I’m Invisible


24-01-2014 Friday




Maybe I should become a ninja; I have definitely mastered the art of invisibility. Teachers hardly ever notice my presence in class and not even my classmates are aware of it when I am ill for a couple of days and therefore don’t attend classes. For some reason I always go unnoticed. I think it’s also because of the school uniforms. Everybody looks the same. Although some of us try to squeeze in some of their personality by dying or cutting their hair in extreme ways. Socks also seem to be a good way to show you’re different. Still, I don’t really stand out in the crowd even though I am on the chubby side. I could come to school wearing one of those propeller caps, and nobody would notice. Well, maybe one or two people would say something like,’ Hey, there’s something different about your hair today.’


It is kind of a good thing to not be noticed. School bullies don’t seem to be one of my problems. They don’t bother bullying me because there is nothing to gain for them; there is no way to get a kick out of bullying me. Though there is a lot about me they could make fun of. Let’s face it; I’m chubby, not very pretty, a bit spotty (though not a lot anymore thanks to Lush), and I am absolutely positively not hip. I don’t go with the masses. Let it be clear that I am pretty pleased with all this. I have accepted it and I guess,’ This, too, shall pass.’


Basically I am an easy prey. Most likely I am too easy to be worth the effort. Who, then, is it that they pick on and how? Well, it is quite difficult to look into their brains and see what’s going in there. There probably isn’t much going on in there anyways – which is their biggest problem if you’d ask me. If their brains were more preoccupied with interesting stuff, they’d leave those poor fellows alone. School bullies are much like zombies ‘BRAAAAAINS, BRAAAAINS!’. Instead of ‘brains’ they go like,’ ANNOY! ANNNOOOOOY!’


School bullies have this sixth sense. They enter a room and know instinctively who can be bullied and who should not be messed with or is just not worth the effort. Furthermore, they know exactly when to strike and have this database of excuses for their actions if on the rare occasion they do get noticed or even caught. They poke you from behind with their pen and they accuse you of throwing the pen on the floor or stealing the cap (that they threw onto your desk in a cunning way). You know how it works.


Teachers for fall their tricks over and over again. How come teachers don’t see these things? Are they really that blind? This afternoon one the bullies threw somebody down the stairs. He put the blame on the people behind him and he said they were pushing him. When asked who were pushing him, he couldn’t say, because he either didn’t recognize them or couldn’t see their faces clearly. Fact was, there was nobody behind him. The poor kid broke his arm, the bully gets away with it and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.


I’m so glad I am me. I know I am not perfect in many ways, but I am working on things and one day I will astound everybody, mark my words. First, food. See me tomorrow. 


Charlotte Campbell Rocks The World


23-01-2014 Thursday




Maybe there’s a poet hiding deep inside all of us, or maybe just deep inside of me. I don’t know. Yesterday was my first serious attempt of writing lyrics to an unwritten song. As I don’t play any musical instruments, it will probably just be lyrics to unwritten songs for as long as I’ll live. Mum does not want me to learn to play any instruments, because she does not want the agony of having to listen to me rehearse. Besides that I think Mum hates music altogether. We used to have a neighbour who practised playing the violin and Mum said it sounded like a cat’s tail had got stuck in the door. Can I blame that neighbour for ruining one of my dreams? Thanks neighbour!


The reason I decided to write some lyrics is, weirdly enough, also because of Mum. Although I do not think she realizes it. The other day she came home from a visit at Foyles down at South Bank and she said she’d seen this lovely girl playing the guitar and singing to it. As Mum thought I would have probably enjoyed it, she decided to buy the CD (cold comfort for not letting me learn to play my own instruments). The name of the girl is Charlotte Campbell and the album is called Blue Eyed Soul. The girl is really pretty and I like her voice. Too bad Mum didn’t take me to Foyles. I would have liked listening to Charlotte and I could do with some more books as well.


Talking about books. Today I went back to school, because I felt well enough, but I knew I should have stayed at home. We have to read a Shakespearian play. Even though I really like reading, I don’t like reading at all. I mean, I don’t like the books school comes up with. I’d rather read books like the one I told you about by Alex Boese. Way more interesting than some boring old play by a dead guy who probably didn’t even write the plays himself, because he was too busy dating women. Nuff said.

I’m drifting away from the subject, aren’t I? So, as I said, Mum came home with this CD and it really inspired me to write my own things. Maybe one day I’ll learn to play an instrument and then I could write my own music to the lyrics. I’m not much of a singer; I’ve got the voice of a thousand monkeys (that’s what Dad always says when he hears me singing under the shower). Till the day comes I can play the bass, the guitar, the drums or whatever, I’ll probably have to wait till some musicians come knocking on my door to ask me if I would like to write their lyrics for them or if they could use the ones I’ve already got. That’s it and that’s that. See me tomorrow. 

The Hobo (Not Any More)

The smell of lovely coffee
Lovely tea, lovely morning
Lovely lady at the station platform 2
Do you have cigarette for me
A light, no lady thank you
I don’t smoke anymore, you see

Not any less either
I don’t smoke any more
Not any less either
No, I don’t smoke any more

Can feel the days get longer
Longer nights, let’s linger longer
Cup a coffee at the station platform 2
Would you like to buy a beer for me
You don’t have to open the bottle
I don’t drink anymore, you see

Not any less either
I don’t drink any less
Not any less either
No, I don’t drink any less

Can smell the caffeine
A diet coke, cocaine, benzene
A bunch of geezers at the station platform 2
Walking up and down ignoring me
Although they are passing by
They’re not alive anymore, you see

Not any less either
Not alive any more
Not any less either
No, not alive any more

Dowsing Rod (For Poking Out Eyes)

22-01-2014 Wednesday


Either Mum’s cooking is getting better or my taste buds are numbed because of the flu. I hope it’s the first one, I fear it’s the latter. I’m afraid that as soon as my nose is unclogged and my taste buds start working again, the food will taste just the way it has always tastes. I’ve got to face the, the name and the looks of the food change, but the taste stays the same. Let’s enjoy Mum’s cooking for the time being.

I looked into the dowsing rod thing on the Internet. Maybe I should cancel my order with Mr Bent. You could poke somebody’s eyes with those things; they’re bl**d* dangerous! Knowing me, poking out eyeballs is probably what would happen when I’m handling the rods. Most likely, eyeballs would probably be the only things I’d find.

Internet says dowsing rods are meant to find hidden things (eyeballs aren’t very hidden, are they?), but mostly wells and watery areas. I’d probably find the bathtub with my Mum in it (YUCK!) or all the puddles outside at the end of a rainy day. Besides that, I think they work more or less in the same way as Ouija Boards; you control the rod’s movement without knowing you’re doing it yourself. Nope, dowsing rods don’t look to me like the ideal machines to find ghosts and the likes.

I feel a lot better today. Tomorrow I might actually go to school. We’re going on a field trip on Friday and I wouldn’t want to miss that. Well, it’s not really a field trip, it’s a museum trip. We’re going to go to the Natural History Museum. There’s this school project on dinosaurs and we’re supposed to gather information at the museum and write some reports on it or something. I don’t know the details because I have been ill for a couple of days and nobody has been filling me in on this. Maybe I should contact someone myself.

If I am not mistaken we were also supposed to work in groups, which means that I am in a group of 1. Schools think that teamwork teaches you valuable lessons and makes a job so much easier. I think that’s a load of codswallop. Group members only slow you down, you irritate the h*ll out of each other and there is always one who doesn’t do a single thing yet he still gets the same mark for work that others have done for him. I’d rather stick to my group of one, thanks.

Cheddar just came by to see what was keeping me. I think Cheddar’s gotten used to lying on the sofa with me. That’s it for now then, see me tomorrow.  Image

What To Do With The Flu?

21-01-2014 Tuesday


Six times and counting. I have picked up the phone six times today to call Evelyn, every time I picked up the phone I realised the same thing: I don’t have her number. Even I did have her number I’d probably hang up as soon as she’d answered. Forget about it. It’s not going to happen.

Maybe the flu has gone straight to my head. It’s been three days and I still feel shitty. I am getting better though. Sunday and Monday I was too ill to even write. I slept through most of the weekend and Monday. Sleeping through Monday was probably the best thing ever, because I heard it was Blue Monday. When I looked into the mirror yesterday it looked more like a Pale Monday to me.

The flu is actually a strange thing, isn’t it? We find cures for everything, but we still haven’t found a good cure for one of the most common diseases known to mankind. All doctors can say is something like,’ Take some aspirins, take a rest, and if that doesn’t work see me again in two weeks.’ How is that for a cure!?

Mum is being very helpful. She has brought me breakfast, dinner, food and every now and again some tea and aspirins. I wonder if Yumchaa could come up with some kind of tea that lightens the burdens of flu. Maybe they could come up with something like tea to unclog the nose or to help ease the throat. For some reason I feel that tea companies could do so much more for society than just provide a cure for thirst. Or is it just the flu talking?

Cheddar has also been very friendly. It hasn’t left my side. Well, maybe it has, because Cheddar is not allowed to wet my bed or do a number two in the house. Other than going for a walk with Mum, Cheddar has been by my side and under the blankets since I went to bed on Saturday. Mind you, Cheddar normally isn’t allowed in bed, just on special occasions just like this. Mum says dogs make the bed smell funny and it is not hygienic. If the latter is the case, then why is he allowed when I am ill?

I am going to go back to sleep now. Hopefully, tomorrow I will feel even better. I am looking forward to going back to school; I am getting more bored in bed than I normally am during my lessons. See me tomorrow.

Flu Struck

18-01-2014 Saturday

Entirely flu struck. I have got snot clogging up everything. This is not going to be a nice story. Have you ever noticed that it’s usually one side of your nose that’s clogged and that you can breathe freely through the other hole? Then after a couple of hours, they change sides for no apparent reason. As if they take turns because they get tired of being clogged all the time. Then, as soon as you lie down, BANG you can’t breathe through either of them. You can blow your nose as much as you like, but nothing comes out and sprays don’t seem to have any effect.

Mum wants me to take some sort steam bath like sort of thing. I just want to lie down on my bed and feel terrible. My muscles ache, my throat feels like sandpaper, my nose runs with irregular intervals, my eyes are watery and my head follows the rhythm of my heart in thumping. I’ve already taken two aspirins and I drink lots of tea with honey. So far: no results. This just sucks.

Being sick during the weekend is just terrible. I’ll probably feel well enough to go to school on Monday. It’s always like that; holidays and weekends, but never during schooldays and this just messes up all of my plans. For instance, I don’t I can go to Mr Bent to talk about the dowsing rod. I don’t want him to get ill and he probably wouldn’t want that either.

I am going to keep it short today, because staring at this screen makes my head hurt even more. It took me over an hour to type this. Just another aspirin and then I’m going to take another very long nap till somewhere around 11.00 a.m. See me tomorrow. 

My Brains Will Fail Me (it’s a fact)

17-01-2014 Friday

Today I tried to apologize to Evelyn for all the times I laughed at her stupidity, but I couldn’t find the words so I just said,’ Hey Eve … What’s up?’ I didn’t really wait for a response; I just backed off and walked away. Where’s Grandma and her words of wisdom when you need it!?aWZLB7d_460s

I am looking forward to this weekend. Mr Bent told me he had a dowsing rod for me and he was going to show me how it works and all. He actually came to our house to tell us that. Maybe he is gaining in on me on social skills. Should I talk him into getting a Facebook page as well? … Naah, he would probably be the Facebook Recluse or something. Like, as soon as anybody would send him an invite, he’d tell them to sod off, because he just wants to be the Facebook Recluse.

Sometimes I wish Mum and Dad had made me a brother or a sister. I just don’t think they wanted the agony of either having another kid like me or having sex again. Maybe it was both. Although the fear of having another socially handicapped child might have been a far greater issue judging by the noises I sometimes hear at night. Who needs biology classes!? All I need is a narrator.

Today’s blog is not really a coherent story, maybe it’s because I am still thinking about Evelyn a bit (just a bit!) (alright, just a bit too much). Everything is just spinning around. My thoughts are going everywhere,’ I should have said this’, ‘I should have done that’, ‘Stupid me’, ‘What if…’, ‘Maybe next time…’ and so on. It’s incredible how these things work. You’ve got it all worked out in your brains, but when push comes to shove, your brains just fail you. They let you down time and time again.

Same thing goes for talks in class. No matter how much I practise these things at home. I lie in bed at night going over every single detail. First I will say this, my next point will be that, followed by these slides, etc. Then when they ask this, I will show them that and tell them this. The teacher will probably ask this, so I will give him that answer. As soon as you face those kids and the teacher in class, my brains go like,’ Who am I? Where am I? And what was I supposed to be doing here?

I guess it’s time to go to bed and go over all the things that are probably not going to happen the way I am going to think about them tonight. See me tomorrow.

The World Isn’t Round

16-01-2014 Thursday


I think I am developing some kind of feelings for Evelyn. It might be love it might be sympathy. It is hard to distinguish between these two when you’ve never really had or understood either of the feelings. It’s kind of mixed up. By the way, Evelyn is that girl that makes these awkward remarks. She comes across as gullible, stupid (although unintelligent sounds nicer), ignorant and a little bit out of this worl. Sometimes she kind of makes me think of the less intelligent me.

Today I started doubting all these qualities in her. I think it’s just an act to fool everybody. She’s actually this highly intelligent spy from another planet that has problems blending into this society. Maybe it’s some sort of malfunctioning software installed in her brain. I don’t know; I just can’t believe someone would do the things she does and the way she does them or say the things she says or the way she says them (am I making myself clear at all?). She’s really something else, and I’m not sure whether it is positive or negative.

What made me say these things about her? Well, let me give you a nice example. And let me tell you beforehand, the only reason I believe this story to be true is because I was there to witness it myself. As a matter of fact, I am nearly always there when she says or does things like this (maybe it’s me). You might have some difficulties believing this; I know I would have difficulties myself if I were you. The ghost stories I have told so far sound ever so much more convincing than the stupidity and ignorance of this girl.

Let’s take last year. I know she was only twelve years old then (nearly thirteen, I believe), but most of you had probably given up the idea of the world being flat somewhere in primary school, right? Well, during one of the first geography lessons our teacher – Mrs Hoover – was dealing with the capitals and big cities of the world and showed us a world map. Nothing the matter so far.

Mrs Hoover walks up to one of the cupboards, opens it and takes out a lovely and shiny globe. This is when the shit hit the fan. Evelyn’s eyes widened, staring at this globe everywhere Mrs Hoover took it. It was as if Evelyn had completely shut down all systems in her body just to blankly stare at that big blue round thing in Mrs Hoover’s hands.

Mrs Hoover was talking on end about different countries, their capitals and biggest cities, the size of the world and all that, and all of a sudden Evelyn just jumped up; system overload! ‘WHAT IS THAT!?’ she shouted while pointing at the globe. I don’t know if you have ever seen those hunting dogs that see their prey and then suddenly freeze while pointing at the hiding place with their nose … that was Evelyn at that very moment.

Mrs Hoover – much like everybody else in the entire classroom – was flabbergasted. Was this girl serious? You could just see Mrs Hoover’s brains were having difficulties coping with the question. ‘If she was, how bad is it? What can we do to save this lady? Where is she from? What are her beliefs?’ And so on, and so on, etc. etc.

Evelyn’s eyes switched from staring at the globe to staring at Mrs Hoover. Then Mrs Hoover said,’ You mean this globe I have in my hand? Why this is a globe; a small representation of the world. Have you never seen one of these things before?’

Then Evelyn said,’ Yes, but why is it round?’

Evelyn, believe you me, had up till then always believed the world was flat. Well, round to a certain extend in that it was as round as a pancake. Her former school only had those big maps hanging from the ceiling. For some strange reason it has never gotten through to her that the world was round. Maybe she had been sleeping through all the geography and history classes. I have no idea. What I do know is that it was not the best of starts one could have at a new school.

Now, as you might understand, it is an ever-continuing story of Evelyn’s stupidity against the world. But, as I said, I think my feelings for her are changing, yet, I have no idea into what, I’m not an expert in these kinds of things. And … it’s way past bedtime. I talk too much for a socially awkward guy. See me tomorrow. Image

15-01-2014 Wednesday


Mr Bent was not impressed. He said the White Noise thing is just a load of (and then some words I am not allowed to say). And those Ouija boards, if they work at all, can sometimes summon ghosts and spirits you’d rather not summon. Mr Bent doubts all the Ouija board stories. Most of those people just wanted to be the centre of attention and found a good way to get that attention. He said the best and safest thing would be to just take pictures and pray for the best. He did have an interesting story for me. A place I should abso(bad word)lutely visit some day.

Supposedly the area around Charterhouse Square is ghost heaven. It looks like an ordinary garden surrounded by some lovely old buildings. Some of these buildings have their own frightening ghost stories which he said he’d tell me about one day. The garden has a nicely mowed lawn, some more or less melancholic looking tree, and it is private; so only those who have a key can enter it and enjoy it to the max. Maybe enjoy is not the right word. The fact that there’s a railing around it has not prevented people – mostly school kids – to get into the garden.

This idyllic looking garden is set on one gigantic, enormous, immense plague pit.  More than 50,000 victims of the plague in the 14th century were thrown into this pit: dead or alive. ‘I’m not dead!’ Well, they were not fooling anybody, were they? They would soon be, so it was best to just chuck them in there with all the other corpses or corpses to be. Better to be safe than sorry.

I don’t think I’d want to live there. It is said that people can still hear the screams of those who were buried alive (well, nearly dead). Teenagers dare each other to climb over the fence at midnight, place their ears to the ground to find out if they can hear those who were thrown in there alive amongst the rotting corpses. Listening to the screams and howls underground – beneath the grass and the dirt -does not sound very appealing to me. On the other hand… if that is what it takes to become a real ghost hunter, I might just want to look into it and see what I can do.

I am going to keep it short today, because a tsunami of homework hit me this week. I can’t even see my desk anymore and this time it is not because of all the dirty clothes I always have lying about the place. A bag of crisps, chocolate bars, some yumchaa tea (chili chili bang bang … gotta love it) and here I go. See me later. 

A Poet Inside Of Me

14-01-2014 Tuesday


Are there any songs about Tuesday? It’s such a strange day of the week. On Mondays – being the start of the week – I take my time getting ready for the days to come. It’s some sort of warming up. Tuesdays I feel like I am ready and at 12 o’clock I feel like I can take over the world; bringest them on! When I get back home it feels like the heat is over and I can already start cooling down, because – you know – I really want to be ready for the weekend. One cannot be in full throttle during the weekend. That’s when you just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride, that’s what my weekend is all about. So after today I’m starting to work my way towards relax mode. Well, maybe that’s just me.

Mum’s making one of her ‘exotic dishes’ again and I am at ‘the rock’ doing my ‘homework’. I am stretching the term a little bit to that respect that I am home and working. Well, I am stretching the term ‘working’ a little bit to that respect that I’m writing a blog, which basically means that I ‘working’ on myself. I’m trying to develop what one calls ‘social skills’ and I am doing this from behind my computer.

I am beginning to wonder whether grandma was right about her ‘Facebook’ idea. It’s been more than a week, I’ve only gathered 12 friends and I hardly ever speak to them on ‘Facebook’ or in real life. I have even joined a chat group and for some reason people are trying to get out of that group. Unfortunately, for some, they can’t. I think it’s some sort of trap. As long as we don’t start turning into mules, just like in Pinocchio, everything’s just fine.

Chances of meeting up with any of them are very slim. I feel like a comet for some reason. Not that I am fast or anything, it’s just that everything and everyone passes by and I never get into contact with them. Haley must be very lonely out there. As soon as I do get into contact with someone … bang, they’re gone. I think I know how Haley feels. Wow … I think there’s a poet hiding deep inside of me. Nah.

Tonight I am going to see if Mr Bent is in. I want to show him the websites I found the other day and ask his opinion about all these devices and maybe ask him what I should do concerning the White Noise idea. He’s got some magnificent junk at home. He might just have one of these old recording devices. I don’t want to insult him using the word old (he might just think I am calling him old), so I have to be more discrete when bringing this up. Anybody got a better way of putting it?

Let’s stretch the term ‘working’ a little more and see if I can ‘work’ my way into a little afternoon nap … aaaand it’s time to walk the dog. Mum’s calling me and I recognize the tone. Gotta rush. See me later.