New band name

Friends don't fuck.

The F word

An attempt to explain why failure's only exit is sleeping. Doesn't quite translate what I had in mind, but this is a "first try, no rubber" kind of thing.

Damn

I don't come here much no more.

Obstacle

Looking for answers to questions I don't dare asking.

Girl A

Antiques.

These last two weeks my mind has been mostly occupied with an all-time favourite of mine - old stuff. I find myself seeking the web for road-worn guitars and vintage synthesizers (during work hours). I then often go afterwork shopping, that is, getting inpiration from antiques shops as to how I am going to furnish my currently empty (yet messy) room. Oh, did I mention that I usually go hunting for cool things at the flea market during week-ends ?

Apart from that, I can proudly say that I go climbing twice a week (which doesn't necessarily make me a sportsman, but healthier at the very least), that I am a regular photographer with a low yet constant output, and that I often sing and play the guitar all at once - which for a mono-threaded person such as me, is remarkable.

Don't go thinking though, that I soon will be another entertaining campfire musician.

Cause I was born electric.

And I mean business.

Feel-good routine.

Days and weeks are passing by and things are starting to settle down for me, turning slowly into a relative routine, an enjoyable one. I do indeed have about the same behaviour every day, but unlike last autumn, this behaviour does not consist in being idle.

I'm enjoying busy weeks, busy afterwork shopping, busy free time spent with acquaintances, busy free time doing sport or making music, and in the end, not so much free time being idle so I can keep the upbeat going.

I don't have much to complain about, except the kitchen smelling of cat poo.

I'm trying to take a few pictures here and there but for now I have mostly nothing worth showing.

Well, gotta bounce, time to eat some before heading downtown for a quick drink with unimates (I tend to not sleep enough lately).

New flat.

Its 1.36am, the stereo is shouting loud as I'm quietly doing random stuff on the computer. Paul is snoring in an armchair with the mac open on his lap and the cat lying on his chest, idly staring at some geeky tutorial (the cat, not Paul). The wall in front of me is left half-painted and a hump of broken glass has hastily been swept up under the radiator.

Things have been rushing since last week. In no time I went from the young graduate still(!) living at his parents' to some individual based exactly where Schaerbeek is written in Google Earth. Finding this was a scientific mix of a) my (by now) indisputable human qualities, b) the help of a girl with red lips and large hands and c) a zest of mazel tov as well.

Anyway, I guess I will soon be referring to this place as "my flat" or simply "home" rather than "where I live" or "at Paul's", and say that I "live in Brussels" in the most assured fashion.

Bonsoir bande de peyes.