Archive for June, 2008

An excerpt from today’s Thursday City Chronicler:

By now everyone is familiar with the story of the events that took place last week at the Thursday City University philosophy department’s auditorium. But if you aren’t, a quick recap: During the question and answer portion of a panel discussion in Hegel Hall an attendee by the name of Friedrich Blitzkrieg asked the moderator, tenured professor of philosophy Jeremiah Squiggle, what Squiggle deemed an inappropriate question. When he continued his aggressive behavior Squiggle had Mr. Blitzkrieg escorted out of the auditorium by security and subsequently banned from all future University events. When informed of this decision several outraged students, most certainly shadow proxies of Mr. Blitzkrieg, contacted the Thursday City chapter of the radical left-wing ACLU and began a picket of the university.

We have unerringly voiced our opinion on the entire sordid affair, but the university issued a statement today and we think it merits consideration:
“Thursday City University prides itself on playing host to vigorous debate on the most controversial topics. Our myriad institutional curricula and public events aim to pique interaction and inspire critical discourse. That being said the University does not endorse nor tolerate hate speech in its class environment nor its public forums. The University unequivocally supports Professor Squiggle in his decision to eject and ban the offender at last week’s debate ‘The Quandary of the Spirit in Contemporary Pop-Culture,’ and will not be swayed by the aggressive tactics of the Thursday City ACLU.”

Here here! We at the Thursday City Chronicler could not be prouder of the courage our local university has shown in the face of that farcical organization’s frivolous attacks and vicious smear campaign.

And an artist’s rendition of the event based on audio tape from the Philosophy department at TCU:

Original post by Jehosephat Sunrays

The Mirror of my Soul

I’ve decided to write my memoirs here instead of using this space for posts of random interests.
It is an exercise for me to see if I can actually recall my life. I believe that it’s everyone duty to recall his existence, since that seems the only way we can escape the torture or bliss of oblivion.

The memoirs were started here and I think I will keep that title, the voice of the wilderness, since it pretty much sums up what I feel is essential about all & everything.

So, where was I? Ah yes, Frank. Frank was a 25 year old Hercules living in the town of Geldrop, build like a bodybuilder with long Corinthian curls in his neck and a Greek sort of face with a giant nose. Frank’s hobby was to screw 15 or 16 year old girls he would pick up at the local youth centre, de Joek in Geldrop. De Joek was a pretty cool place at that time. We were 15, 16 and we got the first taste of some sort of nightlife. Somehow now it seems incredible that such a small club with teens in such a small rural Dutch town could have such wild, Dionysian edge to it but I suppose that, as with everything, life’s just what you make of it. Anyway, I was with the popular punk rock leo girl A. and I was getting really tired of hearing stories about all the stuff she did with Frank and how sometimes his massive load of sperm could hit the ceiling when he managed to miss whatever target I wouldn’t care to imagine. There must have been some sort of cruelty in her causing her to tell me all those adventurous stories. Or maybe I was just a total cunt for listening to them anyway, or even being with her in the first place, as she wasn’t particulary intelligent but as I said before I was in the transformation process between ‘nerd’ and ‘cool’ and that requires some sort of personal sacrifice.

My quick transformation from ‘nerd’ to ‘cool punk’ convinced me of the fact that change was one of the vital characteristics one should master in this existence. It also taught me that people who are trapped in a certain image of themselves are not only dull and wrong, but just scared to take risks. Essentially all self-imagery is fake. It’s impossible to have an image of oneself that is true, since that would be like claiming that a picture one takes of a landscape can be the landscape itself. As such, all self-imagery is manipulatable and changeable and to learn to change these sort of images is of vital importance if one wants to maximize ones existence. Most people eventually just find the self-image they are comfortable with. I suppose that is also sort of okay, for them at least, but in the end the idea of mastering the backend of self-imagery is much much more interesting.

I messed around with A. for about a year or so. She was a strong and dominant girl, half italian. She looked sort of cruel, she had these half chinese sort of eyes and sharp jawbones. She had the body of a full grown woman and a great set of tits. I remember one time some right-wing corps leader wanted to have me beat up because I was a weirdo. When she heard about it she walked straight up to him in De Joek, threw her glass of beer in his face and punched him to the floor. That guy never bothered me again. That’s the sort of girl she was. I did have loads of fun with A. We used to screw like monkeys every day after school, because she lived two blocks away and we used to get really stoned and screw until her mother came home from her job. There’s something inevitably weird about screwing stoned. I remember one time I was so far out of my head I didn’t even recognize her anymore. And the weirdest thing was, we were doing it but we started at around 14.00 in the afternoon and next time I looked at the clock it was like 17.30 and her mother would be there any minute. Three and a half hours but they felt like 5 minutes! That was one of my first experiences with the time altering possibilities of the mind, or drugs if you wish so.

The sex with A. was sort of cool. Like most fire signs she had a sort of masochistic side to her, which grows out of a sickness of their own domination. As they are dominant in real life most of the time they want to reverse that process sexually. I suppose one could say the sex we had was sort of unconventional but I think essentially all sex is unconventional so that doesn’t mean too much.

What wasn’t cool, however, was Frank. Franks massive ceiling-whitening escapades with 15 year old girls, one of which was sorta my girlfriend, wasn’t the sort of thing I found mentally challenging. So, there we were at Youth Centre De Joek and it was New Year. I was sitting on the dancefloor and at some point I saw Mr Hercules take A. by the hand and pull her outside of the club. I ran outside and saw they were kissing in the street outside next to the railway. I ran towards them and A. let go of him when she saw me and I started beating Frank like one would beat on a door. That’s not a metaphor: I was literally beating him like one would beat on a door. He had this giant chest that seemed sort of fit exactly for that purpose and i would bang my fists on them as if I wanted to see if someone would open it. Frank took me by the shoulders and lifted me up in the air. He was shouting at me, and shaking me. A. started to cry. I, on the other hand, experienced some sort of moment of beauty, as I was hanging there in the air. I felt like I had beat the guardian of the threshold, and Frank was sort of seriously scared of me because he thought I was insane.

I don’t remember what happened after that, but that scene is sort of frozen moment in my early teen life: banging on the door of the guardian. My relationship with A. kind of went downhill from there. I remember one scene in the school toilet when she tried to slash her wrists with a broken piece of glass. I was there too, for some reason, and the weird thing is she kept looking at herself in the mirror while trying to cut herself. It was just one of many suicide scenes I had around those times, for some reason I was always fantasizing about jumping from buildings I suppose it has something to do with the age. We split up, but it was sort of weird because she was still in my class and I had to see her everyday. To compensate that I immediately got involved with another punk girl, S.

(To be continued)

That was one of the best semi-finals I’ve ever seen. Totally amazing how this Turkish b-team fought like lions and almost shuffled the Germans off the field. Amazing late goals by both teams, so much tension the camera’s broke down. Cheering rose from all the island when the turks made a goal and even all the ships started blowing their horns. Magic in the air tonight, but unfortunately the Germans had the mighty devil Schweinsteiger at their side who was simply everywhere on the field simultaneously. That guy could play a match all on his own. Have we even seen another German player in action during this game?

Dat kon natuurlijk alleen in Nederland gebeuren, dat een post als ‘Dichter des Vaderlands’ al bij de tweede invulling totaal werd verkracht. Hoe verzin je het een man als Komrij te laten opvolgen door een sinterklaasrijmelaar als van Wissen? Maar goed, daarover is al wel genoeg geschreven. De post heeft simpelweg de aanzien die het nooit gehad heeft voor minstens een paar decennia verloren.

Het ergste is nog dat die van Wissen niet eens in de verste verte probeert er nog iets van te bakken. Je zou denken dat zo’n man toch denkt dat hij, met die aandacht op zich gevestigd, tenminste een beetje beter zijn best moet gaan doen. Maar hij wordt alleen maar genanter en erger, getuige dit uiterst schlemiele versje in NRC gister:

Guus Geluk Gewenst

Dit is zelfs voor van Wissen onder de maat, en dat zegt heel wat. Wat is er toch aan de hand met Nederland dat ze nooit maar dan ook nooit reglementen weten verzinnen die hout snijden? Echt op elk front loopt het mis (van belachelijke immigratieregels die geen enkel effect hebben tot overlullig en patroniserend domeinnamen verhandelen) en het loopt altijd mis op dezelfde achilleshiel: het onvermogen het belerende wijsvingertje in de broek te houden bij het opstellen van regels. Dat verkrampte kleinburgerlijke moralisme moet in Nederland gewoon de overhand hebben, want anders menen ze de weg kwijt te zijn.

Het echte geluk hier ligt natuurlijk aan van Wissen’s zijde: hij mag zich gelukkig prijzen dat ik niet de baas van Nederland ben. Ik zou de geheime dienst inzetten en hem een week lang aan zijn kortzichtige baardje laten ophangen als hij het waagde zo’n rijmelscheet onder mijn bewind tevoorschijn te toveren.

Ik zou die uit de pleepot van Antoon Pieck ontsnapte papierkabouter standrechtelijk laten fussileren als hij daarna nog in herhaling viel.

Van Wissen mag zich dus gelukkig prijzen met het kleinburgelijk moralisme dat mensen als hem in bescherming weet te houden. Zo zie je maar weer, ook het maaiveld heeft wormen nodig. Je verwacht alleen geen worm aan het stuur van de traktor.

What a day! A hot day full of smoking frozen cigarettes, drinking wine, swimming, destroying the dutch flarf movement, angelic conversations and finally the cool retro film Delivrance: