About time

I've been a bad boy. I intend to keep this blog as some sort of diary, but exactly at the time some of the greater movements happen, I manage to not post for weeks.
Ah well. It's not clear to me now anymore - I guess I don't even know what the fuss was all about (and isn't it always so in retrospect?)
But I do remember the good things: I'm communicating with Ilse (we got some important messages to cross the different way of thinking border), and I have immense respect for her mostly not reacting to my previous post (even if it is out of lack of understanding). I have re-met an old acqaintance (he doesn't like to read complicated stuff, so I'm still doubting to let him read my blog - or would that just be because I wrote a piece on him?) that I now duely call a friend (and who made me realize that everyboy's got their problems, and most of mine got a luxury ouch to them. For the record: upon rereading, I noticed the typo in the previous sentence: I found it so nice (and somewhat meaningful) that I just left it in).
I gave and got compliments galore. I've danced my lower legs into severe pain, but the comments I got were beyond me: more than 1 beautiful woman actually liked me from just watching me dance (the human mind is a rotten place, really, but when it works for you: who cares!). I've lost my pocket knife; I know this sounds negative, but in some weird way I've taken it as a symbolical growing out of the heritage of my father (it was his, originally). It's not that concrete, but I want it to mean that I've broken with some of my childhood and puberty negatives: I will not hide my personality wrinkles anymore (though I will keep the tombs of my heart for the ones I love and deeply trust), and I will try to be kind to everyone, even if they are overwhelming, or -who knows - ridiculous. I'm still screaming 'Please, love me!' only I'm actually moving my lips now, and I give a good listener the chance to actually hear it. It is very hard to put you heart, your life, your personality up for grabs, but I've had such great results in the last few days (Catheline (very recent, very touching), Ilse, Ruben, Anne (technically there ,those three; no recent strong impressions, just lighting up my life as ever, and for allowing me to be so glad when I'm not harsh on any of them), Yumi et al. (I have hardly ever felt sexier in my life, even in spite of the doubts at the time), Joris (there is no way to describe my feelings towards this man), Maarten (unlikely that you ever read this, but you saying thanks made me feel like Mr Myagi), and I'm forgetting (to mention, not to realise and feel) some.

As a potential writer, I'm still somewhat worried about me writing about myself all the time, but I guess I need to learn, and of course: I chose this blog to be about me. Go to hell, oh ye oubts!

I've finally found items that were missing from my lists(See my post Listitis): Sin City is a movie everyone (able to abstract violence away) should see, as is The Shawshank Redemption. If you look at my profile, you'll notice 'From Dusk Till Dawn' there: this does not belong in a favourite movies list, but it's the only movie that will make anyone press the pause button and grab for alcohol somewhere halfway. If you ever do, please look at this movie with as little information about it as you can.
Not in the list, but still something I'd advise to anyone: that movie about the Doors (if you want to have any idea where some of the lyrics might have come from), and Natural Born Killers (probably the first movie that ever impressed me). I seem to be on the move: I remember 'Moulin Rouge' now, but like so many movies, you have to see it ignoring the hype, and just being willing to be swarmed with visuals and impressive reincarnations of songs.

I realize there's also some categories missing, so here it comes:

Favourite 'musicians'

• Radiohead (& Thom Yorke) (If you don't like it, you haven't heard it or you should be shot)
• Pearl Jam (Albums have mostly degraded since Ten (barring exceptions and the last album), but live shows are still exciting. Besides that, I have committed to liking Pearl Jam)
• Tom Waits (Thousands of reasons, but 'This broom 'll have to be my baby' is enough)
• Soul Wax (Don't know if I'm just hit by the hype, but they excite me on disk and on stage)
• Arno (Elle adore le noir and some more proof of the most brilliant musical illusionist Belgium has ever brought forth)
• Smashing Pumpkins (until Ava Adore)
• Red Hot Chili Peppers (anything from One Hot Minute or before - listen to Apache Rose Peacock or Sir Psycho Sexy or Magic Johnson to make you forever discard anything they've ever produced since)
• Jeff Buckley (I hardly know anything besides Grace, but because of this CD, he is the only man I would voluntarily kiss on the mouth)
• dEUS (there is nothing quite like freaking out on an old dEUS song - can you guess which one? Apart from that: respect for 0110 and the continuously amazing music)
• Primus (I don't like everything they made, but I just wish I was Les Claypool for his bass playing and his lyrics)

Favourite live shows
• Rock Torhout 1995 (go to Rock Werchter and pick History to see the line-up. I was too much in love to notice Jeff Buckley at the time. I hardly remember any artists being there =))
• Pixies at Werchter 2004: rotten attitude, great fun
• Nine Inch Nails at Werchter 2005: it doesn't get more intense. Musically the greatest show I ever saw.
• Pearl Jam Live in Belgium: not as good as it could have been (maybe 10 years before), but still: 'they say good things come to those who wait'. I wonder how different my life would have been if I had seen them 10 years ago...
• The Streets at Werchter 2006: I was one of ten attendees. Mike Skinner (wasn't that also the name of the guy from Family Ties) and that sexy black man are crazy.
• Scissor Sisters at Werchter 2006: unlikely, but this one is definitely my favourite. A lot went wrong, the crowd was louder than the band, I was there all alone, but it was simply stunning.
• TW 1994 (my loss of virginity on account of festivals)
• Faith No More at Axion Beach Rock I think 1995 (this is what seems logical considering the Rock Torhout, but I can find no proof of it)
• Radiohead: anything I watched, even though I missed half of a concert by misjudging a joint =)
• Werchter 2005: Ilse surprised me there for 'our 10th anniversary'. I'm not even mad for missing Elvis Costello.

I will have to stop now: I have a lot of clocks to change (I promised Anne and Ruben the 'Kabouters' would hold back the hands of all clocks tonight), and I should get some sleep to avoid being grumpy.
I originally had the idea to write a lot about time and time management (hence the now wasted title) but my mind brought me (and you elsewhere). I still enjoy these words from Primus (sorry, Mike, I know you've read them before):

Hello all you boys and girls,
I'd like to take you to the inside world.
It's quite an irregular place to be,
But never fear, you're safe with me...
Well, maybe.

Rollercoaster

Dear diary :-)
I cannot grasp what is going on with me. I am very much having a bumpy ride. One minute my life feels like a Cure song, the next is an "Oh Cap'tain, my Cap'tain"-moment, and sometimes I'm perfectly numb, doing my job very well at work.
Re-reading the sentence above, I realise that all three states described above could be both positive and negative, so I fear I'm not as good an image-imaginer as I'd wish, but if anybody is still with me by now, I'm content at that.

I have to write some of my recent experiences down. Well, good, that's what this thing is for, stupid!

Being a reluctant rules-maniac, I was very proud that we chose to not to do the smartest thing a few times, recently. I'm having a very hard time not being Hitler for my kids (if I had his abilities as a demagogue (Urban Dance Squad rules), a silly pack of hair on my upper lip and some even more deranged ideologies (mine are generally leftfield), I'd kick some allied forces' ass), so loosening the grip helps them AND me.

Ruben's teacher is a doll. The way she treats him, looks at him, loves him: it makes me tingle.
Ilse talked to her about me being less of a communicator (context= Ruben having some help on this by his sis' and his teach'), and she replying 'yeah, I noticed that', hurt. I noticed I got very defensive on that. I'm quite busy inspiring myself to 'just talk to people', to be friendly more than polite (I know that I am polite beyond most peoples' capabilities - I'm good at nodding good morning, and it's sad to say: most lads and lasses don't even get there), and I'm even more ashamed of everytime I fail to complete a simple task like "when you meet someone you know in the local supermarket, don't look the other way", so you can see my trouble with this: nobody likes his own ragged truth. It takes me a blog to say that she doens't look bad either.

I'm sorry, I have to write this, and I know its technically public.
I sometimes have a BIG problem with Ilse flirting (with other men, of course). If I ever, ever forbid her to do this, I am sure that it's mentally downhill from there for me (so close to the black swamp already). But at times, it kills me. Please, my love, be patient with a man that never knew physical love in his childhood (the HUG) and that is trying so hard to be the ideal man. It's one of the many flaws of the perfect man that he's trying to be better still, I guess. (Can you guess which of the states I mentioned in the beginning I'm in right now?)

I think I have some kind of drinking problem. I'm going to hate myself in the morning for writing this (and for Ilse reading it), but I actually find some consolation in the bottle. In fact, it's not just the bottle: I long for anything that will make the thinking stop: adrenaline, focus on work, alcohol, forbidden sexuality (well, forbidden by "the community"), and if I would make the step at this time in life: drugs.
I'm too scared to go farther on any other account, but I've taken on the habit of drinking in the evening, and liking the soft numbness of impending drunkness. It helps me to be nice to women at parties (instead of blocking myself), it makes my brain slower (not that I'm Einstein or anything, but the mix of emotions and thoughts is confusing enough for the slightly above mediocre grey mass), and... well, I guess there is nothing more to it.
I'm not drinking liver-threatening quantities, and I'm not hiding any bottles just yet, but I feel that I am very capable of both. I don't want to become an alcoholic, but I like the softened me so much.
Is there an answer besides stopping? I've changed myself in many a good way, but I fear I cannot do this without losing my mind. I need some insanity to be able to be civilised. If you read "the Secret History", you will know all about Dyonisos' madness. This sounded SO appealing to me. I try so hard to be the best man (not just the best husband) I can (and so often feel I fail), and I think this is my big sin I'm willing to carry. I must be out of my mind.

Where is my lack of mind?
I've hardly ever tried this, but violence is also a wonderful way of escaping me. Fight Club is not about Brad Pitt. It's about a potential me.

I'm going to sleep now. Ruined enough already. Maybe I'm not so OK. Maybe something happened this evening that just triggered (expanded?) unhappy thoughts.

I broke my rule of not correcting myself afterwards in posts or mails. I didn't wipe out any incriminating facts though, just added parentheses.

Nobody's supposed to be this honest.

Artist's impression

There is a man. He's unemployed, intelligent and creative, I'd say the protoype of the boy that was too smart too soon. He told me has a focus problem.
I cannot imagine being unable to read heavenly books (currently The Secret History by Donna Tartt) because you fail to read the end of each sentence, but that's the artist's impression of how his disability is troubling him. At least there's plain old science fiction books that move ahead and don't take too much concentration - the literate blood creeps(this is a verb!)...

I've known the man for give or take fifteen years, but only since a year or three have we found out that however different we are, we share some interests, feelings and we both like Ilse (sorry 'bout meeting her first =) ), but all in all, this was still very superficial.
Just last weekend, I took a chance and called him up to have a drink together (apart from the man only few still know as Mike, this was a stange primer - come to think of it, I've probably ever only invited 3 people to go somewhere just with me: the woman I love on several occasions, Mike just once, and now the brilliant bum (I do say this with love - ever seen 'The Fisher King'?)) You have no idea what a lot of Double Westmalles and Blue Chimays can do to a couple of guys with the self-esteem of a Passer domesticus: before you know it, we were talking about ourselves.

It's quite a shock to hear that the man I secretly admired for his rich social life, declares himself as a sociopath lacking real friends (well, having few at the least)! If I had not been in hand-me-down-armchair in 'Het Volkshuis' (great place to be, BTW), the floor would have had a close encounter of the first kind with me. The man of whom I'm certain makes the heart of several nice ladies that want to be naughty, race, doubts he's ever going to meet 'her' and actually greet 'her'.

I do love my favourite biologist. I enjoy making a little fun of him for some practical (or rather impractical) conducts, but Respect is always written with a capital when I have it, and I have lots of it for one of the few people I saw capable of naming me a The Employees song before Bel80 was on the air. If anything, and if you ever read this (and manage to wrestle through my latinist's impression of writing in English), I hope you want to spend more saturday evenings with me.

How are we doing on the bet, by the way?

Many a man's monogamy

Being faithful is all about expectations.

If anything is bothering me, it is the clock. Tick tock tick tock it's two o'clock stop reading you old sock. Cookoo, cookoo, so much to do, so little time before the chime. Handle these servicerequest, don't forget the meeting (try and read this if you can) got to pick up the kids from school, write a post, make love, fix a bike, cook meal, study, fly,...
Apart from that: all is going well. I suspect I'm entering my small scale manic phase again =) Oh yes, and then there is sex. This is piercing my thought at the regularity that some researchers appoint to all men, but with a twist: I'm not so much considering the act (well, I am, but that's besides the point), as I am appreciating the paradoxes sex (the freudian version, basically meaning any human interaction - if you ignore Freud's own freudian denial) brings.

Am I monogamous? Well, considering the woman I'm married to, I have to plead guilty: I do not fulfill the expectations of Ilse (or many a woman's) on that account.
OK, here's for an honest-as-I-can roundup first (this may lead to an argument, or even hurt feelings, but I have to try and be objective in my subjectivity): being a lazy, non-toothbrushing, only washing twice a week in the shower, shaving if my eyebrows are getting envious type of guy (I am not certain if I am ashamed about all this - might pick up on this some other time), I have a thing with bad smells and tastes. Anything remotely gooey sends shivers (the electric seat kind) down my spine. I am extremely sorry about that, and I know it's just not fair, but this is a major turnoff for me. I know it kills spontaneity, but we NEED to wash up before we start the dance of joy (barring the occasional 'I need it right now').
Other remark: I know I'm ungrateful, but I have a problem with the tummy. I despise the excuses for not doing anything about it. If I had only just met you, I would maybe be less demanding, but I've had the (fortunate for me, maybe less for you) position of being able to watch you a thousand times (which dampens the original awe), and even besides that: I am an incorrigable critic.
Besides these two remarks: there is no complaint thinkable: you have the looks that will make you a 45-year old woman that men will still turn their heads at (and I will be one of them). I know from very personal experience that whatever these men may think of your 'zones of interest' (chest, brains, yoni,...), is unconditionnally below reality: they think they see marihuana and they fail to see the heroin. Your openness to anything but other women has been breathtaking already (I know I'm not always apertly appreciative about it) and your acceptance of the difference between phantasy and real life is a gift from the gods.

Whew, this is hard. How do you say some tough things that you feel need to be said, without hurting. I admit my ego may be the problem here; I'm not able to keep my bloody mouth shut when I have a problem, and I have a lot of problems. I hope I am being somewhat reasonable...

So, ok, she has a few minor flaws, but you obviously wouldn't trade her for the world. What's the fuss with monogamy then? Simply put: I'm a very hormonal man, with a strong lack of self-confidence. I'm simply not capable of stepping towards a nice girl and having a healthy flirt, you know: consenting adults stroking each other's ehrm... ego. But on the other hand, my puberty has created (or is this too easy) a craving for physical love, and apart from taste (and gender!), I am a very tolerant guy: any somewhat sexy girl is at the least welcome in my dreams, and if I were any more sociable (and not constrained by LOVE for Ilse), I would easily live a life of one night stands. There are all sorts of weird layers surrounding these emotions (or are they thoughts?): sometimes I yearn for roman era free-for-alls, sometimes I wonder what all my fuss is about. At times I believe it is just my inability to be a wantable man that is stopping me from having a go, sometimes I'm certain that my boundless love for Ilse is breaking the waves. The importance of this whole matter (one of the few things I see able to escape my self-containment) and my fear of crossing a line is even reenforcing my woman-phobia (failing to pass more than a VIRTUAL hug to V is not only a matter of respect for a way of life).
There's so much more to be said about this, and I will, most surely. The channel is there, and I WILL canalize my thoughts, even the ones I'm not certain or happy about. I may tell some parts of this story differently tomorrow, but I must not allow myself to ignore what I have thought at any day.

Am I monogamous: definitely not. I have not had sex, kissed, chatted about sex or even gone out with any other woman than Ilse since we've been together, yet still I fail to meet her popular expectations: should I not only crave her?

I know I'm ashamed of that.

But I AM thankful for all te investments, trials, errors and successes in making our love life maybe not 'vivid' (as in frequent) but interesting (in nothing but positive ways). Most of this is Ilse's work.

There are no other words: Prutske, you are intensely sexy. Thank you!(And sorry for being a grumpy sexual misfit)

Random thoughts: end of the line, all passengers exit.

Today, I have even less want than usually to restrain my thoughts, so never mind the bollocks (pop-quiz: who was the producer behind the band with this line as half an album-title?).

I went through a bit of a rough time these last days. My honorable colleague Danny has passed 'The Dark Tower'-virus to me (will never work with Anderlecht though). This (well, my lack of good sense to stop reading somewhere before 2 at night) caused me to be meta-tired by friday, and as it works out, to be a terrible nag in the course of the week. This led to the inevitable: the love of my life verbally hit me in the head, and we spent an evening arguing about details instead of romancing or at least having a good time.
This is for all to know: Ilse was right, and I will definitely try top stop being a pain in the rectal area about, generally, everything. She is doing great and I will stop criticizing her every move - please give me chance number 1999.
I also duly apologize for not organising anything for her 30th birthday. I was an idiot to think that buying a Kenwood would clear that deal. Anyway, I will once again pickup the habit of writing her name in the sky or other somewhat deranged but pleasing surprises, as the web is my witness.

Mike called to... I don't know, really. I felt as if the pressure was already somewhat off already, so my feeble attempts at cheering him up hardly hit the spot (I thought I sounded like a wannabe sensei - and I shall tolerate no witty remarks about that). I would be so lonely out alone in Prague. I don't know if that's really his problem (besides being too intelligent to do things on auto-pilot, or to not ask questions) but when I hear or read him, the feeling that comes over me is an intense sadness. I just want to be cuddled. I just want to be cuddled. I wonder if it's projection on my part when I'm not sure if he's only interested to be cuddled by his personal Juliet, or whether he simply craves the physical hug.

Hope I'm not crossing a border by posting this - after all this is no longer just my diary-notes. Hate myself for talking about you (M&I) in third person as well.

I'm trying to teach my kids just a little bit of the power of positive thinking. This is somewhat hard for a man neighing towards emotions expressed in early Cure Songs, but fortunately, I am also quite good at exagerating and making a fool out of myself. This always gives me credit with my kids (wonder how true that will be when they're 14) or any kids their age, and once in a while even gets the message through.
It even works in other places: last year at Werchter, the weather basically sucked most of the time, but I insisted: "The sun is shining - it's all in the mind", and what do you know: if not the weather, then at least the moods managed to be sunnier.
Mentionning Werchter: how would things be with... Simon Tahamata? (If you are wondering what I'm talking about: you're normal).

I played some guitar, bought two cows and eight non-simultaneous motorcycles, failed to shoot a plastic rose fo my love, was kind to my kin (except for dragging them through the rain on positive thoughts), worried about RPM having a bad influence on my back, talked to a sexy redhead and her fifty-year-old man (still reminding me painfully about my late father: he's just the succesful version of him) about her new job and appartment, was sorry about not attending 0110 (though I did sponsor), forgot Lightning McQueen, was too tired to get aroused (do need to write a bit about that soon - may sort things out), had a wonderful laugh at a game supposed to arousing, told Ilse about The Perfect Game, could not find 'The Eraser', discussed people being sexy or not, tried hard not to criticize,...

What's yellow and you can stand on it? A chick.
I know it's sick. Couldn't help but laugh about it (Eddie Dean would appreciate it; Blain the Mono would not).

Oh yes: to save you the trouble, Mike:
Schizm Lyrics.

Gotta go study hanzi now!

If I knew I would die next year, would I change anything in my life (apart from preparations on saying farewell - see also tearjerking movie that Ilse put me through recently =) )? I might travel to China now instead of in two years. I really wonder if I could stop trying to please everybody and just enjoy the warmth of my vital others. Gosh, I'm in a strange mood. I feel very much like getting drunk. maybe I'm an alcoholic afterall.

Have you figured out what 0ab means by now? Like I said: it's all me!

Oh yeah: we are now skype-enabled. Should try that sometime soon.
Oh more yeah: I promise myself I will go and help Vanessa this week with her email-trouble, and I will go by Dani's place. If we get a planning up for october, I'll phone or mail Ward to get a 'date' with him. I'm sure this all will prevent the black Pete from putting me in his backpack.

Somebody get me a restraining order. Please, make some sense out of me.