Alexander

Two separate pieces, one in English and one in Dutch, both about and dedicated to Alexander. I can't help myself.

Not quite yet.


I’m still counting the months, like I always do. I’m still dreaming away, as usual. My head’s still full with thoughts and my mind is still reeling. I can be distracted. I will be distracted. It’s not work. Work is from 9.30 am to 12.00 pm. Then I empty my mind again. The next block of work is from 1.00 pm to 6.00 pm. Usually I start pouring my thoughts earlier. I get distracted. Gladly.

He’s still in my head. I feel sorry for those who attempt to break into my head and heart. They’re only occasionally in my head and even less in my heart. He’s still in my heart.

He’s a fairy tale, a bad story, a prince. He’s still pulling at my heart strings. He’s even playing me. An impressive deed for a dead guy. My prince on the white horse? I don’t think so. Rather my white prince who used to talk to horses.

Business like, I direct my thoughts onto other paths. I think up mission statements and I try to define our views and our ambitions. Nothing personal, nothing private, nothing to do with him. Work is from 9.30 am till 6.00 pm. When I walk away I poor my head and my heart. He’s still there waiting for me.

Empty hands. A still heart. Haunted eyes. A long time ago.
Empty hands. A pounding heart. Dreaming eyes. Every evening.
I’m still counting the months. I’m not done yet.
Not quite yet.


Het is een vuur dat in alle hevigheid doorwoedt. Ongecontrolleerd raast het door het landschap van mijn hart en snijdt het alle strategieen de pas af. Ik heb geen uitleg voor wat ik voel, noch voor de redenen, het waarom. Ik heb geen woorden voor het stomme toeval dat hem in mijn zichtveld plaatste, of voor de tekenen aan de wand die wij nu zo hardnekkig negeren. Het alles dat wij nooit zullen hebben. Er is niets dat wij ooit zullen delen.

Vooral de eerste week was heftig. Zo heftig zelfs dat ik me zorgen ging maken. Ik die sowieso in slaap valt met denkbeeldige vrienden en dan, na langzaam wakker te zijn geworden, diezelfde vrienden weer naar voren haalt. Zelfs ik was niet voorbereid op de overweldigendheid waarmee Alexander zich op mijn netvlies vestigde en zich voortdurend aan me opdrong.

Follow Your Dreams

I like this image for "Follow your dreams".

My *Peep* Life Continued

This morning I had two dreams, because I kept drifting in and out of sleep. The first was the most curious. I was "celebrating" my birthday and some family were attending. I didn't pay too close attention to who was there; I honestly have no clue. Thinking back in an awake state of mind it rather felt like strangers pretending to be my family. The two most surprising visitors were Robert Webb and David Mitchell. They were both quiet and almost not even present. I did get to talk to Robert on my mother's garage's floor. Why the hell we choose to sit down there is beyond me, as is the fact I'm celebrating my birthday in the summer; it felt like summer in my dream. The conversation was rather pleasant; it took me less effort to talk to Robert than to David. I don't think, once again, I exchanged a proper word with David. I do remember trying to get closer to him and in the end the words we exchanged were only greetings for he and Robert were leaving. I think I thanked him for attending. That was it, then I woke up.

The second dream was about a friend who I planned to go on holiday with telling me she actually didn't like going to the theatre and therefore decided to cancel on me leaving me with a spare ticket. I told her about this dream this morning during our smoke break. She assured me she was looking forward to it and there was no way she was going to cancel on me.

Even the weirdness of my dreams are sort of boring, annoying and incredibly uneventful. I gained two new "friends" and I lost one. What the hell am I supposed to do with that. The real friend laughed in my face this morning when I told her those two from the DVD boxset were on my birthday party. By now she must think I'm a crazy obsessed lunatic, which is accurate.

Tonight I'm going to look into getting Charlie Brooker to my house. We could watch tv and he could add stupid comments to our watching tv agony. Or if I want a steady laugh I could try to get Alan Davies do a standup routine or play with the cat I haven't bought yet. Or I could have Charlie reviewing my *peep* life and Alan poking fun at it. That sounds more like my traditional dreams, though in my dreams they would both go incredibly silent. I might just as well invite Robert and David back for a cold silent night in my mother's garage.

If Eels Could Fly

Attempts to order my thoughts have not been successful. I’ve been juggling my thoughts, dreams and ideas for several months now.

I made a promise to think and blog about ‘Happiness’. I started a new obsession for ‘Alan Rickman’. I started a new little personal project concerning commercializing ‘Forums’. I’ve been modelling my dreams combining all above mentioned. Even my dreams are not structured at this point. It feels like throwing balls in choice directions and seeing where they’ll land without avoiding breaking windows. I might have broken a few, but the neighbours stayed inside. Maybe later there is hell to pay.

I have not been successful in structuring my thoughts, ideas and dreams, but I have been trying to live my life according.
I will approach everything in a positive way refusing to let anything make me unhappy. If I want to be happy I’m the one having to do the job or accepting the situation.
Every day I read forums and check their layout and readability. Ideas come up automatically and if I don’t forget I will write them down in my business proposal.
I am trying to structure my dreams, but like always I let them flow. Sometimes I’m close and I know what I’m longing for. Sometimes it’s completely ridiculous and going nowhere. Then again, dreaming about being in love with a man my mom’s age is a weird and awkward thing to do. I’m strung up nonetheless.

It all has to do with getting there. All three corner stones. Getting where I am comfortable for the next step, the next stage of fight. Like always. New ideals, new insights, adjusted opinion. There we go again.

Here’s the thing about Happiness:
Happiness is for a part a choice. I made a promise to myself to be happy, no matter what. There are always things in life worth experiencing, meeting, doing, living. Instead of dwell upon the bad things, I choose to seek the light; the things that make me feel good about me, about my surroundings and about the situations I’m finding myself in. It’s not time consuming, it’s only a fraction of a second to remind me. It’s my surviving mechanism; without I will dwell upon all that’s bad and I won’t move, I won’t leave my bed and I will die easy. It’s not worth it, it really isn’t. So I seek for the light and I move from light to light. Whenever it’s dark I will look forward and see what I can do to get there. If the money is not there, your loved ones are. If your loved ones are leaving you for heaven, your memories are there. If your memories are bad, there is always hope for a better life in the future. But you’re going to have to let it. If only you really want to, you can be happy no matter what and it won’t take you a second.

I can’t think of a better way to explain why I think it’s not true Happiness is a luxury. Though it does require a certain of understanding, or an epiphany.