Anthony went up to his room, exhausted, confused about what just happened. He did not want to figure out how it did happen, why and what the consequences would be. He took off his clothes and went to bed. A good night sleep might put things in perspective. Had this been his last day as a free man?
The day started out as any other. Around 6.30 the alarm went off. Around 7 he had breakfast and read his morning paper. Being fully dressed and shaven he left for work at 7.30 sharp. Newsflas on the radio: "our beloved king has died!". Off course he did not care, why would he? A king, a child, an older person, a thirty year old, sick, healthy, all of them were just human beings. Some didn't even deserve that term according to him. He got annoyed by the reactions on the radio station and switched off the radio. Still 15 minuts to go. His car made a strange noise, was it the engine? Or the cluth, the wheels? He knew little to nothing about cars, all he knew was that one day his car would break down in the middle of nowhere, he just didn't know exactly when. Perhaps today? He arrived at work somewhere around 8.15, greated his colleagues and pushed the power button on his computer. While the pc started up he went to get a coffee, at 8.30 he took place on his chair and started working. He noticed he had been awake for two hours without having done anything useful, and no redemption would come during the next 8 hours, that was clear to him.
His alarm rang, 12.30: lunch time. He walked to a little bistro down the street, where he would meet a friend. To catch up and discuss the important things in life. So they talked about sports, travelling and women. What else was there? Off course: literature, culture, but he would rather not discuss thse things. Those were holy and not to be touched in his mind. At 13.15 he said goodbye to his friend and left for work again. Another 4 hours of torture, or was it pleasure? It all became one. There was no good or bad, no horrible or great, there was just life.
17.15, time to go home. His colleagues had already left, so no one to greet. Just shut down the computer, hit the button to dim the lights, and walk to his car. Almost out of gas, he hated when that happened. Such a waste of time, having to stop at a gas station for a refill. It started raining, a car pulled up next to him. A guy approached him: "do you have some money for gas? ". Oh no, not this crap again - he thought to himself. He told the stranger that he did not felt like handing out money to a stranger for gas, but that there was an atm machine just 2 miles down the road. The guy kept staring at him, approached him and asked for gas money a second time, in exchange for 'a kiss from the babe in my car'. Annoyed by this proposal he refused the stranger a second time.
A woman stepped out of the car and came to stand next to the stranger. She handed him a gun. The stranger pulled the trigger, and shot her. "All because you did not want to give us gas money". He kissed Anthony on the cheeck, handed him the gun, and told him to drive home.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Lifelong Secret
I know I'll never be yours, you'll never be mine.
I don't love you, you don't love me.
But we are in our prime,
so let me have you just one more time.
Open yourself up to me, no one else will see.
Be mine just for one night,
make me feel allright.
Or during the day, please come my way.
Your breasts will be admired,
during a night of which you'll never get tired.
And your little tongue and sweet kiss,
God knows that's what I miss.
So before you go, take me inside.
After that I'll go to the other side.
All I want is your body so perfect, so slim.
While your love, your love you can give to him.
Oh goddess of beauty, don't deny this plee of mine.
Let me drink from you, it will make me shine.
It's all I wanted since the day we met.
But please, let's keep it our lifelong secret.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
The Unexpressive Artist
How many of us are there? We must be with more then I used to think or believe . Maybe we are a majority? No, that would be an exagerration. Still, everyday I meet more jesters. And while all jesters share some basic interests, there is a wide variety among us. You have happy jesters, angry jesters, sweet jasters, loving jasters, hateful jesters, funny jesters, boring jesters and so on. I'm one of those jesters that keeps on moving, ignoring every fiber that says: STOP!
How nice must it be, to be able to put all your emotions into a song, to hit every chord of existence with just your voice? It must be such a privilige, it has to feel great, suffer but being able to express your suffering. The same goes for playing an instrument. Some jesters posses the magic to create sounds with their piano or guitar, if not their voice. And there is no problem for a jester without a singing voice or without the talent of creating music, as that jester has other options. But for me it is a problem, because I do have beautiful words and songs and music inside of me, but I am unable to express them, they are stuck inside and eat me from within.
Then you have the jesters, the ones that mastered painting, creators of beautiful sculptures. The first ones have a steady hand, the latter ones create beauty from mass. And they are hard working people, they express the beauty inside of their minds. How I wish I had a steady hand, to paint the perfection I have in my mind. How I would love to create a unique creature out of a big mass. And again, wanting to free themselves from my mind, these images eat me from inside, crying to be free.
It's incredible how she moves, it is pure art. She did put a lot of effort in it, her focus is out of reach for me. And with dancing, she reveals that life is beautiful, she shows that there is beauty and elegance, purely in movement. And how sure I am of the fact that inside there is a dancer fighting to be free, to move and dance into freedom. But captured in the prison of shame, of public opinion and cowardness, it went to sit in a corner. Now that dancer is unable to stretch its legs, awaits death, and just smiles by thinking of a beautiful dance with a dancing queen.
The last resort in trying to express the anger and desperation inside, is to become a writer, a poet. So many times we read stories and wonder how the writer can touch us so deeply, so accurately? Even a writer from the 18th century can write in a way that we think 'I could've written the same thing'. As all human beings, a jester has stories to tell, perhaps even more and better ones. Not being able to find the right words, I tried and I tried but in the end I had to admit it: I am not a writer, not a poet. I failed the last source to express my thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams, my anger. What was left?
And so I became part of the subgroup of jesters, the one group a jester never wants to end up in. Plenty of jesters choose death above becoming one of us. But we, the ones alive, we accept it, me and the others belonging to the gang of Unexpressive Artists. There are many of us. Some are managers, others present radio or tv-shows, some became doctors, lawyers, accountants. But it seems that we are all over the place. And we all try to move on, sadly accepting and expressing our Unexpressive art.
How nice must it be, to be able to put all your emotions into a song, to hit every chord of existence with just your voice? It must be such a privilige, it has to feel great, suffer but being able to express your suffering. The same goes for playing an instrument. Some jesters posses the magic to create sounds with their piano or guitar, if not their voice. And there is no problem for a jester without a singing voice or without the talent of creating music, as that jester has other options. But for me it is a problem, because I do have beautiful words and songs and music inside of me, but I am unable to express them, they are stuck inside and eat me from within.
Then you have the jesters, the ones that mastered painting, creators of beautiful sculptures. The first ones have a steady hand, the latter ones create beauty from mass. And they are hard working people, they express the beauty inside of their minds. How I wish I had a steady hand, to paint the perfection I have in my mind. How I would love to create a unique creature out of a big mass. And again, wanting to free themselves from my mind, these images eat me from inside, crying to be free.
It's incredible how she moves, it is pure art. She did put a lot of effort in it, her focus is out of reach for me. And with dancing, she reveals that life is beautiful, she shows that there is beauty and elegance, purely in movement. And how sure I am of the fact that inside there is a dancer fighting to be free, to move and dance into freedom. But captured in the prison of shame, of public opinion and cowardness, it went to sit in a corner. Now that dancer is unable to stretch its legs, awaits death, and just smiles by thinking of a beautiful dance with a dancing queen.
The last resort in trying to express the anger and desperation inside, is to become a writer, a poet. So many times we read stories and wonder how the writer can touch us so deeply, so accurately? Even a writer from the 18th century can write in a way that we think 'I could've written the same thing'. As all human beings, a jester has stories to tell, perhaps even more and better ones. Not being able to find the right words, I tried and I tried but in the end I had to admit it: I am not a writer, not a poet. I failed the last source to express my thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams, my anger. What was left?
And so I became part of the subgroup of jesters, the one group a jester never wants to end up in. Plenty of jesters choose death above becoming one of us. But we, the ones alive, we accept it, me and the others belonging to the gang of Unexpressive Artists. There are many of us. Some are managers, others present radio or tv-shows, some became doctors, lawyers, accountants. But it seems that we are all over the place. And we all try to move on, sadly accepting and expressing our Unexpressive art.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Him, Her, Them
HIM: Shoes: Brown
Pants: Dark grey, showing his black socks while seated
Shirt: Blue
Vest: Dark blue, brown fragments on the collar matching his shoes
Freshly shaven, hair waxed into shape, classic perfume
Feels like: James Dean / Looks like: One in a dozen
HER: Shoes: Black (open) heels (6.9 cm)
Dress: Purple, one-shoulder neckline, length: right above the knees
Coat: Long, Black
Made up, long dark straight hair, touch of purple on the fingernails, sweet perfume
Feels like: A godess / Looks like: An exceptionaly beautiful lady
THEM: Walk arm in arm through the city
Arrive at the restaurant
Have dinner
Join in a social dance
Walk arm in arm through the city
Kiss and say goodnight
Go home
Sleep
Feel like: In love / Look like: Stuck in a relationship
Pants: Dark grey, showing his black socks while seated
Shirt: Blue
Vest: Dark blue, brown fragments on the collar matching his shoes
Freshly shaven, hair waxed into shape, classic perfume
Feels like: James Dean / Looks like: One in a dozen
HER: Shoes: Black (open) heels (6.9 cm)
Dress: Purple, one-shoulder neckline, length: right above the knees
Coat: Long, Black
Made up, long dark straight hair, touch of purple on the fingernails, sweet perfume
Feels like: A godess / Looks like: An exceptionaly beautiful lady
THEM: Walk arm in arm through the city
Arrive at the restaurant
Have dinner
Join in a social dance
Walk arm in arm through the city
Kiss and say goodnight
Go home
Sleep
Feel like: In love / Look like: Stuck in a relationship
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Let's go
-Do you believe in God?
-- Today I don't, yesterday I did and perhaps tomorrow I will.
-Do you believe in love?
-- Yesterday I didn't, today I do and I hope tomorrow I will.
-Do you believe in friendship?
-- I don't know, I guess so.
- What about yesterday, tomorrow and today?
-- Change the subject, babe, I don't feel like having a philosophical conversation. I don't even feel like talking at all.
- You have very weird hands.
-- Give me a kiss.
- Let's go.
-- Today I don't, yesterday I did and perhaps tomorrow I will.
-Do you believe in love?
-- Yesterday I didn't, today I do and I hope tomorrow I will.
-Do you believe in friendship?
-- I don't know, I guess so.
- What about yesterday, tomorrow and today?
-- Change the subject, babe, I don't feel like having a philosophical conversation. I don't even feel like talking at all.
- You have very weird hands.
-- Give me a kiss.
- Let's go.
Dream Chaser
And suddenly you have one,
a dream to live for.
The old ones are gone,
you don't want them no more.
You decide to make this one reality,
you're gonna take your time.
This dream will set you free,
"It will be beautiful, that life of mine".
After all the effort,
you catch the dream.
Did you reach your last resort,
or was it all just a scheme?
You feel unsatisfied,
is this all there is?
Was it not the last time you cried?
And you decide to chase another dream to forget about this.
a dream to live for.
The old ones are gone,
you don't want them no more.
You decide to make this one reality,
you're gonna take your time.
This dream will set you free,
"It will be beautiful, that life of mine".
After all the effort,
you catch the dream.
Did you reach your last resort,
or was it all just a scheme?
You feel unsatisfied,
is this all there is?
Was it not the last time you cried?
And you decide to chase another dream to forget about this.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
The Tale of The Unique Individual
And the teacher said: every one of you is unique. There is nobody out there that is just the same as you. God made you special, just one "you" exists. People may look like you, people may have the same dreams, same goals, they might do the same jobs, but still you are unique. No one is exactly the same.
And the kids laughed, they knew this all along. They knew they were unique, their parents already told them this. Since they were five or younger they knew nobody was like them. That they could do what they wanted and become anything if they just gave it their all. So nobody cared about the teacher, nobody even discussed things with her. And the teacher accepted and was glad they all knew they were unique.
One day, when the teacher gave her speech, a little boy raised his hand. The teacher asked him if he needed something, never did anyone raise his/her hand during this typical speech. Perhaps he was sick, needed to go outside for a minute? The kid said all he wanted to do was raise a question. And a little surprised, the teacher gave him permission to do so. "Do you really believe we are all unique?" - he asked. The teachers eyes stared through the room and her mouth fell open. All kids laughed, what a weird question was that. Everyone knows the answer, crazy boy!
"Off course I believe that we are all unique, and it's not a believe little boy, I just know it. To decide if it's God that made you unique or evolution, that is up to you, we are all free in that. So, can I go on with the class?"
The little boy didn't bother in getting into this issue deeper and nodded to her, and while she continued her speech, every word she said made him realise he was not unique at all. Sure, he was unique in a way that every animal, every sheet, every drop of rain was unique. But to be free, to become anything he wanted, no that would never happen. He could become the best doctor in the world, the best accountant, the best lover, the best dancer, but he could never become unique. He would always remain human. And even if he turned out to be a halfgod, still there would be other halfgods, so he was not unique.
This thought didn't sadden him, it was just a realisation. And he saw the other kids, his friends, the beautiful girl in the class, all just accepting the tale of every individual being unique. And he felt sorry for them, and he would not ruin their lives by making them realise how dumb they all were. He knew he had an advantage at knowing this at only 14 years old, the others would find out some day, at 50, 60 or when lucky at 30 years old. And for them the shock would create doubts and darkness, while he -Fonchito- would just live on and think 'at least you dumb people had a childhood free of worries'.
And the kids laughed, they knew this all along. They knew they were unique, their parents already told them this. Since they were five or younger they knew nobody was like them. That they could do what they wanted and become anything if they just gave it their all. So nobody cared about the teacher, nobody even discussed things with her. And the teacher accepted and was glad they all knew they were unique.
One day, when the teacher gave her speech, a little boy raised his hand. The teacher asked him if he needed something, never did anyone raise his/her hand during this typical speech. Perhaps he was sick, needed to go outside for a minute? The kid said all he wanted to do was raise a question. And a little surprised, the teacher gave him permission to do so. "Do you really believe we are all unique?" - he asked. The teachers eyes stared through the room and her mouth fell open. All kids laughed, what a weird question was that. Everyone knows the answer, crazy boy!
"Off course I believe that we are all unique, and it's not a believe little boy, I just know it. To decide if it's God that made you unique or evolution, that is up to you, we are all free in that. So, can I go on with the class?"
The little boy didn't bother in getting into this issue deeper and nodded to her, and while she continued her speech, every word she said made him realise he was not unique at all. Sure, he was unique in a way that every animal, every sheet, every drop of rain was unique. But to be free, to become anything he wanted, no that would never happen. He could become the best doctor in the world, the best accountant, the best lover, the best dancer, but he could never become unique. He would always remain human. And even if he turned out to be a halfgod, still there would be other halfgods, so he was not unique.
This thought didn't sadden him, it was just a realisation. And he saw the other kids, his friends, the beautiful girl in the class, all just accepting the tale of every individual being unique. And he felt sorry for them, and he would not ruin their lives by making them realise how dumb they all were. He knew he had an advantage at knowing this at only 14 years old, the others would find out some day, at 50, 60 or when lucky at 30 years old. And for them the shock would create doubts and darkness, while he -Fonchito- would just live on and think 'at least you dumb people had a childhood free of worries'.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Unwanted phone call
-Hi
-- Hey
-How are you today?
-- Ehm, I'm fine. You?
-Good, good
-- So, to what do I owe this pleasure?
- I just felt like hearing from you...
--Ow, but why?
- I just miss talking to you, I wanted to hear you.
-- Hm, ok, but perhaps you should've thought about that some years ago, no?
- Is it that bad? Can't we even talk?
-- We can, for sure we can, what do you want to talk about?
-You, your life, your dreams, anything.
-- Why would you care, come on... It's been too long since we spoke, I could tell you about my life, but what would be the point?
- So I guess that means you are over it all?
-- Damn, woman, what do you expect? You can not keep a man as a toy, you should know that by now. You must've met some during these years, right?
- Well, I...
-- I don't care, you do what you want. But you shouldn't call me without notice, it's just not what I need, do you understand? What we had was nice, but let's keep it to that, okay? I don't love you anymore, I don't need you. It's all gone.
-Let's be friends, no?
-- I can't.
-Why not?
-- Call me another day, okay?
- Tomorrow?
-- Yes, at eight, now I can't talk. Bye, talk to you later.
- Bye, bye (click).
° So, ready to go?
-- Yes, sure, all ready babe.
° Who were you talking to, you look mad.
-- No one babe, just give me a kiss.
° Sure my handsome, is that all you wish for?
-- Right now yes, come one and let's go.
You look lovely in that dress.
° Thanks dear (shut door).
-- Hey
-How are you today?
-- Ehm, I'm fine. You?
-Good, good
-- So, to what do I owe this pleasure?
- I just felt like hearing from you...
--Ow, but why?
- I just miss talking to you, I wanted to hear you.
-- Hm, ok, but perhaps you should've thought about that some years ago, no?
- Is it that bad? Can't we even talk?
-- We can, for sure we can, what do you want to talk about?
-You, your life, your dreams, anything.
-- Why would you care, come on... It's been too long since we spoke, I could tell you about my life, but what would be the point?
- So I guess that means you are over it all?
-- Damn, woman, what do you expect? You can not keep a man as a toy, you should know that by now. You must've met some during these years, right?
- Well, I...
-- I don't care, you do what you want. But you shouldn't call me without notice, it's just not what I need, do you understand? What we had was nice, but let's keep it to that, okay? I don't love you anymore, I don't need you. It's all gone.
-Let's be friends, no?
-- I can't.
-Why not?
-- Call me another day, okay?
- Tomorrow?
-- Yes, at eight, now I can't talk. Bye, talk to you later.
- Bye, bye (click).
° So, ready to go?
-- Yes, sure, all ready babe.
° Who were you talking to, you look mad.
-- No one babe, just give me a kiss.
° Sure my handsome, is that all you wish for?
-- Right now yes, come one and let's go.
You look lovely in that dress.
° Thanks dear (shut door).
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