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          I met a man today that said he would eat his head if I wanted him to.

          I got up in the morning and went to town. I didn't really get far,a man stopped to talk to me. He had a cardboard sign around his neck that read "Will eat own head for money."           Now I don't normally let those kind of people bother me, but he had a sincere look in his eyes and was wearing a worn-out business suit - complete with a once shiny tie and loafers. Caught off guard by his appearance, I couldn't quite block out what he said to me. "I will eat my own head for 13,35€," he claimed. Intrigued by his proposal I looked at him questioningly. "It's the offer of a life time," he responded, "I can be reasonably sure that you have never seen this before."           I haven't, I said. He gave the impression of having a lot more to say on the subject, yet just smiled and looked around casually. I would have gone away right then. But I recognized the skill of an experienced and seasoned sales guy. My heart skipped a beat when I realized that the man who stood before me had been a shining beacon of professionalism and profit at whatever firm he worked for not that long ago.           "Go on." I said, expertly faking a false sense of boredom. His trained skills picked up on that immediately, and made me a "prospect." Let me be clear on this. I faked a false feeling. Good, let's continue: We walked down the street and I couldn't surpress a grin.

          He told me that I could take him back to my place and that he would eat his head for me. I agreed and paid him 13.35€. After all, there was a chance that I would actually see a man eat his head. On the way back he explained to me that he wasn't in it for the money. He said he had a point to make. Braking his pace to stand still solemnly, he looked me straight in the eye and said that he chose me to make his point. Feeling faintly violated, I started to think this was all a bad idea and tried to come up with an excuse to cancel the whole thing. Thinking back, I believe the only thing that once again stopped me was what he did next.           "My name is Marcel Van Damme, pleased to meet you," he announced, and as he shook my hand, I saw, for a moment, the man that he had been at the peak of his ability. A bold man with a radiant smile and firm handshake, brimming with confidence. The moment quickly passed, and again I faced a haggard man with a haunted and needy gleam in his eyes. Although it could have been me, staring back at me. I have reason to believe Marcel's look could reflect anything.

          We arrived at my house and entered my tiny living room. I sat down on the couch and stared attentively at Marcel. He seemed to get nervous at that point. I stared some more. Now I've believed a alot of stupid and silly things in my time, and there's no reason to assume that I've changed for the better since. So I still thought I would get to see something amazing (I was right). Marcel assumed a thousand mile stare out of the window and told me, "You know, if things had gone differently, I wouldn't be standing here about to eat my head for you." Having figured that out half an hour ago, I got up to show him the door.           "You misunderstand!" he said, sounding panicked. "This is what I really want to do. In a sense this is what I've been living up to all my life."           He made ready to go on but I stopped him dead in his tracks and said, "I'm very sorry, please go on and eat your head." The easiest way out now would be to have him have his way, I tought, especially since that is what he least expects.           Sitting down again, I silently cursed myself for getting into this situation. He loosened his already loose tie and took a deep breath. He said to me that he was a liberated man. His wife and kids would never allow him to do this, so he cut all ties with his previous life and focused his whole self on the act that he would finally perform after years of preparation. He asked me if I had any questions. I said I didn't care for anything than what he was about to do. He said he felt the same way.           He rolled up his sleeves. He shook his head as if to clear it and he took a deep breath. In a wild and violent motion, his left hand grabbed the lower lip, his right hand the upper. He jerked his hands madly apart. Again and again he ripped at his lips, his hands slipping from the trickles of blood that had begun to flow. His flesh was beginning to come loose and I couldn't believe my eyes when he tried to chew and swallow some strands of it that clung wetly to his mouth. I stared at him with bulging eyes and before I could stop myself I screamed for him to stop!

          He looked at me angrily and asked me why. I told him that it would kill him. He said that was the whole point.

          I'll spare you the next minutes. Perhaps you have lived through them at one point or other in your life. You do not need to know how we talked about the value of life and the need to rediscover it, and the importance of treasuring what you have. You should not need to be the victim of a human being that will aim his whole sorrow and regret at you. The details are not necessary to explain, how I reasoned with Marcel that his bad luck and the job he lost was one of life's cruel jokes. You will not be interested in how I spent every ounce of (considerable) persuasion I had to prevent him from tearing himself up so brutally.           But I'll tell you something about Marcel. I had him all wrong. The Marcel I saw today was a man in his prime. He was at the very pinnacle of his enthousiasm and motivation. I can't shake the feeling that what he did to me was a cruel act of "hard sale". Marcel didn't drop out of his job. He didn't want to come to his end in a painful and degrading way. Marcel realised at one point during his work that he would never experience a greater kick out of it than he did then. Like a junkie he went looking for the thrill that surpassed everything he had felt yet. He set out to sell someone a life, or a death. He would try and grab the most reluctant guy, someone who could smell a seller from a mile away. And he would sell it to him. Not a real life maybe, perhaps one he made up on the spot but he would sell every tiny speck of it. And I bought it. Every grain and morcel of it. Looking back I take solace in the fact that Marcel would have gotten what he wanted regardles of whether I had stopped him from tearing himself up.

Van Hoecke 25-sep-2008