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Random Articles
When the world comes down I smoke. Secretly. And I’m getting annoyed with the fact that I still encounter people who see me smoke and then say “Smoking is harmful.” Instead of telling this to an ordinary smoker, they tell it me of all people. How many things do I have to do secretly? How long will I have to hide the real me from people? Maybe I’m everybody’s clown. No, a pantomime from the circus. They laugh at what I am pretending to...
December 31, 2012 My own personal guru of life has said it once again and I’m sure I will need to hear it over and over so I don’t forget. There are now less than 24 hours left for me to appreciate the good times and bid farewell to foolishness and blindness by simply accepting the fact that I have committed them. The whole year is flashing before my eyes at 02:30 in the morning and the only thing I have noticed...
End of July It’s pretty scary for me typing my only blog of July on the Sony tablet, it certainly doesn’t feel right at all. Either there is a Word Document app or not, but I doubt it.   I am ashamed of the lack of writing and the lack of mindfulness lately. It gets so bad that I forget how to talk properly sometimes. And there is zero attention span left, eithr.   Anyway, it has been an eventful month, not...
The curse of the h-a-y question... If I say I’ve written and read more words than I’ve spoken, will you try to change that? It’s not that easy. I may have once said ‘Get me to speak six hours straight and you’ll have found a place in my heart’, but this no longer happens. There’s no one that allows me to be me anymore. The last person was Sam, but he’s no longer here. I do not enjoy talking, I never have. The problem is...
Ladybird invasion in my room... Recently I’ve been hearing whispers in my dreams; whispers that are incoherent and have no business in my dreams. Only when dreaming I can figure out the daunting words in the background, but as soon as I wake up I don’t remember a thing of what’s been said. Maybe I’m getting too obsessed with that story of mine from 2006, in which the voice was Peter Pan’s – a fairy tale character that was supposed to teach me how...
First night sleeping with lights off... In the last 26 hours I’ve only had about 3 1/2 hours sleep. Let’s say I’ve been working. For no money. This is always the case with me. I choose something I enjoy doing, but there is no money available for me. I do so much copywriting for free. Many people who were in my shoes would complain. But I don’t really see the point in complaining about something that I enjoy doing. Now talking about the Reeperbahn Festival...

I lost my relationship

There is a little too much change at the moment and during this course I lost my relationship with people. I’m trying to keep my head above water, but the rest of my body feels numb and weak. I push so hard at the gym, but I don’t quite know what for anymore. At work I’m too fast; my head is on speed and my skin feels dry. Something tells me to slow down. Truth is that I’ve been working on slowing (things) down all my life. I simply want the worst part of the day to be over so that I can focus on the beautiful and fun things – just like typing these words and search through my head and focus on my breathing. And that’s to make sure that I am still here. That’s what slowing down means to me. The sad thing is that I don’t remember the last time I did something meaningful and creative. It feels like that part of my life is over and all that’s left is a weekly routine in which making money to get by has become my main purpose. This is the saddest thing ever and I’m not surprised that my immune system is letting me down. I still can’t think of the last creative thing that I have done… When I lost my relationship with people I was aware that it was not their fault, or mine either. It just took me a while to see the big picture. I need to re-connect with myself and make sure I remember why I am here. That’s all. And because I didn’t have the space and time to focus on it some kind of depression began to evolve and made everyone around me miserable. Of course I had to do something and it involved big decisions. It takes so much courage that I hate it. Before making decisions you’d try to fix things, because there is always hope. But hope and what’s right are two different things. The right thing for now is to distance myself from people. Catching up over a coffee once or twice a month used to be great when I was still living in London. I’d hang around with that friend for about six hours and chat about all sorts of things. Alcohol and party environment were never ever needed. (A joint or two used to be nice, though.) At the end of the day you feel inspired and grateful, because that friend has showed you a different perspective on life. But I don’t really...

Outnumbered

Now thinking about it, it must’ve been like dropping out of the school of life after the kindergarten period or early learning. I’m 32, in a place where I don’t know what to do with myself, how to not adapt to what everyone else does and moreover, learn to focus – on me. Over a year ago I’d spent almost ten days living like a female monk that sincerely had nothing to say to anyone, neither do I have anything to say now, except for humming my favourite songs to myself, looking for meaning and good stories to feed my imagination. And I often wonder what if I was living the life of a female monk. I’m not missing out on anything, apart from good stories and good music. I don’t like what they like, but at least I am tolerant enough to take part in it, share my presence with it and smile at it for two seconds. It almost feels like a favour without one in return. And that doesn’t feel right. Perhaps I am trying to hard. I do stop when it gets too much. I dig a hole and bury my head, hoping that a perfect storyline will save my day or even a philosopher’s quote or last words. I never understood people that cannot be alone. Whenever I feel something similar to loneliness, all I need is a text message, or an email to remind myself that I am not alone. But you don’t get in touch with friends just because you’re sad or alone. I’ve been guilty of it lately. I haven’t spoken to them when I was happy, I haven’t been sharing happiness with them, but only thought of them when I was sad. I’ve been finding it hard to breathe and when I close my eyes I see red and a dark red line. For a while it looks like the horizon, and sometimes it looks like a huge wave coming at me, so I open my eyes and I lose my focus. Broken sleep, headache, earache and hair loss (again) and if anything – my seborrhoeic eczema is getting worse. So much scab on my scalp. Can’t stop picking at them. And then there’s blood underneath my fingernails. I don’t want to use hydrocortisone if I can help it. I’m usually good at keeping my skin’s conditions under control, but not at the moment. Other people have it worse, though. Weight gain is common, too, when you’re stressed and having an office job doesn’t help. Despite everything I’d say this...

Scatterbrained

Someone once said that if the presence of reality became too extraordinary, our consciousness would seek refuge in imagination. That used to be a very easy thing for me to do and I’d always feel much better about the world, the people around me and even myself. It’s just that as I grow older, I find it harder to deal with pressure. Shit is getting real and I get terrified. There used to be a lot more ways to escape and there used to be a lot more options as well, and I’m not too sure what happened. It’s unbelievable how many loose ends my life has and I just don’t know how to tie them together anymore. I thought I would see a new light in this new beginning, but right now I can’t even ignite a match without breaking it.   In my own private life, the magic of fiction and writing has helped me shoulder my responsibilities. It gives my mind a good balance, a necessary balance – one that nobody around me understands, so I cannot share it. Just because they are experts in coping in reality doesn’t mean I’m less strong. Balance is crucial. Standing on one foot teaches your body physical balance. Reading, writing, meditating give your mind a mental balance. Some people need it more than the other. If they are not granted the space and time they might fall apart. And even if you witness the breakdown, you will lack the knowledge to understand, because they felt too ashamed or too stupid to tell you.   I never thought that the pattern of life would contribute to a good story, but at least it’s inspirational and you can tweak around with factual truth and even lie, as long as an emotional truth is evident. I never liked being emotional. It’s like water – ever changing. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t want to go into the waters of Phi Phi Island. I want to be like a rock – hard and cold – be stepped on and not give a shit, because I am tough. But someone has set the wood in my mind on fire and it’s burning away. And I’m trying to make the most out of the fire. Looking for wood (to burn) is hard. Unfortunately I have to do it to stay warm. If you’re not alone you have commitments and sometimes they can be detrimental for the mind. An introvert’s heart might have a capacity for lots of things, whereas his mind doesn’t. And while trying to...

Letter to A.

Hi from ___. Hope you had a good birthday, although birthdays seem to lose meaning year after year. There might even be a day one day where we will all forget about our birthdays. But at least you have those triple chocolate fudge cakes in ___.   To be honest, my heart is not pining for any place really. In the end it just doesn’t really matter where I am, certain feelings don’t change. At least ___ brings some familiarity. We had a good time in ___ for over ___ months. Or let’s say I liked the idea of staying put somewhere, not work too much and join the gym.   I worked part time at a ___ and saved some cash (although not much). There was also this pressure from the ___ government, which wanted us back ASAP. The deadline was end of June, which sucked, because it gave us no time to ___ and stay put elsewhere to work. Obviously I wanted to see different places other than ___. I was going to head to ___ on my own, but ___ decided to quit his ___ and come with me as well. He loves ___ and really wanted to show me ___. However, when we got there, we really struggled to find a short-term job, mainly because we didn’t want to lie to employers and say that we were only there for 6-7 weeks. It was so competitive. Apply for a job at the supermarket and expect to be competing with 500 other applicants! At that time we had already booked out flights back to ___ for ___ (via ___) from ___. In the end we stayed in ___ for only three weeks. We were two weeks in when I had proposed that we should leave ___ early. There was no point in staying and wasting money on accommodation when we have no job. I wasn’t enjoying myself, because there was this constant pressure on the ___ and job front. ___ why not go back to ___ now? Also, when we left I was ___ to return and finish my work & holiday, as my ___ is still valid until ___, which means, if we return to ___ early, I will be able to return to ___ early and hopefully find a job for ___. But…I might have changed my mind…Things are very uncertain at the moment. I mean, yes, _______   You see, he is the main reason why I think I should stay and not return to ___, although I’d like to…If we have our...

You, at the desk

You, I’m supposed to write for you, aren’t I? I never really thought about that actually. Back in the days at university, I was often smitten and did it the Shakespeare way. I wrote when I was in love and would dedicate the stories to someone’s initials and never tell them. You might think it’s pretty sad, because unrequited love is sad, but not if you are able to maneuver those emotions into creative energy. Let it out, let it out. Shed some tears on the keyboard while you write and shed more during that long walk in Greenwich Park. Wow, I’ve been thinking a lot about my freedom and independence back in London. It’s not so much that I really miss London, but I miss my freedom and creative spirit. Most of my friends went separate ways after graduation, even a lot of my London based friends got in touch less and less, which was ok. I’ve always been the kind of person that meets up with friends once every other week or month. I love being alone, especially if my creative spirit is playing along. However, not everybody understands. I prioritized writing in my free time. With the nine to five job in London, Monday to Friday, I had Saturday and Sunday off, which I would spend in the university library. Of course it was not the same as being a student. Alumni get cheap-ass library access cards, which only work for a certain time of the day. I envied all those students, who were working on their coursework. All I did was blog. I would blog every week and keep it as a weekly routine. The time was there. The emotions, too. The composition of a blog often took about three to five hours, because I would try to write a proper, well-constructed blog in which I attempted to sound philosophical, literary, etc. My vocabulary and idiom were good, too, back then, don’t you agree? I wrote for you and still do. You are a good listener. You are patient. You don’t shout back at me. You are my shoulder to cry on. I was very close to you in that piece of meta-fiction from 2011. Inspired by Stephen King I called you my muse. Despite the lack of reading and writing in the last few years, I have still learnt a lot from editing and redrafting. If I looked back at older short stories I would omit and rephrase a lot of words and sentences. I might even do it. Although I’m now more aware...

Fools that fall behind

What date is today? I guess it’s just another day I haven’t read or written. The scribbles in my journal are becoming harder and harder to read and make less and less sense day by day.   The sound of the construction work outside is flaring up the discomfort in my abdomen. The neon lights in the evening are hurting my brain, but I guess that’s part of a new beginning. Some people love and hate new beginnings. They are anxious about new adjustments, new people and new surroundings. And soon they realize that this is why they are here and they grow to love it. However, it doesn’t feel the same if the new beginning is only provisional and is due to change again soon.   It might be a temporary ‘new’ environment, but I’m not sure. In fact, I’ve become less sure recently, about what I do and what I really should be doing. The focus on improving my life kind of fell apart due to the lack of solitude and the lack of time to think clearly. I find it hard to accept what I can’t change. I cannot alleviate their sorrow, if anything they inject me with it.   Whenever I try to focus on what I can do, I wonder if I am doing it for them or me. I’ve been questioning the validity of reality without having any interest in the answers, because they wouldn’t contribute to a good story. Reality has evolved into such a bad cliché that I don’t see any originality anymore. I’m not playing the judge; I’m just looking for worthwhile inspirations that I can develop and give meaning to. I don’t talk about these things, so who am I do criticize anyone or anything? In addition there are so many lies and secrets involved in reality that it drains me and makes me sick. It litters my mind with who I should be and rubs salt in some healing wounds caused by failures and mistakes. Creating reminders of why you are here are important, such as continuing to do and practice what you love, because otherwise you’ll forget why you exist. I’m already forgetting. If I’m not wrong, March 2016 is the first month since 2009 that I haven’t blogged a single entry. This puts me to shame. I cannot blame apathy. I cannot blame lethargy. Because I am the one who produces it all. Therefore it is my own fault.   There are three types of artists: Type one is sociable, Type two is reserved and Type...

The boss

Yesterday a friend told me that he was going back to university to study some form of management, because he is sick of being bossed around. Today I’ve been asking myself if there is anything that I could do, too, in order not to be bossed around any longer in whichever industry. Right now people around me increase my doubts, which, each time, makes me think I’m better off on my own. I’m working on what I want to become and I can’t talk to anyone about it, as they’re unaware of how they’re drawing me away from it by highlighting the emptiness evident in reality. It’s like they don’t know you. Well, I don’t want to be bossed around, either. I myself am no boss. If there is anyone I need it’s a mentor, just like Keats had his personal mentor. But I’m on my own, which is why it’s taking me so long to become what I want to become. Inside apathy (triggered by lethargy, doubts, etc.) I have my face stuck to the ground. The only thoughts keeping me going are Humbert’s love for Lolita, Bateman’s coat hangers, Chinaski’s awful part time jobs and Raskolnikov’s guilty conscience. There is a job where I won’t have a boss, and where I don’t have to be one, either. I will make this a goal. Speaking of university – I say it a lot, but wouldn’t it be great if you could go to university for the rest of your life? There is always something different that you can study in your field of interest. I’d like to take linguistics next, so I can improve my language and grammar. I feel bad for my editor having to correct hundreds of minor mistakes that I never spotted during redrafting. Or let’s say, I feel embarrassed, because I didn’t know they were grammatical errors. Back at university I almost failed my essay on Dorian Gray. Being one of my all time favourite books, I wasn’t analytical enough for the examiner(, not to mention that I am a bad essay writer). This is something I could improve, right? I’m grateful for what my friend told me and I’m happy for him, too. Everyone should do something that gives meaning to his or her life. Only this way life becomes less absurd. I call it distraction, because the sense of meaninglessness will always be there. We all know it, but we don’t want to see it, so we revolt. There is no other...

The man at the library window

I don’t really know what it means to blog anymore. It’s either the lack of words or I have become too self-conscious these days to share anything. There was a time where writing fiction was only steered by emotions that needed to be expressed or released. But as you grow older you learn to share the wheel appropriately with your brain as well. This is when you figure that your brain is your biggest judge. I suppose it’s important to be analytical. When I was a teenage writer I didn’t feel that the pattern of real life contributed to a great story. You have to process factual and imaginative truth, but in the end it doesn’t matter which one is evident in the story. A semi-autobiography means nothing to your reader, however, the story does. Littering the mind with too much meaningless reality has a draining effect on both heart and brain. We all know it. Unfortunately you grow accustomed to the white noise of reality that you often forget about your passions. Responsibilities get in the way. Everyone, including loved ones have expectations from you all the time, while all you want to do is turn on your favourite music and remind yourself why you’re really here. There are many reasons such as exorcise childhood demons, get over heartbreak, or more importantly – create something big that you can share. I am glad I’ve started on the latter back in 2006, because I always need time to write. I often need three hours for one single paragraph. Damon Albarn needs three hours to write the next line of a song, so I guess I don’t feel so bad after all. I’m not much of a perfectionist, but as far as my novel is concerned I am, mainly because my English is not native. I may speak about three to four languages, but I don’t master all of them perfectly. I am not a bright introvert, either. The only time I am is when I read a lot, but I haven’t been doing it in a long time. The novel may be the biggest thing I will create. Having it edited has nothing to do with perfectionism. I’m doing this for the reader – the universal reader. And I’m doing to it to be less selfish, to remind my bias self to view things from different angles and not just mine. Unfortunately I am not a super writer, not like the man, who is sitting by the library window. Does he even exist? I don’t remember. What I do know is...