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New dawn

that fresh morning gaze to remember

all that is gone was never a loss

all ahead is tumbling ‘round the corner

merely flesh and shaky bones

staring at that gaze that is my own

looking at the creature on hold

merely brain and witty mouth

sculping fresh view at dawn

wondering ‘bout the creature ahead

is it a deep sigh or a cold shiver

bruising, craving and jumping ‘round inside

when crossroads on next gaze


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If every year holds a message, a teaching or something good inspite of all the horror and heart ache, last year was surely the year of “surprise”. All best wishes did not protect the world from harm, nor did my personal life match up the Holidays’ expectations. Yet, it hasn’t made everything so bloody harsh all the time.

There’s perspective.

There’s detail, discussion and nuance to everything. The world is grey. 

As the new year approaches, I’ve been thinking about “best wishes”. What I want to wish others needs to be exactly what I want to get myself… So my mommy tought me. I’ll just let go of the balloon lighting up this (please keep dancing meanwhile):

good manners

a nice fuck off-attitude

good rest & heavenly sleep

good (mental) health with glowing cheeks

never out off a bottle of good wine

working days that go fast and easy

the right amount of silence

a lot of love for everyone you do and do not know

a lot of courage to cherish and trust yourself

the best insights to set goals in your life

a year without loss and grief

better money handling skills

more patience for stupidity

never waste a chance to learn 

the strength to change your mind when needed

accept what you can’t change or influence

a lot of sarcasm & other inappropriaties

proper use of grammar

not too many NY’s kisses from awkward acquintances and old folks

a lot of reflection & a long thinking process before any talking

a huge curiosity towards random silly facts & badass science

& the right kick-ass amount of rock music and passionate sex!


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Trial & Error


“Fire on fire… rain on my face
Fever goes higher… what can you do
Wild in the darkest places of your mind
That’s where I needed you
Where I needed you most
That’s where I needed you
Where I needed you most

Where is the reason
Well don’t blame it on me
Blame it on my wild heart


If everything is made out of a balance, there is nothing out of reach but, yet still unavailable most of the time. I’ve reached an age where I can confide upon earlier phases to compare current issues. This does not seem to protect me from my instinct, my urges, my discipline and my wild spirit. Let me explain.

Everyone, to my opinion, puts a lot of his/her thinking on the subject of their lives and how they review them. This shows every year by the amount of time magazines and people put in their good intentions for the year 20xx… Another group of people wants nothing to do with this “new year, new me”-thing. Scientists are even asked to calculate all chances of success and failure when the new year approaches. (results are always so bad, people give up by reading they don’t have a shot in succeeding)

I’m neither of types really, because I don’t make promises if only to prove I think to others. If I have some intentions for a new year, it is because I want to change rather than to save a possible conversation. And I’m always looking to change for the better. There is a whole part of my brain fully occupied to creating my views on how I can perfectionate myself, as a person to others, as well as to my own judgement. 

So, quite often, I start the day with a whole list of ideas and plans on how things could go differently. Patience is not my virtue, so I end most days disappointed with my own input to achieve these changes. This is a pattern I’m aware off since a few years. My mother was the one who showed me this insight and also revealed it’s the same for her. While the day passes on, time goes so fast, nothing seems to go the way you want. People leave in unpredictable contributions to your day and thoughts (or emotions) after the encounter. A day is just a day.

My views on planning changes have also changed very slowly, but rather firm. My brains tumbles on thinking about possibilities and all the pro’s and con’s. It’s a never-ending process, I even carry with me through my dreams. There are so many things to consider, the shelf of selfhelp-books is always full for you to the taking. (this might get a bit tense)

When things don’t work your way, you can either change the goal, change your perception of time or change your attitude to your development into change. The word change is a very interesting word when talking about this subject :).

Adjusting your goals requires full knowledge of your self. Wishful thinking, if you are a normal “free” thinking, active person. Unless you’re physical and/or mental abilities are narrowed and firmly less than average, there is no “point of consistecy”. Which is also the case for time and attitude. Nevertheless, to me attitude is the only thing that really builds up strength on the long term in making changes possible.

I could say that my hope and motivation is endless. My attitude is somewhat positive-ish compared to three years ago. But if your mood on changing and adjusting your world and the world changes after dark, you go to bed exhausted and down like a fish in the deep ocean.

In best case scenario’s, I’m able to make it through the day (& night), and the next, next, next, next. Until the weekend hits me. Gives me free time to calm down from stress. Calm down from the pressure that my world as well as I put myself under. Being someone highly sensitive, mildly impulsive (who has time for that??) and in need of a lot of distraction, I can not-proudly say: in just two days this girl is able to screw up five days of commitment and hard work. 

Back to monday and I have to start the whole thinking- and discussing mental process again. I feel worthless, as an other week had passed and nothing had actually happened to stay. But why be so harsh on yourself? I could give myself a break, but how do I ever reach to achieve any of my goals?

Once in a blue moon, all my dedication and goals stay on the same line during each day and night of the week. I actually hold on to all the little things that could make me become my own ideal person. After months, even years, I find myself so darling dumb, numb and boring that I go back to occasionaly screwing some things up a bit…Until I get back right where I started. I remain restless all together.





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To size or not to size

The internet has been going crazy for a while, whilst I’m sitting there reading, drinking my coffee, banging my head to any object nearby. Media have a much stronger effect on people’s thoughts and insecurities than we like to believe and I happen to see and read it all. This is about the term PlusSize and any term that divides people into categories.

Céline, you’re a window shopper and I’m proud of it too! I like to spend my days scrolling through fashion, music, books, shoes, bags, and so on. Just spending time trying to figure out what I like, what I love, what is worth its prize. Obviously, I do buy some stuff but I mostly get upset about “Choose your size”. Collections are slit up in categories for petite, tall, plus size and when I’m looking around for my tall, chubby, handsome man it’s even much catastrophical.

When it comes to women, we talk about it because a lot of women like to shop frequently. As for men, we are completly obsolete to this phenomenon. It has a name though, and when you google it, the opinions are sickening. #DadBod. There are literally no fashionable, cool, nice clothes for men who don’t “fit in”.

But what the fuck is fitting in, anyway? Normal is something that leaves me confused and feeling out of reach. Nobody can explain to the fullest what this word might mean, though we all seem to feel it and act on it. Screaming at each other in kindergarden, bullying is really happening to all ages.

This is not only about size. Size is the most frequent and obvious quality. This is about diversity. How about realizing that the caucasian body is not the majority on this world? How about scars? How about people with disabilities? How about people with all kinds of illnesses? Why is it so hard to see that everyons has a different life, living in a other kind of space and holding on to other kinds of ideas and morals?

“Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.” (C) Charles Addams

Do we need plus size clothing? Damn right we do! The most common size for women is 10-12, yet a lot of brands don’t have a size 12 or you have to pay extra. Or switch to the plus size collection or just piss off like I do. #DropThePlus

So if you’re thinking health, let me ask you if you ever find the bodies of alcoholics and drug addicts fat? NO. Are they healthy? NO. Someone like Ashley Graham (my Queen A) or Tess Holiday and so on, they have to EXERCISE. -big shock- Meaning: not even the doctor can tell from your face if you’re healthy or not. They have degrees and tests for that. It’s called science 😉

I’ve also been following the Amy Schumer vs. Glamorous thing. Putting someone in a category without their say in it, is pretty childish to begin with. Calling Amy a plus size is batshitcrazy and fucking offensive! If that is really all you have to write about as a magazine, they should sell it along with the porn magazines so children and teenagers can’t read your crap!


Recently I found another campaign to support my opinion on these issues which I’m very enthousiastic about! It’s called #RunwayforAll and as a lifetime enthousiastic of fashion and style I just adore it. How much better would people’s lifes be if they stopped hating themselves, but rather embrace their bodies as unique? Personality and character are heavily underrated when all we read and talk about is just the surface.

No matter how much I love style, how much I’m into body positivity, I know I still have a lot of insecurities. That’s okay, that’s my struggle. Everyons has insecurities and if you do work it out one way or another, but never lose sight of the fact that your body is beautiful. It’s not because I write this and I’m trying to lose some wieght at the same time that this is hypocrite or that I don’t love my body anymore. This is way more complicated than that and most of all, none of anyone’s bussiness but mine! And yours, if you want to be a person instead of a category.



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Public vagina?!

First, let me get one thing straight. Women have shitloads of troubles, but finding dick is none of them. We still get paid less, are instructed from early age with society’s irrational rules and no matter what we do, almost half of the population (or more) still underrates our capabilities. But dick serves itself on a goddamn unexpected and unwanted plate anywhere and anytime. So apart from men in unhappy, disfunctional, fucked up relationships, men get mostly assulted by other men. That’s why I’m taking the side of the girls this time.

For men finding vagina might be a ‘tiny’ bit more difficult. I would’ve loved to see that the worldwide distribution of porn through the internet, caused somehow to decrease rape, but the thing is that it only gets more vicious and creative. For the record, I am using dick and vagina because these are not dirty words, as sex isn’t one either. Biology, people. Dirty is what you make it.

We need to get rid of the terribly habit of making sex something dirty and disfunctional. Sex is natural. Sex is fine. Sex is healthy. Sex is great. If both (no matter how many people join in) agree to the act! Nowadays, we seem rightfully shocked when hearing that women in India get randomly touched and rubbed on the streets.

Meaningwhile Western countries got so damn stuck up bitches, who believe they’re too sophisticated and educated to let anything of this happen here. May I please remind you: #FreeKesha #nomoneyforvictimsofassaultbychurch #mansetfreeforrapebecausewomanflirtedbeforeshechangedhermind.

The news is getting me so damn pissed off, I couldn’t stay put. In English, as a support to the #FreeKesha case.

So, in Western countries when something bad happens to you, you go to court. Meanly ruled by stuck up arrogant men, responsable for the whole vision that rape doesn’t happen anymore. Going to the police after rape or assault, is the MOST embarressing and confrontating thing there could ever be. There is absolutely no doubt that fighting for your rights means you have to live through it a hundred times more, it will hunt you even more, be made public even if it’s the most personal thing in the world. And yet still, I’m a big defender of human rights and fighting for your rights when you’ve been done harm.

However, the only valid proof they would accept for rape is if you came into the police office, jump on the desk, spread your legs (no panties), and say “I’m been raped, hurry before I lose the evidence!” And still people, and so court, would ask you “what have you done to provoke this?”

Well excuse me, but is wearing a bikini on a beach a reason for assault or rape? How come evolution has not set us free from those who believe that clothing have anything to do with assault and rape? The lowest of morals that could ever be, become with those questions. Yet, it somehow seems to be publicly accepted. Outrageous!

A woman can wear whatever the fuck (oh the irony) she wants. A woman has the right to say no. A women who says no means NO, not yes. 

Assault and rape are very difficult to prove when you’re the victime. However, the act of any kind of assault is so barbaric, life ruining, wrong and painful that I believe that any kind of case about assault and rape should be set as an exemple. According statistics, chances are kinda pretty realistic that the man involved, might do something to women that is not right. The woman in this case could be his wife who’s just not in the mood. The woman could be the flirtageous collegue who’s only joking around. It could be anyone.

And women, stop playing this sick game. Burst out of your fairytale bubble thinking feminism isn’t needed anymore in Western countries, cause sexes are not equal. To not mention the fact that gender equality is still miles and miles away. Stop being so damn politely angry, but get really pissed off. And if not for yourself, do it for the other women who don’t get heard. Stick up with them girls! Girrrrrrlpower and all!

When you hold a gun and someone gets killed, you will get punished even though you’re not the killer. Holding the gun is enough reason to get punished. Only half of the population’s bodies are not taking serious at the moment. Nothing is more valuable than the bodies we house. We carry them with us through all of our days, countless events and experience a whole world of different feelings thorugh them. It is therefore, not an exaggeration to say that getting assaulted or getting raped often feels like murder. The victim loses all confidence and connextion to her own body and life passes on while nothing moves hers anymore.

Justice is not always searching for evidence. If one’s words and one’s bodies do not provide enough belief, than witnesses should never be heard, working with a public jury would be irrelevant and all the evidence in other cases should be at least 50% invalid.

So why can’t the legal system support women in their fight against these horrible crimes? Punishing people to make an exemple is not a rare event. It happens all the freaking time, but never to prove that women are heard, understood, supported and most of all, believed. Which makes me, disgusted, with the thought; are we more than public vagina to you? And if we are more, please prove it so I can doubt your evidence!

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Generation Hurt falls in love


Some years ago I had a blog on finding true love. A manifest against mediocracy and sexism in the dating world. I deleted it when I found love, but the last few days I remember calling our Generation the Generation of hurt souls. Maybe circumstances have lead me to believe I should remake my point once again. In English, cause that’s how I rolled back then.

The Generation of hurt souls is a reference to the mistakes our parents made, with countless divorces and new kinds of family bounding. A reference to the doubt on love caused by our pain. The things we thought were stable got reduced by satirical, funny shows on television and the believe that there’s got to be more to life than this.

Fearful of making the same mistakes, unsure how to handle the act of love now we finally have the freedom to design it our own. Commitement is free of rules, if you exclude the judgement thrown around on the internet and all kinds of media.

Are we ready for the responsability that comes with making our own designs? Were we all properly prepared to be the master of our own happiness? Is love the key to happiness or is this merely an old tale?

Personally, happiness was meant to be achieved before I was able to find love. However my partner saw it happening the other way around. Currently trapped in healthcare, not sure when things are getting normal again. Or what it is for that matter. I therefore find myself hurt by the thought stuck in my throat that love is here to solve everything, yet I can not wash away his pain and disease.

Depression is one of the rare diseases that actually takes an effort from the patient to get better. That effort seems to be the problem in his world. He’s not used to push himself and desire a little bit more of life because the pain he carries. The pain I used to carry made me want to push myself out of that misery. We are on a crossraods, failing to understand each others means to an end.

I’m afraid of ending up with someone who does not make the best out of himself, but love is making me hold on. Only sad people say it makes the world go round, whilst it might as well paralize us. We have no idea what we’re doing here, but used to have it all. I believe that my parents once thought of it that way, too.

It’s never easy keeping love, though the love itself should come easy. I’m currently having enough spare time to try not to think about the things we’ve lost in order to get him sane and healthy again. But it’s never too far from my mind. Months ago I was filled with tears, and still very hopeful towards the future. At this point tears do no longer bother me at all, but the soundless, colorless, deep grieving that takes me over scares me to death.

Talking about generations, me and my girls work more and earn more than the previous. Yet find ourselves in no position worthy of calling a life if we would’ve run from the love that leaves us doubting. Not afraid of love at all, but afraid of the hurt we cling on to each other to brighten our days. Maybe it’s not the fairest way of making the other part do their love justice, but disappointments have gotten us in this. Just yesterday we’ve agreed that our biggest regret is never having lived all togheter. Girls spicing the world up with fierce and all that…

Frustrated about the way my relationships have gone in the past and even now fail to match my few expectations whilst thought to have found the best one. How long can a couple survive when separated by disease? A young couple of lovebirds, can they hold on to each other when miles and weeks apart from what they wanted in the first place?

It’s sad, and even more mad, thinking about our missed opportunities and lost joy. Driving myself crazy with future outcomings, how can I ever forsee what is ahead? Does a promise only get spoken out to get broken or does love bound it to become true? How do we hold on to the believe on one another when hardly confirmed?

Blaming the generation before isn’t going to solve anything, so I do not support that. Putting things in perspective might help some and make things clearer. I’m failing my own love to keep up, because I’m hurt with the lack of love brought by disease. Which is making me fulled up with doubt, angry, frustrated, restless, and everly so damn tired.

There is no proper ending to be written to this blog. Time has its way with things like these, but patience is not up in my ally. Whether I want it or not, only time can make things so clear we find the answer to what our love is capable of. And in the meantime, we’re filled with hurt.