30.3.04
29.3.04
Sorry
Sorry for the double "I don't know if you're alive", my blogger is being quite bloggish today. Evilness is in the air.
On a lighter much more banal note
*
i'd be all like hi
and he'd be all like hi
and the i'd be all like do you speak english
and he'd be all like durrr
and then i'd run away
and and and theeen
he'd run after me
and we'd passionatly kiss in the middle of the road
and we'd skate off in the sunset on his skateboard
i'd be all like hi
and he'd be all like hi
and the i'd be all like do you speak english
and he'd be all like durrr
and then i'd run away
and and and theeen
he'd run after me
and we'd passionatly kiss in the middle of the road
and we'd skate off in the sunset on his skateboard
And i don't know if you're alive
On Saturday I came very close to a dead guy.
It was quite the event because in the span of 30 minutes i see my first heart attack, first paramedics, and first electroshocky thing, first dead guy? I'll never know if he died.
Standing there shock induced i thought of a number of things. They're all pretty typical life vs death and don't die mr man thoughts. What did other people think? thats more important.
Female friends.
nonchalance, had doctor relatives or dead gym teachers
Male friends.
Philosophise about the unexpectancy of the day.
Mom
Learn CPR do something usefull Sarah! you could have saved that mans life.
Oh ok mom.
Me
It was in a café. A swirl of unreal parallel psychosis. My mind has already forgotten about the incident, yet engrained in me is some higher knowledge of being close to the edge of life. The moment where all spills into something so unreal your mind can't take the paramedics laughing at a joke while injecting some life bringing corzak prandeziak or something, sun shining outside with busy consumers, and something so much more about to end. The background music playing some strange Blink 182 song, or some Muse and life and death were according themselves to the ups and downs to rock music that lives in my reality. half dead heart attackees don't live in my reality. My mind is trying to make the connection, but instead the waiter asks me if i'm okay. Yea, i'm not the dying one. His name is Stan, the half dead guy. Hes 85. His time to go? I don't think so. Not really. I mean only two seconds ago he was debating whether Microsoft should own the world. Stiring his cappuchino, squinting his furry eyebrows at his italian mate. No. I don't agree with death like that. Can't do anything about it. But i just don't see the reality in it.
It was quite the event because in the span of 30 minutes i see my first heart attack, first paramedics, and first electroshocky thing, first dead guy? I'll never know if he died.
Standing there shock induced i thought of a number of things. They're all pretty typical life vs death and don't die mr man thoughts. What did other people think? thats more important.
Female friends.
nonchalance, had doctor relatives or dead gym teachers
Male friends.
Philosophise about the unexpectancy of the day.
Mom
Learn CPR do something usefull Sarah! you could have saved that mans life.
Oh ok mom.
Me
It was in a café. A swirl of unreal parallel psychosis. My mind has already forgotten about the incident, yet engrained in me is some higher knowledge of being close to the edge of life. The moment where all spills into something so unreal your mind can't take the paramedics laughing at a joke while injecting some life bringing corzak prandeziak or something, sun shining outside with busy consumers, and something so much more about to end. The background music playing some strange Blink 182 song, or some Muse and life and death were according themselves to the ups and downs to rock music that lives in my reality. half dead heart attackees don't live in my reality. My mind is trying to make the connection, but instead the waiter asks me if i'm okay. Yea, i'm not the dying one. His name is Stan, the half dead guy. Hes 85. His time to go? I don't think so. Not really. I mean only two seconds ago he was debating whether Microsoft should own the world. Stiring his cappuchino, squinting his furry eyebrows at his italian mate. No. I don't agree with death like that. Can't do anything about it. But i just don't see the reality in it.
22.3.04
21.3.04
5 minute Monsoon
And as they walked they left behind a trail of violent rain.
The water didn't drop into a nice little ecosystem of regularity. It hammered down the window searching for a warmer place to stay and evaporate in.
Some analogy to life if u read into the lines. But you're not gonna.
Flicker of white cut through the montony of black background, yeah its only lightening but embellished it makes any heart race.
Electrical appliances seem less useful, and the rumble of some distant greek god definitely doesn't give a fuck about your internet connection.
Or damn the conjugation and lets throw together some pretty words; caelestis tempestas.
The water didn't drop into a nice little ecosystem of regularity. It hammered down the window searching for a warmer place to stay and evaporate in.
Some analogy to life if u read into the lines. But you're not gonna.
Flicker of white cut through the montony of black background, yeah its only lightening but embellished it makes any heart race.
Electrical appliances seem less useful, and the rumble of some distant greek god definitely doesn't give a fuck about your internet connection.
Or damn the conjugation and lets throw together some pretty words; caelestis tempestas.
18.3.04
Why Belgian people are OH so cool
well first of all i wouldn't know, because i'm not a "real belgian". Im not a real anything, so i'll just fake it. Until they ask me what my name is in dutch and I start stuttering. Yes through the whole 2 syllables. Then i'll pretend i hate the dutch for a little while, just so i fit into the "belgian mold". then you realise you're not belgian in the first place you can kill any pride you had during the Euro Song Festival and agree that dutch ppl are pretty shizzie as well. Then you realise that everyone who speak dutch speaks english , and probably better than you. Which sucks. Because you can stand up for nothing any more because what you should belong to, knows your stuff better than you can fake it. (ahh!). Then you realise that you should be practising your dutch but noone wants to listen to your mistakes and your ohh so much wittier in english anyways. So you speak english and you get to hear their cute accents in english as they can't pronounce the th, and say d for dat or long words like ditch come out like ditdds (heeh)(or Eh?)
Anyhoo. I had fun. pretending to be as belgian as i could, remaining part of the identity i knew i had somewhere in me " sniff" yes beautiful sob story i know. Like the train who knew he could. or something. Now remember children, belgium is a very important country, one day we will TAKE OVER THE WORLD! with the penguins.
Anyhoo. I had fun. pretending to be as belgian as i could, remaining part of the identity i knew i had somewhere in me " sniff" yes beautiful sob story i know. Like the train who knew he could. or something. Now remember children, belgium is a very important country, one day we will TAKE OVER THE WORLD! with the penguins.
Meeting normal people in Geneva
Guide for all you lonely fahkers out there;
STEP 1. Have one of your fun friends call out to some random group "What language are you speaking?", also known as Ieva
STEP 2. Make sure one of your friends speaks given language (if Swiss German, attempt making up a language with a multitude of li's at the end of each word)
STEP 3. Attempt to learn each others name, hiccup through the middle of it, if there is no way it is going to be pronounced while derunk
STEP 4. Avoid any swigs from strange half empty wine bottles (you winos!)
STEP 5. introduce your new found friends to the local culture (aka, the slimey Arabic guys who will for no fee grope ANYONES butt)
STEP 6. Introduce your (k)new found friends to some of the hot spots in Genveveava. I will be sober one day.
STEP 7. Test out your old jokes on your new friends. If they enjoy you have ensured they are drunk enough and therefore they will most definitely pass out soon (take advantage of this occasion if the situation arises)
STEP 8. If these new found friends are enjoying themselves, you have truely ensured that they are your new found friends and now you must attempt at persuading to them that them having your number will save their lives one day
STEP 9. Make sure that they will be leaving the country in the next 48 Hours. Who knows what fun magical trouble you will get them into before then
STEP 10. Once everyone is happily integrated in a happy family, say good bye. Realise having this much fun will depress you fo the next 3 weeks.
STEP Away ;)
STEP 1. Have one of your fun friends call out to some random group "What language are you speaking?", also known as Ieva
STEP 2. Make sure one of your friends speaks given language (if Swiss German, attempt making up a language with a multitude of li's at the end of each word)
STEP 3. Attempt to learn each others name, hiccup through the middle of it, if there is no way it is going to be pronounced while derunk
STEP 4. Avoid any swigs from strange half empty wine bottles (you winos!)
STEP 5. introduce your new found friends to the local culture (aka, the slimey Arabic guys who will for no fee grope ANYONES butt)
STEP 6. Introduce your (k)new found friends to some of the hot spots in Genveveava. I will be sober one day.
STEP 7. Test out your old jokes on your new friends. If they enjoy you have ensured they are drunk enough and therefore they will most definitely pass out soon (take advantage of this occasion if the situation arises)
STEP 8. If these new found friends are enjoying themselves, you have truely ensured that they are your new found friends and now you must attempt at persuading to them that them having your number will save their lives one day
STEP 9. Make sure that they will be leaving the country in the next 48 Hours. Who knows what fun magical trouble you will get them into before then
STEP 10. Once everyone is happily integrated in a happy family, say good bye. Realise having this much fun will depress you fo the next 3 weeks.
STEP Away ;)
17.3.04
Wanted
A male with deep mysterious eyebrows. A-la Ben Chaplin or Joaquim Phoenix.
Male with enough connaissance to fake it well.
Male not evolving from monkey species.
Preferabbly chicken clone.
Something along the lines of "I saw you in that bus the other day, the very sight of you made me imagine us in an other world at a different time as if our souls intertwined, thought i might follow you in a non-stalkerish unsuspecting way, and steal a kiss from you, with me ofcourse knowing that you find me over-desirably attractive"
Conceited bastard. Even what i would want sounds like such bullcrap.
Male with enough connaissance to fake it well.
Male not evolving from monkey species.
Preferabbly chicken clone.
Something along the lines of "I saw you in that bus the other day, the very sight of you made me imagine us in an other world at a different time as if our souls intertwined, thought i might follow you in a non-stalkerish unsuspecting way, and steal a kiss from you, with me ofcourse knowing that you find me over-desirably attractive"
Conceited bastard. Even what i would want sounds like such bullcrap.
8.3.04
1950s
Why is that when you listen to Frank Sintra-ish jazzy versions of 1950's swing finger snapping music, your head bops up and down stupidly. If questioning the obvious is stupid, then i'll say i like it :)
Discovered nice jazzy man called Micheal Bublé, just makes ya wanna say bubbly in a really stupid accent. (hee)
But his stuff ain't original, it actually is Frank Sinatraish George Michealish Van Morrissonish swingy renderings. Its admiral to see a man of his 20s getting intune with his inner "50's music". He ain't ugly either ;).
This kinda music also always reminds me of all the times i didn't read that book by the fire while it was snowing. Some crazy Frost 1950's Christmas Special of my life that i never lived.
Sometimes you wish you could just go back to the 50's, to have that sneaky side glance of the night club singer, while they sound out their sly "sharp to natural" refrain. You know what i mean, i'm sure you know. Its like this world that you find yourself imagining, from pieces of television, magazines and old photographs.This new version is what the 50's should have been in your point of view. No hardships or stupid conventionalities, just the music, the glamour and the black and white world.
Its as if the colour would have been different if you'd lived in that time. You know the fuzzy faded out greens and pinks everywhere.
Hmm the convertable, with white scarf wipping in the air behind, the black cat-eye shades and the kilo of hair spray to give the perfect wavey bob. Pure Bliss.
You also forget that the language was different back then. The slang i mean. No cool's, no weirds, no durr. Just jimmeny crickets and his jumping butter balls. Or maybe that was the 30's. Eitherways, they had really nice posh american accents. You know the kind that make your mouth twist and your one eye raise at every question.
Ahh and the hats. Everyone wore a hat. And the guys with their private eye grey hats just tipped at the right 45° angle. The women with extravaganza dripping on every hairdo.
Betty Sues, Johnny Parkers, Marla Joes and Bobby Martins. Sarah-Sue. (heh) Girls all sitting, white gloved hands on petty coated skirts , waiting for MALE DOMINATION. (I get to say that because its woman angst day or something)
I mean and then Bobby would, with lard-curled hair, give Marla that dashing side smile, making her wish her white gloves weren't so white. (make of that what you will).
Never the less. 1950's aren't real enough. There should be some real people really recreating it. Not some hollywood multiplication of the little i know. Some originality sparking off the warmth of the music and the authentic images. Those that our grandparents enjoyed.
I mean the 1950's did have some authenticity didn't it?
Discovered nice jazzy man called Micheal Bublé, just makes ya wanna say bubbly in a really stupid accent. (hee)
But his stuff ain't original, it actually is Frank Sinatraish George Michealish Van Morrissonish swingy renderings. Its admiral to see a man of his 20s getting intune with his inner "50's music". He ain't ugly either ;).
This kinda music also always reminds me of all the times i didn't read that book by the fire while it was snowing. Some crazy Frost 1950's Christmas Special of my life that i never lived.
Sometimes you wish you could just go back to the 50's, to have that sneaky side glance of the night club singer, while they sound out their sly "sharp to natural" refrain. You know what i mean, i'm sure you know. Its like this world that you find yourself imagining, from pieces of television, magazines and old photographs.This new version is what the 50's should have been in your point of view. No hardships or stupid conventionalities, just the music, the glamour and the black and white world.
Its as if the colour would have been different if you'd lived in that time. You know the fuzzy faded out greens and pinks everywhere.
Hmm the convertable, with white scarf wipping in the air behind, the black cat-eye shades and the kilo of hair spray to give the perfect wavey bob. Pure Bliss.
You also forget that the language was different back then. The slang i mean. No cool's, no weirds, no durr. Just jimmeny crickets and his jumping butter balls. Or maybe that was the 30's. Eitherways, they had really nice posh american accents. You know the kind that make your mouth twist and your one eye raise at every question.
Ahh and the hats. Everyone wore a hat. And the guys with their private eye grey hats just tipped at the right 45° angle. The women with extravaganza dripping on every hairdo.
Betty Sues, Johnny Parkers, Marla Joes and Bobby Martins. Sarah-Sue. (heh) Girls all sitting, white gloved hands on petty coated skirts , waiting for MALE DOMINATION. (I get to say that because its woman angst day or something)
I mean and then Bobby would, with lard-curled hair, give Marla that dashing side smile, making her wish her white gloves weren't so white. (make of that what you will).
Never the less. 1950's aren't real enough. There should be some real people really recreating it. Not some hollywood multiplication of the little i know. Some originality sparking off the warmth of the music and the authentic images. Those that our grandparents enjoyed.
I mean the 1950's did have some authenticity didn't it?
5.3.04
More excitement
Essential Nutrients
You think every task that millions of people have done before, can be done. With a little work and motivation. No Problem. But that is not the case. the IB means to KILL US.
I overdramatise as the average adolescent does, yet it tracks us down, one by one, at our weakest most sentimental moments and intends to roast us on the spit of inevitability.
now you might be thinking; "What the hell is she talking about?". And i say the magical 6 letter word of
Peanut
no not stress
but peanut.
Peanut butter is one of the essential nutrients in any adolescents weekly diet. It involves the sweetness and chewyness any normal meal should give us.
Plus it doesn't talk back and it doesn't tell you you're screwed.
Well, because on one hand you know you're not. You could never let yourself become so irresponsible. (Well atleast i couldn't).
Happiness, sadness and swiss germans.
When a happy person learns about sadness, it strikes them harder than a person who loves depression. In saying this I intend to clarify that being sad, is no fun. It is no fun because no matter how you look at it, you've predicted all the bad things that could happen to you. And not only will they all happen to you. The good thing will only come once you stop thinking about it. And what more would you want to do in a state of sadness than think of something good? When one is a happy, one thinks not of the future, enabling more and more good things to happen. This is when delerium steps in and it whirls up to a massive climax/orgy thing where you can't breathe from the amount of laughing. THis is a good thing BUT. after effects are harsh. Winding back down to normality is like when your brain shrinks back to its normal size after you ego boost from alcohol. Therefore, in intending to have a good time tomorrow, i know full well that either
a) it will not be good, because of the gods of predicted reverse psychology.
b) it will be very good but Sunday will anti climax it so badly you wish you were at one moment forever.
Such thinking and low self confidence result in more stress that not only you didn't want, you have to much of and you're readily dispensing; you're asking for more of, every second of the day, by your twistedly fucking complicated way of thinking.
Another thing i've learnt today. THere are a shit load of Swiss germans out there. Every week i meet two new ones. and not only because this is switzerland. Met one in Australia too. They are here, to take over the world. NO but honestly, imagine if the official language of the UN was Swiss german. THe confusion! the Chaos!
Mein got...li
You think every task that millions of people have done before, can be done. With a little work and motivation. No Problem. But that is not the case. the IB means to KILL US.
I overdramatise as the average adolescent does, yet it tracks us down, one by one, at our weakest most sentimental moments and intends to roast us on the spit of inevitability.
now you might be thinking; "What the hell is she talking about?". And i say the magical 6 letter word of
Peanut
no not stress
but peanut.
Peanut butter is one of the essential nutrients in any adolescents weekly diet. It involves the sweetness and chewyness any normal meal should give us.
Plus it doesn't talk back and it doesn't tell you you're screwed.
Well, because on one hand you know you're not. You could never let yourself become so irresponsible. (Well atleast i couldn't).
Happiness, sadness and swiss germans.
When a happy person learns about sadness, it strikes them harder than a person who loves depression. In saying this I intend to clarify that being sad, is no fun. It is no fun because no matter how you look at it, you've predicted all the bad things that could happen to you. And not only will they all happen to you. The good thing will only come once you stop thinking about it. And what more would you want to do in a state of sadness than think of something good? When one is a happy, one thinks not of the future, enabling more and more good things to happen. This is when delerium steps in and it whirls up to a massive climax/orgy thing where you can't breathe from the amount of laughing. THis is a good thing BUT. after effects are harsh. Winding back down to normality is like when your brain shrinks back to its normal size after you ego boost from alcohol. Therefore, in intending to have a good time tomorrow, i know full well that either
a) it will not be good, because of the gods of predicted reverse psychology.
b) it will be very good but Sunday will anti climax it so badly you wish you were at one moment forever.
Such thinking and low self confidence result in more stress that not only you didn't want, you have to much of and you're readily dispensing; you're asking for more of, every second of the day, by your twistedly fucking complicated way of thinking.
Another thing i've learnt today. THere are a shit load of Swiss germans out there. Every week i meet two new ones. and not only because this is switzerland. Met one in Australia too. They are here, to take over the world. NO but honestly, imagine if the official language of the UN was Swiss german. THe confusion! the Chaos!
Mein got...li
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