Archive for April, 2013

Mr. Zed (Ep 8)

Fiercely, and unable to believe his eyes, the machete man stared into the milky eyes of Mister Zed. “Hello Hank.” he finally uttered the machete mans name, stunning the living people on the other side of the door further more.
His words were clumsy formed, although he had infused every part of his body with the balming chemicals he found in the morgue, he already had decayed too much as to restore himself to the state he was in before he died.
Although he couldn’t remember much from the time before, he knew that now he was thinking a lot slower than before, his motor skills had deminished. Still the crudely fixed jaw with the less ashen complexion made him look less menacing, although tormented.
“You don’t need to trust me, just let me out when you go.” Zed mumbled, his jaw was getting loser again.

Ballad of the Muffinthief

Mum was baking muffins – sweet and soft, light as air,
moist as a spring morning; best tasting everywhere!

To cool she sat them on the workplate,
while the chocolate frosting was being made.

When with hungry gaze, a nose rose to smell,
the sitting, cooling, waiting delight – so well.

As mum didn’t watch, chance presented; no doubt,
and up rose the nose, hungry gaze and snout;

Devoured in the gorge, the muffin is amiss.
Mum was wondering where the muffin is?

But who is the sneaky muffin thief,
who ate and no trace leave?

The boy in the cradle, sleeping sound,
did not leave tracks on the ground.

Dad at work, farther still,
did not steal from the windowsill.

Mum certainly while waiting,
did not eat her own baking.

A glad smile on the lips the dog sat,
where muffin was last seen at.

I wrote this today, after my wife told me during my lunchbreak of a muffin that went missing, instead of twelve there were only eleven now. Hope you like it. 😉


My wife alerted me to a local spiritual nitwit. I knew of him before – he is a somewhat known character – but he also holds seminars concerning love. He calls himself the “lovecoach”.

Now, bringing love into the world is not a bad thing per se, but the things he advertises to teach are actually a catastrophe in themselves. He promises to teach how to commune with the “Upstairs” – a synonym for the shared higher consciousness of the human kind – and that with these teaching one would get rid of doubt and fear all together. Only confidence and love remaining.

Now. There is where my problem with him start.

I have been around long enough to know that, while love is a prescious and important thing, fear and doubt are the driving forces behind every individual. With out fear we stop. Either we get prayed upon, or we simply stop developing further. Be it technological or spiritual. We simply stop moving forward.
Without doubt we stop being inquistive. We stop asking questions, investigating and we stop learning.

Without fear and without doubt we end in the limbo of stagnation. A crippled mind and soul, berreft of the most important tools to drive on.

IF we as a species would be cursed to exist without fear and doubt we would’Ve been eaten by lions in africa all these millenia ago, or wouldn’t have made it past a fruit and root gathering monkey stage. Hunting would require doubt, doubt that it can be done to kill a mammoth with spears until a few tried, failed, fashioned new weapons, tried again, until they eventually succeeded.
Fire would require doubt (is it safe? Can we better our food?) and fear (I fear cold!). Stay in the savannah, gather roots, fruit and run from the lions.

It’s self procalimed prophets of love and peace like the “Lovecoach” that make desasters happen.

The guide to love is a complicated one, and I certainbly don’t have all the answers, I found love. I’ve never really known my peace, and at times I think I could find it. In that split second at the hight of an orgasm. Or when everything is runing smooth for a while, and I sit in the sun, reading a book, or writing, my belly filled and my needs satisfied, no noise to annoy the living crap out of me, just the blue sky above and a deep connection with the universe from the very base of my heart. Or once my baby boy is born, in a simple smile.
Peace is not far.
Yet elusive.

Just be yourself – that overlapping part of “Who you want to be”, “Who you truly are” and “Who you have to be” – and nest yourself in the world. Don’t run around trying to please everyone, you’ll fail.
Be calm for fuck’s sake! The more agitated you are the more you will be unhappy.

But most important, be afraid. Let doubt fill you to the point where you have to find out. Don’t stop growing, expanding, moving. If you stop, you rot. Mentally.

And avoid the lovecoach! For crying out loud, avoid all these prophets! Whether they say “doom” or “love” – avoid them. There is only one light to guide you, you! No god that has been described by desert people thousands of years ago. Not another person, nor an incarnation of a holy man, not anything others tell you. And most certainly not  a middle aged (~50), overweight, balding man with a wife of 24 (!).

“There is a difference between knowing the path, and going the path.”



…has got me in it’s clutches, wringing the sweet life out of me, choking me with powerfull hands around my throat and numbing smells in my nose…yes, my allergies have gotten the best of me.

As every year.

On the other hand, two weeks ago I was running around in boots, T-Shirt, shirt and leather jacket, now I sweat if I step outside. I like climate change (say global warming just one time and I’ll suffocate you in snow! Not after this terribly long winter!) sometimes. Everyday the chestnut trees in our street have become greener and greener over the last week. At first only green hints appeared, to be quickly extended to green leaves the next day. IF we still leave near there next year I will take pictures.

The smell of spring / summer is in the air. Although it strangles me, I love it, after smelling only the icy cold and the rotting autumn leaves.

Still, my allergies have the disturbing sideeffect that reality becomes a strange thing. I feel spaced out as if on heavy drugs – or at least some good weed. Time constantly changes its pace, what was yesterday seems like five weeks ago, what has been three days earlier seems like a few minutes ago.
At least gravity keeps the same.
Unlike that one time…I digress.

If my style of posting blurbs/comedy changes in the next few days/weeks (and very recently) – its only temporary, and it should return back to normal once main allergy season has blown over. 🙂

Until such time, keep up with my changed style, it still is me talking, although through a haze of pollen…


Mr. Zed (Ep 7)

“What’s he doing?” The machete man peeked through the window unable to see their undead houseguest. “Mister Zed walked around with some wire and some tubes, other than that I couldn’t see.” a woman in her late forties replied calmly. She and the younger woman had named their guest, since they were surrounded by undead people they thought it best to have him bear a name instead of the undead. Concerned the machete man turned to the main entrance. They had barricaded it again, waiting for the winter. As soon as snow was setting in they wanted to leave. Cold wind blew past the door, in the distance they heard a croaking noise, a crow calling for its flock.
Machete man knocked against the glass with a knuckle, he did it several times a day since Mister Zed has arrived. Although he couldnt see the undead he felt the look of the man through the window. Often he asked himself why the funeral home had windows in its doors that were enforced. He couldn’t shoot the undead menace next door without harming himself.
“If there’s a change alarm me.” he mumbled wandering off.

With a certain amount of satisfaction the seeing eye looked into the mirror. In the flickering light from the furnace the sight wasn’t all bad. The sounds of his living neighbors preparing to leave didn’t bother him that much.
Satisfied he wa.dered to the door. Still there was someone standing watch, as the young mans eyes beheld a glimpse of the sighton  the side of the door he jumped up and called for the man with the machete.

Mathematical impossibilities

To get to some place you would first have to cross half of the way. Then half of that, then half of that, and so on. IN essence we wouldn’t get to ANY place as this half of the way thing would be continued on to infinity. Sure, distances would get so tiny that you couldn’t squeece a quark in between them, but still, we wouldn’t get anywhere!


So I am somewhat relieved that we don’t exist in a universe of pure math, as that would of course mean that ntohing could’Ve ever clumped together to form the first stars, and the rest of the universe later on. And in turn we would’ve never made it into existance.


But while we are at the topic of non-existance.

If there are four people in a room, and five leave it, one person would have to enter it to make it an empty room again. If we would live in that universe I’D bee terrified to enter a room without any people in it, scared that I might end up in mathematical oblivion, capable of leaving only if there is a positive number of people in it, or by creating a negative people number, zapping into existance at the door.


So for now, I conclude – math is scary. Not like “Shit I hate math, this crap is scary!”.

More like “I’m scared shitless, I might get annihilated by math!”


Gladly we live in a universe that isn’t entirely mathematical…



PS: got a B on my Math exam…


…ever so often I long for a Zen mentality.

Not the fighting capabilities that would make me kick ass.

Nor would I want the image of a wise old Zenmaster: “Master, I don’t know how to deal with my stressful life, give me advice!”
“The small pebble might be easily hurled around by the ravaging water, but it is also the most beautiful one…”

Just the smile and calm nature. The shitstorm blows over me and my composure stays the same. Calm, smiling and not changed a bit…