Funny.

Tegenwoordig kunnen kleine meisjes groot zingen.

En vroeger kon dat ook wel. Maar toen was alles geforceerd, ingeleid en nep - fake. Nu, niet. Meer. Het zijn echte stemmen die weg dwarrelen in de onvergetelheid van het onzinnige. Stemmen, nymfenmeisjes die zweven op oneindige onschuldigheid.

She does not grasp the emotion of it all.

Bon Iver claims that love can be skinny. Love cannot be skinny though, it can only be fat and thick.. and omnipresent. In both mind and physic. Love can't be of a different kind, or of a different substance. It will always feel the same. It will always hurt as much as give pleasure. Love has so many sides, it will always be equivelent to itself. It will always be as much good as it is bad, needed as much as neglected to a bad state of mind. Love can't be skinny.

Fold my old week and unfold a new one.

And so I started listening to new music and it made me wonder, wonder away into a world of more wonders to wonder about. Birdy is just a copy-cat with a nice voice. But technically cats can't have voices, they only miauw. So something is not really right there. James Vincent McMorrow is going to Lowlands. Which depresses me, because I can't go to Lowlands this year, for the first time in three years. And it would be the first time I wouldn't see this person at Lowlands, which would be different. Now I'm not going though, and apparently the person in question isn't either. Apparently it had the same urge as I did. The urge to start something new, get active. And now we're both going to do the same thing. Coincidences can be so surprising at times. I don't mind. Because this music I started listening today, and a few days before this day, has made me realize this is my time. I feel good. 1901 is a really nice song. It makes me feel new things inside. Gives me some sort of an epiphany. I have been way too cranky this past week for a person that lives such a wonderful life in such a magnificent world. I will sort out all the knots of the pretzel this week. Untie all the chaos in my head. Give new beginnings to loose ends.

Soms kan lesstof inspireren.

Nu inspireert het mij om ze na te doen. Maar dan in mijn eigen versie.

Het leven de jouwe,

het leven de zijne.

Maar mijn leven is mijne.

Wat niet van jou zijn kan,

is ook niet het zijne.

Wat van dit leven is, is

het hare

het mijne

Maar wat ik niet grijpen kan,

kan slechts

Verdwijnen.

-Prins.

FUCK YOU

I am drenched in hatred. I would so badly like to drown your head in the sweat of an ugly man. I would like to punch your molded face and spit in your every sad cell. Cut your arrogant face off, peel it piece by piece and sell it to all the people that hate you as well. I would like to shout at you, yell at you, fight you, give you a miserable life.

But I'm putting on a huge smile, as you waste away in misery.
And I am not lowering myself to your level, you're just a mere finch of my 20-year old past.

The world in an eggshell.

Unbelievable.

It's so strange how the universe can be just like a creature that swallows up other little creatures. Just like this picture. The smaller circled thingy is supposed to be the remnant of a former space galaxy. As goes that each larger galaxy eats up the smaller dwarf galaxies. I am merely repeating the facts another article has just fed my brain with, but still, I would like to share this with you. So actually, galaxies eat other galaxies. This means that they are just like cannibalistic people and just like fish that eat each other... so in turn a galaxy can be seen as a living organism. Which it is, in fact. It moves, rotates, consists of particles that affect other particles. And the distance at which these particles 'live' can be measured in years, which also apply to humans. This remnant, this dwarf galaxy, this remaining black hole is 200 million years old. The part where my brain cells get lost in a weird mumbo jumbo is HOW can people like us measure years? When this thing we're measuring is so beyond human, beyond imagination, beyond measurable. I still don't believe them.

I don't mean to close the door but. For the record, my heart is sore.

ik wil helemaal niets. en dat is ook een beetje het probleem...

soms

Soms, in barre tijden als deze, doe ik 's avonds mijn bikini aan. Puur voor het zomerse gevoel. Soms vind ik dat fijn, niet altijd.

Contradictions in my mind.

Studying is something so useless, yet it forms your life to a point where it has meaning. The book lying in front of me debates the concepts of meaning and words representing the meaning of an object. Representation; this new course that belongs to the new semester that has just begun. Norman Bryson is this man who thinks he can legitimately state philosophical thoughts by using words no one really knows the meaning of. Even the book itself says it's not important to know these words. Actually I am laughing right now at how difficult people can be about such simple things sometimes. And deep inside I know that maybe this is the exact thing I find interesting. This is the exact thing I chose for, in the end Film and Literature are about representing things that aren't really there, or at least not now, in the time it is being conceived. I hate having to read these things but at the same time I love the complexity of it all.







It's weird. I know.

"Just at the point where the eye thinks it knows the form and can afford to skip, the image proves that in fact the eye had not understood at all what is was about to discard." -Norman Bryson

Nothing, just nothing. Useless and nothing, just all we need.

Balloony Geese. Or aren't they?

Listening to Foster the People "Helena Beat"makes me wonder about all the simple things that surround me. Just a few minutes ago I was sitting in the car, my brother embracing the steering weel, moving the car forwards. The sun was setting, and I saw a group of geese rise to the sky like a set of balloons. In their beautiful 'V' shape. One at the front, switching places every once in a while. They are such amazing animals, however due to their annoying personalities their beauty isn't seen as often as it should. They fly, swift through the air... floating on the horizon. After a while we drove past that same group of geese setting themselves down on a new spot. A place where they could hide themselves from the rest of the world. Be their own selves. Another fascinating site to see: two people biking through a Dutch landscape. Looking at each other, heavily involved in their conversation. You can call it what you want, decide which color you are, but I want to be red. Not just the simple red, the cheap red people with no sense of style use as their curtains. I am bordeaux red. A color, full and intense in its own mysterious way. Comforting and deep. A color I can confide in, let my emotions float in. But sometimes the color branches out, into different varieties of that color. Just like a tree can branch out into different, yet still the same, but smaller versions of itself. Each branch branching out into other 'littluns'. Each depending on the other larger branch. In the end, it will always be the bigger branch they owe their existence to. Just like how the littluns in 'The Lord of the Flies' by William Goulding are dependent on the older children, like Ralph and Jack. The big ones eventually decide which course the littluns will head in. The more agressive one, where they hunt for animals and eachother. Or the course of the decent people, the course where they try to survive by acting logically. Branches also have the ability of making their own decisions. Sometimes one decides to branch out, into smaller and more gentle branches. Sometimes a branch grows out a new, maybe even bigger and tougher branch. Sometimes they just stop branching out. They stop. Like some characters in the novel just stopped living. Gave up on life or gave up fighting. I'm not giving up yet. I still want to branch out.