Does the image of the text alter your perception?
It is not a poem about our sky. It's just a thought.
That's all I've got up my sleeves : thoughts.
Vaguely political, aesthetical, dirty, dreamy, stinky ones.

What did you think about today?

I thought about the last dream I remembered. I'm at work in a hospital and Kilian is dying. He dies but before he diffuses, he turns out to be Cyril. My former boss walks in. I try to buy him a beer. The machine gives me 4 Jupilers and I don't know what to do with them. I don't drink Jupiler. Not even in my dreams. L walks in. I need to stay in hospital too. I wake up. Crap. What's wrong with my mind if in a dream hosted by only one women and many men I didn't have sex? Nothing! It's just freaking normal. Christ. I hate it when I realize the banality of being around. I will spend tomorrow pondering over how to counter being average.

the ballroom trees are lifting their skirts
the wigwearing ones bow their head
behind them : a sky

midwestern european sky
sky that has never been mentioned in travel guides
never been printed on romantic postcards

driving home
wondering who
like me
is staring at the sky

girls that have become mothers
or sons who woke up as orphans

underneath our wild peaceful sky

My parents met in a bar along the big lane from O to T. It was the time of virgins and in her pretty white skirt and diamonds and pearls my mother fell for the man my father was : tall, dark and handsome. Sexually revolted. She was about to get to know a life completely different from all that had been before. Its anticipation filled both of them with a love that lead to a marriage and 3 kids.

- 5 Years -

My mother was busy raising their family. My father hung out in bars 5 days a week. One night he set fire to the farm to rip off the insurance company.
/
My mother was a material girl. An emotional girl. Insatiable for luxury and love. The day daddy ran out of goodies, he set fire to the farm.

- Hermeneutics -

Which alinea approaches reality better?
I wouldn’t know even though it is an excerpt from my proper youth. Life doesn’t come in single meaning layers. Indefinite versions of reality.

- Peggy Lee -

Is that all there is?
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is my friends,
then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is.

Then I fell in love, with the most wonderful boy in the world.We would take long walks by the river or just sit for hours gazing into each other's eyes.We were so very much in love.Then one day, he went away. And I thought I'd die -- but I didn't. And when I didn't I said to myself, "Is that all there is to love?"

- Layer over layer over layer ove -

Text as a saran wrap over life. Covering a bowl of savoury interpretations and meanings. Tiramisù, pull me up.

No, that’s not all there is to love, fire or a circus.
There’s so much out there. Go find it.

Bookkeeping? Me? Two weeks ago I would have laughed out loud. Two years ago my bank statements were a deep dark bloodred colored piece of paper. I couldn't and don't care less.
Last Thursday at work however, someone lifted a curtain and behind it was the financial world of our company. On Sunday I offered my sister to do part of her bookkeeping and today two people from our finance department resigned. Coincidence or a bunch of omens? If I ever become a bookkeeper I think I'll start writing poems or wear weird clothes to shout out I'm not thàt kind of number-nerd. Money makes the world go round. What power lies in the hands of people that make money go round! Sandy phone oikos ... Small chance I reckon. It's not my nature to work and think money.

Nel mezzo del camin di nostra vita, old friends are the best. They show up after years of absence and you immediately realize why you liked them so much. Friday L. walked in to my local food-, beer- and bluesbar. The discourse : small talk. The message : so damn good to see and talk to you. The request : meet me again, I want to talk some more.
On Saturday we had a coffee in Ghent.
Today I got invited to a bbq at his place.
To feel welcome. All the money in the world ...

Other weekend stories are my new afterhours job as a bookkeeper and how Saturday turned out to be a night out on which I met old & new friends and acquaintances. Or how the best nights out are the ones on which you least expect it.

better the deval you know

All is fair in love and war. I've sharpened my beak and intend to pick the stories of this weekend apart until I'm left with just a few words to digest.

Deva turns out to be less like me than I imagined. He must have had an accident once, during which a doctor stitched him up with excuses. Never before has someone served me more 'sorry about thats' in just 4 weeks of attempted second dates. My phrase would have been 'sorry no can do' from the start. I hate wasting time. Mine and the one of others.

It started out so well. The day after our first dinner I knew it would take no more than a breeze to knock me off my feet.

In the Mexican restaurant a stranger had given us a thumbs up sign from across the window. I can't help but think about Milan Kundera and the Unbearable Lightness of Being when that happens. Don't blame a novel for portraying a poetic reality, but blame yourself for not seeing poetry in everyday life.

A breeze. In Oostende there are strong gusts of wind and we would meet again right there. Finally free falling seemed a solid and inevitable fact. But then I got ill. While I was making fever for nights in a row I promised myself that I would chase the buzz of being rightly in love when I got better. And I did. For the first time in 3 years I'd identified a category 3 guy, so no way I was going to let it flow.

I wonder if he knows what category 3 stands for. It's the only register to recruit from when you plan to stay faithful or want kids. They have the advantages of all categories because they raise your testosteron level permanently - which means they can wear tracksuits, white socks or be averagely hung - and you want to see them all the time because they are funny and intelligent company.

So what went wrong? Did I show up at the wrong time of the year? Am I a waste of genes when you want goodlooking offspring? Nymphomaniac? I-can't-stop-producing-garbage-when-I-speak? Or all of it - who is to say? All I know is that every attempted second date - which weren't all my idea in the first place - ended with a textmessage that contained the infamous words 'sorry about that' for cancelling the planned night out.

Yesterday I pulled out the plug.
Game over - play again.
Words I can digest.

Well spent weekend report : Work. Men. Food. Flat. Movies. Professors. Sports.

Work/Men.
All male colleagues I mentally undressed some time ago were gathered for our big anniversary and housewarming party Friday night. No, I didn't drag them into the ladies room. Nor did I kiss and make out. The mere thought that I could have - at least with some - seemed enough to keep me going. My ego got its shot. My heart didn't need any. It would be physical only and I have no talent for letting people down easy. I don't want to work in a slaughterhouse.

Food.
I worked in my sister's restaurant on Saturday and it was hard because I was to join the kitchenteam. I like cooking, but not against the clock. Cut mushrooms, stir panna cotta, fry fries. Though I love my sister dearly, I believe my main interest in restaurants as of now will lie in visiting them. Speaking of which ...

Food/Men/Professors.
I drove 120km for a 2 hours and 20 words dinner last night. Just to see a guy who shows about as much interest in me as a straight guy in a gay environment. If sweet Betty hadn't been there, I would have been on the road longer than in the restaurant. A crying shame. But no surprise really, since he still reminds me of me.

Work/Men/Professors.
I got an unexpected text message from L. Whether I can give private Italian lessons. Now that's an intruiging request. I'm sure he really wants to learn the language of Dante. But I wonder whether he's not looking for mental support to get him through another crisis in the marriage he never wanted in the first place. Since he's an old friend - and next of kin of The Brother - I'll meet him to see what I can do. To be continued ...

Flat.
Good news first : someone is going to finish my ceilings and walls in the month of May and it's not me! In June the first guests will be arriving to go to the casino, eat my selfmade lasagne and watch movies. Inevitable bad news : the bills keep on flowing. Nevertheless ...

Movies.
I went shopping for DVDs today. I love staying in to watch a movie so I'm working on a collection for Oostende. As of today it will include amongst others The Straight Story, La Meglio Gioventù, Minority Report, Gegen die Wand and The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover (would that be too much as a titel for the first theme night?).

Sports.
I didn't participate in Dwars door Brugge, since my physical condition didn't allow me to jog 15K on Sunday. The omen was there : I couldn't find my chest number on Saturday. I need to get back on track for Brussels at the end of this month. If I don't get ill and the weather lights up I'm sure I'll do fine.

Unlike humans insects have all kinds of colored contents. Yesterday on the highway, the main window of my car turned into a realistic copy of a Jackson Pollock. I was particulary intrigued by the – what appeared enormous – poison green spot right in front of me. Like Pollock’s paint, it had no idea where it was going when it hit the transparant canvas in front of me. As sad as it may be for a once so happy and ignorant insect, this death announced the breakthrough of spring. Sun, new life. Finally.

Right. So now you know I have a cheesy side. But it's just so much fun at work. If French companies can compete, I'm considering for signing up for the competition 'Are you the happiest employee of 2006?'.