Just Rambling

Yadda yadda yadda.

The smile lingers on – An ode to feelings

not an impressionist painting

The Allegory of Painting by Johannes Vermeer. Not an impressionistic painting.

The sky is an impressionistic painting.

Heart beating to the rythm of my walking, heart beating to the music. Heart beating to your blinking. I want to dance, I want to cry, I want to puke, to sing, to run, to stay. I love the feeling of love, of nostalgia, the great mix between imploding happiness and cold indifference. I’m drunk on the cool air and high on new beginnings. New beginnings always smell strongly of the past, of childhood, of tragedy. Adrenaline, the glistening eyes I imagine having, words flowing in from my soul to my brain. Hastening the pace, quick, looking at my feet for a second, the muscles in my cheeks tense, seeing you walking by. Time doesn’t mean a thing anymore, as long as this feeling’s here. You look me in the eyes, then you’re gone. You’re gone, but the smile lingers on. Memories, the present, expectations, everything blends together when I feel it rush through my veins, this undefinable thing, this perfect concoction. Put together from things that shouldn’t belong in it, made from the tension between its elements, from the fast pounding in my chest and from the path my spirit follows too quickly to remember everything clearly. I hate it and crave it at the same time. It doesn’t have a name, none I found has yet done it justice. A concentrate of every strong emotion, put together in one. It smells of October and January, it looks a bit like this one May and everything after. Disappointment and high hopes, tears and laughter, and the wish to just keep walking for the rest of my life. The need to pump up the volume so the music booms in my earphones just enough, too. It’s not love, but love’s somewhere in it too: the tingling going on in my whole body, the enjoyable uneasiness I feel in my stomach. Loud guitars seem like the best thing ever invented in those moments, but sweet, sad voices and minor chords do too. It’s not about you, but you’re part of it, because I think of you occasionally, and in these moments, every occasional thought, every little preoccupation or hypothesis is considered again for a fraction of a second.

I think the best part about it is still the fact I know, I’m certain, I’m one hundred percent positive that everything is going to be just fine. Even though you’re gone forever, even though you’ll be too, soon, even though you haven’t come back yet. Even though they don’t understand.

We’ll be fine. Me, you, and them.




Oh no no
Let me go
Daydreams and visions
All the wrong reasons
Clouding my daylight
Not sure it’s alright
Oh it’s not
Fucks me up

Pretty please
Make it cease
“Seize the day” they say
Sailing the present
Past ghosts kept at bay
Future gusts resent
How should I,
Oh my my

Blinded, eyes closed
I was supposed
To see a light
Now it’s too bright,
Too bright



Yeah, that’s what life is. Trying to keep people from killing themselves, getting off the train for nothing, and sitting five or six minutes on the sidewalk for no reason. Coming home and seeing your neighbours’ lovely families going about their life. Imagining your father, waiting for you, alone. Hearing others make a fuss about the little things, seeing yourself trying hard to make some fuss about the big ones. Not turning the lights on when you walk into the house. That’s what life is.

3am yellow

Mind-boggingly alone in this yellow-walled hell, and yet stuck with company I’d rather not have. Hesitating between not sleeping at all and sleeping my way through everything, my mind wanders through problems with a speed that impedes me from getting anything out of that situation but frustration. The rare moments where my consciousness pans out of the world and into ethereal realms are spent gazing into the sky at sunset, listening to the waves roll, snuggling my feet in warm sand and getting this blurred sense of bliss. Similarly rare are the moments of clarity, which unfortunately only seem to show up at the worst possible times – those where something negative is to be uncovered. Days seem to go by in no particular order, my mood swinging left and right, up and down. With the sentiment I’m really trying, the lack of reward this vacation offers occurs to me, and as I think of the days to come, I can hardly see a light at the end of the tunnel. After the end of my stay, I will have to work and focus on important organisation-, study-, and logistic-related tasks, which I’ve been putting off for some time already. I’m afraid the unfruitfulness of these two weeks of wannabe-rest will only make everything harder for the times to come. As I try to find a comfortable position to lay, sit, or even stand, I am overwhelmed by the near future. I have important phone calls to make, ideas I must write down if I don’t want to lose them, shopping to do… The list could go on for a long time. I am tempted by the thought of drinking the very good local beer until I fall asleep, with the hope that it will soothe my raw nerves, but I am convinced there is a more intelligent way to go about my night. Sleeping might be the way to go, but despite the exhaustion I feel, the perspective of staying awake seems much more interesting to me than the alternative. The place seems perfect for a mental breakdown. If I knew how to film, I’d probably find tons of angles to show off how oppressing it is, here. I decide to trade my aimless mental wandering for some sort of coma, which will probably end up with me drifting off to sleep and forgetting to set an alarm clock.

Silence is golden

Image Silence isn’t made out of your sleepless nights, out of the flow of your thoughts, out of your eyes, swollen by exhaustion, out of the thick darkness of your familiar bedroom.

Silence isn’t made out of the anger, out of the frustration, out of the lack of words towards a loved one, out of the mass of unsaid things.

Silence isn’t made out of mourning, out of absence, out of emptiness.

Silence is what you hear when you get out of your house on a cold Winter evening, when no one is around, when the snow is covering everything and stealing the sound, when your footsteps creak and the nearby road is empty of cars.

Silence is the pause between the music, the calm in the middle of the storm, when your heart stops beating for a split second, it is the wait that makes the Christams gifts better.

Silence is confidence, silence is understanding, silence is telepathy, silence is happiness to feel the other’s warmth on your skin.

Silence is golden.



Life doesn’t give us homes. We make our houses homes, and life turns them back.

When it does, we’re like orphans, lost, without a place to go. Without our place to go. Some of us find their home in others, some in new places. But what we really should do is make ourselves our home. Friends, lovers, family, houses, cities… Everything comes to pass. The only thing that we are entitled to for our whole existence is to be us.

I don’t want to lose my home again. Material things, living beings can disappear and leave you behind. Make you an orphan. Even a planet isn’t eternal. Your spirit is.

Be your home.


Since it restarted, everything just blurs together. Weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds. They’re all the same. I sleep my way through time. Dreams are followed by daydreams. Nothing gets done, nothing is interesting. I think it‘s worse than before. I don’t remember how I managed to snap out of it last time. I can’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, I can barely see anything. I just wonder when it‘ll be over. Hopefully before it endangers my studies. Just when there’s so much to do, I stop providing any effort whatsoever. Just when I have holidays, my sleep patterns become unmanageable again. Just when the project I’ve been waiting for for so long starts, the only perspective that excites me is to get away from my whole life. I would like to start everything over. In fact, I don’t have a clue what I would start. Probably nothing. The only thing that allows me to wake up before noon is constraint. No matter how much I sleep, I’m always tired. I always feel ill, and am indeed sniffling and coughing half of the time. The sun is finally back and yet here I am, inside. Not only inside. I’m under my blanket, aimlessly browsing the web, or simply talking to myself in my head. Nothing appeals to me anymore, I don’t manage to think properly, I have writer’s block, my brain is stiff and numb. Whenever something makes me excited, I can’t gather enough energy to work on it. This line from Tom Petty’s “Crawling back to you” plays over and over in my head, the one that goes “I’m so tired of being tired”. I don’t even now why nor – more importantly – how I’m writing this. It’s not even a good text, it doesn’t even describe anything. A lot of drivel is what it is.

I certainly didn’t need it to resume now. It’s been more than a month, and I can’t manage it. It nibbles on my sanity slowly. I get weird and annoying. Doesn’t help.

I know it’s my job to make it stop, but I have no clue how I should go about doing it.

I hate it.

The Haircut


She was more or less an average girl, even if she had some weird habits. Was always looking for happiness. She complained that she had everything anybody could wish for, but she just didn’t seem to be able to be happy. So one day she decided she’d let her hair grow. She had short hair since she was ten, let it grow a bit once but didn’t like it, so she cut it again. This time, she said to me : „You know, since for once I kind of enjoy my hair being long, I’ll let it grow, and cut it when something happens to me. I don’t know what yet, but I’m sure I’ll recognize it once it’s there. Maybe when I find out what’s missing in my life, and am finally happy.“. I thought it was pretty cliché, but agreed it was a good idea, because it could help her remember this special moment for a long time. After that, we didn’t have much contact for quite a while, which felt pretty strange, since I had known her for a very long time, and we always stuck together. I missed her a bit, but it didn’t bother me for a long time. I didn’t forget her, heard news from her from time to time, from her friends or herself. I used to like to think that she wasn’t easily forgotten, and would stay in my ming forever as this very close friend. But I was wrong. After a while, I didn’t think of her much, and I continued living my life without her. I saw her once or twice at parties, and came across her in the street quite regularly, even if we limited the contact to a wave from afar. It made me kind of sad, at times. And someday I thought about that promise she had made about cutting her hair – and about the fact that her hair had grown down to her hips by now – with a bitter smile on my face. Did she forget? Or was she simply still unhappy? After a few years, I stopped catching sight of her in the city.

One evening, I was rushing home to get away from the cold. And I saw her. I don’t know how I recognized her. She had short hair again. Short spiky hair. It fit her well. She was walking in front of me, and I ran up to her. When I patted her on the shoulder, she stopped and turned around. I think she didn’t realize who I was for a few seconds. We had small talk about the weather and whatnot for a while. Finally, I asked her the question that had been burning to get out since I saw her. „So, which exceptional thing happened to you? Ehm, you know, the hair.“ I said, moving my hands awkwardly. „Nothing.“, she answered with a smile. I looked at her questioningly.

I understood I shouldn’t just wait.“

À quoi bon?

Aussi puéril qu’un enfant
Âge mental de quatre ans
Il savait pourtant séduire
A pu mon âme détruire
Il avait peut-être le physique
Peut-être fort en gymnastique
Mais sans comprendre le principe

À quoi bon ?

Je fis ma première erreur
Cause de mes malheurs
J’ai remarqué ses regards
Compris bien trop tard
Que ce n’était qu’un jeu
Mon coeur était amoureux
Chantait des lendemains heureux

À quoi bon ?

Trois semaines ont suffi
Je fus rayée de sa vie
Comme n’avoir jamais existé
Profondément ignorée
Un vide au fond de moi
Qui ne se comblait pas
J’avais cru en tout ça

À quoi bon ?

À quoi bon espérer ?
À quoi bon le regarder ?
À quoi bon pleurer ?
À quoi bon crier ?
À quoi bon s’énerver ?
À quoi bon désirer ?
À quoi bon rêver ?

À quoi bon ?

Lui dire ses quatre vérités
Le dénouement rêvé
Mais où trouver le courage
Mon cerveau fait naufrage
Plus de rationnel
Que de l’émotionnel
Amour exponentiel

Mais à quoi bon ?!

Vieux poème, plutôt immature-esque. Je n’écris des poèmes que quand ça ne va pas, du coup il n’est pas des plus joyeux. À demi basé sur la structure d’une chanson.

Troisième “couplet” très créatif, je sais. 😛

Another story of spaceships and aliens


Probably the lousiest spaceship ever! (Comes with free photography skills!) 😀

So, I was this guy, on board a spaceship. Until now, nothing extraordinary, to be honest. Most people you know probably already have been on board a spaceship. You probably already have been on board a spaceship. For me, it wasn’t that special either. I had worked on board a spaceship for the last seven years. Not on board that spaceship, but it made absolutely no difference to me at the time. Of course, I had heard the exciting stories about the adventures you got into when exploring outer space, but I never really believed them, especially since I had been “exploring outer space” for some time now, and never came across a single adventure-looking event. I led a pretty normal, pretty uneventful (pretty boring, you could almost say) life. As everyone does, I was half hoping for some sort of extraordinary thing to happen, but my conventional routine was to my liking. I had friends, some love interests here and there, a job I liked, and bragging rights for it. In fact, most people thought being a spaceship mechanic and engineer was one of the most “awesome” jobs you could have. Well, to be completely honest, I did and still do think the same way. I’m no modest man, and am proud of being who and what I am and was. But between then and now, I did some things I’m not so proud of. Of course I hadn’t been an angel all the time before getting the promotion that got me on board the [insert good spaceship name here], but I was average. Then, things got a little out of hand. But really, I should start at the beginning. I’m sure I managed to confuse you already. And, to do things properly, I should insert some old scribbles here and there, because that’s by far not the first time I try to sum up what happened to me during all this time.

Well. I suddenly felt the need to write something about spaaaaace, but it didn’t turn out to be of much interest. Not the writing part, but what came out of it. Pretty ill-written, cliché and probably promised to a bad continuation. I don’t really want to continue it, but maybe I should just tweak it a bit (more like a tad), and try to finish it… I need to find a good start to a story that would make me want to finish it, and keep on writing, but I didn’t really manage up to now. Should really start with an idea of what comes next, too. Anyway, if anybody has an idea to make this better, a spaceship name (please don’t say the Enterprise) or a title, feel free to tell me. Also if anybody around here speaks French, I’m going to upload texts in French here as well, because I have a lot of them, so yaaaay! 🙂