blog's gone pro

I am very excited. This is the first post I was commissioned to write. At last, two months after this blog’s debut, someone recognizes my talent and asks me to write something. Actually, that was my goal in the first place: to be commercial, to earn money out of this. That’s why I post my friends’ heartbreaking stories, that’s my I try to create an articulate and mysterious image about myself, that’s why I don’t disclose anything in MY PROFILE link, that’s why I am willing to sell out just in order to succeed!!!
So, a small step for the blog world, a giant leap forward for my bank account. Thank you very much in advance Katerina!!!

Well, here’s how the story went…

YK passed by the office to pick me up. He paid his dues, took his goody bag, gave me a present from Berlin and… off we went…
- Where to?
- To the Grand Britain lobby. There, at the bar.
- Oh, fine. I hope the treat’s on you
- You’d wish
- Hardcore Arena wrote a new post, back from the grave…
- Yeah, I know… I bumped into him when I got out of the tube. He was holding a peacock feather… It would strike me as weird if it were for anyone else…
- Yup, that was him alright. But he is soooooooo funny. The other day we were talking about music and I said: “I hate blues music! It’s just for losers. I hate these «oh baby why d’ya treat me this way, while I deserve to be treated with respect» lyrics. I only have 25 blues records. 25! Among a total of 45.000!!!” And, smoothly as always, he remarked “Well, that’s 25 more blues records than I got!!!”
- Yes, he’s funny

A couple of more…erm, funny dialogues later, we were entering GB lobby. And that was when yk said “Oh, I forgot, I hope u don’t mind. I told the girls we would meet them here”
- What girls?
- Oops, I forgot about that, didn’t I?
- What girls? Oh, hello lady L, hello Catherine!!!
- That girls!
- Phew… For a moment there…
- Consider it to be a double date…
- Ok, which one is my date?
- What about me?
- I’ll pass…

So we sat there. The four of us.
The youngest was 27. The oldest 36. And the in-between… 31.
Now… some numbers to spice up your imagination...
50% had just arrived from Berlin
100% work in the movie business
25% work for an international company
75% have worked for Athens International Film Festival
25% have worked for Rockwave Festival
75% like guys, not women
75% have wore, at least once, women’s lingerie… [surprise: not the same 75%]
0% is virgin
100% appreciate good music
75% have been in the United States
25% were on a diet
25% ordered some sweets [not the same 25%]
50% drank gin & tonic
75% live by themselves
25% live with their soul mate
0% thought of a foursome [!!!]
0% was happy when a famous tv persona with a gay beard came in uninvited

but it was fun anyway…

And then a new entry came along and the numbers changed but… oh, never mind!!!

Topics we tried to discuss but were not so focused so as not to change subjects every three minutes:
· film festivals
· clint eastwood
· berlin’s delicatessen
· women’s underwear
· e-mails
· blogs
· strange, yellow, spiky fruits with exotic names
· german waitresses
· back & forth, I’d take you both
· blond hair
· film producers
· bus hostages & bus pirates
· butts and but’s
· I never invite you because…
· [low] wages
· the declaration of independence
· box
· common friends
· press screenings
· a famous tv persona with a gay beard [the one who showed up just minutes after that]. Correction: a famous gay tv persona with a beard more like it…
· my best man’s marriage
· the Tom Cruise look-alike from Fame Story III
· macademia & chocolate

When the piano player started to earn his living, we got up. Outside, the cold wind gave us a welcome-to-reality boost. The National Front was protesting against the immigrants who were protesting against the Nation who was just sitting back and watched. We passed them by. yk said goodbye and turned left, obviously to point out his political beliefs. We turned right, just because we had parked there…
A guy in a motorbike was listening to Thanos Petrelis. But very loud! Really really loud!!! And his speakers were full of this ex Fame Story meets Phoebus sound… And he was singing, “My blood, blue like the sky” etc.. And just ten meters away hundreds of people were ready to kill each other. The girls laughed. I told them that the guy on the motorbike was nothing more [or less, for that matter] than just the average sample of their future mate choices. They stopped laughing. I think that must have been when I said goodbye as well…

harry potter eat my dust

“Why don’t you write something?”, they say…
Why don’t I?
“Don’t you have anything to say?”
Now, that wouldn’t be that bad for a change…
“Why don’t you then? Why?”
‘Cause… I don’t know…
Ok, that’s a lie. But, usually, you know, when someone says “I don’t know”, he/she knows perfectly well but, obviously, he/she doesn’t want to share. Because if he/she shares, there might be a chance he/she’s going to lose something. What’s that? The feeling of plain magic. Something that happened but was too… magical for you to actually consider it to be nothing more than just a done thing from the past. It’s like Greece having won the Euro Cup. Only better. Much better.

So… some could call it a great day.
Yes, it was, wasn’t it?
But it was more. Because it was kind of magic. And, by the way, do you know what’s the… erm, great thing about magical days? They last more than 24 hours…
And no, to be honest, real magic doesn’t vanish even if u share. But why on earth would someone do a thing like that?
:-)
Oops, got to go. My carpet ride’s here…

blank

He showed up again. He called to say it’s a shame to be working when the sun I shining, the birds are signing and… ok, you get the picture. I agreed. So I did a coffee break and went out to meet him. First, however, I made him promise me a name wouldn’t come up. He promised. And he kept his promise. We talked about football, music, food, favorite vodka brands, birthday presents, the Radio 4 gig tomorrow, our parents, our jobs, movies you know… indifferent but entertaining stuff. Coffee talk. Helps you enjoy the good weather even more. And I don’t even drink coffee!!!
But I knew what he was really thinking underneath it all. So, as we walked back in my office he mentioned something about computers and then…

“You try to spot something on the internet, you type down you addresses, click on links, browse on search engines, do your best, ask for help, log into google and then your server breaks down or something and you see a white page. A page that you cannot write anything on. It’s, as it says on the upper left line… page: blank. But not a blank to be filled. Blank period. A useless blank. It’s just there. It’s the last thing you need but the only thing you get.
Well… that’s me. BLANK”

I looked into his eyes. Fucking hell! He was right. He was blank. The most joyous and energetic man I know lost his sparkle… I am sure it’s there somewhere but he is actually blank.
I didn’t know what to say. I said goodbye. He just smiled. I am still shocked. What if this ever happens to me? How does it feel to be blank? How does it feel not to feel? And what could you possibly do about it, when all your best friend can think of is just an equally… “blank” goodbye?

But, I mean, what I was supposed to do? I was stunned. There he was, my best friend, a guy I know for ages and with whom I’ve been around almost everywhere… totally blank. And I don’t know what exactly was wrong with that picture… But I couldn’t add anything to it. No colors, no sketches, no dots, no spots, nothing…
I hope he will find his palette sometime soon, although I can’t help thinking that he has given it away to someone really special. And I know this friend of mine pretty well. He’s not going to claim it back. And sad though I may be to admit it, by [not] doing so, he’s just true to himself, to his feelings, to her. So, maybe he is a hero after all…

last post on the bugle

That’s how the British call the sound the trumpet makes when it’s time for all lights to be turned off and all soldiers to be quiet and get some sleep. After that last post, there is nothing but silence – and some sleepless guards I guess…

That’s a also Libertines’ song. But it’s not just a song. It happens to be the best song of my enire life. At least for this month…

It begins with a plain drum rhythm for six seconds. Then a minimal garagesque riff begins. And, within four seconds, the second guitar starts making this amazing distorted reverb.

And then it steals your heart, because you can listen to a piece of paper being cut off a notebook. And, how I imagine it, our hero begins to write something [maybe a “post” in another idiom]. But he is not satisfied, because a couple of seconds later we hear sounds that tell us the paper is being torn to pieces…
Mind you, the whole feeling is kind of retro, with a touch of 60s naïve rebellion [Mick Jones, of Clash fame, who took over the production, has something to do with it, as, he, from all people, knows exactly how to capture a good moment when he spots one…].
Some handclaps are added somewhere at this point and… the voice enters, just half a minute after that first drumming beat.
And here is what he has to say…

If I have to go
I will be thinking of your love
Oh somehow you’ll know
You will know
Thinking of your love

And there comes that haunting, minimal riff again, but the singer goes on breathless…

Slyly they whispered away
As I played the last post on the bugle
I heard them say
Oh that boy’s no different today
Except in every single way

Now the melody starts all over again, but you are already heartbroken because of that boy being no different… except in every possible way!!!

If I have to go
I will be thinking of your love
Oh somehow you’ll know
Just know you’ll
Thinking of your love

Oh, I was carried away
Caught up in an affray
As they led him away, he sang
We’ll meet again some day
Oh my boy, there’s a price to pay

I guess there always is one, yes… Too high a price maybe…But never mind me. Please keep on singing there. Don’t let this song ever end!!!

If I have to go
I will be thinking of your love
Oh somehow you’ll know
I don’t know how but you’ll know
I’ll be thinking of your love

And the guitar breaks in a small solo just in time to be covered by the most popular and familiar lyric ever

La-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la

And then the bass sound stops and it’s just the guitar riff and the snare drum and your heart melts again… But it gets better, yes. Because although you think you have just experienced the absolute listening bliss, the guy starts talking in a low voice. He doesn’t sing. He just reads the following words…

Inside I felt
So, so alone
Locked in a room
Waiting till kingdom come
Although I felt elated
I felt like I was scum

But then our scum is carried away by his enthusiasm so he forgets that he’s supposed to continue whispering or something and lets his voice guide him through singing routes again. It couldn’t possibly get any better than this!!!

I was carried away
Caught up in an affray

As they led him away, he sang
We’ll meet again some day
Oh my boy, there’s a price to pay

Now he’s kind of tired, almost exhausted after all this sincere coming out but he's not about to give up. Not just yet...

Feels like I’ve never been away
Though it’s been longer than I could possibly say
I’ve been wandering the market
Carrying a sign, saying the end of…

That's it. The end is near, so he’s ready for his tour-de-force

The word is nigh
I’m glad to see we’re still tight
The bonds that tie a man are tight

There is no more singing now. Just a statement, whether you like it or not…

Yet we do what we do
With rituality
All through the night

And that’s about it, actually. 2 minutes and 32 seconds long. No string arrangements, no brass interludes, nothing. Just two guitars, one bass, a drum kit and a passionate voice. But it’s just perfect. Nothing’s missing.

It’s one of these songs that I would like to play to you. Sitting together by the cd player. Or bringing this song to bed one rainy morning. Or turning the volume up in the car while driving off. Or whatever. Whatever, as long as you let me play it to you. And see this excitement in my eyes. Not because I find this song to be thrilling and life affirming and all that but because I have the privilege to share it with YOU. Now that’s what I would say, if I had the chance.

But I guess we listened to the last sound on the bugle. So there is nothing but silence. Just a sleepless guard. But if I had to go…well you know what I would be thinking of…

hero my arse

He did nothing.
He just locked away his cell phone.
Went out, drank his guts and tried to numb himself.
I guess he did that.
But nothing more.
And numb is not enough.
Because there’s always tomorrow.
And the day after.
And she’s out there somewhere but he’s not after her.
That’s just not fair.
And a couple of minutes ago, he called me to say all that.
What was he expecting really? Was I supposed to say “Oh, it’s ok, nevermind, as long as you’re fine about it…”
Because, thing is, HE IS NOT FINE ABOUT IT! And if I am to take it to a personal level, it’s me who’s gonna be waken up again in the future by post midnight phone calls, drunken mumblings, sobbings and re-runs!!! But I’ve seen that movie before and it sucks.
So, what I told him, after a moment of total silence, was a very minimal, cruel but fair thing to say…
“Really? Hats off, mate! I’m really proud of you. Yes, most probably, she wouldn’t fall for your pathetic begging, she wouldn’t just kiss you passionately and forget about everything, she wouldn’t say with tears in her eyes that she thought you’d never tried to reach her again. No, most probably, she wouldn’t. But now… she certainly don’t. So, really, if that’s ok with you… fine by me. Just don’t ever mention her to me again. Is that clear?”
“Whose side are you on?”, he asked, pretty confident, however, I wouldn’t dignify that with an answer – which I didn’t. I hung up, took my coat and went out.
Fucking hell! It almost feels nice to know there are others… worse than us, doesn’t it?

problem is...

There is a mediocre song but this nevermind-you-have-not-heard-of band called Deckard. The song is “1000 Things”. I like the lyric there’s a thousand things I’d like you to know…
To me, these words mean that he doesn’t know how to put it. The feeling is there but he cannot exactly express it. So, instead of failing to let her know all those things, he doesn’t say a single word. And he just stares at her…
Last night, I fell asleep at 4.30 in the morning. I had come back late and got myself into Bill Drummond’s 45, an excellent and hilarious book about pop culture in general, but in a very special autobiographical way… So when I turned off the lights, I didn’t expect that, half an hour later, my friend SP would call to wake me up and ask whether it would be alright to pass by.

- “But it’s five o’ clock man!”
- “Yeah, I know, sorry about that, but I really need to talk…”

So I told him it was ok and in less than five minutes the doorbell rang. He stepped into the mess I call the living room, and started talking about the love of his life and how he couldn’t live without her and what he was supposed to do, and how could he ever find the strength to go on and how much he wanted a second chance, how sure he was about not blowing it up this time around…
And there I was, tired as fuck, listening to the same old story and feeling sorry for this friend of mine but then again couldn’t help but having this thought that he was just playing miserable, whereas he was the only one to blame for what he jeopardized – and eventually lost.
He said that he couldn’t stand the fact that no other woman seemed to excite him, that he was seeing her in the street almost every day, although it was never actually her. He confessed that he really did try to get over it and accept the fact that life goes on, but found it impossible to forget all about it.

So far… it was ok for him to have woken me up – after all, he’s a true friend. But, to be honest, nothing in his speech gave me a good reason not to go back to bed. After all, as I said, it was not the first time he considered giving me all this story from scratch to be his only therapy. And, God, I needed to sleep…

But then his voice cracked and I saw a tear exploding and rolling… And that was it when I heard him say: “It’s just that… There’s a thousand things I want her to know…”
And I forgot all about sleep, and I wanted to hug him, because what he had just said was so nice and tender that I felt flattered. Flattered that he didn’t give a fuck about his masculine projection to me and just admitted a simple fact. But I didn't give him a hug, because someone had to keep the mascilune thing going, right? :-)

Then it was my turn and, to cut a long story short, I urged him not to do anything but call her up or pass by her office. “If there are so many things you want her to know anyway, what would it hurt to actually let her know in person?” And that was no word of wisdom, that was the sheer logic that anyone who’s not actually THERE can apply to situations like that.

He thanked me and closed the door behind him. There was no point for me to try and get some more sleep. It was time I went to work. But I remembered that song, managed to locate the cd and played it once. And, while I was listening to it, I recalled that moving sequence from “The Weather Man”, where Michael Cane gives one final lesson to his forty-something son:

“Things don’t always work out the way you predict it. Accepting that it’s not easy. It takes a lot of sacrificing.
Sacrifice is to get anything of value…
Do you know that the harder thing and the right thing to do are usually the same thing?
Nothing that has meaning is easy.
Easy doesn’t enter into grownup life.”

Nothing that has meaning is easy...
We’re grownups now, that’s a fact, our id’s and birth certificates being a testimony no one can ignore…
He misses her. A lot. I don’t know what he did about it. We haven’t spoken since that wake-up visit. But, if he took the courage to get in touch, then he can already consider himself a hero in my book. Whatever the result…
Because if there are a thousand things you’d like someone to know, then… why don’t just start today with the most important one? Life is short, you know. And, let me remind you, we’re all grownups. And time is limited in grownup life...

mr cab driver

Saturday morning. Walking down Ipokratous Street. It’s raining. I like it. But I am late. H.A. is waiting for me @ S&M. So I stop a taxi. The driver says “good morning” first. Now that’s a first indeed. A couple of seconds later, I realize that I am listening to Tom Jones’ “I’ll Never Fall In Love Again”. I turn and look at the cd player. I can read the artist’s name and song title on display. That’s no radio. That’s a cd-r!
“Mp3 actually”, he says, reading my mind. “It has saved my life. I drive around town for so long I need good music to get by”… I ask some questions. I find out that he owns 10.000 records. He recalls the first time he saw Shirley Bassey performing live. He wants to know my opinion on Engelbert Humberdinck. He mentions Bobby Darin, Charles Trenet, Edith Piaf, Frankie & Dino… I am amazed!!! This guy knows a crooner from a copy cat… We arrive @ Skoufa. This is where I get off. “It was really nice meeting you”, I say and I mean that. It was nice. And it was extra-ordinary.

Thursday night. I walk outside the Box drunk and knackered… I raise my hand. A taxi stops. I enter… I try to remember where I am supposed to go. I tell him. I hope he will not be in the mood for talking. When I am drunk, I find it extremely difficult to concentrate on what the other guy’s trying to say to me and it’s almost impossible for me to talk in an articulate way. But he wastes no time. No time at all. He points at my cd bags and asks “What do you carry there mate?”
“Give me a fucking break” is the first thing that crosses my mind but I don’t say that. I just listen for a while to the radio, notice we are listening to Pashalis Terzis or some other greek singer and throw a slow and kind of hostile-coloured line: “Cd’s. Just some cd’s”. “Wow!”, he says… “So many? What for? Are you a DJ or something?”
– “Something…”
– “And? Where do you play?”
– “There’s a bar…”
- “What’s the name of your bar?”
– “It’s not MY bar, it’s just a bar…”
– “Yeah, alright, but which one?”
- “Would it make any difference?”
– “But I know all of them, I want to know!”
– “Ok then, it’s called the BOX!”
– “And what music do you play?”
– “Various stuff. Not that well known…”
– “Try me”.
– “It would be pointless”
– “Try me. I know almost everything”
– “Well, I don’t play greek music”
– – “Why on earth do you say that? I know you don’t play greek music in the BOX. I asked what do YOU play!!!”
– “And I said you wouldn’t know…”
– “C’mon buddy, don’t be so negative. Try me!”
– “Ok then, you asked for it. LCD Soundsystem, Medeski,
Martin & Wood, Shriekback, Haircut 100, that kind of stuff”

I smile. I lay back. I win. He loses. He’s lucky I am no Tom Cruise in Collateral… but at least now it’s time for him to shut up. I am wrong…

– “Ok, got it”
– “I am glad you did”
– “What about Frankie? Do you play Frankie?”
– “Yeah, I do sometimes, but obviously you didn’t understand what I just said, otherwise you wouldn’t ask about Sinatra…”
– “No, I mean Frankie Goes To Hollywood!”
– “Gasp! Yes…”
– “Relax is a classic. Do you remember Lefteris Kogalidis? Back in the late 70s, he was saying that, when people go out, they only wanna listen to good music and forget about their personal problems. That’s what Frankie Goes To Hollywood do to me…”

As he keeps on explaining why music is so important in his life, I open the window so that the cold air would sober me up a little. And here I am, at the back of a yellow taxi, five hours before my morning wake-up call, listening to a fifty something driver talking about FGTH and 80’s electro pop and rock music and music journalism and...oops, EN LEFKO radio station…
And I make the mistake to tell him I had a show once at the very same station. And he asks my name, and I have nothing to hide […], so I just answer back, and he confesses he was a fan but lectures that my music choices were everything but commercial and also boring sometimes.
But I am too drunk to get mad and explain why it was neither but no one can please both 20 year old students and 55 year old taxi drivers within two hours but now that I come to think of it… it was all so very funny. Because at the same time we were listening to Pashalis Terzis and he did bother to explain to me why, after two o' clock in the morning, there is nothing better to listen to the radio and I couldn’t [still can’t] exactly blame him for that…
And then he starts laughing and repeating my name but I am not THAT drunk to actually believe I am famous among taxi drivers. But he promises to pass by BOX next Sunday for a drink.

And so it happened twice in the same week. What can I say? Maybe I run into the most prolific and cultured taxi drivers in the country. Next thing you know, they’re going to let you chose your favorite radio station for the ride… And indicate the short cuts to your destination. And maybe, just maybe, do the driving and let them rest at the back seat…

speedex

Don’t ask why, but I had to do my best courier impersonation yesterday. I went to this lawyer’s office and asked for an envelope. He was a one-arm guy, but not a midget, like the one starring in David Lynch’s movies [btw, don’t try to read between the lines of the Mullholand Drive’s script – there are no hidden messages whatsoever, it’s all a floating dream]. He asked me the name of the guy to whom I was supposed to get the envelope. Bad luck!
Because the envelope contained two tickets for last night’s football match. And my best man has this friend who knows the one-arm lawyer and he told him to ask for the envelope but I wasn’t told the friend’s name, so I replied using my best man’s name. The lawyer was holding the envelope, ready to give it to me and then get rid of me. But when he heard a name he didn’t recognize, he let it down and said, annoyed: “Who’s this? Don’t know the guy. Cannot give this to you, sorry”. Now, I was in the mood of obtaining two tickets for the game and I was determined to attend my team’s victory, so no bloody lawyer could take that from me. So, after years of dealing with couriers, accepting packages and signing receipts, I retained my calmness and said: “Please give me one minute to call at the office!” He nodded. Damn! I should have been an actor…

Then I used my mobile to ring my best man and without saying hi or something I said loudly: “I am at the address where you sent me and there is nothing here for the name I had written down. I think I may have been given wrong info. Can you please repeat to me all details?” Well, my best man is clever but obviously not THAT clever, so, instead of getting the point and reacting accordingly, he started shouting: “What the fuck are you talking about mate? Did you take the tickets? Don’t be an asshole; please I am not in the mood! There was no need to tell the guy any names. All I asked was to go there and pick up the fucking envelope. Now how difficult can that be, you moron???” Cell phones are as public friendly as speakerphones. Anyone can listen to the guy at the other line. So did the lawyer. I started feeling guilt. There I was, pretending to be an innocent courier, asking for something that typically wasn’t supposed to be given to me, and being surrounded by books about justice, prisons, punishments, crimes etc. But, like I have already said, I should have been an actor. Because I didn’t panic. I just stood there, smiling and replied to my best man’s hysteria: “Okeedokee!!! Now I got it. I mixed names & addresses. My mistake. So the envelope is for another gentleman. I’ll take care of it, don’t’ worry!”

I hung up the phone. I smiled at the lawyer. “How silly of me. It happens you know… It’s the nature of this job…” The lawyer, without saying a single word, looked at me suspiciously and got the envelope back in his hand [and take that literally]. The moment I got it, I said, “Thank you very much” and disappeared, almost certain that he would call the police soon after to chase me down.
Nah, he didn’t bother that much. But when I got back at my office, sat in front of my computer and started submitting budget proposals and big ideas, resting my ass on my executive SATO chair, I couldn’t but smile.
Working as a manager and pretending to be a courier is something like wearing a wig so as to have sex with your wife after thirty years of marriage at the toilet of a restaurant: refreshing! And, as I won’t be trying the latter for some time, I may as well try again to repeat the former. Even without a motorbike…

bullet points

· The artist: Johnny Boy, The title: You are the generation that bought more shoes and you got what you deserve, The label: Mercury, The format: cd single & 12”, The producer: James Dean Bradfield, The sound: brilliant Spector-ish pop
· My definition of DJ heaven: a place where people like what they get instead of getting what they like
· The crowd. The pitch. The warm beer. The cursing. The explicit comments. The spitting. The agony. The torture. The limited view. The “but it was off side mate!” mumblings. The freezing cold. The bad seat. The bad seeds. Our Kapsis-less defensive line. No killer strikers. The Danish virtuosity [what?] The eternal waiting for the next train. The disappointment in case we lose. Total bliss, wouldn’t you say? But I got tickets. And I will be there. 21.30, Denmark here we come!!!!!!!!!!!!

sometimes you lose and sometimes you lose big

It was frightening. The crowd, the howls, the cheer leaders, the lion, the terror. Bloodsport for all, they say. Well… not for me I say...
Last Friday I joined forces with Hardcore Arena for his ultimate battle. But this is no Memento. I’m gonna write down the story as it happened, starting from… erm, the start!
We met @ Metropolis downtown. He was looking for some Cure cd singles. I wanted to exchange the U2 album & dvd I have mentioned in my previous post. I took the new Obi album at the cashier desk and discovered I should pay six more euros, even if the Obi thing didn’t include any bonus dvd whatsoever. I think that Bono is to blame for that – remind me to ask him for a complete refund!!!
Anyhoo, we left the store and started walking our way to the Box. He wasn’t in a good mood but, when asked, he just answered it was post-office exhaustion. But that was not true. He was just dead worried about the forthcoming battle. Nevertheless, three tequilas and one onion pie later, he didn’t look that tired to me. He even gave me a goodie bag full of albums [Chemicals, Alex Lloyd, M83, Laurent Garnier, X-Cutioners, etc]. Instead of suffering a... sudden bliss attack, I had a devastating headache for no apparent reason [the previous night’s vodka units consumed excluded] and, for a moment there, it looked like Hardcore Arena would lose an ally!!! But T.T. joined us soon afterwards, brought along lots of free cd’s for both of us [I am so fucking happy I own a copy of the TEUTONIC compilation, with German electro bands back from the early 80s!!!] and a wonderful present: the 3-dvd edition of HELLBOY, along with a comic book and a great action figure of the red big guy himself! Marvelous!!!!!!!!! Can you think of any better painkiller? I, for one, can’t!!!

Anyhoo, when it was time to go, we shot one more drink and then tested our armors, bows and arrows. Ready to fight we got out and let the cold wind hit our faces. Yes, that was definitely a cause worth fighting for…
A couple of minutes later we entered the arena. It was packed with spectators thirsty for blood and massacre but we were pretty determined not to do them any favors. At first we were afraid, we were petrified… oops, wrong lyric!!!
It’s easy to say “I am gonna hold my hammer tight and fight till there’s no one standing except me” but it’s another thing to actually be there. And boy we were there… All three of us. But the lion never showed up. Our back up never came. The cavalry went missing. And we were left alone. And then curtains fell, doors were closed and locks were…erm locked. And the battle began. And our opponent was cruel and big and mean and dirty and strong and so fucking unmovable!!! And he had some problems in the beginning but then he got it straight and it was obvious we were outgunned for good, so we started to retreat and I was hearing voices asking for help but I had to save my ass and that was already too darn difficult. And there were losses. There was collateral damage. And, hands down, we lost. At least we managed to gather our colors and save our flag and left through a tiny door. It was dark, rainy and dangerous, outside. But we managed to escape, without having to surrender. So we kept our pride. And, although I wouldn’t go back for all the money in the world [well, almost], I don’t consider that to be a lost battle. It was worth it. And, if u ask me, one should never give up and always try to win. But it’s not my battle. I’ve given mine and lost already. So I can’t practically help. I can only urge the other[s] to try again. And then win. I’ll drink to that…

Unfortunately, Hardcore Arena was so into this mother of all battles that no one has heard from him ever since. I know he’s ok, or at least he was when we parted ways. Rumor has it he’s only preparing for the next hit. Others would say he’s given up blog updating and site-seeing [wow! cool wordplay – got it?], just to work out and feel strong enough to face the fear again… I tried to reach him but all I got was a press clipping stating he will emerge Friday or Saturday out of nowhere. And through the grapevine I heard he left this world and went to live up to his LUCKY STAR, if u catch my drift [you don’t, I know…]. Who knows... I sure hope he’ll be back soon. The world is empty without him and the blog-world is rather poor without his jukebox choices and memoirs from a past, urban life…

If u worry about T.T…. simply don’t. I don’t know if he has any money left after having purchased his gift to me but he’s just fine. To tell the truth, it looks like he's gonna bury us all :-)

And… as for me…
well…
you know me – I’m a veteran of lost battles but still in one piece, so I should make something right, I guess. You could say I’m born to survive. I’d say I don’t have anything to lose, so…who can beat that?

loving the alien

Things I did yesterday:

· Spent money I don't have on cd's I don't need
· Witnessed a drug bust. It was violent. Also cool, in a strange way
· Tried unsuccessfully to work
· Walked back home. At last it’s winter!!! Best season for city walks…
· Decided to start an on line business with footballholic
· Took a shower
· Read Paul Lester’s reviews in UNCUT mag
· Had a conversation with a taxi driver concerning AEK’s triumph over PAO. He was devastated. Obviously, we don’t support the same team
· DJ’ed until 03.30
· Got drunk
· Given a ride home
· Offered a nightcap
· Refused because Daft Punk were playing in my house
· Fell asleep
· Turned 31 while I was sleeping


Things I did earlier today:

· Woke up with a headache
· Ate pizza for breakfast to fight the alcohol
· Came late @ work
· Saw The Weatherman, a great movie [stay tuned for further info on a future post]
· Replied to sms, e-mails and calls concerning wishes
· Received an sms that rocked my world. Everything melted. Everything collapsed. Nothing mattered. I answered back. Then received another. And that was when I died a little…
· Had a visit from resident alien who brought me a great book and a muffin with a little candle. Very sweet.
· Got U2’s album as a present from a colleague. I think I will take sth else instead… :-)
· Realised I only got 50 euros to spend the month. Yes, it is impossible. No, I don’t know what I will do…
· Decided I won’t do anything particular tonight [Actually, that was last night’s decision but my financial situation didn’t leave much space for any alternatives]
· Wrote a stupid, meaningless post…

I would have it all

Sliding door #1

She smiles. She kisses him. Held his head upon her breast. He sends shivers down her spine. They take off their clothes. Bite each other. Scratches her nails in his back. Make love there, on the wall. Their feet leave the ground… Then on to bed.. Screams. Cum. Hugs, Caress. Her hair. His eyes. Breaths. Breath taking moves. Tears of pleasure. Sleep


Sliding door #2

She sees him smiling. He touches her. He is good. He wants her. She likes him, he’s nice. What’s wrong about that, as Tony Parsons would say… Nothing’s wrong with that. It just ain’t enough… Never mind. She’s drunk anyway. A kiss. Tastes good. Could be the other guy’s kiss, only not that good. She knows. He knows. She knows he knows. But he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on in that pretty little head of hers… Maybe he doesn’t care that much. Maybe he’s not used to thinking about [the other] sex that way. Maybe he’s not that smart… But he’s going to bed with her, and at the end of the day that’s all that matters, isn’t it? “No, it isn’t”, she’d say if she cared enough to speak. But… you don’t necessarily have to kill the one you love. You can avoid that. Just love what you’d kill anyway…


Sliding door #3

Nightime. Bedtime. No stories. No smiley lights. No sleep-tight music on. Nothing. Just her body. Breathing in & out… She wonders where he’d be. In her hours of need… but, who needs love like that, anyway? And, somewhere, in a bar, a band called Blackeyed Susans is playing that song…
“I walked in her streets and I drank in her bars
Laid on my back and counted her stars,
Scratched at her door, until she let me in…”
That song should have been a number one hit – it wasn’t even released as a single…
That guy should have been right beside her, in the same bed – she didn’t even know his whereabouts…


breathe in… breathe out

pineapple princess

There’s some pineapple juice in my fridge.
I haven’t opened it yet.
It’s not my cup of tea, to be honest [obviously it would be a cup of pineapple juice, but don’t blame me for any stupid set phrase there is, ok?].
But it’s there, waiting to be opened, I guess. That’s why it exists. To be drunk. But it won’t. Not anytime soon at least. And as I kept on staring at it this morning, it crossed my mind that it’s going to stay there, at the fridge’s self much more than I wished, or expected. It’s going to stay there longer than it should. Hopelessly waiting. While somewhere out there, glasses are going to be filled up with pineapple juice – but not my glasses and not with that particular juice.
Funny thing is I don’t have many things in my fridge. Mostly cold mineral water, some cheese, yogurt, fruits, a couple of smart drinks, butter, eggs… you know, bachelor’s stuff. But even when the fridge’s completely empty, the cardboard juice is there, still standing, still waiting, still “fresh” and unopened… Somehow, you could say it’s the guard of the fridge. It watches things, silently, patiently, in its own discreet way. It doesn’t interfere, it doesn’t cry out for attention. So I respect it for that. But even if I run out of water, even if I find myself thirsty as hell, even if someone promises me all the money in the world if I manage to drink it at once… I won’t.
Its place is there and… you know what? I plan on buying another one. And I’ll do that, as soon as I make sure that the original one won’t be thrown away. As you may have established by now, its purpose is to be consumed. My dear pineapple juice… you will and that’s a promise. But you don't want me to be the one who'll do the honors, right? We all know you can do better than that...

you don't sparkle [in my eyes]

I am not here. I am an hologram
I am not here. I am gone
What you see is a ghost
I am outta here
I am on my way to the tube
Got to get to them
Through automatic doors
Got to see it through…
They are waiting for me
Man Utd vs Arsenal
Sir Alex vs monsieur Wenger
And I have to pop up @ S&M to do some exchange… don’t ask
Time is running out
They’re not the only ones waiting
Can’t stand me now, don’t stand them up…
Down corridors…
Music is floating around
Got to go, even without a paddle


The Journey, take one…

He’s leaving the building.
He zips up his coat.
He starts walking.
The air is cold, it sobers him up.
He puts on his earphones, presses play.
Sounds fill up his mind. 28 Days Later OST, Queens Of The Stone Age covering Romeo Void, Trashplants… Fuckin’ great! Fuckintastic!!! Still walking...
No money in his pocket, no chains around his neck.
No questions asked, no strings attached.
All by himself.
If only this winter could last longer…
And then the batteries were low and music stopped. That was when Martin showed up, picked up an old fashioned, shiny microphone and did an a capella version of…
BY DEFAULT BY DESIGN
Almost 15 years later, I can still recall him singing these haunting words…

By default by design

Time after time

Maybe you earned it,

Maybe you spurned it

But you got it...

You got it

Call it attraction or charm

Sound the alarm

Maybe you earned it,

Maybe you spurned it

But you got it...

Yes, you got it


Breaking hearts your speciality?

Why did you ever have to come so close to me

Was it love or morbid curiosity?

Either way I’d say that love’s a possibility

Come a little closer,

Let me see you in close detail

The object of my affections

Walked off in the other direction


By default by design

Time after time

Maybe you earned it,

Maybe you spurned it

But you got it...

You got it

Call it attraction or charm

Sound the alarm

Maybe you earned it,

Maybe you spurned it

But you got it...

Yes, you got it


Modern day romeo’s,

Modern day juliet’s

Selling their love for a packet of cigarettes

Still I remember the day that we first met...

And yet so far, so good

So what else can we ever expect?

Come a little closer, let me see you in close detail

The object of my affections walked off in the other direction


By default by design

Time after time

Maybe you earned it,

Maybe you spurned it

But you got it...

You got it

Call it attraction or charm

Sound the alarm

Maybe you earned it,

Maybe you spurned it

But you got it...

Yes, you got it

Gasp… Now that’s what I call a Beauty Stab…
Don’t worry, I’m only bleeding. It's nothing. Just a bruise. Now.. let's cruise for some more booze...