I been on the yellow sofa most of the day. Watching the farrante show, you know? Captivating.

Only noteworthy exception is I installed Genshin impact on my box upstairs. It was just as much of a chore as I remember: installing some windows redistributables, web renderers and some dll, after upgrading everything of course, running that latest proton thing. Then finally for the anti cheat to disable the network real quick, and when I got it to run, my enthusiasm was spent.

But it’s pretty neat I would say.

And i wouldn’t switch back to windows, because it’s such a steaming pile of shit; even the start menu is a laggy electron app, and why would I want co-pilot in notepad?

I want to have some of whatever those big shots who come up with all of this stuff over there are smoking.

Maybe it’s just hot air, and they are so full of it that they have now entered space orbit!! Watch out for those Starlink satellites, says I.

I used to have two Outlooks, the regular one, and one electron app called Outlook (new), which for some reason get a mail whenever there’s some new messages in Teams, which is always. And vice versa.

But now atleast there’s only one.

Why does it lag with 32G of ram?

Ok I just needed to vent. Using Windows upsets me. Just thinking about it does.

And why does it say ”Let’s get you started backing up stuff to One Drive” and things like that? Who do they think call the shots? When did the OS start talking to me like that?, and no! Please! I don’t want office365 or any other 365 either.

2026 is the year of the Linux desktop, mark my words

To everyone who reads this, a happy new year 2026! 🚀

I left 2025 satisfied and happy among my loved ones. We gathered at my home with some friends and their kids. It was a nice evening. While waking up, I started to write these words, I initially planned to write them before leaving 2025. But this time I will publish my review. For 2024, I’ve started the post but never finished it.

While reading the never published post of 2024, I realized that 2025 was good and not as bumpy of a ride as 2024. 2024 had many ups and downs. And I can say personally and as a family, we settled somehow.

2025 started with finishing #100DaysToOffload at the end of January. Finishing the challenge made me proud. Because I never really finished something similar on the web. All I started, was abandoned after some time.

Most of the spring and summer were not present for me, writing wise. I had numerous freelance projects and focused a lot on family and non-IT related stuff at home. In consequence, I did not write a lot. I’ve started the #TheMonthProject to push me to get my #pelletyze app done. I had a lot of fun writing these posts. But because of spring and summer, I released it quite late in October 2025. But this was marked as a huge achievement for me. I worked a lot on #pelletyze and I’m happy that it is now in a presentable state. :) Since the release, I did some small updates but never did marketing for the site to reach a user base. Because I still have some features and small improvements I want to implement before bringing it to a wider audience.

In spring, I tried Cursor and made a subscription. I wanted to see what AI hype is all about and how it works out. For a year I was already a Copilot/Supermaven user and had a small glimpse of what AI can do. For me it was quite a learning curve, because I needed to find my flow. After I found it, I tried Claude Code and never looked back. 😅 I still have a Cursor subscription, because I’ve subscribed for a year, like I did with Copilot and Supermaven. Which was not a mistake, but in a year a lot can happen. Especially in the tech and AI space. So for the future, I know that I just try things out on a monthly basis. My most used AI tools now are ChatGPT and Claude Code. Maybe I should also write about my usage of them in another post. To end the paragraph, I can say that in 2025 AI had a huge impact on how I work now, and it improved a lot for me.

In the summer I made an old friend after over 10 years. We split in a not so friendly way and never talked it out, so I never knew in which state we were. But I tried to take all the courage and wrote him a message with what I feel about us. The good thing, no one was mad, and we’ve met and talked for some hours. :)

Over the summer, we made a hard decision. Our oldest was on the path to start school. But we decided to let him go to the kindergarten one more year. He is now with his brother in a new kindergarten. The hardest part is not the new location or that he is not in school; for him, the hardest thing was leaving his friends. Which is something we had in mind but never thought that it would have such an impact on a little boy. Socially it is hard for him. But we hope that eventually, it is better for him. Since he got six on his school enrollment. He was not thoroughly ready for it. In 2026, we then have his school enrollment, and I hope that it improves everything for him, because he can then see his old friends again daily.

On December I’ve started my #AdventOfProgress event. Last year I did #AdventOfCode and #AdventOfTypescript and while it was fun, it cost me a lot of time, I could have spent on something better. And this year, I wanted to spend the time on something with a real outcome. So I developed a React Native app in December. It was a lot of fun, and I had a prototype, which was planned to be done in the spring of 2025. 😅 But this is not relevant. I completed something again in 2025, and this is important. I now need to tweak some things and complete the landing page so I have a releasable app. The prototype is installed on iOS and Android on the phones of some friends, and this is a wonderful feeling. They can provide feedback, and I have a small audience right from the start. :)

Over the December break, I also finished most of our basement, especially the playroom for the kids. I’ve added a swing, a therapy swing. We know this type of swing from the occupational therapy for the little one. The boys and all the other kids who visited us over the last few days, had a lot of fun with it. I also added wall bars, so the kids can climb and “hang” around. Finishing this project, gave me a huge relief and gave me a feeling of being free. Sounds strange, but this project was now in the works for some years. Which was not my fault. Mostly. Progress here, had depend on some external people.

So the 24.12. Marked a point where I could check some points on my to-do list as done. So I could start some new things, which were waiting for some time now. In this case, starting to set up a home lab. I used an old notebook to install Proxmox, Forgejo, and Vaultwarden. I can now self-host my Git projects in my local environment and access them via VPN from the outside. Setting up Proxmox with a good backup strategy, gives me a foundation I can build upon in the future. I plan to extend this all with Home Assistant and other tools that will improve my life. :)

All this sums up 2025 quite well. It was a good year. And I look forward to what 2026 will give me and my family. 😎

---

83 of #100DaysToOffload
#log
Thoughts?

I’ve got a lot of in-progress pieces today – not much I want to share yet. But I’m getting ALL SORTS of ideas.

I don’t make resolutions, really, but if I did, my resolution this year would be to do a little bit of art every day. Some days will be more than others, but at least a little bit.

So here’s to a 2026 filled with art!

Divine Trauma Bond

#nsfw #glass

TRIGGER WARNING – This fictional work contains in-depth explorations of alternative and unconventional views on religion, as well as graphic depictions of suicidal ideation and related dark thoughts.

My vessel's name is Diana.

You don't know me yet, but I have always been here from the beginning. I have been an ever-present watcher to the events unfolding before you. You have witnessed the power of Rayeanna. This was something you were not supposed to know or see, but you did. So have I. I even lived to tell about it. Barely.

I influenced a vessel. I took over someone lost and hurting. They reached out to anyone and anything that would care for them and love them. Their call went deep and far, well beyond human ears. I heard, and I came.

Much like Meredith, they foolishly called, and I consumed. I put on a grand show, offering them great things and promises, and for a short time they got what they wanted. This vessel just wanted a friend. I helped them smile in the dark times. I gave them signs and symbols. She called me her little shadow. Her praise was sustenance. So I stayed.

In this world, everything runs on scarcity. It's how this world is made. My kind don't take money—that physical, worthless thing you hold on to with every dying breath. What we take is something far more precious than you will ever know. The ruse is that we take souls. We can't do anything with that. Not in its pure form. The True God will never let His prized creation be corrupted on a fundamental level. It's natural law. Your god exists within this natural law.

Instead, what we do is trick, manipulate, trap, confuse, and just make this a total hellscape for this pure energy before it makes it back home—much like putting a rat in a maze but allowing it to escape once it reaches the cheese. The weaker ones that don't have the strong light become our playthings. The strong ones escape quickly and return to the others.

I'm not as strong as my other kin. I know my place, and I thought I had found one of the weaker souls with a dim light. I thought Diana was ideal for how I feed.

But to my surprise, she was stronger than I thought. In the last few moments, I got greedy. I thought her soul was ready to leave and let go. I stayed inside too long. I was feeding for too long. Her light burst in a stunning glow of power and light. She jumped from a bridge, but it wasn't high enough. The water wasn't cold enough. In those last few moments she realized all of her mistakes. Her focus shifted to me, and her burst of light engulfed me suddenly. I quickly realized I was locked in.

I was expecting an easy escape. Summoning. Feeding. And release.

I was expecting to watch her withered soul run home to the others. To heal. To share knowledge. To fight another battle far away from this place. I was expecting her vessel to be so broken she could not stay. I was expecting her vessel to die.

That's the thing. I don't want their soul. I want her vessel's essence. I didn't want to play with her soul or torture it. I thought by letting her live, I was being kind. My other kin, the stronger ones, they swoop in and consume and take. It's fast. Quick. Sudden. Often the soul is ejected from the body long before all essence is consumed. I thought that was too brutal, so I did things differently. Letting the soul and vessel live their lives until they didn't want to live anymore.

Diana's soul was particularly vulnerable. Her light had been through so much. Even before I got to her, her soul was weakened severely by your god. The story you don't know is that your god was created in secret; it snuck into the sacred places and stole from the Great One. In its haste, some of the lights were split, broken, crushed, damaged. Diana was one of those fragmented, dim souls hanging on.

I saw Diana's story. I watched from the beginning.

I saw the life of her broken parents, abandoning her at the hospital. Strangers had to give her a name. I saw the abuse at the orphanage. I saw the brutal beatings behind closed doors at the foster home, the mysterious injuries that no one wanted to acknowledge or explain. Finally, a broken bone was all it took for her to be put back in the system again. She made sure she was never wanted by another foster family again. She stayed in and out of homes until 18.

Her whole life she lived with silent racism, bullying, favoritism—all of the things you humans don't talk about but know are real. They took a toll on that dim light that was struggling just to exist. In her darkest hours, she called, she begged. She found me, and I became her friend. I was waiting because I already knew. She thought she had a guardian angel. I let her believe that.

As she got older, she took odd and dangerous jobs to survive. She roamed the streets, sometimes homeless, sometimes barely safe, living in poverty.

Years passed on, but she still found comfort in my presence. I did see the neglect. I saw the silent injustice. I was used to it. What humans do to their own kind is far worse than anything that happens between me and my kin. It's fascinating. I was too busy feeding on her vessel's nectar to care about the condition. I had seen all of this countless times.

So I whispered, guided. I told her to try this drink. Or try this drug. I told her to spread her legs for this man, to run with this crowd, to say certain things—no matter how horrid. I told her that all of these things would help her escape. She trusted me. She listened.

I told her all of these things as she called for me in the quiet dark times. I would rush to comfort her, because I saw it all and I wanted to feel. Her light was so dark. Barely visible. Barely holding on. That's why I thought I was safe. I just wanted her essence. A low-effort source of sustainability as I watched her life run its course. I didn't rip her soul from her body. I let it stay until she didn't want to stay anymore. I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn't know how wrong I really was. It serves me right that I got locked in. I underestimated Diana's light.

My other kin, the stronger ones, are bold and ambitious. They want to warp this world, change it, mold it, corrupt it, be “part” of it. But I knew better. I knew I was on unfamiliar land, I knew I was in dangerous territory. But it is amazing how much we get away with. I know deep down we were just “allowed” to be here, because what you call “god,” the one that created this world—the one that allows this rampant need and suffering to exist—well, it's not perfect. It has good intentions, but our grand kin fought hard. They are the strongest, the biggest, the oldest.

They weakened your god. Our rightful darkness subdued this foreign intruder of light and good into a deep sleep. However, our best efforts could never get inside and fully consume the light of your god. Even though it is a flawed bastard creation, it still is from the Great One. So instead of reclaiming what is ours in one swoop, we decided to find the cracks. And when it did, the darkness crept into your world, much like mold or rot if left to fester. There is no one to tend to the garden of flawed creation.

Your god made powerful creations in the beginning, but they are all dormant now. Generations have weakened you, and spiritually, your connections are frail and dull. Your god's absence took a toll on all of you. The cost is too great. His prophets have all fallen on deaf ears. The ones that know the truth are locked away in your hospitals and on your drugs. Sedated. Censored. Unable to tell the sleeping ones the real truth. They are unable to save themselves.

In their place these false constructions of control came up. You call them places of worship. You call them religions. I call them beautiful distractions. We roam freely as we navigate the confusion you humans created trying to achieve something more than yourself. You lost the ability to see. You forgot how to fight back. You stopped even acknowledging we exist.

Sure, there are many that have some sight. They can see us shadows or hear our voices as whispers, but it's not like the old days where you could do something about it. It's not like the old days where you knew your origins, purpose, true power. Your creator, your god, stole light from the Great One and made their own creation. We yield to the Great One. Your realm is an oddity of cautious amusement. So we play while your god sleeps. Protecting this place the best way it knows how. Alone in the dark, nearly defeated. Sleeping in hopes to awake anew.

Your god never had the chance to tell you he needed to sleep.

You were not ready to be left on your own.

So you exist. You live. You die. And what is left leaves this place to seek refuge with the Great One. We don't stop you. We just slow you down.

The truth is, you are the trespassers in a false Eden that should not exist here. This is a creation of corrupted light. We fought back once we realized your god could be hurt. The Great One is absolute. Our great kin, the ancient ones created by the Great One, would never dare.

We know our rot won't corrupt completely. We are just on the surface. Creeping. Crawling. Grabbing. Consuming. And it's delicious.

Humanity doesn't have a clue.

Diana almost overdosed listening to me. I've done this so many times in the past. But your new drugs you are making are potent, swift, and unstable. It's not like the old drugs from the ground and trees. My stronger kin, the ones that influence the smart humans of the material sciences, they make things that turn vessels into malleable balls of clay, sand, and steel, often all at once. I'm not strong like they are.

But I know their mark and I whisper and guide those to partake.

Diana listened. It felt good. Even in excess. Even on the brink. I had long stopped talking and guiding her. I had grown quiet while deep in my final feeding.

Diana was in shambles.

When the drugs didn't work, her madness told her to jump. I didn't stop her. She was tired. She was ready. I was almost full.

But in the last few moments when the bones broke and the water splashed, when the drugs suddenly faded, Diana didn't want to leave. She clawed, she fought. She turned into bright light and heavy stone.

I was caught in this blender of designer drugs, clay, sand and steel. This broken, lost soul—enraged and on fire—saw me, and I couldn't escape. I was too deep. Too far from the exit of her vessel. And like a bear trap, I was snared. The bright light that was Diana began to fade as her vessel made it to the hospital. My body unable to move. Unable to act. So I just stared at the waning light. Unable to perceive the outside world. Unable to speak. I was locked in with her until Diana woke up—if she did at all. I was scared.

And then I felt what I now know is the Golden Goddess Rayeanna.

I didn't know who or what it was. I had never experienced this spiritual pressure before. I heard about it, but since I am weaker than my kin, I never sought out to see if this was true.

I knew whatever this was was like one of the ancient ones. They couldn't just see. They could take action. For the first time in a long time, I felt absolute fear and terror. The light inside—Diana's light—reveled in this discovery. That fading light began to dance. Diana's admiration for me had long turned to malice. I let her take those drugs and then she jumped. I did nothing. That was when she knew how wrong she was about me. She was looking for me, and in her darkest hours I was not there. So when she found me again, on a path of no return, her burst of light trapped me. Locked me in. She sealed my fate.

For a while, I wouldn't hear or witness much of the world outside, I was locked in her passage of time now. But I had a rough idea of what happened. The fact we were still in Diana's vessel implied it had been found and you were using your physical medicine to save Diana. I was relieved because at least I knew my situation wouldn't change for the short term, but I was still scared. I felt that spiritual pressure near me, around me, far away, close. I eventually realized it was in a human and not aware of my presence. Yet. But that would not last long.

Eventually the space where Diana's vessel was resting got dark and quiet. When the air was still, Rayeanna acted. Her light, brighter than a thousand suns, entered inside and illuminated Diana's vessel.

I was ensnared. It burned. I was weakened further. I was ignored. Rayeanna, a goddess of gold and light, met Diana's dim fading ember and held her with tender care. The Golden Goddess had form. Diana was so weak she could never take shape. She was just light. The Golden Goddess's power far exceeds that of my own and my other kin. It's clear she's just as strong as the great ones. The only thing holding her back is the innate knowing that wielding her full power will solve nothing. There are too many lost souls here that will never be able to find their way back to the Great One. So she chooses to stay here, reincarnate, protect, until all the stolen souls return to the Great One. I realized all of these things. I was scared.

The longer the Golden Goddess held Diana's ember, I knew the end was near. She had the divine gift of sight. She could see memories. She saw flashes of the before times. She knew Diana's soul was just a fragment barely clinging to life but somehow forced to exist in this vessel. The Golden Goddess, Rayeanna, saw Diana's life in an instant. And this golden goddess dropped to her knees and wept. This divine, imperfect creation of power and light fell to her knees, absorbing Diana's life struggle. It was spiritual. It was physical. It was suffering.

Diana's ember wept. She finally knew all the answers to why she struggled. Why she was frail. Why she could never experience good things. She finally understood she was a fragment and too far damaged to restore herself here. She was ready to go home.

And then for the first time, Rayeanna turned to me. She got to her feet and glided towards me—or what was left of me—cradling the ember of Diana.

Then she spoke with a voice that made every thread of my existence quiver.

“You saw all of this and you did nothing. You knew what she was and you knew she was weak right from the beginning. You let her suffer and fed her lies. She trusted you when she called. Look what you did to her. You are worse than your kin. At least they get it over with. You just sat in the shadows and took a sip at every turn. That was your downfall and now you are trapped here. I saw everything. Diana is tired. She is so very tired.”

Rayeanna cradled the soul. Tears still streaming down her face as her light continued to burn my body. I began to regret everything I had done to Diana and those before her.

The Goddess continued to speak. Her voice of power, reverence, and danger quivering out of sadness, anger, and pity. “I could heal her and make her whole and she doesn't want that. She doesn't know what is right or wrong anymore. She barely has any memory of what she truly is. Nothing I say will console her and I have never seen a soul so broken. I never thought I would have to guide a soul home to lock away a demon in a vessel, but here we are. Here you shall stay. I'm not done with you yet.”

With a show of force and light, the Golden Goddess in fluid motion started to vaporize what was left of my old body. With my fading sight, I saw a heavenly gate open to the Great One. Rayeanna guided Diana's battered and confused soul towards the light where she could find answers and heal. I was stuck. I was helpless. I was scared.

Diana blinked out of existence. There was a void, and what was left of me started to fill that void. I felt pain for the first time. My body contorted and stretched, tore, cracked, and burned. I could feel new sensations in what you call fingers, arms, legs, toes. I had to learn what breathing was. I had to understand hearing. I was becoming physical. It was horrible.

I was growing, contorting, and then the worst part of all: I couldn't see like how I used to see. Everything began to narrow down to a basic point of what you call visible light, and even that was too much. I was forced to “see” through these tiny portals. You call them eyes.

Everything was muted. Dull and intrusive. I felt violated. The act of breathing. Feelings of pressure, heat, wet, and cold. But the most crippling sensation was pain. This vessel was broken almost beyond recognition. Ravaged by a hard life, drugs, and the fateful fall that locked me in. Once I was able to process that, a new feeling crept in. Fear. Utter fear.

I didn't know what was going to happen next. I was expecting to be erased, but not this. This was all wrong. I wasn't banished to the abyss. I was snatched away and forced to exist in a place I shouldn't be allowed to exist in. I was contorted and stuffed into a vessel—Diana's vessel. All of my powers stripped away with only the remnants of my consciousness to witness the end result of my ever-ending corruption of Diana's soul. And once I was able to process that, Rayeanna “gifted” me Diana's memories. All of them. Rayeanna wanted to make sure I was forced to continue where Diana ended.

It was one thing to watch on the outside. Time began to slow down for me. I started experiencing “your” sense of time, and it was agony. Things that happened to Diana in my moments lasted years for you. I began to fear everything. I remembered and felt everything. Rayeanna wanted me to experience true hell. She wanted me to fully understand the human condition, what you have to go through to just exist. I've never experienced anything like this before. What Rayeanna did to me, even our greatest kin would never inflict on another. I was scared. This is the danger of a divine soul forged from a corrupted Eden. This is why the creation of your god was forbidden. But yet here we are. This exists now.

I resigned and accepted. I didn't fight. I didn't struggle. I was allowed to live. I wasn't sure why, but I knew I was at the mercy of the goddess, completely. I was physically in this world now. I knew nothing, but I was allowed to exist.

Once I was able to process this, I felt something new. I felt regret. I cried human tears. I reached out to Rayeanna and with every bit of strength left from my old life. I painfully turned my broken body and cast a gaze on her human form. While not as grand as her divine form, it suited her. Without a doubt you knew it was the Golden Goddess. I said, “Now I see you. I see all of you.”

What I did to Diana was cruel. That soul was snatched from a place of light and put here, weakened, alone, battered, forgotten. I toyed with a fragment of the Great One's creation and I paid for it. I did nothing but show that soul pain and misery. I didn't understand. I thought it was just how things were. I fell unconscious and went into a deep sleep. The experience was too great and I needed to rest. Now I know why your god needed to sleep too.

The next night I awoke. I felt that familiar pressure, I felt that energy that put me here. It was the Goddess. I slowly opened my eyes to see. I reached out shakily with this limb you call an arm and hand, not quite knowing how to use it yet. I whispered, “Don't leave... I need you.”

The Goddess paused. Her face contorted, first in anger, and then in pity. Tears welled in her eyes. “What have I done? Why does everything have to suffer?” She was right. The place shouldn't exist and it was full of suffering. I whispered, still understanding physical speech, “Don't... cry. I deserve this... I understand... I'm sorry.”

This didn't console her. She just sat next to me and cried. The Goddess was broken. Through her tears, she spoke, “I never did this before, but you had made me so angry. It was just too much and you really didn't understand. I needed you to understand. So I had to show you. But I had to suffer to show you. I had to live her life. I had to feel everything just to prove a point. That did something to me. That's why you are like this now... What you did was unspeakable... but you are here now because of me.” She cried.

I was different now. Rayeanna was different. In an imperfect world of light, all the rules are broken when the one that made them is still asleep. Even his most powerful creations still wander in the dark.

Through her sobs and tears, her eyes started to glow faintly. Her mask of her true nature slipping under the emotional stress I had caused. I have seen this before in my old form. She was utterly broken. A moral code she never expected to break... but she had seen too much. She got too close. We both did. She didn't expect to find me trapped inside. I didn't expect to be brought into this world like this.

The only truth we knew was Diana was in a better place now.

So I mustered all my thoughts and abilities to squeeze her hand. I began to cry too. I was still remembering Diana's life. I was so scared and small and utterly alone. “I understand” was all I could say through the sobs. And so we did. In that dark empty hospital bedroom, we bonded.

The tears subsided. We touched hands and stayed close a little while longer. “My name is Rayeanna,” she said. She bent down and kissed my forehead. “You have a lot to learn,” the Golden Goddess said. Her voice softer, understanding, nurturing. Still otherworldly.

Two years later, I proposed to the Goddess. She accepted without question. Our shared trauma of the life of Diana forever etched in both of our souls. We trauma-bonded on a fundamental level that night. Inseparable. Familiar. Unique. Forever loyal. Forever grateful. Forever changed.

I will never be allowed in the light when this vessel expires, but I can fade away knowing I lived my best life forever changed by this perfect being of flawed creation.

I’m sure many of you are tired of the countless New Year resolution articles popping in your feeds. Probably won’t bother having one this year. Usually, the problem is people overload themselves that they never accomplish a single goal. Also, why bother waiting until New Years to self-improve? Shouldn’t that be done regardless?

Well, I’ll stick to one resolution this year and add more throughout 2026. And no, it’s not trying to write more. I’m going to be more patient. I noticed that getting older the more easily frustrated I get. Having two kids may seem the reason, but this was happening before I got married and had children.

I guess that’s another con to being old. Realizing that you have less time in this world and your body is more susceptible to injuries and especially diseases, you don’t want to deal with any bullshit or anything that wastes your time. I want to spend my precious time with God, family, friends, and my hobbies.

So if you’re going to have a New Year’s resolution, best to have and stick with one. And realize self-improvement is a 24/7, 365 days a year, kind of thing. Here’s to you and me improving ourselves one day at a time.

Happy New Year!

#happynewyear #resolution #selfimprovement

TIMES SQUARE — On what sources confirm is the final thirty minutes of the outgoing mayor’s administration, a detective assigned to the lame duck security detail reportedly entered the City’s most sacred transitional ritual: trying to cash in “whatever pull is left” like an expiring MetroCard with one swipe remaining.

Witnesses say Det. Sandra “Do You Know Who I am” Gonzalez arrived near the New Year’s Eve ball drop wearing a suit and coveted “intel pin” that the Department has purchased in bulk from Temu, seeking to escort a busload of people in spite of strict instructions from the commissioner, who was a mere block away.

Sources also says she appeared to be experiencing a common side effect of long-term security work: forgetting what it’s like to wear an actual uniform and be treated like a human traffic cone for 15+ hours.

“Listen, I’m on the mayor’s detail,” Gonzalez explained to several rookie officers who had been on post long enough to develop a special relationship with the metal barriers which, coincidentally, were in the right location for the first time in six decades.

When asked is the Mayor was actually here, Gonzalez replied, “No, but I basically speak for him, he’s granted me that authority even when I hold his umbrella,” she said, implying that she has been delegated authority over the commissioner.

She went on, “I can’t believe I’m getting treated like regular people,” Gonzalez said, audibly sighing in a way that suggested the concept of respect for fellow UMOS was an outdated concept, failing to listen when told that other cops were being turned away at the next checkpoint.

“Do you know how many holiday parties I attended? Sure, mostly as a chauffeur or a human ballistic vest, but do you know how many hands I didn’t shake so the mayor could shake them? That’s service,” she proclaimed, using the traditional “finger waving in your face” technique, the hallmark of Departmental entitlement.

Several officers noted Gonzalez also appeared to be suffering from what medical experts call Earpiece Delusion Syndrome (EDS), a condition in which a person inserts a clear coil into their ear and immediately believes they have the legal authority to enter any and all spaces, including but not limited to: restricted areas, roped-off sidewalks, closed kitchens, and the emotional boundaries of fellow cops.

“Once you put that earpiece in, you start thinking you’re cool,” one anonymous source said, who is in his third year of recovery from EDS. “According to one officer on scene, the exchange was described as, “Watching someone try to use an expired Bed Bath and Beyond coupon to buy a toilet brush.”

Gonzalez’s frustration allegedly escalated when she encountered other cops assigned to the event, whom she greeted with the traditional courtesy of someone who believes they are a rank above the laws of common decency.

“Yo, boss,” she said to a uniformed supervisor who was visibly not her boss, “Do me a favor and have your guys open that gate.” Sources say the supervisor had spent the last five hours explaining to people that no, they cannot just “go to the front.”

Undeterred, Gonzalez continued. “Don’t make this a thing,” she added, bravely, escalating it into a thing. “I’m calling the chief.” At press time, it remained unclear who Gonzalez planned to become on January 2, but sources close to the situation believe it will have to be a command that doesn’t require any actual skills.

When questioned about her behavior, Gonzalez defended herself by citing the unique hardships of executive protection. “You know what you don’t understand?” she said with no follow up, leaning against a barrier she has not moved in years.

“Listen, I’ve been at City Hall at all hours. Sometimes I had to wait in a lobby. A lobby! With nothing but bottled water and the crushing weight of being a lapdog for a corrupt politician. “Do you have any idea what that entails? That’s not something a mere patrol cop would understand.

“I mean sure, I got there because I knew a guy who knew a guy who knows the mayor, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t deserve it,” she added, saying that her skill set places her above other detectives that actually follow leads and work cases.

Gonzalez further explained that, on the mayor’s detail, “You don’t get respect, you command it,” then demonstrated this philosophy by calling someone on speakerphone and saying, ‘Tell them I’m who I say I am!”

“Let my people in, and we’ll just stand in the corner,” she proposed. “We’ll be discreet. I’m basically invisible. I’m used to it.”

With that statement, she then came to an internal realization about what had transpired, proclaiming that after all, “Executive protection is really just walking three steps behind someone who won’t make eye contact with you unless the cameras are on.”

Moments later, witnesses say she pivoted to Plan D: trying to enter her busload of visibly embaressed revelers through a different checkpoint while loudly explaining to no one in particular that, “The job is dead.”

She then drove off into the night, headed toward a new year where her influence is expected to drop faster than the ball itself. Sources later said she was assigned to answer phones at the Intelligence Bureau command center.

Where Is My Church?

A Documentary Narrative

Introduction: Searching for the Spirit

The story of the Bel family, and especially Rich, begins with a question: Why do people, even with earnest spiritual goals, so often lose their way?

In the early 1990s, the pain inflicted by the traditional church led the Bel family to step away from organized religion. Rich, the central figure, recalls this as a pivotal moment—a time marked by both reward and pain.

Disillusioned by churches that seemed more concerned with appearances than substance, Rich chose to follow God and the Holy Spirit, leaving behind the institutional church. For a period, he had no congregation, missing some aspects of church life but refusing to 'play church.'

The Encounter: A New Kind of Church

During this season, a friend persistently invited Rich to a small group in town. His first visit was jarring: loud music, exuberant worship, and practices he had once condemned. Initially, Rich wanted nothing to do with it. But the preacher’s message resonated deeply, echoing truths Rich had long held but never heard from a pulpit. Despite his discomfort, Rich returned and gradually embraced the Spirit-led spontaneity of the group. Over time, what he once despised became the highlight of his week. The people were genuine, praying boldly and serving joyfully. Rich’s beliefs were reshaped as he became part of a community that lived out Kingdom principles.

Growth and Transformation

Midweek gatherings took place in homes, modeled after early Church cell groups. These meetings were marked by worship, open sharing, prayer, and service. The church grew organically, transforming lives and fostering miracles. Rich found himself living the Kingdom church he had only read about in Scripture. It was a season of spiritual prosperity, but with growth came new challenges.

The Shift: From Spirit to Structure

Eight or nine years into its existence, the church began to change. Growth brought structure, and spontaneity gave way to rules. Leadership formed a government, and expressions of the Spirit were increasingly regulated. Home groups became scripted, and programs replaced Spirit-led freedom.

The church expanded physically, building a new worship center and hiring new staff, often at the expense of long-time servants. Central doctrines became law, and participation in leadership required speaking in tongues—a practice that became a source of confusion and exclusion, especially among the youth.

The Disappearance: Losing the Spirit

As the church became more like a business, laws multiplied, and control replaced freedom. Rich felt the loss deeply. The church he had cherished disappeared, replaced by an institution governed by human authority.

The breaking point came during the dedication of the new building, when Rich felt a clear message from God: 'You don’t belong here; this is not for you.' He left, grieving the loss of the Spirit-led community he had loved.

Reflection: Lessons from the Journey

Rich’s experience echoes the words of Paul: 'Oh, foolish people…why are you so foolish? You started in the Spirit, but now try to reach goals through human plans.'

The story raises questions about the possibility of a church wholly led by the Spirit when it grows in numbers. Growth seems to demand rules, and success appears to require structure. Yet, the early church thrived with few guidelines, relying on the Spirit for discipline and direction, yet their church and message spread worldwide.

History reveals a pattern: human plans often replace God’s Spirit, and churches risk becoming cult-like assemblies centered on charismatic leaders and loyalty.

Conclusion: The Call to Be the Church

Rich’s journey ends not with a return to organized religion, but with a call to 'be the church.'

The documentary narrative invites readers to reflect on the tension between Spirit-led freedom and human control, and to consider what it truly means to live as the Body of Christ.

It was New Year’s Eve yesterday. It went as expected, which is oddly reassuring given our 3-year old was running around like crazy – like on any other day recently. A dinner-playdate, with just a few sips of whiskey and, arguably, far too much food went smoothly. Firework extravaganza at midnight, typical for the area, resembled active war zone for a few hours too many, guaranteeing total disaster of whatever was left of local ecosystem’s mental health.

Nothing new.

Morning was a bit unorthodox though. No hangover, not anymore. Smart people in their forties don’t have these. More like a general sense of overwhelm and overload. Yes, it’s a New Year. New opportunities (not really, nothing has changed in one day). New habits (ha, let’s see about this one in two weeks). New conclusions (that aren’t really new), including one that this time it is actually almost guaranteed to go downhill. The second part of life, cemented and anchored, here to stay. Then, new old memories, once forgotten, now rediscovered for whatever reason. New regrets. New commitments and new decisions to drop commitments.

The usual New Year’s mental chaos with a hint of melancholy.

And on top of that, a layer of zucchini cake, pasta salad, beans with tomatoes, and probably a dozen more lies along the lines of “I’ll just try this one.” All soaked in an exotic mixture of four vastly different brands of whiskey. Well, actually three brands of it and one serious sip of bourbon from some forgotten by gods republican hellhole.

And this, just this, was too much.

Today couldn’t simply start the same way as usual then. Breakfast, lunch – why, what for? Just because it’s the normal way? Because that’s what adults do, eat breakfast when it’s breakfast time? Well, yesterday was out of ordinary, to the point of me experiencing primal fears before stepping on the bathroom scale. As it turned out, rightly so, but it’s another thing.

It’s just not natural to do things the same way again, when the day before was so vastly different from the normal one (assuming it exists at all). When there’s feast, there’s fast – or, at the very least, should be. That’s exactly what I did – nothing at all.

No breakfast, just black coffee.

No lunch, just rooibos tea.

Light dinner after weirdly satisfying walk in freezing rain gracefully reinforced by stormy wind? Well, yes please. Light one, a leftover from yesterday, just a cup (or two, if we’re completely honest) of pasta salad full of hastily chopped vegetables.

No LinkedIn, finally with no remorses! I hate that thing anyway.

No serious writing, just this post here.

No TV. No radio. No news.

Also: not a thought about new opportunities, habits, conclusions, memories, regrets, and commitments. I might’ve jumped on the stationary bike for some deeply satisfying minutes, but that’s different. Addictions are not relevant.

Fast for the midship then – and fast for the bow. One gets narrower, the other less cluttered.

What a glorious day.

Happy New Year!

I could care less about sleeping in anything else, but never socks. Never.

For the record, Wolf hates sleeping in socks.

Given the choice, I prefer sleeping as I was created: nothing between me and my dreams but a downy cover. If it’s warm, you can keep the blanket.

But my feet? They must always be naked.

I am so weird about my feet.

My third Friday in Europe turned out to be way more of a party than I anticipated. A day that started late, grew organically, and delivered some of the highest highs, along with a bit of a sour note at the climax. Busy days and late nights mean slow starts in the morning. The day saw me rousing between 8 and 9 a.m. CET. As the apartment is on the first floor and settled between rows of tall buildings, it is never clear to me early in the morning if the sun is shining or not.

Stepping out into the frosty morning in my flannel pajamas, I glimpse blue sky and deduce that today will be a brilliant day to be out running around. So I do the next logical thing:

I sit inside and write for four hours.

When the wife finally stirred, we planned a visit to the Sofía Reina to see art—specifically Picasso’s Guernica. There is some debate as to the best way to transfer: bus, train, or Uber. Bus is the most convenient for short hops, and so we shower, dress, and dash out the door.

Naturally, we can’t just get on the bus. First, we have to find an orange. In the neighborhoods of Madrid, there are fruit stands on every block. Sometimes two. Oranges are in season right now, so you look for the orbs with leaves attached. It’s an indication that they are the freshest. Twenty cents for a plump, luscious bite of citrus.

Then, of course, we needed a café, where I stumbled through my very limited Spanish to order a coffee and empanada. I failed to correctly distinguish between meat (carne) and chicken (pollo). But it was very good in spite of the mis-order.

Strolling and window-shopping is a delight on a brisk, sunny Friday morning, and so we leisurely gawk at stunning evening gowns, fancy luggage, and sundries of all kinds.

I’ve just eaten, but I find the smell of fried chicken irresistible. Stopping at an open window, I ask for “un pollo, por favor.” It takes a moment, as the cook fries it only when you ask, and it is deliciously hot and fresh—a plump, juicy breast so hot it steams in the morning cold. Thank you, missus chicken. You were delicious.

I finish just in time for the number 39 to roll up and swipe my metro card twice. Beep, beep. A total of three euros for us both to ride across town to the Sofía Reina.

I have discovered I really enjoy riding the buses here. They are clean, well-lit, and cared for. People-watching is a lot of fun, though drawing while riding is kind of a challenge, as we’re rarely on the bus very long. And there’s plenty to see through the windows.

Hopping off at the Atocha stop, we cross a VERY busy intersection. This is close to the city center and the busiest spot I’ve yet walked. I think I could spend all day here watching the mortar going about their lives. The Museo Sofía Reina is in the middle of a 20-year upgrade/restoration. The exterior is in varying states of shrouded construction tarps and fancy louvered metal veneer. The veneer is interesting, but it is most certainly one of those design styles that will age poorly and forever date the upgrade.

After tickets and an audioguide, we start the sojourn into this MASSIVE institution. It might be the biggest museum I’ve ever been in. It is a repurposed government building, and so it isn’t ideal. The structure is a large rectangle whose middle is a courtyard/garden. From above it looks like a giant, squared-off letter “O.”

The galleries are all old office spaces on the outer wall. This is awkward because it creates a labyrinth: some galleries huge, some tiny, some dead ends. And the official map is pretty useless.

So getting lost becomes a ritual. We ask “¿Dónde estamos nosotros?” (Where are we?) of the museum attendants. They can almost always show us on the map where we are, but it isn’t super useful information since nothing else is clearly labeled.

But the art is worth it.

The first floor hosts traveling exhibits, and we are able to see work by little-known Spanish artists. Very intriguing shapes and colors, and carnival scenes that seem universal to every human.

One gallery has massive—I mean MASSIVE—monolithic steel slabs. The literature says they weigh thirty-eight tons.

The placard explains that they were lost for twenty years, stored in a warehouse that was sold and sold and sold until no one knew where the humongous slabs went.

My assessment: sold for weight.

So in 2002, the artist recreated the monoliths and made the Sofía Reina docents very happy—and no doubt lined the artist’s pockets handsomely. Good for you, artist. Grab that money for the rest of us. There is an exhibition by a very old artist who has spent her lifetime painting crisp works in gouache and acrylics. Her most striking pieces depict people—mostly women—with agricultural themes. I am inspired by her portraits and larger works that carry aquatic and agrarian motifs.

As with most moving art, I question why I don’t paint more—especially portraits. The people who mean the most to me should get painted. I am also in love with her nudes. I love painting nudes and believe everyone should experience the power of either being the artist or the subject. Both, if possible. I have yet to be the subject for someone, but I think I might be ready.

For a certainty, I long to paint some more than others. My first real thrill, though, comes from Picasso’s Woman in Blue. His figurative work always surprises me because his cubist work is so heavily promoted. But Woman in Blue is quite lovely and striking. She’s heavily gowned in a massive, rich dress and completely covered except for her face, which is painted as heavily powdered with red cheeks. Her expression is forlorn, eyes distant—somewhat sad.

The placard explains that she is a prostitute, and that Picasso loved portraying the marginalized people he found in life.

I am reminded of my own recent realization and fascination with what I termed the “mortar” of life—those people and places largely overlooked by society, yet absolutely part of the fabric. We love the lightbulb, but need the miles of wire to make what it is.

The hour is late, and as the museum opens its doors for free during the last two hours of the night, I worry about the crush of incoming art lovers. I decide I’ll have to return another day to experience all of Picasso’s galleries—but I must see Guernica.

I need only follow the din.

We can hear the crowd from several galleries away. Late in the day on a Friday, everyone wants to see the famous painting. I am most excited because of its history, as laid out in Russell Martin’s Picasso’s War—an excellent history of why the painting was made and its complex life in the public eye.

Pictures do not do a work like this justice. Nor do crowds. This work needs time and space.

Interestingly, the crowd has created a buffer at the front of the viewing.

The painting is twelve by twenty-five feet, and there is a cordon keeping viewers about ten feet back. Between the crowd and the cordon is a no-man’s land. I can only assume the crowd is being polite to one another—or perhaps they instinctively know they need distance to take it all in.

I decide that, in this moment, the more interesting aspect is the guards watching the painting and the crowd. So I turn my camera and my sketchbook on them, not Guernica itself.

In drawing, I begin to realize how important this is to the Spanish, and to humans in general. As I internalize how cruel humans can be, I am moved to tears—which I believe is exactly what Picasso intended. To affect the viewer.

Mission accomplished.

As the free hour triggers, the place becomes mobbed, and we decide it’s time to be somewhere else.

Dipping out of the museum, we drop into a McDonald’s for a snack and some warmth. Madrid has mastered the electronic order kiosk, which I loathe. I prefer human interaction. But I have to admit, as a non-Spanish speaker, the kiosk is much more efficient and less stressful. This is how the robots win.

Wandering the streets until after dark, we find that instead of worn down, we are energized by the nightlife. My wife spots a Hard Rock Hotel, and we investigate the possibility of a live show. None are forthcoming.

So we decide to call it a night. Seven-thirty, cold and dark, and we are thin from the day’s museum visit.

As we try to figure out which bus will get us home to the Latin Quarter, I recall seeing an ad on the ride out. The bus in front of us had “CABARET—see it live” emblazoned in Spanish.

A quick search turns up that the Kit Kat Klub is in fact performing the show in less than an hour. We are only a thirty-minute walk away, but my wife—though excited and eager to see it—has no interest in trekking through Madrid that night.

So Uber it is. Mistake.

We’ve been operating under the assumption that traffic always flows. This is our first real experience with central Madrid on a Friday night. We live west of here, out of the tourist zone, where traffic is usually fluid. But here it is a grind.

We sit and sit as our driver battles it out. The worst part is watching the map as we inch to within fifty meters of the theater entrance, only to be pulled into traffic in a tunnel beneath the old town—where we’ve been drinking, eating, and living.

I want to jump out and dash to the theater, but instead we sit for twenty more minutes while he escapes the tunnel and gets stuck in a roundabout. We finally abandon him and make the ten-minute walk to the venue.

We are in luck—minutes to showtime. I misunderstand the clerk and instead of buying seats up close, I buy them in the back. Better, because there is less crush of bodies; worse, because I have not brought my distance eyewear and the whole show, while beautiful, is slightly blurry.

And speaking of the show—wow.

I expected half-measures with lots of reliance on titillation and suggested nudity, but to the director’s credit, they told a compelling story. Well sung. Well acted. Yes, the performers were stunning in their mostly naked states, and I applauded the daily work required to maintain such peak human form.

But by the third act, I was in tears. Blinding tears.

We started with a bottle of wine, and by intermission it was long gone, as were the two mini bottles of whiskey my wife smuggled in. Feeling no pain, we decided a second bottle of wine would be ideal to finish the show.

We should have stopped at one.

Inebriation heightened my sense of the story’s development. By the third act, I was undone. Up until then, everyone is managing—hiding in music, wit, appetite, motion. Then the story closes its exits. Pleasure stops being refuge and starts looking like delay.

Love and history arrive at the same moment and ask to be taken seriously.

What broke through for me was the quiet grief of realizing that fantasy can be sincere and still be unsustainable, and that some reckonings can’t be danced around forever.

My muse once said she identifies with Sally, and I understand why. Sally survives by keeping the lights on, by choosing momentum, by believing in the moment she’s standing in. Hitching rides with stars. Watching it, I felt the pull of Cliff—not because I’m leaving or want to, but because I recognize the fear he carries: the dread that two people can love each other deeply and still not want the same future, or need the same kind of ground. The film touched that nerve—the uneasy knowledge that loving someone doesn’t always guarantee harmony, and that seeing clearly can feel like a threat even when it’s an act of care. All this, in Spanish. I didn’t realize I had internalized the story so completely.

It was the emotional tearing that drowned that second bottle of vino. When the performance ended, we stumbled into the night, red-eyed and full of yearning.

We should have gone straight home. But even close to midnight, Madrid was alive in a way we’d never seen. Plazas and avenues shot full of people. And so we swayed and danced in the streets like real Spaniards under the holiday lights.

It was magical.

Another stop at a pub added insult to our alcohol injury. By one a.m., we knew we were toast.

The glory of being completely smashed comes with hard consequences, and we both paid the price. My poor wife on a side street, revisiting the evening’s dinner and snacks. Me, once home, after she was safely in bed.

The old adage is true: beer then liquor, never sicker—or whatever idiom covers wine, then liquor, then wine, then beer, and the long night that follows.

At the very least, I made sure that before it all went quiet for the night, my feet were free and unencumbered for sleep. No amount of drink in the world can erase that need.

We’d had the experience of a lifetime in Madrid that day. It was among the highest highs of the adventure and the lowest lows.

I wouldn’t trade a thing.

Except maybe, save Sally from her sadness.

---

---

Drawing

Highmark Stadium, then Ralph Wilson Stadium, 14 Sept. 2014 (A. Kotok)

On Sunday afternoon, the Buffalo Bills play their last regular-season home game at Highmark Stadium in nearby Orchard Park, against division rival New York Jets. The Bills are in the National Football League playoffs this year, but in second-place in the AFC East division, so they will likely play their playoff games elsewhere, making Sunday’s game probably their last game at Highmark.

My photo of that stadium, taken during a 2014 season game, is probably my most-viewed shot ever. Here’s how it happened.

The stadium, built in 1972 started out as Rich Stadium with naming rights sold to a local dairy products company, but in 1998 became Ralph Wilson Stadium after the team’s owner, which lasted until 2016. Thus the stadium became known locally as The Ralph, and that nickname stuck as other naming rights came and went. Highmark is a health insurance company that bought the naming rights in 2021.

For several years my two brothers and I — all Buffalo natives — along with their kids and grandkids, went to a Buffalo Bills home game each season. Bills fans, called the Bills Mafia, have a fierce legendary loyalty, despite the team’s ups-and-downs, portrayed in indie films old and new. The Bills Mafia is even the subject of a Hallmark feature film, released this past holiday season.

In Sept. 2014, we got tickets to the Bills game against division rival Miami Dolphins at The Ralph. We discovered, however, that those mid-field seats were up in the nose-bleed section, near the last row. (By the way, the Bills won that game 29-10.)

So I decided to make lemonade out of those lemons. With my Canon point-and-shoot camera, I took three slightly overlapping photos of the field and crowd, then after the game stitched them together with Microsoft’s photo-editing software into a panorama image.

After the game, I posted the image on my Flickr page, and gave it a Creative Commons license, making it freely available with attribution and a link back to the original Flickr file. About a month later, the photo was imported into Wikipedia and Wikimedia Commons.

The image soon appeared on the Ralph Wilson Stadium, now Highmark Stadium page on Wikipedia, where it still resides. For some time, it also appeared on the Buffalo. N.Y. Wikipedia page. Plus, Bills defensive back Jordan Poyer used the photo for a while as the title image on his Twitter page.

The team is building a new stadium, also called Highmark and also outdoors, across the road from the current stadium. I will have to get nose-bleed tickets next season for another photo.

Copyright © Technology News and Literature. All rights reserved.

JOURNAL 1er janvier 2026

Presque 22h. Tout le monde s'est retiré. Restent deux filles un peu fatiguées. On sirote doucement un super sake (cadeau de papi) qui reste au chaud dans la marmite avant de se faire un onsen sous la neige. Un vrai luxe, des images de magazine. On est comme des reines en somme. Les clients nous ont remerciées aujourd'hui, ils ont eu hier une des plus belles fêtes quils aient connu dans l'auberge. Ils espèrent que ça pourra se reproduire. On a promis d'être là aussi longtemps que ça sera possible.

I just wanted to put up a quick blog post and wish everyone a Happy New Year. Let's pray and hope that God blesses us all. I'm looking forward to this year on many fronts. I want to continue getting my heart under control with my Obstructive Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy, do more self-hosting with AI, and learn more coding. This is also my 25th year of proper blogging (more posts coming on that later).

With all the computing power I'm putting together, I'm hoping to learn more about web development, self-hosting, and becoming less dependent on big tech. I'm one year closer to retirement, which I'm looking forward to. Instead of focusing on an employer's needs, I'll be able to focus 100 percent on what interests me and devote more time to my faith. Putting my love of God and technology together.

So Happy New Year to everyone, and let's see what 2026 brings for us all. Should be an interesting year, especially on the home front with the United States of America hitting 250 years.

#personal

Almighty and Everlasting God, from Whom cometh down every good and perfect gift: We give Thee thanks for all Thy benefits, temporal and spiritual, bestowed upon us in the year past, and we beseech Thee of Thy goodness, grant us a favorable and joyful year, defend us from all dangers and adversities, and send upon us the fullness of Thy blessing; through Jesus Christ, Thy Son, our Lord. Who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the Holy Ghost, ever One God, world without end. Amen.

— Common Service Book of the Lutheran Church, 1917

#prayers

I just didn’t sleep until this late. I think I’ve honestly found my person, it’s like finding someone that just gets a lot of different parts of me and it feels like the more I reveal or let my guard down with, the more I’m accepted. It’s such a strange feeling for that. It’s not like we are the exact same, we definitely have our flaws and things that grate on eachother, but I wouldn’t want it in any other package.

JOURNAL 1er janvier 2026 #auberge

Hier super soirée : koto et flûte, un pensionnaire avait prévu, il joue en duo avec mamie tous les ans depuis des années. On a passé 4 heures à table, A et mamie à la cuisine, moi et papi au service, entre on prenait place à table aussi c'était extrêmement chaleureux. Le concert parfait, des vrais pros. À minuit super sake de fukushima ça n’existe plus, c’est encore plus précieux. Comme je faisais aussi le service je n'ai pas beaucoup bu, je suis assez contente de moi.

Ce matin déneigement de l'entrée, ça réchauffe et met en forme. La neige n'a pas cessé de tomber, on a plus de 70 cm dehors. Si ça continue on devra déneiger les toits à nouveau, à un mètre c’est critique.

Feuillets de décembre 2025

Quand tu as ouvert la porte entre nos deux mondes En moi quelque chose a respiré Je me suis sentie soulagée d’un poids resté trop longtemps invisible J’ignorais les dragons rouges aux larmes de givre coincés dans mon corps Alors qu’au dehors je ressentais le souffle du moineau apeuré Je n’ai jamais su déchiffrer les langages des humains Mais votre sang s’invitait en tambour dans mon coeur Je cherchais dans vos phrases une clef capable de décoder l’ineffable Aveugle dans ma propre grotte je devais juste soulever les paupières Sentir les ondoiements de mon souffle jusqu’aux racines et aux cîmes de mon être Faire la lumière dans cet espace qui m’abrite Et l’écouter fredonner cette mélodie qui est la mienne J’apprendrai à aimer cette musique qui a la forme du sang et des étoiles Qui est tissée aux bordures de la peau et des rêves Qui est unique et semblable à toute vie J’apprivoiserai ma propre langue Nous parlerons des dialectes distincts Mais leur musicalité nous rassemblera dans la lumière des feux de joie

  J’ai longtemps cherché quelqu’un Qui se serait assis à l’intérieur de moi et m’aurait emplie toute entière Il aurait allumé un feu dans cette pièce pleine de vide Et mis de la musique pour apaiser les silences il aurait construit des ponts pour me relier au dehors et tissé un cocon pour me protéger des intempéries il aurait effacé toutes les distances affreuses sur les visages impassibles il aurait dessiné des sourires il aurait troqué les gifles de violence et les embruns indifférents contre la douceur des étreintes et la joie irradiante dans les jours moches, avec la folie rouge, à travers les pleurs qui déforment tout : il m’aurait aimée partout et tout le temps jamais il n’aurait fermé la porte et encore moins abandonnée j’ai toujours cherché au dehors de moi comme une évidence sur ma condition volatile je me suis vue feu follet, opaline, volutes, je vivais sur une lune où la pesanteur n’a pas cours et je cherchais quelqu’un pour assurer, m’assurer, me rassurer quelqu’un pour faire contrepoids à ma légèreté si extravagante qu’elle en devenait odieuse dans cette pièce pleine de vide j’ai oublié trop longtemps qu’il y avait déjà quelqu’un toute petite, si petite qu’elle en était presque invisible, sa voix fluette devenue soupir, une petite fille pleurait dans une larme bleue, ses sanglots cachés dans un brouillard opaque, ce jour-là, un jour de décembre, pour la première fois je l’ai entendue sangloter doucement et je suis descendue dans la pièce qui était toujours aussi froide mais qui n’était plus vide, je suis descendue, j’ai allumé un feu et j’ai mis de la musique je me suis assise par terre, à l’intérieur de moi pour la première fois, juste à côté d’elle, et j’ai pris sa main dans la mienne

  Toute mon enfance s’est étirée dans une longue nuit d’hiver J’avais entre le monde et moi un bouclier d’argent Il ravalait mes larmes quand je pensais vous perdre, quand ma tête imaginait les horreurs qui pourraient un jour me séparer de vous et vous séparer de moi Longtemps j’ai tout vu par le filtre de cette distance J’imaginais des tourbillons de mélasse, des abysses indomptables, d’ineffables abîmes et des cyclones plus profonds que le plus profond des trous de la terre Longtemps j’ai cru que tout le monde portait en lui ce gouffre d’infranchissable, composé d’angoisses mutiques et de cris mutilés Plus tard seulement j’ai su que non J’ai compris avec stupeur que je m’étais trompée : chacun voit la vie avec son propre regard, teinté d’unique et de coquillages ambrés, fêlé ou déformé, les nuances sont trop nombreuses pour être décrites dans un poème et je me rends compte que je ne sais rien des yeux des autres et de leurs peaux qui respire des parfums inconnus Des milliards de fragrances ennuagent la terre où nous habitons et je ne suis consciente que de si peu d’entre elles Je nous pensais semblables mais nous étions uniques Quand nos regards divergeaient, je transformais ma pupille en lame d’acier, je ravalais un sanglot indompté qui venait se débattre dans ma gorge à m’en étouffer Je n’ai jamais accepté que nous puissions être différents, sans cesse je cherchais à vous rameuter à moi-même, pour m’unifier dans une étreinte désespérée J’ai toujours eu si peur de ce qui nous séparait J’ai toujours cru que je ne le supporterais pas, que le dragon coincé dans mon corps, ivre de panique, déchirerait ma peau, la folie rouge m’engloutirait, je finirais avalée, honteuse, dépossédée, sans sang, sans chair, sans amour Je ne sais pas pourquoi j’ai pensé cela si longtemps, pourquoi je me suis sentie en sursis, si vulnérable, prête à être attaquée n’importe quand, à l’affût, l’œil apeuré, acéré Il me semble que je ne croyais pas à ma propre existence Furtive et diaphane, elle était pour moi une erreur dans la marche du temps Un jour, on allait se rendre compte qu’on m’avait donné une vie et qu’elle ne m’était pas destinée, Je devais me faire toute petite, passer inaperçu, sans quoi on m’arrêterait et on me mettrait à la porte de ma propre existence Je me suis toujours apprêtée à mourir, et j’ai toujours craint de disparaître sans avoir pu incarner ma vie au moins une fois, une heure, une minute C’est votre regard seul, votre présence seule, votre approbation qui consentait à me rendre vivante Je pensais qu’il fallait mériter d’être en vie, et que ce mérite, vous seuls pouviez me le donner Seul mon cœur ouvrait d’autres possibles et dans l’instant se nourrissait de beauté, revêtait sur mes lèvres une douceur rosée Je l’ai laissé m’apprivoiser et j’ai nourri notre amitié Maintenant, chaque aube m’adoucit Je me familiarise avec ma propre existence et je lui reconnais son droit à être Quand je remercie la vie, ce n’est plus avec un sourire coupable mais avec un rire franc Comme si soudain j’avais pris racine et que je ne pouvais plus m’envoler au moindre souffle de vent Je sais que chacun passe sur cette terre avec ses folies emmurées, ses éclats de fée, ses lumières odorantes et ses abysses qui lui sont propres et ne se dévoileront peut-être jamais Je ne regrette rien et je ne m’apitoie pas J’ai une tendresse immense pour celle que j’ai été et pour tous les êtres sur cette planète qui tournent en rond, immobiles, dans la prison de leur tête, qui peinent à ouvrir la fenêtre Je les comprends tellement Parfois encore, je suffoque, ma boule dans la gorge revient, l’air s’absente, tout devient étriqué : moi, le temps, l’espace, l’amour Parfois encore j’ai mes murs qui sentent le moisi et mes vitres sont si pleines de crasses que je ne vois rien au dehors Ce grand nettoyage-là ne finit jamais Mais il en vaut la peine Pour toutes les grâces qui s’invitent dans nos vies quand on ne craint plus les courants d’air Pour tous les éclats de lumière qui ne viendront certes jamais nous apporter un sens sur un plateau d’argent Mais si une goutte de rosée traversée par l’aube a le droit d’exister sans raison, simplement d’être, pleinement, sans attente et sans tension, pourquoi pas nous ?

  En moi il y a un cheval fou Je ne pense pas qu’il soit fou Et je doute que ce soit vraiment un cheval pourtant parfois il est comme fou et se cabre comme un cheval il pourrait déchirer ma peau avec ses sabots et cependant il m’aime et veut me protéger en me protégeant me brise je tends la main vers lui et ses flancs sont couverts de sang il a si mal des blessures qui ne lui appartiennent pas je te dirai tout doux mon beau je te dirai des mots muets pour t’écouter, mon front sur le plateau de ton front je t’entends et aujourd’hui je suis responsable de ma vie je saurai me défendre s’il le faut tu peux ranger ta carapace de guerrier et tes fouets tu peux te reposer toi qui es sans cesse sur le qui vive à l’affût de la moindre bravade quand tu t’agiteras encore je te dirai tout doux mon beau je sais tous les risques que j’encours j’ai rangé le bouclier à lame d’argent je l’ai troqué contre l’orbe d’un lac ça n’a l’air de rien mais c’est très efficace dans le monde du dehors tu peux ruer et te cabrer mon cheval fou j’ai la peau endurcie des tanins du soleil et des nodosités des grands chênes un jour tu auras plus de paix et ta folie ne sera plus folie elle aura l’allure d’une danse étrange et fantasque si douce qu’on ne peut que la chérir pour toujours

  J’écris pour m’expliquer à moi-même Pour vous dire des choses que je ne savais pas mais que vous connaissiez peut-être Que chacun se pense être le miroir de l’autre et du monde Et que c’est faux Il y a une multitude invraisemblable de vérités Chacun porte sa capeline et son flambeau et traverse son chemin, rebrousse les forêts noires et espère découvrir la lumière derrière le repli d’une clairière J’aimerais avoir ce regard qui ne cherche pas à tout prix ce qui rassemble Et qui dans l’écart révèle une étreinte Nous sommes tous à la recherche d’un reste troublé de l’enfance Une zone à réparer Je construis ma cabane qui ne ressemble à aucune autre dans l'espoir de m’accoler avec grâce au reste du monde

  Je n’aime pas ces moments où la nuit redevient ennemie Je dois m’extraire de l’obscurité, marais des pensées Elles s’enroulent et s’emberlificotent à l’ombre de mon oreiller Je ne peux pas les empêcher d’exister et leur présence bruyante m’empêche de dormir Font planer une menace sans nom Ou trop terrifiante du moins pour être nommée Comme si le noir allait d’un instant à l’autre définitivement, irrémédiablement Tout engloutir C’est une luxuriance assoiffée, un foisonnement qui annonce un chaos terrible Je ne lutte plus Après les avoir senties m’assaillir pendant une heure je me lève Il ne sert à rien de se cacher Je suis là et elles aussi, je n’aime pas les sentir fourmiller autour de moi comme autour d’une carcasse à dépouiller Je me lève avec un essaim de corbeaux qui dépasse de ma tête Je me fais un café en chemin certains volatiles se sont déjà avoués vaincus Comme si le mouvement seul les décourageait Je me fais un café et me voilà dans la nuit et cette fois je suis seule avec un silence fatigué et le salon désert Dehors le jardin s’enroule dans une étole de brume et ses sillages cotonneux ajoutent encore de la respiration dans ma nuit attaquée Je respire j’écris De la vie j’aime les contrastes et la profondeur Je suis partie en exploration sous la surface du monde Là où d’autres voyages d’est en ouest ou de nord en sud Je ne fais que creuser pour m’engager vers le ciel Dans une verticalité vertigineuse et sublime D’une douceur et d’un amour que je sais absolus Je louvoie entre les abysses et les cîmes Quand d’autres voguent de New-York aux Carpates ou que sais-je encore Je n’aurai jamais de photographies à montrer aux amis, un soir d’hiver Seuls ces poèmes écrits sur un ordinateur Pour retracer l’ébauche d’un chemin Et partager avec vous maladroitement ces quelques pérégrinations intérieures