It's been seven months and fifteen days...

... or thereabouts. Even my references to lyrics are getting worse. But with was is commonly called summer of even summer holidays two weeks under way- despite it being neither summer or (for me) a holiday- the busy busy busy excuse is no longer applicable. Surely if I can manage an hour daily of checking and checking again for new e-mails, it shouldn't be that hard to write the occasional blogpost, should it?

It's not that I no longer want to write. But what to write about? The subjects that I was so fond of as a student or even in the early days of employment no longer hold any interest for me. Or when they do, I find them too childish or unimportant to even admit that I take an interest.

Is this what it is like: to grow up?

Writing Frenzy

Tonight's the night.

And I might gonna make it happen. It'll just take a little longer than one night. But one second past midnight is the beginning of National Novel Writing Month. As you will read on the official website : 30 days, 50,000 words! One month, one novel.

All previous attempts of mine have indeed reached the 50K mark but to call them novels would be rather .... well: wrong. This year I promise to do better.  And if life doesn't interrupt me too often, I will even promise to keep you up to date.

 

Stil looking

Birthday List

The date has been set six months back. 22nd of september for those of you so very forgetful or errously excluded from a written invitation. Theme is... HOBBITS! So only barefoots allowed. And here's the yearly list.

• swimming goggles
• tea
• running shoes
• swimsuit
• cardiometer
• new headphones
• button press supplies
• stamps (lots of stamps)*
• art supplies**
• nail polish (only twelve items to go...)

*please include your address to subscribe to the monthly newsletter
** more specifically : fancy pencils,  A5 artist notebooks, calligraphy ink, soft brushes 

Rant XII

or:  'real literary gifts'

This is not so much a rant as an observation that I've cherished, nurtured and allowed to bloom into a proper well-rounded thought. A little like parenting a small annoyance until it fruits as a full-blown grudge.

Knowing me, you know for certain -for if you do not, you don't know me - how fond I am of reading. And yet in all my live, I have received but one -ONE- literary gift. And even that one - though comical - half blown. But before I give you the details here, I must first explain what en-nerves me so much about what people call literary gifts.


Literary gifts DO NOT include book shop gift certificates.  Neither do paperback bestsellers all too neatly wrapped by expert employees at chain book markets. They are at best a safe way out of the misery finding a present for someone, one doesn't exactly know. A literary gift is not about giving a book, it's about giving a story.

And that is why I consider,  despite the many vouchers, discount tickets, fancy cooking book and 'complete works of ...'* , Jonathan Swift's 'The Benefit of Farting' securely packed in a cardboard shoebox accompanied by a can of beans and a note stating "please render your colleagues lives miserable", as the only gift coming anywhere close to the honorary adjective 'literary'.

*insert 19th Russian or British author

Nekko-do

It sprang into my head as an idea as clear as tap water pours into a glass. And it is as simple as it is genius. So much so that I suspect I'm not the first person to think of it.

Let us begin with the name. It means 'the way of the cat'. In Japanese. Why Japanese? Because it instantly sounds cool. It involves cats  and meditation and perfectioning one's mood, posture and attitude, so it might as wel have been inveted or first thought of in a remote zen buddhist cloister.

What you do is this: you sit in a chair or bench or grassy spot in the sun, it matters little as long as you are secluded from eletronic distractions and major city noise. Now sit perfectly still until a cat selects your lap for a little day time nap. Immediately you will experience the urge to reach for a book, a cup of tea, a glass of wine, you will think of a million chores and feel an irresistible urge to use the bathroom or some long postponed telephone calls. Ignore all these impulses. Slowly and deliberatly stroke the cat and clear your mind of anything but the purring of your feline friend. Continue unil the cat leaves voluntarily.

Et voila.

Happy Birthday

Sweat dreams and best wishes, my darlings.

... she hides in the library, reading... *

" I turned the warm water on and threw in a bar of soap. I soapd her crotch with tingling fingers. by this time my prick was chewing her lips, her ears, her hair. Her eyes sparkled as if she had been struck by a fistful of stars. every part of her was smooth and satiny and her breasts were ready to burst. We got out and, letting her straddle me, I sat on the edge of the tub. We were driping wet. I reached for a towel with one hand and dried her a bit down the front. We lay down on the bath mat and she slung her legs around my neck. i moved her around like one of those legless toys which illustrate the principle of gravity."

Sexus, part I of the' Rosy Crucifixion' Trilogy, Chapter Four - Henry Miller

Thank you, Marl Oliver Everett, for writing the song 'Manchester Girl'*. I might have never read any book by mister Miller if it were not for you.

*Machester Girl
She hides in the library reading
Henry miller books
'til they flash the lights it's time to go
When she was a little kid she said
"dad, i don't know why
I feel so penniless inside"

She's on the promenade
She's looking for a dress
She's locked outside a world
Just a manchester girl

Oh i'll meet you there
By the old newsstand
Oh i'll meet you there tonight

Shoot-out at the neighbor's house
She pulls the covers on her head
She's counting the shots as they go by
And pandora's litter box
Well it's gettin' mighty high
That cat's gonna keep her up at night

Another scary dream
Another cigarette
She's locked outside a world
Just a manchester girl

Oh i'll meet you there
By the old newsstand
Oh i'll meet you there tonight

Martial vs marital matters

A long time ago, the fictional persona Werther pondered upon this 'Must it be that all that makes us  happy, be also the well of our unhappiness?' And since I first read it, it has been the question I regurlarly yet infrequently sigh over myself.

My year so far has been more like something of a dream. With a job that I am finally really enjoying, exams that went better than expected, new and inspiring friends and classes in art school, even -and I may regret ever confessing to this- some peace of mind that I thought I would never know. Except that the heart is not so calm. It still wants everything.

But  what the heart wants, and what the mind thinks is possible are very very far apart. I just wait for an artificial blood pump to become commercially available and then I'll trade mine for its weight in chocolate.

Cappucino cookies

You will need:

- 250 gr of butter
- 250 gr of sugar (I recommend cane sugar)
- 50 gr of cocoa powder
- 450 gr of flour
- 25 gr (or one packet) of baking powder
- 4 eggs
- one large spoon of instant coffee powder
- some vanilla drops (optional)

You must do:

Melt the butter.
Siff in all dry ingredients.
Add eggs and vanilla, mix well.
Let rest for 15 minutes.
Preheat oven to 180° C
Knead well.
Roll out to about half an inch.
Cut out in prefered shape.
Bake for 10 minutes.


I suggest choclate glazing, best served with a nice hot cup of coffee.

I lied.

Who was I kidding, I'll never be able to say goodbye to this webpage. Google may tear it from my cold dead hands.

Count your blessings... or not

But I like the old-fashioned hats... *wimper wimper*

Please give me...

• Your favourite music 
• Your favourite book
• Colouring books
• A multidimensional wardrobe
• Patience

Anything else, I either don't want or already have.

So this is Goodbye

My dear friends, readers, listeners,...

Hello audience and goodbye audience. This; in a shorter sentences than you are used of reading here is all that there is left.

For many many sad and wonderfull years this place has been my home on the internet and it has been my pleasure, frustration and education to be read and ignored alike. In a few day's time I will for the last time invite you alls to celebrate my Birthday  (along with a list of presents I might like -that's how I roll). But on August 1, it is goodbye.

Goodbye.

Black Fury

Strangely appropriate.

The first day of the rest of my life.

I've signed a contract today. With an employer that I dreamed of working for, from almost the moment that I started looking for a job.

I should be overjoyed, shouldn't I?

Then why does it feel like the biggest mistake of my life.

1/10 Myriade

Laat ons vieren vrienden. 1000 bijdragen. Hoezee.

Oops I did it again (and again)

And then to think this is not all my grief.

+
Hair
Eyes
Sense of humour
Bedside Manners


0
Kissing

-
Girlfriend

Rant IX

It was a nervous and early friday and saturday or at least a lot more nervous and early than I've been used to the last 10 months, but let's not get into too much detail. The great garden clear-up has commenced and I belive we might be well halfway with the pruning, chopping, sawing and mowing. In between the scratch of undetermined plant species (with mean thorns), planting my unprotected footsies in a plank with rusty nail, a splinter of a rosethorn firmly in my left thumb and getting a sawed off branch on my head (twice!) I also learned that I was unsuccesfull at the one (ONE!) job interview I have (well, had) in over a year.

Getting used to the new look

My blogger-account, since long under the wings of the fine corporation Google has changed looks. This has been going on for months and I have just noticed this is what it is ment to look like, not a system error.

It's not that I don't like the lay-out. Clean and simple suits me fine. It's that I can't load the pages in Chrome, another fine piece of Google merchandise. Now how am I going to fix this? Or shall I simply hope that the feedback button in the downright corner will functions as advertised?