In which I smash the dishes. But not really.

Inspirational weekend on Schiermonnikoog

The way ideas get born…

Only 47 days left…

Back by popular demand: my videos on my blog. Apparently some people missed them. (Well, at least one person that I know of )

… can never lead to anything good. I’ve been neglecting my sleep pattern again. And there’s loads of dirty dishes in my head, er, sink. And I don’t know what daylight is anymore. And I haven’t eaten well in days. And I haven’t shaved, had a haircut, gone to the dentist and the doctor, like I planned.

Everything I plan always fails. I was so happy in my BlogTV show this night. But right afterwards it made me so sad that with all my intelligence and talents, I’m still stuck here in this little room, on my own. All because I can’t live by a planning.

I’ve been trying a gazillion times now. And I won’t give up. Tomorrow it’ll all be different. Again. Again. Again. Until it works.

Young people dying in the age of Twitter. Reading their trivialities, carelessly unleashed onto the information superhighway, not even 24 hours ago, oblivious of the rapidly approaching and sudden end. I’ve seen it a few times these last days. I should start thinking about every tweet I post. Every single one could be my last, and I could think of a lot of things I wouldn’t want people to read after my sudden passing. At least @arjengrolleman went out on a nice philosophic musing. As if he did know it was his last.

Don’t you think it’s weird? First there’s this place with no dimensions, which contains every bit of energy in the Universe. Then it explodes to life. Elements are born; expanding and cooling down begins. Nebulas cluster together and, in gigantic swirls, galaxies spring to life. Inside one of those billions of galaxies there’s a cloud of dust that starts swirling particularly fast. In the middle of it a not so impressive star begins to shine. The rest of the dust clutters together in eight (or nine) planets and a belt of debris that kind of refuses to clutter together. On one of those planets, the elements start to brew in this strange way that lets certain structures of them copy themselves! After an incredible amount of mistakes in those copies, mankind arrives, which spawned me, my house and my bed.

That's me, lying on my bed, oblivious.

My bed, on which I fell asleep two hours ago, and woke up on just now. In the period in between those two moments, I had not even an inkling of everything I just described. Don’t you think that’s weird? Well, I do.

The main reason I don’t seem to be able to find my way is that the choice is getting bigger by the minute. New blogs, internet radio stations, interactive listening platforms, magazines and social networking sites are born every day. And most don’t get a long life. The ones that do, tend to collapse under their own weight, because to make something last, it needs to grow, and for something to grow, it needs to appeal to a lot of people. So the butt-shaking black ladies return. Which might be good for sales in general, but you lose me.

I’d rather go for a guy with a lazy eye in a fish tank running full of water. Or a guy with pointy hair throwing glittery confetti from behind his keyboard while screaming ‘fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuckity-fuck’ into a megaphone. While we’re a minority, I know there’s lots of us on the planet. So let’s get together. Let’s connect and rejoice in our common madness.

• … to continue  school, at least for this year, and try to get me some points out of it.
• … to give The Postponers a last chance
• … to keep working with Marc
• … to really start profiling myself as a solo artist
• … and to put all my effort in making those things succeed, so I can make a living out of them.