Am I Famous Now…

My first mini-bio entry offers me many options on howto-continue this series. I could go back to when it all started, my youth, or I could just dig more and more backwards. Or read my drafts. If it wouldn’t make the intro too longwinded, I had even mentionned follow the flashes or just pick a period here, but I refuze to do so as … Never mind.

I actually have no idea where, how to continue. But the always being somewhere part of my other post, reminds me of my image awhile ago.

2 Years ago. I had just broken up with my ex. Within some days I opened a squat. It was a huge place, a former indoor market place. 3 floors, 600sqm each.

Squats have their inconveniences. Since it was a huge place, it was important to find very fast enough of people to get a break from cops and authorities. Within some days we were 28. As main squatter, I of course occupied the former main office. In a way that was almost unimaginable to squatters. We tapped electricity and I had a genuine office even, with notebook and wireless connection (hell, yes of course some dumbo didn’t secure his network).

We had a strange strategy. Everyone was welcome and I decided if the people could stay. Being aware of the risks of huge squats I followed a strict pattern : no abusive hard drug use and no alcohol immediately after getting up. It worked fine and within 3 weeks we had a stable crew. Mainly students and dreamers anti-globalization freaks.
I worked in one of the best German cocktail bars. Of course this influenced my participation in the squat life. I had a huge wardrobe and the most irregular squat habits. I worked, came home at the most irregular times and got up, surfed the net, read a book and then took off for my daily dose of espressos. Around 05.00PM I returned to shower (yes, we even had a shower) and dress for work. Somewhen during the night I came back.

Can you imagine that during the 3 months I communicated with the landlord to maintain the rights to squat, I was damn respected among the co-squatters. My life?

Distant. Damn distant. Actually it was the only period in my life I was always dressed in black. I only worked 3 nights a week, but I was never at the squat anyway.
The news spread fast. The poker-face bartender, who never slipped his phone number, had broke up. Every day I could be found in some bistro doing the usual, reading, surfing, drinking cappuccino and entertain/train and rant together with the crew.

But I didn’t get personal. People came to me, hot babes came to me, interesting women came to me. I was untouchable. My 2/3 black leather coat didn’t only protect me from rain, but also from everything else.
My coat. The same coat that caught everyone’s attention when I showed up somewhere in the evening. Or were it those shoes? Or the color of my shoes? Shoes where most of time the only thing that wasn’t black. And I had many shoes. Way too many.

Of course whereever I arrived, I was allowed to pass the queue. I was a colleague, every bouncer, waiter, manager in town new me. My ex’s mother was a local rich and loved by the local gossip paper. I showed up at everything, not one event was not honored with my presence, no matter how short.
I was hot property. Soon it even got better, as everyone heard of the squat. But I, I wasn’t interested in anything. People proposed me everything.
A new job, heaps of drugs, private parties, dates, steamy nights, aso… I, just as usual, I just hung at the bar and had fun with the staff. Enjoying my drink, my cigarette and my time with people, people who knew what it was to be popular : bar and club staff.
I didn’t do drugs. Drugs were the only thing that kept me from being the one people had nicknamed me : Johnny Thunders.
I always left on my own, through the back door and went back to the squat.

What happened to the squat? We obtained the right to live there (of course only under certain conditions). The next day, after that battle was won, I left the squat and another episode started. I had won, time to leave.

Again.