Eindhoven is a place of omnipresent contradictions. There is a kind of spirited slowness in the air. I’m sitting in the bar with the windows open and the sound of people streaming in. It’s a warm humid summer evening and there is jazz music on the streets. I cast my eyes across the room and met the sight of a man dressed in turquoise and wearing a cowboy hat. He smiled at me. I glanced away. Who the hell wears a cowboy hat in such weather?
I have many thoughts in my head but the music is making me too comfortable. So is this how people feel like when they’re happy, or high? The interceptions, the crooks, the kinks and the rough edges just seem to blend into this big blurry picture of sunlight, beer and Diana Krall.
Funny enough, I don’t feel like taking pictures although my camera is just a convenient 2 centimetres away from me. I don’t want to feel like a tourist here, and strangely I don’t. The only time I’ve felt compelled to take out my camera was when I see this painting of two naked girls in my hotel room, one of them balancing herself on the knee of the other. I must say, ’tis a pleasing sight to fall asleep under.
I have too little time to myself nowadays and I’ve almost forgotten how good it feels to be alone and just, chill. For the longest time ever I have pushed off doing some uncluttering and spring cleaning for that congested head of mine and now seems to be the right time to get down to it. I have a whole bucket list to figure out and so far what have I got? Besides deciding that tomorrow I will finally write that email, and buy some Stroopwaffel, nothing much, really. But I feel just fine and even a little excited. I feel like lighting a cigarette with all the puffing going around me, but I fear the smoke might smear the tangibility of the moment.
Speaking of Stroopwaffel, today during lunch mister T was telling us about its origin (dutch!) and history when someone asked if the recipe was actually patented. Mister T said no, it’s open source. And the whole table laughed.
Geeky jokes, jazz and kinky art. Not bad. Not bad at all.