De schreeuwende Maatschappij

Op 4 mei, 1 minuut over 8, ging mijn telefoon. Ik nam grappende op: 'Sshht.., je bent te vroeg.' De vriend aan de andere kant van de lijn reageerde hier niet op, maar banjerde er overheen: "Lul, waar ben je? zet je t.v. aan."

Aangezien dociliteit niet in mijn aard ligt, duurde het even voordat ik hier gehoor aan wist te geven. Ik schakel pas in op het moment dat Beatrix, enigzins ongemakkelijk, alweer op de dam stond te grijnzen. Hoogst waarschijnlijk bedenkt ze zich dat ze, voor het eerst sinds lange tijd, zich door dit akkefietje heeft laten leiden door een mannenhand, en dan ook nog één die niet trilt. De (af)voerende hand op de erogene zone tussen de koninklijke schouderbladen is zo te zien afdoende om haar grip op de kroon nog een paar jaar te sterken. Het was in ieder geval niet genoeg om haar het Wilhelmus te doen vergeten. Als een volleerde profvoetballer karaoket ze het Volkslied dapper mee.

Op zich bizar, je zou toch zeggen dat we als maatschappij inmiddels wel gewend zijn aan zinloos geschreeuw. Op Politiek 24, 't journaal, op internet en in de krant worden we er dagelijks mee geconfronteerd.

-Kopvoddentax
-KutMarokkaan
-Straatterrorist
-Crisis

Schreeuwen is normaal geworden. Sterker nog het is nu de norm. Op één of andere manier zijn we van At your service afgedwaald naar Kutmarokkaan en van kutmarokkaan naar Islamproblematiek. De heren politici hoeven alleen maar over onze grootste angsten te fantaseren om deze vervolgens kort en krachtig gearticuleerd over hun stembanden te forceren. Een luidkeels onhaalbare oplossing voor een muggenprobleem later, en presto!: Een woedende, dronken olifant, die klaar lijkt te staan om een ieders porseleinkast te bestormen.

De los gebarsten verkiezingsstrijd zorgt voor meer diversiteit in het geschreeuw, maar niet voor een afname van het volume. Integendeel. Spindoctoren (al dan niet geremd door minnaressen), opzoek naar de sterkste megafoon, voorzien de Cue Cards van hun lijsttrekkers met dikkere letters en extra uitroeptekens. Naarstig opzoek naar wat ze moeten roepen en vooral niet te zeggen wat ze echt denken te gaan doen.

Wij, het volk, surfen en zappen vrolijk verder.., op zoek naar het geschreeuw dat onze trilharen het meest kan behagen. We versterken dit op twitter, verjaardagfeestjes en huizelijke kring. Nadenken doen de over elkaar heen vallende journalisten op t.v., de radio en internet wel voor ons. Diepte artikelen vind je in de playboy, niet in de groeiende bult met glossies. Alles boven de 250 woorden is te lang om onze aandacht vast te kunnen houden. Bovendien, wie kan zich nog concentreren op het lezen met al dat geschreeuw?

Schreeuwen werkt besmettelijk, de ene schreeuw lokt de andere uit. Schreeuwen lucht op. Het word alleen wel naar als er tégen je geschreeuwd word. Het is naar als je je in de hoek gezet voelt door superlatieven. Het gaat al vrij snel knagen als je je niet kan verdedigen tegen een stroom krachttermen en 'onwaarheden' die als maar luider lijken te worden. Maar het wordt rond uit beangstigend als zomaar iedereen tegen je kan gaan lopen schreeuwen.., onverwachts en uit het niets. Ook al is het maar 1 man, en niet een hele (tweede) kamer vol stemverkrachters.

Op YouTube kom ik, nog tijdens de telefonische doomscenario uitwisseling, al de beelden van de Dam tegen. Los van de constantering dat de NOS zelfs bij een live verslag trager is dan concurrerende media, is het tekenend dat de massa hysterie van het Nederlands vlakgebergte zo snel op een puntCOMsite staat.
Gelukkig bleek ook hier de harde schreeuwer gewoon weer een grote idioot.

Een goed bewijs dat zelfs de grootste idioot veel impact kan hebben, paniek kan zaaien, pijn kan veroorzaken en van alles kapot kan maken, door simpelweg hard te schreeuwen.

The Dilettant

Virtuele stalkers.

Uit pure nieuwsgierigheid heb ik me enkele maanden geleden voor de grap op twitter begeven. Overtuigd van het feit dat twitteren gewoon een vorm van narcistische zelfbevrediging zou zijn, had ik niet gedacht dat hierin enig gevaar van verslaving voor mij zou zitten. Welke meerwaarde zou de microblog (maximaal 140 tekens per 'tweet') nou helemaal kunnen hebben? Nou.., de meerwaarde is echt nul komma nul, tenzij je de juiste mensen volgt. Het is namelijk best leuk om bepaalde politici, journalisten en opiniemakers te volgen op twitter. De zaak eens van meerdere kanten links of rechts belicht zien, kan interessant zijn.

Los van de Arend Jan Boekestijnen en Femke Halsema's, bevinden zich natuurlijk hoofdzakelijk minder prominente figuren in deze virtuele wereld. Maar dat maakt niemand minder interessant. De kunst ligt in het onderzoeken en onderscheid maken tussen de  'tweeps' die meer te melden hebben dan alleen de uitslag van hun SOA-test of de diarree van hun poedel. Persoonlijk hoef ik het dan niet eens te zijn met geformuleerde standpunten of levensovertuigingen, om op de geposte input te ageren of deze te waarderen. Uiteraard werkt bekrachtiging van anderen op jouw mening altijd potentie verhogend. Een tegenwerping hoeft echter geen zaaddodend effect te hebben, zolang deze maar goed verpakt, gefundeerd en terecht is. Het maakt dan niet uit of men  tweet over actualiteiten, politiek of persoonlijke frustraties...

Een groep deelnemers van de virtuele twittersamenleving heeft dit principe echter nog niet helemaal door.

Het zal niemand verbazen dat het in dit geval hoofdzakelijk om de twitterende aanhang van de PVV gaat. Eerlijkheidshalve moet ik wel vermelden dat het niet alleen om PVV aanhang gaat, ook andere rechts rabiate keuvelaars, TROTS-aanhangers en stamkroegracisten doen wel eens mee. Daar waar ik dus de afkorting PVV gebruik, staat het u vrij om deze te vervangen met elke willekeurige racistische / fascistoïde organisatie of persoon. Om veel belovende verse tweeps niet te ontmoedigen door een eerste hardhandige confrontatie met deze lieden, alhier een handvest voor herkenning van deze aanhang:

De volgende 10 hoofdcategorieën agressie repressie kunt u tegen komen onder eerder genoemde aanhang, veelal laat gedrag zich niet door 1 categorie vangen en loopt dit in elkaar over: 

     *  De anonieme PVV’er

        (zeer veel voorkomend)

Zeer begrijpelijk tweeten de meeste Pvv’ers die u zult tegenkomen in uw timeline onder een alias, zou ik ook doen als ik wist dat ik standpunten in nam waarvoor een ieder ander weldenkend mens zich zou schamen.

     * De mode PVV’er

       (verbazingwekkend veel voorkomend)

De mode PVV’er is er eentje die, de schaarse, positieve punten van de PVV in kaart probeert te brengen. Dit op zich is een hele prestatie. Over het algemeen is dit niet de virtuele stalker die u zal belagen, uitzonderingen daar gelaten. Op het moment dat er niets positiefs te melden valt, en het gebeurt niet zo vaak dat Hero Brinkman een dag lang niemand op zijn bek slaat, hoort u deze twitteraar niet.

     * De speur PVV’er

       (veel voorkomend )

De speur PVV'er lijkt een dagtaak te hebben om tot aan de uithoeken van het internet op zoek te gaan naar incidenten, ongelukken en misstanden waarin moslims iets of iemand stuk maken, christenen onderdrukt worden of joden hinder ondervinden. Of er nu iets gebeurd in A’dam of een buitenwijk van Dar es Salaam, zij vinden het en wenden het aan om een, totaal ongerelateerd punt, te bewijzen.

      * De stiekeme PVV’er

        (zeer veel voorkomend)

De stiekeme PVV’er komt wel voor zijn eigen politieke geaardheid uit maar neemt u, achter uw rug om, op de hak. Dikwijls bent u onderwerp van gesprek zonder dat dit direct opvalt. Uw gebruikers naam valt wel in zijn tweets, maar er wordt per abuis consequent geen @ voor geplaatst. Of uw gebruikers naam wordt constant domweg verkeerd geschreven. Op zich heeft u hier geen last van, maar achterbaks is het natuurlijk wel. 

     *  De drop megalomaan 

        (zeldzaam, voorbeeld: @geertwilderspvv)

De drop megalomaan is te herkennen aan het feit dat hij zelf (nauwelijks) iemand volgt. In die zin heeft ook niemand last van hem, je hoeft hem namelijk niet te volgen. Doe je dit wel, dan krijg je oneliners en halve waarheden voorgeschoteld, afgewisseld met geneuzel en leugens. Jammere is dat hij ook niet openstaat voor commentaar of reacties. 

     * De KAPITALE PVV’er

       (veel voorkomend, voorbeelden niet nodig)

De kapitale PVV’er duikt plotsklaps op in uw timeline om u in hoofdletters uit te leggen dat U NIET GOED BIJ UW HOOFD BENT, meestal omdat u een kritische noot heet laten vallen over de PVV, extreemrechts of andere politieke zaken. De kapitale PVV is geen bekende van u en zal zich dikwijls daarna weer afsluiten voor commentaar.

     * De Gilles de la Tourette PVV’er

       (veel voorkomend, voorbeelden niet nodig)

De Gilles de la Tourette PVV’er is vaak ook geen volgeling van je, maar duikt toch zou nu en dan op in je @box om je enkele en alleen verwensingen naar je hoofd te slingeren, omdat je kennelijk iets verkeerd hebt gezegd. Vaak heeft deze aanhanger van de partij van de vrijheid een creatieve inborst. Hij knipt, plakt en voegt naar hartelust toe in je tweets en zet deze dan in jouw naam met een handig  RT’je er voor weer op het net. Wel jammer dat de strekking van je opvattingen dan nét weer even anders is. 

     * De dreig PVV’er

       (iets zeldzamer, maar wel te vinden, voorbeeld: @herobrinkman)

De dreig PVV doet het zelfde als de Gilles de la Tourette PVV’er maar voegt graag toe dat hij of iemand jouw eigenlijk iets zou moeten aandoen. In feite willen ze graag ervaring op doen alvorens ze gaan solliciteren als stadscommando. Niks van aantrekken, als alle dreigingen van deze persoon uitgevoerd zouden moeten worden heeft hij er inderdaad een gesubsidieerde baan voor nodig… zover is het nog lang niet. Het I.Q. van deze PVV’er is vaak niet al te best, dus gebruik geen al te grote woorden.

     * De ontken PVV’er

       (veel voorkomend)

De ontken PVV’er heeft een simpele visie op de Nederlandse politiek. Er valt namelijk niets aan te merken op zijn partij, alle boze dingen die er gezegd worden kloppen. Geert Wilders ís de nieuwe Messias, de PVV geen one-issue partij en problemen zijn er niet. Om dit te onderbouwen haalt hij her- en der oplossingen en begrotingen van andere clubs aan en smijt hij je daarmee graag om de oren.

     * De internationale PVV aanhanger

       (belachelijk veel voorkomend, voorbeeld @inhuggermugger)

Voor hen die in het Engels tweeten en contact onderhouden met wereldvreemde homofobe ultraorthodoxe Islam vrezende chauvinistische Amerikanen… met deze mensen valt niet te praten.

God heeft hen Geert Wilders namelijk tot kruisvaarder tegen het kwaad gegeven, Pim Fortuyn is omgekomen door een bermbom en zonder PVV was Nederland / Europa een soort van Sodom & Gomorra… tja… als de feiten zo geïnterpreteerd worden. Laat ik zeggen dat dit de discussie enigszins doodslaat.

Het moge duidelijk zijn dat ik het niet erg op heb met de aanhang van de PVV, en hun gelijken, en dat dit waarschijnlijk geheel wederzijds is. Het feit dat ik door bovengenoemde lieden geblokkeerd of gestalked word zegt natuurlijk veel. De kans is vrij groot dat u veel rechtser bent ingesteld dan ik dat ben…, mijn ervaringen op twitter hoeven dan ook niet de uwe te zijn. Ik wil zelfs nog wel een stap verder gaan en de potentiële PVV stemmer alvast veel plezier op twitter toe te wensen, in de hoop dat hij zich niet laat meeslepen door zijn geestesverwanten. Als u nu een bevredigend sociaal leven heeft, of deze op termijn ambieert, raad ik u i.i.g. volledig af ooit met deze twitterlariekoek te beginnen. 

Hoe dan ook, veel plezier en rustig aan.., ook op twitter 

twexit!

the Dutch Defender of Freedom

You got to hand it too the man, he does keep us busy. Geert Wilders, the self proclaimed dutch defender for freedom (of speech) is all that stands between dutch society and Muslim totalitarianism, or so he will have us believe. A Tsunami of Islam is pounding against Hollands sea and land borders, eagerly plotting to turn the lowlands in to a sharia based Caliphate. Modesty most be one of the many virtues of mr. Wilders because if you listen carefully to the man, he is not only battling Islamic censorship in the public debate, he will redeem Holland from all Islamic imposed influences. It's not only our freedom of speech he's defending, it is our very way of life he aims to protect and preserve. To do so, Muslims most be banned from Holland, even Europe. The Holy Quran should be forbidden and Islam as a religion should be abolished. And Mr. Wilders is just the man to do it, Holland's very on 21ste century crusader.

The reason why this blog is in english is simpel, Mr. Wilders has taken his plea for freedom across the border, appearing on Al Jazeera, attending numerous speeches in the U.S. and elsewhere to seek assistance in his epic battle to relief the Dutch from the forces of Islamic evildoers. In the U.S. and Israel he has captured an enthusiastic financial audience to sponsor his quest for liberty. The magnitude of this foreign financial aid to his movement remains undisclosed. The identity of his benefactors, corporate or persona, are also to remain anonymous for the public by order of mr. Wilders himself. But that's okay, Mr. Wilders claims to pioneer the freedom of speech, not the transparency of government and leadership. Although he does criticize existing leadership for closed door politics and back room antics...

We should gladly forgive Mr. Wilders this omission if he delivers us from the evil that is Islam and the perils it brings to our existence according to him. 

So where did it go so terrible wrong in Holland?

Compartmentalization (verzuiling) gave the complete society a sense of identity. Based on various Christian denominations and political color, dutch society was living apart together. Protestants, Roman Catholics and socialists had their own unions, churches, political parties shops and even personnel. The tension between these groups was balanced by thin collaborations of the parties governing them. In the 1950's through out the 1960's the compartmentalization eroded under pressure of the growing individualism that came with modern day capitalism and wealth. A little later the first wave of immigration laborers from Portugal, Spain, Italy, Morocco and Turkey came to participate in unpopular labor otherwise unfulfilled by the Dutch. In the aftermath of the decompartmentalization, the sense of group identity among the Dutch was blurred by the growth of luxury and the increasing standard of life. By the late 1970's early 1980's a society had matured in which the Dutch could pursue individual materialistic wealth regardless of religious or political conviction. Holland had a renowned social security system and education was accessible and available for every denomination.

Parents that grew up in the compartmentalization could place their children on protestant, catholic or public schools. Immigrant children from Muslim parents could also attend Islamic primary schools if they chose so, dutch law granted acces to education for any religious conviction as well as public education. The majority of Muslim immigrants however, placed their children on public schools. 

throughout the eighties en nineties, economic recession and progression succeeded each other. The Immigrant labor forces made good money in comparison to what they could have made in their home country, but were uneducated and ill prepared for the changes in Holland's society. Education and knowledge played an increasingly larger role in the labor market. Labor intensive employment would be outsourced. The position of Moroccan and Turkish youth was, like most ethnic minorities, more hopeless education wise then those of native origin. Integration and language problems of the first generation labor immigrants became more tangible. At the same time the renowned system of social security in Holland took beating after beating, in the form of budget cuts during recessions. The native Dutch now found themselves battling for employment with former immigrants. Where the social service used to be a way to stay out of poverty, it now became a guarantee to remain in poverty. (Granted this poverty by Dutch standards does not in anyway resemble poverty know elsewhere in the world.) Immigrants had been housed accordingly to their capacity to generate income, creating Moroccan and Turkish enclaves in low cost areas concentrated predominantly around Hollands larger cities. In the early nineties xenophobia got a new impulse when Holland chose an increscently right approach on asylum seekers. In politics and the media asylum seekers were portrayed as economic refugees, seeking our country in great numbers. At the same time ignoring the fact that most refugees did not get a final permit of admittance, got denied a legal stay all together, or only had a temporary visa. The image arose that Holland was full, saturated with immigrants. Refugees that did get a permit, mostly went to the larger cities in the west as well. Because of the Dutch governments unwillingness to infest in spreading minorities amongst the ethnic majority. Amsterdam, The Hague, Rotterdam and other cities now had an ethnic over representation.  Labor immigrants, refugees and minorities from our colonial past sometimes outnumbered the dutch in certain areas. As aside effect of these concentrations, schools would become predominantly colored or white, depending on their location and educational level. Without fully realizing it, dutch society had a new form of compartmentalization. Socialists, Liberals, Christians and foreigners of which a part were Muslim. And although Muslims paid and built their own mosques and only a small part of them went to Islamic schools, there is no political representation and they are strongly divided amongst themselves. From the 16 million inhabitants, a merely 800.000 are estimated to be Muslim, Soeni or Shi'a, secular or orthodox.

On the 6th of may 2002 Pim Fortuyn, an up and coming populist, was shot dead by fanatic environmentalist. Mr. Fortuyn gathered a lot of support in a small space of time, criticizing the existing political parties. With no actual solutions and a lot of unconstitutional proposals  from his side, the political elite had no proper answer to this new form of populism. Mr. Fortuyn had already sharpened the edges of the immigration debate, blaming Islam for obstructing integration into dutch society. In the wake of his spirit, the dutch lost their composure. The political establishment, that had shifted more and more to the right in the last few years, was blamed for his death. They had called Mr. Fortuyn a menace (which he was) for dutch credibility. Dutch socialists had been labeled as 'the left Church' by Mr. Fortuyn and their verbal defence to this now somehow made them an accomplish in this death. That Fortuyn was murdered by a deranged woodward, didn't stop the nation to plunge into indignant grief. On the 15th of may 2002 Pim Fortuyn was elected, post mortum, with 26 out of the 150 seats in dutch parliament.

2 years later, on the second of November 2004 Theo van Gogh was murdered. The dutch filmmaker and columnist was murdered by an Islamic extremist. Now the dutch really lost their minds. The public grief and debate that spiraled from his murder, was poorly handled by the established dutch politicians. But new, right winged politicians quickly rose too the occasion. One of them, was Mr. Wilders.

Mr. Wilders has his family roots in colonial Indonesia, where his grandfather married a woman  from a dutch Indonesian family with a jewish background. Before Holland had to cease her occupation of the Archipelago, under U.S. pressure, his grandfather was dismissed from military service. Broke and disillusioned he retreaded back to Holland. Without luxury and labeled as outsiders, they led a bitter existence. Indonesia was now an Islamic republic and the Holland they had served did not meet expectations. Perhaps this fueled his anti Islamic sentiment, or his drive for a Dutch identity, as is not uncommon in such families. 

After his high school period, the adolescent Wilders went to a kibbutz for 2 years. He has returned to Israel many times since. He started his political career for the VVD (Folk party for Freedom and Democracy) as a speech writer for Frits Bolkenstein a prominent member at the far right of this party. A dispute within the VVD, in which mr Wilders found the party wasn't harsh enough towards the possibilities of Turkeys future EUmembership, led him to leave the party. Knowing what awesome support Fortuyn rallied up with strong rhetorics, he started his own party.

With his Aryan blond dye he gathered up a posse that could find a creative way to blame Islam for virtually everything. Learning from the trial and errors of Fortuyn, he stayed away from the public debate. Until today only monologue, not dialog, have spawned from the mouth of a man who claims to advocate the freedom of speech. To ensure a broad electorate Mr. Wilders said farewell to all the political protocols of the established parties and attacked them with criticism on every point. The media loved it. Every where Geert Wilders turned up, every discourteous remark and every statement he made got air time in all media. Every criticism on his behalf by media or politics was dismissed as an attempt of character assassination and demonization of his person. This was exactly the rod that had cost politicians a great deal of votes after the Fortuyn murder, causing caution and apologies from his opponents. The Freedom Party (PVV) quickly started to oppose her own name.

the holy Quran should be forbidden, mosques should be forbidden, Nikab, sex segregated swimming, halal slaughter.., forbidden. Everything wrong in the world had Islamic roots, traffic jams, Chernobyl, criminality... just name it. These claims were supported by exaggerating Dutch identity, we dutch suddenly had a Christian Jewish based society, endangered by Islam. Although implausible other politicians and the media hardly protested this. Historically our churches are turning gray and empty, and nowhere else had the Germans been more accommodated in their raids for Jews (well accept maybe for Italy and Austria).  Since the early days of Protestantism, antisemitism had been part of Dutch culture. This didn't stop until after the WWII. To confuse his electorate even more and sell his message wider, he claimed to have nothing against Muslims, only against Islam.  Apparently a great deal of voters are able to follow this logic. But if I try to explain to a Jew that I am not antisemitic, I just want to eradicate Judaism, I am punishable by law... 

This is exactly why Mr Wilders was sued for incitement of hatred and discrimination. On numerous occasions, in interviews, press releases and articles, Mr Wilders has spoken his abominations outside the parliament walls. Under dutch law, he can not be sued for comments inside congress. So we all ready  have absolute freedom of speech. Mr Wilders has sued several organisations, rappers and persons for incitement of hate against him. He has commented on legal rulings and the position of judges in his criticism on (Islamic) foreigners and cases where he felt wronged. But on January the 20th he stated his trail was a political one... Where he would scream for more severe punishment from our legal system, he now compared the courthouse to North Korea and the Gulag.  

Knowing he can only gain popularity from this trail, Mr Wilders gained financial support in the U.S. Apart from the fact that these funders of hate are running a morally abject show, they might get more then they bargained for. Outside the courtroom in Amsterdam, a large international crowd of Wilders followers had gathered. Amongst them a great deal of known neo Nazis, infamous for there hatred of everything none Caucasian, including Jews. How Mr. Wilders and his financial backers can integrate this with their believes? Perhaps you have to be a little schizofrenic to be a megalomaniac. They say Hitler was...

The sad thing is that Wilders can only win, no matter what the out come of this trail. As a martyr for freedom of speech or as wrongfully persecuted politician... Forza Italia,

Front National, none of them have grown so easily as Wilders and his PVV. Not something to be proud of as Dutchmen.

 As a socialworker, I am engaged with the bottom of dutch society. And I can surely see a difference in every day society all ready. Moderate Muslims are cornered and the Dutch seem to find problems with Islam that never had been there before. Mr. Wilders started by claiming he was a democrat in every pore of his body, then he merely claimed to defend the freedom of speech. Now he calls himself a freedom fighter. I just hope history will not have to call him the Hitler of the 21ste century.

 sources:

http://www.legal-project.org/blog/2010/01/liberty-on-trial-in-dutch-court

http://www.jihadwatch.org/

http://www.meforum.org/

http://www.danielpipes.org/

http://www.pvv.nl/

www. wikipedia.nl

Willful Degeneration, the Human Jinx.

Yes, I am a cynic and I am well aware of the fact that the next bit points me towards a slippery slope. Seeing I didn't get to bother anyone last month because I was too busy to, I figure you might just stomach this with the up coming X-mas spirit in mind.


It is my opinion that in present day society, humanity defies the laws of biology. When hyenas hunt, the pack will pick prey that can be separated from the herd. The weak, the sick, the old, the unprotected and otherwise unfit prey becomes a meal. There for not allowing the genetically weak to reproduce. Even when weaker animals do not end up serving the food chain, they have a harder time too reproduce then their healthy rivals with the bigger antlers, louder call, larger build or brighter colors. The old timer over the top stallion predecessor might be just as horny as his young successor, but he wont get just as lucky as him anymore. These are the cold, logical facts of nature. Arguments anyone? I think not.


Medical science is slowly progressing. In the near future those who can afford it will obtain acces to better chances of growing older, freed form more illnesses with the prospect of less hinder from aging. It's what we all want, growing old, happy and enjoying the fruit of labour in health and independence. We want to enjoy our family, our children and, god willing, our grand children. I take it that those of you that do not suffer manic depression or hate their children still agree with me so far?


Resveratrol, the miracle cure. Scientist are able to grow mice that turn twice as old without any apparent signs of age deterioration. Just by administrating this red wine like gene trigger, the fountain of life is bestowed upon these rodents. Why? there doesn't seem to be a shortage of mice or lab rats  in the world, so making them enjoy longevity seems a bit redundant. Nor have there been any reports of a growing number of stray cats which PETA ordered scientist too be fed this way. No. It is man's hunger for life and fear of death, that inspires pharmaceutical giants to invest heavily into these very human emotions. Huge profits could be made by having man drugged up to youth, dependent on his pharmacy to stay fit and healthy. Besides, PETA would have cats on soy if it was up to them. Yes, this will get nasty from here on.


Maybe Resveratrol will turn out to be a big hoax, it doesn't even really matter. If I get diagnosed with testicular cancer and my father, grandfather and great great grandfather kicked the testicular cancer bucket too, I wont argue the genetic tendencies of it. But I'd probably want to be cured anyway. And yes, I would want my sons to be protected from the perils that apparently lie hidden in the family jewels. Resveratrol, Chemo, morning urine or whatever means available, I'd take them. If stem cells or genetic manipulation could safeguard my sons from singing opera, I might seriously consider pheutus enhancement. And if I am willing to ignore nature in my genetic short comings, maybe I shouldn't be judgmental  towards the genetic deprivation of my next door drug addicted, childbearing neighbor either. Even though she and the alleged soon to be father, have addicted personalities, the combined I.Q. of  a hummingbird with ADHD and the life expectancy of a Thanksgiving turkey. Besides as a social worker I deal with distorted families and mentally unable parents on a daily basis. I earn my paycheck with society's genetic retardation. So who I'm I to decide who's genetic lines are worthy of continuation and who has the weakest DNA link? Mr. & Mrs. Down Syndrome, you are the weakest link, goodbye. I told you this would get ugly.


In a world population that is growing excessively in numbers, it is not biologically sane to stretch the start or finish line of what is ultimately the survival of our species. From a religious perspective one might argue we are attempting to overthrow God. Personally I'd plea for the biological approach, we're fucking up Darwin's survival of the fittest, which is a pity cause he worked hard on it. Short term, very human emotions, overrule our longterm survival rights as a species. Egocentric hunger for life and fear of death sponsored by capitalism ,will endorse the corruption of one gene pool in the west, while the lack of funding will condemn a randomly healthy gene pool in the third world.


The very fabric of our nature might well be our demise, regardless of how frighteningly good we might become in prefabricating our offspring and delaying our deaths, nature will catch up. Science backfires slowly.


Happy holidays.
I told you, I am a cynic.

Christ on Acid, La Sagrada Familia.

Barcelona October 29th,2009

The Catholic Church meets Cristal Meth.., that was my first impression when I laid eyes on the monstrosity that spawned from Gaudi’s brain. I fully understand why the Vatican or the Zapatero administration do not want to pay for the construction for what seems to be the gateway too hell. A closer look inside, for which I paid an €11 entrée fee making me an accomplice in this blasphemy, did not change my mind…

“Compadre, caminando tres minutas,luego a la izquierda y te pierdes turísticos dumbass. Ese será € 24”. All I understood from this was caminando tres minutas, which means walk for 3 minutes, not the words I want to hear from a cabdriver. I didn’t know it then, but he dropped me of at the Placa del Catalunya, the nerve center of Barcelona. A charismatic square combining the history of the city with its modern day pace of life. It was windy and cold in Amsterdam when I took off, but it’s pleasant and dry while a walk the broad Avinguda del Portal de l’Angel only two hours later.

The cabdriver told me to go left where I should have gone right, making me look like an ignorant pedestrian tourist holding a map while being lost. The local hoodlums picked this up quickly and plotted to pick my pockets. Buenas noches Spain, just here for 15 minutes and all ready I get handed the opportunity to fight. The gentlemen seized me up, and quickly drew the conclusion it was too much afford for too little profit. Yes, big, fat, fucking black dressing, hairless, hells angel looking, Dutch guy coming thru!! Victorious I continued my quest for the cheap hostel that should be here somewhere.

Tomorrow I have to leave again, time and finance is running low. My hostel room with its typical Spanish balcony will accommodate me for just one more night. I’ve seen the Palau del Musica, enjoyed the Rambla, the big Cathedral, La Pedrera, a bunch of museums, the harbor, the squares, the parks, the people, the food, the night life and the sun.  But I still don’t get the charm of la Sagrada Familia… So I decided to take another look-see. As I am writing this down, I am on my third terrace with a direct view on the monster, enjoying my overpriced coffee. Now I've dined and drank with her. Tourists are swarming like ants. Heads thrown back in their necks, mouth open, taking on Kamasutra posses just to get that one picture from the right angle. Honestly, I still can’t say La Sagrada Familia is a thing of beauty. But its growing on me. It must be fun to attend mass in Azkaban in 2030, when it’s supposedly finished.  Gaudi, being brilliant and clearly deranged, must have imagined the  Sunday morning acoustic effects of a gospel quire inside, all the people pausing on the street to gaze at his creation. And God looking down from heaven, telling Jesus: ‘Fetch me some water Son, I must have a hang over again.’

Christ on Acid, Gaudi was ahead of his time indeed.

Whiskey from a plastic jar...

I imagine myself jumping up and down on her corpse. The girl behind the counter charges €7.50! for an ordinary Jameson, just to pour it into a PLASTIC jar .., forcing me to gather a search party to see if I can find the whiskey on the bottom somewhere.. the glory of Schiphol airport, they just don't get it.
How did I get here again?

Struggling with a bad case of quarter life crisis, I decided yesterday not to be in town for my 31ste birthday. I don't like birthdays, least of all mine... Instead of congratulating our mothers, for suffering hard labour and thick ankles for 9 months and thanking our fathers for sticking around for the full torture of 9 months of mood swings and feeding frenzies, we celebrate our existence by various amateurish versions of  "I'm/he's/she's a jolly good fellow". I don't like the obligatory hand shaking, bearded aunt kissing and make believe happy joy joy atmosphere of birthdays. So I usually skip it, it has become a sort of tradition. The Birthday Sod Off if you will. Not to mention turning 31.., my god, to old to be young, young enough to realize your getting old. In my case, realizing you've spent half your life asleep, drunk, at work or waiting inline.., and still don't no what you want to do with the remaining half.

I fit the model of a modern day consumerist, I am a slave of capitalism.  Work,consume, eat, shit, consume, sleep, sex and consume some more... And now I've embraced consumerism to escape the inevitability of growing old, shaking hands and fulfilling obligatory routines along the way. I bought the cheapest ticket to any place warmer and drier then Holland, I could find. So Barcelona, brace yourself. Let me spend my money on you, so I can repeat the cycle of consummation when I get back.

Still, that's no excuse for them to pour whiskey into plastic though.

Mayhem of Snooze

You know those people whom jump out of bed, whistling, with total disregard for either sides of the bed? Zippedidoda zippediday... Well I'm the guy who wants to kill them all.

I can't stand happy in the morning. There's a time and place for everything, and the morning just isn't it. Happy should be a nighttime thing, accompanied by Glenfiddich and good music and God willing a beautiful woman, naked and drunk. Not a morning mist tearing up your eyes, while cycling to work in a herd of paycheck slaves doing the same to pay their mortgage. If this phenomenon brings about a good mood for you, you should search the motivation for it. I'm sure it's a routine forced artificial happiness brought about by the scarcity of possibilities of fleeing your fat, sexually unfulfilled,increasingly sagging wife , the IKEA house she picked and your materialistically spoiled but emotionally neglected, E.T. look alike children.

The rare occasions in which I have to wake up early for work usually leave a day long blood thirst in my mouth. A few employers ago, the epic battle to awake in a human like state in the morning, and go to work without committing a felon, was much more prominent then now, thank God. But still, gun control is a good thing.

It's mental masochism. Embracing the sweet endorphines of sleep, fighting the harsh reality of paycheck responsibilities. My bed is hugging me in a desperate plea not to leave it, but the countdown by snooze makes the reality of employee enslavement bare down on me like a jackhammer. The warm, womb like nest of covers cradle me, whispering sweet loving words of fake comfort in my ears:

'It's okay, if you skip the news and traffic is good, you've got at least 10 more minutes of warmth in here.'

When ever I have to get up early, this has become my routine. Ignoring my snooze 3 times already, skipping my coffee, a decent shower and breakfast. There is no way now that I'll be chipper some time soon today. So what the hell. Relying on the relentlessly annoying ringtone I appointed too the snooze alarm on my Nokia, I decide to risk it. Semi asleep I prolong my execution with 10 more minutes. And sure enough I dimmer of too a sweet dream in which I am waterboarding the guy that installed the snooze alarm on my Nokia with a 10 minute inter fall. After I've almost drowned him for the 4th time, subconsciously, I realize something's off... The fictitious euphoria from "not torturing" my evildoer American style, is killed by the abrupt realization that my alarm should have woken my from Guantanamo 30 minutes ago...

Seeing I am at least 20 minutes late for my shift of slavery, something even my adrenaline rush can't make up for, I figure it's time for coffee. Fuck em. Black, no sugar, no sweets, just strong hot coffee. On the couch in my undies.Turn on the news. Watching what drama has struck the world, while I was cradled by Johny Walker dreams.

And sure enough my phone rings:

"Hello? WTF? Why the hell are you calling me at this time in the morning? Don't you know it's not even seven thirty yet...? What? Wait, I said wait! Let me check..., nope I've got a late shift today. I got it right here! You sure? Did they change it again!? Goddammit! Well, okay, I'll be there in 30 minutes. No it's okay. Goodbye."

Oil addicted war in Iraq, famine in Sudan, corrupt politicians and worldwide economic crisis. The most recent horrors displayed for me. I get to watch it all, motionless, AND have coffee. The world is safe from my wrath and my co-workers will be thankful when I'll show up in 45 minutes. Not the worst morning I ever had. Just one of the benefits of being a bad, bad person.

Maybe that Nokia guy wasn't all bad.