My life as an amateur. Part 22.

 My name is Oscar, I have sent my cancellation letter to the organisation for the elderly demented people. I was a volunteer and it was far too hot in their place. Some of the co-workers were not exactly emancipated and not neglectable loud. Each week there was a loud explosion. And it took a week to gather my brains. I didn’t say that in my letter but I am curious for the answer.

I left home at an early age, at what age I do not recall, it was such a long time ago. I thought myself better company than the rest of my family.

I like clothes. Not all the clothes. I like to buy my clothes cheap,  because I don’t like to spend money. Last night we talked about chickens. That they grief over a passed relative or neighbour. That they can become friends with another species. Like the little black chicken. The little black chicken lived in a chicken coop on a farm in the middle of Portugal. The other chickens decided that she was the black sheep. So they picked on her. The farmer took the little black chicken out and let it walk loose. She decided to live together with the farm dog, in his little kennel. The dog was perfectly fine with that and each morning he got his egg for breakfast. The chicken lady got her feathers back.

My life as an amateur. Part 21.

 I am worrying about the writing. I am worrying about the amount of drama.

Yesterday I listened to a podcast. I never do such a thing. It was a recommendation by my art colleague and friend David. Gummbah never wanted anything regular or normal, he just didn’t like school, raising a family, earning money with a regular job, making a career, sleeping night, working day. He wanted to draw no matter someone else's opinion. Nice podcast.

I like to steal, from others. A word, a catchy color, I like to steal films, childhoods, mothers, fathers. My parents were children when they got married. 

I never thought that my given name suited me right, but I thought it would be too much drama to change it. Maybe one day I will adopt a different name every day. A daily name.

I am just thinking, that is all. 

When I was really little my father took me with him to a pub near the harbour. All the pubs in our town were near the harbour. This one was called ‘De griffioen’. We went to the pub almost everyday. A friend of my father was there waiting at a table. I told him that his face looked like the face of a monkey. He responded by saying that we are all descended from the monkeys. I liked his answer very much, because it was scientific and not angry at all. Today my name is Henry.