De schoenen van Aodan

Family Resemblance

A new genealogy site allows you to upload a picture of your kid, your (ex) spouse and your self and have them analyzed on facial features. The face analysis meter indicates who your kid resembles more. In my case, our 12 year old son resembles me 4% more. On other pictures my ex scored better, but I think that objectively speaking the 4% is just about right. There's also a celebrity morphing tool on that site.




I myself look 6% more like my mother:

2007 Kerstwens voor Aodan

Dit is Fishing The Sky van Appleseed Cast (kan je op Youtube vinden).

The Simpsons And Truth

I went to see the Simpsons the other day with my twelve year old son. He had seen the movie before but was keen to see it again. On our way to the cinema, walking the streets of Amsterdam, he made a point of telling me not to blabber about things without thinking first. I was curious what brought that on, because I am ALWAYS blabbering and he never minds. I decided to put it down to the movie we were going to see.


The Simpsons generally are so dysfunctional that it is easy to feel better about yourself, watching them. It’s a rule that every member of the Simpson family has a knack for going on when they should simply shut up. It is why they are funny.

The one exception was of course good ole Homer Simpson’s epiphany. It was Homer’s one and only chance to ever become a normal person. You feel all of a sudden a sense of hope and that is unique in Homer's case. The scene alone justified the entire movie, I think.

There is another dimension that we ‘invite’ all the time without thinking about it and which Homer is very examplary of. At one point, we might have to pay the bill for things we generally shrug off. We do not know when, how or why. It’s the nature of an ephiphany.

I have been wondering about why the quintessential cynic in cartoondom had to go through one? It might be question of a similar magnitude as why it took the makers so long to get round to doing a movie only now, even when fans called out for one as early as its fourth episode. The answer to the second question isn't readily available, so I'll home in on the first issue.

A true epiphany can hardly be communicated, yet the chances that an epiphany will happen in someone's life are very high. That is because you never expect an epiphany when it happens. In that sense, it happening to Homer, that most unlikely of characters, was a master stroke.

Life itself brings us many surprises every day. Scientists say that for every event that a human expects, there might be as many as 80 surprises/discoveries/new events. The stream of surprises that surrounds us is endless. Plus another fact is that humans are quite open to surprises: we like them, it is why we read newspapers. Humans have a natural craving for news.
Bringing on an epiphany isn’t how it works. It's only people that are idiots that want to bring one on. Or Jackasses maybe. Or people who are generally so bored they do not know what else to do.

Perhaps we are ready for a collective ephipany. Perhaps that is what the Homer Simpson experience really indicated.

Perhaps he spread the bug to my 12 year old before I cottoned on to it. One thing is sure; I'll sure watch what I blabber on about in future.

Stickpager Runs Amok!

This is a flash-animated Stickman character who runs riot on his creator’s desktop.

If it doesn't work, click here for plenty more cool stickman animations.

AtomFilms.com: Funny Videos | Funny Cartoons | Comedy Central

Zoroaster - een lang verhaal met adviezen aan Aodan over.. geloof

Lees dit eens een keer als je echt niets te doen hebt. Het is een HEEL LANG verhaal over geloof (iets wat je doen moet als je doorhebt dat de mensheid echt hulpeloos is).

ZOROASTER

Geloof is een gebied waar je veel wannabe sprookjesschrijvers tegenkomt. Logisch eigenlijk, want er zijn geen bewijzen voor iets dat niet met natuurlijke ogen te zien valt. En sprookjesschrijvers maken ook verhaaltjes van wat niet per se in de werkelijkheid voorkomt.

Geloof is een definitie van wat onzichtbaar is, toegepast op de zichtbare werkelijkheid. “Werkelijkheid-onzichtbare werkelijkheid” en hoe de twee samen gaan. Dat is waar het allemaal om gaat met geloof.

Iedereen die geboren is en zich ergens op deze aarde bevindt zal zich op een gegeven moment afvragen of er iets 'achter' de werkelijkheid is. Wat je uiteindelijk beslist is best wel belangrijk. Want je verbindt jezelf aan een geheim dat al bestond voordat jij zelf er was. Dit geheim wordt minder en minder geheim hoe meer je ervan te weten komt.

Geloof wordt ook meer en meer werkelijkheid al naar gelang meer mensen eraan mee doen. Daar is niets mis mee op zich, want als er een andere werkelijkheid bestaat is het denkbaar dat veel mensen hierin geloven en dit al vanaf het begin van de aarde hebben gedaan. Er is ook een soort veiligheid hierin omdat in de normale werkelijkheid veel mensen niet allemaal tegelijk ongelijk hebben. Maar het is ook vaak zo dat een 'waarheid' simpelweg meer 'waar' wordt naarmate meer mensen erin geloven. En dat betekent dus dat het niet meteen veiliger is als veel mensen in iets geloven.

Het is belangrijk voor jezelf wat regels te bedenken als het op geloof aankomt. Bijvoorbeeld; een geloof is goed of slecht als blijkt dat het de echte werkelijkheid wel of niet 'verklaart' (uitlegt). Als een geloof onzin verkondigt over wat je al kan zien dat is hun uitleg van het onzichtbare waarschijnlijk nog dommer.

Een geloof moet ook een beetje leefbaar zijn. Als je het gevoel hebt dat je geloof beperkingen oplegt die onleefbaar zijn moet je onmiddellijk ermee ophouden. Leefbaar kan zijn: ze hebben in ieder geval zo'n beetje 70% van hun opvattingen goed en veranderen als ze fout zijn zonder daar boos om te worden. Leefbaar kan ook zijn: niet forceren.

De werkelijkheid zelf (niet alleen het geloof) is uitbundig, levendig en vol logische tips voor het zo gezond mogelijk zo blij mogelijk en zo lang mogelijk leven. Als een geloof daar verder iets aan toe te voegen heeft is dat handig, maar een god heeft het niet nodig dat je hem helpt of zo door iets onnatuurlijks te doen. Anders had hij de wereld en het heelal wel anders gemaakt. Je moet om je heenkijken en het leven ten volle leven.


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Er zijn drie ‘wereldgodsdiensten’ – het christendom, Jodendom en Islam. Boedhisme en andere Oosterse godsdiensten worden niet als wereldgodsdienst getypeerd, maar zijn het nu bijna nog meer dan de andere drie.
Voor de drie wereldgodsdiensten ontstonden een paar eeuwen na de prehistorie, waren de mensen allemaal wel bezig met het geloof maar ze noemden dat niet zo.

Ze aanbaden natuurelementen zoals de zon, water, dieren. Alles dat groter of sterker was dan zij zelf. Ze hadden een ding gemeen: ze slachtten een dier om het niet op te eten maar aan de goden te geven. Dat gaf hun het idee dat ze iets goeds deden. De goden gaven hun zon water voor niets en ze voelden dat dit de juiste manier was om ze op hun beurt te vereren. Dat is vrij logisch. Maar veel verder kwamen ze niet in hun "definitie" van de onzichtbare werkelijkheid. Ook dat is weer logisch, want veel meer dan hutjes bouwen en jagen op wild deden die mensen niet. Hun geloofssysteem was ongeveer zo uitgebreid als hun normale leven. Ze hadden veel wilde verhalen vooral over wat ze beleefd hadden tijdens enge avonturen als ze op jacht naar onbekende gebieden waren gegaan. De verhalen werden hoe langer hoe ongelofelijker naarmate ze ze vaker vertelden 's avonds laat rond het kampvuur en later werden ze simpelweg van een bovennatuurlijke orde (een religieuze orde).

Een van de oudste denkers over geloof is Zoroaster. Hij leefde voordat de drie geloven ontstonden en veel van wat hij bedacht is ook opgenomen in de wereldgodsdiensten. Zijn verhaal is erg interessant maar het is ook een ellenlange waslijst met doe dit en doe dit niet en doe dit vooral. Voor ons is dat een beetje te veel van het goede maar in die tijd hadden mensen geen flauw benul van wat wijs was en wat niet en hij had praktische tips die enorm nodig waren om de mensheid 'op te voeden' en ze voor het eerst een idee te geven wat ze konden verwachten van het hiernamaals. Hij praat ongeveer evenveel over de dood als de meeste godsdiensten. Het bleek een goede verkooptruc, een van de beste van het geloof. Want de stap is makkelijk gezet van het verklaren van de onzichtbare werkelijkheid naar wat er na de dood zal zijn. Het zijn dingen van dezelfde orde want je hebt bij geen van de twee bewijzen.

Zijn verhaal begint als hij al dertig jaar oud is. Hij ging weg van zijn ouders zijn dorp zijn huis, weg van alles om in de bergen te gaan wonen. Hij leefde samen met zijn geest en de eenzaamheid voor wel tien jaar. Tegen de tijd dat die jaren voorbij waren was hij erg veranderd en vond hij het tijd om maar weer eens terug te gaan. Op een ochtend werd hij vroeg wakker, zoals je zou verwachten van zo'n man, en begon te spreken tegen de zon. Hij had door de jaren heen een nogal intieme band met de zon gekregen en daarom klonken deze woorden hem zelf niet vreemd in de oren. "U, grote ster! Hoe zou het mogelijk zijn voor u om blij te verrijzen als u niet over degenen kon schijnen waarover u schijnt. Voor tien lange jaren bent u tot mijn grot binnengeklommen. U zou moe geworden zijn van uw lange reis en uw eigen licht als u alleen voor deze dingen verrijzen zou en niet speciaal voor mij, mijn arend en mijn slang. Maar elke ochtend verwachtten wij u, namen wij van uw overvloed aan licht en bedankten en zegenden u hiervoor." [ zie je hier hoe hij de zon terug wil bedanken? de offers die mensen brachten kwamen voort uit hetzelfde idee].

Hij ging verder:
"Maar krijg wat, ik ben moe van mijn eigen wijsheid net zoals de bij die teveel honing verzamelt - ik moet eens wat uitgestrekte handen zien die het aannemen. Ik zou het uitdelen aan wie er maar van zou willen horen, totdat de wijze mensen weer eens blij zouden worden in de nieuwe kennis en de arme mensen blij in hun rijkdom. Daarom moet ik afdalen van deze berg. De diepte in, zoals u, o grote zon, doet in de avond als u zich achter de zee verschuilt en ook aan de onderwereld uw licht geeft, u grote uitbundige ster!"

Hij ging daarna al snel naar de bewoonde wereld terug en beleeft van alles terwijl hij zijn boodschap preekt. Het verhaal is best leuk. Zoroaster is erg gedetailleerd en moet je lezen als een ideeen iemand. Wat het belangrijkste is om op te letten bij elke religie die je uitprobeert moet je denken aan een paar belangrijke dingen die allemaal terug te vinden zijn in Zoroaster's opvattingen:

Is het wel een monotheistische religie? Monotheistisch betekent dat geloofd wordt dat er EEN godheid is die alles heeft bepaald van het begin tot het eind van de wereld. Alle drie de wereldgodsdiensten hebben dit element in zich; christendom gelooft in een schepper genaamd Elohim, Jodendom gelooft hetzelfde als het christendom en de Islam ook. Maar het christendom heeft vaak ook belangrijke rollen weggelegd voor beslissingen voor engelen die zowaar de status van sub-goden aannemen. Dit noem je dualiteit (duo niet een maar twee. Behalve op het aantal goden duidt dit ook op: GOED en SLECHT). Als er veel meer goden in het spel zijn heb je te maken met polytheisme (poly= veel theisme komt van theo=god (en)). In Zoroaster's ideeen was er voordat de wereld ontstond een godheid die een paar spirits in de vorm van engelen had rondfloaten en die hij een eigen persoonlijkheid gaf en ook de keuzemogelijkheid goed of slecht te zijn. De keuze was helemaal aan henzelf en dit is hoe satan en degenen aan de kant van de monotheistische godheid de wereld in kon komen. Satan was een enorme engel die voor het slechte koos en een heleboel andere bandieten met zich meenam in zijn val. De goede geest is nu nog steeds omringd door engelen.

Het is erg belangrijk te weten of een geloof iets in zich heeft van een divisie tussen goed en slecht. Want voordat je besluit in zo'n geloof mee te doen moet je even weten dat zonder deze distinctie je er een geloof opna houdt dat uiteindelijk een heel traject van je denken wenst te beslaan. Het is nogal wat te bedenken dat alles wat jij goed of slecht noemt tot de keuze van de rondfloatende spirits is te herleiden en dat misschien wel 50% van de wereldbevolking dit helemaal niet gelooft zelfs. Dat zijn nou de abnormaliteiten in het geloof. Als je het statistisch (in cijfers) nagaat zijn een heleboel stellingen van een heleboel religies niet eens haalbaar.

Dit is een heel belangrijke distinctie omdat er op een gegeven moment een soortement eindstrijd plaatsvindt in elk geloof waarin deze machten enorm veel power toegeschreven krijgen. Dat is alleen maar onzin maar goed, wel belangrijk om te weten want een heleboel mensen kunnen een heleboel bewerkstelligen als ze allemaal in iets geloven als wilde beesten.

Het is ook heel belangrijk dit te begrijpen in verschillende verschijningsvormen omdat je dezelfde distinctie terugziet in nieuwe vormen van veronderstellingen die mensen erop nahouden voordat ze iets geloven. Het is vooral belangrijk als het gaat over hoe mensen zichzelf of anderen zien. In hoe mensen invulling geven aan andere begrippen zoals de menselijke ziel en hoe ze rol van de mensen zien tov kennis en wetenschap. Je hebt namelijk diegenen die zich lieren aan de ideeen van de monotheisten die nogal hetzelfde zijn als anderen die zeggen dat mensen behalve een lichaam ook nog een ziel hebben en degenen die zeggen dat mensen alleen lichamen zijn.

In het kort: monotheisten hebben het over goed en kwaad. Ze zeggen dat alles al beslist was door God, voordat de mensen op de aarde kwamen. De stap naar het idee dat de mens geen ziel heeft is hiermee snel gezet. Ik vind Het is niet makkelijk om een geloof aan te hangen dat zegt dat alle mensen op aarde slecht zijn. Maar het is nog moeilijker te geloven dat mensen geen ziel hebben en enkel een lichaam hebben.

Dit is niet zo heel duidelijk te zien in veel geloven omdat het niet zo'n heel belangrijk punt is voor de praktijk, maar het simpele feit dat het idee bestaat maakt de opvatting dat mensen dieren zijn of niet veel makkelijker te verbinden aan weer andere concepten.

De tweede groep mensen hebben vaak meer vooronderstellingen over hoe dingen gaan zijn en kunnen totaal verkeerd zijn in hun zin om de toekomst wat te voorspellen of verklaringen te doen over de werkelijkheid. Je moet ze gewoon een schop geven en zeggen Ga maar Trappen en je hebt een gratis peepshow van onzinnigheden die zich verbreiden op de meest vreselijk aanstalterige manieren die je maar kan bedenken. Het gaat juist om het bedenken ervan - dat is het hele eieren eten - who's in control here? Who claims to be? What's the plausible vs impossible debate about.

Ik geloof wel dat mensen een ziel hebben en zich van dieren onderscheiden, maar de peepshow is vaak wanstaltig in vergelijking met de diepten van de ziel. Misschien zijn die wel van een heel andere samenstelling dan de theorieen die wij allemaal zo enthousiast ophangen.

Je zou kunnen zeggen dat wat je van iets vindt beinvloed wordt door 'wat het is' en het 'waarom ervan'.

http://webware.princeton.edu/vanfraas/mss/World92.htm
De orde van dingen - en rizome persoon heeft ook iets leuks te zeggen.

Het is heel belangrijk te weten waarom dingen gebeuren. Sommige dingen zijn zo noodzakelijk dat als ze niet gebeuren, je dood gaat. Er is een natuurlijk mechanisme dat op zo'n punt en wat erna komt, het eventjes overneemt of zo lijkt het in ieder geval. Dat is de natuur in een extreme vorm maar waarneembaar bij extreem ongemak. Dit is het punt waarop wat en waarom hetzelfde zijn. De natuur is zowel wat en waarom. Er is heel veel van en dit te begrijpen wanneer de vlakken wat en waarom zo dicht mogelijk bij elkaar komen is de klus voor de mensheid. We zijn aardig op weg om deze klus te klaren. Wat en waarom is nog steeds het onderwerp van biologen bijvoorbeeld die proberen uit te vinden wat een bepaald berkeboomblaadje z'n genetische constructie is in vergelijking tot de boom waar hij van afgevallen is en of wat ze hierover weten het waarom ervan verklaart. Stel je voor dat iemand denkt dat hij een goed antwoord heeft geformuleerd dan is het nog heel goed mogelijk dat een eikeblaadje iets heel anders oplevert. En dat de theorie van het waarom helemaal in duigen valt, en ook nog even een heleboel andere theorieen onderuithaalt. Dit is waar wetenschappers zich het hoofd over breken en waar de mensen nog eeuwen over door zullen zagen. Desalniettemin hebben we een stadium afgelegd waarin alles wat we kunnen begrijpen hebben begrepen en nu zijn we aangewezen op niet natuurlijke middelen om de rest in kaart te brengen. Computers kunnen de problemen veel makkelijker vergelijken met elkaar en komen tot een onpartijdige conclusie en goede ideeen over wat voor informatie ze nu weer nodig hebben om betere inzichten te krijgen in de geheimen van het hoe en waarom in biologische systemen. Stel je voor dat het hoe en waarom van een klein dingetje in de natuur wordt bevestigd en voor waar wordt aangenomen. Dan is het systeem enorm waardevol voor andere takken. Maar dit is allemaal heel moeilijk om helemaal rond te krijgen zowel als compleet. Er zullen altijd vragen overblijven.

Wat we van iets vinden is dus voor een groot deel al uitgewerkt door onze voorouders, die heel omslachtig met pen en papier hun theorieen gingen opschrijven op perkamenten rollen enzo. De eerste ideeen die zij hadden zijn vaak niet helemaal snugger in onze opvattingen. Dat komt omdat we hun methodes om iets te toetsen verder hebben ontwikkeld. De toetsen noem je experimenten. Onze voorouders moeten dit al eeuwen geleden hebben gedaan en tot allerhande conclusies zijn gekomen. Zo moet er op een dag een Jantje zijn geweest die in zijn hoofd had dat je water kan laten branden. Deze Jantje (waarschijnlijk Adam zelf al) zal met alle macht water aan hebben geprobeerd te steken met zijn vuurtje dat hij na veel moeite aan de gang had gekregen. En hoe hard hij ook probeerde, het water brandde niet. In tegendeel het maakte het vuur alleen maar uit. Hij zal geprobeerd hebben het water te druppelen, wat niet hielp, hij zal het bij de vleet eringegooid hebben wat ook niet hielp. Daarna zal hij hebben geleerd dat vuur alleen uitgaat door water. Zijn experiment was voltooid toen hij concludeerde dat vuur en water elkaars tegenpolen zijn.

Alles waarover we op deze wereld een mening hebben is ooit eens tot stand gekomen door letterlijke experimenten. Vuur en water gaan niet samen is er daar een van. Een heel nieuw experiment, van de laatste dagen is dat glas informatie sneller verzendt dan koper. Daarom is de hele telecommunicatie en televisie industrie nu bezig overal glasvezelkabels aan te leggen, en de koperen bedradingen (waardoor je nooit zo'n superscherp beeld kreeg) eruit te rukken.

Behalve de conclusies die mensen trekken en ervanuitgaan dat dit nu 'de werkelijkheid' is die wij kennen en die steeds maar verdergaat en blijft veranderen, is het zo dat er grote onenigheid bestaat over de uitgangspunten en dit is zo ongeveer hetzelfde als zeggen

god schiep de wereld nadat hij vrijheid had gegeven aan twee geesten goed en kwaad en de kwade geest beheerst de wereld. En dat is het vertrekpunt waarvanuit mensen een heel speelpark aan ideeen maken. Er is niets helemaal slechts aan dit speelpark, behalve de false pretentie dat het geen vastomlijnd geheel is. Het IS een vastomlijnd geheel met vooral alle menselijke beperkingen heel duidelijk weergegeven, behalve als je een goede treft. De meeste mensen zijn niet ecth in staat om in te zien waar de hell ze nou in godsnaam zijn. Dat vinden ze nogal erg en zullen ze projecteren op de eerste de beste gek die ze tegenkomen waarvan ze overtuigd worden die hun garbage well in zich opzal nemen. Erg leuk om dit af en toe een beetje te doen en te zien wat er uit voortkomt. dit is juist weer de space die niet bestaat en waar je goed use van moet maken als je denkt dat dit interessant is. Als je het niet interessant vindt, moet je ervoor zorgen dat je iets anders vindt, want elk mens heeft een 'mentale' (waar iedereen het over eens is dat het of wel of niet bestaat maar in ieder geval waar iedereen zijn grijze grond heeft) speelgrond nodig. Een ding is belangrijk: je denkt dat je control alles bepaalt hier. Maar omdat je je bij definitie in een gebied begeeft waarin iedereen zijn rotzooi neergooit ben je bezig met een heleboel mensen hun onzin terwijl je er zelf ongeveer iets van 10% aan bijdraagt. Je leert dus meer dan je zelf bijdraagt, maar het gevaar hiervan is dat je ook de ziektes en de slechte opvattingen van de rest ziet en dat je niet alles voor waarheid kan aannemen. Dit is niet zoiets waarbij je kan denken - boy dit vertrouw ik maar eens even allemaal. Het leven is voor minstens 80% niet te vertrouwen. Er is een enorm amount van ongelijkheid en onredelijkheid en degenen die winnen zijn vaak de vreselijksete mensen die niet meer winnen omdat ze goed zijn maar omdat ze vreselijke deals maken. Ze zijn slecht en de wereld is erg slecht. Het beste wapen tegen de slechtheid is kennis en een wil om het goede te doen. De waarheid werkt zeggen sommigen. Maar in de werkelijkheid moet de waarheid eneorm veel meer moeite doen om bewezen te worden dan de onwaarheid. De aarde is ziek omdat de meeste macht in handen is van zieken. Wie de macht heeft is vaak de baas.

Zie je weer hoe hier het eeuwenoude onduidelijkheid van wie er nou de goedheid in pacht heeft opgeld doet? We zijn er redelijk zeker van dat slechte machten overheersen. En dat de technologie geen kant kiest. Sommige mensen geloven dat daarom er een kans bestaat tot de overheersing van het goede. Maar omdat ze zo bepaald zijn door de onzinnige theorie dat mensen slecht zijn, geloven ze dat de mens een offer moet brengen namelijk zijn menszijn.

In bepaalde opzichten is het niet nodig om een antwoord te kunnen geven op bepaalde werkelijkheden. Sommige realiteiten worden niet heel duidelijk geconfronteerd met hun vijand. Dit zegt heel veel over deze elementen van de werkelijkheid. Zoiets als een banaan en zijn voedingswaarde voor de hele voedingsleer wellicht. Alles is relatief.

Amsterdam's Urban Renewal - The Difference Between Hippies And The New 'Creative Class'

Dit is een artikel dat ik ooit geschreven heb over Amsterdam en dat nooit gepubliceerd is. Ik ga het gebruiken voor mijn boek over de Duitse Monnik.

The low and unusually strong March sun beams in my eyes making the motorway tarmac blink in surreal blue. I have made sure that the drivers zooming along have no doubt about my intentions though - the sign in my right arm reads a big A, and then a comma floating flotsamjetsam to the next letter, a small 'd' followed by a hasty 'a' plus a final 'm'. I am hitchhiking the 20-minute trip to Amsterdam, where I will be meeting Onefeather, a US hippy from Santa Barbara. I met him on a hunt for Amsterdam's autonomous art scene and urban trends. That was the day before yesterday. The peace 'n' love spirit felt as real as it must have back in the 1960s, even though it was bred by a Yank. It was as if someone released the genie from the bottle once more. So encores now. I am hoping it works again.

The bearded, longhaired saint with a face the shape of an upside down heart had a nose seemingly sculpted with such deliberation it almost looked as if God stuck it on later. His official name Jameson plus the sirname Godlove are among the very few claims this guy has made on the system which he generally believes needs a re-think; he paid a hundred bucks to officially change his original names. I have two interviews lined up with people that will likely talk third hand of the Sixties Flower Power ideas and their intricate connection with today's Amsterdam. Onefeather is a bit closer. Generationwise also removed, but all the same he's living evidence that the hippy life is not extinct on the planet.

At 45, Onefeather remembers the 60s from the perspective of a 7 year old but he is convinced he is passing on the happy times from one generation to the next. It worked on me yesterday. I was so enthralled I totally forgot to ask even what an American hippy was searching for in Amsterdam.

We met totally by accident. I sank in the chair next to him trying to check out a live band playing on the bridge in front of coffeeshop Goa near the Nieuwmarkt. He looked like a hippy and the place being Goa, it would figure, but I wasn't expecting this calibre of authenticity as I befriended this brother with some Dutch charm that became simply cunning as the moments elapsed. A true hippie! Others have beaten me to him; he's already been in Der Spiegel, US papers and also on prime time US tv.

By now the interviews have taken place and Onefeather's turned out priceless. He has joined my list of email friends because he's gone back to the United States. Even walking the cobblestoned Amsterdam streets with Onefeather was an adventure in itself; I felt like a I am trying to revive the vibes with all my might, faced with telling the story of Amsterdam's past, present and most of all of the city's chances of future happy, artistic, times.

In the days before Onefeather and I met, I researched activity in Amsterdam's autonomous artist communities as well as the city's recent efforts to brand itself as a 'creative city'. I came across stories encapsulating the changes in tolerance for squatting communities. Over the last years, people have gradually been forced into becoming part of the economic circuit and the trend is almost complete.

The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that events ought to be narrated reality-style. I went on a journey to find out the living conditions of Amsterdam's post-socialist collapse art community and its way of dealing with commercial forces. And about how the town differs from the 1960s. I am about to find out what Amsterdam's modern day artists believe in and how they are being impacted by the 'creative city' initiative that brands them in an economic class. It is possible to drown in a sea of information, theories, enticing arguments and philosophies, but the city over the past days started to come to life to me in ways more interesting than most theoretical accounts of what is taking place.

One important buzzword that perhaps connects theory and what's happening on the ground is 'precarious existence'. It features in the jargon of city officials talking about the new creative class who have to be transformed into an entrepreneurial band of people that don't rely any longer on the state but execute serious business plans that initially will make them feel overly vulnerable. It is also a word that very much applies to my hippy friend, who for the last ten years has lived a precarious life, living 'of love'.

I have chosen a hitchhike spot close to the railway station of the village I am setting out from - it's only a stone's throw away. It might make a bad case for a hitchhiker or it might actually help my plight. Students in this country got free train travel in 1990 and the hitchhiking game has changed since then. Aside from that, the station's being a stone's throw away isn't all that unusual because virtually everything in this country is a stone's throw away. Everything except for toilet doors. These generally are intent on hugging your knees.

The upside of the limited space story reveals itself on the motorway though. It appears that the principle of dividing up spaces has a sanity of unparallelled dimension to it here - traffic is smooth and evenly spaced, yet cars travel along in an approximation that is that tad less spaced out than in other, bigger countries.

A brief moment of hope when someone steps on the breaks. A sucker, intent on causing grief. But it might be a good omen. The road is preparing for my take off, no doubt. And then a Nissan's back breaklights are suddenly hovering right next to my bag. The surrealism of the tarmac is even more real now that the direction's full speed ahead to Amsterdam. The road turns dark grey, almost black.

Minutes later and I am ruthlessly dropped in Gaasperplas, a suburb bordering on one of the more problematic areas of Amsterdam - the Bijlmermeer. I close the car door, ready to take the metro into town. A famous urban planning specialist, Ashok Bhalotra at KuiperCompagnons in Rotterdam who is involved in the current wide scale reconstruction of this 1960s neighbourhood, said in a recent interview that most urban planners and architects are too far removed from society at large. Guess what, walking through Gaasperplas toward the Metro station, I think this might just be true vice versa too.

The outskirts of Amsterdam resemble an urban sprawl that to the outsider literally is mostly that; urban sprawl. Trying to get an idea of the influences that surround you when passing through them is quite a task. Newspapers advertise over 12 architecture walks, each one of them dealing with a different theme, and it's not even an excess likely.

The great thing about my hippy friend is that he has all the time in the world and likely won't be hampered by preconceived ideas about life, living and originality. Onefeather himself lives in a camper van that he has stuffed with three-dimensional exterior artwork. He showed me a picture of the van. It hardly was recognisable as a vehicle, covered in a mountain of ready-made statues of rock artists, fairy tale figures and homemade artwork and designs. He attracts attention wherever he goes. He makes money by simply driving his van about and conducting impromptu shows. At night time he hangs out on the beach. He is an overwhelming ad for being carefree and happy.

To the side of the van, there's a string of apples, lined by a string of people holding hands. They're his friends, most of whom he invited to draw their own features in premade figures. Onefeather glued the apples on during the evening of the first attack on Afghanistan, on 12 september 2001. Rain caused the glue to run and it looked as if the apples cried - he said it was eery and symbolic.

He said his show is the living Van Gogh. Pun intended. If it didn't come from such an astounding guy you'd think it was naff. It works for his Yankee audiences all the more, likely. Onefeather's impact on people is profound and he makes as much as USD1000 a week from time to time. "I live of the love people have for me," he said. His ideas are not new but as a person he's someone that has evolved in a totally different way than anyone else. It's quite powerful. He breaths a kind of authenticity that has gone lost, I guess. My reaction to him is like the itch an amputee feels. He considers everybody his brother and sister, but in all reality he could be the biological brother of Goa Gil, the world famous hippy Trance DJ who featured in the film The Last Hippy Standing.

All this is going through my mind as I board the metro, having been dropped off on the outskirts of Amsterdam. The train into town runs through the Bijlmermeer, which was built at the height of the hippy movement. It has become one of the most studied suburbs of Amsterdam; sociologists, architects, intercultural antropologists, criminogists all have found ample tangible material supporting or detracting from presupposed ideas.

The late sixties followed thirty years on from Modernism and the Bijlmer was the first major project in which urban architects were supposedly experimenting with new ideas. Even as it was built many said that the ideas were still very much functional rather than the utopia dream that people were ready for. They also hated it because it ruined a nature reserve. The hippy movement as such has died out, but the spirit of freethinking has evolved and is throwing off some handsome ideas for multiculturalism.

Bhalotra is very aware of this too. He commented at a recent lecture that architects should be inspired by fantasy and intangible or real things that flow from it. "Being aware of the tension between the differences between human beings and simultaneously the existence of the need for equality of all and the preservation of the self demands a lot of thinking. To what extent do we really want that 'others' become like us. It is inspiring to cross the border of culture, land and economy. But nevertheless borders do not disappear, despite the ideals," he said.

Perhaps multicultural approaches offer the ideology that we all need. Since there is hardly a pronounced new paradigm in urban development and with the loss of leftwing ideals, it is hard to get a clear idea what urban renewal is about other than an economic calculation. The e connection Amsterdam's housing situation and the idealism of the 1960s offers a crucial yardstick for understanding what is evolving.

Some people talk about enigmatic signifyers in this context. Charles Jencks for instance believes in a new urban paradigm, the goals of which are wider than the science and politics that supports it and also than the technology that allows it to be conceived and built. This creates a flexibility which is the playground for all kinds of new styles, ranging from Organi-Tech who reflect modernists, Eco Tech, Datascapes and the New York Blob Meisters.

Dutch architects MVRDV are your quintessential Datascapes fanatics. They combine metaphors with numbers. By exaggerating metaphors, they calculate a number of alternating creations based on various assumptions and then run them by the public, the politicians and the press. Their buildings are clear statements. The bureau, which consists of four architects that started working together in 1991, is also pioneering new trends in approaches to urban residential development. They are at the hypermodern end of the spectrum which is dominated by designs for people that stretch from the late 1800s and the present.

On the train, I decide to hold off asking Onefeather what he is looking to find in Amsterdam. Instead, I will stay intent on the question throughout the course of our meeting. See if an answer materialises and how it does. Onefeather definitely came across as someone that has kept the option of utopia open in his life. With no fixed abode and 'living of love', he's bound to volunteer valuable insight into utopic life forms at personal level in contrast to the generally accepted idea of progress.

As the metro nears the center of town I am getting closer to the venue of my first appointment - the old Post Office which since 2001 houses the City museum. There's a police visibility throughout Amsterdam though and the cops are definitely 'interactive' with people on the streets. They are not wasting their time investigating a shooting-up hard drug addict, but arrest the cumbersome sorryass without hesitation. They cycle around on mountain bikes, patrol on foot and on horse back. Hardly the piece and love that Onefeather resonates.

There was a true drug-related crime problem here twenty years ago, but by now the situation is pretty much under control. The police back then allocated all their resources to the combat of hard drugs by turning a blind eye to soft drugs. By focusing on vicious crime and preventing creating more hard drug users, police has been successful - twenty years ago there were some 10,000 junkies that made the streets unsafe. At the moment, that number is only around 1,000. The violence subsided as the junkies died off over the years. That is the other side of Dutch tolerance.

The Post Office is situated along the railway tracks not far from the Red Light District, but at stone's throw's length again of course. Once outside the Central Station, I veer Eastwards, passing the old city corner tower, the Schreiers Toren (Tower of Tears). This tower used to be part of the old city defense wall until it was disconnected when the city expanded beyond the wall in late medieval times. Incidentally, the Post Office also lost its function, but a lot later than the medieval tower stopped being part of the city's defenses.

Aside from the City Museum the former Post Office building also houses Mediamatic, a smaller museum. The museums both host quite interesting art shows all year round. I find the entrance and go straight to the top floor, just the same way postal workers have done for the past sixty years. Upstairs, the views are spectacular; to the Northwest, a hoist of building activity is taking place. Five yellow cranes stationed in the Docklands area are lining the horizon, resembling gigantic yellow birds.

Merijn Oudenampsen, my first appointment for the day, arrives in the blue jacket he said he'd be wearing. He's a publicist who's well in the know about Amsterdam's urban issues. This guy has some answers. "Situationists were proposing organically evolving architecture. Nowadays that's back to some extent. Some developments start from the bottom up again. But other parts have just been messed up. That, for instance, is not organic at all." He points out of the window at a dozen or so ten to eleven story buildings to the Northeast, which all are of equal heigth. They are clearly examples of heavily regulated and unimaginative square building blocks.

Amsterdam has been branding itself as a creative city for the last seven years and urban development has been subjected to this trend. The city is undergoing revolutionary changes that will affect many of its inhabitants. And it's passing by virtually unnoticed. Merijn is among a handful of highly critical persons trying to wake up the rest of the population to the disguise of the creative class. Merijn strongly believes that what's going on isn't necessarily without consequences and writes regular articles about the subject on Flexmens.

Even though urban branding is taking place in many cities around the world, Amsterdam is exploiting every commercial opportunity conceivable to climb in the international ranking lists. This is unnatural given the city's past.

Preparing its inhabitants for the 'creative era', the city of Amsterdam pushing the case of the creative knowledge economy as the greater good for the whole economic sector. Art and culture never rated high on the priority list, and suddenly they appeared at center stage.

The authentic, true creatives have been drawn in a battle that is prely economic and which happens to revolve around the housing and urban planning situation more than anything else.

It is not all that surprising. What started the process was the upswing in the real estate sector ten years ago. Housing corporations were privatised successfully. The influence of the market also spilt over to related social activities which were previously subsidized. The result, Merijn points out, is a tangible reduction in places where artists can still be autonomous in the real sense of the word. The approach to squatting has become less tolerant as well. Since the 1980s Amsterdam has a lively squatting community and police clamp downs on squatters has always reflected what is happening in the wider context. At the moment there are only few spots where people can participate in low entry barrier art projects. The big Sail 2005 event concluded the most recent clamp down on squatters, with the closure of a popular dancing venue in Pakhuis Afrika. This was carried out on a 24 hours notice basis, and was an extremely tough action.

"Places that want to operate art for a wider public are required to have a business plan and starting artists do not find any space," says Merijn. "Compared to eight years ago, the experimental arts scene is virtually dead."

The rest of the scene is lively though. Walking around town you hardly get the impression that there's any less abundance than years back. All in all there are over 40 festivals in Amsterdam alone in the summer; museums have shows non stop and the live music scene in bars is thriving.

The real impact is taking place slowly but is of revolutionary proportions. "There's a culture here now that you live to work, rather than the other way around", says Merijn. People living by these rules will ultimately churn out different art. This is a very destructive development. Of the few initiatives that are still going Merijn is convinced the city risks alienating its population. Some 70 percent of Amsterdam's young adult population studies at lower educational institutions. The city's spending habits do not reflect this. What Amsterdam's population needs is investment in education, but the government chooses to build an economic power house, Merijn believes. By contrast, the city's high income earners that earned double the average income rose in the years 1999 to 2003 to 18 percent, from 10.8 percent. There's no real broad based public discontent over these trends.

The people in the Sixties were a totally different breed it seems. Creativity then also went through a huge transformation, but the protest spirit of those days has almost totally subsided. Groups active in the old fashion sense almost immediately are branded activists.

The Situationist Internationale, the artist group that triggered the 1968 Paris riots, were very focused on urban design too. Constant Nieuwenhuys, the Dutch member of the group, had a real problem with the cult of utility as embodied in modern cities of his and modern times. So he designed a project for a city where people could live and where automation had realised the liberation of man from the toils of industrial work. He recreated existing areas, lifting them from the ground on steel constructions and inventing sliding walls and climate controlled housing that was truly imaginative. He abandoned the project in 1969 because he realised that the functionalists would not cede their influence. But his influence on the younger generation architects has been profound.

The Situationist ideas differed vastly from today's the Creative City theoreticians' such as Peter Hall and Richard Florida, who sold governments the economic gospel of libertarian principle under the fashionable label 'creative class'. Yet, the Situationist lived ahead of their time. In a lecture at the school of architecture at Delft University in 1980, he said about New Babylon: "This was as far as I could go. The project exists. It is safely stored away in a museum, waiting for more favorable times when it will once again arouse interest among future urban designers."

Up till recently, the project has been left in the repository, even though many influential people, including some of the Netherlands' most famous architects the internationally active Rem Koolhaas and the leading agencies MVRDV are clearly influenced by the Situationists and by Constant in particular.

The next few years will be once more decisive in determining whether today's absence of ideological beliefs somehow also leaves the door open for the current neutrality in the urban paradigm being absorbed into the forces of commercialism, or whether it will be worth dusting down Constant's maquettes for a real showdown.

Commercialism's first defense is to assert that those artistic expressions that are truly worth it will ultimately win the day and that we have the free market forces to thank for providing us with an objective benchmark. But the way that process comes about is far from objective. There is a lack of clarity about the issues that these 'forces' are associated with. And furthermore, people's tastes simply cannot be the same as those of corporations, that are driven by purely economic motivations.The Amsterdam philosopher Karen Vinges has interesting ideas about this. She believes that people's disgust with the system has only increased as privatisation activity spurred societal developments which naturally would propel human beings to re think their ideas, but which instead gives them the experience of being personally subjected to market forces that only condition.

Nevertheless the scope for dreaming is a lot wider than in the 1960s. Perhaps earlier on, things went wrong because no one inaugurated this untrodden space and because being lost was more strongly associated with it than navigating. Dutch architects MVRDV are the prime example of a bureau doing its best to reinvigorate the dream of the ideal city.

In a bookwork entitled Metacity/Datatown, they ask the crucial question whether it is possible to analyse the city's quantitative components and manipulate them; "Imagine a city that is described only by data. A city that wants to be explored only as information. A city that knows no given topography, no prescribed ideology, no representation, no context. Only huge, pure data: Metacity/Datatown. What are the implications of this city? To what conclusions can it lead? What agenda for architecture and urbanism could this numerical approach provoke?" The architects at MVRDV started to design along the path of numerical logic and abundance of manoeverability and put down a few strong examples which have shaken up Amsterdam's urban design dramatically.

Their 2002 design for the Silodam Northwest of the town, is a prime example of the bureau's agenda setting. Some believe that the commercial and pragmatism involved in this kind of urban development hardly is a step forward. But it's also a shot at aiming for utopic ideals. The building is typically earning Amsterdam some real brownie points for international competitiveness.

Reading what squatters had to say about the large warehouse where they resided from 1987 until the Millennium, you get the impression that the architects were very much inspired by similar ideas. Both the squatters and MVRDV say they were venturing into the unknown. And both are holding on to ideas that are to some extent the proven methods for connecting. The experiences of Andrew Carr Smith, who used to live with the squatters on and off for five years to study the lifestyle, are quite insightful. At once they were totally unverifiable, yet make such sense, it is likely that the human connection to 'things' is finally beginning to be understood. He's published an e-book in which he records his experiences that are a valuable insight for what serves human well being in their immediate surroundings.

In a chapter headed by a quotation by Baudelaire '... is there no escape from Numbers and Beings!", Smith extensively describes what it is like living with objects in your personal space that are out of the ordinary; 'First-time objects' are the norm in the Silo. Things are made (and found) in a very immediate way that conveys the present-moment of the act. There is nothing especially 'original' about the majority of Silo objects and arrangements except this 'present-momentness' - a characteristic of things made in a 'real-time' state of attention/action, as economically as present means allowed.

Describing the Silo hall as physically and psychically eventful, he believes that because there is no style, skill, or finish excessive to the need of the objects, not only is their behaviour freed: falling in their curve of gravity, warping with the visible grain, showing the impact of the hammer; but untrussed by taste and tidiness, their forms are more complex and various, more efficient projection-screens for potential fantasies.

Match that with something new and squeeky clean. MVRDV kept to the spirit and fitted autonomous housing within the outside walls, a numbers game that the original builders likely could not have begun to imagine, but which might be of the same order as the 'freed behavior' of objects that Smith noticed.

Area 9 in the West was way less pretentious than the Docks and involved a local population that was a lot more difficult. Not without reason. The new MVRDV design caters for less than three dozens of the original population while over 190 appartments are sold in the free sector. Some say that the sense of beauty that's created is lost both literally and figuratively. Public sector investment in the project amounted to EUR11 million. Of this amount, EUR1.3 million was used to create greenery.

Architecturally the building is interesting because it pays tribute to the ideas that most preceding architects have stuck to and is surprisingly playful; there are accessible spaces with plenty of see-through designs plus lush greenery. It is also seen as a beacon in urban development here, almost more so than the Silodam, because of the intensive negotiations with the locals. MVRDV reportedly made considerable concessions to their original design, altering many slanting sides on the inside into proper rectangles and square corners. This is something that the previous generation Amsterdam architects are especially known for.

Today's Amsterdam has all the characteristics of a modern city with modern challenges. It is holding on desperately to its authenticity where it is possible. Activists' last protest against commercialism took the shape of destructive action when at the end of 2006, a group calling themselves the Pollock Commando threw paint-filled eggs at the facade-tuned-billboard of the Sandberg institute. The institute had taken the bold step to cross out the boundaries between art and commerce, openly saying on its website "Culture defines and most important is defined by market dynamics." It subsequently had auctioned off its facade brick by brick to advertisers and claimed to have created art. The national papers didn't even pick up on the story, but video footage circulated widely over the internet.

Most landmark new buildings are more imaginative than you generally associate with urban residences, and city living also dominates less tangible projects. In 1995, Amsterdam 2.0 was started, aiming to find a new truly imaginative approach to city planning.

Sponsored by the Mondriaan Stichting (after the painter) and two small public sector institutions, it employed an architect, a photographer and a painter, who kicked some ass, invigorating the debate about city life. The three subjected the domain of architecture and city planning to a test of the value of ideas to create the 'unimaginable'.

Amsterdam 2.0 was conceived as a 'decentralized and polycentric constellation' providing space for the living experiments and survival strategies which an era of failing politics and compulsory political correctness have made necessary, they said.

The project had much going for it but ended up almost literally copying the Situationalists idea to divide the city into districts. Amsterdam 2.0 created some 400 possible cities, and artists were commissioned to write stories about life in those cities. Amsterdam 2.0 was considered an 'empty framework within which many different legal systems can be active at the same time and place'. The ideas it thrived on also are potent beyond the project's immediate scope, likely. In an article entitled Reality or Utopia, the architects/artists at bureau ZUS in Rotterdam study the project in the context of the shifting balance between public and private space. "Amsterdam 2.0 is a possible answer to the question what's after democracy the way we know it now?'.

That is resonated in some of the contributors' ideas. Those that were responsible for 'the City of Homeless Pigeons' write that utopian architecture as we know it either radically extrapolates what takes place already, or it explores a radical break with its context. "Homeless Pigeons differentiated itself by combining the two extremes. Constant and the Situationalists chose for a radical break", the contributors say. Perhaps it's way to go.

The projects, just like those of the Situationists, were all discontinued. Nobody really mourns their loss all that much because in the case of Amsterdam 2.0, it was meant to be a thought experiment anyway. And there's nothing to stop one from dreaming. Some critic said once that if the Situationists had been given a couple of cities to experiment with, everybody might have realised their weaknesses too and that their impact might have been a lot less as a result. And perhaps it's true.

Mr Smith, the squat observer, at one point says that the presence of unusual objects tires him out. Which might just indicate that human beings need their sofas, their tables, their walls, their toilets in some standardized form or other, to be human. We might just have hands to scratch our noses when they itch, but also to handle a spoon, open and close doors, make beds, throw stuff in the rubbish bin and weed the gardens. That might just be all that is there is to us.

But Onefeather on the contrary, has been able to live quite a sustainable life as a nomad, making money by seizing the spirit of the moment and exploiting, you might say, a niche that humanity generally has learnt to deny itself pretty much. Precariousness is nothing new to him either. But he has been happy the past decade and he's also happy to start building a house on a plot of land in Southern Kentucky - well above sea level.

Modern life might just be all about designated spaces and what we do with it. Virtually each and every idea that the Situationists ventured was blocked even though they were very talented designers, because of subversive ideas preached. My second interview is scheduled in a place that makes a middle ground between squatting and utopic design. I am taking a boat across the IJ estuary behind the central station to the Northern part of Amsterdam. I am on my way to a massive hall named NDSM (Netherlands Dock and Shipbuilding Company). I have an appointment with theatre group Pickup, an ex squat theatre platform which has won prestigious awards. As I arrive, Marc Coolen, who founded the organisation, takes me on a guided tour of the hall. Inside it is even bigger than it looks outside. The vast carcas looks like the inside of a deepfreezer. The 100 artist organisations are strewn across the hall as individually packaged entities. They include former squatter artists who opted to go legit and start paying real rents in return for real square meters. The hall has been made fire proof and architects have created divisions of space but that's all.

The place looks like a squat and I ask Coolen if he feels cheated in any way by the council for charging him real money for loss of autonomy. He doesn't view it this way, but there are people who do. Coolen used to host dance events of over 700 people. "The great thing was that we could continue until Sunday afternoon three o' clock, rather than eight in the morning like other places," he says. The reason he chose to rent in the Hall was that these venues were illegal because the building had serious fire hazards. "We from time to time had to stack people in cupboards and blind passage ways if the police raided us", he says. All might have been quite adventurous for first time visitors but taking yourself seriously as an artist has little to do with such antics after a while, Coolen says. Now his organisation is working hard at completing their three 15 by 15 square metre practice/performance rooms.

The floors have just been painted and decorations are starting to appear on the walls. The Pickup story is similar to many squatting sagas. Amsterdam hosts 29 squats at the moment and key truly autonomous artist places are Ruigoord and ADM and Academie OT 301. Coolen was tired of playing the cat and mouse game with the authorities. The Pickup website radiates professionalism that is neither inspired by commerce nor undue idealism. Coolen is practical most of all. "We get the audiences here, we connect the right instructors with the right people and what's more, from time to time we are invited by the mainstream venues such as Paradiso in town to fill an evening," he says. His business is to get as much recognition as possible.

The docks will likely stay in this squat like style and it's a sought after outfit. Mtv chose the docks as its European headquarters and opened nextdoor to the hall last February. Aound the corner, students are housed in colorful iron cabins, stacked on top of each other - pretty trendy. There's also a skateboarding place in another hall which is equally derelict.

Before it moved here, Pickup had been squatting on the Kloveniersburgwal in the centre of town for almost ten years. Instead of charging manual labor in return for practice space for performing artists, it now charges E60 an hour. It's already fully booked with performing artists until next September. The group has a good reputation and some of its shows went on to mainstream venues like Paradiso and the Melkweg.

This is the opening night of Pickup's very first performance in the new habitat. A group called Tomaten Najagen (Chasing Tomatoes) plays a performance entitled A Broken Halleluja, directed by Leela May Stokholm. The play seamlessly connects with the theme that I have been so vigourously been exploring earlier on in the day; can art and commerce coexist without one of the two suffering. If there's a verdict on the matter, it would be that it won't be easy. The subject matter is the clash between personal madness and public life.

The actors, after experiencing convincing madnesses, all sort of dry-swim out of their troubles. Undoing professionalism by breaking down personally, each cast member leaves the audience with the memory of vulnerability. Their cyclist movements to sanity have no direct connection at all with the rat race or so, but resemble something beautiful. There's sincerity.

When the play is over I rush toward the city centre and find Onefeather again in Goa, the one and only Amsterdam cafe where this hippy likely feels most at home. His wooden hashpipe on the table, he's drinking coffee in the sun. After checking his face and making sure that I am not accidentally talking to the DJ - I would't realise it if I sat next to our Queen, I am that senseless- I decide to go ahead with my experiment to ask him totally nothing about his Amsterdam connection unless it really is not obvious. Completely soft perhaps, but the approach works. He tells me his story in no particular order. Some ten years ago he used to dress up as Jesus, complete with a Franciscan robe, conducting a show including real miracle workings. People were thrilled and true believers got totally offended. Kids thought he was a Jeddai master. So he bought the swords and stuck them on top of his van.

Now, years on, his performances are not all that different, he says. He simply takes hold of the spirit of the moment and jumbles it a bit around, transferring power. "It's all good. One love, you know." And more such stuff. Truly hippy. He bought the vehicle shortly after his divorce, gave up his dayjob as a male nurse and decided to camp out on the beach and be happy.

The connection with Amsterdam becomes clear when we hit the streets. He's done the museums years back and is just enjoying smoking, drinking and relaxing. Amsterdam, he says, gives him a nice break from busy life in the van. I am won over in an instant; we throw our heads up to the clouds, walk, stop off in bars, end up for a short spell at Vrankrijk (pictured), a squatter habitat, and then we decide to go dancing. Someone tells us there's a place not far away from here - only a stone's throw away.

Aodan's Birthday Card 2007

MrGoo99's Linerider Ride of Doom

Aodan posted this video on YouTube with the comment "This thing I make in 30 minutes".

Line Rider: Noob King Track

Yes, it is a noob one this time =)

Snake Line Rider

Nose Manual Line Rider

Alcanoiles Hoofdstuk Twee

Alcanoiles Hoofdstuk Een

Koning Bibber en de Ridders van de Ronde Tafel -Hoofdstuk 4

Koning Bibber en de Ridders van de Ronde Tafel - Hoofdstuk 2 en 3

Koning Bibber en de Ridders van de Ronde Tafel - Hoofdstuk Een

Twee grapjes door Aodan

Short Story: Prince Tremble

by Aodan, when he was nine years old
One day, a new baby was born. The father and mother (King Roam and Queen Roam) named this holy baby Prince Tremble. When he was bigger, his mother died when he was sixteen. His father was 56 already then. But he disappeared three years after his mother’s burial.

So then King Tremble, 19 years old, took off by himself, in search of Camelot, a big city, rather than the small city he came from. The people in Camelot laughed at him, when he arrived. They said :”Do you call that a King, with all those dirty rags and an ill fitting crown???!!!” Everybody laughed at him, except for a few Knights; Knight Poynt, Silkou, Pelsen and Sayde.

They went to him and invited him to their castle.
On their way they told them that they did not have a king and that he’d be rather a perfect king. But he did not look like a king, he needed a better crown, a sword and a Kingly bosom. “Lord, follow me,”Knight Pelsen said. “Then we will get you a good sword.” They took King Tremble to big bed made out of nails, stretching for around two kilometers.

But King Tremble walked to the sword without any troubles, even without shouting “Ow” or “I can’t do this”, and fetching the sword place in the middle of the 2 km long bed.

Sword
When he came back with the sword, Knight Poynt said: “This is the most powerful sword that exists. It is called the sword of the Devil’s Sorcerer. King Tremble stretched out the sword to his nostrils: “This is the most beautiful sword I have every seen”. The Knights laughed. “Yes it is the most beautiful sword that’s around. But now you need a shield”.

Shield
Then King Tremble followed the Knights to another room. It was called the Shield Room. When they opened the doors he saw really beautiful shields and in the middle of all those shields was place a beautiful golden shield. On the shield, King Tremble noticed, were three dragons. Knight Silkou said: “This chield, this golden shield is over 3,000 years old, but it has never been broken so far. A girl with only one tooth took the golden shield and handed it to King Tremble. King Tremble said “Thank you, madam”. “Maid Serve Wood”, Knight Pelsen corrected the King. Maid Serve Wood did not reply to this. Of course this was because she only had one tooth.


First Mission
But before King Bibber could become king, he had to prove he was a good Knight and king. “You have to perform two duties first; beat Captain Kock and beat the Devilish Ghost,” said Knight Sayde. “Allright then, I will start with Captain Kock. He looks the most easy task to me”, king Tremble said. So he went on his way to Kaptain Kock. He was given a map on which the exact location of Captain Cock’s residence was indicated. When he arrived there, he saw a ship that was a few yards high at the least. He stood back around ten steps and suddenly a door swung open. Suddenly, a big pirate stepped outside. He had a big eye piece on one eye and was wearing a black hat. He smirked at King Tremble. King Tremble raised his sword, but Kock, because it was him, kicked it away. Then he called out to a few other pirates. “Hey guys, come over here, we’ve got visitors, Captain Kock said. King Tremble Trembleed as he’d never Trembleed before. He rolled to his sword and pounced it straight into thhe heart of Captain Kock. Captain Kock screamed with agony and dropped dead. The other pirates looked wide-eyed to Captain Kock’s dying. One by one, they took a step backwards, turned around and ran away fast. “Cissies”, King Tremble shouted after them. When he arrived at the city gate, he did not see any light at all. He could barely see a thing. Only just a little bit. A few black shadows of ... houses. Ghost houses containing…. Nothing. Suddenly he saw a white shadow moving toward something. Suddenly something shot through his brain. Ghosts of course can’t stand light. If only I had a flaming torch, King Tremble thought. He traveled back to Camelot. Where he fetched a torch and set off to Bellendorm quick as a flash again. He witnessed another shadow closely in front of the gate. He lit the torch and lighted the grimace. Instantaneously, the shadow issued a loud shriek. And it disappeared from its substance less presence. The king entered the city. He thought he saw the Devilish sorcerer.

Once more, he raised his torch and this time the sorcerer was the one to shriek loudly. In the distance, a girl was shouting. He immediately went to the scene. He arrived at a tower. That was where the shrieking had come from. Without hesitation, he climed up. He found a girl with blond hair. The girl was immediately silent. Without saying a word, King Tremble lifted her and carried her down. “Thank you, thank you”, the girl said.



Second Mission

When King Tremble returned, the Knights greeted him eagerly. “Okay, that was your first mission. How did you do? “, they asked. King Tremble answered: “Well, Captain Kock kicked my sword away, but I got hold of it again and pierced his heart”. “Very well,” Knight Sayde said. “Now for your second mission. In the small city of Bellendorm, a devilish ghost resides. With her husband, the Devilish Sorcerer. They have a captive. A girl.” “Okay,” said King Tremble, and he went on his way to Bellendorm. When he was on his way, he encountered lots of bones, which appeared to him to be those of Knights. As if they’d been fighting against someone or something not too long ago.


Friends and Queen
Three years later when King Tremble had been king and Knight for ages, he married the girl. So then it was King Tremble and Queen Tremble. By that time he had made lots of new friends. Not only friends but also Knights. Knight Poynt, Knight Silkou, Knight Pelsen, Knight Sayde, Knight Black. Knight Black was a Knight with a black harness. When he took off his harness, his clothes would turn out black as well. In the city of Bellendorrn almost no one’d be able to see him.

Knight Pierre
One day, King Tremble and Knight Black went to hunt together: “Okay, hunt deer or wild boar?”, King Tremble asked. “Deer”, Knight Black answered. On their way they encountered a Knight. He resembled a French Knight. “Friend or Foe?”, Knight Black asked.

Suddenly the unknown Knight came bolting their way, felled them within a split second and the two of them were lying unconscious on the ground. When they regained consciousness, Knight Black said “Foe. That’s for sure” Knight Black wanted to go after the unknown Knight, but they could not trace him any more because they’s been unconscious for longer than one hour.


But then they saw the French Knight suddenly. He was passing them. “Heyyy guyyzz, dzid you enjoy your zleeppp?” “Gosh, thanks a bunch”, Knight Black said, looking angry. “Sorry, you didd lookka soow eassyy,” said the French Knight. “How do you do, my name is Pierre”, he continued. “My name is Knight Black and this is King Tremble, a King, so you know!”. “Sorrya, I thoughta youa werea just commona homeless folka”, Pierre said. “Owwwell I meselfa ama homelessa”. King Tremble said mockingly: “Youa maya joina usa ifyoulika”. “Thankyoua”, Pierre said.


The Round Table
“But no more jokes, ok?”, King Tremble said sternly. When they arrived home. Queeen Tremble embraced King Tremble. Who subsequently introduced Knight Pierre to the other Knights. “From now on I am protected by this Knight. Knight Pierre”. Knight Pierre said “Oh yesa, and I have gotta a smalla gifta”. Suddenly a huge round table rolled into the room. King Tremble said “Do you call that small?”. The table only seated eight Knights. So everyKnight had vast amounts of space at the table. On each chair every Knight’s name appeared as if by magic. King Tremble, Queeen Tremble, Knight Pierre, Knight Poynt, Knight Silkou, Knight Pelse, Knight Sayde and Knight Black.


Merlin
Everybody took a seat. But suddenly out of nothing a ninth chair materialized. Suddenly, the Devilish Sorcerer appeared. But not the Devilish one. He looked a lot more amiable. Not with a surface wound or with his hair in a mess. He looked very decent. But without sword, without shield and without a harness. Then King Tremble immediately took him to the Shield Room and the Sword Room. That is where he was handed a shield and a sword. You only get these items if you promise not to tell any more fables, King Tremble said to the sorcerer. By the way, what is your real name?
“My real name is Merlin”, Merlin said. Then the two of them returned to the round table. On the empty chair a name appeared: “Merlin”. King Tremble said: “From now on, I am protected from left and right by my sorcerer and by Knight Pierre.


In search of the Symbol
After around ten years, a famine and the pest broke out. “What should I do?”, King Tremble asked Merlin. “I can’t do anything against this”, Merlin said. Only the symbol of Pest and famine can save this city. Then a meeting of the Knights of the Round Table was held. All nine Knights were summoned. King Tremble said “The pest and famine are getting worse and worse here. We need to find the symbol of pest and famine. You are all going to be divided into groups. Pierre, you join me, as well as Knight Pelsen. Knight Black, Knight Sayde, you are joining Knight Silkou. And watch out, because Knight Silkou is one to puke quite easily. Merlin, you join Queen Bibber and Knight Poynt. But make sure you transport yourself magically here too from time to time because Camelot can be raided – so watch out for that and make sure you report back to me if something happens to Camelot.” All the Knights departed.


King Tremble in search of the Symbol
King Tremble set off to Bellendorm to see if the symbol was there. But however hard he and his men searched, they could not find it. But then they saw a light somewhere. King Tremble walked towards it. It was just an ordinary oil lamp. He thought “Oil lamps? Isn’t this a city that is abandoned? Not a single soul lives here”. But he went into the town just in case. And found a very old man. The man was very ill, King Tremble saw. He thought “Is it???”he looks like.., I think he IS my Father!” “Father, I am King Tremble. Ddddoooo you recognise me still???” The ageold man nodded; “Yes son”. “Pierre, Pelsen, go and search some more. I am staying here with my father. If you find the symbol, you know where to find me”. The two Knights set off.


Knight Pierre In Search Of The Symbol
After three years, Knight Pelsen died, so Knight Pierre was all by himself. He mounted his horse but encountered a Knight. He wasn’t sure who it was. But it was Knight Sayde. Without the two of them knew who it was, they attacked each other. Knight Sayde lost. Pierre continued his journey. But after a minute he encountered Knight Black. “Hey, Knight Black,” Knight Pierre shouted. He knew it was Knight Black. After Knight Black Knight Silkou was riding his horse. “Did you see Knight Sayde?”, Knight Black asked. “I just attacked a Knight and I had no clue who it was”, Pierre said. “It was Knight Sayde, idiot””, Knight Black shouted. They quickly gallopped to Knight Sayde. “Common Boys, let’s go in search of the symbol with the four of us, then we’ll have found it in no time”, Knight Black said.


Merlin in search of the symbol?
In the meantime, Merlin was saying to Queen Tremble “We are in search of the symbol for five years already, we need to go back now to Camelot to protect it”. “Ok,” queen Tremble said.


Four brave Knights in search of the symbol.
Knight Black, Knight Sayde, Knight Pierre and Knight Silkou went in search of the symbol. After another 15 years, Knight Silkou died, because he was puking too often. So then Knight Black, Knight Pierre and Knight Silkou went on with the three of them.


Found! The Symbol.
After one year they found a small house. They knocke on the door, all three together. The door did not open. “Now all we need is a bit of luck today”, Knight Sayde said disapPoynted. So they decided to rest against the edge of the wall of the house. Suddenly a Silkou man approached. He knocked on the the door with all his might. The door opened. The symbol appeared. The man touched the symbol. He was cured on the spot. The man thanked the symbol so much, he fell to his knees with happiness. The symbol stayed outside. The man took off on the horse of Knight Pierre. Knight Pierre said “Silly Animal”. Then the three of them walked to the symbol. They lifted it off the ground and took it with them to Bellendorm. King Roamer touched the symbol. He also cured on the spot. Then the five of them returned to Camelot. Then the pest and famine ended. This was the biggest adventure the Knights of the Round Table ever experienced.

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Hare and Tortoise - a short story.

(Family story - target audience age seven and up)
Once upon a time, there was a forest with around three hundred animals in it. They did not know any better than that they were called the Alcanoiles, after the mountains of their home forest, which was in the Mustervla regions.


This is the story of how the spiders tried to take over the forest's control of the Lions by spinning magical webs.
Until the very first spider emerged some four hundred years ago from a raindrop and set about making a beautiful web from the raindrop to the middle of a lake, the forest had been like any other forest. A nice, slightly enchanted collection of trees with leaves, surrounded by a stretch of sand leading to mountains of which the forest inhabitants believed they were a perfect ending to the world. They looked at the skies with silent trepidation except for nights because then the skies volunteered them what the sea offers to human beings in summer. The wind and the leaves were laboring together to provide a thing that you and I might know as humid air, but that the Alcanoiles knew better about.
They called the air around them Humdrum. To the animals Humdrum set the tone and created the feeling in the free air against which every animal could make an exact pitch of sound, wing flapping, hoof pacing or step knowing that where they would land next would be another enchanted, and therefore, safe spot. All animals believed that Humdrum must go on forever if they were to live long and happy lives. Humdrum was simply the most important thing to be aware of, here, now and all the time, they told each other. Until the arrival of the very first spider in Alcanoiles, Humdrum really was nothing beside the sound of the wind and the leaves. Perhaps in ages longer ago, the forest had been alive amid a different noise, but no one was quite sure what the animals before them had been pitching their endeavors against. At any rate, the sound of the spider that arrived first and that had managed to make it alive for over eleven days and nights all on her own, was seen to be the novelty of the century by all animals, even though none of them knew what a century actually was. Rather than the constant ruuussshhhs swuuusch of the wind and the leaves, the spider's enchantment sounded more diverse and melodic. Although I know better than to try to capture sounds into words, the spider's sound leant itself to words surprisingly easily. Had you and I had animal's ears, it would have been something like cling clang pong ping. This distinct sound was unheard in the forest. All animals found that the combined effort of the wind and leaves were useful for assuring safe passage of the simple things in life, but that the wind compared to the spider's clings very vaguely, almost as a disguise. No, the cling clang was the real Humdrum for this day and age, everyone believed, and the owls used to say that by tilting your head, you could find your way around even with your eyes closed. So it was decided the spider should not be eaten, in case the sound would disappear and leave the forest void of its effect.

twoIn the year that followed, the first spider had become the proud mother of five new spiderlets and together they had started to attune the forest as if they had nothing better to do. Soon they realised that besides singing the entire day, from time to time, they'd have to create different, less clingy webs, to catch a fly. These webs were not meant to produce sounds because the other animals would find it difficult to think they were safe amid the screams of dying flies. So the spiders always made sure the webs for giving the forest its atmosphere would be made of the best quality silk, almost of metallic threads. They lasted longer and would be making the most pertinent noise. "A metallic thread leaves them clear in the head," mother spider told her young ones. Until the arrival of the first spider and probably until her little ones had grown up, Alcanoiles beasts and animals had been mostly very nice to each other, apart from the ones that ate other animals of course and only bees, horseflies and musquitos were hated by the Alcanoiles because they were known to administer other animals unknown quantities of stings for no reason whatsoever. Of course a tiger was not exactly friends with a sheep and neither was a sheep kind to the leaves on trees or grass for that matter. Smaller animals would generally ignore big animals, even if they were not eaten by them. Lions ruled the forest and their rule was mostly believed to be fair and unobtrusive. No one ever questioned it, Lions were not hated by anyone. A few animals really loved the lions, but only those that had enough time to themselves not doing jobs for the lions. Among them were the tigers, the elephants, some bears and most all the giraffes. Like in any other reasonable forest, if something big happened, it would be the owls that'd go round the forest to bring other animals the tiding. They had a very official way of doing this and ended each time with 'so I hear the land lies'. This meant that they could never be exactly sure, but that most of what they had been reporting would be true, or, they thought that way it would be understood. Trees grew and so long as new leaves kept appearing once a year and made Humdrum sound roughly the same as the year hence, every animal knew he was not anywhere he should not be. Their mothers and fathers had told them, as they themselves had been told by their own parents, never to set foot where they could see plain sky. "Keep close to the trees and gras and when the light is so strong that you will have to blink your eyes more than five times, you're in danger of making the great fall that no one returns from," every animal was told as soon as they could walk. The story of the Hare and the Tortoise was told as a warning so often that it was every animal's nightmare, except Durry the eagle's. His sole ambition in life it was to make a symphony in Humdrumese because he believed the language contained direct links to forest outer space. Durry had not done anything in his life but playing until the day that he thought he was no longer just playing. They had not been great games. Throwing sticks, making waterways in mud puddles, forcing slugs to race each other by threatening to confiscate their houses and finding out how many prayers he'd have to say before he'd catch and eat a rabbit again after letting it go, not much else. Durry never had, he just was and this was just about as much as he thought he was. In this, he was no different from most animals in the forest. Durry thought he had good reason to become fluent in Humdrumese. Why is it, he had asked his mother many times, that every time the light forces me to blink my eyes more then three times, I seem to see the mountains take as many steps back and make way for more grass? Each time he asked this question, he actually had meant to ask ‘Why is it that each time I blink my eyes more than three times, I can't remember what I actually meant to ask’? Durry did not know many things, but he had asked so many questions that had been driven by his longing for the sandy space outside the forest, or forest outer space, that by now he had begun to think that outer space might not be there. "I really must probe mother some more, I am sure she's in the know," he said to himself. It had been the effect, every time he asked his mother the Big question, or, as he chuckled to himself, every time 'he did the eye blinking thing', that made him doubt more and more that Humdrum really ceased after the last tree in the forest, like the spiders made them think. But each time, she had thrown an instant fit so powerful it made him believe she also thought that in reality no boundary ever existed and she was forced by some jerk to shut up about it. The fits had been so brief however, that afterwards, he doubted he'd really heard what he'd heard. After the trembling, shivering and gasps for breath had worn out, and she would have rearranged her feathers Durry's mother begged her son never but then never to act on his life ambition, not even to speak of it ever again. He had trouble thinking what his mother had said when she threw one such fit, so frightened he had been when they happened. Only after the third occasion had he mustered up enough experience to actually rembember some of the words. They'd been in rhyme. He recalled this one line clearly. "It will flex us all perplex," she had screamed. The mother eagle had thrown this line only just about from under the top leaves of one of the tallest trees, for Durry, a wicked little eagle he was, had picked this spot to practise his theory of forest outer life on her. Durry inspected it carefully and thought it was pretty cool stuff. That evening, Durry's father, grandfather, grandmother and around six of his ten aunts and uncles were called in to make sure Durry once more would be brought to understand that their and therefore his forest stretched as far as only the strongest bird could fly and return. Nice troop reinforcements, Durry thought. "That is it boy, and no further nonsense, you're upsetting us all", he was told. "Show some respect". And though he thought it uncanny he agreed to listen to everyone's vivid descriptions of their own personal farthest tree, although he wondered why it really was so necessary if he needed to be convinced that the edge of the forest was really too far for him to see for himself the so awful grey stone. Every story ended with 'had I gone any further, I would not have been sitting here today'. "Too bad", Durry thought in most cases, although he took care not to rhyme the unspoken replies in case they would hem them all in.
Three
Durry, despite the many warnings he had heard the night before, decided now was the time to be totally reckless. No one would be suspecting him immediately of more boundary exploration activity so soon after a rebuke.
So, as soon as the next day came around, Durry woke up early. He fluttered around somewhat around the tree he usually slept in and waited for hhis sister to wake up. She was up early too, because she was an early bird. Durry fluttered around some more and then casually threw one rhyme to his sister.
"O dear harpsicord, why don't you plonk your ass over here and have a beer," he tried. The effect of that totally innocent pun was explosive; his sister, it appeared, was flung into the air, with a force other than her own frail wings. She shot up in a matter of split seconds, higher than the tree they had been sat in. The spider webs that were covering the leaves were ripped apart and Durry’s sister was virtually unconscious when she landed back.
In a sense, that was lucky, because Durry did not immediately know what to do and his next line "I believe you're growing a beard", was almost equally disastrous. His sister had begun to shout loudly and she shot off in the air again. This time below the foliage of the tree and she got stuck in spiders’ webs, once again nearly unconscious.
Durry found himself unable to shake off the rhyme and in his head was making up scores more. ‘I am not chosey but don’t want you to appear’ was one he remembered afterwards. The other rhymes escaped his mind soon after he thought them up. Nevertheless he thought he was doing real magic stuff.
"Jeez, if just some nonsense yields this effects, what will happen if I get to the real thing," he said to himself, wondering what it would be like. He was convinced though that the real thing would land him in forest outer space. Perhaps the world outside the mountains would open up finally if he had an idea about the right words. But for now, his sister was still stuck in the tree top covered with spiders’ webs. The general Humdrum cling clangs were quite unbalanced, but since Durry had been thinking very hard about rhymes, he had not noticed any earlier than now. It was most important to first get his sister down at this moment. Durry began to try to reverse the wheel he'd set in motion by thinking up a few simple rhymes. But even "A pun is fun" would not help out. "My feathers have turned into a sticky mess. Perhaps I will never be able to fly again, dumb sod, Mom is going to kill you," his sister complained. She had regained all consciousness that was for sure.
Durry realised that it was very important that he got his sister free as soon as possible because otherwise he’d be in some real trouble, despite his newfound sorcerer’s status. His sister opened her mouth again to start screaming again, but then they both saw something neither of them had seen before; his sister’s reflection was very vivid and sharp in the spider webs. The webs that spiders created were invisible, yet the light behind them shone through, and Durry’s sister was reflected near perfectly.
The spiders always made sure that whenever a web got tangled up too much or gathered dust, they’d quickly eat them and spin neat lines again because they did not want the other animals to see the webs. It was the secret to the enchantment.
You and I know there are clowds above the trees, but Durry and his sister didnt know this. When they saw Durry’s sister’s reflection (only she was close enough to the sticky web to be reflected) they were spooked out of their wits. Durry did the first thing that came to his mind. "O for crying out loud, do not shout!, he screamed, fearing another shouting sister would be impossible for him to cope with. And to his relief, not only was his sister completely dumbfounded, she instantaneously was disentangled and fell down the branch like a stone. Twenty yards below, she finally regained her wing capacity and flew to the nearest branch. Durry was beside her immediately. ‘Woah”, he said. He didn’t know what else to say. He was frightened what his sister’s next actions were going to be. But Durry’s sister was pretty cool for once. That was because she’d seen herself for the very first time. So she said ‘not bad, you made my day, bro’. And flew off. Durry was happy as a bee in a bonnet. Not because he had made hhis sister’s day, of course, but because ONE she wasn’t going to land him in trouble and TWO because she would understand his idea of the outer forest, he was sure of it. A very unlikely candidate for believing in him, but as his father would say welcome to the world of sales; the oddest people surprise you from time to time. The world wouldn’t be the same without them.
"Right, that's that", he sighed, and flapping his wings back into place which was difficult because particles of the sticky web his sister had escaped from had landed on his feathers. Being a lazy sod, he gave up his real life, mechanical, effort and turned to magic once more to sort this problem. He hastened to say "I will be you until you stumble too." Durry didn’t even know where his sister was at that time, but it must have been quite okay, because he'd safely landed in another tree before he knew it.
Durry felt a sorcerer of mega proportions. He said to himself that he had two fool proof spells now, even though he only meant to try out one. OK, so to escape the effect of an unwanted rhyme, you’ll simply have to create an impression you know what you are doing and opt for the next rhyme that comes up in your head. And stick it in a context of a great undertaking.
You say one or two magic new words and the lines practically weave themselves,he told himself.
It is the recipe to see, he hummed happily jumping into what would be the third or fourth layer toward forest outer space, by his calculations. He wanted to go there to see if he could get by without blinking his eyes at all. When his sister had been up in the tree, he had realised that he’d manage to blink only twice, but that might have been because of her reflection. He wasn’t sure. Those bird uncles and aunts that had flown to the edges of the forest and had made it back, had told him that what came next were mountains so high and steep they were unable to fly over them or find a resting place somewhere half way. Spider webs don't stick there, and that was something, because in the Alcanoiles, spiders were known to produce most sticky fabric, the first spider having stuck its lines succesfully from one watery substance to another. But Durry, by shouting that he’d be trading placeswith his sister, had unwittingly created an explosive situation for himself, his sister and the entire forest actually.
Durry felt jubilant because he was convinced that he could say a few good rhymes that would easily land him in outer space that would still be safe. It would only be a matter of finding the right words for outer space, he said. “Was it only last night that I asked my aunties and uncles whether they really thought that our forest ends when the stupid, silent mountains rise up?," Durry asked himself. He had asked his aunts and uncles whether they really believed all animals were simply trapped in a place with nowhere to go outside its boundaries because there's no Humdrum for that territory. Durry had even asked one raven uncle who had returned and told others about the grey blue mountains of which the tops were obscured by clouds. "It was the impression that I got," the raven said when Durry asked him thhe question. Durry had thought the raven was sad, although he did not show it. That afternoon, Durry did the thing that mixed up all the time frames in this story. He began to frolick around in rhymes with reckless abandon without realising that his sister was doing exactly the same thing!
Lifting his wings and flapping them about heavily, he set out rhyming.
Instantly, the low forest buzz turn into a more rhythmic sound. Real Magic way. The next thing that manifested itself was a bird dropping something in a spot that Durry saw turn magic just ahead of the dung's landing on the forest's moss carpet.
"Wherever there is motion as a result of my rhymes, the world has already become enchanted before the other animals move," he thought. “I am doing it for them!” But again, he was not sure he was not imagining things. He was not even sure it was him that was doing it. Then Durry, because of his confusion and his recklessness, did the thing that did all spiders in for at least the next four millennia and which made Humdrum the language of the dead. He had run out of ideas for rhymes and began to recite poetry he had learnt when in the third grade and created a short circuit because his sister was reciting those exact lines at one, brief but o so fatal moment.
What happened is that his sister and he landed on the same spot and the web lines lost their elasticity and snapped.
Durry had just tried to repair the damage when his line about the egg and the chicken sounded simultaneously with the one about the hare and the tortoise. In an instant, the entire forest started to tremble right until the edges and it did not stop there; the sand where no one had trod, started to ripple too. Clouds of dust were soon obscuring the sky. The birds were very confused about their bandwidth as they alluded to their skies that day.
But guess whhat: The moving lines reached the mountains, yes the mountains! The grey rock however bounced off echoes that resounded through the frail spider webs for days in a row. Poor Durry had set off one motion too much for the spiders. By the time the tremblings had stopped, all spiders had been eaten. Or so every animal in the forest believed. In reality, the spiders had quickly hidden in underground networks that they had taken over from the moles. The moles, being blind had given the very first spider the idea to take over control of the forest. The day that Durry’s little accident happened, the very last mole died. It was a mass murder of mega proportions that went by totally unnoticed. The spiders, for years had been blocking the system by simply spinning thick webs over all entrances and exits of mole holes. The moles were not able to see the thick spider webs because they were blind. Spiders knew that the same principle would work outside too. “So long as we keep the lines neatly separated, the other animals won’t see our webs. They will be magic and we’ll produce magical sounds along the strings’, the spiders decided.
At first, when Durry’s accident happened, everybody had thought the world was at an end because the day had turned into a night. Durry did not say a word, because he thought, his sister might have said he had been behind this hocus pocus that had turned the forest upside down. But luckily that was not the case. All animals were busy trying to find their nests and families without the aid of Humdrum and the hype prevented that anyone should think of him. Each animal shouted in their own voice -the sheep bleated, the horses hinniked, the cows moaned, dogs were barking and wolves howling. Soon the constant zooming of leaves in the wind and the spider plongs were forgotten. Durry, for the rest of his living days had nightmares of mountains falling on him almost every week. He never spoke a rhymed word again in his life, even though he could have easily done so, because rhymes had lost their power, since all spider webs were no longer being maintained by an active spider population. The animals were a bit surprised to find that the forest had become so spaceous since the departure of HUMDRUM, but they soon stopped wondering about why this was and lived their happy lives listening to the wind and the leaves again for safe guidance.
Four
It would take years, no, what am I saying, decades, o no, millennia or maybe centuries further into the forest, for one wise owl, he said his name was probably Dougal, or that that was how he heard the land had been lying at the time of his birth, to accidentally come across Humdrum again. It went something like this. Dougal, let's just skip this nonsense about how the land is lying, we can by now safely assume it is his name, had the task of bringing news to the spiders of the forest. He was a bit stretched, to tell you the truth, because since one spider had given birth to a group of umpteen replicas of herself, soon after the Durry incident, the number of spiders in the forest had been rising rapidly. They spun invisible webs both in the molehills and in the forest, but none of them had started to creating humdrum again because they wanted the other animals in the forest to think that they had all been eaten, in case anyone found out what they’d been doing to the moles. So they went about their business quietly.
So when Dougal the owl came across a spider in front of a sparrow’s house, one afternoon, he was not really sure what kind of creature he had the pleasure of meeting. What was more, the creature wasn’t altogether all that nice. The spider stood on a ridge of a tree branch when the owl flew past him. It challenged Dougal. "Say, Dougal the owl", the spider snarled, "the Sparrow bird ain’t in, but I bet you your news is what a horse tail told me yesterday. Now if you come again be sure to bring real news or otherwise skip by this abode.”
Dougal wasn’t exactly easily impressed but this was knocking him off his socks, for sure. Never in his life had he been so taken aback. Owls were considered wise creatures and hardly anyone would ever try to compete with them. But the spider had no qualms about it at all. He noticed Dougal’s defeat and was encouraged to go on some more. “I tell you, horse tails have it that the hare's no longer a hare and the tortoise is no longer a tortoise in a day or two. Now beat me to that one’, he said.
Dougal the owl smiled by clacking his beak twice, as he always did to spiders, and said "Oh my, a new wise ass in the neigbourhood. Where’s your nose, so you can put on my glasses?”, he said, taking them off. And then, putting them back on again he said; o you have none- well I guess the deal’s off then. We’ll see in two days who’s the better party. Ciou.Dougal would never be impolite because he generally was too wise to be rude. But there also was another reason why he held back. This was because his mother had raised him to always be good to eight legged creatures, because, she said, 'you never know what'll wind up next'. He did not know what that meant and had never had time to look it up, but he knew that his mother was right. He was not sure why this was, because he found his head filled with all sorts of words he’d not looked up ever yet. Our friend Dougal, without knowing it, was close to reinventing HUMDRUM once again.
Alas, he only realised this when it was too late, after he had in vain tried to remember what the spider had been on about at the end of the day, and found that he could not recall the exact words but instead had heard a sound he'd never heard until then. It could have been both the clinging sound of a spider on his web, but somehow he thought it was too loud for that. It was more like his big sister's harpsicord. Like Durry, Dougal also had a sister who played the harpsicord. The events that followed were to be the news the owl would be shouting round the forest that next day normally. But they were not. Because the events that unrolled became the forest's revolution of the century which needed no broadcasting via invisible webs, because every animal of the forest gathered there to witness for themselves. At this point, the spider webs had become defunct mostly. In many areas in the forest, thick throngs of spiders webs were beginning to clutter up. The spiders realised that if they ever wanted to really take control of the forest, now was a decisive point.
They’d have to be moving quick to restore their magical webs once again, they decided. So that is why the rowdy spider installed himself in front of the Sparrow’s door. Knowing that the Sparrow would not be home he could easily intercept the Owl on his news round. This is how the spiders this time around made sure they convinced everyone in the forest of their magic. They conducted a stunt that every animal witnessed for themselves.
It involved a tortoise that had become trapped in old spider webs so thick he could not wrestle free. The ordeal was taking place at the edge of the forest, the spider told the Owl. It was a very precarious matter because the only way out for the tortoise would be to step into the sand dunes that separated the forest from the mountains. And there were no trees there.
The spider’s trick to get everybody to the spot was to tell a lie. He said that a hare was going to race the tortoise to the mountains. Dougal the owl, rather than checking out for himself whether this was true, simply told everybody the news.
And that is how the entire forest population gathered at the edge of the forest within no time. What they found there was only the trapped tortoise. The hare was not there. But everybody that arrived at the spot believed that the hare already had set off.
The tortoise, aghast at the spider’s lies, tried to tell the animals that no race was on but that he simply had become trapped in some sticky stuff. Having been stuck for long however, the shelled creature soon was totally out of energy. It could barely lift his head and unwittingly proclaimed a magic spell. "Why should I trod where you plot!!???," he sighed exhaustedly, before resting his head on the brim of his shield again.
These might have been the words to an ancient rhyme invented by the first Alcanoiles spiders. Instantly, sand started to sprout up around the tortoise, pushing up his shell and lifting his legs. You see, up till then, the tortoise, about the slowest animal of the forest, had never set foot outside the tracks of any of the other forest animals. But this time, no one ever had been where the tortoise set foot after his ‘swan song’. Not only did the tortoise set step outside other animals' footprints, but he landed totally effortlessly into the vast stretches of sand of outer forest space where he'd have to blink his eyes at least until the death. And so, as the other animals looked on in horror, the tortoise carefully trod deadman's land. The onlookers were not sure they understood it, but what they saw was to them at once strange yet familiar, although no one could tell exactly why. On the one hand, they were all utterly bewildered at the sea of light that surrounded the tortoise, yet they saw him disappear. Eaten by flashes.
No one spoke, but all knew the air around them carried the message – don’t go there. An age old spel was either being cast or broken right before their eyes. In the meantime, the tortoise was just pacing himself and making sure he did not forget which foot to set next in the strangely moving sands. To him, whatever he was doing, wherever he was going, was the most natural thing to do. He turned around and said : hey guys, this trodding and plodding is pretty besotting.
The animals were spooked out of their wits, hearing the voice of a deceased. Some wanted to follow the tortoise. “If the afterlife is so much fun, I want to go as well”, one young crow said. But his father pecked him in the eyes. Just in case the little sod has plans, he said. Can’t you see the spiders are messing with us?
One hare did it, however. He had not been able to find his brother and was convinced that he had raced the tortoise. Thinking that life had become meaningless to him, the hare, making sure no one noticed, zoomed into the sand, after the tortoise. "Quicksand", he thought the next split second. After that, we don’t know what happened to him. The spiders never even noticed him, and his brother – was found later, also trapped in some old, defunct very sticky spider webs not far from the edge of the forest.
The tortoise was going very fast because the spiders were throwing up sand from the underground tunnels under every step he took. They had prepared the track for ages and everything worked according to their plan. The tortoise had a the sensation that he was flying. Never in his life had he gone along at such dizzying speed. “Can that be?", the tortoise wondered excitedly. "Am I a hare?," he shouted to the animals that were still in the forest. But they misheard him. They thought he shouted "Am I there". They all became very sad and hung their heads. The tortoise traversed the sands to the mountains in five minutes sharp. It was a world record.
The tortoise thought that he'd slowed down, because the flying sensation in his muscles had gone, but as a matter of fact, the sand had begun to rise even before he set his foot because the spiders in all this chaos could not keep track with his enthusiast rhythm. This he regretted and, having been what to him had felt like flying, he wanted to do it again. Straight away!
Perhaps he had not looked back but he also had certainly not looked in front of him, so he stupidly did not see he had actually finished crossing the plains and was setting out to climb the mountain. "Let's just widen the space of my footsteps again”, he said. “What do I do? O yes," and he remembered. But the creature in his effort to 'fly' again would have either crashed straight into the mountain or rather have dropped off the cliffs -and this is the scary part of this story- because the tortoise really decided to hurry some more, not realising that what he actually was experiencing were the steps of a hare pacing himself whilst decending down a winding mountain path at the end of a long hike up a mountain... And where were the spiders?


All in his head...