Miss Around 1: Juliana

In this boudoir of books
she knows of my notice, looks.
Soon her concentration
(pen cap chew and dashful correction)
transcends credibility.
A willful, willling personality
in writings of I.
She is appropriately shy:
my rapist pencil will next
be stealing her honour by text.
I'll paint her belly in ink
then close my eyes and drink
this most ravenous idea:
I sense her writing too of me.
So I scribble on her
and she in return.
If not in
then all over her skin
my words like fingers crawl:
thus in trance we fall.
She writhes and I write
Our sighs soon collide

She depicts my breath
or its lack and regrets
(I firmly agree, I must say)
that this paper romance
grown of chance and of glance
is still a table away.

Fleeting memory

I'm starting to be a bit mad at me. My memory is like my collection of LEGO: I still have most building instructions, but I miss some valuable pieces. Gradually, but relentlessly (another very strong word that Björk helped me discover today), the beauty of past experiences is slipping. Recalling the scent of a lover, the date of a date, the grin on a friendly face, the colour of eyes, the ring of the kind words and even the warming of the heart do not escape the sieve.
It is time: I will soon have to write everything down. My tendency for the dark is enabling me to remember more of the pains and angers than of the laughter and joy, so if I do not take note of all this grace, Nullabee may have his hands full of only scary reminders: not good for the attempt to trust the world.

So I wrote down a little more of Prague. Funny: more and more I see it could have been Munich or Rome for all that matter: the city was barely there (in spite of its obvious elegance): it was all about night time talks about not being Buddha (what do you expect if you don't see the idea of a Chinese culture (-; ), too many drinks to last half an hour without a pee, people with life bursting out of them, games of all kinds and promisses of further greatness (Oh yeah, guys, as far as I can tell, the correct translation is a wooden beam).
I also have some photo's. These help remarkably well, so these are in place here as well. I have too many to bother you with all of them online (450 pics taken, reduced to 115), but surely I can find some that will always light up my day. Most of these have nothing to do with tourism, but guess what: I don't mind forgetting how Prague actually looked; I object to letting the pulse of life in it leave my mind.

There are words that will never sound the same again: sushi, poker and even beans are obvious examples. Mike's nationality is another (-:

The only other relevant recollection I have, is still missing: I'm awaiting some guys over there to do the dirty work, and type in those neatly folded papers with the results of our late afternoon in book Nirvana. Hello? Don't get too caught up in representations there, young men!
For inspiration, here's one more picture, the inspiration for a series of poems I'm bound to write: 'Miss Around':

Oh, oh, one more thing: don't forget to check out MySpace, you Dutch speaking lot!

Poem on MySpace

I will probably post some more story-like thing as well (and pictures!), but as a very first feel for my experience of Prague: go fetch at MySpace.

Nice weather

There is a lot of life around me. It is happening all over. Yesterday evening was wonderful: talking to my moher in law for ages, about a title in my favorite trilogy in five parts (Life, the Universe, Everything): she is a doll. She hates telling me she would be mad at me if I ever left Ilse.

Then there was the miencident: annoying and enriching (although not fully until I really understood the weirdness of today). I was so beat up that I decided not to see her (did end up in speedy running though: hating yourself makes for reluctancy to give in to physical emergencies)
And the realisation that I am inhumanly tired: I am less human because I am tired: my temper is having its way towards the kids, Ilse and myself, so I'd better be smart and get some rest. Like hell I will: I have a mailbox full of dreams, and a will to live. Just don't overdo it.

There was also an MSN-conversation with StefHer, that was mainly ruled by my gloomy mood: weird to get advice on some things (stress) from you, but helpful nevertheless.

This all to let you know I posted more on my space again (which is now also read by my mother in law, so please be gentle if you ever put a comment there (-: )

What a beautiful day.
And tomorrow, I'm leaving for the second most beautiful city in the world! To meet the man everybody should be in love with. Dig this: every day is a beautiful day (Dogen).

Nice weather

There is a lot of life around me. It is happening all over. Yesterday evening was wonderful: talking to my moher in law for ages, about a title in my favorite trilogy in five parts (Life, the Universe, Everything): she is a doll. She hates telling me she would be mad at me if I ever left Ilse.

Then there was the miencident: annoying and enriching (although not fully until I really understood the weirdness of today). I was so beat up that I decided not to see her (did end up in speedy running though: hating yourself makes for reluctancy to give in to physical emergencies)
And the realisation that I am inhumanly tired: I am less human because I am tired: my temper is having its way towards the kids, Ilse and myself, so I'd better be smart and get some rest. Like hell I will: I have a mailbox full of dreams, and a will to live. Just don't overdo it.

There was also an MSN-conversation with StefHer, that was mainly ruled by my gloomy mood: weird to get advice on some things (stress) from you, but helpful nevertheless.

This all to let you know I posted more on my space again (which is now also read by my mother in law, so please be gentle if you ever put a comment there (-: )

What a beautiful day.
And tomorrow, I'm leaving for the second most beautiful city in the world! To meet the man everybody should be in love with. Dig this: every day is a beautiful day (Dogen).

I think, therefore I am

The movie mostly sucks, but first of all it has these two wonderful discussions in it, and second, it has been used as samples in a neat song on a Play It Again Sam compilation including Jason Rawhead's Black Box and Birthday by the Sugarcubes, the best cover of Hey Joe, and Fear (is a Man's Best friend) from the Velvet Undergound Violincello-player, so please enjoy some terminal philosophy in 'Dark Star':

Doolittle : Hello Bomb no.20 are you with me?

Bomb no.20 : Of course.

Doolittle : Are you willing to entertain a few concepts?

Bomb no.20 : I am always receptive to suggestions.

Doolittle : Alright,think about this then. How do you know you exist?

Bomb no.20 : Well,of course I exist.

Doolittle : But how do you know you exist?

Bomb no.20 : It is intuitively obvious.

Doolittle : Intuition is no proof,what concrete evidence do you have that you exist?

Bomb no.20 : Mmmmmm....well,I think therefore I am.

Doolittle : That's good,that's very good,but how do you know anything else exists?

Bomb no.20 : My sensory apparatus reveals it to me.

Doolittle : Ah right.

Bomb no.20 : This is fun.

Doolittle : Now listen,listen here's the big question,how do you know that the evidence that your sensory apparatus reveals to you is correct? What I'm getting at is this: the only experience that is directly available to you is you sensory data,and this sensory data is merely a stream of electrical impulses that stimulates your computing centre.

Bomb no.20 : In other words,all that I really know about the outside world is relayed to me through my electrical connections.

Doolittle : Exactly!

Bomb no.20 : Why,that would mean that I really don't know what the outside universe is like at all for certain.

Doolittle : That's it! That's it!

Bomb no.20 : Intriguing.I wish I had more time to discuss this matter.

Doolittle : Why don't you have more time?

Bomb no.20 : Because I must detonate in 75 seconds.

Doolittle : Now bomb,consider this next question very carefully.What is your one purpose in life?

Bomb no.20 : To explode of course.

Doolittle : And you can only do it once,right?

Bomb no.20 : That is correct.

Doolittle : And you wouldn't want to explode on the basis of false data, would you?

Bomb no.20 : Of course not.

Doolittle : Well,then,you've already admitted that you have no real proof of the existence of the outside universe.

Bomb no.20 : Yes...well..?!

Doolittle : So you have no absolute proof that Sgt Pinback ordered you to detonate.

Bomb no.20 : I recall distinctly the detonation order,my memory is good on matters like these.

Doolittle : Of course you remember it,but all you're remembering is merely a series of sensory impulses which you now realise have no real definite connection with outside reality.

Bomb no.20 : True,but since this is so I have no proof that you are really telling me all this.

Doolittle : That's all beside the point.I mean the concept is valid no matter where it originates.

Bomb no.20 : Mmmmm.

Doolittle : So if you detonate...

Bomb no.20 : In 9 seconds.

Doolittle : ....you could be doing so on the basis of false data.

Bomb no.20 : I have no proof it was false data.

Doolittle : YOU HAVE NO PROOF IT WAS VALID DATA!

Bomb no.20 : I must think on this further.

Later....

Pinback : Alright bomb prepare to receive new orders.

Bomb no.20 : You are false data.

Pinback : Mmm?

Bomb no.20 : Therefore I shall ignore you.

Pinback : Hello,bomb?

Bomb no.20 : False data can act only as a distraction.Therefore I shall refuse to perceive you.

Pinback : Hey,bomb!

Bomb no.20 : The only thing which exists is myself.

Pinback : Doolittle help me!

Doolittle : Calm down,I'm coming.

Pinback : Snap out of it bomb.

Bomb no.20 : In the beginning there was darkness,and the darkness was without form and void....

Pinback : Errr,yoo-hoo,yoo-hoo bomb.

Bomb no.20 : ...and in addition to the darkness there was also me,and I moved upon the face of the darkness,and I saw that I was alone.

Pinback : Hey bomb?

Bomb no.20 : Let there be light. (Massive thermonuclear planet sized explosion)

Pinback : AHHAHHHHHH!

Talby : Doolittle where are you?

Doolittle : Here I am,I'm spinning.We're falling in opposite directions, away from each other.

Talby : What happened Doolittle?

Doolittle : The bomb must have gone off inside the ship.

Talby : The ship blew up? What!?

Doolittle : Funny,I thought I had the damn thing convinced.


Oh yeah: you may once again want to go look at MySpace for a new poem. This time about me, well surely.

Quadruple U

Not for the faint of heart, but there is a new post on my myspace.
It's probably quite dark to be posted there, but at least it's mostly not about me.

Maybe I shouldn't let my mother in law know about MySpace after all.

Then again. Maybe I should.

What will I be talking to her about wednesday? I intend to make her happy, but I will not lie.

Avoid the subject? Easy way out. Thank god I'm lazy.

Attention overload

Dear all,

I am facing a new fase: I am now absolutely suffering from attention overload.
I have gotten a dozen lovely emails today, one phonecall (is it alright to call skype that?), one MSN conversation to rule them all, some deep kisses and a natural urge to give a massage today. Oh and I forget some SMSes, and some compliments from my boss.

My dear friends (even the ones who don't read this outskirt of the net) and lover: if my bucket of joy flows over, you guys all helped fill it and not by the drop. I am not on the plane to Prague just yet, but I'm already flying. My insides are constantly humming (think the beginning of 'The Prayer', or perhaps even better 'Feelin Groovy' by Simon and Garfunkle), my mouth causes similar excesses as Mike's after my messages (not fitting through the door anymore from roomwide smile - you'll pardon me not literally repeating the excesses in question, Mike: afterall, this IS a very tidy blog), and I wouldn't even mind if nobody hugged me anymore today (well, maybe not in the next ten minutes (-; )

Thank you all for being great.

Back

Weird mood this morning. Not very fitting for work. But then are you even supposed to have moods on the job?

I have no idea exactly why yesterday evening's messenger talk is still buzzing in my brain. Although the content was quite intense, somehow that is not related to its stickyness. Perhaps this is just not the sort of thing you talk about over messenger. Perhaps I want to simply look Mien in the eye (I enjoy physically seeing her - and that would also be the case if she were dead-ugly)

Anyway (will have to try and figure it all out, but I can't do that this fast), a short post to let you know there's another read at my space.

Facts to remember:
* The plan for Prague is actually coming together. I'll probably be going next weekend!
* Meditation is an interesting option. I'll keep it open for now.
* Ruben is very smart, but he's going to be ok.
* Vanessa was simply charming yesterday (and in the short mail preceding it).
* Lore is a little bit back into my life (sent her a confusing message though - was a little bit thrown back by the messenger conversation mentioned above)
* Yes, my way of life (ours, really) is dangerous. But I still feel that it hasn't gotten any more dangerous recently. I care more about what really matters (Ilse's slowly improving memory) and less about me ending up sorry. Only half a year ago, I had the 'there has to be more than this'-feeling. Now, at least I know what more there is (and thank god there is), and we're actively looking for it, without heading for a 'there used to be more than this'. Yes, dangerous indeed. It requires the highest amount of trust and constant conversation, but hey, aren't those two feats of romantic love? Add in the passion that we are rediscovering, and you get a love everybody should envy.

The Who?

nicotine of being Seen.
'will Steal for mood'

Slowly eraSe myself
if She were not to be one.
vaniSh like a Stain in time.

aftermath amountS to one
Still

Ruben

For some reason, blogspot is kinda picky on poetry: it seems to think there is a relation to virusses / spam.
Well, fortunately, I just started a MySpace (does this even come with 'a' - sorry couldn't come up with the correct term for 'onbepaald voornaamwoord'?) and posted it there. Up yours, blogspot!

Please go and see a new (dutch) poem there with the above title.
See if you can find the reason why it's not accepted...

Anger is a gift. So is love. And laziness

Morning Yearning - Ben Harper

My fingers touch upon my lips
It’s a morning yearning
It’s a morning yearning
Pull the curtains shut try to keep it dark
But the sun is burning
The sun is burning

The world awakens on the run
And we’ll soon be earning
We’ll soon be earning
With hopes of better days to come
That’s a morning yearning
Morning yearning

Morning yearning…

Another day another chance to get it right
Must I still be learning?
Must I still be learning?
Baby crying kept us up all night
With her morning yearning
With her morning yearning

Morning yearning…

Like a summer rose I’m a victim of the fall
But am soon returning
Soon returning
You’re love’s the warmest place the sun ever shines
My morning yearning
My morning yearning

Morning yearning…




In reality, there's no way to get this song's intenseness without hearing it.
Yearning is one of the most powerful words I know. It is so relevant to everyone I know.

Slip of Mind

Waar was ik toen ik haar in handen kreeg?
Ze was donkerder dan fondant,
duisterder dan't
gesternte, zwarter dan pek, en leeg.

De belofte van rondingen over-
mande me tussen
oudere zussen.
Zij: jonger (nieuw!), vol tover.

Ik beroerde haar weefsel. Misschien
wil zij verbergen -
nog even tergen.
Ik geniet van niet zien.

Geen kantjes, geen franje, geen grillen,
wel welving.
Mijn verbeelding:
van de wasmand, strak om Ilses billen.

(also posted on www.myspace.com/nullabee)

Job

Sand in the vaseline: hopped on another bus of potential changes. Although my long weekend was relaxing and soothing (topped off by Ilse cutting my hair and administering a skullmassage), I find something has been troubling me remotely.
At work, we have this guy who is the teamleader of the infrastructure cell. Every once in a while, he throws out big gestures, loud noises and downright insults on how everything, or better, everyone is working against him. Hey, I have my bad hair days, I've cracked on stress, I have even insulted people on occasion. Difference here is: I am not convinced that I am good at management.
I cannot state that this man is doing his job well, but he is the same age as all 'important people' in the company, has experience in planning, in short: Nico is - to my feeling - more respected (although I have seen the underside of the eyeballs of the IP's when he was at it again). For sure, he will not be carefully moved out of the teamleading business like I was (and I have not been compensated for this in any matter; except maybe for my own "let'em have it" attitude).

Now I'm trying my best to be a better man than me. In 'real life' but also on the job. This means: keeping your goals in sight and acting towards them. For this, I have to suppress my enthousiasm and more specifically, my "I'm being wronged here"-alert, that causes me to take on instinctive defensive positions (ending in discussions besides the point, as I'm also pigheaded in acknowledging my wrong). BTW: it's nice to get all this in writing: not perfectly put, maybe not even all true, but a basis to refer to when I'm thinking this over again.

I also have a history at the firm (my 'demotion' from teamleadership is only an example), which shades the view of the 'more equal' animals: I'm that young one that screwed up some times and whose communicative skills are far too direct and unbalanced. And they're right, somewhat.

Do I like my job? This question IS haunting. I have taken on responsabilities (a wife, two children and a huge house) that make it impossible for me to take on my dream: what I really want to do is be expressive, and good at it. This is a childish dream, but nevertheless still mine: I want to be a rock star (yes, I would be in it for the music, but definitely also for the attention), I intend to write the next great novel and shine in theatre plays. Scientific grandeur, political success, CEO of my own booming firm. These are the exponents of my deep longing for personal greatness, which can only be measured by the count of hands clapping.
And I AM good at my job. I learn quicker than anyone else I know (sorry, Mike, you're much smarter than me, but I'm happy to say I don't know whether you're a fast learner :-) ), and this enables me to be an excellent computer program problem solver and architect. By far not the best, but damn it, a good one.
The problem is, I do not get enough positive feedback about it. I don't get off from youngsters begging me to solve their beginners' problems, or from architectural improvements that only I can see the relevance/beauty of.
Besides that, I have also gotten quite some negative feedback on other things: my outbursts of exhaustion, my tongue moving before my brain, my lack of focus: all have invoked if not 'the finger' then at least 'the look'. I have gone through some of the most shameful events of my life there.
So I'm thinking: maybe I don't like my job.

But what to trade it for?
Well, let's first see what's missing:
* I need more time to write, draw, scream, publish
* I want positive feedback.
* I want time on the job to evolve: I will not take time after work anymore to become a better but not better regarded programmer.
* I think I'm better than I'm being paid for. If nothing else, I used to be better than what I'm paid for (when I still worked a lot after hours), but I have my pride (a lot of it, actually - even Wan Laoshi noticed it)

Prft. This is hardly complete, but it is a work in progress. I have to take note of all my thoughts, so I can define the direction I wish to aim for.
Probably in a next post, I may tell about what happened with Nico. For now, just the sentence that is nagging me somewhere since yesterday:
"I realise with fright that I'm often challenging people to tell me to quit my job".

And one more thing: I have given myself permission to write anything that comes up to me, and I also wanted to write about something else than my friends. So not all of the above may be exactly true. The same goes for anything else I'm writing, and because I write what I think, and I also say what I think: it also goes for what comes out of my mouth.