Part Fore-Zewo

Because I was thinking and didn't know where to begin, a rough translation from the poem 'Eind van de Eeuw' by Leonard Nolens;

End of the Century

So What, Achmatova, we aren't in love anymore
with your pain, that iron fall of seventeen.
Other moustaches and Octobers have grieved us
before we were born, before we could see
Afterwards how blind we were in the crib
of this cold war. The enemy without a trace.
That's why we hated ourselves, our clattering lies
of this armed peace, a heaven without a saviour.

Yes, Achmatova, so what!

I feel conflicted about what I wrote about the actor I met last Friday. It is what happened, but it's my subjective version of the facts, fictionalized so it could fit in my story. I feel that he comes across as too arrogant and at the same time needy, and that I'm a cool-acting bitch. That's not how it felt at the time, but that's problem isn't it? If you write about things like that, it's always a lie. What I remember most is his smile, but I can't put that in words. I could try, but I could never give an accurate description of that smile and how I reacted to it. I also don't want to blow it out of proportions, after all it was just a drunk encounter on a Friday night, so I'm conflicted.

Distance and saying goodbye is the horny metaphysics of men who keep their love moist and damp in a faraway place where they can boil their days.
- From the hurting that I am, I have no part.

I talked to some people today, I want to remember what they said to me, although it's of no great significance.

"If your parents had sent you to art school when you were younger like you wanted, imagine what your life would have been like."
-My ex.

"Sure, you can borrow this book. It's only on the table because my sister asked what sort of books I enjoy. I couldn't get away with anything else, that would just have been ridiculous."
-My best friend.

"My shop looks way too pink from outside if you stand across the street. It just doesn't go with my chandeliers, it's like Barbie's dream house in here. Damn, now I have to paint again."
-My boss.

"If my former teacher could see how I'm fumbling with this html code he would yank my hair right out of my skull."
-My flatmate.

"Why can you never find work that's legal?"
-My mum.

"Oh right, I forgot you're still young and naive. When gay men discuss outdoor activities, they don't talk about camping or fishing."
- A friend