“My God, he’s still alive?” Yes, I haven’t died, don’t you worry too much. While I might describe my impossession¹ of internet as “having died online,” that would perhaps be too much of an overdramatic statement of the case.

In the past couple of days I have written things my past-self would’ve turned over in his grave for — if my past-self would’ve, or could’ve, died of course. Though, considering I am my present-self right now, and my past-self is part of my past (of course), and not my present, perhaps my past-self did die, but just not in a literal and factual sense? … I have no idea where that train of thought will lead me too, but I’m afraid it will be too philosophical for my taste, so I won’t continue.

Where was I? This post may be beyond all reasonable structures of texts, for I haven’t written anything reflecting my own work in quite some time now. I also haven’t discussed my past-self probably ever, so excuse me for doing so. (See, I did it again. Totally went outside the boundaries of my original topic.)

Anyway, to get back on track — in the past couple of days I have been keeping myself busy by working on poetry. Now, you might not know this of me, but before I hated poetry. In general, things I don’t like fall into two categories: I either dislike it (“hekel” in Dutch), or I flat-out hate it. For me to hate something, it must have pushed my buttons pretty severely. For example, things I hate: clowns (my god! they are obnoxious), flip-flops (just no), Volkswagens, cultists on the street with missionary pamphlets (can’t they just leave me alone?), and people who insist on walking at the incredibly idiotic speed of 2 km/h (seriously, time is money).

In the same list would’ve appeared poetry, if my past-self would’ve listed them. I on the other hand, no longer consider poetry to be that much of an “instrument of deceit.” Even though I still consider prose to be the ultimate form of literature, I now possess a fresh appreciation for poetry — for its form, the way in which you can give a story ambiguity by placing it in the poetic genre, and the direct way you can present a case by keeping it short. This might be in part thanks to my literary studies professor, or the fact that I only now have really looked at my own ability to write poetry, but in all I’m pretty glad I have finally rid myself of that bullet-point on my hate list.

I have written about love, random meetings between people, the devilish layer of citizens’ society², suicide, a historic-so (short) story about a French king, the end of all ends (the Holy Apocalypse), and the friendship created by learning — though these are only a few of the themes actually used.

It is perhaps the only positive to this negative (having no internet). I have an abundance of time now, which I can fully use to write. Even though this may not always result in great texts (as I wrote an incredibly ridiculous poem about a meeting between a cop and her stalker), I still consider it to be time put to a good use. Now if only I could convince the rest of me (the geeky side) that it was a positive…