Adeu.

A humble bunch of 2008 hours left for dancing. Let's dance next to the people we love!

Deja-vu

This town is like the back yard where the dogs I've never had would hide their bones, save them for later and dig them out when the time comes. But instead of bones I dig out memories, piles of memories. Every street, every corner, every little bench pushes me into the Gallery of Deja Vu and willingly or not I repeat my visits. Someday far far away from now we were sitting in the park in a summer morning. The sun playing with our hairs, the wind hugging us. The residual feeling of that day captured by this face on the picture. I remember it was mine.

Drum-and-bass-ing

Decemberist

I have been decembering for 27 days now. 15 days of exams, headache and insomnia dipped in coffie, wine and what-ever-makes-you-happy-s. 2 December days of saying "good bye", generous hugs and kissing eyes that will be far far away from mine. And then on the 18th I did not have the time to sleep, wake up and realize that I am back. Back home. Suddenly, I woke up in the huge lecture hall of the University of Sofia, sitting next to Yana, listening to the witty remarks of the literature professor. That same day I woke up a few more times while reading the steet signs, ordering tee, buying potatoes. A peculiar December feeling took over when I finally laid down my heavy head on a clean white pillow listening to the thousand voices of Sofia.

Now i am decembering in this small town down south. Separated from the world. Far away from my normal life, responsibilitie and preconditions. Here everything happens in this lovely, almost habitual manner, the joy that you are able to get back to these habbits. There is our meeting point at the cinema (even thought there is no cinema to be found anymore !), there is the shop where I buy big beer bottles from (unavailable in the west), there goes the daily coffie-drinking. And all those faces and sparkling eyes, the best and the oldest friends I have had. Different and still the same. We dance under D&B beats, we drink wine, beer, whiskey, we love, we smoke, we december.

This morning I danced with the weather. The sky was still dark blue but slowly inviting a few different shades. It did not matter anyways because a marching army of snowflakes was conquering everything around me. Houses, trees, cars and roads surrendered under the merciless December attack. I marched home boldly, thus being the first opponent of the snow brigade. I passed through whitened streets where noone alse had walked. It was ment to be a fight but it became a dance because I could not resist the tempting invitations. As every true, dedicated decemberist.

Breda

Another beautiful season slipped away from the fingers of Breda. Now the boulevards are empty, misty and millions of pointy branches stick out in the humid air. It is humid indeed. Breda has been my home for a long time now and I, trapped in daily obstacles, routines and curiously annoying cultural clashes, happen to ignore its beauty. Breda is special. It is pretty, yes! It is boring, no doubt about it! However, it hosted me for 2-3 years and funnily I miss it every time I leave. A manifold personality: mediocrity, pure genuine “Dutchness”, hard-to-find underground, summer loveliness and the spring-time fevers. Take this colorful mixture, stir it up carefully and add a pinch of feelings -togetherness, closeness and home comfort- and this is what the city has become for me.

Breda is the best place in world if you are addicted to the unique activity “ tossing pebbles in a river” and the worst if you do not listen to mainstream music. Breda's student life is vibrant and you will never lack parties. However, a jazz/rock/indie club would never be superfluous. And still the best of it is the people. Hundreds of international students come and go every semester. Dutch students tend to be less active. Hippies smoke joints in the Wilhelmina Park under heavy dreadlocks. Emo teens dwell around with no destination. People on bikes during the day and people under the bikes at night after the 7th biertje. Many bikes, many many bikes. And many many Bier beers. And those red-cheek old ladies hastily shopping on Saturday morning- so awkwardly cute in their boots, ponchos and skinny jeans. Lovely.

So, I am leaving all this behind again. Grote Markt will be replaced by Plaza de la Cultura, my biertjes will become rum shots in the hot Pan-American evenings and new cultural shocks will be leaving me stunned and confused. (And finally there will be mountain peeks in the horizon !). Breda, I will see you again next autumn, walking along the singels (canals), staring at the colorful sneakers of the passing-by Dutch youth.. On my way to school, in the park, in the pub, at work and at the after party. Until then, enjoy all those boots, sneakers and wheels that caress your body every day!

The world kicked back

Idols. I wonder how my parents' generation felt when their idols begun to disappear. Freddie, Curt, Jimmy. They are an indispensable part of your youth, no matter who they are (poets, actors, directors, musicians)...As for music idols, sooner or later my idols will start getting old too, selling their souls to the musical corporate machine. I can picture myself sitting in a car one day waiting for the traffic lights. Radio is on, flooded with new rhythms and new hymns. And suddenly, the 2000-2010 “Oldies” program plays a track that brings me back 20-30 years ago. Squeezing the steering wheel, I would drown in memories of sticky concert halls, beers in the park, the festival rush and the friends I sang along with. And there would be that sparkle in my eye – of sadness and joy, of longing and desire to be back there. That same sparkle I see every time in my father's eye when he hears Queen, Guns & Roses, The Doors and The Beatles. He goes back where I stand now. The youth, the self-destructiveness, the careless, mocking way in which we are obedient to the rules. This young lad on the pictures is a reflection of this youth and as all those idols he follows the same pattern. He is our poet, our drug-addict, our “bad boy” whose art will be smashed by fame and music labels. Pete, hope you have enough safety pins!

"Cornered the boy, kicked out at the world
the world kicked back a lot F**king harder now"
("Can't Stand Me Now", The Libertines)

Bitter-sweet

Un domingo de resaca dulce....

Corporate

I have been studying recently and my private life has gone to hell, together with my "hunting" and sociability. However, I managed to find currious facts. Studying marketing brings me one step closer to my complete disfavour of Christmass, CNN and CocaCola. Well, George Orwell would probably roll over in his grave if he could read my Marketing text book. And this is something we have to know for the exams. The following citation is connected with the formulation of the corporate communication objectives.

" If the corporate image corresponds with reality, but not with the "desired reality" (by the company) then reality has to be changed and communicated afterwards"

In my face! but hey..there are 7 more chapters to go! Lets find out what else is to be learned from coporate marketing.

Source: Pelsmaker, P. de ; Geurens M. and Bergh J. van den "Integrated Marketing Communications : A European Perspective", Financial Times Press, 2007, Chapter 6, page 164