The Year Anew I Think Of You

Well today was something else. Woke up today next to a girl. We can talk about last night but the story reveals itself. Why is it so cold? Damnit she hogged the sheets. Women. How pretty they are. All the SAME! Get out of bed. Start routine. Eat a hard-boiled egg. Turns out to be a not-boiled egg. Damnit. I put on my nice shoes and new shirt. Get out of the house! Nope she's awake. INTERMISSION. Wow, european girls are so much easier to talk to. That took a GRAND TOTAL of 10 mins as opposed to the 3 HOURS of most of these "morning after conversations." Decides to make me breakfast too. I was meant to live in this country. Parents come around and pick me up. Thanks for the place to sleep and I'm off. 2 hour ride to grandmothers house we go. Last night she had a special on TV for her 80th birthday. My mom was on it. Cheers all around. Holland has become a warzone. It's New Years Eve and since 3pm you can't stand outside without hearing an explosion every 10 seconds. All fireworks are legal. We're here. Start with the courtesies. Three kisses: left cheek, right cheek, left cheek for the female relatives. A firm handshake for the males. I'm the oldest of my generation not counting half-cousins. I kill someone if they get the inheritance before I do. The half-breed morons. They look like european supermodels but have the brains of small rodents. Cut the cake. Flowers arriving every ten minutes. Alot of people from televisions past. Become friends with a 70-year-old man named Marius. Good friend of my grandfathers. Recieve a gift from my grandfather. Leatherbound. Recite my poem. Grandmother cries. My heart melts. I'm the only one to have done this. Perhaps I do have a gift after all. I want to make people happy. Well-known MC in Holland Freek de Jonge steals a copy of my poem. Says he wants to show it to a friend. We'll see what comes of it. Need to write a letter to Joop Van Den Ende, other family friend and powerful entertainment mogul in Holland. Get a job perhaps. Road to success is hard, but a famous grandma helps. On the way back to our temporary residence, I tear up to the Jeff Buckley cover of Hallelujah playing on the radio. While the song plays I can see the countryside and the skies over the Dutch cities and towns. Everyone is setting off fireworks and the sky is dotted with explosions of light and color. Is it tuned to the music? Life is so beautiful. Why do we waste it so often? We have come so far and done so much. Why is there ever a reason to be down? Are we that selfish? I know I am. I know you are. However, it's nice to see the lights of a city once in a while and think "I am proud to be a part of this." Radio announcer says that "Hallelujah" was the song he sang to his grandmother as she lay dying because he didn't have the courage to say he loved her. I'm thinking of Dad. We're home. I've got nobody to kiss at midnight because I'm surrounded by family and nobody to love. Sometimes europe is lonely at night... Happy New Year. Make a wish.

Todays Day Was A Lucky Fall

I was unreasonably happy this morning. I'm not entirely sure why. Also by now I've mastered and standardized my morning routine. Get out of bed, take a piss, take vitamins and assorted medicines, do 50 push ups, 50 squats, 200 reps of something, and 15 mins of stretching and/or taekwondo, pick clothes for the day, take a shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, brush teeth (because why would you brush your teeth before you eat and get them dirty again?) I also do the same thing in roughly the reverse order at night minus the shower and breakfast. Today we went shopping at a local mall with my family and female cousin. We went into a shoe store because apparently my boots aren't appropriate for anything but hiking. I spend 5 minutes finding a pair of shoes I like but my father takes 45 mins trying on different shoes before he can finally pick. I distract myself by admiring the beautiful women around the store and one of the clerks who I keep catching longingly staring at me. Yes you're very beautiful miss but your enlgish language skills aren't up to snuff. Anyone who can't say "suede" with a certain amount of conviction loses points. So we leave and have lunch at a cafe. Do I have mustard on my shirt or something? Why do people keep looking at me funny? Oh well this salmon is delicious. Yes two shirts that make me look like a hipster. What else? Plaid. Whatever they look nice. Moving on. AGH MORE GORGEOUS WOMEN. Yes those fitted trench coats suit you very well. Moving on. They let dogs in here? Oooh a candy store! Your cross-eyed. A basement outside? Okay its 5 o'clock. Checking the inheritance at IGN. Lady behind the counter looked like a rejected oompa loompa. Nicest bathroom attendant! And was it bring your kid to work day? "Don't you want to be a bathroom attendant when you grow up?" "No, I want to be a pony" Way to dream big kiddo. Forgot to tip. Going home now. Asleep again. Haha I said "home" i meant "temporary foreign residence" Goodnight all. PS: Just got grades back: AABAA. Don't know how I managed to do that...

As Much As It Hurts To Say

Life is hard. People are weak. I just got off of a plane and I'm deathly tired. Mass amounts of incompetence by individuals were encountered today but I have a more pressing issue to address. I saw the Soderbergh film "The Informant!" on the plane. Got me thinking. Watch it. The cinematography is bland, the acting mediocre, and the soundtrack almost annoying. But it is the character of Mark Whitacre that fascinated me. I have a kinship with this man that I cannot express to you. I may have bipolar disorder. I quite clearly live two separate lives and I do lie compulsively at an attempt to merge the two realities while hiding my true feelings. I truly do not understand myself. Why do I do these things? Why do I keep digging deeper? Deeper. Deeper. What gets bigger the more you take out of it? A hole. A hole in my heart. Few things can fix it now. An innocent heart full of true love. Something I have been denied the company of all too often. Oh god....
In view of the judge presiding, Whitacre imagines these stories to satiate his own self-interests. Am I lying to protect myself? Do I put on this mask so that people invest in me? Perhaps it's a survival mechanism. Whitacre, after all, did embezzle over 9 million dollars. Will it do me any good? Sure. Will it do society any good? I don't know. At least not directly.
I admit it, I live false lives. At least I have the courage to say that. BUT THERE ARE THOSE WHO LIVE FREELY. And I envy them. The people who attract attention without reaching for it. I HAVE TO WORK TO FORM RELATIONSHIPS GODAMNIT! The beautiful people: people gifted with pleasant natural superficiality. They don't need to work to be nice or friendly. The luxury comes to them. Ohh but I shudder to think at what a price beauty comes. Without effort we become sloppy and we become naive, even ignorant. The beautiful people become deluded by grandeur and childhood fantasy, and they won't ever be prepared for reality. The world is dark ma cheri, and too few of us have torches...

Hello Again Mediocracy

Good morning Miss Murray. Kissed a girl on an electric island but the plug was pulled. Now I'm about to be off to another land. Lets find some ephemeral love to satiate my earthly desires shall we? Today is Christmas Eve? That was way too fast. Getting an A+ in Dinosaurs, YESSIR! Just got a new phone but not before the slob at T-Mobile got his grimy fingerprints all over it after telling me he only had 2 hours of sleep because he was cooking Christmas dinner from 8pm to 4am. SERIOUSLY? You say your cooking for 50 people but it's probably just for your own sad little family. Thanks dude. How do you even push those tiny buttons on your phone without hitting multiple keys? Ordered a white hot chocolate and the D&D but it turned out to just be regular. WHY DOES THE WORLD KEEP FUCKING UP? A new flat screen? Wow dad, mid-life crisis was three years ago. I have to pack already? Yeah flying off to another continent tomorrow. TOMORROW! Yeah you heard right I'm going to be spending the majority of my Christmas day on an 8 hour flight. Talk about depressing. Lets just say the Christmas spirit is dead inside me despite all the gifts I've already received. But I still have SO MUCH TO GIVE! Just take it all! I have love to give! As well as: a stuffed polar bear for my sister, a safe box with an electric keypad for my brother, a blu-ray special edition DVD of Snatch (We have similar tastes even if you occasionally catch him enthusiastically watching Soap Operas), and a 1000 piece puzzle for my mom. What? She likes puzzles. Going to see the circus in Amsterdam with my celebrity grandmother (box seats and as many free concessions as you want!). I'm setting up a discotheque with the uncles, going to an aunts house for dinner without the aunt. Amsterdam magical mystery trip? Absolutely. You know what I mean. Wish me luck Mr. America! I'm off to break the silence and shatter the world!

New Beginnings

It snowed. FINALLY! In the twilight hours an epic battle took place. Balls of ice thrown like missiles. Meant to kill. Rhyming. Limeing. Brilliant. Getting cold then not feeling the cold. Onset of hypothermia? Who cares... THIS IS TOO FUN! Getting attacked by midnight walkers. A happy woman and two Jews, one short, the other tall. Well now I've been defeated. SURPRISE ATTACK! Run away! Warm again. Let's just say it and not make it interpretive. Does there always have to be beauty in writing? Poetry? Poetry is just a way people encrypt plain speaking. It' s a secret code we're meant to crack. Nobody actually enjoys hearing about your problems so we beautify them and recite them to ears open or not. Pretention. Illusion. Jealousy. Lust, hate, confusion, pity. ALTRUISTS MAKE ME SICK. You have no right to be nice. There's no reason. The world is dark. A new love was found today. A new inspiration for life. Of course, the life will die just the same. But perhaps my songs will be better this time around. And songs are what once kept legends alive. Bards. Sophists. My songs will let me live forever. But I can't do it myself. I need to love, be it requited or not. I dabble here and there. The flames that burn hottest always extinguish fastest. I've found a flame. Why was I wasting time for so long? Why was I looking for warmth in the fridge instead of the oven? MORON! Well, we all make mistakes...

(He Smashes The Bottle On The Ground)

Good morning! I'm sitting naked at my bureau wearing a pair of sunglasses alone in the dark while the window is open letting in the cold winter air. Yes I've realized I don;t need anyone but myself. SO far today I have had no human contact and yet I've seen someone suffer already. There's a poor fool with his head bent over a bowl in our vomitorium. How long has he been there? WHAT KIND OF MORON IS STILL DRUNK TO THE POINT OF VOMITING AT 2:27PM. Well, it is a Saturday after all. As I was saying. I already feel incredibly happy today and I don't seem to know why. I haven't heard any particularly good news yet and all I've been doing is prancing around naked while Etienne is away. Perhaps I won't eat today... I'm already halfway there and I'm not hungry! If Jews can do it SO CAN I. I'M AN IDIOT. FUCK THEM ALL TO HELL. It smells like burning hair in this room... oh yeah cause I was lighting my chest hair on fire... it actually feels quite nice. The thrill perhaps? I've been meaning to take a shower for a while now... But I don't think I smell too bad. DAMMIT THAT BURNT HAIR SMELLS! POOR DECISION CLAMENCE. I don't need anyone today. I think today I'll just watch. It's more fun that way. The you can't blame yourself for the mistakes of others. The mistakes of humanity. I am the third man. I am the judge-penitent. And as far as I know, I haven't ever met an authentic human being my entire life. Including myself. YOU CAN'T LIE IN COURT. Today is a day of JUDGEMENT!

Confession

It is true I have finally confessed. And gained nothing in the process. The water was up to my knees and all I could taste was the salt in the air. This is a cry for help. YES. HELP. ANYBODY? Anybody? ... anybody? Pain hurts worse when it isn't inflicted intentionally. A wound unnoticed can fester and corrupt. I had to cut off the rotting flesh. And while I am now healthy, I have lost a part of myself. I am rejected for my handicap. I am different. I AM WEAK! Go ahead, make me cry. I'd like to see you try. I feel like my life will end too soon. I'm too old for my age. I want compassion and understanding. I want to feel loved. I want to feel useful and wanted. I want to be a part of the machine. But most of the time, here I am: the lonely cog. Somehow it seems unavoidable that I will die before the age of 30. I have seen it in dreams. I will achieve my goals but will not live to reap their benefits. Perhaps I will finally write something worth reading and then be hit by a train. Maybe I will give a meritorious performance like no one has ever seen and then have the stage set aflame. Doesn't life always do that? One cannot be great without being late. For me to be great I must employ death. To achieve notoriety it is enough, after all, to kill one's concierge. I am no longer able to endure anonymity. I love the human race too much to focus all of my emotion on one person. HOW IDIOTIC MOST PEOPLE ARE! WHAT WILL YOUR LIFE MEAN AFTER YOU'VE FUCKED EVERYONE YOU'VE WANTED AND MADE ENOUGH MONEY TO BUY YOURSELF DIAMONDS, CARS, MANSIONS, AND FURS! I am a man of the mesas. I cannot stand to live so low as to spend so much time thinking about one person when there is a world of inspiration to hold dear. A world that needs change. I will be that change. I refuse to submit to a life of sucking off anyone I find attractive. I REFUSE to be a part of something so disgustingly mortal. It's been done time and time again. PRIORITIZE. There are bigger things at hand. Life is a game and the goal is not to get the most points. The goal is to change the rules of the game.

Finding Home

I think it's a bit rude to start my blog so suddenly without properly introducing myself. Jean-Baptiste Clamence at your service. Allow me to delve a bit into the history of my life. I was born across the sea. On a boat filled with wet serpents and the sea never turned pacific. MY FOOT IS NOW IN A TISSUE BOX AND I JUST STOLE LUCIFER'S BOOK OF SOULS. Ahem... excuse me. As I was saying, At the age of 5.75 we crash landed upon the shores of Wonder. OH FUCK. HOW DID I END UP IN THIS SHITTY COUNTRY. "Why yes this is nice" I said at 6 years old. Wonder is a magical land of illusion and obesity. I ended up in the swamplands of Penn's Woods. There I did frolic as a child amongst the wood elves and swans. And then the paternal figure did lose his job and we had to move to SHITTY McSHITTERTON. Everything smelled of asphalt and dead infants. The fjords even decided to go astray in favor of heaps of waterlogged garbage. But in this strife, a miracle occurred. The people were less disillusioned! There were less trusting and more authentic! Hooray for funerals! Black Umbrella Industries! But what came as a result of this constant shifting of locations throught my infancy, childhood, and adolescence? MADNESS! Where is home? Who do I love? What do I want? I find love in the oddest places! NOOO! HELP! Yes. I will never love. I will MAKE LOVE undoubtedly. But what deos that satiate? Temporary satisfaction? I'm on a mission. I call it OPERATION ITIIL: FINDING HOME. Commencing... ... ... ...

The Sushi Incident

So the other day, as I have just recalled, another incident of inexplicable and fortunate chivalry occurred. As you may be able to tell by now, generosity and helpfulness are my two greatest indulgences. So I was in the infamous Cafe Le Broweur and decided to find myself some raw fish rolled in seaweed covered in rice. Otherwise known colloquially as sushi. Yes, it mostly does taste of plastic wrapped modelling clay, but I was hungry at the time and drenching it in sauce of soy usually does the trick. So as I was saying: I was in the queue all the while debating in my head whether I should retreat from the repungent odor of the sushi and the wretched looking monstrosity panting heavily behind me or stay strong and get the dead fish just to maintain the commitment I've made. Nobody could doubt my character. I STAYED IN THAT LINE FOR WELL PAST FIFTEEN MINUTES! Finally I arrive at the bar. Is there smoked eel? I don't see a sign. "Do you have Smoked Eel?" "Smoked Eel. Thank you." "What's that?" "Do I have a pen?" DO I HAVE A PEN? WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU? "Why yes of course, would you like to borrow it?" The idiot has the brilliant idea of making a sign for the eel. USING MY PEN. I hand it over. Now the line has stopped. He starts to look for paper. I get my soy sauce. He's still looking. I head over to the soft-serve to browse. He's still looking. My god, they have strawberry! I grab a cone and pull the lever. Yellow? YELLOW!!?! Strawberry is supposed to be pink! Taste. For the love of all that is holy... it's banana. I hate banana. What's that? Oh yes, he's still looking. Oh wait, he's found the paper. Yes good. Only three letters. E...E...L. Well done. "Why you are very welcome, have a good night" Yes, that was I who lent him that pen. Yes, I carry around pens. I am a charming Janus. My character cannot be doubted. And I take my bow.

Prometheus Made A Mistake

This morning I saw through my clouded eyes my roomate Etienne Patric Montpierre (pictured left). I took note of his position in the room, the glazed look on his face, and the time of day (10:47). The I fell back into unconsciousness. Then (11:22) I observe from my horizontal position the light streaming in for a moment and with a bang it disappears. Etienne has left. Back to sleep. (12:34) I awake to the sound of knocking. I have a good idea who it is. But I don't want to answer. I get up. Disrobe. Lay out the clothes for the days trials. I escape the room. Well LOOK WHO IT IS. Want to go to Le Broweur? Damnit. Let me clean myself first. How could I deny a beautiful woman? Well, I could... easily, and so we play the game. I go to the bathroom. Stand in the shower. Take my horse pill. FORGET TO USE SHAMPOO BECAUSE I'M TOO BUSY THINKING ABOUT WOMEN! Being a man is a curse, beleive me. I always get an NRB on public transportation. NRB? No Reason Boner. Indeed, there is an acronym. Me and some comrades back at l'ecole had a beautiful blonde teacher nicknamed RB. Damnit I'm pruning now. Get out of the shower! I see my neighbor who insists I join him at the cafe! Curses, I cannot play the part of two people. Alright lets make the Janus whole. We arrive at Le Broweur and godamnit it who else would it be but the very people I seek to avoid and hunt every day. I never know when I am hunted or a hunter with these two. Well so be it. Eat my salad woman or don't! Godamn it all to hell... women. Get your tea, make your sandwich. Octoporn, squirt bongs, beastiality, what do people live for? Ephemeral amusement perhaps... well here I am talking about wasting time... Well now we have the two inquiring about the power God had denied them at birth. DONT ASK ME YOU IDIOTS. Ask prometheus! Ask Etienne! But he's gone and won't be back. Everything has a reason and no mortal substitute can compensate! We'll now I am guilty of stealing fire from the Sony Plasma TV Fireplace... And so ends this up until NOW!

Help Me Help You Help Me

A few days ago I was called in to strike a set for a production of Harold Pinter's "Betrayal." On the whole an entirely awful production. Fluctuating accents, irregular blocking, stimulating sexual acts. A "strike" is when one deconstructs a set or set pieces of a particular show in order to make room for the next. Another important element to this story is that I built a good portion of this set myself. The wind was bitter on my walk to the theater. Knowing I was going to participate in the organized destruction of the very sin I helped commit kept me warm. Upon arrival, I found the stage to be empty, the floor swept, and Tim sitting in the first row of seats sipping a cup of coffee. "You can go home Clamence." DAMNIT. So I left.

Now I had to walk back to my stinking home without any anticipation to keep me cozy!

Damnit damnit damnit I HAVE TO REPENT SOMEHOW I thought as I hugged my jacket tighter.

And then fate presented me with a gift. The gift of a small, lost, asian man in an Audi with heated leather seats and a purring engine. My god, here is my chance at last. I rushed towards the car, all in a hurry, making sure there were others to see me, calling "Sir may I be of any assistance?!" The man turns to look and invents a smile. One look at that face and I knew. I walked up slowly.

"Oh so you're looking for a restaurant nearby?" I suppose I could tell you where it is now and hope that you have a good memory, but, and without sounding intrusive, I could show you myself if you would be so kind as to let me into the car. Upon allowing this, a warmth filled my body. But it did not come from the heated seats. It came from within, knowing that I was doing an act of kindness with which I could write about and tell later to others when my face needed saving. I am a good person. I am a good person. HAHA! I showed the idiot where this restaurant was, not one mile away from our location.

He drops me off a farther distance from my dorm than where I started off. But it didn't matter! I had a story! The world saw me tip my hat and console the village idiot!

The day was good.