T0p D0g Reloaded

I don’t trust a cleaning lady to put order in my life. Because this is how any major cleaning of the house seems to me. There is one event like this every now and then when the seasons change. The latest spring cleaning revealed to me how I owe you the use of stripe socks. Before you my socks were being unicolour, mostly black. I was again tempted to put your things in a box. This time for practical reasons, they are taking up space. But there was no time. Space per time equals momentum, so I guess I am gathering practical momentum. It was also a good time to review my acquisition policy when it comes to music. And books. At least I listen to the music I buy. But that’s a side note. When I am older I’ll probably be better abled to read, although medical statistics contradict me. What else? I made plans to artistically use all these paper scraps I have been piling up. I have also decided to raid my clothes and give away everything I have not worn at least once in the past two years. Problem with this one is my memory is tricky when it comes to parting with once endeared items. I lag and linger. I have also observed I have gathered an impressive amount of dry-cleaners hangers and silver items. I want to buy new roller-blades, these ones are ten year old. Maybe they can go to the roller-blading museum?

Tags: Simon says, T, a picture a day, clothes from the future, down that lane, hanging in loose, home is not a hotel, mugs and rollerblading, top dog, wicked lack of logic by monsoux
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Ve: “…blabla”
me: “By the way, is T there?”
Ve: “Yes”
me: “Does he know that I am talking to you?”
Ve: “Yes”
me: “Then give him my regards”
Ve: “OK”
T, in the background: unintelligible
Ve: “He returns them”
Fuck, it means he’s heard all I have said. And how I have said it. Gonna feel a bit sick now. Life tells there is no use in me hiding. I am so looking forward to the next two years to be over.

Tags: I say I am done, T, done, my life as a dark comedy and the plot thickens by monsoux
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In a time when our love was young and deep, and despite that I had upset and hurt you then, I have taken you to see a film we both agreed afterwards was good. Now I own the film and you are with someone else.

I hate the cold wet leaves, their sparkling yellow from the distance of my window, all the way down. My spirit is not there yet. Wherever there is… I will admit I am not completely to terms with myself.

Tags: Barcelona, T, a picture a day, down that lane, driving everybody crazy since 1974, me at the movies, state of mind needs good governance by monsoux
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I suck at saying goodbye. That is a fact. I have been sucking at this for almost one year now. I am not done chewing that yet. Today it was not only the alternator belt that snapped, broke and was fixed en route from Cioranca to Antwerp. It took you four calls to decide there is nothing left to be said. “At ease, soldier! And don’t be a stranger…” I probably need more time. And still, the reverb inside me was like the flat line on the heart monitor: none, no reverb.

It took us ten months to accept what some of the others probably knew the next moment you got on that train. You called now so that we could mutually agree upon the diagnosis: rigor mortis. I concurred.

This end is both a failure and a new beginning. Raising from the turmoil, the question. Will I ever again be able to love as much?

Tags: T, down that lane, hanging in loose, irl by monsoux
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I know you know. You know I know.

And I though you really called to see how I was. And I was glad that finally we can have a nice warm normal conversation.

Then, zbang! I had to re-evaluate.

In a dramatic retrospect, I have always tried to protect you and all I managed was to hurt you. I apologize for that. This is my public apology.

I felt like taking the plane was right, but expensive. Telephone and email did not feel right at all. Face to face, yes. Instead, a letter. But I procrastinated. And finally it all happened. Not the way it should’ve. Now I might put it here, the place you don’t approve of, but where you occasionally read.

Tags: T, revising the draft by monsoux
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Sometimes I need to scribble my days, like I am loosing an essential little something otherwise. It’s a phobia rather than a feeling. So here goes yesterday: laptop wrestling took all day, I need a laptop tamer, late afternoon I have finally succeeded in to install and dial the damn EDGE connection, I swear I need to switch from Windows, borrowed money in a hurry from M and ran home to pay expenses, then landed in dustland, tried to do a little something, somehow managed to undust the bedroom, the rest of the house is heavily engrossed and awaiting Ms. Ionescu, then had a long discussion that tired me pretty much like fights with T used to, then I ran to the rehearsal, where I was late but not that late, there is always someone “later” than me, it’s a major trick of survival in the urban jungle; it was almost time to turn back into a pumpkin, read midnight, you Cinderella freaks, when return home, admired the badly parked cars in my neighborhood, I so often need to rant about my neighbours’ parking skills and how I have to rove for hours feels like, that I never do it anymore, rant, not rove. Midnight daily chores performed, I decide to take advantage of the running hot water, see the episode early in the morning the same day, and soaked like crazy. Pondered about stardom and being single, as separate issues. At this point I turned on the beast, read laptop, thinking I might post about the return to communist past, read my visit to Chisinau, or about Gramos’ meme, but actually ended sleeping under the warmth of the processor roar with the music and lights on. And that was my day. Forgot to manage the oddity of having naked windows. And about 100 observation posts across at close enough range.

Tags: T, Vava, a picture a day, down that lane, irl, rantrantrant by monsoux
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A day that has passed is way sadder than a day still to come. It was his birthday. Her birthday. Another birthday. A funeral cortege was killed by a truck. Ten kids were left without their parents. I saw it on the news. That is why I don’t do funerals. I don’t do weddings either. Unless I am blackmailed.

For the third time I have tried finding Rondo Capricioso at the bookshop. They had three more copies, but were unable to locate them. I am probably the last person here who has not read the book.

I am trying. I have my questions, I have my words. It’s not a sollution. Dismiss poetry.

Tags: Simon says, T, book time to read, irl, my life as a dark comedy and the plot thickens, state of mind needs good governance by monsoux
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Off to the seaside. Don’t forget to pack the fur coat!

I don’t remember how many years have been since my accident, but it was this time of the year. My never mailed postcard should’ve read: “I blamed a horse for my wreckless speeding”. My advice for the kids, sleep before you drive not during, and don’t speed and turn right.

Nobody was hurt during the production, but my radiator and the surrounding area. But that is just a coincidence. The no hurt, that is.

Tags: Foolea, Simon says, T, a picture a day, crushes and natural disasters, down that lane, irl by monsoux
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OK, I bet you thought I forgot all about this Sziget thing I had promised.

Today’s story is about the French connection. Yes, the French have been the most irritating island nation. With the notable exceptions, mostly visible on stage. I am talking about the theater stage and the dance stage. I have already mentioned the brilliant performances by Transe Express/Les rois faignants and Accrorap/Les corps etrangers. Today I am going to focus on Emilie Simon, and her Vegetal concert. Hardly any greenery on stage, but it was so refreshing nevertheless. I mean check her videos on youtube, in particular this one, brought to my attention by T sometime ago.

Emilie is this “little girl with a big personality”. She kept the audience on the hill for her one hour and a half, plus two real encores, very rare for the festival, where everything has to fit the time table. Not only that the people weren’t going anywhere in spite of the drizzle, but I could hear numerous love declarations and marriage proposals being shouted from the fan cohorts in between the songs. To which Emilie shyly replied only “I love you too”, thus provoking emotional havoc.

She was joined on stage by Mr Magic Man and Mr Give Me Anything I’ll Give You Rhythm (yes, even water!). Their real names are Markus Dravst and Simon Edwards , but much to my annoyance, I have no clue as to who is who. Help needed and appreciated.

Tags: Sziget pic, T, jukebox treasures, my Sziget by monsoux
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Happily reporting from Otopeni, on my way to the island of music. It’s been quite a hectic endeavor so far. managed to do pretty much everything on my to do list, the rest will be fixed by a couple of calls later. I don’t have Vava’s cam, I have Mazi’s. I don’t have batteries, so we’ll see about the pictures. Last time the camera played tricks on me because of the batteries.

So, I woke up, not feeling rested nor 100% up to it, missing a piece of luggage, now I have a monster one. It contains my tent, mattress and sleeping bag, among other personal items under the same “roof”. So I started to score and check one thing after the other on my list, and one moment I was thinking I cannot possibly make it, the other, oh yeah sure I will. I included here the daily internet procrastination, no coffee mug this time.

The house was left devastated… not a nice place to return as such, but I will have to do something about that as I am due another interview on Sunday. At home this time, the other was in the office.

A last word of warning, never say never. Just when I was releasing a sigh “Finally I am on my way to the airport, and I should make it in time”, somebody’s car had a minor explosion. For a couple of seconds I saw myself running to railway station… Again, not really up to it.

Low cost is low cost, a check-in was a min-nightmare, but I am really on my way to the departure gate, so what can stop me now? I don’t remember where my anti-fever pills are, so maybe a sneaky virus. Hope not.

Finally, within the entire madness, T has sent the sweetest sms “Drive carefully”. Well, I didn’t have to. I miss you, and maybe my flight too if I linger long enough.

Zbyes!

Tags: T, Vava, amused, bloguette007, home is not a hotel, my life as a dark comedy and the plot thickens by monsoux
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