"stupefied by the light"

wide-angle countryside with the sun low & orange. trees still ripe, but first light grey strips anticipate the October time. the depth of colors and the very last moments, the neighborhood does its best for soon it will all start fading away.
baked apples, the hot syrupy sweetness spills out from the hollowed medulla. with all its abundance, this time of year is under the sign of Schulz.
there is immense hunger for tales inside me. so I read the Czech stories by Szczygieł, although it doesn't come easy to me to forgive him (even him) the forrible Catholic discourse. he somehow urged me to start the apostasy process. the first step is always the hardest: the priest on the phone was an asshole that hung up and he was gone. I've got a feeling it all won't be a quick thing to do.
so I read - I'm surprised to discover that the academic book "DUET encounters" turns out to be not a collection of scientific articles, but half-private memories of some linguistic conferences. it's totally useless when it comes to my thesis, but it's warm and full of the peculiar satisfaction brought by academic work – demanding, exhausting, badly funded one – one which makes you a better human being through the intellectual effort you made. (so I assume. I have never done solid academic work myself.)
and on the radio Maria Peszek (Mariah Pescheck as I call her in writing) tells her Asian story, so vivid a tale, I guess it sharpened my unbearable hunger even more. texture skin structure. aromas. I've got some wine that's most suitable to this. shell segal.
how I love radio. radio is larger than television. radio is larger than the internet. radio combined with literature is beautiful feed for gigantic hunger. horizons, spaces, phantasms.
today my life has been very, very pretty.

Gracias A La Vida

today I thought for a while life was amazing because I went out just for a coffee with a friend that I was supposed to walk to a concert hall, for a show of one of the most incredible singing women of our times – and surprisingly, I found myself at the concert just as well.
but actually, life is amazing because when I switched on my mobile after the show, I read a message that she cares. the one I want to care most.

new art from India

***

***

***


(or from elsewhere.)

and I'll stick to my standards just as well.

I don't want to make a fuss about it, but I really do have human feelings. I have an empathy module and a need to experience the same in other people's behavior. in behavior of some particular ones.
also, among the living creatures, I definitely prefer the human ones. the humane ones.
setting yourself free of social conventions is brave and interesting. and it can be funny, too. but like everything else, once overdone, it becomes absurd.
allergic response to human reactions is absurd.
just this absurdity doesn't seem very entertaining to me.

but I guess I'll stick to Russian.

what I hate you most for is that if I could, I would take you to, say, Provence and feed you with cheese and wine, and teach myself this god-damn language. I would smell your hair like herbs and weave elaborate micro-worlds, one by one, for your chaotic yet effective exploration. I would create things beyond the epoch, for you, the only one in the era, the only one in this world.

someone scattered raspberries on a sunny pavement.
why are you leaving again?

gimmie another script

so this is it?
so my future job will boil down to eight hours in front of the commuter screen at a grey-painted office, with a hare's-foot fern on a tall cabinet? and to salary stable enough to let a bank tie me to itself with a loan for several dozen of years?
so our relation comes down to sex and a few stories about our friends, told to each other as a form of entertainment?
so I meet all those people only to make us stop being busy with the computer for a while and not go completely crazy? (and to make our self-esteem properly high?)

I really did thing better of this Warsaw reality we have.

Kawasaki's Rose

it's been a long time since I last went to the L. cinema on a cheap Monday. (PLN 8.) on the left: a fat woman with a bag of chips from a no frills supermarket. behind me: a guard of elderly ladies trying to outdo each other in their manometer results. the movie – like most Czech ones I've seen – decent, a few pretty overexposed shots and a girl with pink hair.
then I leave the cinema and it's not that muggy any more, since the day is past its worse and it's all getting better now; grey, late summer Warsaw, I walk under the arcades at the C. Square, I've changed at home and I'm wearing trousers instead of my skirt, so nobody's seeing me, nobody's talking to me.
I get back to my flat at W. street, cook myself some powdered soup that was best before the date half a year and eight days ago (like those PLN 8 at the cinema) and I read reviews of books about Berlin, which I'll probably never read and it might be that I'll never be in Berlin again either.
keep moving. keep moving to spite the solitude.

switch it off

I didn't take many photos this summer. it occurred to me, cause this time last year I was sticking together dozens of black sheets of construction paper with spring and summer photos. now all I have is a few shots somewhere in the web, taken at a few afternoon walks. I sat throughout the summer. no lakes, forests, clubs. just a smart jacket and office computer with a password – eight or twelve characters, small and capital letters and one special character. cover your feet, cover your tattoo. in the evenings my relationship grew, then it fell apart. at nights there were rows and sticky sex. everything gets washed down like watercolor, the July rains might still have something to do with it. I'm tired, I've got two weeks of holidays and no plans what to do with them. no money to make any plans anyway. I bought books and magazines, but I don't read them. I don't visit places. the season is fading away. girls are slim, neat and distant. I'd like someone to take me somewhere, but things like that never come when you want them to. I have this picture of myself in beautiful scenes, I know they can happen, cause life can actually be like that. but I don't seem to find them.
burning thoughts come to my feet, like: I make positively no progress at yoga, my love is destructive and I don't lose weight at all. visualizing basement brings a relief to me, which probably isn't the best symptom of my mental condition.

creative chaos

I like it when a sticker has a slit on the back so that I don't have to unstuck it starting from the corner.
at the end of my traineeship I got a calendar with a picture of a neutrino observatory as a gift.
life shown in the "beginners" movie smells nice.
I don't want order. mess is so much more interesting with its landscapes.

gentlemen, things got over the top

I walk & walk, I go out with a fake aim in mind, with zemfira (спасибо) in my earphones, with or without a cigarette.
I prefer the 'with' option, though.
summertime gave me five kilos, so I steer clear of the bakery and I use Excel to count how many calories a fruit candy has. (it's eight.)
I watch a few threads reaching the zenith – the zenith of their energetic efficiency, the zenith of my resilience. the wall. thanks but no thanks. as usually, the future image without them seems scary. but that ain't a reason good enough to keep the monster by my side.
occasional smoke is just enough to me.

Indian summer

recovery is a miracle.
each time it happens.

SaSaZu

i double checked
the trees definitely get yellow

i listen to paul kalkbrenner again and again, i don't seem to digest anything else
anything more literal, anything more sentimental

i can't communicate with my mother and father successfully, however we try
so we exchange objects:
i gave them a box of soan papdi*, they gave me a few strings to wear as a necklace

at the rossmann at the train station i chose dried apricots instead of chocolate
cause colors is what i need now

i dream of going to Zemfira's concert in Prague. i assume i'm the blog's only reader, but in case i'm wrong – anybody?

the poster: http://zemfira.ru/img/afisha.jpg

* OH, LORD! that's just awesome.

oh, Hare, Hare

autumn, the world is dying just like every year
every time when an important era in my life reaches its miserable end, I trample it during my nighttime walks
city centre
black devils
martini
I go to all those film shows, poetry evenings, performances for free
apart from me no one but elderly ladies and gentlemen
they don't know how to switch off their mobiles and they rustle with their sweet wrappers
they're harmless
I take the singular
it requires getting rid of the feminine a bit

also,
I guess there's a tramp on the street, I can hear him yelling "Hare Krishna!"