary as realizing that 3/4 of your life took place in the past century, and that time eventually fades into abstract numbers and forgotten history.
It's about the same if you turn it around, looking at a coming century only a few years away, but not half as scary as realizing that 3/4 of your life took place in the past century, and that time eventually fades into abstract numbers and forgotten history.
JanuS
Sunday, 8th of February, 2004
"After all it's just a goddamn desert." she said, thereby ending a long monologue of which the content had already left his mind. "It's a desert." he whispered to himself, staring at the ceiling of a cheap hotelroom. He had other plans when earlier that night he had invited her to spend the night with him, but things had turned out a little different, to say the least.
The joint they smoked together had made her start talking like a machinegun and now the firing had ceased a deafening silence filled the room. A cockroach came from behind the bed, walked up the wall, changed it's mind halfway and disappeared again behind the bed. They didn't notice. They lay motionless on the kingsize bed, fully dressed, both lost in thoughts of their own.
The moon had crossed half the window when she turned to him and said; "I'd love to fuck you, but I'm so damn tired, I think I'll go now." He didn't react and she got up, took her carkeys from the bedside table and left the room. She didn't look back at him.
The sound of the door closing woke him from his thoughts and he looked at the now empty space in bed where she had been. He didn't seem to care at all and his eyes slowly went back to the fascinating ceiling. The cockroach came out again, more brave than ever, and now went all the way up. When it reached the top its presence was noticed by the man in the bed. "You lucky lucky bastard," he said, watching the little creature just sit there over his head, "and you haven't even got a clue." He got up, stumbled to the window, opened it and was welcomed by the overwhelming sound of millions of grasshoppers, as if he was their king and they'd been waiting for his appearance on the balcony of the royal grasshopper palace for hours. The air was heavy with heat. He lit a cigarette before leaving his subjects and closing the window. The cockroach on the wall was gone. The war against the cockroaches was long over and both grasshoppers and cockroaches now lived their lives in peace, amongst each other. He felt satisfied as a ruler for having achieved that. He soon fell asleep and no scary dreams would bother him that night.
The moon had crossed half the window when she turned to him and said; "I'd love to fuck you, but I'm so damn tired, I think I'll go now." He didn't react and she got up, took her carkeys from the bedside table and left the room. She didn't look back at him.
The sound of the door closing woke him from his thoughts and he looked at the now empty space in bed where she had been. He didn't seem to care at all and his eyes slowly went back to the fascinating ceiling. The cockroach came out again, more brave than ever, and now went all the way up. When it reached the top its presence was noticed by the man in the bed. "You lucky lucky bastard," he said, watching the little creature just sit there over his head, "and you haven't even got a clue." He got up, stumbled to the window, opened it and was welcomed by the overwhelming sound of millions of grasshoppers, as if he was their king and they'd been waiting for his appearance on the balcony of the royal grasshopper palace for hours. The air was heavy with heat. He lit a cigarette before leaving his subjects and closing the window. The cockroach on the wall was gone. The war against the cockroaches was long over and both grasshoppers and cockroaches now lived their lives in peace, amongst each other. He felt satisfied as a ruler for having achieved that. He soon fell asleep and no scary dreams would bother him that night.
JanuS
Tuesday, 3rd of February, 2004
Fred was tired. No matter for how long he slept waking up was pure horror to him. The first light didn't make him look forward to a new day. Instead it made him cry at times, it filled his heart with sorrow for the night that had just died unnoticed by most. He was a fighter though, he'd always go for it, despite the knowledge that it would hit him again before noon. Fred loved life more than anything else but the endless pile of waste life brought forth was devastating to him. He knew he would never be happy the way the others were, or pretended to be, but still kept going. He was like a drunk who knows he's heading for the fall but nevertheless keeps on going. Fred wanted truth in everything he did, but couldn't handle the lies surrounding him. He just wanted to live life the way it was intended to be lived but the complexity of the whole thing his fellow beings had made it into scared him endlessly and dominated his entire life, making him as much a lier as the others. So one day Fred took one step too far and plunged himself into the unknown, which seemed to him more friendly than the world he'd just left. They'd all be sorry and wonder why, but Fred would finally find the peace he longed for so badly.
JanuS
Monday, 2nd of February, 2004
Funny how some couples, having a tough time in their relationship, look for someone to blame other than themselves. It's usually a cover up for their own deficiencies, but they don't realize it. They cannot believe that the trouble they are experiencing could possibly have anything to do with who they are, or how they behave. They look for causes outside themselves but don't realize that they hold the answer. I feel sorry for them but I feel anger when I'm the one being accused, out of the blue, for causing any trouble.
If person A quit smoking just recently, can you blame person B for complaining about how expensive cigs are getting? If person A. used to have a wild life, but now tries to have a normal life with person B. and person C. mentions the word adultery in a casual discussion, can you blame person B. for touching a delicate subject? I don't think so. Person C. happens to be hardly aware of the troubles between persons A. and B. so I believe that person A., in this case, should somehow blame herself when the word adultery seems to be a problem. It's a bit cheap to blame others for that. Should one not mention the word 'taxes' to someone who just tried to evade paying them?
Anyways, time's too precious to waste, so EXIT A., and, pardon my french; quit bitching and get a life.
If person A quit smoking just recently, can you blame person B for complaining about how expensive cigs are getting? If person A. used to have a wild life, but now tries to have a normal life with person B. and person C. mentions the word adultery in a casual discussion, can you blame person B. for touching a delicate subject? I don't think so. Person C. happens to be hardly aware of the troubles between persons A. and B. so I believe that person A., in this case, should somehow blame herself when the word adultery seems to be a problem. It's a bit cheap to blame others for that. Should one not mention the word 'taxes' to someone who just tried to evade paying them?
Anyways, time's too precious to waste, so EXIT A., and, pardon my french; quit bitching and get a life.
JanuS
Sunday, 1st of February, 2004
I'm a bow reaching its breaking point and there ain't nothing I can do 'bout it. You see the shit coming at high speed but instead of running you just face your fate, bend down and let it get ya. There's more to life than shit.
You know you'll wake up again the next morning, though it feels like you just died. You keep up the spirit but you know you're fooling yourself beyond the point of any comprehension and what's maybe worse; you couldn't care less.
A man bleeds to death in front a your face and you walk passed thinking of your own lill' insignificant part in life and how miserable you are. Cut the crap, for Christ's sake, and get on with it! Wanker. Look at her, she's fat and ugly, but she's happy, where the hell are you? She might be missing something, but hey, what about you?? Lower your voice and take some time to think things over will ya? You might not have a clue of what's going on but remember that you're nothing but a grain of sand in a huge ocean of desert and that in the end you don't mean shit. You're replacable like a dice in a crap game. Disturbing thought alright, but that's what you get if u want the truth I guess.
"People sleep peacefully the better night, only because men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." (Orwell)
That might sound like crap, but I've just spent the last two hours thinking 'bout it and there's a lotta truth in that! How we take our western 'civilised' lives for granted! And how little there's needed to mess it all up! War is something that happens far away from here and why on earth can't they just behave like we do? Like civilised people? Take a break here, r u sure we don't have a war going on here? There ain't no guns or bombs but we're verbally slaughtering each other as if our lives depend on it! We need trouble or we're only feeling half the way we should. If there ain't no country to fight we just fight each other, and ourselves. We just can't live a life without conflicts. We're nothing but beasts, and the worst beasts are those who refuse to be called beasts. Ignorance, in this case, is horror.
"People sleep peacefully the better night, only because men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." (Orwell)
That might sound like crap, but I've just spent the last two hours thinking 'bout it and there's a lotta truth in that! How we take our western 'civilised' lives for granted! And how little there's needed to mess it all up! War is something that happens far away from here and why on earth can't they just behave like we do? Like civilised people? Take a break here, r u sure we don't have a war going on here? There ain't no guns or bombs but we're verbally slaughtering each other as if our lives depend on it! We need trouble or we're only feeling half the way we should. If there ain't no country to fight we just fight each other, and ourselves. We just can't live a life without conflicts. We're nothing but beasts, and the worst beasts are those who refuse to be called beasts. Ignorance, in this case, is horror.
JanuS
Friday, 30th of January, 2004
Had a few drinks last night with an Irish friend to celebrate his 25th b-day. I realized too late I didn't get him a present but I did say I had brought him one, only her pimp wouldn't let her into the bar. He stared at me with foggy eyes and didn't seem to get it. His new girlfriend thought it was funny though. She's from Newyo'k. Some kind of refugee you could say. You see 'em more and more these days in Antwerp. They're hard to spot but you know one if you hear one! And when you talk to one they all have this confused way of talking, like from a distant, physically they made it across the Atlantic but mentally they got stuck in heavy weather somewhere over Scotland.
JanuS
Wednesday, 28th of January, 2004
THE ALIENS by C. Bukowski
from The Last Night Of The Earth Poems
from The Last Night Of The Earth Poems
you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction of distress.
they dress well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy death, usually in their
sleep.
you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.
but i am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them.
but they
are there
and I am
here.
JanuS
Tuesday, 20th of January, 2004