June 2006

deciduous

perishable eons wreaking havoc
and heaping scorn on the world
pour ethanol down our throats
taking a shine to this pain
of these floundering souls

a devilsend wresting rifts larger
now, heretofore and henceforth
in the timelessness of death throes

exhausted tears thwarting crying
festers bleeding the body dry
unshod wenches streetwalking over shards
reflecting rotten human carcasses

while somewhere apathic grown have left
a doped peach to starve out

FRAK! [explicit]

I’M STILL QUIVERING WITH EMOTIONS. NOW I’VE TOTALLY SCREWED EVERYTHING UP. AND IT PROBABLY WAS MY LAST CHANCE. VERY, VERY LAST CHANCE. LIKE IN “ULTIMATE”. DAMN I HATE MYSELF. REALLY, REALLY HATE MYSELF. LIKE LOOKING IN THE MIRROR AND WANTING TO VOMIT. I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO LOOK INTO THE MIRROR. I FEEL SICK ONLY BY THE FACT THAT I AM ME. I WANNA SCREAM LOUDLY. REALLY VERY LOUDLY. BUT THE ONLY THING THAT’S LOUD IS THE HARDCORE PUNK COMING OUT OF MY STEREO. IT’S THE WRONG MUSIC. IT’S WHAT STARTED THIS DAMN SHIT IN THE FIRST PLACE. THAT AND MY FRAKING STUPIDITY TO RUN WHEN I OUGHT TO STOP. FRAK THE FRAKING HELL!

Voll Sauerstoff!

– Hey Digger, nimm deine Kommunikationskeule und sag’n paar Checkerbräuten sie sollen sich auf ihre Studentengurke schmeissen und zum Schnellfinktreff stratzen. Ich besorg noch schnell’n paar Rammelbeutel. Aber schlepp keine mit’nem Clearasil Testgelände an!
– Was sagt’n dein Entsafter dazu?
– Die Rotzschleuder soll nicht dissen!
– Hau rein!

Alles verstaanen? Wars de och scho mol op engem Schnellficktreff? Oder schon eemol d’Erzeugerfraktioun gedisst? Oder sin déi Wieder guer net porno?

Wann der dat hei alles voll Sauerstoff firkennt, an’s de mol net wees wat dat heescht, gett et nemmen eng Erklärung: du bass aal an oncool. Géigendeel beweisen? Probéier bei deenen hei Tester op 100% ze kommen.

Test 1 an Test 2

Ajo, witzeg firun allem: d’Jugend hällt sech mat sou Begreffer elo fir onheemlech originell an verdammt cool. Hehe, “stratzen” (schnell enzwouch higoen), gett awer vun den aalen Generatiounen zumols a Sachsen verstaanen. Dat gouf et nämlech schon firun 70 Joër, mat genau der selwechter Bedeitung. :)

(via b352)

Recommendation

Last week I wrote that, in the course Practical Approaches to Poetry, Kirstine had presented a poem dedicated to three friends of hers who were raped. I just noticed she put it online a few days ago, you can now read it here (at the very bottom of the page).

Worth checking out! :)

Hate

What a prodigious emotion: it wholly completes you without seizing a misleading pretext and gives you the strength to leave behind the people who unsparingly force a life you reject with heart and soul upon you.

Or, as Kerry King put it: “Hate heals, you should try it sometime.”

Disconnected – A chronicle of June 7th

to uncle Siggi, because Elias understood that “all the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams”

I was about to leave that shopping mile where I had already been so many times before and which always looked the same boring way. It seemed oddly different today, though I couldn’t tell what unavowedly gave the building an outlandish face. Suddenly spotting her then was some kind of an epiphany, but quite an unperfect one, for it didn’t really make me understand things better. After an uncareful consideration I decided to approach her, the girl which had been out of my reach, physically and mentally, ever since I first saw her. It was the utmost sign of normality that neither of us paid attention, surely she didn’t even see me, and that she fell over my right foot right towards some boy. Of course he caught her in his arms, they laughed and together with some girls they went straight towards a restaurant or pub apparently called Texana – I couldn’t tell anything more as the entrance was hidden behind a dark red curtain and there were no windows, at least not on the side I was standing. For some inexplicable reason I had never noticed that there was a restaurant or pub at all.

I left through the revolving door, smiling, though I had no clue why. Still in the door, I realised the boy had disappeared and only the girls were left. At first, they were laughing, but when I looked again, they were fighting and tearing her clothes to pieces. She was screaming and flailing, but it was in vain, the girls kept dragging her over the floor and tugging at her clothes. The door revolved in an unbearable slow-motion until, finally, I got back in. I didn’t fight. I didn’t have to. When I reached her, the other girls vanished. She was sniveling. I helped her get up, put my arm around her hip and led her outside, whispering: “I’m there for you.” She turned around, looked at me with her puffy eyes and pushed me on the floor. She screamed. “There?” I was perplexed, but somehow managed to get back on my feet again. She was still looking at me. It was only then that I noticed her lips were bleeding.

“And where were you all this time?”

Ik ben Lucky Luke

A couple of months ago I wrote a post which basically was only a quote by Sir Peter Ustinov, saying that now are the good old times that we will wish back in ten years. I hadn’t realized the enormous truth of that statement at the time though. Since September my greatest wish has been that this schoolyear would finally come to an end and I could leave this fraking country.

It was probably before and during class yesterday afternoon that I realized I will miss what happened this year. Not the chaos, not the anger about the incompetence, but the people and the moments of fun. Perhaps it was one of my classmates taking pictures of everyone, or it were others who talked about exchanging email addresses, or yet others who talked about visiting each other next year. Perhaps it was the laughter during the class on Second language acquisition in theory and practice, where every student has to use an innovative method and teach six students a certain grammar point, without talking about grammar (e.g. get students to talk about what they are planning to do next year so they use the future tense, without explicitly telling them to). Two students yesterday chose to use acting as a teaching method, which provoked quite some laughing fits. (Oh, and for those of you wondering about the title, one student taught us a bit of the Dutch language).

Yes, this year certainly had its lows, but I regret I didn’t give the highs as much of an importance as I should have. Lesson learned, from now on I’ll do better. But I lost a year.

It is funny though, suddenly realising that I’m going to miss a lot of people next year – for some I expected it, for some I didn’t. Above all, I wanted to get out of here, and now that I’m so close to it, I realise it was good I stayed. I haven’t changed my mind, I still want to go badly, but there will be a couple of memories more to think back to.

Oh man, I already look forward to surfing in Aberystwyth, partying in Lancaster and drinking tea in London, though the latter one of course can still wait a bit longer. ;-) And of course there is still the great Grand Finale at Scott’s pub in a couple of weeks.

They say the time at university is unique and that the friends you make at university will stay important for a lifetime. Maybe it is a cliche, maybe I only wish for it to be true, but I guess there’s some truth to it, as for what considers my circle of friends this year definitely brought some major changes – for the better.

So, let me close with a few words of sapience by Barbara Kingsolver who, in her novel Animal Dreams, once wrote: “It’s surprising how much memory is built around things unnoticed at the time.”