Testosterone crisis

There are meetings where I fall asleep, eyes wide opened, head straight, body firm and strong against the chair; others where I dream, eyes wide opened, head straight, body firm and strong against the chair; and others where I wait curious, eyes wide opened, head straight, body firm and strong against the chair… which one of the bulldogs, barking at each, will be the first one to pee in a corner of the room, officially making the meeting its territory? Ah… nothing can beat a testosterone crisis in display.


A station, a train station, a bus station, a cross roads of lives, stories, rail tracks, and roads, thoughts, ideas, joys, or despair… the same station I passed through yesterday, the same station I will be passing through tomorrow, and still a different one, a breathing living organism… a place of all encounters, and a place of all loneliness, a modern desert island… in the middle of the atrium, a camera in hand, I shoot to the sky, I free the birds of my thoughts and dreams at this crossroad of possibilities.

Stuffy, heavy and more

I give “un coup de pedal” and “paf c est parti” for another autumn cycling ride. Hum… feels weird though… stuffy, heavy, like I weigh 100 tonnes and have eaten only “fondue” for the past 6 months; and stiff as well… That’s it, the transformation is now completed; I am a robot which has forgotten the morning oil in the pipes… no? don’t think so? What? You have another idea? A flat? A 4th one this year… Arrgggggggg!!!!!!!…….

Freedom at last

Digging my bum onto one of my favourite sofa, my cup of coffee in on hand, I let that Sunday morning feeling wrap me once more, when a loud voice drags me out of a close by dream land. “Ah, Freedom at last” I open my eyes curious. A tall man –I bet on the spot, a former rugby man- is moving with a friend of him –another tall man- to the sofa in front of me, one holding a baby with him. His friend echoes his words “You’re right, Freedom at last”. I close and open my eyes again… They have a baby with them… and they are still blasting “Freedom at last”. Fascinating… looking after a baby a new definition of freedom… What on earth are they escaping from?

That voice…

You know sometimes how people fall head over heels for a voice. And they go on and on and on about the voice -the amazing sound of that voice -the magic of that voice…. Yes, on and on and on again. It happens to me. True, right in the middle of the afternoon, and as I heard “the” voice, I saw them -the hair jumping out of my skin –the blood in my veins pumping up to a sprint -and without some good self-control… I would have simply… killed that guy.  That’s it. I’ve found my nemesis, the voice which can call the worst out of me…

A swing of memories

Wow I can’t even remember the last time I listened to that music… It’s not that old and it used to be on the radio all the time when I was living in Ireland. I should know the name of the guy, he was a big hit –probably still is- and I… hated his voice, I hated this song. This morning, it’s another story, soft, mysterious, wandering, lost in the past, hanging over memories, low and quiet, soft and slow, homey and curious. My memory is suddenly playing a game of roller-coaster, a surprising swing between evolving emotions… don’t ever tell me memories are sure things…

Hunger times…

Oh gosh I could eat anything coming my ways… though no, not that one, not smiling enough… and no, not that one either, he has something into his ears called earplugs and I have no idea what this would have done to his brain, his mood, his hormones, etc… That one? Beurk, just the look of worry on the forehead makes me want to throw up. To be honest… who would want to increase one’s protein intake with meat bred under antibiotics, stress, hard rock music, disgruntled news, creativity killing education system and dramatic news… and though I feel alone in the middle of that many people in that train station, right there at the cross roads of lives, stories, and rail tracks, my desert island is not making me that desperate, so I guess… I will have to satisfy myself with some ham and cheese toasted croissant. Suddenly that sounds so plain and exotic.

Virtual nightmare

Blue eyes, nice muscle, especially the abs, still… untouchable. Another one, green eyes this time, tall and athletic and still… untouchable. In my old fashion world, I had the gym, the sports club; I could watch, observe, talk to the person, get one step closer to make it real… but now? all for the eyes, nothing for the hands? all for the mind nothing for the hands? Neurosciences keeps telling us our mind does not make a difference between the virtual and the real… let’s try, google glasses on my eyes, electronic hat connected to PC, walking in a city full of people, holding hand with a gorgeous guys… still my hand is cold, my heart beats slow, and my flat is empty… Dam virtual nightmares…


No doubt they are often the first ones in motion. As soon as the alarm rings, they rub each other, maybe kissing good morning or good luck to the other. Like a cat, they like to stretch an inch or two. They are small and thin, still an incredible mechanics, and like an ant they can carry much more than their weight. Out of the Sofa I am sitting on, I would say… at least 60 times their weight, probably; a combination of thin movement, joints and connection, up and down all day long, in perpetual action, at times ready to run, to walk, to wait, to stretch… I know without them, my life would be much harder… That’s it! That’s official! I am becoming a “foot fetish”!

Freedom of expression

I can’t believe it… That’s the fifth person giving me one of these weird looks. Right, I did not comb my hair this morning. The decision came up just after my morning shower; smoothly my hair leaned onto my ears and whispered “Let us be; let us be”. I had no choice, between me and my hair, they are the wiser, they are the one with the “white”. I guess hair as well have their right to freedom of expression.