björk's vespertine is probably the ultimate winter/christmas album to me.
"in icelandic, christmas is "jól", which has nothing of christianity in it but is believed to be from way before that and i have heard some theories that is related to the word "hjól" or "wheel". it is about winter solstice and reminds us of how the seasons roll wheel like forwards: it is a celebration of the days getting a little longer and the light returning. i have always absolutely adored christmas, for me it is the time when i sense harmony best.
ever since i saw my friend sjón's poem "solstice" i got excited about writing a song to it. i felt it poetically pointed out that the tilt of the earth gives us the seasons and reminds us of our place in the universe. we are a part of a gigantic gorgeous mobile run by physics, solar systems and as the poem points out in the end: love. in the poem, earth's position in our solar system is compared to a christmas ornament hanging on a christmas tree, 3rd from the star.(...)"
(björk)
2011/12/22
2011/12/17
2011/12/04
and then came Wednesday, the 23rd
how just a few November days can be horribly cold outside and totally warm inside of me.
Prague. Charles Bridge in the fog and I can hear INXS immediately. Dusk was falling and I could hear all the world's languages around me. the city gleamed in the mirror of Vltava – the "mother with claws", which becomes creepy and psychedelic once you've been to the Kafka's museum - just to turn out overdrawn and absurd a few hours later, when you see David Černý's Peeing Statues or Sigmund Freud hanging over the street. I also wanted to see the Trabant, but whoever can tell me, how to get to the rear of the German embassy, where the statue is said to be?
The Czechs, I do like them. Even if they don't speak English, they manage to communicate with me by willpower.
It was getting pitch dark, I left my bag at Hlavní nádraží and took the subway to the SaSaZu. I couldn't find it, so I asked a Czech the way. She turned out to be a German, so deeply into Russia, and her name was R. Such a strange encounter, but then - such a natural one. In the club there was her, me – the Pole, two Slovaks, and a huge crowd of Russians. And her. Zemfira. strong make-up and a glass of red wine (spilled over the console table). again, she, so beautiful in who she is and who she becomes. cheerful, precious. she knows how to do it. probably the best show I've ever been to.
then M. and the train to Bratislava. it turned out that what we'd gotten was just booking without the tickets proper. also, the booking was for the male compartment. it was no problem at all to us, since our fellow-traveler was ready to lend us some Euros that he gave me without a word, reaching from his low couchette.
Bratislava, I meet I. and from now on I will hear a lot of beautiful Russian in his conversations with M.
the gray city enveloped in fog. I meet two Poles at the castle. Coffee&Co at Michalska street (it was where I was reading "Intelligent Life": "Human beings need unhappiness at least as much as they need happiness"]. a bit of fine shots at some exhibition, too bad I forgot the names of the photographers. mulled wine and beer. then some more cold beer. and lemon vodka. kofola and halušky with ewe’s milk cheese.
the Studentská chocolate. and one obyčajný ticket at the Zochova bus stop.
but it all would have been nothing if it hadn't been for M. & I. beautiful people, you can always recognize them by the music they listen to.
I had my time to enjoy the life. to watch it. to listen to it. to taste it and smell it. to interact with it. see the intense associations in my head. feel the thrill. watch the situation unfold in the most positive direction. find out that my intuition was right when it told me to trust someone. be happy to see my everlasting problems still there and yet go further and further by my own, 'cause I receive signals of approval and safety – and that particular energy which gives me so much motivation to develop, to keep on searching, to want it all and not to be afraid. there are moments when I forget about my inhibitions and suddenly find myself functioning smoothly. I'd like to know how this struggle of mine looks from outside.
I want to learn Russian. I won't let it go. I have positively no time for it and there are just loads of other things to do, but I want to learn it.
like I want to
be,
travel,
be moving.
leave the cold places and find warmth where I didn't expect it to be. doing easily things I didn't know how to do not so much long ago. it all sounds just too sentimental and naïve. but then, I'm a bit about sentimentality myself.
Prague. Charles Bridge in the fog and I can hear INXS immediately. Dusk was falling and I could hear all the world's languages around me. the city gleamed in the mirror of Vltava – the "mother with claws", which becomes creepy and psychedelic once you've been to the Kafka's museum - just to turn out overdrawn and absurd a few hours later, when you see David Černý's Peeing Statues or Sigmund Freud hanging over the street. I also wanted to see the Trabant, but whoever can tell me, how to get to the rear of the German embassy, where the statue is said to be?
The Czechs, I do like them. Even if they don't speak English, they manage to communicate with me by willpower.
It was getting pitch dark, I left my bag at Hlavní nádraží and took the subway to the SaSaZu. I couldn't find it, so I asked a Czech the way. She turned out to be a German, so deeply into Russia, and her name was R. Such a strange encounter, but then - such a natural one. In the club there was her, me – the Pole, two Slovaks, and a huge crowd of Russians. And her. Zemfira. strong make-up and a glass of red wine (spilled over the console table). again, she, so beautiful in who she is and who she becomes. cheerful, precious. she knows how to do it. probably the best show I've ever been to.
then M. and the train to Bratislava. it turned out that what we'd gotten was just booking without the tickets proper. also, the booking was for the male compartment. it was no problem at all to us, since our fellow-traveler was ready to lend us some Euros that he gave me without a word, reaching from his low couchette.
Bratislava, I meet I. and from now on I will hear a lot of beautiful Russian in his conversations with M.
the gray city enveloped in fog. I meet two Poles at the castle. Coffee&Co at Michalska street (it was where I was reading "Intelligent Life": "Human beings need unhappiness at least as much as they need happiness"]. a bit of fine shots at some exhibition, too bad I forgot the names of the photographers. mulled wine and beer. then some more cold beer. and lemon vodka. kofola and halušky with ewe’s milk cheese.
the Studentská chocolate. and one obyčajný ticket at the Zochova bus stop.
but it all would have been nothing if it hadn't been for M. & I. beautiful people, you can always recognize them by the music they listen to.
I had my time to enjoy the life. to watch it. to listen to it. to taste it and smell it. to interact with it. see the intense associations in my head. feel the thrill. watch the situation unfold in the most positive direction. find out that my intuition was right when it told me to trust someone. be happy to see my everlasting problems still there and yet go further and further by my own, 'cause I receive signals of approval and safety – and that particular energy which gives me so much motivation to develop, to keep on searching, to want it all and not to be afraid. there are moments when I forget about my inhibitions and suddenly find myself functioning smoothly. I'd like to know how this struggle of mine looks from outside.
I want to learn Russian. I won't let it go. I have positively no time for it and there are just loads of other things to do, but I want to learn it.
like I want to
be,
travel,
be moving.
leave the cold places and find warmth where I didn't expect it to be. doing easily things I didn't know how to do not so much long ago. it all sounds just too sentimental and naïve. but then, I'm a bit about sentimentality myself.
it was Tuesday, 11/22
so when I travel alone, I feel like getting back to the larval stage of childhood. I think of my parents, with whom I've travelled thousands of miles in my life. then I think of the narrations which stimulate my instincts in an animal, non-intellectual way. so this won't be Winterson, Sapphire or Janion, although they have grown so important to me. I think through Stasiuk and Legátova, a bit of Schulz as well, it's inevitable. but most of all, Stasiuk and Legátova, it's them, when I watch dry Slavic November, grayish-ashen, illuminated by the strong sunlight. I guess without their books I would never recognize this abundant austerity of the out-of-town world, even with the time I've spent in the countryside.
I remember taking some Autumn photos of rows of trees. the distance between the rows was big enough to make the last one look as if it'd been fading away – 'cause the whole November, if it's without rain, seems like the Javanese shadow play: bare, sunny existence just before it ceases to be.
in a small town I was passing through there were doors for sale presented like prostitutes in a colorful window display.
in another one a tiny little kiosk had a sign that said "Wedding dresses salon".
in a big city I saw a red-haired girl and a gigantic square, through which I watched the sunset.
less and less light, more and more evening smoke.
and when I travel alone, I take care of myself like never. it might well be that it's the way mothers care of their young when facing danger.
I get sentimental and inclined to cry.
there is a song by Bregovič called "7/8 & 11/8", I could hear it at dusk. after all it was Bregovič whom I listened to when reading Legátova.
it was at dusk that I needed to see the world organized in some decent, proper way.
and those dry soaring poplars looked like the ones on the cover of Irena Jurgielewiczowa’s book that I read as a child.
the ginger world was vanishing into thin air.
it was only 4am and it was already dark. I thought I saw a bat flying over. I thought it was a pity A. didn't wrote back – I would have been looking forward to Wednesday afternoon if I had been supposed to meet her.
that morning I drank a glass of milk and this white felt comforting to me. it occurred to me that living with a cat makes things easier – people who keep them can nestle in the fur and make their mornings and evenings brighter with a bit of milk.
that day the need to belong was as strong as if it could take control over the vital functions of my organism.
I remember taking some Autumn photos of rows of trees. the distance between the rows was big enough to make the last one look as if it'd been fading away – 'cause the whole November, if it's without rain, seems like the Javanese shadow play: bare, sunny existence just before it ceases to be.
in a small town I was passing through there were doors for sale presented like prostitutes in a colorful window display.
in another one a tiny little kiosk had a sign that said "Wedding dresses salon".
in a big city I saw a red-haired girl and a gigantic square, through which I watched the sunset.
less and less light, more and more evening smoke.
and when I travel alone, I take care of myself like never. it might well be that it's the way mothers care of their young when facing danger.
I get sentimental and inclined to cry.
there is a song by Bregovič called "7/8 & 11/8", I could hear it at dusk. after all it was Bregovič whom I listened to when reading Legátova.
it was at dusk that I needed to see the world organized in some decent, proper way.
and those dry soaring poplars looked like the ones on the cover of Irena Jurgielewiczowa’s book that I read as a child.
the ginger world was vanishing into thin air.
it was only 4am and it was already dark. I thought I saw a bat flying over. I thought it was a pity A. didn't wrote back – I would have been looking forward to Wednesday afternoon if I had been supposed to meet her.
that morning I drank a glass of milk and this white felt comforting to me. it occurred to me that living with a cat makes things easier – people who keep them can nestle in the fur and make their mornings and evenings brighter with a bit of milk.
that day the need to belong was as strong as if it could take control over the vital functions of my organism.
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