March 2006

Renewals

Since the launch of this blog people have been asking me when I’m going to create my own template for the blog, and I didn’t really like the prefabricated templates I tried over the last months (Benevolence and Red Train) either. So here is an all new design: simplistic, kept in blue, black and white, and I got rid of the white font on black background which Gilles had critized (and I guess he was right, though I didn’t want to accept that at the time :)).

I’ve tried to test everything, but if anyone gets an error somehwere, please let me know. The about page is now also updated, so you can find the different possibilities to contact me there. (You’re of course free to use the comments function, but I’d prefer an email or IM). Thanks for that in advance.

Then, and this is the most important, I’ve also changed the name of this blog. Thoughts, I admit, did sound totally unoriginal and I should have chosen a different name right from the start. It would be extremely kind if those of you who have included me in their blogroll could change the name of the link. Many thanks for that in advance, too!

Simulacrum, by the way, comes from the Latin word “simulare” and denotes a copy without an original (that is for example the painting of a god, being a representation of something the artist has never seen).

That said, I hope you like the new design. :)

This is my life

Here you can find twenty-six random pictures of memories I enjoy thinking back to. Good times lie behind, and most surely, ahead too. :)

Promise

In twenty hours I will have been around for twenty years,
Slowly I begin to ask myself: what have I accomplished so far?
The stereo’s playing a song that puts me back five years,
To a day I played a pc game with my sister and brother
I haven’t played ever since:

Comme le vent
Emporte les maux de coeur
Dans un ouragan
Tourbillon mille à l’heure
Je suis sans doute comme lui
C’est ok, je suis
Aux portes de ma vie *

Is it bad that I love a stupid song, a pop song?
Is this all there is? A memory linked to a French song,
A computer game? Have I nothing else to write about?
Parlo l’italiano, je parle français, ech ka lëtzebuergesch,
I master English, Latino studavi, ich spreche deutsch –
So what?
I write poems and short stories all day long,
That probably nobody except my friends will ever read.
So what?
I am an anarchist, a hopeless romanticist, a part time melancholist,
A lost pessimist, a fool in love and everything else that comes to my mind.
Like the wind…
Sitiing in my regular pub and feeling old, but comfortable,
Addressing the proprietor informally, regarding that cafe as a second home.
Still…
A quarter life crisis now that I realize the teenage is about to end,
And most of what comes to my mind are regrets. Regrets for things I always
Wanted to do, that I see the younger people do,
Things for which I missed the point to do them.
I was young and needed the money – about what exactly will I be able to say that?
I hate progress, now that I understand having taken thousands of pictures
Will not eternalize the events: they are just simulacra, silent images
Of what was and will never be again.
Now are the good old times as Peter Ustinov once put it:
Grommel will probably reproach me that I’m too melancholic,
And someone will ask me why this is a poem – is it? I don’t know.

Is this all there is, Flipsyde asks in their song. I guess it is.

But all I miss and keeps me from leaving melancholy behind is so hard to find back,
So difficult to hold, so impossible to understand and explain, so needed now
And always: Honor.

Sometime, maybe not in this life, I will find you, tell you and hold you in happiness
And sadness. Up till then, I will hold on to a red gown, a pink hair slide,
And remember that a forgotten backpack can have strange consequences,
While the Super Furry Animals sing that, at least, it’s not the end of the world.

— —
* Alizée: L’alizé (written and composed by Boutonnat and Farmer)

Jumble again

Another Friday evening in town. No girls this time, just an evening with some friends, one of which you haven’t seen in months. The call of nature leads you to the toilet. On your way through the crowded pub you let a girl pass whom you don’t know. A smile, a moment that belongs to nobody else but both of you. Who was she? Was she beautiful? Where has she gone? You can’t answer any of these questions, but for one moment you’ve shared an instant that seemed like a lifetime. Maybe you’re too drunk and are hallucinating, but in the end you only got two beers so it probably is the real world.

It doesn’t matter if she was beautiful or not, if you will meet her again some day is of no importance either, the only thing that has an importance is that your paths crossed for a few seconds of your lives. The rest of your life will probably pass without any memory of that girl, but for a few short instants, she was important.

You can’t even remember what she looked like, only a couple of hours later. And still you think about her, her smile and how it is going to change your life to know that there are people out there who just give you a smile and make life enjoyable, if only for a single moment.

We cross so many humans on our journey, and most of them we forget even before they have fully disappeared behind the horizon. But aren’t it those people who change us the most? Aren’t it the people who just smile at you once and whom you never see again who have the power to inspire you forever?

Another Saturday evening in town, with the same guy as last week, plus another friend. The idea of opening one’s own pub comes up, it has been fantasized about sometimes before. Maybe it will become reailty, maybe it won’t. Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. You don’t really have a plan for your future yet, and at least you’re open to the idea. Some free drinks, some talk to the owner of your regular pub, an entertaining evening in a quiet way. There are more people than last week, but no girls you could pick up: the cute ones are with their boyfriends, the others you don’t want to flirt with.

The idea of your own pub however strikes you this time. Maybe you’re a bit too pensive now that your 20th birthday is only three days away and you won’t be a teenager anymore. Suddenly you remember the cute girl you saw on Friday afternoon, the hottie with the pink hair slide that was almost too girlish. You idealize her though, you can’t think of any detail that would decrease her beauty. A simulacrum of perfection. You are vexed with yourself because you had no chance of talking to her and may never see her again. And she just was so pretty.

The future, is it destined? The question keeps coming back to your mind. You can see yourself clearly standing behind the bar of your own pub. You can imagine yourself being with that gorgeous girl with the pink hair slide. You can imagine passing the rest of your life with the friends that matter so much in your life now.

It is a desirable future, but at the same time you dread.

Do you really want to know what your future will be like, now? You see yourself as a member of the HCl, responsible for public relations, fighting for data privacy or anything else this non-profit organization will stand for. Suddenly you realize that you have already begun forming your future, that the plan for the rest of your life has already been set in motion, without you having consciously noticed it.

Then you ask yourself how it would be if you really met your ex-girlfriend again at university next September. And you wish that nothing at all is destined or has been set in motion. The girl with the pink slide might be another one who will inspire you. And you have no idea what your life will become.

In the end, the uncertainty is not so bad. It only shows you don’t have an elaborate life yet, or you can’t see it yet, which would not be so bad either.

The possibilities at this pont may still be endless.

Love

Love is the most terrible, and also the most generous of the passions; it is the only one which includes in its dreams the happiness of someone else.

Alphonse Karr

This is our set! Come on get outta here!

Honestly, I don’t really like InDigital, I’ve watched every episode so far and the only one I enjoyed was the very first one. Not that they’re less competent than the other guys at Revision 3, they just don’t talk about things I’m interested in – the show’s limited to the US market, most of the gadgets they talk about aren’t even available yet here in Europe. The jokes sometimes seem a bit too forced to me, and my favourite one of the three hosts, Andrew Hawn, only appeared a minute or so in the last episode and not at all in the preceding one.

Nevertheless, the last episode was quite funny, which was mostly due to the fact that they spoofed diggnation and had the fantastic Alex Albrecht as a special guest (and he didn’t mention his girlfriend once, which is kind of a historical moment ;)).

If you are a Rev3 fan and haven’t downloaded the latest InDigital yet or don’t want to watch the whole show, here is the diggnation parody they played at the beginning of the episode. (49 seconds, 2 mb, H.264) I highly recommend watching the whole episode though, as Alex Albrecht does a coverage and is on InDigital Wire, too. :)

Craving

i just don’t know
no i don’t
you your smile so beautiful
you’re so gorgeous
and i don’t know
you’re so far away
your smile so captivating
fuck i love you now yesterday
i’m drunk with bliss with alcohol and love
i love you
do you know what that means
everything you
i just don’t know
no i don’t
i can’t breathe can’t forget can’t suppress
do you know
i love you
and i don’t know
i just don’t
i’m so drunk
i can’t bear your compelling beauty
i’m so drunk
i can’t bear
i don’t know
do you know
damn you hear me crying on the floor
fuck i love you
these words may be banal
and you may hit me for this stupidity
but i just don’t know
it’s unbearable
your absolute perfection
i love you so much

Friendship

When we honestly ask ourselves which people in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.

Henri Nouwen (1932 – 1996)

Deserting my colours

You can miss your soulmate if you encounter her too early or too late.

Slowly, my view is blurring, the world around me is fading. I’m fainting as the blood is streaming out of my wrists. I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. There even isn’t a tunnel. A wraith is all that suddenly appears.

It must have been a hell of a party. She was dancing boisterously. Her fair, pinned-up hair was streaming. It seemed as if there was no yesterday and no tomorrow.

I was standing by the French door that opened on the veranda and watched her dance. It seemed as if all her sorrow had gone.

She was wearing a beautiful low back, halter-neck gown in red, with a slight black
streak underlying the neckline. Her black high heels were glamorous.

She was in the middle of the room, right in the center of everything, but unreachable to all those of us who were standing on the outside of the circle ablaze with light through her vibes. She created a compelling centripetal force.

Suddenly someone on the veranda called her name and told her that he had arrived. Her wonderful brown eyes lightened up even more and she ran past me, out onto the veranda. But instead of going to that boy, she paced back and forth, finally ending up next to some girls standing not far away from that boy.

After several minutes she came back, stopped right next to me, obviously without noticing me, or not wanting to notice me. I was smashed by her incomparable, ravishing beauty once again. She was a revelation. But, most importantly, she was out of reach.

I realized that she was me, many years ago and understood that I have to let her go: I have no place in her life anymore.

Slowly, I’m sailing over the Styx.