Monday morning and hell did I have a memorable weekend! 
I watched too much porn, became a vegetarian, (and the two were related, believe it or not!) got an agent, and saw Bohemian Rhapsody for the eleventh time on a way bigger screen.
A friend even pointed out something I managed to miss the previous ten times:
When Freddie Mercury pitches his record to a gay radio host named Kenny, his girlfriend watches them talk and have fun.
My friend whispered:
“Now she sees it.”
Yes!
How did I miss?
The moment his girlfriend Mary realizes Freddie Mercury is gay, was missed by me the first ten times.
Usually Sunday afternoon’s Bohemian Rhapsody is sold out, so I was surprised we could even get in.
But the art house theater was showing it in their multi-functional space (not a dedicated movie theater), with a way bigger screen.
I think they were so sick and tired of selling No every Sunday they were like:
“Okay! That’s it! We’re going XXL!”
It was a much bigger audience than usual, and the first time people were engaged in the movie. With laughs and ohs and ahs.
It was so contagious that I even had to laugh (inaudibly!) before the last joke of the movie.
The band is waiting in their trailer for Live Aid, and Mary and her boyfriend David have just dropped by to say hello. They’ve left now.
“What do we think of David?” Freddie Mercury asks.
The rest of the band are slightly embarrassed but one of them utters:
“He seems like an okay chap.”
Freddie Mercury sighs.
“I think he’s gay.”
Seeing the movie was illustrative for my weekend:
I didn’t expect to be surprised. And yet I was.
I thought I knew what was coming. And then I didn’t.
I thought I knew the joke, and that it would prohibit me from laughing.
I was wrong on all accounts.
That’s how I Alice in Wonderlanded myself through this vegetarian-porn-agent-movie-weekend. Walking a fine line between love and hate; Thrown between surprise and setback; And uncertain if things were either great opportunities or if I was signing my own downfall.
And if there even was a difference, for us writers?
Or is the risk of it going wrong (in a worldly sense), a characteristic of it being the right choice for a creative?

Here were this weekend’s questionable vegetarian-porn-agent choices:

vegetarian porn

About two weeks ago I saw a simple but totally hot porn clip. It was on Twitter, and it featured a tattooed guy and a petite brunette.
That was all I had to go on, to search for it.
Unless you think it helps to start a search on “rapey sex” on Twitter.
I don’t even want to know what shows up if you do that.
And it wasn’t useful to check the timelines of the porn actors I follow either, first of all because there are so many. And secondly, because I recall this clip not being posted by someone I follow.
Most likely it was a tweet from a performer or porn account I ultimately chose not to follow.
And I didn’t even “like” the tweet with the clip either.
Which was costing me dearly, because otherwise I could have browsed my “liked tweets” list!
But I never “like” (mark with a heart) porn clips on Twitter, because they show up in the TLs of people who follow you.
I think it’s funny and slightly rebellious, that my followers see recommendations such as:
“LS Harteveld follows” over a tweet with double penetration.
But I m too shy, or suave, or maybe too much of a flat-out liar to then actually like that tweet.
Well worse!
I do like it, as in the feelings I have towards it!
But then I don’t reward the video with a like-heart, because I don’t want people to see I watched it.
And this weekend that cowardice behavior came back with a vengeance!
Because I was still thinking about the clip, masturbated to it and everything.
I was getting slightly panicky at the thought of how difficult it was going to be to find it back.
In the unlikely event you think you can help me, here are the specs:
– video about two people fucking, in a bed, poorly lit. Missionary with petite long-haired brunette and a big tattooed guy on top covering her mouth with his hand.
It was this feature with the hand, that gave the video it’s fascinating rapey, non-consensual, appeal. The reason I m still determined to mine through Twitter until I find it.
– length: 1 minute or so
– visual: black and white/ or very dark. As if “the abuse” takes place at night, and is shot by a clandestine camera.
Don’t worry, the man gets off from her and she sits up. They’re probably going to change position, and the camera sways more towards the end of the bed.
And there were other signs too, that it was regular porn and not something creepy. For example, he doesn’t cover her mouth for “real”, just occasionally.
That’s the description of the clip I have been searching for.
So far I ve spent six hours total I think, trying to retrieve it.
I started with the Twitter account of one brunette porn star, going through her TL until Christmas last year, and I would note down Twitter names of other female actors who fit the profile and of tattooed actors I saw in the videos.
With some accounts it took me half an hour, to browse back for one month.
I don’t have my computer at home, due to a set of boring circumstances all elaborately explained in previous blogposts.
So I had to do it on my phone.
Up to half an hour per actor, and clicking any clip that didn’t provide a screenshot (so I didn’t know what it was).
Saturday night I went to sleep feeling totally wasted from four hours of porn browsing on my phone. I felt like that princess from Rumpelstiltskin where she gets impossible sorting assignments.
If evil Rumpelstiltskin had offered to help me out, I would have taken it.
I went to sleep and had a dream so heartbreaking and awful, I woke up a vegetarian. And I think it had to do with the timeline from the last porn star I had been browsing: A buff tattooed male vegan actor, who tweeted about animal rights in between porn videos.
I did not even watch the animal rights things.
But apparently I didn’t even have to, in order to be sent off on a guilt-trip dream.
So the story now is that porn made me a vegetarian.
Which is a good story.
And I ve decided I will write about what I dreamed.
So if you don’t want to read it, just like I didn’t want to watch or read the animal rights tweets in the actor’s timeline, then just skip to the next paragraph.
(…)
(…)
Okay, so the dream that made me a vegetarian was this:
I was in the meat department of a very fancy supermarket, or it was a huge buffet with refrigerated sections.
On one place a baby donkey the size of a rabbit was lying on ice, but it was still alive/ breathing.
Which was of course horrible.
But while I was still trying to get my head around to what I was seeing here, I noticed another donkey on a silver platter. It was the height of a Jack Russell, maybe slightly smaller, and it was trying to get up onto its hooves.
The slippery surface of the silver platter nearly made that impossible, but it kept on trying.
Ultimately the miniature donkey succeeded, and walked off. Straight to the foal on the ice. It pulled it off, and started licking it to life, but the baby donkey had stopped breathing.
I woke up and decided I would never eat meat again.

The threat of a real job

This weekend was the first time, I went out again with the man who had arranged a job for me last summer. I can’t remember how much I told him about why I had pulled out of applying for the job.
But from the barely hidden eagerness to hire me again, as soon as I would find out I wouldn’t be able to make a living from writing, I concluded that either he wanted me dead, or I had actually failed to mention that the job offer had made me suicidal.
I ve even put myself under doctor supervision, so that if I get suicidal again under the threat of having to work a normal job, my doctor knows my recent medical history.
In response to our date, I developed pain in my chest again.
And I had basically already decided that this was insane, and that I wasn’t going to see him again, until I realized that keeping him around was actually a good thing.
Because my situation is still stressful. I m not out of the danger zone of becoming suicidal.
Not at all.
But it does look and feel that way because I have enough money to not work for a while and to publish my books. But after that my position is exactly the same as it was summer 2018.
And UNLESS I come up with a way to earn money, I will have to accept a job and become unhappy in it. Or kill myself because I don’t want to live if I can’t do my own thing, and writing is banished to the evening hours.
He is a walking talking threat of the life I have to live if I fail.
It’s like what Frodo saw in the mirror of Galadriel, the nightmarish vision of hobbits enslaved in the Shire.
“I know what it is you saw, ” Galadriel says.
“For it is also in my mind. It is the future, Frodo.
It is what will come to pass if you should fail.”
If Frodo fails to destroy the ring, his people will be enslaved by Sauron.
If I fail to make a living writing books, I will be enslaved by a normal job.
A thought that still makes me suicidal.
But fully awake!
Having a friend who triggers my fear of a normal job, keeps me in touch with 2018. With how horrible I felt, and what is at stake here.
To succeed or die.
“Even” if the last one might “only” mean spiritually.

The Agent

I had already decided that I wasn’t going to do regular PR for my books. No TV, no radio, but most of all; no hassle to getting booked.
After I ve published the four books I m currently working on, my daily activities will be:
1. Write a blog post.
2. Make a video.
3. Daily sales and finance.
And that’s it.
If I would be invited to speak somewhere, that would have to be leisure time because my work day is already full.
My YouTube and my daily blog would be my PR, and nothing else.
But then my friend and me got into this brainstorm session about her future and my future, and before I had actually thought about it, I said:
“Well, if it appeals to you, you could be my manager. Get me speaking gigs and everything. And you would get us a good deal.”
Her eyes started glowing with excitement.
Me opening up to the idea of speaking as a way to making a living, was due to (or thanks to) the other professional friend, breathing down my neck.
As well as the realization that I would probably actually like speaking!
I have an authentic vision and message, on many, many things.
Yoga, sex, purpose, happiness.
Men, #metoo, power, manipulation and how to get away with it.
You can ask me pretty much anything, and I will give you an answer you have never thought of before.
And aside from me liking speaking, and my spiritual or physical suicide waiting for me if I fail to make a living for myself, there was a third reason why having a manager and getting into public speaking spoke to me.
Because public speaking is related to making a name for myself as a writer.
Whereas a consultancy job clearly isn’t.
And a fourth reason our collaboration spoke to me, was that every time I thought about needing someone to grow my business, I had discarded the plans because i didn’t want to run the risk of being scammed by corrupt managers or anything.
Whereas my friend is professional, but fair.
I ve worked with her in the past, and our friendship has survived something in our business relationship going sour, because both of us could see the conflict was just unforeseen circumstances combined with a conflict of interest.
Not because either one of us was trying to scam the other.
She’s one of the few people I can trust blindly.
And even if my friend becoming my manager and agent, would go horribly wrong, it would still make a hell of a story.

Because although I just spent the weekend eye-to-eye with death, am wasting countless hours searching for porn on Twitter, and might blow up a friendship by getting in business together;
The worst path I could possibly choose to becoming a 7-figure Rock Star Writer, is the one with nothing worth writing about. 

<3LSH
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

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Where the operatic section comes in is Chapter 25 of my diary 7-figure Rock Star Writer

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