Let me think

Airport, flight, taxi, hotel, conference, few meetings, taxi, airport, flight, home. The streets are passing by. I've never been to this city and it may take some time before I return.

"You're Flemish, right?," is about the only conversation I have with a local. The cab driver.

Classy hotel, top floor with excellent park views. Within few days I'm having my first job interview in two years. Smooth, maybe too smooth for my liking. Until I'm stricken with a question:

"Do you miss Sydney?"

"No, not at all," I'm laughing it away, feeling where it's heading: Aren't you gonna vanish Down Under any time soon?

I don't know. I really don't. Just let me think about it.

Freewheeling

I just don't know. Sometimes I have to come to standstill and take a deep breath to grasp the reality; or something slightly further off. Most time I'm freewheeling, events are unwinding around me and if I step in — it's purely automatic, without a need to think.

There are rare occasions when I come to realize myself, sort of Neo-like awakenings. Usually late at night, left on my own. Hotels, lobbies, elevators, cabs, airports; they all happen to be a proper background to reclaim consciousness for a moment.

Tonight, it's a night like that. And before I lose myself in everyday mess again, I'll rather put down a serious thought: Life without meaning is tiring beyond recognition.

And falling into decay seems like the ride of a lifetime.

Personal Jesus

Just few unimportant intimate thoughts passed through my mind last night.

Very late eighties; they release a single so dynamic and sexy that half of my classmates go crazy and nearly miss the Velvet Revolution. After nine months, the album is released, too.

It's difficult to argue today if it was life-changing, yet in those days, I remember rushing to a local department store to get an LP, or rather a cassette as soon as it was out. It was chic. March 1990, children.

Almost ten years later, late nineties: Hey guys, don't you wanna see them in concert?, they're in Prague tomorrow!

Crazy as ever, twelve hours on a train, lots of weed, cheap booze and hash. Rock dungeons, Lennon wall, World Press Photo and no chance to get tickets for the gig. Got high and wasted instead. Hangover and another twelve hours on a train back as a bonus.

Twenty ten. The chick next to me was born pretty much the same time as the song that is stuck in my head. I know this one, she notes with her innocent smile, only to walk away a minute later to savour more culinary delights. As long as she's happy, I'm too.

Reach out and touch fate!

Depeche Mode, Prague 14 January 2010

Main Set: In Chains * Wrong * Hole To Feed * Walking In My Shoes * It’s No Good * A Question Of Time * Precious * World In My Eyes * Insight * Home * Miles Away / The Truth Is * Policy Of Truth * In Your Room * I Feel You * Enjoy The Silence *Never Let Me Down Again

Encore: One Caress * Stripped * Behind The Wheel * Personal Jesus

Autopilot

This meant to be a decent restaurant. Classy interior, ritzy cutlery. Dignified waiters in fitting attires. Seemingly a great choice for a Christmas bash. Except for a steak that was a bit cold and Chivas Regal that felt slightly dodgy. Obviously that's the only reason I rather asked for a bottle. They didn't have one.

Sigh. Sigh. I had to settle for a bottle of Jameson. One litre of Jameson. With a little help from my friends, it was gone in two hours.

I recall neither singing vulgar folk songs nor asking the waiter to leave us fucking alone to enjoy the party. Had to switch on the autopilot on the way home.

Woke up somewhat hurt. Fucking autopilot! I crashlanded!

Abode of snow

I must have gone mad; I'm waking up with the same feeling every morning since we've crossed 3 000 meters. I hate cold and I'm afraid of heights. So how come I'm here? I'm shivering. I crave for a shower like a junkie craves for a fix.

My companion is lighting his pipe but I cannot care less. I want to cross the mountains. Let's bloody go!

I dream of lazy days that are to come, about subtropical hideaway that is awaiting me. I long for a drink, I cannot wait to get wasted. And my mind is filled with the dirtiest of thoughts, so graphical and explicit and crazy.

Well, as I say, I must have gone mad.

Home alone

She's got her place and I have mine. She used to spend all her time here but she's halved her presence in my bed as she sobered up. Well, I still enjoy halving her buttocks pretty much the same way as on day one.

Anyway — that's not the point.

It's just the ambivalent feeling once I'm left on my own. Having enough time to work in the evenings. Or watch porn. To go out with whomever I decide to without the unavoidable necessity to report her, ideally before and after.

And yet — something's terribly wrong; the atmosphere is totally different without a lazy kitty around. And it's not about halving her buttocks whenever I want to.

American woman

It was early May and I walked her to the hill behind the town. We became more and more aroused as we walked and talked and ended up making love in the meadow — it was quick and dirty and very, very pleasant. One of those days I'll remember till the end of my days.

She was getting her PhD and pursuing her career at the time and I was wandering the world in the best tradition of Jack Kerouac.

Fast forward to 2009 and thanks to Skype I see her again. She's a woman in her thirties. Traded her job in international diplomacy for a chance to stay in the States. Worked as a waiter. And was laid off recently. She's married to one man and having a child with another. He's unemployed, too. They're living in a rented place in the suburbs.

She's all different. She's changed. Sparkless, chubby and more realistic than ever. Her dreams are gone and she's accepting her life the way it is. Dull? She seemed even far worse off than I am.

I loved her once. And today, I still can't believe the bizarre twist of fate when I learned she named her firstborn daughter Zoe. The same name I'd give mine, would gods blessed me with one.

Dull thoughts

Sitting on the toilet, reading FHM. Not so long ago, I'd feel a strong urge to masturbate. Today, I don't. I'm lazy, much lazier than I used to be. And numb. My belly is getting larger by the day and I don't seem to be doing anything about it. Stopped jogging, started eating junk food. I do not care about myself anymore. I'm dull.

Working like a slave doesn't help the situation — having no time to think things over makes it more difficult. So what? I'm dull.

Having a great chick by my side hardly excites me. I like watching TV and browsing the net.

I'm finished. I need to pull the handbrake or a swift change of scenery.

Leonard Cohen, Prague 29 August 2009

Part one: Dance Me to the End of Love * The Future * Ain't No Cure for Love * Bird On The Wire * Everybody Knows * In My Secret Life * Who By Fire? * Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye * Lover Lover Lover * Waiting for the Miracle * Anthem

Part two: Tower of Song * Suzanne * Sisters of Mercy * The Gypsy's Wife * The Partisan * Boogie Street * Hallelujah * I'm Your Man * Take This Waltz

Encore: So Long, Marianne * First We Take Manhattan * Famous Blue Raincoat * If It Be Your Will * Closing Time * I Tried To Leave You * Whither Thou Goest

Hallelujah

Lying stark naked on a rug in the middle of a steamy suburban night, all alone, slowly sinking into loneliness and despair. Buckley's few years drown and the Zen Buddhist poet hasn't shown around for some time. No, I won't hear this one live, ever.

Roll on, here I am almost ten years later and so is he, the troubadour, the minstrel, the bard, kneeling in front of the adoring audience.

It's just a vague breath of bygone days, quickly disappearing in gourmet food and wine of the V.I.P. sector. I'll have more chocolate fondue, she giggles, and I'm leaving my foolish thoughts to vanish.

Questions

The situation is appealing. It is as mind-numbing as it is mind-blowing. Caught between a rock and a hard place could suggest a thing, yet does it?

I could be with someone but I'm on my own, stuck in a centre of a triangle or quadrangle of women who would — under certain conditions — be my partners. They're all great in their own way, nevertheless none of them is perfect in the way I'd like. And, of course, I don't fill in their world either. Should I lessen my expectations? Should I lower my head? Should I cheapen myself, being already cheap enough? Or put it the other way around, should they get used to me? Should they accept me the way I am, they way I think and act? Should they lessen their expectations instead?

Should anybody compromise for the sake of getting closer to a vague happiness? Is that satisfying? And what about other reasons that are driving us — none less than the first one mentioned. Vanity, social acceptance, fear. There's more and more to think of.

As always, so many questions, so few answers.

Eagles, Prague 8 June 2009

Took her to a concert. Basically, sweet-talked her into it by mentioning corporate catering. That hooked her. She didn't pay attention to music too much, just tucked into whatever she felt like and savoured it with a childish grin and awe over her face. From time to time, I glanced at her; quietly and patiently, not to woo her, not to try breaking her, just to paint a mental picture of her beauty, of the way she smiles, talks, moves. I guess she might have noticed a glimpse of sadness, yet that might have been it — if it even was. No pathetic mess, no clingy desperate ex.

She was enjoying chocolate fondue with strawberries — and that's how I'll remember her in the months to come.

Yeah, and Hotel California is still great.

A quick one on man

Just in case somebody feels the same way, they're not alone. Blaise Pascal put it down nicely in the Pensées almost 350 years ago:

What a chimera then is man! What a novelty! What a monster, what a chaos, what a contradiction, what a prodigy! Judge of all things, imbecile worm of the earth; depositary of truth, a sink of uncertainty and error; the pride and refuse of the universe!

Tequila sunrise

Sunday morning, 4 am. I didn't party party last night. Didn't even go out. Stayed at home and watched the ceiling. Browsed the net. Didn't call anybody. Sincerely, didn't even feel like having anybody to call.

A single thought passed my mind — how much has my life changed in the last year and a half. There's no late night calls anymore, no blackouts, no hangovers — and no crazy friends around. The fridge is still packed with bottles. They're all sealed. I should start giving them away.

Sometimes I ache for a fag. To open a window and light one. Sometimes I ache for graver deeds, too. Yet I hold back.

Ooh that's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning!

I go buy fresh rolls instead.

The happiest man alive

When I think I can't fall any deeper — I do. I always surprise myself how deep the hole is. The rabbit hole. Physical and mental emptiness even stopped being nauseating; being on the bring of nothingness is nirvanic. I mean, it doesn't feel bad anymore. I can handle twelve-hour work shifts without barking at people around me. I can handle my diminishing and almost illusory private life, too. Maybe I lack sleep — buy hey, that's what keeps me going.

Maybe if they started selling soma, I'd be the happiest man alive.

Simply Red, Prague 24 May 2009

Took her to see the show. Not that she mentioned she was a fan. Not that I was one either. Maybe I just thought it would be a better idea than exercising in my bed. Whatever.

To a degree, we enjoyed catering — including sushi for her and unlimited access to chocolate for me — more than the concert itself. Plus wine, wine and more wine. When the lights went down, we could not stop poking fun at poor Mick.

Afterwards, we walked down the nightly city. And for a moment, I forgot wondering if there was any meaning to it at all. I'll keep holding on.

Moonlight sonata

Side by side on a bed. Laughing and teasing. Talking more than we did in ages. It is intimate, at least it is for me. Now, I can feel it — suddenly. I avoid touches, avoid glances. I'm here and I'm not. She likes it that way, I can tell. Yet I can't tell if that's all she wants. If I knew, if I only knew!

What? What would I do? Would I passionately make love to her tonight only to ignore her in the nights to come? Would I promise — myself, of course — that it'll all be different — only to find out it wouldn't? 'Cos it so bloody difficult to change. To change me.

Hence Beethoven instead. Again.

Outward bound

Went out to clear my mind. A club, drum and bass, two beers and two pills. Didn't feel like dancing. Felt like eating a hamburger. Did. Caught a cab and went home. Stared at ceiling until six.

Slept until midday. Teased by the sun, made a phone call. Had a date. Pashing in the meadows behind the city, dining together. Drove her off, went home, slept again.

Read the news. Listened to Bjørnstad. Did not feel melodramatic.

In the park

One of those sunny days that ask for going out, love and making love in the wild. We're driving to a lake surrounded by a park on the city outskirts. Talking about life and how it's changed since we've known each other. It's been merely a year, I note after a short walk as we sit on a bench concealed in the corner.

Sitting in the restaurant an hour later, I feel like it's been a century, not a year. It all simply... clicks. Yet the timing is far from right.

How did you dare?, she texts me late at night. Dunna, I answer. Most probably, I felt like doing it so I did.

Hope there's more years to come.