Monthly Archives: November 2014

It’s cold and misty. And for some reason I don’t fancy a shower nor going out. I’m quite content with quietly observing from the vantage point of my living room. The fireplace is on of course and in a moment I will heat up yesterday’s dinner for lunch and position myself with a glass or red in front of the TV. I am namely watching the Red Riding trilogy. I was first under the impression it was a documentary as an acquintance recommended it to me, so when I found it on Netflix I decided to give it a go.

Set against a backdrop of serial murders during 1974–1983 (primarily the Yorkshire Ripper killings), the series follow several obscure characters through a grim and arid underworld of police corruption and organised crime. Thus Yorkshire Noir at its bleakest… (for other European Noir genres…try Snabba Cash – Stockholm Noir and the Bridge – Malmo/Copenhagen Noir).


Stunning view to wake up to

I’m a hypocrite, a liar and a thief. I deserve everything I get, and some more. The more I dissect, slice and dice my circumstances I realise I am entirely responsible for them. And for how I consider them them (terrible of course). Perhaps you recall my musings over trust. If someone would ask if I can be trusted (and quite a few have) the answer would be plain and simple….Nein, Non…no… of course you shouldn’t trust me. In fact I wouldn’t recommend you trusting anyone, least of all yourself.

It’s a bold statement, as we tend to believe that the only one we can trust is ourselves. But can we really? How many times did you make a promise to yourself, only to compromise it? And we are talking simple things here..don’t we honey?… eating less, working more, working less… You catch my drift. So let’s examine the same coin from the other side – since we can’t trust anyone else – and most (if not all) would agree to that statement, everyone else must be you too…right?

So no darling, don’t trust me. I have a certain level of morals and code I (try to) live by, but like the ethics of the thief, I break them whenever I see it imperative to do so. For my own survival of course.

So don’t say I didn’t warn you…


There is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft… When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal his wife’s right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness.

I discovered a second shopping district behind where we live….wonderful, a bit old-fashioned shops such as a butcher, baker, cheese shop and some arts and crafts stores. Reminds me of where I used to live before…Heemstede.


Prim and proper look today


New gloves teamed with Magie Noir…dark luxury just as I like it


I never thought I would see the day I bough a cooking magazine….hitting middle age?


Last but not least…I love figs. A forbidden fruit I always thought…

So I was pleasantly surprised to find them in a local grocery shop.

Dinner is late. I am starving. I contain myself not to eat bread but I do so nevertheless. I make smaller pieces to make it last longer. Eventually my Turkish Kofte appears – and it’s heavenly. I consume my whole plate (which is just meat, tomato and green pepper). After dinner walking back I decide to go for a 90 minute massage. It’s a Chinese haunt I have started to frequent as of late. It’s basic, but clean and a massage of 1.5h sets me off a mere 55 euros. Affordable luxury so to say. Whilst I am laying on the massage table…I contemplate…on the people I know, and the topic of trust (it will have to be dissected for another blog post). In between strokes of a Chinese violin and harpsichord I hear dull thumps, screams and shouts…but then laughter and something slamming…could it be a bed? I am to be honest not sure what I hear but I am alerted by it, and prepared to rush up some dingy stairs to rescue kids and women in distress. Eventually the noise dies down and I go back to my contemplation…this is easily done as the massage therapist is doing a great job with my head and shoulders.

My 90 minutes are up and I go for a brisk walk listening to classical. There are a lot of dodgy people out tonight so I retreat into my own fur-clad hood…and into my own world.

B arrives a little past 11 pm. We go upstairs for a wine and talk. She brought me Mozart Kugelen…the real Viennese kind. I’m staring at them as we speak. They would go down well with a cup of coffee. Mind over matter F, mind over matter…


The season for Christmas parties and other festivities are coming up. I already got several invitations and it’s becoming a matter of prioritizing. On one side it would good to show my face as I have been more furtive than Greta Garbo as of late.

Since I came out the stone I was hiding under, I’ve had a bit of explaining to do…which is not my thing. It’s tiring and a futile exercise at best, as it only raises more questions. So I am struggling still with catching up, trips that are planned, people to see, parties to attend.

What are your plans? If it was up to me it will be spent in front of the fireplace reading books Sx


The more I stopped feeling, the less I started to care, my ability to write passed so too. The fantasies and hopes and dreams became null and void and with that the ability to express myself. I saw no need. There was nothing that I wished for, the need to prove myself gone, the reflection of myself impertinent. I became in a way so aware of my own mortality that I wished for it. Constantly. There was no phase II or III, no I only sought death. And it wasn’t either the frivolous childhood entertainment most have undoubtedly engaged in. Elaborating on how and where, and what friends and family would think. No, it was simply the wishing of nonexistence. The notion was so fundamental and yet without substance that it was utterly weightless, existing in a vacuum devoid of time and space.

How I wonder (and perhaps you do too)? After all I haven’t ever experienced this acute emptiness as I do now. Let me explain it in this way. Perhaps too explicitly but there is no other way I believe. I was always a very sexual person. I derived pleasure and didn’t see much wrong with this instant gratification. I sought it wherever I could. And reveled in the attention. And as membrane rubbed with membrane, so did my soul. I coupled with anyone that my heart and mind fancied. Playing these games for my own indulgence. It was all a spectacle really, and I caroused in it. Clothes, perfumes, books, films, antiques…all with attention to the most minute detail.

You see it was all for show, much needed to fill the gap that years of self-loathing had created. In fact in my own way I became the narcissist I held such absolute fascination for. But then the winter came…

A long, hard, bitter and barren time. Year passed into another, and eventually the tears dried up, and so did the desires. Until one day… I felt nothing. I remember I tried to please myself. I tried so frantically, but although my body responded the ultimate emotion never appeared. I tried a few more times, invariably in the evening when alone. The moment one would seek to pleasure oneself as a reward for passing yet another insignificant day. But the result was always the same. Naught. Eventually I understood that I passed into a being without pleasure or pain.

As I write these words, yet alone, I conjure up memories of another lifetime. Those delightful intercourses…of various kind. Will they ever reappear? Will Spring finally commence?


What’s cooking? Well for lunch as well as dinner duck! I just took them out of the freezer as part of the Thursday routine, namely cleaning. I had help in our new place and although it’s much easier to keep clean than our previous house, it’s still a lot of work, and not conducive with my normal work. Thus I am looking for someone to take the Monday alternatively the Thursday shift which would include cleaning, ironing and some baby-sitting for Sebastian. Drop me an email (see contact details on this blog) if you know of someone that is good, reliable and great with kids. Sx

Fires. I love fires. It’s something about her sheer destructibility. Inspiring fear yet awe in us feeble humans. They way she consumes everything in her power. And yet once conquered her terror still lingering in our collective memory.

Barely in my adolescence, I would put paper on fire in the toilet only to safely snuff out the flames once they rose too high. Pyromania and cruelty to animals are both considered traits precursing those damned to live out their lives without a soul. The socially bankrupt one might say. Don’t you think I ever considered? Whether I fell into this ill-fated group? Yet my conclusion tells me the very consideration would exclude me from such. Oh yes, rationalize it enough and it will become dogma. Yet don’t we contract the decease when exposed to it long enough? It’s really simply a matter of statistics. Your sickness became my very own. Yes, my judgement clouded, weak vegetation that could not withstand your onslaught.

So Dear…explain me the paradox….I feel so much sadness I cannot feel anymore. And yet a touch, a word – the gentlest of kind….conjures up the most awful of thoughts. Like I am set…ablaze. The pain, yes this quicksilver, mercurial sort of ill…a shapeshifter of agony, never ceases. So please…and you know who you are, take your leave. Never seek contact, erase me in not only the digital realm, but too within the cerebral vacuum you guard. I will never look back, just take your leave. And I shall take mine.


It’s a solitary workday today too, but it will be one of the last as December looks to become incredibly busy. I am working on the last planning as I do this best in silo, and from there on the road should be a little less bumpy (remember I don’t believe in 100% planning nor control, thus it would be silly of me to make such statements). Well back to work…


Yesterday’s leftovers for lunch…

8 pm. Upstairs in bed with a glass of red…origin unknown…and my Mac, luckily working. The little man is asleep and I…well I could do with a good night’s sleep too. Thinking about it, I’ve been working – in various capacities – 13 hours non stop. It’s only now I have some time to sit down and reflect on the day. Busy…overwhelmingly so. Between emails and calls, I’ve cleaned the house, done the washing and ironing, the shopping, a visit to the dentist with Sebastian, family breakfast and dinner. It’s times like these my head feels so swamped I literally don’t know what to write…apart from the obvious :). Ah well, I am not complaining. Another hour of some work and then bedtime. Good night x


House is spick and span…and lucky me I just had some beautiful flowers delivered


Excitement mixed with terror at the dentist