Blog of the Blogless

The Unlubricated Butt-reaming of My Dreams or: How I Haven't Yet Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Financial Crisis

2009-02-18T10:18:00.003+01:00

I know a guy who, when asked how he's doing, often replies "I'm feeling great; things are so bad they can only get better." By that standard, I'm feeling pretty dandy myself these days. Financially, I'm at an all-time low. Despite my new posh address, I'm only one or two poor decisions from skid row or having to borrow money from the kind of people who will maim you without a second thought. On

Coming Back to Life

2008-06-11T18:25:00.003+02:00

February came and went, as did March through May, which is convincing evidence that time is very much subject to the law of diminishing returns; rather than any tangible achievements, the past four months have mostly yielded dividends of ennui and self-loathing. On the face of it, things took a turn for the better in March when I got hired as a translator and project manager. Alas, with that

The Tempestuousness of Temporary Temperance

2008-01-22T18:11:00.000+01:00

I’m late with my entry again, and, as irony would have it, this time living clean is to blame. More specifically, I blame it on colossal mood swings and generally feeling all kinds of weird on account of nicotine deficiency. One day, when I was supposed to write this piece, I was so hopped up on caffeine and sugar – the only two drugs left in my arsenal during this exile on dry, tobaccoless

Out of the Gutter and into the Straightjacket

2008-01-06T22:58:00.000+01:00

This week and next week, I’m taking a break from the ongoing jeremiad on the subject of my capsizing career in words to bring you an update on current affairs and a review of the year 2007 in pain. Also, in case you were wondering: yes, last week I did neglect my blog-writing duties altogether, the reason being that I spent the whole week either drunk as shit or crippled by hangovers. T’was the

All I Want for Christmas is a Pair of Decorative Balls

2007-12-23T14:58:00.000+01:00

In my lamentations over the various obstacles that beset the path of the righteous writer, I initially forgot to think about the fragility of one’s health – physical and mental. This pitfall was brutally pointed out to me last week when my nads suddenly came under close scrutiny. Without going into details, I can say that certain anomalies necessitated and ultrasound

Requiem for My Memory

2007-12-15T11:56:00.000+01:00

They say you have to be an avid reader to be a good writer. I like to read, but all the reading in the world does little good if what you read tends to vanish from your brain like a fart in a typhoon. Once, while sorting through old e-mail correspondence, I discovered that I had one year previously read Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. I had no memory of it. I don’t mean that I had

Work Ain't Gonna Work for Me

2007-12-08T20:20:00.000+01:00

“If work is healthy, give it to the sick.” Thus said an otherwise extremely unfunny Danish comedian who once ran for parliament as a joke. The joke was on him when he got elected and damn near became the deciding vote between the two blocks in Danish politics. It scared the shit out of him, and it was a wake-up call for the real politicians that a man running on a platform of promises like “

While I'm Waiting for Divine Inspiration

2007-12-01T10:39:00.000+01:00

I know it's a bit embarrassing to run into problems in only my second week after announcing my new commitment to writing, but there is a battle going on for my soul. Antagonistic forces abound, and they will not stand down just because I've made a foolhardy declaration of my purpose. The path of the righteous man, as we all know, is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the

Return of a Would-be Wordsmith

2007-11-21T15:11:00.001+01:00

My apologies to the poor, misguided bastards who still turn to this blog for a mild dose of bile, melancholia, and quasi-witty observations. I have not fallen off the planet, and I have not marked the passing of my twenties by going on a cyanide binge. Nor have I donned the uniform of the subjugated, soulless thirtysomething: brown cardigan, faded beige slacks, furry slippers, a

Thirty Going on... Well, Just Going on

2007-05-19T10:56:00.000+02:00

"So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinkingRacing around to come up behind you again.The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,Shorter of breath and one day closer to death." Thank you, Pink Floyd. Today, I am pushing thirty no longer. From now on, thirty will be pushing me; towards forty, towards flab, phlebitis and frothing at the

Nemesis in Berlin

2007-03-31T00:09:00.000+02:00

The hell with it! I’ve been eyeballing this piece of crap for more than six months, and I give up. I used to think there was material for something of an epic, which is why I haven’t posted anything for ages. There is no damn story; no tragedy, no drama and hardly any comedy. What there is is a meager anecdote that I will now relate in its pathetic, albeit lengthy, entirety.