Monday, February 23, 2009

walking everywhere

I have been walking. I had no time today, but I walked three and a half hours, and three of them alone, with my body and my eyes. I had time. I discovered time. Extra time in in between.
I walked in the afternoon to work, it took me an hour to get there, but for once the sun was shining. My head slowed down and I enjoyed the images around me. An old man sitting on a park bench with his walker in front of him, two ten year old boys kissing, a six year old washing the windows of a café and dancing at the same time.
At work, my knee started splitting and popping and feeling quite uncomfortable. I was a bit nervous, since I had injured it a week ago in a fall. But walking didn’t seem to be a problem.
I walked from the Pijp to near central station to meet some friends for a drink. There was a line of cars backed up on the singel gracht waiting. They were staring at me, they were waving. Men in cars. Was it me seeking contact? Or me noticing?
My eyes falling over the landscape in motion, seeing things I don’t usually see, noticing, the landscape a dream imagery.
It was three in the morning when I left the second bar. I was happy with the simple night, and two beers, and conversation. I walked out the bar and imagined my home, one and a half hours away. I walked a bit with W. who walks everywhere, and does not use a bike, then slightly sidetracked from my path took a long curvy way home. Images. Small things, courtyards.
I get stronger and more solid. I can feel myself. I am walking. I am so calm that I am able to go outside of myself, able to take in the world around me, and it conforms to my gaze. I am looking. I am going to work. I drink with people in the bar. I recognize the streets. I don’t recognize the streets. I have attraction. Now the birds sing. My feet hurt. It is 5:30 in the morning. I know how I will feel in the morning, and know a will remember with too much force, the brief event, which has nothing to do with the project, because tomorrow I will discontinue for a moment, and my mind and body will continue to crave, the stimulus I have been giving them.

watching cartoons

I am sick. It is cold. I wish that I was not sick. I wish that it was not cold. I wish that my paycheck would have arrived already. I would go to a sauna. I am going to stay in bed. I am going to watch cartoons. I mostly hate cartoons; I do not understand why animations move. I do not like animations. I like people in images, fleshy people.
To bed I go with the blankets and the cartoons, my sore eyes and runny nose.
I fell asleep during the first cartoon. I was tired. I pushed pause and gave over to the senses of my body, an almost sleep, a sleep when I am not tired. Many people are sick, I am trying to be aware of my body; today my body was very very tired.
Still I don’t like cartoons, I don’t like diversion….. I watched and M. watched to. She loves cartoons. I can never help but insult people by my refusal to consume. Always if a cartoon is on I will walk away. Usually if a movie is on I will walk away.
I still dislike animation, I still dislike media. Afterwards, bed, movie, I had a lot of energy, because my energy was for hours suppressed. But I was fighting sickness; I try to excuse myself, for not being on fire, for not doing something hard. But two hours after I woke I felt like I would die, and the wind blew, and I could not bear to leave, the house, I was so weak.
Later after sleeping and cartoons my energy returned, but it was odd, I was not behaving normal. I wanted everyone to look at me. And I was looking at them as though they were movies…..laugh track now…..
Everyone has something to say about cartoons and the ones they loved, you know, childhood, the first infiltration of the image. I do not remember image, I remember photographs..… my own,….a non moving image with emotion….
I can predict what will happen. I want an unhappy ending. I want reality.

Friday, February 20, 2009

baking cookies

I have been baking and delivering cookies for the past 10 hours.
I gave cookies to a bar where I volunteer, to my boss and coworkers, to the immigration lawyer, sent a package home with a friend, delivered them to two friends houses, left a lot where I used the oven, and brought at least fifty home for my roommates.
Everyone was so happy when I gave them fresh baked cookies; they smiled and wondered why they got to have fresh baked cookies. And right after that I left, so that I did not have to hear, wow, your cookies are so good, thank you very much….
I love to cook, but I do not love to make cookies. Cookies are missing the creativity and the closeness to the fire of cooking….a pinch of turmeric, a pinch of cayenne, stir, add everything at the right moment. I don’t even like to eat cookies. Baking cookies must come from the grandmother in me, the caretaker who wants to do things for others, to make them smile. And I like doing things for people, which have no need to be returned, if there could be a thing such as that…..
I think that there is something about this whole project, which makes me feel really solitary, and really individual, maybe it is because each day I have a different experience, and I am the only one responsible for the creation of that reality.

dressing up

I spend the whole day thinking that I had not managed to dress in a way, which was so different than usual. Then I saw the image. It was a quiet different clothing. And in the beginning I had to wear sunglasses for safety of the gaze.
It was a cold day. I put on a green silk dress. It is the most beautiful color in the world, and it glistens, shines, and clings. I have owned it for four years, but only worn it three times, to a wedding, to new years, and to a doner kebab stand.
It really was a fucking cold day. The wind moved through me as I walked to school. I was shining so much. Three cars were beeping at me. I felt really strange when I walked into a band rehearsal to borrow a computer. The people in the band did not stop playing and I knelt on a small space on the floor trying to turn the computer on.
I felt restricted though. I really did not want to stain the dress, and biking and eating fried made me nervous. When I fried tempeh I took the dress off and walked around in my tights and bra.
By the end of the day, I did not mind that I was wearing bright green, my worn and stained winter coat covering the top half of my body. Hungry I wanted to get a sandwich. Does the green dress cause protein craving? As I walked towards the store a man waved at me. I walked in as though his waving had made me manifest. The store was closed though I think he would have been happy if he could have sold me food.
I stopped thinking about the dress when M. and I drove with Bakfiets to look in the garbage for furniture and building material.
Funny how colors and clothes can change you. I have a blue jacket, which I rarely wear, and once I get used to it I feel like a superhero . Like wearing a bright red, each color has it’s own set of superpowers. Each set of clothing it’s costuming. I think I have more to find out about this dress.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

dinner and a movie

This is perhaps the day that image speaks. At this moment I understand the image better than the event.
Dinner and a movie implies a date. I went on a date with myself. But then what can I expect at the end?
I was filming myself on the sofa and two boys came up and began to speak to me. I explained my project, and then bluntly, in a sexual way they asked, so you are going to get it on with yourself tonight? That cannot really happen, I share my bedroom at the moment, but tonight the camera was my mirror. The camera was the one I was with. The thing in the background of this project, the image I am making.
I had to think about where to go. I wanted good dinner, good movie but on a low budget. I went to what I thought was a restaurant, but it was more a take away. I ordered food and sat down at a table, mirrors all around me.
I was with myself. Awkward, to eat alone in a restaurant. The bittersweet memory of the eighty year old man who came into my work one day, sat alone eating appetizer, dinner, desert, coffee, lighting up a cigarette, not knowing or not wanting to know that smoking was banned. His digestion, I suppose kept him from eating half the food, too much vinegar, too much spice. But he was beautiful and melancholy at the same time. I was so proud for this old man, in awe of him, but at the same time felt the heavy weight of his sadness.
I have no one to return my gaze, no one to laugh with me, no one to put their hand on my thigh.
That is what I did tonight. Alone to dinner. Alone to a movie. At some point the people next to me started to caress each other. I became confused and irritated and had to sit away. They were disrupting me, because I had only myself to touch and they had each other.
I watched art movies. Heavy movies, which made me think, and I had to walk away from the second movie of the screening, because if I continued to watch I would be unable to write or think for the next few days, it had a too hard hitting irony
I was alone but, somehow sitting there in an ironic solitude, I radiate a desire for contact, and my eyes shine with that a mixture of melancholy and joy.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

following people

I am going to do something that has been done many times before, a basic situationist practice; I am going to follow people. I Just read a piece of Baudrillards fatal strategies, which spoke about how the act of following acted as a reduction of the followed, a banalization of the actions of the other.
So back to following people, the basic action of letting an arbitrary other control your destination and experience, allows you for a moment to part from the self and become as baudrillard says “the shadow” of the other. It is not a meeting, which is sought, but a ghostlike experience of place and time, an experience, which belongs to someone else, though they are not necessarily focused on experience.

I will have to do this project partly Amsterdam style, meaning on the bicycle, who will I follow first? The first person I see wearing green. When they stop I will stop, observe and repeat.

I sat on a bench in the Vondelpark, where the bicycles could go in two different directions. I was nervous, watching closely for people who were wearing green, for people who were biking alone. I followed a woman with green gloves. She parked her bike and went into Hema. She came out and then went into the drugstore. I waited for her for a half hour but she did not come out. I found a guy with a green hat and followed him; I had to change my speed quite often to pace with him. He was swinging his arms and singing. He kept turning around. He caught me. I followed a woman with a green coat back to her apartment. I filmed it from across the canal. I followed a couple, they went in a restaurant. I filmed through the window until they saw me. I followed a woman in a green jacket, into the cigarette store where she bought gum, then went into Stadtschouwberg where Angels in America was playing. The girl in a green hat got on a tram. The boy in a green hat went into Melkweg, where I waited for a long time for a couple with a green umbrella. They stopped in front of this bar and then turned around I went in for a drink.

It is true that people become quickly aware of your presence. I feel a rush as I follow, butterflies in my stomach, nerves tight senses heightened. Should I speed up or slow down? Who are they? Where are they going? What are they doing? Nothing important. Moving from place to place, going home, shopping, drinking. And I am doing the ultimate in nothingness, by arbitrarily following someone.
Is someone following me? Why are they following me? Do they want something from me? I want nothing except my own joyful reduction and reconstruction. I am following you, but I do not desire you in anyway other than the superfluous motion. But isn’t it nice for once to be at the full center, someone watching your every move.

Sunday, February 15, 2009


I decided to hitchhike and to take the one ride and to go wherever they went. I would go to city in Holland, to Germany, even to Poland.
Usually when you hitch the first ride is the hardest one to get. There have been times when I have stood on the street or in the gas station for hours. Thinking that I should turn around and quit. There were times when I did quit.
I discovered hitchhiking when I had to make at least one trip monthly from Munich, to either Berlin or Amsterdam, and my money was going fast. As long as you have a map and some stamina it is one of the best ways to travel. You actually feel like you are going somewhere, making a journey. Not the confusion of jets, where after holding your shoes in your hand in line, and another nine hours, you find yourself across the ocean, wondering where you are and why everything suddenly looks so different. Too long a distance in to short of a time.
I got my first ride in less than twenty minutes. I was picked up my couple, with a child, also an unusual ride. They were driving to the north part of Amsterdam. When I got out of the car ten minutes later I thought….wow…this is it? I felt the desire to continue, to go somewhere different. The sun was shining. I sat in a field for a while.
Since I still had free time I decided to walk home. It was a three hour walk, and as I moved from the relative silence of the north, into the bustle of the east, through the oosterpark, past the well known pijp to my home, my head became clouded and my body tired. I was longing to be somewhere else, farther away, from the noise which Amsterdam puts in my head, and the noise that I put in my own head.

Go to the Last Metro Stop

When I woke there was sun. By the time I was able to leave the house there was rain. I walked to the metro and rode it to the last stop. I had wanted to walk home. The rain was falling when I got off the metro. I walked past the buildings, the city which was not Amsterdam, as I knew it. I could imagine myself living there in one of the block houses, far away from the place I live now. The rain was falling. I had seen a market from the metro. I walked there. I bought flowers and grapefruit. I took the metro home. All around me people were smiling. I was happy to be outside.

( No video....I made a mistake with the camera)

Everything as Seduction

I want to try to do something abstract
I am scared to make contact with eyes, and at this moment, I cannot affirm. I try to make my eyes meet other eyes. I try to go inside of things which I see. I am not talking about sex, when I talk about seduction, but rather an invitation to a meeting, an invitation to a game, an invitation to sense. I need to invite myself to my own sense.
They eyes are floating, the eyes are seeking. What happened so far? The bartender gave me four beers for much cheaper and asked where I was from. I moved among people and my movement was loose and ever aware of eyes, which were on me.
Seduction requires the desire to pull something towards oneself. To use the eyes and the body language to navigate and negotiate the surroundings and play with the borders.
I attempted to seduce my broken bicycle, to relate to it as something in a way that it became a seductive object, a beautiful machine. I was able to the handle the complicated procedure of opening and closing the chain, which I have never managed before, by relating to how the pieces needed to be handled.
In the end I realise it is not really successful to do something abstract, and related more to feeling. Maybe I am a better waitress, and better at fixing bikes, and more comfortable in my own skin …. I can shift the energy in my own head, but I cannot shift the energy of the people around me, the moods and gazes that don’t match mine, that feel hardened and lacking joy lead to me stopping trying to seduce, to avoid eyes, to no longer try to move my body to the music. I went home and tried to feel seductive alone in my bed, but I fell asleep.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

writing before doing

For most of the day I wrote down everything I did before I did it. Here is an exerpt

While writing down every action, which you do, try to make room nicer.

Open the soda. Take a sip. Roll cigarette. Light cigarette. Screw out yellow light bulb. Take sip of soda. Smoke more. Drink soda. Continue smoking. Move the objects off bench. Drag bench outside. Replace bench with shelf. Drag Shelf to wall. Put upright. Pick up Post it notes. Sip soda. Bring bench back in. Cover with Fabric.Rehang blade from blinds. Place objects back on bench. Get leatherman. Shut door. Put shelves in.
Take sip soda. Move extra plates to side. Put backpack in corner of room. Put boots in corner of room. Put other boots in corner. Find something to use as garbage bag.Put garbage from shelves inside. Take incense from box. Light incense. Put it in the wall
Hang jackets on hooks. Hang big scarves on hooks. Put speakers on top of shelf. Plug them in. Plug in red lamp. Turn it on. Fold sheets place them on shelf. Hang jackets
Put dirty clothes in laundry basket. Fold clean clothes and put them on shelf. Pause Camera. Drink Hot chocolate. Light cigarette. Smoke and drink Hot Chocolate. Light Candle. Put contact plastic in garbage. Move candelabra. Turn camera back on. Fold clean clothes. Put in cupboard. Dirty Clothes in basket. Old clothes in garbage. Tie Scarf around lamp. Make bed. Continue with clothes. Headphones on table. Pick cables off of floor. Hang scarf. Plug in Blue light. Empty ashtray. Pick up garbage from floor. Turn off Blue light. Pick up garbage from table. Turn on blue light. Turn off florescent light. Light candelabra. Move candelabra. Roll Cigarette. Look around. Light cigarette. End Exercise.

Since the beginning of the day I have been attempting to write down the actions I do before I do them. It takes a lot longer to do any activities. When I went to school, an activity like getting coffee for people involved so much multitasking that it became really stressful.
Later, I did it while cleaning my room, and it was quite meditative. Both because I had a goal, and because the stopping while cleaning, slowed down the cleaning and allowed me to see the process. This slowness made me feel more involved with my space, my room, which is positive because having moved in three weeks ago I am still coming to terms with the house and how I exist inside of it.
Too really attempt to write each action before doing it, becomes almost impossible, due to the fact that the body is programmed to move automatically, and the rational mind would require tremendous power to exert full control. I find that in most physical activities my mind drifts to somewhere else. While washing dishes, I am thinking about an event. Strange to think about how these two are connected, thoughts effected by movement, movement and actions by thought, but neither of the two ever fully dominate.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

shopping at P C Hooftstraat

Today I attempted to make myself look more posh and go shopping on the P.C. Hooft straat. Last night I had more ambitious plans, but I was a bit too worn out to do anything, which required physical exertion. I put on makeup, cleaned the dirt out of my fingernails, polished my shoes, picked up a different coat and purse from my friends house.
It is a bit odd to dress up to a projected notion of “fancy” …. Attempting to lean towards a cleaner image, to invent myself a pseudo identity of a person whose consumption habits are much different than mine. Anyone who would be attracted to me, because I had a Louis Vutton bag, would not be at all the type of person who I would want to be attracted to me.
I invented for myself a fake confidence; I was shopping for clothes for an opening in Geneva.
The stores were empty like museums, and when I walked inside of them I was the only customer, greeted with a smile by the clerks. In the rare stores where there were other customers, I noticed how they were waited on. On the streets were very few Dutch people; I noticed more Russians and English. I was not drawn at all to the clothes, too many flowers, too many belts, too many awkward poofs. It is easier for me to invent a fashion out of my own bits and pieces, than to consume something prefabricated, and costing as much as my months wages.
How strange to look at an image of myself putting on makeup. My eyes confronting my own eyes, my eyes focused on the decoration of my own face. Pooofing my lips, stretching my eyes open

Sunday, February 8, 2009


Is there somewhere a dream that is so large and so right that it could barely be imagined.
How could I even begin to think about something like this. What do I want? My short answer is that I have now…..but there is this fluctuation around me, simply energy.
And this project, this process is accelerating it. Finally I can allow myself to experiance without needing it to have a peak, without needing it to really have meaning. I can just be and it is not necessary to do more than that.
I am trying to somehow explain this process.
What have I done? I bicycled to Ijmuiden. I watched porn. I danced by myself. I drew with crayons. I slept at Fela’s house. I made a myspace page. I went to the flea market. And then I came home today and shaved off my hair. Why?
It was like a compulsion, and I did it and now I am here , I am with myself, myself wondering what is going on.
I think I am learning to dream. When I was in California, moving, climbing mountains, being physically active every day I was happy. I was calmer than I have ever experienced myself as being. I came home and was happy, and strong and grounded. I think that now through this project I manage to do the same. I am relearning to experience. I am relearning to shape identity. Like when I was young and I tested things out to see how they felt.
I think I am doing this again and this is where my hair went. Hair, Body, form the a part of the identity which is in the physical world…..and the other part, the experiential is carried by my body.
In my other art I am often arranging a meeting between me and an other, a confrontation, a gaze, a game, an exchange. Not for once I am doing it to myself. I am playing my own game.

shaving my head

I went to the flea market today and bought five small things. I watched the sunset over the harbor of NDSM, while drinking mint tea, looking at the usless objects, which I would never have otherwise bought, all of them one euro or less.
I came home and something happened. I hijacked my own project. I went upstairs, took the electric shaver, and barely thinking began to shave my head. Now I have a shaved head! I looked in the mirror and screamed!
Hair is about identity. Maybe I am starting over. But my rationalization for doing it was quite twisted. I thought I would look less intimidating, which clearly is not true. I know there is some sort of energy in me that makes me come off as intimidating to people who don't know me. I consider myself a strong person.....but I am at the same time soft and someway innocent. I think perhaps I look more intimidating. Maybe I do look soft and approachable
My hair is gone. I feel ambivalent. I am going out to a ska concert tonight. I am going to dance. People who look at me will perceive me differently. I will find out how I feel in this.

shopping at the flea market

I went to the flea market with the intention to buy five useless objects which cost less than one euro. Because later in the day I wanted to move some stuff from my house I took the bak-fiets. I started the morning late, I had been really exhausted and needed to sleep more than I planned. But I quickly drank my coffee and called R. to see if she still wanted to come. I picked her up and we drove through town. There is something magical about the image of two people on a bak fiets, one of them sitting in front, relaxing and laughing and the other driving. The NDSM werf is one the most beautiful parts of Amsterdam, and every time that I go there I enjoy the image which is so different to Amsterdam city center. I looked through piles and piles of junk, buying objects, which I did not need at all, silly, arbitrary things.
After leaving the market I sat with R. and had a tea. In a strange and relaxed frame of mind, my eyes were drawn to the eyes of other people, and the gaze rested for longer than was normal. This in combination with the loud techno music, which was a bit out of place for the middle of the day, caused me to feel like….. one of those mornings where the night before was really intense, like those nights when something happens, and then in the morning the you are simultaneously attached and detached to everything around you, meanwhile you smile slightly.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

drawing with crayons

today I bought crayons. I wanted the thin intense ones which I had as a child. I could only find thick stubby ones, after going to three shops.
The stubby ones were difficult but liberating.
I had no idea what to draw, so I drew animals. I drew people. I drew the landscape. I love the black outline. And I love the purity meaninglessness of the drawings. The colors, and my hand movement were restricted. It was strange when I got off work, to pull out my crayons and draw. There were three friends of my coworker around and they did not respond or seem to notice that I was drawing. My conclusion is that we have more freedom to be, than we can ever know or agknowledge. No one is watching. No one cares. This is a joy!
And I love the drawings, with the crayons, and the black crayon, which is my favorite, because it outlines. Black is the strongest crayon. It draws attention to the image. The second strongest crayon is yellow. But I have cheap crayons. There is no in between. Only yellow and black are strong, screaming.
Like a child I can hang it on the wall. This is something to laugh about and to enjoy. my crayon drawings on the wall of my house.
Someone asked me about concept. And I said " there is no concept to what I am doing now" and they said.....ahhh but you do have a developed concept.
I walked away from that conversion

Friday, February 6, 2009

Sleeping at Felas

Fela is a fellow student at my school. I know her a bit and she has stopped by my house a few times. I arrived at her house at about eight p.m. after a day when I was doing quiet a bit of running. I was expecting it to be a bit more awkward. She also said that she put movies aside in case it was strange.
We ate dinner and talked for a long time, about, art, life, relationships. An easy conversation where you talk and get to know each other, share things, think about perspectives. It was relaxing to just sit and talk. I slept on the futon, slept straight through the night. For me it is not so unusual to be mobile, and to sleep in different places and to be comfortable with it. I dreamt about sleeping in dorm rooms in a university where the space was divided. In the morning I took a heavenly shower with unending hot water, and now Ismell still the scent of someone elses soap on my skin.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

dancing by myself

It is difficult on days where I have a lot to do and a lot of plans, to find an activity, which fits into my day. For example today I have three different appointments in three different parts of the city. The only thing that I feel like I can do for most of the day is to try to dance as much as possible. I can dance before I cook, dance a bit in the few hours in between. Dance for ten minutes after the meeting, dance to the music in the background of the bar where I take Dutch classes, move in a sort of dance while walking. Dance in the five minutes between activities. I think I will end up feeling awake and happy. I think I will end up feeling physically tired.

This was a bit difficult to do. To dance by myself, to dance in the middle of day. The house is set up so that people from the living room can look out into the big hall. And in the first period of time they were in the hall with me!
The first fifteen minutes I could barely move, then slowly over time I became more comfortable and was able to move. I feel like that when I am dancing around other people it is a little bit easier to change the rhythm and pattern of my movements, because I pick up on there patterns of other people.
It is interesting that I have to get over something inside of myself before I begin to move, as though there is an internal censor which says, “no wait….you don’t dance by yourself, sober, in the middle of the day.”

After language classes and a meeting, I felt frustrated and not so alive. I chose not to go out. Later I went to my room I turned on the music and I danced. The dancing was like all of the emotions moving through me. I expressed, and now I will go to bed calm.
I was dancing also, halfway, on my bike on the way to the city to go to class. I felt alive and as though the world should also be pulsing with energy.
At the practical, and important meeting, I think I was irritated because I thought, there is too much to organize and not enough time to be. I was irritated because I had to add two more things to my schedule for next week., and I am so enjoying this project that I wish I could be farther away from it all.

I reaffirm a conclusion, which I already knew. Dancing is good for me.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

making a myspace page

I don’t have a myspace page. Ok I do, but I only have two friends. I can still remember the days in my life when I swore that I would never own a MP3 player, when I tried instead of giving out my telephone number, to give out my address, and requested that people throw rocks at my window and visit me.
Having a virtual identity….. It is the playful and often flawless mirror image which represents the self, the virtual I, moving in a different realm.
I have resisted my space for to long, because I prefer the meeting in time and space to the virtual meeting. Myself as an image which is physically present. I would prefer to think of myself as being not ever an image….but….
So I am going to bring my hard drives, upload some pictures and try to make as many friends as possible on myspace. I feel silly and superficial. To try to create my virtual image…

Another note on the porn, last night as I was trying to fall asleep I could not get the image of vaginas, penis’s, and rectums out of my head. In fact it made me feel like I maybe I should be having sex myself…
It is very difficult to even find an image which corresponds to how I feel about myself. I want the one J. has of me and the pumpkin, but today I do not want to look soft. I want to be tough. My virtual image should be me as tougher than I am.
how the fuck do I pick a word to describe my mood, I am scanning all the words trying to find one which I can identify with myself as feeling at this moment, handsome, high, happy, hopeful, horny. Why isn't stupid one of the adjectives. I feel stupid. Tough neither, since I want to pretend that I am tough
How do I find a song?
I am not cool enough for this.....
I really fucking hate trying to fill out boxes about myself, I will try to write things I actually like, rather than going on my whole anti media rant

So now I have some friends on my space, and a part of me feels satisfied, and happy that with just a click of a button, someone “claims” me as a friend. I only contacted people I know. And there is also the piece of me which thinks, maybe that with myspace I can keep connected to people. People from the past. I also wonder how my relatives will react to the fact that I list drinking whiskey under my interests and for sexuality answer “don’t know” ah privacy. What privacy? I have caught up with part of the world
Now three hours later as I post this I have ten friends.....
wow and people wrote me messages....I guess I am a bit strange, that I find people writing me messages strange....

Monday, February 2, 2009

watching porn

watching porn
I don’t know. Yesterday late at night, not in a quiet so normal state of mind, the porn was not so bad, I think that the only porn I had ever seen before was when I was around sixteen in a room full of guys, watching one of their first porns, and me and my friends walked in.
Now it isn’t so shocking, and I didn’t find it to be disgusting, just weird. The tattoos were fake. They were just in and out fucking. Penis in a hole. It was on the screen and everyone who was with me was watching it in the background. With different music on as an alternative soundtrack. My friends think nothing strange of it, that I say today I am going to watch porn it’s just part of my project
It was really strange to walk into the store and to choose porn, three for ten and all the boxes almost the same. A friend came with me to buy them because I was so uncomfortable, and I knew the clerk at the store.
I hate shaved vaginas.
I have no idea how to feel about this. I realize I have to watch it a bit more to…… I guess…..
Can’t I just go back to reading baudrillard talking about porn…. About the obscenity of the overdone image. Never really having watched porn before my sexuality and how I relate to it has not been directly effected by it. But now I feel as though it could be an image in the background, appearing in so many other forms, that affects all sexual relations. I know it has happened in relationships, that people wanted to do something, which they saw in a porno. Baudrillard is right, this is not sex, but over sex, it become obscenity, a not real, over real which haunts that which is not an image.
The image becomes abstract after a while. Writing and watching at the same time……
A colleague of mine said to me that he is no longer able to masturbate to orgasm without porn.
In one of the porns they only show the face and body of the woman and not at all the man.
So many people, and I will generalize mostly men, watch, consume porn. It does not ignite my fantasy, it shuts it off
And it gets really boring after a while….

Should I imagine everyone I see on the street fucking? Who can I even identify with in these things, the body object….. I prefer that my sex life is not like that….

Sunday, February 1, 2009

bicycling to the ocean

I was a bit slow getting up today, because I stayed up too late drinking red wine and talking with a friend of mine after work. The sun is shining brightly, but the sky has a sort of grey white covering. I still feel a bit tired, since there was no coffee in the house.
I am sitting her thinking; maybe I should go to the grocery store and run my errands. I am also thinking that I should wait for my other friend to wake up and talk to her to see how her night was and what her plans for today were. But the last weeks I have spend so much time just sitting around the table talking about pretty much nothing.
Holland borders on Atlantic Ocean. The area directly around Amsterdam used to be a sea before the Delta works was built. It was rumored to have been a very rough sea. Now you need to leave out of the city to reach the ocean. I have not looked at a map and do not know exactly how to get to the ocean. I watched the sun set the other day so I have an idea of where west is. I know that people go to a small city called zandfort, which is the closest beach to Amsterdam. Maybe when I cycle I will see signs for that.
Well I will put on warm clothes get on my bike, and grab some coffee at a snack bar.
I am curious to see if I will manage to get there.

Exhaustion. It was five o clocks before I reached the ocean. Four and a half hours bicycling. Starving I ate apple pie and drank coffee at the first snack bar I saw after cycling through a nature preserve.
I ended up in Ijmuiden, which is a really interesting, because it is the ij, the water right in Amsterdam, that bleeds slowly out to the sea. I cycled almost all the way through parks, my junker of a bike squeaking underneath me. I breathed the air and watched the countryside. My mind was very quiet. I had the feeling that if I had stayed at home with my slight hangover and not enough sleep I wouldn’t get anything done.
After many wrong turns, through the industrial and harbor landscape of Ijmuiden I arrived at some dunes. There again I walked down the only path, which was not a path and ended up walking my bike through muddy and icy puddles, trying to figure out how to get out from the recess in the dune and up to the ocean.
The sun was golden nearing setting. I felt as I always do when I am at the ocean, quiet, calm, and empty, but a good sort of emptiness, carefree and connected at the same time.
Right before I had found the dunes I stopped to look at a map. I realized there was a boat from a Velsen, a nearby city, which went to Amsterdam.
What a relief! I was quite cold. After watching the beginning of the sunset I left the ocean.
At the ferry port I realized it was a water taxi, a low sitting high speed boat. A ticket only cost five euro. I sat in the boat watched the lights and warmed my feet up.
I cycled home and ate a pizza.