The minor league

Alexander The Great.

Charles Darwin.

Aristotle.

Caesar Augustus.

Mahatma Gandhi.

Che Guevara

Marie Curie.

William Shakespeare.

George Washington.

Plato.

Achilles.

Adolf Hitler.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

Margaret Thatcher.

Elizabeth Tudor.

...

When you look at human history, you'll see that certain figures found a way to escape being swept away by the sands of time and became immortal in the minds of all future men. Odds against them, being just tiny specs in the multitude of humanity, they did something so profound and noteworthy with their lives that they earned their place in the books of history, instead of just becoming part of a collective noun.

It makes you wonder how any of us can ever hope to achieve that kind of greatness, to earn the right to be remembered, not just by your loved ones. It makes us wonder about how deeply a single person's life can affect the course of history.

If Alexander The Great had never lived, what would've happened to all the Greek city-states that he united under one glorious empire? Would they have fallen apart or would someone else have risen up in Alexander's place? And if Elizabeth Tudor had been denied the English throne, would England have still won against the Spanish Armada in 1588? Would England have become the superpower it is today, or would Spain have emerged victorious?

When I flick through a history book, I sometimes get the feeling that nothing I will ever do will be good enough to land me a place between the pages of the great men and women of history. It feels as though all those people are playing in the Majors, while I'm still in the Minor Leagues, waiting for my big break that may or may not happen.

I always fantasized about writing this book that would change the world. It would make me immortal as a writer and countless of people would be inspired by my words and I'll have earned my place among history's Hall of Fame.

These are just child's dreams, but I like to think that, in some way, this pushes me to be the best version that I can be. It makes me want to succeed even more in life, even if it is just to earn a byline in some book. I guess all I'm looking for is a way to be remembered long after everyone who knew me has gone as well. You might think this foolish and unattainable, but if writing a sonnet like Shakespeare is enough to achieve greatness, I might just start writing poetry or the next tragic lovestory.

I feel this way because I don't believe in the afterlife. I don't believe in Heaven or Hell. But I do believe that one can live on through the memories of others. The mere fact that, when I look at a movie like 'The Motorcycle Diaries', it makes me think of Ernesto Guevara and the road he took in life, a road that led him to fame, or infamy, depending on your POV. It makes me think about him as an actual person who lived just four decades ago. That makes my own journey a whole lot easier, knowing if he could do it, I too could have the potential to do something like that.

These people were like us. Ordinary human beings who decided to do something extraordinary with their lives. Whether it was through sacrifice or the refusal to bow down to an authority, they made their mark. Their actions echoing throughout the years, throughout the lives of others.

This seems like a good way to be remembered, not just for the person you were, but for the things you did. The lives you changed or will change. The people you loved and who, in turn, loved you back. The fact that no person ever really dies, they simply live on through others. In memories, in genes, in characteristics, in career choices or even as simple as the colour of someone's eyes.

A great way to go from the Minors to the Majors, all the way to infinity if you ask me.

The psychic apparatus

After watching yet another scintillating episode of Sex and the City, I started thinking about secret desires and how our world seems to be filled with them.

From babies to seniors, we all have these secrets desires that consume our every thought. Some are primal, others are new. But all of them share a specific need: the need to be fulfilled. Just how fast we decide to give in to them is up to us. We can either play it coy and wait until all of the pieces start to fall together or we can take action and force our dreams into reality.

These secret desires are what guides us subconsciously. We can try to fight them, but one way or another, these primordial needs get the better of us, if we let them.

For some these are harmless delights, such as the eating of a muffin or the purchase of yet another materialistic outburst. Others however, tend to have a more raw urge that cannot be found in any department store. These are the desires that can shape a person's character. The way that person perseveres or surrenders to it defines him.



A Streetcar Named Desire



Still, if we choose to succumb to what feels natural to us, does that make us a bad person, a selfish person even? And if we choose to ignore the incessant calls of our Id does that make us strong and pragmatic?

Superpowered

Yet another strike at De Lijn! Sometimes I do wonder what more they could have to strike about? Are they that discontent with their jobs? Because if that's the case, maybe they should seriously start to consider changing jobs. If not, I suggest they suck it up and get back behind the wheel. We all have problems at work, we all have concerns about our wages and our working conditions, but the thing is, when busdrivers go on strike, this doesn't just affect them, entire towns suffer at their hands. Hundreds of people can find themselves trapped, unable to go anywhere.

Take today for example, I was on my way to meet someone in Louvain who'd come a long way to see me. Imagine my frustration when a woman drives by, rolling down her side window and shouting the buses are on strike. So, there I was. Me and four other partners in misfortune, all desperately looking for a way out of this town. Sadly, because a few disgruntled employees feel they're being treated poorly, none of us could leave town, at least not without hitching, walking or teleporting. So thank you very much, De Lijn. Always a pleasure (not) riding with you.

Anyways, with no other way to leave home, I decided to go back and watch Push, a movie I'd rented yesterday.  I thought to myself: 'Hm, superhero movie? Could never hurt, right?' I mean, I'm a huge fan of the genre. Give me a Fantastic Four, Iron Man, Superman, Wanted or X-Men combo any day of the week. There's just something about the whole superpowers thing. The story revolves around Nick and Cassie. Nick is a Mover (telekinetic) and Cassie's a Watcher (precog). Both of them are in Hong Kong on the run from Division, a secret government agency responsible for creating these abilties. Both sides are looking for a briefcase which contains a syringe that greatly amplifies a person's ability. Your standard hero-on-the-run-from-the-bad-guys-and-searching-for-a-strange-object type of scenario. Nothing innovative, I can assure you. It still sounds pretty cool, though.

The first minutes of the movie seems promising enough. Dakota Fanning talks about how during World War II, Hitler was researching the paranormal in hopes of creating a race of supersoldiers. The abilities ranging from telekinesis to mind control. Very similar to the Stargate Project the Americans had. A program to perfect 'remote viewing', a way of looking across the world and seeing what the other person's doing. Fits perfectly in the whole Cold War context.

But it also makes you wonder whether or not it is possible to unlock the secrets of our human potential? After all, we only use 10% of our brain's capacity. Surely, there must be something more in this gray mass of ours?

Let's be honest here for a second, who wouldn't want to have superpowers? The ability to move objects with a mere blink of an eye? The means to alter the minds of others? A way to get from point A to point B nigh instantly? Or in my case, my prefered superpower would be time travel. The ability to control time itself. But I think you could've already guessed that with me, seeing as how obsessed I am with the notion of time.

Sometimes I think about how could it would be if superheroes actually did exist. Of course, that would also entail the existence of supervillains. But when you come to think of it, people like Bin Laden, Hitler, Stalin or any other baddy in history, they could be thought of  as villains. Sure, they don't have superpowers like Dr Doom or Magneto, but that doesn't make them any less villainous. Maybe this reality has its own subset of villains? Those who do great harm without actually having superpowers. However, if that's true, then where are today's superheroes? Do they have powers? Or wear costumes?

If there are so many villains in the world, there must be an equal amount of superheroes to balance things out, right? Or could it be that we have a little bit of both in us? The capacity to do both great evil and great good? The question remains then, where do we draw the line between serving ourselves and serving the common good?

Over there

I've thought about what to write for a while, seeing as how my previous post seemed a bit too hard to compete with, but I think I found something that I'm equally as passionate about.

In a few months, I'll have the opportunity to apply for studying a year abroad. A teacher of mine suggested going on Erasmus, saying it looks so good on a resume and it's also a great way to meet new people -he met his wife while away. Of course, his reasons aren't necessarily mine.

Should I get in, I want to go to Sheffield, UK to pave the way for my ever-encroaching future. I've always known I wanted to write in English, simply because I find it easier to express myself in that language than I do in Dutch. And since the job offers for me in English in this country are slim to non-existant. So, it seems only natural I'll have to find it over there.

When I visited London two years ago, I kind of had the idea in the back of my head to start spreading around resumes, in the hopes of landing me a job and 'forcing' me to move there. But then again, it seemed foolish to think I'd instantly get a job in an industry that's been flat on its ass since 2007 or even that they'd pick me above an English-speaking native. There's no harm in dreaming, right?

A while ago, I sent one of my essays to the New York Review, or was it some other magazine? Anyway, I sent it, hoping to get published. That fell through, but it didn't keep me from writing and it sure as hell won't stop me from trying to get in!

Ever since I was little, I knew I didn't want to live in Belgium for the rest of my life. I knew I wanted to be somewhere else. I guess I'm just not that big a fan of this country. I was actually one of the few (?) who prayed Belgium'd split by the end of our country's crisis. I think that sort of says it all about my commitment to this country -or what passes a country anymore, I mean, 385 days without a government in the past three years? Seriously.

So, once the paperwork is over and done with, I can only hope to be considered a valid candidate and maybe, come next year, I'll be blogging live from the UK. One thing's for sure, I'll have my resumes packed and ready to be dealt around, even if I have to force-feed them to all the major newspapers and publishing houses.

Explicit content

This blog might be my most explicit and shocking to date so I warn those tender of soul not to read further.

It's been brought to my attention that I have a real gift with words. Up until a few minutes ago, I saved my best work for someone special, but then she pointed out that it should be out there, for all to read. So, instead of hiding my "gift" from the rest of the world, I decided to share it with you, to do with it however you please.

This would also be a good time to note the PG-13 or even M rating for this blog. Forgive the poor structure and raggidy feel of the story, it was originally a series of text messages. I thought about editing it first, but then again, I didn't want it to lose any of its ... charm. Enjoy.

Almost midnight. I'm heading for club Persephone. Appropriate name, since once you enter this place, you go straight to the Underworld. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and desire. Everybody's already sitting at their tables, drinks in hand. The alcohol flows freely. I find a place near the stage. A glass of rhum awaits me. I take a sip. Already I can feel it working its way through my system. Then, at the stroke of midnight, all eyes turn to the stage...

Curtains rise. Breaths are held. Backs are straightened. Up comes you. A vision in fiery red lingerie. With one look you make half the room cum in their pants. You're a natural. Your body moves in a way only goddesses can. You defy Aphrodite herself with your gaze.

As the music swells and fills up the place, your body starts to sway. Your nails dig dip into your thighs and work their way up and down. I feel something stirring inside me. It wants out. But you're pulling the strings. I am under your spell. I am your puppet.

You wet your lips, making me wish I was your lipstick.

You touch your breasts, making me want to be the silk that covers them from the world.

You open your legs. No place I'd rather be.

The air is electric. My pants suddenly too tight. Everybody in town comes here just for you. But you are my Persephone. My way down.

You unhook your bra and toss it in my direction. I pick it up. It smells of you. I'm bursting inside.

Your show is heating up the place. The smoke circles your legs, aching to touch you, to be inside of you. And finally, you deliver the audience from tension and start to take off your panties. As one side slowly descends, I can see the gorgeous line between your hips, leading down to Nirvana, my destination.

There you are. Naked. Wanted. Waiting.

Then, the curtain falls. No time like the present, I think to myself. I run up the stage, behind the curtain. You're picking up your panties. I put my foot down and say "You won't need these anymore."

You look up, straight at me. You want it too. Your breasts are covered in your sweat. I completely lose control. I grab you and pull you up against the wall. As you wrap your legs around me, you pull my pants down. I think I'm going to explode. I never wanted anything this badly in my life. I take your hands and hold them above your head, you're mine now.

The air becomes too thick to even breathe. Suddenly everything turns dark.

When we both regain consciousness, we're lying on the floor. I turn around and look at you. I just know that there's no going back anymore. This is where I'll stay. In the Underworld, with you as my Persephone, my Queen. Nobody else will do.

Okay, so I told you guys this was heavy stuff. Thought I should tell you that I did edit this version a little bit, as the text messages were a bit more explicit on the whole 'deed' thing. But I thought that was maybe too much for this blog -or yourself- to handle. Of course, for those who want the full version, come see me. We'll talk.

As for now, I'm signing off. It's almost midnight after all...

These violent delights have violent ends

These violent delights have violent ends,

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which, as they kiss, consume: the sweetest honey

Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,

And in the taste confounds the appetite

I know what you're thinking, this guy knows his Shakespeare. Okay, so I might have bought "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare", but that doesn't mean I randomly start quoting the sayings of this 16th century poet. It's just that the quote seemed appropriate for this blog. You'll soon find out why.

When you're watching American series such as The OC, One Tree Hill or even Seventh Heaven you'll always find a couple ready to be torn apart by someone else. One way or another, there's always somebody lurking in the shadows, craving what the other one's got, waiting to make their move. Ryan had to choose between Marissa and Teresa. Lucas struggled to keep his emotions for Peyton bottled up while he was with Brooke and the kids of Reverend Camden also weren't exactly the perfect monogamous role models.

I've often wondered how accurate these shows were, because if they were, that would mean that fidelity isn't high on anyone's Ladder of Virtues across the Atlantic. Still, the number of shows playing with the whole love triangle storyline are far too numerous to be just the fluke of one production house. Do our overseas neighbours have it right? Is there no such thing as fidelity anymore and are we all just secretly craving another person's conquest? And if so, is all still fair in love and war?

Marriage and love consequentially (?), are said to have been on the decline for quite some time. Feminists like to pinpoint this occassion with the coming of the Pill, said to have been the cause of the sexual revolution -and as an added bonus, it plummeted the stocks of marriage around the world. People weren't looking for commitment anymore, they only wanted instant gratification. No more waiting for the ring, followed by the "Happily Ever After" in the suburbs. The war was over, the battles had been fought, now it was time to enjoy what -more precisely, who- was left. Little did they know that the worst battles were yet to be fought, behind closed doors and tinted windows.

For some time now, I have found myself drawn towards an "unavailable". Yet, the feelings are mutual. Sure, there's always been something in the air, but sufficed to say, it never crossed over to the physical plain. Generally speaking, when a girl says she has a BF, you back off. It's the respectful thing to do. But what if the lines between faithfulness and "What he doesn't know, won't hurt him" start to fade?

Attraction is a funny thing. Most of the time, you can't explain it. It just is. It makes you wonder how something that is so wrong, can feel so right? Yet, there is definitely some attraction in the air. And lately this attraction has become borderline infatuation.

What started out as innocent -although, are they ever really?- text messages, slowly evolved into something more. However, we still remained aware of the boundaries that kept us apart. On her side, there was the matter of the BF. On my side, there was the matter of common decency and moral restraint. But seriously, Lust kicks Moral's ass each and every time. So I was fighting a losing battle. And in time, I started to realize this. The line was becoming increasingly blurry. I can't tell exactly when we finally shoved the whole friendship thing aside and became something more, but it had happened and once the shift was made, there was no turning back.

For now, our text messages try to satisfy our ever-increasing appetite, but it won't be long before the great physical divide is finally crossed. And when that time comes, I don't know what will happen. I don't know what we'll be and what will be left. Could Shakespeare have got it right and do fire and powder really consume each other until there is nothing left? But then again, they say that out of the ashes something new blossoms, so where does that leave us?

I can't believe that after all those years of resenting Americans for their promiscuous behaviour, I have finally become one of them. I have succombed to my inner urges and allowed myself to become entangled in a love triangle. I always knew marriage was dead, but I never could have predicted this new position I find myself in. In my head, there are a million voices all screaming at me at once, telling me to end this before someone gets hurt or caught. And I've got millions of reasons why I shouldn't continue this "affair", but how can something that feels so right, be so wrong?

Sure, you can slap morals and resentments in my face, but at the end of the day, all that remains are the two of us. Where we'll take this, I can't say, but for now, I'm just going to enjoy the ride. Life has seldom been good to me in so many ways, I just learn to take my pleasures where I can get them. And if it should mean my demise, I can only hope I'll be able to pick myself up again in the same way that I did all those times before.

Can you turn my black roses red?

As more and more blogs start to come to life, so do the words behind them. It starts out with a nervous introduction or a sort of explanation as to why this particular blog was created, but after a few entries, familiarity sets in. The author begins to open himself up to those willing to follow the links and who take the time to get to know him.

Can I ask you a question please?

Let's face it, in today's world, everything seems to go by in flashes. Flash. End of high school. Flash. First year of college over and done with. Flash. First love come and gone. We can't seem to get a hold of what is happening all around us. Pictures only capture a fraction of what we're going through. So maybe writing about them, seems like a more solid way to contain life, before it slips away.

Promise you won't laugh at me?

In class, the teacher told us that our generation's Facebook and blogs have replaced the diaries of old. In a way, that's true. We might have outgrown the paperback editions of our emotions, but we keep finding new ways to express how we really feel and think. Sure, we don't do it in extravagant ways such as writing a play worthy of Shakespeare or we don't compose the next Beethoven, but we each do something that matters to us in our own way.

As twisted as it seems,
I only fear love when it's in my dreams.

A few minutes ago, I was reading a friend's blog and I got to thinking about just how personal a blog can get. This morning, he asked me if I wrote personal stuff in my blog. I told him yes, because I can't imagine not doing that. If I were to leave out every personal detail of my life, you might as well go and read an encyclopedia, because this would just become an amalgamation of words, incoherently strung together.

So let in the morning light
and let the darkness fade way.

I'm not saying we should all pour our hearts out, because let's face it, then we'd need at least two bottles of vodka to even remotely start dealing with all the residual heartache that ensues. A blog should be a fine line between what defines you and what you want people to define you with. For some, this'll be easy, but for others -those who've stepped on a few landmines in the emotional battleground we call life- it'll be that much harder.

Can you turn my black roses red?

In my nineteen years of living, I'm sure I have amassed quite a bit of emotional luggage, enough to fill  a jumbo jet even, but each and every one of those experiences has contributed in some way to the person writing these words. It doesn't help to keep all of your emotions bottled up inside when it can feel so good to let them flow through your fingers, dance on your keyboard and jump onto the luminous screen in front of you. I promise you, once you see your heartache black on white, you'll know the worst part is over.

Can you turn my black roses red?

So in a way, blogs are the diaries of the twenty-first century, only they're a lot more public and they take up far less time. Time which can now be better spent at actually going out into the world -as opposed to sitting on your bed, listening to sappy songs, waiting for life to strike so you can write about it- and living your life.

One last year has come and gone.

And if there is tragedy, don't try to hide away from it. Tragedy finds us all in the end. But just remember: tragedy plus time equals comedy. So one day, after the fallout has cleared, you'll be able to get back up and you'll probably walk away with a few clever punchlines and sarcastic remarks to laugh away the pain.

It's time to let your love rain down on me.