Short day today, strange day too. Strange days I’ve been living recently. Unlike the last couple of days, I’m not forcing myself to write something semi-fictional today, though I must admit I really liked yesterday’s entry on my prison neighbour and me – semi-fiction, because the only thing I can see in the cells is the lights from the tv and the lights in the room, maybe some shadows and I haven’t seen any of the tv’s on a channel I was watching; the documentary on CLipperton Island was broadcast a couple of days ago, not yesterday. Yesterday I was watching a documentary on hiv/AIDS in Russia and I decided to go for the Clipperton Island one since it was much more symbolic/romantic for both me and that fictitious prison inmate. I also like the absence of judgement, the depiction of both of us as prison inmates looking into each other’s lives. Well, “one shouldn’t blow one’s own trumpet” even though this can be pleasurable. At least some thought went into it.
A couple of things I did today involve watching Sweden play England, with me supporting Sweden, I slept from 7AM to 3PM (a pattern these last weeks), then I started browsing some political websites on the extremist right-wing party Vlaams Belang in Belgium, thinking about joining in one or several of the groups that try to create awareness to their voters of what these people really stand for, then I was looking into the official website of North Korea, a very laughable piece of webdesign by the way ( http://www.korea-dpr.com ), and I found out that they even have an organisation in Belgium. They were looking for translators English>Dutch so I sent my application, eager to receive some (hilarious) propaganda (I don’t expect them to give payment – I asked for it – but maybe… euhm… they’ll give me a chance to see the Great Leader Kim Jong Il at some point in the future). I found out how much a ten day organised trip to North Korea would cost: 2200 EURO and the funny thing was that they explicitly stated that they ONLY accept cash Euro payments when you depart from Bejing, the Euro as a strong anti-American global currency, it’s happening my friends. They also said you couldn’t be a journalist or with the media, you weren’t allowed to bring video cameras, mobile phones, PDA’s and all kinds of other equipment into the country. I would be able to attend the mass games there of which I’ve seen several documentaries and the gargantuan efforts put into really make it some sort of spectacle.
Anyhow, I just watched a Swedish culture programme that was entirely devoted to Bret Easton Ellis. Having totally loved his Glamorama, I was of course really interested in what the man had to say (to a lesser extent, my interest was also in American Psycho) and I keep on finding it strangely affirming for myself that there are many things I share with a lot of writers, biographically that is. What I will write will be a culmination of my personal experiences, horrors, and also of what’s on my bookshelf. This seems fairly logical (which it is, obviously) yet I feel that the “sort” of literature I will eventually produce (I have dropped any “if”s for my own mental well-being) will also stand out because of the twisted things I have come across in life. hmmm….
This is all getting a bit vague for me now, all I just meant to say was that I am shaping things up in my head: plots, schedules, characters, philosophies, etc…
I did feel like I lost the will to live this past week (proven by my will to sleep for 16 hours a day, press the snooze button for two more hours, procrastinate everything I planned, go to the supermarket, eat, go back home, jerk off and go to bed again (during the weekend, I sleep less, just go out and get wasted, which is even sadder)), though I’m improving, today actually. I’m also feeling less sick. There is still this natural angst withing me (Heidegger, was it?), though it’s not suffocating me as much today as it was yesterday.
the boy running, hunted by police,
catching up, he hides a move, shakes them off,
a gutter trip, head down first, men on top,
flashes, legs, a cry of pain, mud splatters up,
the eyes of a background lover, eating dirt,
leather and stomach collide, back and pavement
crunch, crunch, a knee between shoulders,
breath of sewer air, truncheon crumbles
up and down, clothes off, wetness pains and
penetrated, that lover looking in disgust
and fades before him then the darkness comes.
Tim van den Oudenhoven 
Actually angst was from Kierkegaard. Interesting ditty about the boy. Is that you?
thanks for pointing that out to me, oh anonymous soul – I’m bad at names (and I’m sure Heidegger must have been afraid some times as well :-))
the boy is a version of me, yes – his love is sadomasochistic torture.
not very cheerful text now that I reread and reinterpret it…. ah well… ghi!
a courteous bow,
Timmy