The Rise Of Catherine Tramell


video: One of my favorite scenes from Basic instinct.
It shows how much Catherine and Nick are at ease with each other.

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our call I always give her a headsup..

This post contains spoilers for Basic Instinct (1992)
You can watch the movie on Netflix.
.
Dear Sara,
.
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
The flesh is weaker than the conscious mind.

Where flesh stands for still following the news day after day, despite making daily resolutions to stop following the news entirely.
.
And where flesh stands for writing an entire blogpost – twice!- about my real thoughts on Covid.
.
But before I get to the tricky part, of writing about Covid without creating things I delete, I want to first get back to the part where I changed my mind.
After my last letter to you.
My intention was to stop living so hermit-like, and go out more.
Take more risks.
.
I was so sick of staying within my (social) boundaries, and could not stand the thought of living in fear of well “people” I think.
Not fear of the virus, just to be clear.
.
I knew this “daring” new lifestyle would probably cost me my productivity. That I would be so out of whack every time I had seen a friend who had a cold, or had been in a car with someone who then got tested the week after and so on;
And yet, it was worth it.
Then fuck being productive.
Or so I thought.
.
But reality was a lot more stubborn than just a rational decision to stop being such a pussy, and rock that social life.
Time and time again I was caught off-guard, and I think I now know why;
Because you know what, Sara?
Most people SAY they live according to Covid regulations.
AND THEN THEY DON’T.
.
So this is what the world looks like to me Sara:
FIRST , “they”, society, science, all the scared people, all the dutiful entrepreneurs and organisations, all the healthcare professionals who had to deal with so much death and so on-
They tell me Covid is a real threat and that therefor there are these rules in place.
THEN, “they”, society, science, all the scared people, all the dutiful entrepreneurs and organisations, all the healthcare professionals who had to deal with so much death and so on – 
do not obey their own rules.
AND! 
The other half of society, alternative news channels, and people who are less scared, the entrepreneurs and organisations who are less dutiful and everyone else who did not have to deal with all the deaths and sick people, also don’t obey them because they don’t believe it’s a real threat.
.
In other words:
I m living in a world where from the people who have not stayed indoors for 6 months;
No one obeys the rules.
Half of them despite endorsing them.
.
They go out coughing, share hand towels, equipment, food, elevators, cars.
They do not keep a 1,5 meter distance, or meet indoors without having any reason to believe the place has some kind of premium ventilation technique.
.
And yet at the same time, with half of them, it is NOT because they do not endorse the rules;
But it is because unlike me, they never had to internalize what hygiene is, because they were never aids phobic.
.
My estimate is that unless you’re a surgeon, you’re not going to understand surface and air contamination.
Because if you did, you would immediately see that the preventative measures may be more than a drop in the ocean;
But they’re far from safe or sterile circumstances that will prevent you from getting anything.
And that is IF you obey the rules.
Which like I said: I have (hardly) seen anyone doing, not consistently at least.
.
So here I was, for the past 6 months, in a world where half of the population endorse the rules and don’t diligently follow them, and the other half who do not endorse the rules and also don’t follow them.
And yet I have been feeling like the villain for concluding that apparently the rules only have the function of giving the impression that “something is being done”.
They should make people FEEL safe, when even if the rules would be executed perfectly, they are far from safe.

As the surgeon and the woman recovering from an aids phobia would have been able to tell you.
..
Yet this whole “playing by the rules” act has been my MO for the past 6 months, and I was like: “Whatever. I’ll sit this one out, and I ll cope.”
But at the back of my head, still, there was this voice that it wasn’t about following the rules;
It was about not catching or spreading Covid.
Which if it is as contagious as they say it is, means you cannot do anything where you touch the same surface as someone else, nor go indoors anywhere.
A situation that was only facilitated during the lock down, although our stores stayed open.
For the past 6 months I have not been stressed out by the rules, but by knowing that the rules are not enough to keep it from spreading.
As long as the supermarket, the plane or the movie theater are not clean enough to have an open heart surgery, you can still catch Covid there.
That’s how I see it. 
.
In the first months I felt angry, but eventually it died out.
And I became apathetic.
I was checking the news sites (sinning) but basically all I did was checking if there were any signs of land.

If there was hope.
And the reason it was so bad for my mental health was because I realized this would stay until at least mid 2021 if not longer.
.
I ve deleted another four paragraphs of medical information;
Suffice to say, I have not been able to combine my Covid related stress with giving myself nor my cats the right medical attention.
.
And it was something that was recently added onto that “I ll sit this one out” pile of delayed medical attention for my entire household (me and the kitties), combined with the six month emotional roller coaster of reading dreadful Covid related news, and being freaked out by many social interactions, that sparked a new thought;
“What if it never goes away?”
.
What if the conditions that are causing so much anxiety in my social life, and that have made me decide to avoid medical care, are permanent?
What if social distancing stays indefinitely?
What if Covid testing is here to stay, like Chlamydia?

What if a cure for Covid doesn’t come until 2034 just like the one for aids/hiv didn’t come until 1994;
And there will never be a workable vaccine but only something like Prep, for those at risk of getting Covid?
.
Then what?
.
And everything fell into place.
.
It was the breakthrough I had been looking for.
.
Of course I wasn’t going to watch the news anymore, now that I realized that it may very well stay like this for the upcoming decade and a half.
Just like gay men in the 80s, we might be in for a very long haul.
.
For the first time in months, I immediately knew what to do.
.
I sent an email to my dentist and the VET, both explaining my issues with the current situation as well as asking or suggesting ways how we could pick up treatment (safely) for myself (dentist) and the cats (VET).
For now I will keep my ban on the GP and specialists, but I’ve more or less always had that.
Dental care and the VET are really the only forms of health care that are “aligned” for me.
It’s not that it’s going to be easy, or immediately solved or anything.
But I felt very empowered to pick those ones up, instead of postponing it to some unforeseen future.
.
And finally The Vision came, of who I am becoming.
And this was also something that had been dangling in and out of focus, for a very long time. It was as if I just couldn’t fully grasp it.
Or was afraid to leap.
Until now.
.
In the 1992 movie Basic Instinct, Sharon Stone plays Catherine Tramell.
And although right off the bat, I was totally into her, she also seems to be perpetually growing on me.
.
Catherine Tramell is not just the type of woman who I think I truly am, and the only writer I have ever really felt connected to;
She also embodies the “role” I feel I currently have, in society.
.
She’s the one who everybody believes to be evil, when she’s really not evil at all.
Just strong, misunderstood, and refusing to explain herself.
.
Identifying with her is my ticket “out of here”.
Where “here” is after six months of playing by the rules and missing out on all the fun. And health care.
Basic Instinct, as I see it now, contains an alternative story or theme, that was recognized by at least one other person at the time!
By Sharon Stone herself.
.
On the special edition dvd, she speaks favorably about her character Catherine Tramell, and the story of Basic Instinct.
Yet last week I heard her talking about her background research for Catherine Tramell (in interviews for Netflix series Ratched) and it was almost as if she looked back at Catherine Tramell as really having committed the murders.
As really being a serial killer.
I thought:
“She’s lost “her”! Even Sharon Stone no longer remembers who Catherine Tramell really was.”
.
Maybe I misunderstood the interview she gave last week or the interview on the 1992 recording.
But Sharon Stone seemed to no longer support a more
favorable version, which she offered in that interview from the early 90s.
That Basic Instinct was a love story.
..
And this is how I see that story:
Catherine Tramell and Nick Curran, were both fascinated by playing mental games.
I am reading the book for the first time, and Catherine is explained like this;
.
“Writing teaches you how to lie,” she said crisply.
Oh, Jeez, thought Gus, all the ice was thin around this woman.
Every word she uttered was loaded with some double meaning.
.
But what was too much for Gus, was exactly right for Nick Curran;
..
He was looking forward to see how much she could be pushed
–and how she would push back.
.
Nick and Catherine played together because no one else understood the game. 
.
Catherine was not violent, not in a physical sense. But she did have a fascination for people with a history of violence.
Like Nick.
.
An incident where he had shot two tourists when he had been undercover, had made Nick Curran emotionally wounded and reckless. He was always drawn to violent situations. As if he longed to be punished for what he had done.
For the mistakes he had made.
Or, as his partner Gus called it, Nick felt so guilty that he “tried to wiggle his way into an ice pick”.
.
So I do not see Catherine Tramell as a killer;
But she was surrounded by them.
She sought their company a
nd seemed to have given them ownership over who they were...
Roxy could accept she had killed her brothers.
Hazel Dobkins could accept she had killed her family.
Nick could accept he killed “those tourists”.
.
And all three did those things, long before they met Catherine.
.
Her presence, her willingness to look them in the eye and be able to be with them despite or maybe even because of what they had done;
It’s what drew them towards her, as if for one brief moment, they didn’t have to carry that burden alone. 
.
But Beth Garner, who studied at Berkley at the same time as Catherine did and who became San Francisco’s police psychologist?
She could not cope.
In all probability; Beth Garner was no killer, until she met Catherine and lost her sanity.
.
Yet Beth Garner was viewed as the “good” one.
In the final scenes of the movie, it is revealed that Beth was the killer, of
Johnny Bozz, and of detective Nilsen to whom she gave Nick’s psychiatric file;
She killed Gus, and in all likeliness also their mentor at Berkley and her own husband.
.
But because of one final shot, with an ice pick under Catherine and Nick’s bed, it is also ambiguous if all that was true.
.
To this day director Paul Verhoeven, and now apparently even Sharon Stone herself, claim it was Catherine Tramell, not Beth Garner, who killed Johnny Bozz, Nilsen and Gus.
And then Catherine would also have to be the one who killed the mentor, and Beth’s husband.
.
In my opinion: She wasn’t.
It really was Beth.
.
She got into a deep identity crisis from meeting Catherine Tramell and as a response to not being able to really connect with Catherine and feeling inferior to her, Beth “became” the evil she accused Tramell of.
But that was never there. 
.
In 1992, I didn’t know the two story lines, both that Beth did it and that Catherine did it, had both been fully developed.
So naturally, I thought if you would dissect the movie, or if I had paid more attention, I would have seen who had “really” done it.
I left the theater with the ending that Beth Garner had done all the killing, but nevertheless Catherine had an ice pick under the bed.
Which she ultimately did not use, she didn’t kill Nick. 
.
Frustrated, I asked my then boyfriend what that ending meant.
If Beth had done it, why did Catherine have an ice pick and had considered using it on Nick?
I will never forget what my boyfriend said, and especially now that I know the movie is so complicated, I think he gave the best explanation of the movie I have ever heard:
“Maybe she was so used to having the people around her being killed, that when the killer was caught she felt she had to do it herself.”
.
And that’s why I know, this crisis will never be over.
If the virus is gone (the killer is caught), we will be so used to having it around us, that we’ll either keep it around by our thoughts, refusing to let it go.
Or we’ll create a new enemy thought.
Ten days ago one of the major news sites had three articles on legionnaire’s disease;
Maybe that will be the new enemy if Covid is behind bars.
Maybe that will be the ice pick under our beds we’re tempted to use because we’re so used, and attached, to having death and mayhem around us.
.
The movie made me see that there is no right or wrong in this crisis.
There are multiple story lines which you can follow, and they’re all complete.
.
The whodunnit from Covid will, just like Basic Instinct, always be a matter of preference.
.
Do you want to believe the good doctor Beth Garner was set up by the femme fatale?
.
Or do you want to believe that the mysterious writer Catherine Tramell just decided to play along? 
.
“I don’t make the rules, Nick. I go with the flow.”
.
After six months of pretending to be a Beth Garner, I realize I chose the wrong part.
I m changing my position, and picking up the Catherine Tramell part, just like I have done for years.
My three websites, my three blogs of the past ten years, are filled with blogs just like this one. Where I realize there is a part of me that has only been represented by her.
A very big part.
.
But I think I knew even earlier. I think I chose right there in 1992, who I wanted to become, or perhaps had always been.
Her.
.
I don’t make the rules, Sara.
.
I go with the flow.
.
.

~Suzanne/ Lauren
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

Curious to read what else I wrote about Catherine Tramell?
Most of it was on this site!
Just search on her name in the search box.

And next to that
there are two articles you can find using the search box of my oldest blog,

and I got one hit on my Dutch site.

Books LS Harteveld/ Lauren

Lauren’s books are available at LULU
New books will also be added to Lulu, as sites are being curated.


ABOUT ME

I am Suzanne, the real name of Lauren Harteveld,
Lauren/ LS Harteveld was my second identity under which I wrote about sex, relationships, pop culture, from 2006 to 2020.
Lauren is now in 1995, so she will write offline for us.
Her first year 1994-1995 is available online:

.
coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

Share Yourself With More People

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our call I always give her a headsup..

Dear Sara,
.
I feel I lost the last two weeks.
As if there is absolutely nothing worthy of telling.
Despite the title, I definitely did not share myself, but I did have an extremely ugly backlash from this summer where I did try to share myself with more people.
.
It was an accumulation of things, and the short version is I tried to put my love life back together despite of Covid and yet sooner rather than later but more precisely the last two weeks;
It all fell to bits.
.
As sure as I had been that I WAS NOT going to let Covid rob me of my sex life, after phobic nights, the GP not calling me back, the psychotherapist not responding to my email, cancelling my work because I just felt like a Covid bio-hazard at that time;
And then slowly crawling back up, all the while thinking:
“Please Covid, take my sex life, but LEAVE ME (I may have added “the fuck” here) ALONE!”
.
As impossible as it had seemed to rule out sex, which had been my top priority for 14 years; That’s how unwise, disruptive and drama-filled physical contact had proven to be.
Either I was going to have a sex-life and spend the upcoming year either:
– working like a mad woman to make a “real relationship” work
or
– spend it trembling under a blanket from all the anxiety attacks my sex in Covid times was causing
The third option: Get professional help through a therapist, was no longer included after my attempts had not resulted in anything.
And instead I chose the new previously unthinkable option 3:
– get by without professional help, but cutting the biggest trigger, my sex life, out.
.
I also had to decide to keep doing things with other people, pick up my work (for third party/ on location), go to theaters and public places.
The fear that had been triggered by this summer’s attempt to regain my sex life, had immobilized me.
It was like a train that had the emergency stop pulled, and needed to be unlocked manually, wheel by wheel.
.
I made a resolution to do something social or public every day.
I
t had to be a deliberate choice to prioritize that, and to not give myself the option to back out.
.
Work wise it’s like I forgot the things I told you last time.
I said my work would be teaching/ writing about yoga, and making Bon Jovi videos and write about Bon Jovi, all under my real name.
I did start teaching a weekly Dutch yoga course! It’s a blog combined with videos. So that feels very satisfactory. 

But as a whole, writing as LS Harteveld did more or less hijack my working hours, and now I m two weeks further down the road, and I have to write you again, and I m thinking:
“If only I had remembered to implement what I wrote Sara two weeks ago, and only do the work under my real name during work hours;
I would not have lost those weeks.”
.
I m often disappointed at how much time I spend straying from the path only to come back exactly where I started.
And this time without the sex.
.
Okay, so that’s enough dwelling for one night. 
.
On the bright side, it does mean that until there is a vaccine, I have all the time in the world to focus on whatever I want. Without the distraction of sex.
I ve already aligned with Andy Warhol, who never had sex.
Lenny Kravitz, who was celibate for many years. I couldn’t find if or how that ended. 
And I am starting to see, it has the potential to do something extremely powerful for your art and your position in the world.
.
It’s an interesting concept that identifying with not having sex, is just as potent as identifying with having it.
Like I did for the past 14 years.
.
But seeing people in real life, or visiting public places and working and thereby complicating social and Covid related dynamics, are part of this new phase.
To avoid dropping back to my comfort zone, out of Covid fear, I need to keep seeing other people.
.
I may end up sharing myself with more people, than when I still had sex.
..
.

~Suzanne/ Lauren
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

If you’re interested in following my Bon Jovi related content under my real name, you’re invited to follow the following accounts:
YouTube
Rock Star Writer (blog)
Rock Star Writer Facebook
my personal Twitter under my real name

Books LS Harteveld/ Lauren

Lauren’s books are available at LULU
New books will also be added to Lulu, as sites are being curated.


ABOUT ME

I am Suzanne, the real name of Lauren Harteveld,
Lauren/ LS Harteveld was my second identity under which I wrote about sex, relationships, pop culture, from 2006 to 2020.
Lauren is now in 1995, so she will write offline for us.
Her first year 1994-1995 is available online:

.
coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

To Rule The World

Madonna at 23 years old

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our call I always give her a headsup..

Dear Sara,
.
I can assure you this going all in, this stepping on it, and this upleveling like a mf, when at the same time feeling the same joyous August excitement I used to have when I was still a yoga teacher and could theme my next year;
That this did not come peacefully.
.
It wasn’t like I suddenly had a deep insight into what now seems God’s Divine Plan for my life, happily playing with that card deck I showed you, the one I created two weeks after my birthday that contained pictures of my dreams and desires.
My calling came after a lot more drama and despair.
But now that I see the big picture, or at least the potential of the upcoming year, the deck does start to make more sense.
.
The card deck contained, among many other things, pictures of what I considered to be role models or my different identities.
The picture with this blog post is Madonna at 23 years old.
I could understand why I had selected that photo to be in the deck, since my main project for this pseudonym LS Harteveld is still my 1995 project.
The time when I was 23 old.
Obviously, the Madonna was supposed to represent “me”, Lauren in 1995.
.
The 1995 project is about being a 23 year old Lauren Harteveld, a college graduate, who saw her first year as a working young woman fall into f’ing bits. 

A year where she has been working for a publisher, mostly from home.
A year where she lost her lover Bear, because he wanted to have a quote unquote real relationship, or at least that’s how she translated his announcement her five year affair was no longer to be consumed.
By now Bear has proven he does still appreciate their friendship, and he’s actually a better friend to her than he was during their affair.
But still.
Lauren has lost something that was very dear to her, and the discrepancies between her and Bear are accumulating.
Before his one year contract with a prestigious financial firm expired, he already landed himself a better job, which allowed him to start traveling the world and to run his own hustle.
A privilege rarely given to someone his age, where doing office face-time and making sure you were seen by the right people was usually all you could do for your career.
.
Bear had outdone her in the areas of relationships as well as career, and by now she didn’t even feel worthy of his love anymore.
She had lost a full year.
A year where, yes, she had figured out she wanted to be a writer. Or that she already was a writer and she should start monetizing it.
But that was months ago.
And she had done little to nothing to turn her life around, and didn’t know how.
She didn’t even like the ass-sitting hours of being a writer, and her goal was to have less of them.
So how then, was she going to be a writer?
Did she/ I even have what it takes?
.
I don’t know if I told you this, but the card deck was composed in an intuitive way. It contained pictures of things I found important to be part of my future vision, but of many I didn’t fully understand what they represented.
And then a second “layering” was added, where I – also intuitively – sequenced them.
Some parings were logical, like all the yoga cards together.
But some didn’t make sense to me at all.
One was the Madonna card.
To a certain level I could understand why I had looked for a photo of the 23 year old Madonna, and yet its presence especially at a crucial point in the card deck, right before pictures of what I assume will be my next boyfriend, didn’t make sense.
Why had I (under divine guidance, let’s hope) put this picture there?
.
Why had I linked reawakening my inner Madonna to Love, instead of to Success?
It would have made more sense in my real estate section, which closed the card deck and contained a card of a beautiful apartment building, copious amounts of Jon Bon Jovi pictures on stage, and countless interiors in different combinations of the colors white, black, and a dominant red. 
The real estate slash Jon Bon Jovi section did not contain an “identity card”; No card of “me- as this person who has all these things” was present.
So if Madonna was apparently to become a role model once more, and in particular her beginning years where she lived in New York, still “Livin’on a Prayer” so to speak;
Then why wasn’t she in the real estate slash success section of the deck?
Why had the Madonna 1981 card landed at number 4, in what I called my big arcade, similarly to the Tarot?
.
I m not exactly sure yet, but ever since I got up this morning with the vision of what my 2020-2021 (my 1995-1996) was going to look like, I do understand one thing;
That real estate section or not, the image of the 23 year old Madonna is the key to my success.
.
She did not land at the number 4 spot to illustrate that I had to become her in order to get the man on number 3, 5 and 6, whom I thought must have been a representation of my “main boyfriend”.
.
Oh and by the way his pictures, and how omnipresent they were in the deck, was another intuitive choice that had baffled me.
Because if they stood for whom I thought they stood for, I didn’t see how that man, the man I thought it represented, would ever come into my life. 
.
So initially I had been using a literal interpretation of the sequencing of the cards.
With regard to the man on card 3,5 and 6, and Madonna in between, I had taken it as:

“Become 23 year old Madonna and the man in the pictures shall be yours.”
And with regard to my real estate section and JBJ’s presence:
“Run your business like the Jersey Syndicate (the name Bon Jovi used to refer to themselves in the late 80s) and all this wealth shall be yours.”
But I felt a shift.
A big one.
And it was a happy one, considering I had been spending I think 48 hours or so, immobilized by my phobias closing in on me.
.
The same social phobias that had been haunting me since my teens, caused havoc in my sex life for decades, and that miraculously seemed to have slept through the first five months of inconsistent, confusing Dutch Covid regulation.
And JUST when I was letting down my guard.
And JUST as I had decided to stop giving fucks about trying to please everyone and be a perfect example of Covid Responsibility, and start taking more risks in the social life and sex life department;
It was back.
.
I was offered a job interview at the end of days of social debauchery and totally froze up.
The thought of something (Or someone, Sara! Or someone!) that I had engaged with (this was a euphemism) for the last 14 days, would report me to our health services as someone they had “spent more than 15 minutes with in the same room” (oh, more euphemisms Sara), that these sweet moments of human interaction would end up being clinically dissected by health services?
Totally unacceptable.
Totally.
.
I DO value sex enough to risk sickness, two weeks of quarantine and being not the safest person to meet. My friends and family make a conscious choice to see me, and I have been vocal for months that sex is coming back on the agenda. Covid or no Covid.
But the thought that if I have sex while I am also “in the loop” with a workplace?
That my social and sexual indulgence is going to spill over into having conversations with the temp agency and coworkers?
Phobias the way I had not experienced them in decades!
.
God, what a cluster fuck it was.
.
My first response to being back at trembling anxiety and sleepless nights was to cancel IT ALL, in order to be able to work.
So to cancel all contact with friends, family, lovers, for the upcoming 12 to 18 months or as long as it took, in order to be clean enough to work.
I would make up some excuse for this current job offer, and start clean in the second week of September.  
That way my social and sex life was orderly, orderly meaning non-existent.
No residues left.
As long as I would maintain a social anorexic state, I would never have to have embarrassing conversations since all exposure would have been in service of God and Mankind.  
.
My conscience would be as clear as a saint’s, since I would not have any real life, aside from the workplace one.
.
As incredibly clever as that was, I ultimately did not choose for this solution as the thing that was going to save me.
But I did do two other things.
.
The first thing I decided was to find help for my returning phobia.
I had successfully beaten its first 15+ year round in my life, where I autonomously conquered the hiv/aids phobia that had limited my sex life and had set me off on the wrong foot, pursuing long-term monogamous relationships which did not excite me one bit.

Not even when I was 17.
But due to Covid and a messy week of new government regulation being declared by decree, then pulled back through push-back from opposition, and ultimately GASLIT UPON US- 
the fears were back.
It was as if all the things I had done to tackle the first phobia, had failed, and the beast now had two heads where there once had been one.
I was not going to do this alone, again.
.
I always heard phobias are kind of like psychology’s 101. You could be cured by the intern so to speak, that’s how simple phobias are supposed to be.
So this made me decide if they ever returned, I would not go through the hassle of solving them myself.

Already the first night of having my demons return to me, I emailed the psychotherapist who would have done my diagnosis, had I still needed help at the beginning of this year.
I wrote her a letter, stating that although the problems for which I had been referred in 2019 had been handled by myself successfully, old fears dating back to the 80s had come back to haunt me.
Awakened from their dormant sleep by Covid.
And that I was hoping I could be treated by their practice, or receive a referral to a colleague.
.
So that is, to me at least, definitely a surprise. That I actually asked for mental health help, since I was so done with it earlier.
But also, when I didn’t need it anymore, earlier. 
.
If all goes well – and my healing is complete! – not only will I be able to sport having a job or any social or sexual interaction of my choosing next to a career of being, eh, Madonna I guess!
I will also calmly carry the responsibility of this human interaction.
Including the responsibility of having an unusual sex life that will never be your average transparent, run of the mill, monogamous relationship.
I will be at peace with the fact that human interaction comes at a price.
And with the fact that my body is a chemical weapon that calls for having your entire social circle being round up like the a terrorist organization and suffering government repercussions for taking your mini-chemical warfare body out into the streets to go grocery shopping.
.
As you might have picked up, I am not quite there yet, in terms being judged on whether or not I am or am not an open sewer today.
And if I could have known I was an open sewer because I showed signs of being an open sewer or because I have been into contact with people who were showing signs of being open sewers.
Where open sewer can be replaced by “chemical bomb”, “radioactive waste” or “leper”.
But hey!
Psychology 101 right?
Let the healing begin.
.
Since I seem to be the only one who translates every traceable human interaction into the possibility of two weeks of quarantine and your entire social network hearing from local health services your reckless behavior has risked their lives and all their loved ones to the third degree;
I m clearly missing the Don’t Worry Be Happy take on things.
I m making this way too difficult.
.
Just like my entire generation, except me, managed to cheerfully develop their sex lives and ignore the Aids/hiv brochures our government printed in blood spatter, I kid you not.
Even in the 80s letting yourself get upset by the combination of social control with deadly diseases, was for softies.
Every intern knows that.
.
Forgive me for my rant, although I imagine it does illustrate why for me the idea of having heavy ass shit like this follow me into the workplace, is unthinkable without breaking into a cold sweat.
.
So that was ONE!
One major thing I did in the wake of those events.

I asked for help for the two headed phobia monster that was now chasing me, instead of taking it on by myself.
I mean, why would you, when its psychology 101 right?
Oh, and there’s me being sarcastic again.
.
So anyway, realizing that the practical job in a non-office, non-desk working environment, was in Covid times not going to be the easy going social activity I fancied it to be, put my immediate future into a whole different light.
If working among other people was basically mY wOrSt fEaR right now, then what?
.
Was I going to squeeze it in regardless, or do something entirely different with month 7 to 13 of the Covid era?
.
And there it was.
.
The vision.
.
The thing I had been chasing for so long!
I have not unpacked it fully, to be honest. But from the first look of it, everything is in there.
It’s like an IKEA box, that you still have to put together yourself and we all know that might take a day where you thought it would be 30 minutes;
But who remembers that in years to come when your utilitarian but also beautiful piece of furniture has taken its rightful place in your living space, and gives you joy everyday?
No one remembers the day of unpacking then.
Of wondering how it would all fit together.
No one will even remember that if something was missing or if you needed extra tools to put it together, that you went back to the store, or borrowed a hammer from a neighbor you had never spoken to before.
It’s all forgotten.
.
Today is the day not of my new bookshelves but of my vision.
And in the end all that will be remembered is its happily ever after presence in my life.
.

My vision PART 1: Made by Lauren

.
Although my vision encompasses all areas of my life, it is really rooted in this pseudonym, in the work I do as LS Harteveld.
And specifically in the project Lauren 1995.
.
In my vision I see Lauren moving away from working full-time at the publisher’s (a job I invented to cover me publishing my own books), into:
.
– Lauren 1995 working only part-time, like one or two days a week, as a copy-editor.
.
– Lauren 1995 publishing her own diary 1994- 1995
Just like Anais Nin, she’s going to do it herself.
.
– writing her second book, the 1995-1996 diary
This was an offline “endeavor” or at least it would have been, if I had been writing anything!
Aside from small daily notes in my journal.
But in combination with cleaning up my love life (see, The Vision part 2), I think 1995-1996 could be written online.
I haven’t decided yet.
.
And finally I “created” a new job, which ties Lauren 1995 to current day me, writing and YouTubeing about Bon Jovi under my real name;
.
– Lauren 1995 is going to create all the material for the Bon Jovi fan club
.
Under my real name I have a YouTube channel discussing old Bon Jovi concerts, and I have a website with Bon Jovi related stories.
And although I ve been in heart and soul, with Lauren 1995;
I always knew this work under my real name was my future.
That it was My Thing!
.
But I also knew that I would have to tie it into the 1995 project of my pseudonym. That I needed the best of both worlds.
.
Giving Lauren 1995 a job as content-creator avant la lettre, for the Bon Jovi fanclub;
That’s IT, Baby!
A 23 year old Lauren, reviewing concerts of her favorite band, writing about them. It’s like a crossover between being a VJ (remember those?) and a rock journalist (remember those? Sadly one of the professions we seemed to have decimated with the coming of the internets) gives the 1995-me a way to interact with what I do online in the real world.
.
Lauren 1995 is going to work for the Bon Jovi fanclub three to four days a week.
That is part of my vision.
.
And here’s the other part of my vision, where I incorporate the lessons from the panic attacks and the recurring social phobia:
.

My vision PART 2: my love life and social life are clean and simple

.
Call it a Covid thing, call it a focus thing, but when I manage to get the funds to kick-start this year, or nine and a half months it is; I do not have time for drama.
I do not have time for occasions, events, and people, who might come at unforeseen costs.
For example.
If you now go to a bar or cinema, you may be contacted by health services and lose two weeks of your life to quarantine.
For STRANGERS.
Simply because you were in the same space for longer than 15 minutes.
Don’t have time for that, ain’t gonna risk it, sorry!
No more cinema and no indoor cafes and restaurants, unless there is an extreme case of exception going on.
.
But this is also why I’m not going to work for a temp agency, or for another job, in the upcoming months:
I can’t waste another night or nights worrying about who I am going to infect, and if I should or should not go to work because I sneeze one time too many.
Until I can be around people without my phobias being triggered (this is where I put my faith in good therapy), or until loneliness from running my own book biz starts wearing me down, until I start missing having a sexual secretive affair, or need the money of a normal job;
I m going to stay away from anything that gets under my skin.
Jobs with in person colleagues, cafes, cinemas, and secret affairs.

For the upcoming year, year and a half, I m going to keep an impeccable clean social rep sheet, and focus on my art and my message instead.
.

My vision PART 3: What the Madonna Card really meant

Part 3 is the final part of the vision, as I have seen it today.
.
Before I get to that, I have not told you why it’s 9 months. And why now, in August. Although maybe I told you a bit of why now;
Because I m always inspired by the school year.
.
Most yoga teachers end their classes early June. And if you re in your final year of high school, you have exams and they end late May as well.
June is the month where you get your diploma, and the month the yoga courses end.
So I m setting up my year to start in September, and end on June 13:
The day of the Bon Jovi concert in 2019
.
I m seeing it as a year to create my own education, my own business. Creating the foundations of a new life.
.
So, the final part of the vision:
The 1981 Madonna.
.
Contrary to my initial assumption that “she” stood for the woman I would be, or would have to become, for the man on card 3, 5 and 6, the early Madonna stands for determination to rule the world.
I think it was a 1983 interview where the host asks her what she wants to achieve and she answers; “To rule the world.”  
.
By that time she had lived in a cockroach infested apartment where she ultimately left the door open when she went out, because she was tired of thieves breaking her locks and having to replace them every time.
.
She had to overcome sexual assault, when she was molested on a rooftop by a stranger with a knife, without anyone to talk to but her walls.
I can’t remember if she stared into a mirror or at photos of her idols, that were a representation to her of what she wanted to achieve.
But I remember her saying this was the moment when she wondered if she should just give up on her dream and go back home or have a normal career.
She asked herself: 

“How bad do I want this?”
The rest is legend.
.
My phobia was always the same; It was a social phobia.
Whether it was linked to aids/hiv, to Covid, or to a plain and dull version of being judged and having them talk behind your back because they don’t understand you and therefor keep looking for reasons to hate you.

The phobia was always something that had to be dealt with, before I would push through and make it big.

The .phobias returning were my night of looking at my own walls, of looking in the mirror, pondering;
“How bad do I want this?”
.
I want all of it.
..
.

~Suzanne/ Lauren
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

I usually don’t do this, but if you’re interested in following my Bon Jovi related content under my real name, you’re invited to follow the following accounts:
YouTube
Rock Star Writer (blog)
Rock Star Writer Facebook
my personal Twitter under my real name

Books LS Harteveld/ Lauren

Lauren’s books are available at LULU
New books will also be added to Lulu, as sites are being curated.


ABOUT ME

I am Suzanne, the real name of Lauren Harteveld,
Lauren/ LS Harteveld was my second identity under which I wrote about sex, relationships, pop culture, from 2006 to 2020.
Lauren is now in 1995, so she will write offline for us.
Her first year 1994-1995 is available online:

.
coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

I’m playing the “Pick It Up From There”- Card

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our call I always give her a headsup..

Dear Sara,
.
Over the two years we’ve been working together, I ve frequently told you that my life was in total mayhem, until the final day or hours where I had to write you an update, before it suddenly all fell into place.
When I confessed this to you, you always assured me that if I would show up, in my total messiness, we’d just “pick it up from there”.
Although I had no idea what that meant, or what kind of magic trick you would have up your sleeve to untangle my mental mess and mayhem, I still found that enormously reassuring.
.
And I think it is today, that I will pick you up on that offer.
If it still stands.
.
The good news is: “There”, as in a place where you don’t know where to start or what to write your coach, is not a bad place to be at all.
It’s very quiet.
It wasn’t when my life was tumultuous, when I would be needing to take you up on that offer;

It is now, when I feel I m in the eye of the storm.
.
There is nothing here.
Everything has come to a halt, and everything I was working on seems irrelevant.
Like I need to stop writing.
.
When I went through this blog I saw about 6 cases of me wanting to stop writing, wanting to stop being LS Harteveld, or a combination of the two.
And this blog is not even two years old.
.
The reason I have temporarily stopped writing now, is because of a heatwave.
I abandoned or brought to a halt all projects I was currently working on, and am offline for five days.
It’s like a holiday.
I had the intention of writing offline/ journaling my blog posts and type and post them when the heat has subsided.
But I find myself not interested in writing offline at all.

Even though my biggest project, here on this site, would definitely benefit from a little working in advance, because I m going to be pressed for time to finish it in the time I said I would.
.
This project is a six week project;
Half July I started writing Facebook notes, and recently I bundled them to a blog post called;
“Demons and Daemons” a Facebook novella by Suzanne/Lauren
A diary that covers three weeks, out of which I wrote fifteen days.
After posting it, I started a new series, which I called The Book Club, and that was initially just to repost the novella into more bite-sized posts.
I don’t necessarily think everybody should read all my stuff, but I do believe in keeping it manageable.
Since I write because I have an internal need to do so, keeping it manageable is almost impossible, because writing happens when it happens.
But for instance by posting on Facebook first, instead of here on the blog, I can prevent overflowing your mailbox with 15 messages.
Instead you get one novella.
.
However, this brought the new problem that it was a bit much.
And before I knew it I had split them up – sending them out chapter by chapter after all – BUT! 

Also adding an entire new layer to them.
.
Where the three weeks I had written Demons and Daemons on Facebook had been somewhat of a journey into darkness, and then me marrying the demon or daemon of my Writing, giving it a happy end;
The layer I was adding in the chapter-by-chapter Book Club was exactly the opposite.
.
It was light and optimistic. I would say enlightened.
The Book Club notes or introductions to the three week journey into darkness, were a journey into the light.
They would be a similar three week journey, but from an entirely different perspective.
.
The perspective of someone who has made her peace with being a writer, and has committed to showing up daily for her art.
Just like a marriage would have you show up daily.
.
But instead of a happy end, the marriage with Writing was taking over my life.
The posts for The Book Club (the two books together, The Book Club and Daemons and Demons, will be called A Journey Into Unknown) but also posts for my Rock Star Writer account under my real name;
I wrote and wrote the days after the “wedding”.
Meanwhile thinking;
How on earth am I going to publish my books if I write 5 hours a day?
.
How on earth am I going to enjoy a fun and social job, and be saved from myself and all the writing, if my minimum daily writing requirement exceeds that of what you’d have spare after you came home after work?
.
How am I going to live the life of a successful online author who communicates every day on all her accounts – I still believe showing up for writing includes showing up to share it – and writes and or reposts every day and have a life as well?
.
How can I spend time with a real man, real lovers, if my marriage to Writing devours everything?
.
How do I avoid that being committed to Writing – the only thing that has always been there for me the last 14 years – doesn’t become like being in an abusive relationship?
Was my wedding post to Writing a declaration of love or a case of auto-Stockholm syndrome where I was loyal to my oppressor?
Was my muse in reality a hostage taker?
.
As I was still trying to figure that out, the heatwave started.
And on day 3, as I was limiting the hours the cats could have their water fountain on (they do have two water bowls, before you fear I m limiting their access to water) to minimize heat by electrical devices, I realized that this hot weather, which will only get worse because the nights stay warmer so the house doesn’t cool off, that this is no time to use to computer.
That I need to go offline.
Holiday granted by the Universe, so to speak.
.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, a holiday from writing.
.
No more The Book Club.
No more The Box Set or Live From London, both series for my Rock Star Writer account.
And publishing my books with my hard drive in overdrive for hours on end, is not going to happen until our temperature stays under 30 degrees (86 Fahrenheit)
.
So one week after I committed to writing, the whole thing fell apart for the first time in 14 years.
And although my ego is slightly upset by The Book Club/ Map To Unknown being in severe risk of never being finished;
Part of me thinks it’s a sign that it should never ever be finished.
The part that likes not being able to write.
And it’s a big part.
.
Even this post was supposed to be a private email to you, until I realized I was not going to keep the only time in two years I have nothing to offer, and play the “Pick It Up From There”- Card, go by in silence.
That I wanted this in a blog post where I would one day read it again.
.
It is so freeing to just have it be decided for me.
For the first time in 14 years, I can’t write because it’s so hot I should not be using my computer.
And seeing that even if I had continued, I would not have liked how I was spending my days, being enslaved by writing, daily messaging, and using reposts if I have not written anything that day;
It’s all far too heavy.
.
So I don’t know, Sara.
But I think that’s where we’ll pick it up.
.
Maybe what I m feeling is best comparable with when your lover or partner leaves you in kind of a matter of fact way.
And although you had chosen for him and had a lot of future plans together, and thought he’d be in your life forever, you find out the relief of all that space coming available now that he has left,
is more dear to you than his presence ever was.
.
 Warm regards,
.
.

Suzanne/ Lauren
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

Books LS Harteveld/ Lauren

Lauren’s books are available at LULU
New books will also be added to Lulu, as sites are being curated.


ABOUT ME

I am Suzanne, the real name of Lauren Harteveld,
Lauren/ LS Harteveld was my second identity under which I wrote about sex, relationships, pop culture, from 2006 to 2020.
Lauren is now in 1995, so she will write offline for us.
Her first year 1994-1995 is available online:

.
coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

My Midlife Crisis Blew Up At Lightspeed

At 1:30 the resistance cruiser blows through the Star Destroyer at lightspeed.
After a 10 second time delay, follows the swooshing sound effect.

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our call I always give her a headsup..

Dear Sara,
.
One of the scenes in The Last Jedi I looked forward to every time I went to see the movie at the theater, was the one where the resistance ship crushes the battleship from the First Order by flying through it.
You can’t hear anything, you just get the visual of the triangular shaped spaceship being cut in half by a thin flash of light.
And then the blow comes much later.
.
Many get a chance to escape but ultimately all that remains are burned scrapes of metal flying around space.
It is over.
That is how I feel now, after years and years of misery and battle looking back.
Like being under siege for years on end, and finally losing the big and nasty thing that was firing at me.
And that here too, the silence after impact is so suspenseful but exciting! 
And when you finally hear the blow it has a velvety quality to it.
.
The past ten days so much has happened, that I almost don’t know where to start explaining it.
The most important change is that I feel like an entirely different person.
.
Last Friday I turned 48, and yoga wisdom related to the chakras explains why this shift was so immediate and almost tangible.
Because women go through cycles of 6 years per chakra.
That means on my 48 birthday I flipped out of the much dreaded 1st chakra period, which has been haunting me and has made life impossible.
Just like having a Star Destroyer hovering over you for 6 years.
.
When you’re born you start at the first chakra.
And girls move up to the second at six, boys at seven. This way, we enter a new phase every six or seven years.

So at 7 chakras x 6 years = 42 years old women are done, and they start at “1” again.
Men take 7 years per chakra so they enter this first chakra at 49 years old to 56.
And they re the ones who express it in the classic midlife crisis way;
Buying a motor cycle, taking plastic surgery, and having affairs with women half their age.
Some start a second family.
.
It’s all really just a matter of privilege, because women have the same midlife crisis from 42 to 48 years old.
But because they usually have more obligations with regard to taking care of their children and parents, or even have professions where people are depending on them, they are usually not liberated enough to just go straight into go-fuck-yourself-mode.
They have to appear serious and committed and have to mask it as Going Through Serious Stuff.
Make Meaningful Decisions.
And the fact that I know more women struggling with their health in their forties, than I know men who struggle with their health in their early fifties, indicates to me that some women even have to get sick before they feel it’s okay to take some time off and to start caring for themselves instead of others.
.
Reality is that a female midlife crisis is usually not the extravagant feast the men treat themselves to.
.
Looking back I can say I had the female midlife crisis.
Just like other women I blew up my entire career, turned my back on many things and lost a lot of my friends.

It was as if everything that wasn’t 100% aligned might have been allowed to stay in the beginning, but that ultimately my 1st chakra time was destined to be a time of great cleansing.
Nothing that wasn’t 100% pure would make it till the dawn of the 24 th of July, 2020.
It would all be purged from my life, or blown up in the finale when at light speed the Star Destroyer that my midlife crisis was, would be cut in half and left to die.
.
Even the last week, I was helped by the Universe to get clarity on a subject my former lover and me had been trying to avoid.
And that’s done now.
Everything, is done.
It’s over.
.
In the 1st chakra time, from my 42nd until last Friday, I didn’t get sick, I didn’t get pregnant, I didn’t find a man and settled down blissfully with my final-chance-baby;
All things many women in their forties do, and all things that would have horrified me.
.
Instead I only ended my yoga career and was treated to an exclusive and highly sexual affair, that in particular in the first two years brought me great joy and pleasure.
The final three years were harder, as he contacted me less frequently and I was forced to think about nitty gritty shit like:
“If I am not chosen as a real partner, and he contacts me ever fewer and fewer times-
when comes the time I should be the one to end it?
When can the euphoria no longer outdo the sadness?
If I m okay being second fiddle, how about third fiddle, fourth? How about once a year fiddle?
For how long can I take this?”
.
But now that it’s over I can say:
“What a fantastic way to spend a midlife crisis, fussing over boys!”
I really got the long end of the stick, with my midlife crisis.
Punned.
.
My lover broke up with me in December, but there were still unresolved things which needed to be addressed, before I could get closure.
And it was as if the devil was behind me, the speed with which I managed to get that done before my birthday.
For three years I had been questioning myself about our relationship, something that did not end in December with our “official” split.
I needed more, I needed to hear it again.
.
So I put a lot of thought and effort into it, but still the clarity, the happiness, and the joy of starting anew on the morning after my 48th birthday surprised me.
.
And I have even more to be excited about because next to closing my 6 years of 1st chakra struggles;
I feel I ve finished a cycle of 14 years as a single.
14 Years of finding out my sexuality and relationship style.

All done! I found what I had set out to do and I also know  I m not going to invest another minute in my love life ever again.
.
I know now why dating has been such an ordeal, and it is all a lot more simple than I thought.
Of course, there is the whole needing tension and excitement thing, and having complex sexual preferences. But there is something else as well.
In my teens and twenties, relationships were formed from just hanging out and screwing each other’s brains out, and at some point you were like;
Oh, it’s been six months and we re still doing that, so maybe this is a thing.”
Whereas when I became single in my thirties, and this goes on until today, people are recruiting for a vacancy they have in their life.
If you’re unfit for the job of filling the position, you’re out.
There is no time for hanging out, other than with the intention of building a long term relationship or filling up the time until you have found someone better suited for your future plans and then you dump killing time date A and move on to potential life partner B.
There’s also bachelors who avoid intimacy, who guard their heart and who dump you after a couple of times either way.
Those are the options of dating as an adult.
14 years in and I m vowing to never give that cluster fuck of a sick dynamic one teensy tiny bits worth of attention ever again.
T
he only person I m ever willing to let into my heart is the one who has tons of time for me doing crazy shit and binge watch all seasons of Lucifer without leaving the house.
.
14 Years of research on my love life to find out I will probably never find real (organically grown) love because of a time management problem tied to adulthood.
I find that depressing, Sara.
.
So!
Speaking of time management, I now have a lot of time on my hands!
And I m finally going spend it on becoming the 7-Figure Rock Star Writer I ve been aspiring to be for at least two years.
I think it clicked during our last call, when you said you can only create an empire if you saw that as your dominant creative expression.
After so many years of writing, I m so ready to move away from this desk!
To see my creativity as coming from the mind, and I long particularly to bypass using writing to shape my thoughts.
It has become slightly maddening, to have to write so much in order to think.
So one of my main objectives is to limit that, and to only write in the final stage.
.
I think I told you all there is.

This account is now managed by the me under my real name, Suzanne, and I ve picked up writing (illegally) for Facebook, where I m signing off with Suzanne/ Lauren.
Being Lauren from 2006-2020 has become a part of who I really am.
The real, pure Lauren is in 1995, she will write from there and I will print it at a later date.
https://laurenharteveld.com/1994-a-performance-art-project/
.
It’s Monday now.
An exciting week!
I ll be spending it looking for a normal non-desk job, to which I look forward very much, but I ll also start or pick up publishing my work.
I ve created the real, new and updated list of books (way more than the 5 mentioned at the bottom of this post) and I ve got 10 so far.
So ten books are to be expected, from Lauren Harteveld.
All written between 2010 and 2020.
.
The resistance ship the Raddus going through the Star Destroyer at light speed.

I have had the vision of seeing myself as a Rock Star Writer, a 7-Figure Rock Star Writer, as early as 2018.
But it was always in and then out of focus.
It was like it was impossible to escape something big and bad pulling me back.
Exactly like the resistance ship the Raddus, that couldn’t get away from the Star Destroyer.
Every time it jumped to light speed they were tracked and the Star Destroyer was right behind them.

Ultimately the resistance evacuated the ship in tiny transporters, and Captain Haldo takes their nemesis head on by turning the cruiser around and using the last bit of fuel to blast it at light speed through the Star Destroyer.
.
“I” evacuated my LS Harteveld account; my pseudonym Lauren now lives in 1995.
And Suzanne is the captain Haldo who has blasted the midlife crisis that was standing between her and becoming a Rock Star Writer.
And she’s still enjoying the blissful silence and the velvety sound that followed.
.

Suzanne/ Lauren
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

With this post, I m picking up writing to Sara on this blog.
And I ll also post updates on when the books are ready.
You can follow this blog – the subscribe button is somewhere on this page, usually on the top right.

I also write as Suzanne/Lauren on our
Facebook page LS Harteveld
(illegal blogging)

And under my real name Suzanne:
Facebook page Rock Star Writer
And  rock star blog under my real name.

Books LS Harteveld/ Lauren

Lauren’s books are available at LULU
New books will also be added to Lulu, as sites are being curated.

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

The Week I Left It All Behind

photo: My new series “It Took me A Very Long Time To Get Here” is on Facebook and Twitter. Click for more info.

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our call I always give her a headsup.

.
Dear Sara,
.
It is almost ironic that from two weeks of “OMG there’s SO MUCH I have to tell Sara!” I’m here behind my computer with exactly one Bon Jovi cd worth of time to write you about, yes, about what?
It all seems so entirely pointless.
I even considered calling this blog post Bullet Point Men, because I feel torn between giving a super emotionally involved update about my feelings about two men in my life on one hand; And a bullet point memo that the good part of our plan we/ I came up with in our last session, and the things I still felt that week, is now gone entirely.
So let’s start there, and see how many songs I have left afterwards.
.
You know – I even thought of not writing at all, and simply emailing that I didn’t know what to write. That’s how pointless it all seemed.
Either way, the biggest shift, objectively speaking, was realizing that over a week after our last call, I still had not set up the new blog and new YouTube channel to stay engaged in my love for marketing and sales.
And I now know why.
Because the day after our call, I got inspiration to start a new career as a computer programmer. I learned the basics at university, and already have the materials to educate myself this summer.
It would allow me to start a new career that doesn’t have anything to do with toning down or adapting my creative skills, nor my marketing skills, to a job that would only allow me to do a part of it.
To write for SEO.
Market for leads.
All the while having to communicate with non-autistic people, with whom, let’s face it, my patience is extremely limited.
Computer programming would also allow me to have a job that actually pays, instead of having one that would constantly be on the verge of being given to an intern instead.
But just like the job in marketing:
I still have not started.
.
Part of it is because of a financial task (again) which I m behind on for months. It s probably one or two days of work, but I have not put it in, and do not want to start with this new thing, until I have that done.
Next to fear of not being good enough (or motivated enough) causing this procrastination, I also think it’s because I have some mourning to do.
That ultimately NOTHING is going to satisfy me, except making art all day.
And that I feel like I m throwing away my life, doing anything else.
.
Maybe I need to reframe this switch in careers – which DOES have the added benefits of (bullet points!)
– putting me in a male dominated environment of men whom I understand and love to hang out with
– giving me specialized work
– excusing me from many of all other forms of human interaction all other professions do require
– giving me intellectually challenging work
– DEEP work, with large uninterrupted blocks of time
– allowing me to think at an extremely abstract level, which is something I absolutely love
Where other jobs almost always mean some kind of partial task, that has zero satisfaction, no meaning, no purpose; Programming isn’t any of those things.
Every part of programming is whole in its own way.
One way I m already reframing it, when I m not worrying about this financial task that is, is by imagining 22 year old Lauren has quit her job at the publisher’s, and starting as a programmer in 1995.
It gives it a lighter feel!
But considering how stuck I still am, it obviously needs a lot more lighting up before I am really excited.
Or maybe I need to see how I m still going to do my own art work after 6 P.M..
But it was during this whole trail of thought about becoming a computer programmer, that I lost ALL my interest in being of any service with anything and everything but IN PARTICULAR with regard to marketing and sales!
Marketing and sales, even in the form of a free-advice YouTube channel and blog, were just way too pragmatic to be combined with already giving my life to a craft I had not chosen naturally.
That I was not called to.
Marketing had to go.
Giving advice had to go.
Everything had to be stripped to its core, until only the pure, raw, dare I say unsaleable core of my expression remained.
If I was really going to be serious being of use as a computer programmer, this could only be counterbalanced by not investing anything in making my other work more polished, user-friendly, more accessible or more understandable.
My other work needed to be impossible to capture. And marketing and sales as a metier, as well as a skill for promoting my own work, would probably have to be ritually sacrificed in order to be okay with giving my life to something useful.
I could only make myself be of use in one place, if I was allowed to blow something of use up, on the other side.  
I did start setting up the system that would allow people to pay me, but it’s very slow, because I first need some changes with the Chamber of Commerce, and if I would then proceed, I would need to open a business account, then apply for our local payment system, and then a daughter of the local payment system is software that is for donations (not payments).
So I m thinking if I still feel invested enough in this plan, to follow through.
I think I need to reallign with my goals on this:
For me it is clear that I can’t be serious about becoming a programmer, and at the same time have ANY sort of client relationship – not even donations! – going on on the side.
Maybe that is the biggest catch for becoming a computer programmer, I feel it sucking the life out of my energy to monetize my art.
Maybe it was a stupid idea after all, even though work wise, the work and the environment of being a programmer, appeals to me very much IN THEORY.
In practice I sometimes think art is such a veracious monster, that any idea of anything else being able to breathe let alone blossom, within a ten mile radius, is absolutely ridiculous.
Sometimes I think my art is going to claim my life, and that I keep falling for the idea that I can do anything else that is not art.
Maybe if I see computer programming as a temporary solution, I would be able to do it.
I don’t know.
The entire plan seems stuck and perhaps already floating belly up, what do we know.
Either way, a lot happened, yet I seemed to have gone around in circles.
I have three Bon Jovi songs to tell you about the men.
You remember our MBTI sessions, the 16 personality types of Myers Briggs?
I found out Jon Bon Jovi is an ENFJ.
Not just because he is typed like that by the expert I hold in the highest regard,
this is the link to the very short but brilliant test he designed for MBTI typing
but I could also recognize Jon Bon Jovi in ENFJ roll model Ethan Hawke, in this clip from Before Sunrise. Even the voices are similar;

[ text continues below video ]
YouTube is filled with videos about how the INFP (me) and the ENFJ are the perfect match, the perfect mix between the same and being different.
They re both thirsty for meaning and purpose and act intuitively, but ENFJ does it in a push forward way and requires conversation to discover his feelings and determine his stand, whereas the INFP requires a lot of alone time, and knows what their values and stand are.
And I saw the clip with Ethan Hawke and I realized, well first of all I realized why I m fascinated with Jon Bon Jovi, but also – a feeling of complete and utter helplessness:
“Where on earth am I going to find a man like that ever again?”
I mean, I don’t know if my lover was ENFJ. From the fact that we’re not together anymore, I might think he’s not.
But I mean, where do I find a man, who can stand his ground in pursuing a woman?
Who is not consumed with fears and insecurities, all of which are immediately projected onto me? 
It made me appreciative of what we had for five years.
But also gave me a sense that my life was over.
Because regardless of Myers-Briggs, the men who are so stubborn and steady yet playful –
they do not drop out of the sky.
And you can’t code them in either.
..

the writer currently residing in 1995
~Lauren/LS Harteveld

My diaries en erotica are available at my BOOK SHOP

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

The one who does not fight, has already lost.

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our call I always give her a headsup.

.
Dear Sara,
.
First of all thank you for your reply to my extra letter, One of the Boys.
And I think the reason I associate my creative work with leisure and masculinity, is because men seem to have, or “get”, more space and permission to do whatever the fuck they want.
Whereas if you start of as a woman, which biologically I am, you FIRST have to fight for your right to do whatever you want, and be a creator of something no one particularly values or is willing to pay money for.
.
Permission to do something that does not fall into the category; “But how can you help people?”
.
Because of that discrepancy, it is extremely unwise to identify with being female, or identifying with being any other minority that burdens you with expectations and limitations you wouldn’t have if you just entirely ignored it, reframed it right in front of their very eyes, or simply state (technically the term might be gaslighting) by saying:
“I m entirely male. I do whatever the fuck I want.”
.
I did keep my balls since my last email.
But unfortunately, I also had another C. regulation Brave New World meltdown, although this is the first time I was able to identify it as such.
.
Do you remember when two months ago, we had to reschedule, because I thought I was sick?
It was a Friday.
That Tuesday before that we had our first “in lockdown” press conference, which I had watched.
In hindsight, what I think happened, was that I was watching that press conference and the entire ludicrousy of that first batch of conflicting and non-specific regulations, that gave me a splitting headache.
.

Our government has kept Tuesday as their bi-weekly (in the sense of every two weeks) conference date, and last Tuesday was one of their last.
I didn’t even watch it.
.
I was with my mother because we were going to watch an online masterclass, which turned out to be via Skype. We ended up having to watch it on my phone, without proper audio, so we ultimately turned it off.
Well, not ultimately; After 25 minutes.
And it was by accident because I was trying to get it on speaker to get a better sound.
.

Anyway, the entire shock of being in a meeting with 30 strangers of which some seemed unaware that their cameras and microphones were on;
Of the Skype software not giving “Do you want to leave this meeting” warnings nor confirming that you’ve left the meeting;
AND the chat staying open after you had supposedly left the meeting, resulted in anxiety.

Had our microphone been open?
What had they heard after I logged off?
I knew everything was fine, but the damage had already been done.
.
And I also knew that in a couple of days I would probably get a better understanding of what had been going on, right at that moment… That my anxiety was probably a response to something that had been felt more subtle.

In the past it was usually that I had felt something going on with my lover, so I thought it was that…
It wasn’t until this weekend, and spending Saturday in bed with a SPLITTING headache- again, a few days after the press conference, just like two months ago- that I was able to trace my migraines back to that Tuesday.
.
That my headache had not been triggered by all the other events that had happened at the end of that week.
Not by 1- year worth of old paper, that I had put by the street (they collect it monthly, but I had missed for a very long time). Seeing all the old papers up until last summer when everything had still been normal, had made my stomach turn.

Nor was my headache a backlash from a decision one week prior, to quit teaching in person yoga, nor start teaching in the park where I have to register for a spot (!!) nor teach it at the studio. Gyms are allowed to reopen in September, but under strict conditions.
The decision to draw a line at becoming the extension of a government health system, just because I m a service provider, at been a toughy – but no.
That was not the reason of the headache.

Nor the glass of rose wine I had.
Nor the two long phone calls and the hour long conversation with my neighbor, making Friday socially straining.
It wasn’t my daily yoga routine, I started doing on video. It’s so much fun!! But it wasn’t this strain, of having to show up daily.
It wasn’t the nasty, hostile atmosphere in a secondhand store that (again) made me leave feeling sick.
And it wasn’t even the complicated situation with a neighbor cat, that had given me heart complaints last year..
.
No, what caused an entire Saturday in bed with migraine was watching Tuesday’s press conference.
Or, in this case, NOT watching it.
Since, like I said, my mother and me were setting up shop for attending a masterclass.
But things seeped in.
Bits of information.
It must have been enough or confusing enough though, since it later resulted in me becoming phobic after our Skype connection broke down.
When at the time, I wasn’t even consciously listening.
I remember looking at that screen, and shouting to my mother:
“Oh! It’s press conference time again!”
And her responding:
“Really? I never follow them.”
.

But in the following days yes…. the information was repeated.
Written out, what the consequences would be for the bars, restaurants and movie theaters.

And in hindsight it had been that information that had given me a splitting headache.
.
Now, more than ever, it became clear how our “intelligent lockdown” would be dismantled. Without the government exerting any power over its civilians.
Quite the contrary!
We would be allowed to go out again!
So without unpopular measures for civilians – for example prohibit sneezing or coughing in public and fining it. For example making it forbidden to leave the house without a mandatory mobile phone and installed C. software – what did government do to make sure C. wasn’t spread?
They played the ball to the service providers.
.
Any entrepreneur who relied on real life human interaction was made into an extension of the government.
Extension?
Substitute!
They could do the dirty work of getting themselves into situations of conflict with their clients, so that the government would not have to take unpopular measures at a personal level.
Did I say we have elections next year?
We have elections next year.
.
So. What did the service providers do? 
Well, what would you do, if you had been financially bleeding to death for two and a half months?
They took it without question.
.
Some of them have calculated that under the new rules, they would still be losing money, and are choosing not to reopen June 1. 
But none of them are saying:
“Hey! Just two years ago you made a whole fucking song and dance of us tiny entrepreneurs needing GDPR (Dutch: AVG ) because on occasion I get someone’s address. And now you have me collecting medical information before someone can sit on my terrace? Go do your own dirty work!”
No one.
.
Because when you’re almost bankrupt you don’t ask questions.
.
There is a German saying, from Bertold Brecht:
“Erst kommt das Fressen, dann kommt die Moral.”
First comes a full stomach, then comes ethics.
There’s a lot of small entrepreneurial stomachs that need filling before anyone is going to call out our government for turning The Netherlands into Brave New World.
.
Brave New World is an upcoming American science fiction dystopian drama series set to premiere on the NBC Universal streaming service Peacock on July 15, 2020 and Sky One in the UK.

You see, the problem with Huxley’s dystopia, was that it looked like a utopia.
Everybody was programmed from birth to fit into a caste, a layer of society where you would be of use. Your happiness was provided for, because you were conditioned to dislike the elements that would contradict with your layer in society.
Your health was impeccable, there were no sickness, there was no death.
It was a perfect world, where there was government supplied drugs to numb any feelings of discontent.
There was no visible conflict between the civilians and the governments, it was the perfect dictatorship that had used the “right” to happiness and health, as a way to seize control and centralize all power.
.

Brave New World was a place where C. would never have happened, or it would have been perfectly contained.
And people like me would have been sent to Iceland.
.
I don’t think I was the only one, Sara, who temporarily lost track of where her balls were in 2020.
It took me four days of mental confusion and a hell of a migraine, before I figured out this press conference and its confusing messages. And its dystopian way of using service providers as their henchmen. 
.
But it was worth it.

And I m happy as fuck at least I still got my damn balls.
.
“Wer kämpft, kann verlieren. Wer nicht kämpft, hat schon verloren.”
If you fight you might lose, if you don’t you have already lost.
.
You won’t find me teaching yoga, nor visiting restaurants, in the Brave New World.
..

the writer currently residing in 1995
~Lauren/LS Harteveld

My diaries en erotica are available at my BOOK SHOP

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

One of the boys

Jon in the middle with the big smile is me.

This is an extra letter to my creativity coach Sara
because I found the meaning of life, the key to success and in all likeliness the fountain of youth.
And I m making an effort to remember it, this time.

.
Dear Sara,
.
You once said that if I needed to write you an extra email, I could, so this is one of those.
Because I do.
And after this I may need tattoos, because it seems I keep forgetting and getting in my own way, regardless of how many times I find my balls and recognize myself in the devil.
Regardless of how many times I realize there is an aspect of yoga that I m allergic to.
I keep getting my ass into energetic trouble doing things that drain me.
Things that suck the very soul out of me.
Things that make me wish I was dead, and then I remember I have cats to take care of, so that it’s not an option.
And I do them all on repeat but the moment I discovered I even have them scheduled on my calendar;
That was the point I knew I something had to change.
.
This is not the first time, I focus on the things that are wrong and bad for me. It’s a circle I keep going round in until I have an epiphany and document it.
But I don’t come back to it often enough to prevent me from straying from the path, and spinning into another circle.
Maybe I should speak of a downward spiral, with the number of times I keep going round.
Meanwhile pinning reminders on the walls, to never do this again.
Or maybe reality is more complex and there are simply too many Cards Of Importance on my vision board, and that explains why I keep forgetting this one.
The one that holds the key to my worldly success, my sex life and my sanity.
.
Sara: I m one of the boys and, what I have come to understand as, female energy is unhealthy for me.
.
I don’t know if I told you this but I do have female friends. Quite a lot of them. And I am absolutely blessed with THREE best female friends whom I talk to frequently!
And whom I would not miss for the world.
Just like I would not want to miss the others whom I see less frequently. So it seems contradictory. 

But guess what?
With two of them, we always play we are boys!
We have boy’s names, and we talk in third person like Elmo from Sesame Street, but we use it in plural as well.
So we’ll say: “Shall they meet in the city?” instead of “Shall we meet in the city?”
And we have a lot of words where we will incorporate the word he or him. For example “himself” is not a word in Dutch. If you refer to yourself in Dutch, you’re supposed to use a gender neutral word. Yet with these two friends we always say himself.
And Happy Birthday to him.
Goodnighthim.
Byebyehim.
And one of them will even refer to her husband as “(her boyish playname) HIS husband”, not “my husband” or using ‘s after their name.
There is always an extra his or him, whenever we can squeeze it it.
With these two friends there is no identification with the fact that we’re grown women, unless there are really serious conversations. And then we always go back to normal at the end of it.
We can’t possibly end on a serious note.
.
And with the third friend we do not play that we’re boys but we’re both SO FULL ON, that any idea of us being domesticated ladies can go out of the window pronto.
We share cunning plans and celebrate each other’s victories. We laugh so hard they can hear us three blocks further down the road.
God, I can’t believe it took me this long to realize this, but;
I think we behave like men!
.
So I have three friends I speak frequently.
With two we play we’re boys, and with one I behave like a man.

And yet I have never felt I was born in the wrong body. I do have one pair of jeans that sometimes looks like I have a tiny penis.
I do love that one! 
I think it rocks.
So I don’t mind my own masculinity.
But I don’t mind my own femininity either.
Now that I think of it; I think I identify with my thoughts, with my mind, so fully, that I don’t really identify with my body.
I think it’s a super cool body, and I love it very much. But if it had been different, that would have been good too.
It doesn’t seem to need to reflect whatever gender-identification I feel on the inside. I have tried to imagine my body being a different gender (at multiple times in my life), and I have no reason to believe I would not have been okay with that too.
.
However, when it comes to the gender of others, I seem to be A LOT less inclusive! Here a monomaniac preference for the male gender prevails, in every way.
They can be men in whatever way they want, as long as they’re men.
Gay, straight, bi. Eight years old to 80.
All my cats have been male.
They can dress as women, or identify as women; It’s all good.

It’s not even a sexual thing – and this can be a problem. Because what men can feel, is that our energies are a great match. But they assume that is because I have a personal interest in them. When in fact, what they’re feeling is an impersonal energy-exchange. It’s being able to have a good time together, because your bodies are energetically recharging from being in each other’s presence.
That’s all (in most cases).
Now, naturally, there are men I am in love with, and that amplifies the amazing energy transition. It’s a fires through the roof kind of situation, and that is WITHOUT either one of us acknowledging it, being romantic or anything.
Without any of us implying anything else than just a bit of fun and, at at the same time, an entirely neutral conversation.

And I know this deeper, more powerful exchange, is also something that is mutually felt. I bet my beautiful, elegant, imaginary penis for it, that he feels it too.
But the point is;
It always happens.
Whether I like the guy or not. Whether we’re the same age or not. Whether there is a sexual interest from my side, or not.
There is always a deep understanding and appreciation of his masculinity.
And with women:
Never.
And if there is, we immediately adopt the behavioral patterns that belong to men interacting. Not women.
.
How I identify myself seems to be entirely irrelevant to me.
There’s even room for a spontaneous gender switch, if I woke up a man one day.

Yet I seem to be hyper-aware of other people’s energy.
It’s like that book Perfume of Patrick Susskind, where the killer has no scent, and he becomes obsessed with the scent of others.
.
Anyway, anyway; This was all information that was at one point already known.
And also not new; That before the C. crisis I wanted to go to work in a male-dominated environment. 
It was the big breakthrough on seeing why I would never be a happy working from home: It simply did not provide enough male energy.
I would never be happy working from home, unless home was an all-male student dorm. 
And yet, WHAT did I plan, to be doing every day, in an imaginary schedule, towards which I felt far less affectionate than to my imaginary penis?

I planned eight hours of dull, draining work, every day. And all my fun, elevating work, should be done in my free time.
It wasn’t called Dull versus Fun of course.
I certainly didn’t plan on telling a future employer: “Look! I already trained myself at doing 8 hours of dull work every day, so I can do your dull work as well!”
Nooooo….

The eight hours of dull work were called “Working on my biz” , and the eight hours of things I would keep on doing after I start working for an employer, were all my writing and creative work.
With the exception of writing in Dutch under my real name; That was all Biz.
Because I knew I would no longer do it, as soon as I was pressing for time.
Just like I was never going to make Dutch yoga videos again, and maybe stop doing yoga altogether.
And yet – I didn’t plan doing my personal yoga under Biz hours! Even though it was clear that the (monetizable) yoga side of me, was the side strongest represented in “Biz”.
It still felt too luxurious…. because I knew how to make yoga fun.
Like listening to Bon Jovi music made it fun.
That explained why I didn’t dare scheduling doing yoga under “Biz”, despite running a yoga business.
The ugly, self-sabotaging face behind my work/leisure divide started to show. 
.
For the past months I have been “preparing” myself to be employable for a job as dull and draining as working from home really is to me!
Instead of creating a life that compares to having a job that is among men, and that gives me energy! 
.
I need to FLIP that entire schedule around, in order to prepare myself for future employment!! 
.
THIS IS MY WORK:
– hang out with male friends, talk to my three besties, and all my other super fun  female friends. Have fun, laugh, be energized. Talk to you!
(you were definitely under leisure)

– write about men, write about Bon Jovi, do my 1995 Bon Jovi video project and my 1996 research project to their concert here in The Netherlands.
– ALL THIS crazy, creative, fun LS HARTEVELD WRITING
– yoga to Bon Jovi music, both to albums as well as live concerts. Woot woot!!!
And for when I’m thoroughly and completely satisfied and recharged from being among men, writing about men, and done doing yoga to rock music (men).
If I then feel all mellow and chill, then I have time to:

– write about yoga
– draw my cute Dutch cartoons
– teach yoga
– make Dutch yoga videos
.
But I m not going to make a career out of it.
.
..

the writer currently residing in 1995
~Lauren/LS Harteveld

My diaries en erotica are available at my BOOK SHOP

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

I m living in 1995. And I m never coming back.

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.
.
Dear Sara,
.
When I selected our last letter, as the post I wanted to copy, I noticed I d written three posts in my 1995 series, since our last call.
Three!
That’s almost as many episodes as the entire six months prior or something.
And yet the funny thing is: none of them were “the Thing”! 
All three seem almost irrelevant now, although my last one, which I will refer to as my Fuck All That post, definitely does show I gave it my all, when I decided it was time to man up and start living my life.
.
I reread the Fuck All That post for this letter, and it was unbelievable that it was almost like it was coming from a different world… a different me!
It did show I threw my full weight into it, and really was more than fed up having this kind of availability for other people’s bullshit, as well as for my own bullshit.
That I needed balls and a backbone, and that I had lost them under some floral pattern in 1995.
But yep!
There they were!
Because two days after that 1995 Fuck All That diary entry, I got The Thing!
The Mother of All Projects.
And considering this post has become pretty gender specific, The King Of All Projects, would be more accurate.
The 1995 Bon Jovi Concert Series;
Where I revisit concerts 25 years after the date, making one video of every concert on the night the concert actually took place (25 years ago).
.
Tonight I already struck gold, finding my first story while watching this Sunday’s Seoul concert.
And I wrote my first complementary blog about how Jon’s 1995 voice was – as I called it – “in mint condition”;
But how a mature Jon Bon Jovi won by putting in his entire heart and soul into it.
Although the post wasn’t called that way, it could have been named “In Praise of Older Jon”.
.
And there is more….
And if I tell you this, you will know this Bon Jovi project may become My Biggie. Something that will connect me to what other people want to know too;
I am letting my series end in 1996, with a concert here in The Netherlands that was
A. A concert that blew your socks off,
and B. Given at the most unlikely place, a concert location that technically didn’t even exist, aside from a large field of grass.

This one-off rock concert, a musical The Little Rural Area That Could, must have been forged into existence by a group of highly ambitious music lovers, who found themselves in an unlikely place where they could bring the rock gods of the 90s, to one of the most remote areas of the Netherlands, if they all worked together…
And it is that story I will be investigating the upcoming year.
I have already contacted what appeared to be the main man, and he’s willing to share his story.
I will blog about these individual interviews in Dutch, creating blog posts about how this legendary concert came into being.
Next year is their 25th anniversary, and maybe if we put all the blog posts together, and we have photographers sharing their archives;
We could create a book to mark the anniversary of this Bon Jovi concert from 1996.
.
And to celebrate the end of my 13 months series, which started last Tuesday and that will go on until June next year, with a five month hiatus after December 6th.
.
I will be at the pace of the tour, doing 2-5 videos each week until the end of the year.
.
So yeah, I found my balls Sara.
And they may be 25 years old, but they sure are in mint condition!.
..

the writer currently residing in 1995
~Lauren/LS Harteveld

My diaries en erotica are available at my BOOK SHOP

A one time exception to the rule

I normally don’t share my real or professional name here, because this is my pen name blog. But after writing this post, I will very gladly make an exception, so you can follow this work if it speaks to you.

You can follow the 1995 Bon Jovi Concert Series under my real name;
– on YouTube 
and
– on the blog with stories
This was tonight’s post:
The gems, the gems…. My friends we ve hit the jackpot

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

Sympathy for the Devil

Kate McKinnon as Satan in Saturday Night Live. clip at bottom post

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

.
Dear Sara,
.
From the fact that you get this headsup hours before our call, instead of days, you’ve probably already guessed things are not exactly “in full swing” here.
They’re not exactly rocking.
In fact they’re not rocking at all.
And I feel my role in all of this will come out with a bang. It’s closing in.
At least I have some idea of what is coming, I can feel it’s brewing.

To the rest of the world, it will be one of those:
“I had no idea you thought that way!”
“That is horrible!”
“We’re all in this together.”
We’re not in this together, Sara.
.
There is the privileged and the even more privileged who can afford staying in their houses. And then there are the people with real professions, who “we” are underpaying and letting do the real work while (also) we work in sectors that make more money.
As a result (three times is a strike) we, feel so extremely guilty over having entire armies of underpaid workers doing the things we don’t want to do, such as spending a day with 25 eight year olds screaming their lungs out, or taking care of a ward with six elderly people with dementia,
that our guilt becomes this oppressive mechanism, where we expect EVEN MORE from them.
And to show we mean well we kill our layer of the economy, where we had been doing pretty well, to show them we’re not secretly making money.
We have innocent faces!
“Money? What money? We’re in this together!”
We flush our entire economy down the drain like drug dealers with the police at their doorstep, because we darn well know what we have done could not stand the light of day.
.
But no matter how bad things look, drug dealers always manage to recover. And the police always manage to stay underpaid.
Not only does evil survive; It thrives.
It’s always the same who manage to turn out richer, and I feel my blood absolutely boiling from this entire “We’re in this together” crap.
And civilians checking in on each other.

Is everybody obeying the rules? Is everybody obeying the interpretation of the rules? Is everybody living according to the underlying principles, of the rules? 
.
You can see the upper class judging anyone going out.
“We’re in this together!”
They shout from behind their fences, where every family member has a room to him or herself.
.
And I yell back at them, that No, we’re not In This Together.
The ones who have entire houses to themselves, or entire rooms or floors when they’re a family;
We are so extremely privileged. 
For many of us- and boy oh boy can we for a moment start realizing how privileged this is???- for many of us the ONLY concern is the virus itself!
In its most toned down, watered down version of: “Can I get it from a shopping cart.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck; HOW PRIVILEGED IS THAT???
A shopping cart?
Someone standing a little too close?
You’re worrying about “catching” something, from your fucking VILLA, and you have the audacity to judge people who do not have all that economic freedom, for being irresponsible?
Boy, oh boy, fast pass to hell if ever there was any, my friend.
.
And you can see the essential worker class judging anyone going out, because they’re the ones who are cleaning up after us.
They’re the ones taking care of the sick, while being underpaid and underprotected.
They feel it’s a small favor to ask of us, to not take any risk, because they’re holding the line for us.
.
When I want to yell at the top of my lungs:
“When will you FINALLY stop holding the line? 
When will you say: “Here’s your elderly and your sick; here are your criminals and here are the children you put onto this earth.
You go take care of them yourself!
I need a fucking vacation!”
You may be going to heaven for being an angel and never letting people die or fall off the wagon, but you’re in living hell, right now.
And nobody gives a damn. Or they give a damn, but to the level of those drug dealers when the police comes in to bust them.
Right now, we feel busted.
But do you really think we’ll change our ways of taking advantage of you?
We won’t.

.
I say “we” because I am guilty too.
Not of abusing our medical system: I ll die when I die.
I ve always said that, and I ll keep saying it, and from that perspective my hands are relatively clean.

And I love vaccines; Give me anything you’ve got.
So with that too, I am not someone who taxes the medical system.

Unless I can no longer live independently and need nursing, I ll end up being really cheap.
.
But have I done anything to improve the wages or lighten the workload of the essential workers?
No.
Have I participated in work that was only aimed at making money?
Probably, yes.
Did I care?
Not at all.
I ve said: “I don’t care if I have to sell nuclear heads. As long as it’s a fun workplace.”
I ve been absolutely ruthless.
.
What I would also love to do, is to not work a job at all but instead make art all day. Be creative.
But that doesn’t make an income unless I have some kind of automated or full-on sales going on; And I don’t want that hassle.
So I ve watched the world, and thought: 
“Then what are my options?”
.

And I saw I had two:
.
Either do work that requires emotional involvement.
Work that will haunt you at night, and that will entail impossible choices.
A job that will require a saint, a wise woman, someone who accepts that she’s not perfect;
But that all that matters is that you’re there.
A job that is, in basis, humanitarian.

A job you do, despite it being an impossible one.
.
Or, my other choice; 
A job that will make you jump out of bed in the morning, and that will entail exciting challenges.
A job that will require a trickster, a cunning woman, someone who accepts that the world is not perfect;
But that all that matters is that you play your cards right.
A job that is, in basis, entrepreneurial.
A job you do, despite it only being a game to you.
.
Years ago, a Dutch left-wing political party leader fired two staff members because they had been having a secret affair for years.
I was absolutely appalled.
Not over the affair, but over firing them.

I didn’t like the moral do-goodie tone of it, I didn’t like the judgement of it, and I didn’t like that there wasn’t a ce-le-bra-tion, that the party owned two members who could move through the night, like foxes!
Who knew the ways of the world.
Who knew how to bend the rules, and play.
Who knew how to get what they wanted.
I bet they were not even “busted”, right? I bet after years they were just like:
“God, let’s just tell them. This is getting boring.”
I know all about secret affairs, they’re only fun if they tether on the edge of being discovered.
If nobody comes looking, it ultimately gets boring.
.
So the party threw their most capable politicians out.
You could have brought peace to the middle east with that kind of secrecy, but No (make face from The Scream from Edvard Munch):
“Transparency!!!”

Transparency?!
If you would ask me why I hate being good and just, and doing the morally right thing to do, transparency would sum it up pretty nicely.
Fuck transparency.
It’s horrible, it’s terrible, and it’s no fun at all, trust me.
What is fun however, is hiding in plain sight. But that’s usually not what transparency is supposed to mean.
.
So I think the reason I feel more than others that we are NOT in this together, is because I see a choice between going to hell or to heaven.
Even if we are in this together, our ways would part later.
.
You can go to heaven by doing the right thing.
The REAL right thing.
And to do the essential work. Teach. Guard. Heal. Nurture.
To take it all upon you, like carrying the cloak of original sin, and do something about it.
Be OF MEANING!
Really do the work of God, and be his angel, and you will feel this as you do this.
You will feel His work flowing through you, and He will give you strength.
I don’t have any doubts about that.
.
Or.
.
Other choice.
.
You click your tongue, wink your eye, wave your finger as if you’ve caught someone stealing from the cookie jar and you say in a husky, terribly sexy voice, and with a big smirk baring your perfectly white fangs:
“Not so fast, young man.”
.
This game is not over.
.

the writer currently residing in 1995*
~Lauren/LS Harteveld

.
* the last two weeks have been in 2020, unfortunately. I have no idea how to get back. Or if I want to, if I can also just be evil in 2020.
The fun thing though, about going back to 1995 is that turning your back on this time, is an act of rebellion in itself.
I’ll think about it.

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4.
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
.
Nederlands blog:
https://zegmaarlauren.com/

 

The devil starts at minute 3: