“Ren can’t write a love story, Ren can’t write a love story”. The kids at the playground make a circle around me and keep yelling “Ren can’t write a love story”. I look at them, point at each one of them and yell back “SURE I CAN WRITE A LOVE STORY”. “Oh really ?” She looks at me and smiles “Prove it !”.
The following text is entirely fictional. Resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. :)
It seems so long ago. The last thing you said to me was ‘I miss you loads’. I wanted to tell you so many things but how could I know this would be our last conversation. I went to the seaside on holiday and our story ended.
So long ago. I remember your black eyes. Black as the night, full of love and lust. I once called them dark brown and you replied “meh, black !!” (I loved your ‘meh’s’). Black as your hair. Your hair … the day you went to the hairdresser and came back home, hiding it under the hood of your hoodie, teasing me, then showing me while making funny faces … God, you were so gorgeous.
It seems so long ago
I would see your writing
On a postcard or a note
And your stories would excite me
Loving you wasn’t easy. So many nights I couldn’t sleep, thinking about us. The fights we had … the breaking up’s and making up’s. The good times - you in my arms, dancing with you, skating with you in winter, running behind you while shopping – the bad times – you were so full of emotions *sighs* … We were so different, a small town boy and a city girl. A fashionista and a guy always dressed in black shirt and blue jeans …
My hands travel through this box of memories – pictures, the crazy ones from that photo booth, the ones from the carnival where I won a ‘Tortured Bear’ for you, us sitting on a tire swing. My finger lifts the feather pendant, I smile, put it around my neck and look at myself in the mirror. It was a present you gave me, 2 feathers with our names on it – you had the same. I once found the label of the shop and visited it, just to have a look where you were before. Some other note to myself, an address of a shop where they had the Proenza Lace booties. I wanted to buy them for you for our anniversary, the one that never would happen.
Today I’m far away from those memories but I’m still there, feeling like Joe Dassin’s ‘Indian summer’. I’m thinking of you. Where are you ? What are you doing ? Do I still exist for you ? I picture you being happy, successful, doing the things you always wanted to do. There’s this guy walking next to you, holding an umbrella to protect you from the monsoon. He loves you and you love him. He’s the one pulling your nose, dropping kisses all over your face, cheering you up when you’re down …
Back on the train
I ask why did I come again
Can I confess?
I've been hangin' 'round your old address
I always believed in you. One day you would be a shining star, simple as that – you already were my star. And you arrived … I’m proud, even if it’s without me.
If you really love her, let her go ...
It’s hot outside. I should go and mow the lawn. I don’t feel like mowing the lawn. It’s my last week off, next week back to work. Same ol’ same ol’. The mountains are already far away, only the memories and pictures remain … The pictures and memories ...I put the box away, check my mailbox in vain and go outside …
The kids at the playground have gone quiet. I look around, lift my chin and whisper “See ? A love story !”. They turn their backs on me and go away.
woensdag 28 juli 2010
vrijdag 23 juli 2010
About exploding geese ...
It started with a chat with my daughter. All things in life start with a chat with my daughter. The bank robbery (“Dad, I need more money”), the Indian tiger hunt (“Dad, I want a bigger cat”), World War II (“Dad, my foreign boyfriend cheated on me”), …
I was working really really hard that day, telling others what to do (that makes me a manager, right) when I saw her coming online. I right clicked on her (well, on her name, I don’t right click on my daughters in real life, not even on my son) and started chatting with her.
Renaat : “Hello Flo, how are you ? Did you sleep well ? What’s the plan for today ?”
Flo : “Hi”
Renaat : “Ok my love, don’t ‘hi’ me, I’m really interested in your day.”
Flo : “Ok ok, oldie, there you go : I’m fine, I slept well and I’m gonna play with my bro and sis and give the geese a bath.”
Renaat : “Haha yeah, their butts are very dirty, aren’t they ?”
Flo : *giggles* “My bro’s & sis’ ? Oh, you mean the geese. Yeah, they shit a lot. If you put all the shit on one line, it reaches Brussels for sure.”
Renaat : “Yeah, it’s very dirty in that part of the garden. We should find a solution. Why don’t you stick a cork in their butt ? It will prevent them from shitting ad random.”
Flo : “Hmm, great idea dad, will do that … But I haven’t got any cork for the moment.”
That night I went really really drunk but I delivered 3 corks to stick into the butts of our geese. The trick worked. They didn’t shit anymore so our garden was rather clean.
We also noticed they went fatter very fast. Hmm, that was nice. Perhaps I should sell my invention to the food industry.
But one day all went wrong. We were having dinner when suddenly there was this big ‘KABOOM’ in the garden. We ran outside and discovered a huge inferno. Everything was covered in goose shit. Oh my, it smelled really yuk ! The grass was brown, the trees were brown, the tire swing was brown and in the middle of this, there was the dead body of an exploded goose. But wait a minute, didn’t we have 3 geese ?
Suddenly I saw 2 approaching fat geese.
I yelled “Duuuuuuuuuuuuck” and my children started to laugh. “Dad, they’re not ducks, they’re geese.” I pulled everybody inside the house, just in time because the next moment there were 2 more ‘KABOOMS’. OH MY GOSH ! Now the whole town was covered in shit. Satellite pictures showed this :
It took months and months and a lot of money to clean up everything. But now I’m making money out of it. I sold my invention to a foreign army. They’re making some new kind of bomb out of it … shitty bomb. It doesn’t kill, so it’s a rather clean way of making war …
I was working really really hard that day, telling others what to do (that makes me a manager, right) when I saw her coming online. I right clicked on her (well, on her name, I don’t right click on my daughters in real life, not even on my son) and started chatting with her.
Renaat : “Hello Flo, how are you ? Did you sleep well ? What’s the plan for today ?”
Flo : “Hi”
Renaat : “Ok my love, don’t ‘hi’ me, I’m really interested in your day.”
Flo : “Ok ok, oldie, there you go : I’m fine, I slept well and I’m gonna play with my bro and sis and give the geese a bath.”
Renaat : “Haha yeah, their butts are very dirty, aren’t they ?”
Flo : *giggles* “My bro’s & sis’ ? Oh, you mean the geese. Yeah, they shit a lot. If you put all the shit on one line, it reaches Brussels for sure.”
Renaat : “Yeah, it’s very dirty in that part of the garden. We should find a solution. Why don’t you stick a cork in their butt ? It will prevent them from shitting ad random.”
Flo : “Hmm, great idea dad, will do that … But I haven’t got any cork for the moment.”
That night I went really really drunk but I delivered 3 corks to stick into the butts of our geese. The trick worked. They didn’t shit anymore so our garden was rather clean.
We also noticed they went fatter very fast. Hmm, that was nice. Perhaps I should sell my invention to the food industry.
But one day all went wrong. We were having dinner when suddenly there was this big ‘KABOOM’ in the garden. We ran outside and discovered a huge inferno. Everything was covered in goose shit. Oh my, it smelled really yuk ! The grass was brown, the trees were brown, the tire swing was brown and in the middle of this, there was the dead body of an exploded goose. But wait a minute, didn’t we have 3 geese ?
Suddenly I saw 2 approaching fat geese.
I yelled “Duuuuuuuuuuuuck” and my children started to laugh. “Dad, they’re not ducks, they’re geese.” I pulled everybody inside the house, just in time because the next moment there were 2 more ‘KABOOMS’. OH MY GOSH ! Now the whole town was covered in shit. Satellite pictures showed this :
It took months and months and a lot of money to clean up everything. But now I’m making money out of it. I sold my invention to a foreign army. They’re making some new kind of bomb out of it … shitty bomb. It doesn’t kill, so it’s a rather clean way of making war …
vrijdag 2 juli 2010
About meeting townies you don’t want to meet when being in town …
Do you know the feeling, running into townies you don’t want to meet ? Yes ? No ? Yes ? No ?
Anyway …
I do. Sometimes I run into townies I DON’T want to meet. Well, I don’t want to meet them in town. Perhaps in another place, but definitely not in town. At a graveyard or so … Or in jail, on the other side of the bars. But that’s different.
Picture this … You’re walking in town, the sun is shining, you’re happy, in the mood for having a beer on a nice terrace and suddenly there’s this townie you don’t want to meet. You catch a glimpse of that person, your brains are figuring out if it’s really him/her and send back the information … it is him/her. What do you do ? You duck behind a parked car, a billboard, the statue of Ambiorix, an old lady or a one legged beggar, playing “The boxer” on a 2 string guitar but no luck, the townie has noticed you already and is coming to have a chat. Oh noes, you don’t want this to happen, you panic, you run away through little allees but he/she is fast, smile on his/her face, happy to see you again. Your run and run, for hours and hours, hoping he/she will lose track, or give up the chase, or even die … But he/she is persistent and in good shape, not giving the impression of sudden dead.
There ! No way out ! You’re trapped ! You’re standing in this corner and there’s nowhere to run anymore. Then it begins … He/she starts telling stories about a fat friend who’s on a diet now, a family member whose house has collapsed, the weather, his/her job with a supervisor who’s a mutant … Plain torture …
You don’t want to hear …
I know the feeling. It happened before but it won’t happen again. Well, for me that is. After the last time it happened I swore it wouldn’t happen again.
Remember the architects who got me a London in my backyard ? Well, I hired them again to create an escape route underneath our little town. There’s now a full tunnel infrastructure with multiple access holes in every street. If I run into a townie I don’t want to meet, there’s an escape route at less than 10 meters. I have this remote control to quickly open one of the holes and disappear so the townie can’t start a boring conversation with me. And it’s much cooler in there on a hot summer day.
I only made one tiny mistake. I started to rent out this solution to other people (hey, it was kinda expensive so I needed some money back). And it turned out that there were townies I don’t want to meet when being in town who also were using the tunnel infrastructure. So in the end they even chased me throughout my brilliant idea.
So we’re building another tunnel complex now. But damn, it’s expensive, so if you want some place to hide, please contact me for a free quotation.
Anyway …
I do. Sometimes I run into townies I DON’T want to meet. Well, I don’t want to meet them in town. Perhaps in another place, but definitely not in town. At a graveyard or so … Or in jail, on the other side of the bars. But that’s different.
Picture this … You’re walking in town, the sun is shining, you’re happy, in the mood for having a beer on a nice terrace and suddenly there’s this townie you don’t want to meet. You catch a glimpse of that person, your brains are figuring out if it’s really him/her and send back the information … it is him/her. What do you do ? You duck behind a parked car, a billboard, the statue of Ambiorix, an old lady or a one legged beggar, playing “The boxer” on a 2 string guitar but no luck, the townie has noticed you already and is coming to have a chat. Oh noes, you don’t want this to happen, you panic, you run away through little allees but he/she is fast, smile on his/her face, happy to see you again. Your run and run, for hours and hours, hoping he/she will lose track, or give up the chase, or even die … But he/she is persistent and in good shape, not giving the impression of sudden dead.
There ! No way out ! You’re trapped ! You’re standing in this corner and there’s nowhere to run anymore. Then it begins … He/she starts telling stories about a fat friend who’s on a diet now, a family member whose house has collapsed, the weather, his/her job with a supervisor who’s a mutant … Plain torture …
You don’t want to hear …
I know the feeling. It happened before but it won’t happen again. Well, for me that is. After the last time it happened I swore it wouldn’t happen again.
Remember the architects who got me a London in my backyard ? Well, I hired them again to create an escape route underneath our little town. There’s now a full tunnel infrastructure with multiple access holes in every street. If I run into a townie I don’t want to meet, there’s an escape route at less than 10 meters. I have this remote control to quickly open one of the holes and disappear so the townie can’t start a boring conversation with me. And it’s much cooler in there on a hot summer day.
I only made one tiny mistake. I started to rent out this solution to other people (hey, it was kinda expensive so I needed some money back). And it turned out that there were townies I don’t want to meet when being in town who also were using the tunnel infrastructure. So in the end they even chased me throughout my brilliant idea.
So we’re building another tunnel complex now. But damn, it’s expensive, so if you want some place to hide, please contact me for a free quotation.
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