it was in the number 7.
'the situation has changed... I've started to have the feeling of love, you know... is there going to be sausage...?'
2011/04/28
lost in time and space and at the newsagent's
'do you happen to have yesterday's newspaper? I need the one... exactly the one you're reading!'
'huh?'
'um... what day is it today?'
'Thursday.'
'oh. so I'll take the regular one.'
'huh?'
'um... what day is it today?'
'Thursday.'
'oh. so I'll take the regular one.'
this is post no. 301
I enjoy sharing my interests with the sophisticated part of audience
even/especially if it means being among millions
this is safety
even/especially if it means being among millions
this is safety
2011/04/27
the death of the reader
those aerograms
it seems all my life I've been sending them instead of megaphoning my heart out
to live
ain't enough to me
the message needs to be conveyed
Wer dichtet, ist nicht tot.
it seems all my life I've been sending them instead of megaphoning my heart out
to live
ain't enough to me
the message needs to be conveyed
Wer dichtet, ist nicht tot.
2011/04/26
out-box #5
my yesterday's arrival to Warsaw like Your cheerful "home! home!" a few months ago
I opened the window in the long-not-aired flat; warm fragrant May came in, in spite of the calendars.
I've failed not to think
failed in the shopping center, in the old part of the city and in the university library
I'm working
I'm watching the tree on my street getting greener and greener
I've stopped crying
my longing is less dramatic
but more
confused.
I'm wondering what all those people who have grown quiet these days are doing – or whether You got the parcel – or what this summer is going to be like
no prospects so far
but the sun is already here
warmin'
.
I opened the window in the long-not-aired flat; warm fragrant May came in, in spite of the calendars.
I've failed not to think
failed in the shopping center, in the old part of the city and in the university library
I'm working
I'm watching the tree on my street getting greener and greener
I've stopped crying
my longing is less dramatic
but more
confused.
I'm wondering what all those people who have grown quiet these days are doing – or whether You got the parcel – or what this summer is going to be like
no prospects so far
but the sun is already here
warmin'
.
out-box #4, meaning as psychosis
Jeanette Winterson's novels and articles are the only works I ever re-read. (Apart from Szymborska's. And Tove Jansson's. And Virginia Woolf's.)
'End of story. Gotta start again. Gotta be positive. Gotta move on. Don't look back. No regrets.'
That's how he said it. He said it like a mantra. I wonder how many times a day he had to say it to make it true? It was a poultice over his heart.
I didn't know how to poultice my heart.
(...)
After the Talking Bird, the nice man at the Tavistock Clinic kept asking me why I stole books and birds, though I had only ever stolen one of each.
I told him it was about meaning, and he suggested, very politely, that might be a kind of psychosis.
'You think meaning is psychosis?'
'An obsession with meaning, at the expense of the ordinary shape of life, might be understood as psychosis, yes.'
'I do not accept that life has an ordinary shape, or that there is anything ordinary about life at all. We make it ordinary, but it is not.'
He twiddled his pencil. His nails were very clean.
'I am only asking questions.'
'So am I.'
There was a pause.
I said, 'How would you define psychosis?'
He wrote on a piece of paper with his pencil: Psychosis: out of touch with reality.
Since then, I have been trying to find out what reality is, so that I can touch it.
(...)
In the morning I was woken early by the chromatic bell of the Orthodox Church.
I unlatched the shutters. The light was as intense as a love affair. I was blinded, delighted, not just because it was warm and wonderful, but because nature measures nothing. Nobody needs this much sunlight. Nobody needs droughts, volcanoes, monsoons, tornadoes either, but we get them, because our world is extravagant as a world can be. We are the ones obsessed by measurement. The world just pours it out.
I went outside, tripping over slabs of sunshine the size of towns. The sun was like a crowd of people, it was a party, it was music. The sun was blaring through the walls of the houses and beating down the steps. The sun was drumming time into the stone. The sun was rhythming the day.
'Why are you afraid'? I asked myself, because fear is at the bottom of everything, even love usually rests on fear. 'Why are you afraid, when whatever you do will die anyway?'
(...)
I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don't expect to be happy. I don't imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don't think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is life-giving.And when it burns out, the planet dies.
My little orbit of life circles love. I daren't get any closer. I'm not a mystic seeking final communion. I don't go out without SPF 15. I protect myself.
But today, when the sun is everywhere, and everything solid is nothing but its own shadow, I know that the real things in life, the things I remember, the things I turn over in my hands, are not houses, bank accounts, prizes or promotions. What I remember is love – all love - love of this dirt road, this sunrise, a day by the river, the stranger I met in a café. Myself, even, which is the hardest thing of all to love, because love and selfishness are not the same thing. It is easy to be selfish. It is hard to love who I am. No wonder I am surprised if you do.
But love it is that wins the day.
(...)
The light was lengthening in soft lines along the river. Whether it was the quality of light, or the clarity of my feelings for you, I don't know, but there was softness and no blurring. 'This is not a lie,' I said to myself. 'It may not hold, but it is true.'
[Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping]
'End of story. Gotta start again. Gotta be positive. Gotta move on. Don't look back. No regrets.'
That's how he said it. He said it like a mantra. I wonder how many times a day he had to say it to make it true? It was a poultice over his heart.
I didn't know how to poultice my heart.
(...)
After the Talking Bird, the nice man at the Tavistock Clinic kept asking me why I stole books and birds, though I had only ever stolen one of each.
I told him it was about meaning, and he suggested, very politely, that might be a kind of psychosis.
'You think meaning is psychosis?'
'An obsession with meaning, at the expense of the ordinary shape of life, might be understood as psychosis, yes.'
'I do not accept that life has an ordinary shape, or that there is anything ordinary about life at all. We make it ordinary, but it is not.'
He twiddled his pencil. His nails were very clean.
'I am only asking questions.'
'So am I.'
There was a pause.
I said, 'How would you define psychosis?'
He wrote on a piece of paper with his pencil: Psychosis: out of touch with reality.
Since then, I have been trying to find out what reality is, so that I can touch it.
(...)
In the morning I was woken early by the chromatic bell of the Orthodox Church.
I unlatched the shutters. The light was as intense as a love affair. I was blinded, delighted, not just because it was warm and wonderful, but because nature measures nothing. Nobody needs this much sunlight. Nobody needs droughts, volcanoes, monsoons, tornadoes either, but we get them, because our world is extravagant as a world can be. We are the ones obsessed by measurement. The world just pours it out.
I went outside, tripping over slabs of sunshine the size of towns. The sun was like a crowd of people, it was a party, it was music. The sun was blaring through the walls of the houses and beating down the steps. The sun was drumming time into the stone. The sun was rhythming the day.
'Why are you afraid'? I asked myself, because fear is at the bottom of everything, even love usually rests on fear. 'Why are you afraid, when whatever you do will die anyway?'
(...)
I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don't expect to be happy. I don't imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don't think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is life-giving.And when it burns out, the planet dies.
My little orbit of life circles love. I daren't get any closer. I'm not a mystic seeking final communion. I don't go out without SPF 15. I protect myself.
But today, when the sun is everywhere, and everything solid is nothing but its own shadow, I know that the real things in life, the things I remember, the things I turn over in my hands, are not houses, bank accounts, prizes or promotions. What I remember is love – all love - love of this dirt road, this sunrise, a day by the river, the stranger I met in a café. Myself, even, which is the hardest thing of all to love, because love and selfishness are not the same thing. It is easy to be selfish. It is hard to love who I am. No wonder I am surprised if you do.
But love it is that wins the day.
(...)
The light was lengthening in soft lines along the river. Whether it was the quality of light, or the clarity of my feelings for you, I don't know, but there was softness and no blurring. 'This is not a lie,' I said to myself. 'It may not hold, but it is true.'
[Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping]
2011/04/25
new spring resolution
me refuses to think
me will do anything it takes
will drink anything it takes
and walk anything it takes
to prevent myself from this fatal activity.
so help me work.
me will do anything it takes
will drink anything it takes
and walk anything it takes
to prevent myself from this fatal activity.
so help me work.
out-box #3
yeah, I know
you don't care about this day
like perhaps you don't care at all
so
it might just as well not be for your birthday
'cause to me it's for
ever
or
totally for nothing.
wishing You.
you don't care about this day
like perhaps you don't care at all
so
it might just as well not be for your birthday
'cause to me it's for
ever
or
totally for nothing.
wishing You.
2011/04/23
cause the verbal channel is just one among many available
me: I don't know if I'm going.
she: I thought you'd made up your mind.
me: no. it's just. I'm not well. [tears, spasms, hyperventilation.]
she: oh. have some grapes. and an apple. oh, and a pear.
she: I thought you'd made up your mind.
me: no. it's just. I'm not well. [tears, spasms, hyperventilation.]
she: oh. have some grapes. and an apple. oh, and a pear.
http://schizoid.in/schizoid-chill.pls
drop drop drop
staring at the wall in front of me
another cup of coffee
another hour
my body is waiting
what for
there's nothing to come
nothing to come.
staring at the wall in front of me
another cup of coffee
another hour
my body is waiting
what for
there's nothing to come
nothing to come.
Renata Litvinova
& the world's worst bra:
but I terribly liked the movie.
...because you're such a SISSY and you'll be one for the rest of your life!!!
Biegunova as Vika should be my personal coach.
but I terribly liked the movie.
...because you're such a SISSY and you'll be one for the rest of your life!!!
Biegunova as Vika should be my personal coach.
2011/04/22
Esc
I'm afraid – don't ask me: of what. there is no reason; everything is the reason. silence, a glass of water, a broken conversation somewhere in the background – everything causes tension that I just can't stand any more. I'm scared. I look into faces, searching for understanding, searching for rescue, searching for warmth. I can hardly count the bottles I emptied trying successfully to make that feeling go away, that void, that panic when you cease to feel yourself, your will, your consciousness. I can't remember when last time finding peace was so difficult to me.
constantly I need feed, the permanent presence of those few people that are somewhere far away right now, out of touch, because the time has come to sit on your ass with your family, to eat like animals do, the holidays of church I don't even recognize. so they're not here – and I need them, their attention, the physical contact with them, their messages and their being by my side. when they disappear and when alcohol evaporates from my veins, the sharp silence falls on my mind and my body. I can't feed myself.
I don't think myself a parasite. it's scary, though, how I burden them with my misery. I'd give anything to take shelter in a warm body – although I know very well it won't change a thing – it will only make my disorder retreat a bit into the shadow, but not disappear completely – but just not to feel it for a while, that is: be able to believe for a moment that it's not there and what's real is the safety, the good smell, nothing more, the arm around me, the collarbone, the tummy, not even trying to make it mean more than it actually does, just this, so full and good
now
when it's not there.
constantly I need feed, the permanent presence of those few people that are somewhere far away right now, out of touch, because the time has come to sit on your ass with your family, to eat like animals do, the holidays of church I don't even recognize. so they're not here – and I need them, their attention, the physical contact with them, their messages and their being by my side. when they disappear and when alcohol evaporates from my veins, the sharp silence falls on my mind and my body. I can't feed myself.
I don't think myself a parasite. it's scary, though, how I burden them with my misery. I'd give anything to take shelter in a warm body – although I know very well it won't change a thing – it will only make my disorder retreat a bit into the shadow, but not disappear completely – but just not to feel it for a while, that is: be able to believe for a moment that it's not there and what's real is the safety, the good smell, nothing more, the arm around me, the collarbone, the tummy, not even trying to make it mean more than it actually does, just this, so full and good
now
when it's not there.
2011/04/17
2011/04/15
sunbeams from the womb
lipstick on the mug is a sure indicator my mother was here.
overeating the next day is yet another one.
overeating the next day is yet another one.
2011/04/14
out-box #2
I guess I'll have to pin the coffee filters to the shitty device with my barrettes when percolating. 'cause good morning dishwater is like good morning heartache. and when it's twice in a row, it's mourning already.
update
gotta get some pink ones. would be more glamour.
wondering whether they'll dissolve in the process.
also, to blog to yourself only is kinda frustrating. maybe I should get back to the old school bridget jones mode. but then, that one doesn't have the embarassing content filter. oh well.
update
gotta get some pink ones. would be more glamour.
wondering whether they'll dissolve in the process.
also, to blog to yourself only is kinda frustrating. maybe I should get back to the old school bridget jones mode. but then, that one doesn't have the embarassing content filter. oh well.
out-box #1
so I started practicing night walking. yesterday, around 9.30 p.m. I froze seeing the funny little shop that sells the plastic cameras being closed. while I was staring at the empty display window, a weasel made a torpedo run straight from the gateway where I took some photos a few weeks ago. a weasel. not a cat. not a dog. not even a rat.
a weasel.
M. wrote that the ermine without the lady never counts.
damn, I so agree.
a weasel.
M. wrote that the ermine without the lady never counts.
damn, I so agree.
2011/04/13
gentle retouch
the girl at the photographer's told me I should sleep more.
that kinda moved me.
deeply.
that kinda moved me.
deeply.
∞
the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty the immensity the beauty the cruelty
2011/04/12
April snow
I ate the hard fruit candy that the V-Girl spat out before She left.
there ain't nothing I can do to make Her forget obstacles Switzerland the whole big world outside
and want me instead
I had rushed into your life
And you were dumbfounded
I wanted love
But you did not want it
Maybe I am not saying what I need
Please listen
Listen
I am giving you the stars,
Selling my soul -
Listen harder!
And I was dreaming that…
That the people wanted something else
I was wrong
I ended up myself under fire
The first snow is outside
But even that is for nothing
You are silent
Listen
My god, you know I am a cynic
And you are talking about some soul…
Have mercy on my ears!
I understand the conversations are pointless
I don't want to fight with you
You believe,
You know more than I do
One can fly off -
Fly away -
Fly too much
One can leave
Or stay
But you are - melting
Snow
Forty minutes flew by
Like the word "tomorrow"
There is snow on the boots
And total lies in the eyes
I am so tired
Exactly what did you want?
Do you know that yourself?
Probably not,
And that's why you are just fooling around
Wasting my time
I understand the conversations are pointless
I don't want to fight with you
You believe,
You know more than I do
One can fly off -
Fly away -
Fly too much
One can leave
Or stay
But you are - melting
Snow
there ain't nothing I can do to make Her forget obstacles Switzerland the whole big world outside
and want me instead
I had rushed into your life
And you were dumbfounded
I wanted love
But you did not want it
Maybe I am not saying what I need
Please listen
Listen
I am giving you the stars,
Selling my soul -
Listen harder!
And I was dreaming that…
That the people wanted something else
I was wrong
I ended up myself under fire
The first snow is outside
But even that is for nothing
You are silent
Listen
My god, you know I am a cynic
And you are talking about some soul…
Have mercy on my ears!
I understand the conversations are pointless
I don't want to fight with you
You believe,
You know more than I do
One can fly off -
Fly away -
Fly too much
One can leave
Or stay
But you are - melting
Snow
Forty minutes flew by
Like the word "tomorrow"
There is snow on the boots
And total lies in the eyes
I am so tired
Exactly what did you want?
Do you know that yourself?
Probably not,
And that's why you are just fooling around
Wasting my time
I understand the conversations are pointless
I don't want to fight with you
You believe,
You know more than I do
One can fly off -
Fly away -
Fly too much
One can leave
Or stay
But you are - melting
Snow
2011/04/09
JWvG
Oftmals hab' ich auch schon in ihren Armen gedichtet,
Und des Hexameters Mass leise mit fingernder Hand
Ihr auf dem Rücken gezählt.
[Often have I composed poems even in her arms,
Counting the hexameter’s beat softly with fingering hand
There on the back of the beloved.]
Und des Hexameters Mass leise mit fingernder Hand
Ihr auf dem Rücken gezählt.
[Often have I composed poems even in her arms,
Counting the hexameter’s beat softly with fingering hand
There on the back of the beloved.]
I love V-words in English.
variety. vagina. vulva. virginity? Virginia Woolf/is for lovers. vague. vanilla [in the Shane McCutcheon sense]. vintage. vanishing [act]. vegetarian! verbalize. viscious circle. virtual hands. vivid! vivid!
most of all, I love when one beautiful girl I know makes the V-gesture, like the one the House Guy did.
most of all, I love when one beautiful girl I know makes the V-gesture, like the one the House Guy did.
2011/04/04
downtempo in the phoenix city
the champaign bubbles of life when I'm choking with tears and breath
the air the air the air
sometimes I lose my habit of exhalation, that's when I put a shell from my hands to my mouth, reducing the amount of the inhaled life, finally, I stop choking.
I wash down my chocolate cigarettes with the lemon balm and lavender tea.
two years ago at this time of year something broke, too, and bent steeply downwards. I took my summer exams in half-sleep, doped after the paroxetine. now I don't live at the Joli Bord any more, now it's the tarry, hot city center. with a blond girl still living next door, but now a different one, a dyed one, one more prone to cooperation, not on the level I'm likely to cooperate with her, though.
so,
I daydream of a one-room apartment. does anybody feel like sparing me 1500 PLN a month?
today, when people talked to me, the tension in my head opened a straight way to madness. it was like a fresh tablecloth, white bread and sobriety when all I need is night, martini and dancing till I sweat like a pig.
I need a healing micro-world, a herbal comfort in a blissful state of mind two meters over the ground, I need some chamomile on my eyes, some lemon balm on my tongue, some cannabis on my brain.
I need it to be quiet and clean, I want this hotchpotch of scraps, the leftovers, the broken sentences, the unfinished thoughts, to go down at once.
I sleep naked in the embryonic position, I wait and I believe that this Spring solstice will finally rumble through the time and space somewhere high above, beyond our awareness, without the active role of the city's forces - grease - muscles, till I wake up, get up, put my favorite gray sneakers on, go out, walk down the street, feel lightly to be moving, without the sense of guilt, without the sadness laying heavy deep inside my head; I'll walk alone, but knowing there are the best people ever within my reach - sight - capabilities. and I'll be able to exhale, without the grief, without the chopped feeling of a loss.
the air the air the air
sometimes I lose my habit of exhalation, that's when I put a shell from my hands to my mouth, reducing the amount of the inhaled life, finally, I stop choking.
I wash down my chocolate cigarettes with the lemon balm and lavender tea.
two years ago at this time of year something broke, too, and bent steeply downwards. I took my summer exams in half-sleep, doped after the paroxetine. now I don't live at the Joli Bord any more, now it's the tarry, hot city center. with a blond girl still living next door, but now a different one, a dyed one, one more prone to cooperation, not on the level I'm likely to cooperate with her, though.
so,
I daydream of a one-room apartment. does anybody feel like sparing me 1500 PLN a month?
today, when people talked to me, the tension in my head opened a straight way to madness. it was like a fresh tablecloth, white bread and sobriety when all I need is night, martini and dancing till I sweat like a pig.
I need a healing micro-world, a herbal comfort in a blissful state of mind two meters over the ground, I need some chamomile on my eyes, some lemon balm on my tongue, some cannabis on my brain.
I need it to be quiet and clean, I want this hotchpotch of scraps, the leftovers, the broken sentences, the unfinished thoughts, to go down at once.
I sleep naked in the embryonic position, I wait and I believe that this Spring solstice will finally rumble through the time and space somewhere high above, beyond our awareness, without the active role of the city's forces - grease - muscles, till I wake up, get up, put my favorite gray sneakers on, go out, walk down the street, feel lightly to be moving, without the sense of guilt, without the sadness laying heavy deep inside my head; I'll walk alone, but knowing there are the best people ever within my reach - sight - capabilities. and I'll be able to exhale, without the grief, without the chopped feeling of a loss.
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