/lust/ \frick\: a 502 bypass...
title... body...
there's this quote from American Beauty (probably one of my favourite movies from the modern era, by far, the comedy is bleak, almost hidden, but it's not as dry, as British as The Office, it's rarely american funny, it's not nervous, awkward like some British comedy, very much to liking) - but i'll probably butcher it, so i won't quote it, i'll just quote myself as reinterpreting it... the day you stop surprising yourself, is the day you die... i'm surprising myself: right now... sure, when i sometimes write something & subsequently retort: well... i wasn't expecting that: is one thing... but in terms of my behaviour... wow... i almost feel exasperated at the surprise i have become... at the leavers' assembly in high school i was one of only two available "poets" to give a recitation... i remember walking up to the stage, standing upon it... my right hands was shaking worse than anyone with Parkinson's... one of my friends even asked... are you o.k.? yeah... let's do it... i started speaking a poem i wrote a day prior upon which i shed some tears... job done... the "poet" that came after me... recited his load of *******: ******* ****... not based on the quality of his poo'em: we have a very, ahem... "specific" detail in life, circa 2007 i'd really like to forget, beside him driving high on marijuana & almost killing us... no, there's another... ill drugs he prescribed me on a promise... 'it'll be like taking LSD, but shorter...' well when he recited him ******* verse he broke down into tears... stunning, stunning & brave... ******... point being: this current job doesn't exactly require high IQ: should i even mention this prerequisite... then again: managing people takes some IQ... let's forget it... i don't mind how much it pays... i'm glad to be out of the house... today's Monday... Monday... i sweep through the house like a whirlwind... vacuuming, cleaning the floors... that's prior to a 2h commute... i earn enough to not spend more than i earn... how's that? point being... i'm surprising myself: i, surprise myself... there's nothing better in life... there's nothing more alive than being able to surprise yourself... the moment you stop surprising yourself is the day you die... perhaps not literally, ******... but your mind sort of shuts off... you're no longer partially wild, partially untamed... probably married... i like this new: new surprising me...
well... **** me... wasn't that a treat...
back at Craven Cottage for what would have been
a Premier Liege fixture between Fulham FC
and Sheffield United...
my first time i spent outside the stadium,
walking around the park making sure no one
was doing something suspicious...
i hated it... i felt disappointed...
i was allocated a supervisor: my neighbour's daughter
and... oh god... small-talk at work...
i tried to get into the conversation: which happened
to be ongoing since everyone knew each other
for a long time...
banter... banter...
put me next to a hundred strangers
and i'll smile and play the "friend" part much better
than: what felt like being back in a school-playground...
plus... there's nothing to do!
all i did was walk up & down the park
greeting people, giving them directions...
then once the crowd moved into the stadium:
nothing! what a ******* waste of time...
and then what, after the match ended wishing
the crowd a speedy return home & a good night...
i just caught the last 103 bus to Chase Cross...
when the bus driver opened the doors at
my bus stop: i bid her a goodnight & a thank you:
i can do that!
second time at Craven Cottage i jumped at the opportunity
to go into the stadium...
good man, Tony... allocated me a pitch-side
presence... yes! i'm in!
rules... people with a red sq. on their accreditation
can only be allowed on the pitch...
some might come with a red & purple sq.: that's the press...
stand facing the stands
(Hammersmith Stand to my left,
Johnny Heynes stand to my right)
then when the game starts... ******* to the side
so my body might not obstruct the view from H1...
then if a goal is scored... return to pitch-side
ensuring no one tries to get onto the pitch...
my third time today...
now we're talking, apparently this is going to be
a permanent fixture...
i'll be on the Hammersmith Stand every match...
most likely at the entrance, high up...
like today... i don't even remember how many
times i said: good evening to people...
each time i received a smile, a wave,
a direct look in the eyes...
sometimes a small conversation with an old man:
usually an old man...
prior to people coming in...
alright... rows 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6? right down the bottom
of the stand... then the entire alphabet...
then... from row A... through to row AA
and up to... VV? WW?
between H2 & H3... seats to my left
(when looking at the pitch) end with seat no. 65...
seats to my right (when looking at the pitch)
start from 71?! yeah... weird... i think
the gap for the stairs is being minded...
i loved it... i was so courteous, polite... extrovert...
when was i ever such an extrovert?!
the last step is apparently too high...
so old men buckle... caught one before he might
have fallen flat on his face...
a little girl started running down the aisle
to pitch-side to get a picture with the mascot
& Santa Claus... as she passed me...
god... like i will never forget the eyes of
my grandfather's Alsatian: Bella...
i will probably never forget those: soapy eyes
of this little girl... she didn't have to say anything...
they endeared me beyond all else...
they weren't soapy / watery sad...
just glad... happy... she had a bearded man
look down at her...
then a father & a son found themselves
in the wrong seats... the boy was walking with a flag
all dragging... i implored him:
hello little fella... can you please roll that flag up...
he was bound to step on the unrolled flag
when walking down the stairs...
but i implored him: his father only implored him
to hurry up...
make sure no one brings beer to the stands...
it's legal to watch a rugby match with a beer...
not a football match...
escorted a passionate drunk to his seat...
second time he became "lost" i asked him whether
he needed my escort... jokingly he replied:
will that be necessary... and then... oh... a man's
handshake... no fist pump...
more importantly...
we were asked to walk down the aisle every 10 minutes
of the match... to check up on anyone who might be in
need of a medical emergency...
i did about 3 tours of the first half...
on time, 10min, 20min, 40min into the match...
my partner at work took two toilet breaks...
so i filled in for him...
ha ha... a fellow STEM guy... currently studying for
a masters in engineering...
civil engineering?
stasis engineering... dynamic engineering...
only doing the steward job part time:
i'm thinking of moving up the hierarchy...
but... work a little... get ref. and perhaps go into
teaching chemistry in a high-school...
oh... dynamics? you know, this is where engineering
and chemistry come together:
we studied thermodynamics...
so we talked about this & that...
but i did my part... properly... then some kid walks up
to me... some, "fellow" steward and asks me...
can i exchange roles with him...
i get it... his role? sitting pitch-side facing
the crowd looking at a gate...
guess what? my legs are killing me...
standing still is worse than marching:
i've done easier 40mile sessions on a bicycle than
this: standing on purpose...
did you ask the supervisor whether we can exchange?
sure... o.k. just make sure you do those
10minute routines of walking down the aisle
checking on possible heart-attacks...
i go down... sit down... look up...
where is that gorgeous woman of my dreams...
5 minutes in...
oh! well would you look at that!
there's two!
pristine blondes...
i still have my face-napkin on...
i look up... the guys are not doing their job...
****** feeling imbues me...
i shouldn't be merely a steward...
i should be a supervisor...
then again... ****'s sake: the supervisor is doing
**** all... he should be motivating these guys to
do their job... instead... he would later complain
that the stewards were not doing their job...
mate! & you were?!
i think i've acquired this learned attraction(?)
to organise people from my grandfather...
who had a brigade of workers under him
in a metallurgy factory...
it's very funny how you can get a good look
at people at a football match...
you can literally stalk them...
look at them constantly... blink, wink, pretend
to pull faces at them... will they see you?
hardly... too engrossed by the match...
ha ha...
but i spotted these two English blonde beauties...
the high-viz. & face-mask also doesn't help...
you're sort of invisible to the people...
because you're part of the architecture...
it's a... well... the feeling i got was...
better than... that awkward sensation you get
on a London tube... where people purposively avoid
looking at people...
this is un-purposively... i have a job to do:
obviously people will not look at me,
they're here for the match...
but... exactly... but sometimes... "**** happens"...
playing with 3 rubbers bands...
tapping to the beat of a song prior to kick-off with your
feet, shuffling with your feet funny...
pretending to pluck at guitar strings with the already
said rubber bands to get at the rhythm...
taking off your face-***** to drink a proper glug
of water...
oh wow... those two blondes thought i was invisible,
just prior...
once they managed to see my face... i clocked it...
for about 10 minutes they lost interest in the match...
eyes... ******* elsewhere...
i spent the next 20 minutes... lip reading...
FIT?
IVE MET SOMEONE...
shy little creatures: it would seem, is what they became...
giggles...
at Fulham they distribute these paper slappers...
pieces of cardboard you slap instead
of clapping...
em... is that unconscious a phallus you're holding?
daring eyes... really daring eyes...
but it only lasted for about 20 minutes...
20 minutes later... a yawn from either of them...
& some return to an interest in the match...
it's good i was wearing a face-*****...
i tried to ensure my eyes were smiling...
since i really was smiling...
yeah... at the end of the shift... the supervisor...
mate?! where were you! i could have told you...
motivate these *******! perhaps then they would have...
you didn't do the aisle check every 10 minutes...
i did... but this is not high-school...
& believe me... this is important...
school is not a workplace...
for that: i thank him... Luke?
one man did what was asked of him... namely: moi...
right... not good enough...
the entire team ****** up on some detail...
in school... i'd be a teacher's pet...
i'd be readily gloating...
it's different in the workplace: the whole team ******
up (the supervisor included, but he didn't own
up to it, i could have done better as a supervisor) -
it's the ******* edge of the universe,
it's a small role: i get be an egoist right up to & including
now...
but i wasn't complimented / congratulated on
my starry ******* execution...
work, unlike schooling: doesn't breed a healthy
competition... it's a "bit" different...
when... you're working in the medium of earning money...
some people just show up: expecting to get paid...
for... doing **** all...
some people turn up: & authentically want
to put in an effort...
problem being: in school... you don't really experience
resentment when someone out-performs you
at a subject to get a better grade...
envy, jealousy, sure... that's rife...
but resentment? hardly... you're not earning any
money! you're just getting grades!
smart on the supervisor's side for not singling me
out as some "employee of the ******* day"...
"model citizen" & etc.,
because... that **** has already been noted...
dissonance in the ranks is not desirable...
sure... plenty of brown-skinned slackers...
the YAWN-CROWD... there for the paycheck of:
"being seen"... i'd expect more ******* involvement
in crowd coordination from a *******
mollusk... it's London... fair enough...
the London crowds are more tame...
i didn't: not once... have to implore the passions
of the supporters to: please stop standing up...
sit down... a completely different story outside
of London, untameably unavoidable grown-men
a.k.a. little *******...
but i like my role... ha ha... i also have one on the side:
obviously it pays me nothing!
but... how many people are out "there":
who enjoy doing something for free...
for free: no, not volunteering... for free as in:
caressing their ego? these vanity project
cases?! i'm a lucky... 1%?
it only takes a child to approach me...
aha... that's why i'm here...
i'm a... fårehyrde af mennesker...
of all the Scandinavian languages... Danish is almost
"too much" akin to the deutschezunge...
then again... why is Denmark even considered Scandinavian?
isn't there like a sea between Denmark &
Shveeden?
well then... the **** do i need that
conjunction: of for?
can't i just... compound two words together like a German
might, ergo...
ha ha!
fårehyrde af mennesker becomes...
menneskerfårehyrde...
in zeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
deutschezunge, ja?
menschenschäfer...
funny... that... i wrote something prior to undertaking
this 3rd shift...
SZUFLA: shovel... slang for a handshake
GRABURA: "slang" for handshake...
SERWUS... a Germanic sort of hello incorporated by
the Wends of Posen...
hmm...should i write these, phonetically: "English"?
i guess i should:
SZUFLA become SH'OO'FL'AH
GRABURA becomes GRA'BOO'RAH...
i can understand fame.... outright fame...
Jordan Peterson fame...
a Jimmy Carr sort of fame...
but when it comes to cult-like fme?
******* bewildering...
i changed tubes from the District Line
at Putney Bridge at Victoria...
to arrive at at Oxford Circus...
i enter the carriage... delay....
i board the tram... two women look at me startled...
scared almost...
i shouldn't be able to translate as a 3D object?
"stop looking": the lip-reading ends up being...
yeah, my legs are killing me...
i'd sooner be dead than famous...
all the quasi-cannibalism that's reinforced
with fame... no, no thank you...
leave this part of the world to me: & to me alone...
what's with this startling, though?!
supposedly proper Muslim *****: that Pakistani
fabled "reconquista": conquer it first,
prior the ******* labour of a ******* lecture,
if there's a Mecca... then there's a Jerusalem...
if there's a Rome when there's
a Constantinople...
but i have a fifth....
MALBORK... Marienburg Castle...
the old capial of the Teutonic Order...
hind! heave! leverage the: reste!
schwarzkreuz-auf-weiß.