I witnessed an accident. Sort of. It’s been a couple weeks now, I’ve only actually begun thinking about it just now. Apparently it didn’t have such an impact on me, my friend found it pretty striking I only told her about it 2 days after. It happened right before the bus I was on turned into the street, a woman crashed into a parked car with her scooter. Face full of blood, crying, all that stuff. The bus driver wanted to check if she was okay, so he slowed down. He only meant well, but the effect it had, was a bus full of people slowing down so they all get a real good look. I’m surprised no one took out his camera. Strange thing was, no one intended to help this lady. At first, neither was I, but there were people standing at the next stop, so the bus pulled over there. I remembered my medical training and figured I couldn’t just leave her like that, so I got off the bus. As the only one. Someone had already called "the 100" (belgian 911), and her husband was already notified. So there wasn’t much more for me to do. From talking to her I found out she had badly sprained her ankle, among some other things like a cut eyebrow. I just nodded and said "…Okay. Try and hold it still." What was I to do? Put her leg in splints and carry her to the hospital on a stretcher?
When the ambulance arrived I opened my mouth to explain, but they walked right past me and started talking to the victim. Makes sense. If I get a chance to do the same kind of work, I’ll probably take it. One thing that might stop me though, is my absolute death fobia (what’s that called, anyway?). I can’t take people dying. Could be about my mother, could be because I’m a wimp. I’m not one to step to a shrink so we’ll probably never know.
Looking back I think I did the right thing. Not that I was much of a help, but I was still the only person to get off that bus. If things would have been a lot worse, I don’t think any of the few people around knew CPR. I would almost be proud of myself but my actions didn’t exactly make that much of a difference, did they. Nevertheless, kinda shows I have the right response when shit does hit the fan. Or maybe I’m thinking too much again.
"A philosophic system is an integrated view of existence. As a human being, you have no choice about the fact that you need a philosophy. Your only choice is whether you define your philosophy by a conscious, rational, disciplined process of thought and scrupulously logical deliberation — or let your subconscious accumulate a junk heap of unwarranted conclusions, false generalizations, undefined contradictions, undigested slogans, unidentified wishes, doubts and fears, thrown together by chance, but integrated by your subconscious into a kind of mongrel philosophy and fused into a single, solid weight: self-doubt, like a ball and chain in the place where your mind’s wings should have grown."
— Ayn Rand, Philosophy: Who Needs It
Arrogant, but unquestionable. The simple act of sitting down and thinking about life can change it forever. In boarding school I used to sit down and write whole pages of fluent text about the reason of life and love and stuff like that. Waste of time, some might say. Usually those who have never done so themselves. Kind of like calling the residents of a country you’ve never been to, assholes. Also, a fun fact is that I Have indeed discovered the reason of life. Ask me about it and I will tell you, with great passion and enthousiasm. It’s too long and well, boring to write it down here, but trust me when I say that it couldn’t have been any more perfect. Sad thing about this, however, is how little difference it makes. People ask about the reason of life thinking it will release them from mortal pain and grant access to unlimited happiness, sex and partying. Sorry, no.
I like to think back on it and smile, realising what a gift life is, but it hasn’t helped me one bit in difficult situations. If one could stick to this philosophy and keep it in mind constantly, his life would be utterly perfect. But our brain is dissappointingly weak, unable to comprehend the sheer simplicity of his own existance and the beauty of it. This reminds me of a National Geographic documentary where they release a wolf kept in a cage for 9 years. The animal had been running in circles all that time to make up for his inability to travel his usual 50 kilometers a day. They opened the cage, the wolf ran out, and started running in circles. The whole damn planet to run around and piss on, a whole NG crew PLUS camera crew to chew on, and he just looked at them like they were behind bars as he ran his daily circles. They all left him there like that and went home. I suppose the wolf eventually learned to run in a straight line, or died on the spot waiting for his daily steak.
Sad, one would think, but we are no different at all. Our mind could accomplish such crazy things, it’s almost obscene. If only we could clear it of prejudices, ego, and illusions we flee to. Among other things, of course, just too many to name them all. The virtual cage we run circles in. It would be wrong to blame mankind for this, though. We aren’t made to achieve higher goals, if those even exist. We were made solely to reproduce effectively. If that weren’t the case, we wouldn’t be here. The gift called life is also the curse that condemns us to utterly Waste our short time given. Virtual or not, our mind is caged. Thank any God there may be, we still have sex to fall back on. Well, SOME OF US, anyway. Beh.
Either way, simple, easy (for most), calm Tinking About Stuff will get your priorities straight, and will found your opinions. It will help you to know yourself and your reactions, resulting in a strong, healthy mind and character. People should do more of it, including me. Don’t expect your mind to grow wings, though. It’s like Einstein said:
"Do not vhorry about your problems in mathematics. I can assure you zhat mine are still greater."
I’m learning to play The Offspring’s ‘Dirty Magic’ on guitar. Well.. "Play". It’s only been what, 2 days? So far I’ve only tried, and failed, to learn the intro. Damn I’m becoming one of those stereotype players that only know intro’s. Now that I have extra time on my hands I should be playing more often, too bad I don’t have the patience. It’s frustrating sometimes. I want to pick it up and play something that makes your nads crawl up. But I can’t. I’m stuck at that one song, sucking horribly at it. I should have someone constantly looking over my shoulder and kicking my ass when I’m losing my patience again and decide to do something else. Better yet, slap my ass. Yeah. She also has to be good at oral, too. I need a lot of things, don’t I.
Anyway, guitar. I picked ‘Dirty Magic’ mainly because I liked the lyrics. I can relate to the guy’s "simple way of thinking", if not stupidity. Not exactly the best motivation to play a song on guitar, I know. But I’ve found that songs that don’t catch my attention, can’t motivate me. Music is my way of expressing myself, which is probably why I can’t accept sucking at it. Either way, a guitar standing in a corner is like [enter obscene and sex-related reference here]. It draws you.
So what do I do all day long if I’m not pretending to be on Rock Werchter stage?
My neck was stiff. They put me on my back. Beh. I’m used to sleeping on my stomach. I was about to turn over, when I noticed I wasn’t alone in the room. I needed a few seconds to realise,..
I write. You may run into this story on the net somewhere, I posted it to get some (anonymous) feedback. If you happen to run into it, Do Not Let Me Know. Honestly, do not. No. If you read it and discover what the story is about, you probably don’t even want to talk to me, let alone share the news with me that you read my work.
Also, I write here. I don’t know why I like to, I just do. Blasting my baggage off into space, into anonymity. And if it’s not baggage, I like blasting it off anyhow. I’d love this place to become like those autobiographical thingies showing this deep, dark, misunderstood personality that makes you go "Wow, that really is a deep, dark and misunderstood personality. I mean, Wow." But, we’ll have to do with a random fuckwad’s ramblings about his ex and sex life for now. I’ll let you know when my social life is up for reincarnation, then we can get started.
The internet told me before: if you’re going to behave like a friend, you’ll end up as a friend. Every time. As my friend said: "Maybe I’ll just skip to being an asshole, then." I can only agree. It feels good to be a friend for someone, but it puts you into this box, labelled "FRIEND". And once in there, don’t expect to get out anytime soon. The quickest way out, proving that you don’t want to be "just a friend", is showing just what a prick you are. The down side is, that puts you somewhere else, labelled "PRICK". and then you’re even further away from your goal.
Hell, if "all you need to score a girl" is not being yourself and behaving like an american on additional testosteron, I rather stay in the merde I’m in, thankyouverymuch. Can’t help being who I am, can I. Stick to who you are no matter what you’ve gotten yourself into, and at the end you’ll be able to say, at least you Are somebody. Not some liquid, hypocritical, divorced little man stuck in mid-life crisis for 40 years, with nobody knowing what you’re really good for, including yourself. But! You’ll have tons of superficial friends!
Three people have died in a short amount of time. Only one I spoke off here, the two I did not. Fights at home are reaching a new height. Friends lost jobs, girlfriends, it doesn’t end. But strangely, I feel okay. I’m still in the same mess I used to be, but it doesn’t affect me like it used to. For the time being, anyway. I suppose that’s a good thing. We’ll get there, I think. All that is needed is putting one foot in front of the other, and before you know it, you’re home.
So after "Woodstock: Revised" failed miserably they had to get back to their appartment in the big city to become one with nature again. In front of their telly. How? By Bus. The same bus I was on. 40 minutes. 40 fucking minutes, I had to listen to how they were unemployed for their hard-core ideals and how they lived off state money (which, by the way, I provide). They get off of this, I swear! Most of them had an erection where they stood! How I wanted to tell them to stick their peace and love where it hurts the most, and go "hug a tree". Instead, I looked the other way, turned up my disc player and swallowed hard. If I’m going on about anarchy I don’t want any bloke who doesn’t know me judge my ideals, either. They’re just lucky no one bumped into me as they did their ‘peace love and understanding’ dance.
Another girl, another face,
Another truck, another race,
I’m eating junk, feeling bad,
Another night, I’m going mad,
My woman’s leaving, I feel sad,
But I just love the life I lead,
Another beer is what I need,
Another gig my ears bleed,
Another town I’ve left behind,
Another drink completely blind,
Another hotel I can’t find,
Another backstage pass for you,
Another tube of super glue,
Another border to get through,
I’m driving like a maniac,
Driving my way to hell and back,
Another room a case to pack,
Another hotel we can burn,
Another screw, another turn,
Another Europe map to learn,
Another truckstop on the way,
Another game I learn to play,
Another word I learn to say,
Another blasted customs post,
Another bloody foreign coast,
Another set of scars to boast,
Is it possible to fall in love again? With a boy? Regain faith in the kind of human that’s usually nothing else than entertaining and mildly interesting?
Is it possible to be loved? By someone who would otherwise find you solely entertaining and mildly interesting?
Maybe I was simply the wrong person to try with. Then again I’m flattered to be the one. I honestly really wonder what went wrong. Not that I mean to blame anyone or anything. I’m pissed right now, furious. Because things are the way they are. They would have gone differently if I would have done things otherwise, but I didn’t know that so cursing myself isn’t going to help. I would say I was only trying to be myself but that’s not true. I tried to be someone else, drop the macho act and show my oh-so-vulnerable self.
You might think I shouldn’t have, but I don’t think anyone is ever truely himself around others. Ask someone to give an honest opinion about a personal matter, and you can expect nothing but lies. Which is great, I experienced first hand how destructive honesty is.
But what went wrong? What pushed her away? Where did I fail? "Professionals" who discuss how to get laid on the internet say a woman wants a strong man, who waits a few days before calling back, and well, wears the pants. I found it not only amusing but it’s also more or less the opposite of what she said. Then again I asked her to be honest so I expect I’ve been lied to.
Man oh man. Aren’t I entertaining. the "HOW TO GET LAID!!" site may have been full of rubbish (in my humble opinion) but it did have one point: Get A Grip. Even when things do look shitty, moaning about it won’t help. SO! Enough of this! I’ll never get an honest answer to my questions so I better learn to live with it. I got a guitar for the fingerwork and my right fist for the rest so what am I complaining.
My sister’s friend had an acident. I first heard about it on the news, some kid missed his turn with his bike, drove into a tree, and ended up in the canal. His name was Maarten. My stepsister called my sister with the news, saying "maarten has died". Although she knew it wasn’t about me by then, my sister called me that morning at work, to tell me and to check if I was okay.
I tried to write down my thoughts when I got home, but I failed. Just a bunch of scared thoughts, trying to put into words how afraid I was. Monday’s newspaper will have his name in it, and mine. In the death message section. Hard to imagine, he never knew that bike would kill him when he bought it. He didn’t know he had 2 more weeks to live, 1 week, a day. He just kept laughing and crying, making plans for the future, trying to decide who to share it with. Just like the rest of us. And now he’s gone.
He was a good friend of my sister’s, possibly even boyfriend. I had heard her talk about him, and I accidentally found a picture of him on our computer the day after the accident. Call me selfish, but the first thing that went through my head when she said his name, was ‘That could have been me’. I still get that feeling, although I know it’s irrational: I could have died that night. That kid’s parents are devastated, so are my sister and the rest of his friends. But he’s not here to know it, he never will.
I don’t believe in life after death. That should be a motivation to live life to the fullest, as if every day is your last. But somehow, it isn’t. I still wallow in self pity and piss and moan. I hope he had a good last day. I hope he didn’t have regrets, that he knew he was loved. Maybe I should focus more on those things so I’ll have my shit in order when I die, possibly tonight. I don’t want to die, I’m not finished. But that doesn’t matter, the kid didn’t want to die, either. I just hope I’ll be finished when the time comes, but I doubt it. I’ll know when it’s too late.
24 hours later and I just got a phonecall. I’m sitting in a cybercafe full of people I don’t know so I guess I’ll just write it down here. Am I sad or what.
She broke up with me. The reason doesn’t (shouldn’t, anyway) matter but at least I know it’s not because I wasn’t man enough. Ha Ha I’m so funny I’m fucking killing myself. I could spend hours wondering if she meant anything she ever said, but that won’t do me any good, will it. The only thing I’m curious about right now is Why The Fucking HELL I Keep making an idiot of myself and getting caught up in retarded dreams. I start something, I’m all excited and happy about it, and then it just.. dies on me. In this case more than ever, she was who I turned to in situations like this.
One more fairy tale ends up onder the ground. Watch me closely, I’m not going to fucking cry over this. I’d say "lesson learned" but I learned jack shit. I’ll make the same mistakes next time if there will be a next time. Apparently I tend to dissappoint once up close.
Fuck you, too. So tired of this, this whole ordeal. Already tired of having to miss her.
Still not dead yet. Not even mutilated. Still got all my limbs, all my teeth, even. It’s a small miracle, come to think of it. Not that I expected otherwise, which is actually my mistake. Most people of my generation (including me) take their health for granted. We worry about other things: How to get more money off your parents, how to make more friends, be more popular. Never considering we might lose a limb in the process, and spend the rest of our lives looking for some ugly chick who would pityfuck us. Let’s just hope we can still masturbate. Dear God….
Okay, so why am I typing again. Got time on my hands and stuff on my mind. I should be asleep actually, but I slept this afternoon so I’m not tired. No I’m not lazy, I really was tired. Not from lack of sleep, but from work. A festival doesn’t build itself, you know. For others, Rock Werchter lasts 4 days, for me, a month. You’re welcome.
If I look to my left now, I see can see a piece of true art standing in the corner of the room. An electric guitar, Epiphone (although it says Gibson), one I just got from the singer of my friend’s band. I still don’t know what the hell happened. We were cleaning up after a rehearsal, and I saw it standing against the wall. I grabbed it and played a few notes on it, we were waiting for the elevator anyway. My friend said "you just lost a guitar", he was kidding! Apparently the singer thought otherwise and said "Sure, you can take it along if you want". My jaw just dropped and I said I’d bring it along next rehearsal. "Nah, keep it. If I need it again, I’ll ask." So now I got an electric guitar. Boom. Just like that. It’s got parts on it from a broken guitar from a Kiss gig. I mean, Kiss. The B&W painted face guys. Yes, the rock legends. I’m almost afraid to touch it, damnit.
I came home to a calm house today. I was a bit surprised at first, until I heard there was a fight this morning and one of them simply left. I didn’t get yelled at, apparently they were satisfied for today. God Damnit I swear I hate this. No matter how much sarcasm and cynicism I come up with, shit won’t change. I don’t get immune from it, I can’t ignore it or learn to live with it. I can only run from it, and even that has proven to be nearly impossible. Still no place of my own, still not anywhere close.
The one other place I’m still allowed and willing to stay is at my girlfriend’s. And I don’t know about that. She still scares the living crap out of me. Not that I think she doesn’t mean well. I just don’t know what to do with myself when I’m around her. Suddenly I’m unarmed. There is still an uneasy distance between us, which I kinda like. Keeps me from saying and doing stupid things again. From her point of view, the distance is there because she doesn’t trust guys. Can’t say I blame her: we are the most perverted, lying sons of bitches imaginable. Note that I didn’t say women are any better. I can only speak for the male lot, since, well, I’m born as one. Good excuse, means I can’t help it.
So can’t I be trusted? Time will tell. I want to say that I’ve proven that I can be, but first of all that was a long time ago and second I’ve done plenty of things that show I’m a regular asshole. But I’ve changed since then, and I’ll have to prove I’m worth some trust.
I’m sure there’s plenty of people wanting to tell me not to let all this blind me and just go for it, love is a beautiful thing and you haven’t lived without and yada yada. Open yourself up, love this and love that. Meh. I rather find that out for myself, I don’t believe in fairy tales. How love conquers all and they live happily ever after. There are no happy endings, and the story will better be worth the ending, or you’re better off without even starting.
Enough rambling for today. I’ll live, I always do. And keep my damn teeth, too. If this all reads as one fluid text to you, don’t blame me, blame my shit excuse for a computer. I’m thinking of hanging it from the ceiling and use it to catch flies with, maybe it’ll prove itself useful for a change. No it’s no good at catching flies, which is exactly my point. I know how to fix the text, I’ll get to it someday. Put some paragraphs in there. But, I need another computer. (Done now)
Also, Thanks for the support. You know who you are. Your feedback helped.
Saturday I get a call, and I’m asked if I can come work monday, tuesday, and wednesday, for building a small rock festival (Iggy Pop and the stooges, Joe Cocker, Starsailor, Buscemi, Admiral Freebee, and many others) in Wallonië (french speaking half of Belgium). We would be sleeping at a (CHEAP) little F1 -hotel there. Sure.
Sunday I get another call. "Tomorrow may not go through, I’ll let you know 9 in the morning. By 11am they figured out it’s not gonna happen, "but tomorrow and the day after, might". So I get up early in the morning, not only for absolutely nothing, but to hear tomorrow might go the same way. Up side: work or not, we’ll get payed anyhow. Tuesday: I get up (5.15) and thank god, I can go to work today. My co-worker picks me up, and off we go. Once arrived there, it turns out the festival commite still hasn’t payed for LAST year and doesn’t seem too eager to pay for this year. StageCo, the staging company we’ll be working for, forgot to include a certain line in the contract. Oops.
But StageCo found a different approach: "Welcome men. Please sit down, have some coffee, take a nap while the festival commite makes up its mind about the payment". There is just one problem with that strategy: The stage itself would cost Nandrin Festival co. €16,000. Every hour the stage isn’t finished when it should be, that would cost StageCo €20,000. Do the math: STageCo is fucked. Proper fucked, "before zhe Germanz get here."
So! after we lost a day and a half in total, we got to work. We worked until Thursday noon, and believe it or not, We built the fucker in 2 days. Instead of 4. Up yours. And finished in time, too! Now let’s hope AIB Vinçotte didn’t disapprove the stage, they were supposed to check after we left, 30 minutes before StageCo would have to start paying.
Since RoadRunner, the bastards, Still didn’t provide the nescessary gear (I had to climb 15 meters up a tower again without any safety) I took the initiative of buying my own stuff. No climbing harness, those are way too expensive, but my own scaff hammer (man do those look scary) and climbing helmet. Those helmets are very useful and way smaller than those bulky industrial ones, so a lot easier to climb up the scaffolding with. The helmet was plain white. Yes, was, cause I painted it. With a little help from my friends, I sprayed a turtle pattern on it. It worked out even better than I imagined, it looks absolutely amazing. So amazing even, I’ll post it here as soon as I get a picture of it. Typically me, I forgot it in my co-worker’s car. Har Har I’m so stupid it’s funny.