Thursday, March 31, 2005

The House of Leaves

Cannot resist the temptation to post about that awesome book in here too ^^

The House of Leaves


Not much to say about it so far, since I am still reading it (and Golly knows how long it will take ^^)

Imagine a kinda blair witch project book, but with literary references...

Imagine a duet between Zampano the creator and Johnny the writer, imagine a book where the footnotes are as important than the main text itself.... Imagine lots of fake bibliographies, but true ideas under fasle celeb' quotations....

Imagine a house whose depths are even deeper than the deepest caves you could ever think of.

Imagine a beast watching over your shoulder, as you read the book...

Imagine it could be true....

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Back to the future?

Today a post about some HS reunion made me muse about too many things I thought I had forgotten….

This year will be the 10th anniversary of my HS graduation…And sad to say, I didn’t kept any contact with anyone of my classmates. I guess we were bound together by accident, and that the only things we shared was a same school and a same classroom. All kind of links between us simply vanished with our last school year together. Maybe it is better that way, than keeping in touch in a hypocritical way….

It also remind me of some emails forwarding I keep on receiving. From people I never knew more about than, again, a shared classroom in college and those internet pranks…

Of course, there are the more faithful ones…. Whose I receive pics of the latest baby, or an update about how life and love goes…

Thing is……I changed so much in those last ten years…. Everyone does, granted, but hat I mean is that I don’t feel like meeting up with people who changed as much as I did, and keep on defending my new point of views about things, for the good old days’s sake. Call me ungrateful, call me old, but I certainly don’t wanna play the hypocritical game of "how are you doing? It’s been a while, since…[fill in with appropriate words]".

I don’t like the “comparison dimension" inherent to those kind of reunions. My point is, if you feel close enough with someone, well, you simply keep in touch, no mystery about it. And don’t tell me about the “so different” issue, it is pointless. My best friend and I are the most different people you can find out, but somehow those differences made the bonds so tight between us. Well, more accurately, there was something beyong differences that made us stick together... Hehe.......By the way, I still remember the first time i seen her, asking us about the classromm where we gonna have our first Russian lesson...

Maybe I am too bitter about it. I don’t know. But experiencing a invitation received waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay after the actual reunion took place kinda get me flabbergasted about it. What? So everyone kept on wondering what the hell I was doing, (so said a girl i met by chance on the street) without even make sure that I could get the invitation on time? What kind of friends are those?

Or like this girl, who was in my classroom, to whom I never spoke with, and who, having met me by chance on the train, felt like chatting all the way through with me…Or my best HS friend, whom I met by chance on the street last summer….She simply had forgotten to tell me about her daughter’s birth, aged 1 year at that time. Guess that the crying together, the sleeping at each others and the first crushes secrets weren’t strong enough to keep the link going. Maybe I did a mistake somewhere, I don’t know.

But still….

How could you explain that none of the flesh and bones persons I gave my blog link to never dared to leave a message here? While some strangers met on the internet became so close that they actually cared for me, and helped me out of sad situations? One of them even becoming one of the dearest person to me?

How could you explain this?

From now on, I decided to look back on the future only….

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Friday, March 25, 2005

"Chronic Love" disease

Chronic Love

MUSIC & LYRICS(R.De Greef / M. Ysaye / M. Guccio / T. Plas / H. Borbe)

Whispers and feelings, say all about you
I’m stealing time to breathe in you
I hope what you’re looking for,
As a part of the moon,
is what I want to live with you

DEEP INSIDE ME, I ALWAYS FEEL IT
MY CHRONIC LOVE DISEASE
EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE TURNS ME CRAZY OF YOU
ANYBODY KNOWS HOW I’M FEELING
MY CHRONIC LOVE DISEASE
EVERY BREATH YOU WILL TAKE, I’LL TAKE IT WITH YOU

Silence is screaming, my dreams come true.
The secret games tell me the truth
My Heart is guessing,when you’re feeling blue,
nobody knows as I know you

DEEP INSIDE ME, I ALWAYS FEEL IT
MY CHRONIC LOVE DISEASE
EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE TURNS ME CRAZY OF YOU
ANYBODY KNOWS HOW I’M FEELING
MY CHRONIC LOVE DISEASE
EVERY BREATH YOU WILL TAKE, I’LL TAKE IT WITH YOU

I’m still looking for,
a love without rules
believing the moments shared with you

DEEP INSIDE ME, I ALWAYS FEEL IT
MY CHRONIC LOVE DISEASE
EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE TURNS ME CRAZY OF YOU
ANYBODY KNOWS HOW I’M FEELING
MY CHRONIC LOVE DISEASE
EVERY BREATH YOU WILL TAKE, I’LL TAKE IT WITH YOU


by Machiavel

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Clair-Obscur

No news, and I am getting worried, oh yes, oh yes....

Please, Clairobsc', tell me everything is fine, ne?


worried...

worried...



worried...

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Kimi no koe wa…

Last night I cried.

Last night was maybe the first time I felt so helpless, weak and desperate in months. It was not the slow tears that catch you unaware when fatigue is wearing you out, no. It was the kind of waterfall that cannot even bring you solace. I was afraid, afraid of myself, afraid of this life that is swirling so fast around me.

I don’t remember if I was freaking out in English or in French, maybe I was in a state in between, when you cannot voice out what’s wrong. Yes, what was wrong , in fact?

I picked up the phone. SMS. “(…) I miss you so much I am crying”.

Lame retreat in the kitchen. Filling a pan with water, grabbing the pasta pack. It was gonna be eating for the eating only, having something to do and forgetting about the liquid fire burning my eyes. Feeling borderline, and the ham didn’t even seem tasty ( why the heck do I NEVER keep a pizza in the deep freezer for emergencies like this???)

“Biip-biip”.
(God bless Nokia phones.)
Messaged back. “I love you. m willing 2 take d risk.”

Grabbing the call card, dialing the number. Trembling, half crying , half nervous, half hoping.

“We are sorry, we cannot operate your call. Please try again later.”. I looked numb at my phone. So what? Were the Telecoms also going to give me a hard time???? My meal was about to be reduced to nothing I swear.

“Biip-biip”. Show msg. “wahhh TT me battery’s dead”.

Grabbed phone again, dialed landline this time. His voice at last. Near me, around me, soothing me, being there for me. It was like crying upon his shoulder, with his voice caressing me , reassuring me… I was smiling again, believing again, feeling so damn right again.

How I missed his embrace, at that very moment… A few minutes for him and I only, us against the world, nothing else mattered. Mahal na mahal kita's until my credits went dead. You made me shine, honey…

Never had my pasta/ham meal tasted so good... ^ ^

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

when "Carisa meridiates" ...

Talking about writing, let me introduce you to another story, this time, a novel, this time, still a work-in-process, this time, by one of my favourite LA author…^ ^

Here is the first page of his story….

THE CARISA MERIDIAN
a story by * Mojo Shivers*

one- the initial friend
Her first name was Carisa. Her last name was Ashington. I used to joke with her that she was related to George Washington, but somewhere along the way an idiotic relative had lopped off the “W” and there you had it.
She said it was one of the dumbest jokes she had ever heard.
But then she still laughed anyway. She was just that kind of person.
I was googling Carisa the other night. I didn’t find very much; not a lot has been written about her in quite some time. I suppose that is why I felt the need to look her up again, to see exactly if my memory of her holds true to the actuality. Or maybe to find out what the actuality is. I am not quite sure if the history I remember was the way things really happened or the way I wished they had happened (did the chicken really lay the egg or had the egg been there all along and the chicken come a bit later when it found out where all the best eggs were? Do you think the chicken, having seen the egg, went back to all of its chicken coop buddies and told them of the cool place in the barnyard he had went to on Saturday night where all the best eggs were to be had? Or how it even got some action from the hen behind the barn?). The mind can play tricks on you. Days come and go, and soon the girl from down the block can turn out to be one of your closest friends. Maybe your wife wasn’t supposed to be. Or the girl you thought you liked at the time may turn out to have been the one you were destined for—a soul mate if you believe in that type of thing. I guess I’ll never know and maybe that’s why I keep searching for a piece of her.
My search revealed an interesting site that broke the name Carisa down according to Eastern philosophy:

“Your name of Carisa bestows upon you the necessity to comprehend and assist others but at the same time you can become too over-extended into their concerns and, consequentially, worry more than necessary. You desire a future with thoughts of home and family predominating that idea of your future. You have the capacity to create harmony and understanding in your family relationships as you are supportive, forgiving, and polite. You love children, caring without a moment’s hesitation who might require your particular talents. Wherever you can manage it, you avoid stress because you prefer not to face a conflict if it results in someone’s feelings being hurt.”


I do apologize in advance, for having posted it without his permission or whatsoever (ok, Mojo, flame away ^_^ )….. But I also felt I could show him how much I cared for his story, how much I liked it, from the very beginning, when I asked him more about, back in late August 2004…Just imagine he had posted about him writing a novel, a few hours before I took my holidays….. Somehow, this information had lingered somewhere in my brain, for when I came back to work, first thin gI did was to ask more about it. So he started to send me his chapters on a regular basis, sometimes the very moment after its completion…..I would receive a mail (around 3, 4 AM his time), then hurried to print it out, or sneakily save it on my comp…

The reading of his story got me, I must admit, some egotist pleasure. Not only was I in total admiration faced to such a story-teller talent (and God forbid, maybe I felt a bit envious at times), but I couldn’t help find in between the lines some hints about how my life was doing… to tell you the truth, Mojo and his story crashed in my life at a point when I had lost everything…. A somewhat sad separation with someone I could finally say I was genuinely falling for had drained memore than I wanted to admit it.

Then I was given that story to read, where fictional people were enduring actual torments and questionings, somewhat more complicated, more heavy in consequences than my banal love story… There was Mojo and his paper friends, giving me an daily reading routine, an occasion of feeling helpful, and most of all, I must admit, giving me an out-of-myself trip opportunity as well. Dare I say that, throughout our little mails about this or that aspects of the story unraveling, some real-life aspects were slowly mixed too…. As my begging for a digital shoulder to put rest my heavy head on it… And my finding solace in those casual talks.

I could have been fooled by the nickname over the real man, but I know one thing for sure. He has always been around whenever I felt like giving up to a life I didn’t , and wouldn’t understand. He patiently listened to my naïve questionings, always filling me with wise piece of advice. And at the same time his story gave me a magisterial lesson in English, his counsels helped me to grow up, face the reality, and take upon myself, in a way, consolidate all those premises my ex-love had seeded inside of me. And I still am persuaded that someone able to write such marvelous things could not be half as the jerk he claims to be…

Maybe, at that very time, Carisa was already being a catalyst. Not only in her grave of digital chapters, but enabling a connection I thought it would have never been possible.

And when asked about writing some constructive review (and God knows how those are important, oh yes), I always feel a bit sheepish, and pretty helpless… I know I cannot give any constructive feedbacks on a language point of view, and I wonder if my subjective feelings could be of any help either? Maybe I still hasn’t found the proper way to express all that Carisa brings to me. I feel all those questions and statements swirling in my mind, paragraph after paragraph, and the introspection it sometimes leads to adds another dimension to the reading… Not only do I read for my entertainment, but with the secret hope that, once again, Carisa and her friends will enlight me on one or another subjects….and it still happens that way, even after a few month’s break taken by the writer……

My caring is genuine, though.

My supporting is absolute, with no concession.

For I think that if “The Carisa Meridian” can touch people around as it had touched me, in my heart and soul, then it’s a book definitely worth the writing. And I still want to believe that story-telling is about magic, and not about editorial policies, aimed at a maximum of selling’s, for a minimum of quality.

Now my dream is to see Carisa reverse the processus, and put the Art of Writing back into place.
No more, no less.

Monday, March 14, 2005

Murakami Haruki: "On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning"

Today, I feel like sharing one of my favourite short stories, by one of my fvourite Japanese author....



On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning


One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's
fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.


Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.


Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.


But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the
shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty.

It's weird.

Click here for the full story !!!

Saturday, March 12, 2005

*sobu sobu*

ISPs are sometimes cruel. Please, give me my baby back tomorrow !!!!!

MAHAL NA MAHAL KITA !!!!

MAHAL NA MAHAL KITA !!!!

MAHAL NA MAHAL KITA !!!!

How I miss our adventures... TT

Friday, March 11, 2005

Clear Channel Entertainment

Last Wednesday I watched a TV documentary that made me wonder about a lot of things, - and still is….

Looks like all of the concerts events and festivals held in Belgium are now controlled up to 90% by Clear Channel. As , for example, the famous "Torhout-Wechter Rock Festival"...

I wouldn’t have given a single damn, hadn’t I learned that this US-based company has a control freak policy, kinda…. Looks like the majority of the entertainment, radio stations and posting screens, even the Broadway theaters and shows, are in majority the property of Clear Channel….

…a little Texan Company whose directors are very close to Doubleyou Bush, so it seems…

What if the things I like should be controlled by a single entity, deciding for me what concerts I should go to or not? What if all the radios I love should be Clear-channeled, thus airing filtered programs and songs?

I been searching for reliable infos...and now I feel like “Big Brother” is lurking near……

Protest Website
Belgian Protest Website
Utopia's Blog (tnx for the infos ^ ^)

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Téléchat or the Wonderful World Behind…

Last Saturday, and thanks to my DAIfriend Kaminari no Kami, I had the opportunity to offer myself a great “Back to the Past” trip. Because on my way through old series and cartoons, I stumbled across a little something I had forgotten the importance of… the adventures of a puppet TV speaker cat and his colleague Lola the Ostrich. What they did? Presenting a news bulletin about the World of the Objects, in a n even most serious way than actual news programs, or so it seemed from my 6 year old point of view…

Of course, I never believed there where gluons in every objects surrounding me (science teachers, of course, introduced me to the worlds of electrons, but I always preferred the more romantic approach of Téléchat ^ ^), neither did I believe that the mixer was actually evil. (But you never know for sure, with those devices don’t you? ^^)

I think that what fascinated me was that whole world I was being offered to see, so weird, but so normal at the same time, obeying to its own set of logic. It kinda freed my own imagination. Had me getting a glimpse of what the mind only could do, and more important, not to be ashamed of what the mind only could do.

I cannot tell for sure if it was when I started to create imaginary friends, but I wouldn’t be surprised by some connections in between…As far as I can recall it, I always see my little self living in two separate universe at the same time. Maybe being an only child, living secluded in a country farm, with no phone and no friends around, and no money to spend in expensive toys helped the process, I don’t know…

I still remember clearly the kind of stories I indulged my courageous self in… The courtyard became a town streets, the stables became little shops or houses, and the garden and orchard had no more boundaries, only the ones my imagination wanted to give them: be it the wild wild forest, or another planet, or merely the town next door….Constants were: villains were everywhere, and had to have their ass kicked off for good. My wooden sword was always faithful on my side, and my wooden horse (in fact a long wooden pole) always waited for me near my bike. Clothing of course went alike, and my mom complained very often about a missing dress or a ruined item. Though, after having seen me running around in long dresses, bawling “LET’S GET THEEEEEEEEEEM” thousand times a day, she finally gave up and gladly abandoned her clothes for a bit of piece in the house.

However the places and objects are still fresh in my mind, I couldn’t recall a whole story of mine… I know that I was always impersonating the kind of winged, fearless creature, half an angel/half a demon, always saving the world regardless of her own sake. There was always sadness lingering, like a fatal curse, or lost friend… Never was I the lovely princess falling for the Charming Prince. I was something in between a guy and a marvelous creature, maybe a woman after my clothes only…Funny because my bf’s blog pictures reminded me somehow of those fantastic creatures I love to hang around with in my head.

The game generally started in the morning, then was being cut off by some mom asking for lunch time, or any fatigue or boredom. Then I would officially say “time out” (or else, lots of curse and evils would have occurred ^ ^), they gladly set my self in front a sheet of paper or a book.

Funny to say, my courageous self never supported being seen by strangers eyes. Whenever I saw some passers by, enjoying the charms of our Mother Nature, and passing by my house, I would desperately seeking for a hiding place (god bless stable doors, barns filled with old weird stuffs or high wheat herbs) staying quiet until the danger had passed. Maybe the kind of shyness that make me feel silent and uneasy when in face of strangers is a remnant of those times…

Haha….I know that most of those stories could make me look like an insane person….Especially when you know that some of my friends shared the same vision of the world as me….And that this imaginary world stayed looooooooooooooonger with me than the average norm. Girls around me were falling in love for famous singers, but I was still enamored with my fantasy world…

Of course, being now a grown-up, that fantasy world lives only in my memory. I lost that ability of spontaneously impersonate different peoples (I was actually speaking aloud, able to talk with a good amount of imaginary..I won’t say buddies, more like creatures) I lost the ability of having myself cry for real simply by imagining a scene. I lost that need to seek for solace in my own mind. I lost the urge to find my imaginary self more acceptable than my real person. I guess what remains now, is an ability to act, and to perform. For when you sing, or when you’re onstage, it’s only becoming someone else for a while… it’s only being able to express another part of your inner person…


Haha… some might think “yeah, but what’s the point with that Téléchat memory then?”

To be honest, I think there is nothing more than imagination. How far this can lead you. When I see know kids having RPG games on their super computers, ten thousands TV programs especially made for them, DVDs, movie heroes and gadgets…. I simply cannot understand how they can even get a bored expression on their face.

Or maybe I can understand it too well. Where’s the fun, when everything is prepared for you? Where’s the fun of following someone else’s dream? I maybe had nothing of all these technological novelties, but at least, my imagination was my own.

And believe or not, if that “Leguman” dude was going to kick my mixer’s ass for good was never answered. I still had the power to believe in it…or not.

Friday, March 04, 2005

Weekend Wanted

I feel like there's a big blank hole inside of my mind.

I'm inside a maze, and I cannot find the way out.

I want so many things at the same time I don't even know what I really want.

I am cold, and lacking of sleep, that may be the explanation. Chills can always make me feel strange... Sneezing are a pest by the way...

Today, waiking up with "Nothing else matters" on the radio. Some days feel like they are just meant to be.

Slowly getting used with the mod control panel. Moving topics back and forth as training ground.

Learning to try and be right, by watching myself first. Hard. Very hard. Not a single decision I take without thinking it all at least thrice.

Wondering what I am gonna eat this noon.

Wanting my home, my own computer, my bed, my dreams.

Never wanna let things change up to the point of no-return.

Feeling optimistic. At last.

Wondering about dark people. Wondering if their outbursts of rage are nothing but unease and a certain kind of sadness. Wondering about finding the key back to their heart. Hoping they can free themselves at last.

Anger, hatred, agressivity. All destructive, whatever the form they take.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Poor Lonesome Cowboy

I remember this guy, last Sunday night...

I was taking the streetcar back home. As usual, when i have a big backpack to carry over, i stand up in the middle section of the carriage, so that i won't hinder anyone's way....

Then the guy came in. His look was tattered, made of old, laid back clothes. Old cap, old mittens, a two day's beard, he carried a guitar with him. Never have you seen such an old instrument, no case, tape here and there....

He started tune his guitar, poorly having the sounds matching. As he pulled the first chord, I turned my gaze away. He start singing in English, his hands pulling basic chords that matched the song not too badly...and his voice was like honey to my ears. And as he was telling us about rivers and deserts, I felt so sad I couldn't even have moved or anything. As he finished his song, he took his old cap off, and ask a little something for the music.

I felt really ashamed, not even having a coin or two in my pockets, and even if i have had some, I would have felt ashame just giving away little money. I would have felt like throw a dog a bone. So I lowered my head even more, pretending he was invisible to me.

I don't know if this guy was a scam or not. For, granted, we meet a lot of them fakers, from poor mother to limping dudes, begging the regular 9 to 5 in the streets.

But, Jesus, you never know, right?

And I remember having seen that guy already, well, having listened to that very song already.... He was there, politely offering a song, maybe this is all what he has after all... Taht night, as I was coming back to my home sweet home, I felt a bit uneasy, seeing my pot of little coins waiting on my desk. Would have I been that broken, had I given him a buck?

Next time I swear, I will give him something. some might say to buy me a paradise. I think that all I 'd want, is to thank him for that weird emotion he gave me... And for changing my point of view about things I took for granted for so long...