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Umbilical Proposal

Ok I hope this post will trigger gallons of spam to rush through all your mailboxes and wake us the fuck up, because I have a daring and vital political statement concerning us here:

I don't know where the uff you guys are at!

Yes, Mar is very busy in Maastricht and Roel and Senne are spooning into their first shared nights of Leuven, but I really don't know what any of you had for breakfast. Or what was the biggest mistake in your past week. Am Curious, and Am frustrate with lonely.

What I'm suggesting is that, if you people even receive any mail or updates about this sordid corner of the web, it might be a useful tool for staying in touch:
- not a whorehouse like hyves or facebook
- not as in-your-face or pressuring as emails
- instantly establishes us as 'active bloggers', socially one of the highest ranks in society today
- has proven immensely popular and effective in the past (ANYONE can keep this up, except Us empirically)
An alternative would be TWITTER which just sounds gay and uncool.

Here's a demonstration of what I mean:

Hey everyone <3
things are ok in Delft but I miss you a BUNCH. I'm getting 2100 euros from the IB-bastards this month so I'll be toastin' to dat, now I just have to get me a passport and OV card to enable me spending all that money. All the stuff I ever wrote is locked up in a broken laptop so I'm starting from scratch, reading 'On the Road' two months late (it's something to start the summer with), and trampling deadlines with my freespirited feet.
Also since I decided alcohol is REALLY bad for me I've started drinking quite a bit more.

Hope to hear from errhyone soon

Monday Mornings, eh?

Well, my second post. Let's see, this is supposed to be an English assignment; a short story about a social issue (in this case gangs). I tried to write it in the style of the lord Terry Pratchett, the one deity that I acknowledge, but I know I failed miserably. The ending sucks and the grammar probably isn't that great either... but hey! What can you do on monday mornings!

See how it starts. A small insignificant action leading to another small insignificant action which is followed by another one. The epitome of post hoc ergo propter hoc. After this, therefore because of this. However you can't control what happens in your life. Your life doesn't get any worse just because you got up in the morning.



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Return Lulz

So they shifted the deadline to the 15th of februari. Damn, I was relieved. That meant I could spend every night for another 20 nights composing the perfect piece!

In short, I wrote a piece
then deleted it
then brought it back
started something new
needed some stuffing for the something new
stuffed it with the old piece
caught the deadline by one hour - I hope
yes, I hope the piece is still vaguely coherent. It's supposed to impress the jury who are part of the "De Nieuwe Stijl" literary movement (rivals of De Vijftigers). So if you don't get it, you're just bland and stupid and stuff, yeah.

..god knows it won't get the Publieksprijs though.


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Ok so i lied. At the last moment a surge of inspiration hit me and a new story was born. My first written in Dutch. And its entering a certain competition..... hihi



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Stuck in cow-dung

Mar, our prayers go out to your inhuman feats surviving the exams paving the gory road to your dream: Becoming a tall blue-eyed Kawaii Japanese Schoolgirl Impersonator.
In the meantime I struggle with Mathematics and increasing pressure from my playfully dominating roommates. How do they expect me to do all these chores amidst the horrors of exams?!

Of course this all adds up to writers' block. And I'm making MY problem, YOUR problem.
Do you think writing a story that won't finish is annoying?
Try reading one that isn't done. Eww.

Oh well, I've added the story I was working on a while back, and would now like to continue on. I guess I know what to write but not how and why. And how.
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Cursing Gods

Bah, it took me some time, but this is basically the intermezzo between the series. If I ever get to continue it that is. I felt the first one had a very different character than this, and a sort of conclusion… this is just the continuation of the story’s reality time, no new plot thoughts.


Anyway, since I’m emotionally stunted, lets get this on and over with, so I can go back to wailing on paper during class.



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A first post! And let it be soppy!

Okay, so after being in awe with the poetic capabilities of Kalle and Mar I have now been asked by both of them to try my hand at ethanolshots too. So I guess this is it... My big premier... The beginning of what I can only hope will be my fifteen minutes of fame.
Let's begin with some soppy lovepoems and a drawing.
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500 years of driving

I might continue this story sometime soon. The heavy, dreary tenor sure seems to echo the essence of my days in Delft!
Mar, I hope you're chewing on a rich hunk of meat or digesting a heavy bowl of soup right now.

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So like, I was writing this one story, and it was going pretty damn well.
so I opened my files to see where to store it.
And then I saw like, this other story? And it was like, the same story?
Yeah turns out I'd written the same story twice.
Except, not quite in the exact same way.
Like, both are good and all, but you know, I can't finish them BOTH, coz that would be like gay? And stuff.
Plus, the fact that I've worked out the same plot twice in very separate, different ways kindof alarms me. Like I have no set, characteristic way of telling a story? Oh well
writing sucks anyways.
Here's something about how much it sucks:

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Horrors of the World

HotW, Unite! I've fled to the University's Orifice of Wisdom, the Library, to hide my eyes and ears from the sensations that shook through me today.
That woman that I live with, that sultry BEAST! Yesterday, while attempting to cook, I already raised an eyebrow at the bag of fresh lingerie she'd left on the counter. Now I know what the purpose of that bag was: I think she's meeting people over the internet.
I KNOW she's meeting people.
I know she met him today, because I let him in.
I know they didn't leave the premises of the house as I'd first suspected; I thought they were going on a date, but suddenly amidst the sounds of my brain toiling and creaking over Maths, I heard a GROAN. And her bed was shaking! Oh, horror!
I know they took hours, or more. I left before they were done. It was wild, and here I am, hiding my face from the world that scarred it, afraid it might now resemble the uglyness I witnessed.

I wrote this a while back but I think it translates what I mean, in a cynical, morbid, haunted way.
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