The breakfast of no return

Ansgar woke up and walked towars the window. He looked outside and saw a woman and child on a bycicle. He watched them turning around the corner, dissapearing. It seemed like a nice day, a typical spring day. Ansgar went to his bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, shaved himself and combed his hair. He then walked towars his closet, picked out his grey pants and a blue shirt. He put them on, searched for a black pair of socks and his shoes. After tying his shoe-laces Ansgar stepped out the door and went looking for some breakfast. It was too nice a day to eat at home. He would be out all day, enjoying the sunshine.

While enjoying his breakfast in a small café, a man asked Ansgar to join him. And why refuse a nice offer on a sunny day? The stranger, named Wilfred, told Ansgar how he loved to come here for breakfast. And everytime he came here, he would invite someone to join him. 'As I don't like to eat alone, you see?'. Ansgar asked him why then, he didn't eat at home with his family.

'Well, as you see I am not that young no more. I have been eating at home for over fifty years. And I have learned that having breakfast everyday with your family is a burden.' -

Why is that?

 Wilfred smiled; you will find out yourself someday. Or maybe you already know, since you are here alone? Ansgar looked down, towards his cup of coffee. "I have no family yet to eat with sir, right now I'm just with myself."

'I see, don't be with yourself alone too long boy. Nothing is as beautiful as having a woman that loves you, you know that?'

What happened after saying this words never happened to Wilfred before. Did he say something wrong? He would wonder about that the rest of the day as Ansgar stood up from the table, ran home, closed his curtains and hid from the sun, that damn sun. Mocking him, seducing him to go out, to run into this situation, to meet this old man talking about the love of a woman. All he had was a ghost, oh Cassiopeia, why can't I let you go? Why can't you let me be?

The day after this silly incident Ansgar decided to look Cassiopeia up. It seemed the only solution to this uncontrolable haunting situation that had been going on for five years. But where to start?

Ten men and ten women

Picture ten men. Picture ten women. How long did it take you?

Picture one man leaving the pack. Picture him walking towards the group of ten women. Make the women dissapear. What happened to that man? Did he keep walking? Did you make him stop and wonder? Did you make him dissapear? Did you make him run after the illusion? Did the women dissapear at once, or did you make them run and hide? Did you ever wonder why the women had to dissapear?

What happened to the other nine men, what did you do with them? Did you make them dissapear? Did you have them stand in a line? Were all ten men equal? Why did u pick just that one to walk towards the women? Where the women pretty? Where they young or old? Did they laugh? Did the ten men and women stand close at first or did you picture them seperately? Have you wondered about anything?

Did you picture yourself among the men and women? Or did you look upon them, created by you as if you were God Himself? Make the image dissapear, the ten men and ten women are an illusion. Maybe we are an illusion in the eyes of God. Would it make any difference? We were created and we remain. Regardless of what He thinks of us. We are here, we run towards others and sometimes they dissapear.

Poem to Cassiopeia

I want you, I refuse you
I miss you, I forget you

You feed me, you starve me
You lift me, you drop me

I adore you, I despise you
I love you, I hate you

You seduce me, you repel me
You fly me, you crash me

We future us, we past us
We stick to us, we part from us

I need you, I am swayed by you
You contain me,  you addict me

I use us, you use me
Sweetheart, I love thee

Being part of society

The question we must ask ourselves at some point is: do we belong in society? For those who can answer this question in a positive way, I might be jealous of you. For those who often respond to this question in a negative manner, I feel for you. We are all part of society, at least as long as we live, breath, consume, communicate with other creatures from the human race.

Last night I did put on my nicest clothes, combed my hair and put on my best hat. I walked through the city, passing by people, more concerned with myself than with them. Passing a store I looked at my reflection in the window. Long black coat falling a little higher than my knees, dark gray pants and polished black shoes. A nice blue scarf and one of the best dark blue hats one has ever seen. How amazingly nice must it be for others to see me pass by? Oh, I guess I just bring happiness to others.

Around nine in the evening I stopped at a theatre. "Literature and society", the title of the evening. I walked inside and wondered if I could still enter. As I found my way to the crowd my mood I had during the day switched. First I crossed two young men all dressed up and nicely trimmed. Not one hair wrong on them. 'How superficial' I thought to myself. Next I saw an old couple. The men with a moustache, long brown coat and face down. The woman looked as well any woman of a certain age, I felt pitty for her. But at the same time a horrible feeling about human beings came to me. By the time I reached the responsible for the entrance, who offered me to take a seat in the back row, I was all messed up. I refused the place and blamed that woman offering me the spot for her ignorance and looked down on her. I left the building to walk out in the night.

It had started to rain 'typical' I thought. What's the point in dressing nice, in gathering with humans? They are so, but oh so the same. Where are those special people I sometimes think about? Do they even exist? Or is it just me? Am I, too, a human as there are so many? Perhaps I'm not unique? Or maybe I am but would that matter? I kept walking, and with every step my dissapointment grew bigger. Is this what life has to offer? - I wondered. How can I even respect another human being? How can I expect to be respected? How can I love one of those crazy human beings? Perhaps it's better to love a ghost and direct my life towards an illusion? Why in God's name did the story of Ansgar appear in my head?

Society, what would you do without me? What would I do without you? My precious love, what would I do without you? What would you do without me? Question one and four are easy to answer: society and you would just continue my dear. But me? Oh dear Lord, what about me?

Sixteen

I used to regret not being able to turn back time. How much energy I wasted on that thought, I can't even express. But it was quite a lot. And since no magic seems in sight, yet, to turn back the hands of time, I believe there is only one way to relive the past. How I, at times, wished I would enjoy the most beautiful moments of being sixteen again. But I turned older. Twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, fourty,... And the further I grew away from that magic sixteen, the more I longed for it. And well, it was eating me for all those years. Friends, lovers, kids, no one could take that longing feeling away from me. But one day I had the sweetest dream, I was sixteen again but with more wisdom than back in the day. In my dream I realised this was the most precious moment in life, and how much sweeter it was than the 'real' sixteen-old me.

I was walking the streets with her again, climbing the snowy mountain, rolling around in the snow, holding the hands I once adored so much. Once again I was talking to her, smiling at her. Once again she told me how she loved me, oh how I remember she really loved me. And how dumb I ever was in real life, but not in my sweet dream. Oh no, the magic moments all came together in this dream. Chasing butterflies in the sun, sitting by the water, hiding in high grass, fooling around on the hills of the mountain, laying on a blanket in the sun. Walking that same mountain in winter time, watching the snow fall, falling in the snow, rolling around, kissing her sweet lips, walking to her house, watching her mom cover her while she had to get out of the wet, cold clothes.

And how all this brought me to that magic moment a young man is blessed with. That precious first love that feels free enough to change clothes in front of him. That magic when she shows more of herself little by little, as it all is so new, so magical. How it all started with a forced meeting, holding hands, talking sweet, giving kisses. So obvious, but so precious. Perhaps those moments will never be met again in life. Maybe those are the best moments in life, or is that just too silly to think?

As I can not relive them, I am glad I can dream them. Whatever life brings to me, I had that beautiful sweet sixteen in my life, not all people in the world can say that. And one day, dear reader, one day I will find peace with it all and fly back in time to make sure I tell my old sweetheart what she meant to me. I believe we all should, no?

The real idiot

There are plenty of things about human beings that irritate me. One that is high on my irritation list is the need to be the center of attention. The need to be liked, ok I can understand that in a way. But the need to be the center? I just don't get it.

Shouting, fake interest, bad jokes, showing off, laughing (too loudly), giving others nicknames.

-Shouting is okay in case of an emergency, during a sportsgame (as a player) or at the tv in an intimate circle of friends. Not to get attention from all people in the room.

-Fake interest is never okay, I have been blamed in my days for not showing interest. But it's more honest to show the fact that people can't interest you than to pretend, altough it is socialy accepted to do so.

- Bad jokes: some people are just not funny. Still some of the 'audience' laughs. Which is worse, I don't know yet. Maybe the 'funny' person doesn't realise he is a boring fucker? In that case I can blame the few people around him, lauging or getting into what was just said by the 'funny' guy. In any case, someone who is not funny but keeps on trying to is an idiot. And laughing with an idiot is idiotic. So I decided that the person and his crowd are all to blame, that's why I take my distance from a group where the above happens.

- Showing off: is this ever permitted? I'm not sure, I am tempted to say 'no'. But I show off myself at times. The difference between me and certain people I have in mind, is that I know about it and can realise how stupid I behave. The fact that some don't realise and keep talking, keep showing, keep needing to be praised... Oh, boy, oh girl, can we also call those people idiots? Perhaps they are bright in the intelligence department, but believe me, intelligent people can be idiots. Are they more too blame than 'dumb' people? Oh no, just as much. In 'dumb' people we can sometimes admire the showing off, it becomes just too funny. For the 'smart' people it is just annoying, they are the top of the idiot race.

- Laughing at unfunny things is already pretty low, as I explained before. Laughing too loud at it is socialy unacceptable. Even at a good joke it should never be done.  And it mostly is the 'one that hungers to be the center' that laughs the loudest, just as a way to get accepted, to be known as the one that likes certain people. This is just so sad, I saw it yesterday, I sighed, took up a book and left to read. People can really be a waste of time.

-Perhaps the dumbest thing I heard yesterday was 'give me a nickname'. Why would someone want that? It can be a teenager asking this, but in a group of people, why would you 'need' a nickname? Nicknames grow out of something, you can't 'create' a nickname for someone at the moment. Okay, I can, but I'm in a way just better than most of the people I see. So please accept not having a nickname, or when you show of your nickname, know how to pronounce it right. The guy I heard yesterday couldn't even pronounce his own nickname, so just shut up, ow please shut up.

I am not an artist in doing the 'social acceptable' thing. And yesterday, as I left the table, I realised: thank God I am not. How much hours would I have wasted listening to people that just could not say any useful thing? Maybe without that 'I need to be the center'-guy it would have been different, maybe the other idiots were nice? Or did I want to be the center, and can't I admit it? Don't I have what it takes? I guess, once again, I'm the real idiot after all...

Cassiopeia

Cassiopeia was preparing for a night out. Her friend's father organised a dance and he specifically asked Cassiopeia to come. He had always liked her, he saw that girl as a good influence on his daughter. So Cassiopeia accepted the invitation and she was now preparing for the night out. 


She loved these dances. It always brought her a happy feeling,   it remineded her of her childhood. How she, as a little girl, dressed nicely by her mom went along to the dance. And how her dad always came to her, while she was sitting on her mothers lap. Her fater gave her a kiss on her little head, and lifted her, asking her for a dance. And Cassiopeia would smile, hug her father and shout 'yes, yes'. And so she would stand with her little pink shoes on her fathers leather shoes, leaving white spots. And the image of a proud mother came to her mind again. How beautiful they were, her days as a little princess.


Cassiopeia opened her closet and took out a beautiful blue dress, picked out fitting heels and a coat, to protect her from the cold night. She spread all the things out on her bed, opened the small box on her desk and picked out her earrings, a bracelet and her necklace with the llittle diamond. She overlooked it all and was sure it would fit perfectly. Cassiopeia never tried things on, she just picked out her clothes and it always worked out fine.


Cassiopeia walked in the shower, scrubbing her body, washing her long black hair and enjoying the water falling on her face. Very delicately she touched the two scars she had on her shoulders. Her dad used to tell her that God had mistaken her for an angel and was adding wings to her shoulders. And that her parents told God it was their little girl, so He appologised and removed the wings.


Very elegantly Cassiopeia got in her dress, put on make-up, her necklace and bracelets. Her hair fell perfectly on her shoulders, just covering the little scars. She put on her heels, closed them at the top, picked out a purse, kissed her mom and dad goodbye, grabbed her cote and left.

Snow and milk

Ansgar was walking alone through the city. He looked up at the sky and saw the snow falling down on his face. He smiled and thought 'there is so much beauty'. He walked on, saw three girls laughing, falling in the snow. He saw a mother with her kids, a father with his daughter. And it was all so nice, he remebered how it was long tima ago, how sweet it was to experience snow as a kid. Ansgar  and his friends used to play in the snow all day long, build a giant snowman, throw snowballs into the neigbour's garden, run, roll, jump in a white carpet of snow. And after a tiring day he would run back home, drink a warm cup of milk and hide under a warm blanket. He wished the kids he was the same happy feeling as the one in his memory.

Thinking of the warm milk Ansgar stopped by the first café he saw, to warm up and enjoy the snow from behind a window. Ansgar walked in, greeted the barman and took a seet behind a corner where no one else sat. There were just two tables behind the corner. He ordered a warm milk, took off his hat, put his gloves next to him on the bench and placed his coat on top of them. While waiting for his drink, Ansgar saw a small book laying on the floor. He picked it up and read the back cover. He was not convinced by what he read at all. He often pictured that he would once find a book in a lost place that would guide him through life. But well reality was that this book must've been of an idiot, so he did put it back on the floor. Maybe this is were the book belongs.

The waiter brought him his warm milk, accompanied by a piece of cake. Ansgar broke of a piece of the little cake, put it in his milk, pulled it out and ate it. He always did this to see how hot the milk was. A little too hot apparently. Ansgar warmed his hands on the warm cup when Cassiopeia decided to haunt him. Why on such a winter's day would Cassiopeia feel the need to bother him? Couldn't he leave her alone for one day? And instead of the sadness that normally befalls him, he got angry. He got mad at Cassiopeia. If she could not love him, why didn't she leave him alone? And he told the haunting ghost to go away! As far away as you can, you damned Cassiopeia. But when he saw her leaving and fading he whispered: 'but don't go too far, I might need you soon again'.

While chasing away Cassiopeia two people took place at the table in front of Ansgar. Taking off their pretty hats, scarves and coats, he saw there two snow angels. Oh, how beautiful to see this happy sweethearts gossiping about friends and lovers. How he wished he could still be a teenager at times, perhaps this is how his foolish crushes used to talk about him in highschool. Well, that was in the past. Now, who would talk about him in such a naive way? His innonence got lost a long time ago, and Cassiopeia took away his last hope on true love. But today was not a day to think of such things, today it was sufficient to look at the snow and face life with a smile.

Ansgar finished his milk, put on his gloves, hat and coat. He stood up from the bench, greeted the two girls with a smile, walked towards the bar, payed his milk and walked out into the snow.

The closed door

- Close the door!
-- Fine!

- Open it again...
--Ok, better now?

- No, close it again.
--As u wish.

- Open it again, please.
--...

- Hello? Please?
--...

- Ow ...