spiral

I'm 25, I have 3 gray hairs and a job that I hate.
My last lover was a junkie, my friends have left to live abroad, my dreams are so unrealistic, that I don't even summon them in the daylight.
Yesterday, my mother embraced me and it felt like being born again. Her never-ending life force pushes me forwards each time a circle closes in a dark point.

I admire

I admire artists.

to love their art is to live an esthetically pleasing and interesting life of somebody else - not mine.

recently, so many have left the country to live somewhere else. and I grow indifferent to those who have stayed.

the past is in my dreams at night, I thought I saw the past on the stairs near the railway station, she was walking with her head down, so I'm not sure if it was her.

on the photographs, the past is bright and warm. seems so unreal from today's perspective.

forgive me everything I have done wrong, forgive me I have become someone detached from life, frozen, absent. defeated.

forgive me, because I can't forgive myself.





I loved you.

this has made me so happy

https://itunes.apple.com/ru/album/someday/id737714252

light grey and orange.

home. ginger, lemon, honey. pumpkin soup. two cats.
feels like I'm leaving some kind of nightmare for the weekend to get back to the place that remembers me as a young young girl who wrote, read and satisfied her natural urge to explore.

how come doing the right thing, as it seemed, has lead me to the life of constant struggle for survival. for sanity.

no anesthesia, pls.

If the fact that I dated a girl unable to love anybody back, an ex-prisoner, a junkie or a sociopath, wasn't a sufficient proof of my masochism, nobody should have any doubts now that I have a crush on my dentist.

it's not up to you

hi.
today, I'm gonna show you something pretty.

nice, uh? simple pleasures can significantly improve the quality of your life. riding a bike, eating ice-cream with a bunch of funny people are just an example. living carefully, enjoying exercises, developing love for healthy food, finding one's creative hobbies, being honest with yourself and kind to other people.

it's pretty but it's a lie.

one can live one's life honestly, despite the society's traditional views; one can be careful and reflective about their everyday life; one can travel quite a lot and be open and kind in their interpersonal relations.
but honestly,
it won't bring you money. it won't bring you people with whom you have real connection and mutual understanding. venturing into new places won't necessarily help you find yourself, it may actually cause the opposite thing to happen -- being lost and unassisted causes feelings of being upset and miserable.
by the way, not all feelings are beautiful. some of them are like a black dog. like a sediment on your heart. like a bitter sting. some feelings are never worth experiencing.
it is not easy to change your job. it is not up to you what kind of people you encounter -- more of coincidence, actually.
a bike ride and ice-cream can make your spirits rise, but the road to happiness takes more than five steps seemingly derived from Paulo Coelho's books.
life is not simple.
there are both easily achievable pleasures and deep dark states of mind where ice-cream won't really make any difference.
I don't like the modern urban shallow philosophy lying to people that if they are an average middle-class folks, with food to eat and fairly good health, and they still can't find themselves happy, then it's their problem -- but they are almost there, cause it's sooo easy.
it's not. never been.
I'm not saying we should all stay in and cry. I am active and will encourage anybody to try the same.
but I can only decide what I give, but it's not up to me what I get given.

busy until further notice

sometimes I wonder why I ever leave home and expose myself to social situations that make anxieties eat my stomach.

I could just stay in, listen to Zemfira and read books.

learning things, new encounters, diversity of activities -- all sound nice, but looks like the costs have just exceeded the goals.

http://media.photobucket.com/image/alone%20post%20secrets/SmoothCriminal_photos/Post%20Secrets/alone.jpg

Не мы такие, жизнь такая

Page one.

Kiev, Andriyivskyy Descent, October 20^th.

Yesterday I saw Diana Arbenina live for the first time. She comes out and says: don’t wait for any support, just live your life. As if she was saying this to me. And then just as if she was singing my lines: I can’t, I can’t take it any more.

Andriyivskyy Descent. I have smoked two sobranies: a purple one and a pistachio-green one.

Green tea, gloves that I bought yesterday with T and P.

I was a bit afraid to be alone in a big city that I don’t know at all. And now it feels like it’s what I needed: a few stains of sunlight, yellowed linden tree, empty tables. Green tea and cigarettes make good company. They never judge, never watch. Never assume.

The wind gets up.

Page two.

Invariably, the difficulty of interpersonal communication is caused by the secrets of the other person; secrets which, if learnt with empathy, would break your heart, make you understand and justify the harsh behavior full of fear and withdrawal. But remaining unknown, the secrets make us attribute each move against the other person or protecting one’s own face to nothing but bad will. But it’s all not about us, but about life. Life that’s hard, dark, with very few glimmers. Sad and lonely. Addictive. 

Yes, I am a nolife.

But it's all because Ellen's shows are available online.

I wasn't born to be a wife

but I guess I might reconsider

she's a goddess. and she can sing.

a pack of cigarettes

a river of beer and walnut liqueur last night, feels like we were in each and every corner of this city.
hangover.
I'm listening to Кино and looking at a tall, old poplar tree, still green, only two yellow leaves on it.
like anybody else, I have plenty reasons to be sad,
but I'm grateful.

time as precious as any other.

life gave me the gift of one more summer in Warsaw.

mornings are stinky, sweaty and loud when I get to work over an hour each day.

in the evenings under my windows there is crushing of sound waves from all the city, awake and aroused until late at night.

a few ripe raspberries fall on hot tram rails.

my consciousness is tight like a stretched sharp string.

I stay at work till late. my mind all boisterous, my stomach contracted, my hands quivering.

at home at the tiny kitchen table my flatmate spends most of her time. her presence has grown essential.

a dozen or so medical appointments. endless examinations. one should get a place in the queue as early as at 6 am.

on Tuesdays I have my Russian lessons. on Thursdays – pilates classes.

in October I will see Diana Arbenina live.

today at 5 am M walked me to the tram stop. I hugged him close and asked if he really needed to leave to Berlin.

‘don’t you know how much hot stuff lives up there?’, he asked.

PS They always feed fine, fine music to me.

melancholic toast, here's to you.

the sudden absence of my friends in my apartment has put me back in my usual comfort and depression.

feeling so sorry
tried too hard, wanted so badly
still hoped they would understand.

there's no way they could realize what was happening, though.

'are you sad? are you tired?'

I can't help that I just don't know how to handle simple, good moments.

she knocked a glass of red wine. she didn't quite understand when I said I was glad she'd done it.

your gender will get ya

I went to cinema called "Femina". it is sponsored mainly by a producer of diet pills. to get to the cinema hall, you need to go through an alley of huge posters with scales and female bodies tied with measuring tapes. and before they screen the movie, you need to watch a couple of commercials in which women tell their dramatic stories of liberating themselves from their appetite.

how sad is that.

I guess I'll choose the "Luna" cinema next time. seems gender-bias-free enough.

plenty

today I saw a cow with long-lashed eyes brushing a tree bark with her lips. I thought it very romantic.

around noon we were picking blueberries; branches heavy with the fruit. looked like the most abundant victory of life over non-existence.

at 10 pm, after three bottles of wine emptied, I said I felt like eating pancakes with powdered sugar. so my dad and I went to the kitchen and while he was mixing the batter, I heard him muttering to himself:
whatever you dream of
multiply threefold

a single man

I suspect Colin Firth of being a genius. 

streetcar at 5:40

today I saw Warsaw in summertime before 6 am

she looked magnificent
as if she thought no-one was watching

there is a heart under this badge

our line managers are away on holiday leave, so we played some music in our open space

a forbidden thing in the communist kingdom of corporation

we were listening mostly to Eric Clapton

it was humanizing 

'I have arrived.'

funny
to wake up in the morning, write down that life is a scary thing and then have an absolutely perfect day.

my face and neck are suntanned, my camera is full of sunny photos, my mind is calm.

we left early in the morning. we sat in the sun, we ate soup from small bowls and we listened to piano, double bass and percussion trio that was working with silence like a well improvised meditation. the pianist had curly hair, white creased shirt and a warm, tanned face. and he absolutely loved what he was doing.

and now I have a keepsake, a bunch of dried lavender on the kitchen window sill.

in the evening J. got back and told me to get ready for some awesome party we were going to in a couple of weeks. and I felt a shadow on my heart, because I understood that today was over and new plans and moments are waiting in their impatient queue.

gone too fast to love this day enough.
too quickly to make sure I've remembered it well.

life is a scary thing

Ih they were a queen and a king, I would move to their kingdom.

http://www.1tv.ru/sprojects_edition/si=5756&fi=20258

broken chain link

earlier this week I found myself crying at the blood test point as I was watching a young woman with a little baby and her gray-haired father who assisted her with the baby food.
I was crying not because I will never have a husband and a baby and all these experiences I would share with my parents as grandparents.

I was crying because I don't want a life like that.

wanting it would make it all way easier.

this game allows for touching one another.

to watch my parents play like children in the center of science
made my heart sing.
the constellation of my family has reached perfection.
I have found myself
worried
caring
loving
immensely.

we were sitting in a café
with a view over a river
my dad talking about the binary system
my mom about her summer in Bulgaria years ago.

in the evening
when they left
tiny little pieces of sadness filled the air
fell on the floor
slowly
like a feather.

last night my loneliness was full of this woman and this man.
I slept blissfully.

just a few nights before spring comes

February was vivid.
at nights I went to J.'s place across the whole city. alcohol, cigarettes, four hours of sleep before I go to work. curiosity, touch, February nights can actually be hot.
halfway through the month I had short holidays in Barcelona. cold nights, sunny days. sailboats in the port. we were riding the bikes along the rows of palms. rioja, the stress and grief mode OFF. we were sitting at the roof, the Brazilian guy was rolling himself a cigarette, a ray of sun fell into the bottle and he said, life is beautiful. I texted J. all the time and was glad that when I get back to grey Warsaw covered with the remains of dirty snow, that drunk dwarf would be waiting and I'd see her soon.

there was enough will only for one evening. afterwards, she bet on distance between us, I checked twice. unease, sleep deprivation. at work they called an ambulance for me. is your heart all right? finally, I laid down my cards and last night at 2.30 I took a taxi home.

Without chances, without options
I’ll give you everything,
Sun and moon, you are going down and down,
You're already at the bottom, poor man
Unpleasant sleep, last year's snow
In your words there is lie and emptiness
You forgot to recognize the actual me

useless brothers and sisters

21st January, USA. President Barack Obama: Our journey is not complete until our gay brothers and sisters are treated like anyone else under the law – for if we are truly created equal, then surely the love we commit to one another must be equal as well.

25th January, Poland. Krystyna Pawłowicz, lawyer, politician: We cannot expect homosexual relationships to provide the continuation of life because they are not procreation oriented. (...) Those people are useless.

''look, the snow, the stars in January, just for you..."

no idea no idea no idea no idea how I still find energy for it all.

at the pale office I have stomach cramps as I hear questions asked with the assumption that I am a heterosexual woman, yet everyday at 5 pm it occurs to me that it's not that bad after all. only from time to time I get struck by the astonishment that it is actually possible for me to work there and not go crazy.

on Fridays there is beer, drag queens and J., a girl two years younger than myself. we come from different worlds, lead divergent narrations and use codes that are incompatible – probably this is why I'm so attracted to her. plus her smell.

on Saturdays I have gender studies: we read Sarah Kane and watch Ghost in the Shell. I find myself in extremely pleasant states of mind.

my pants stink of tobacco and there are pieces of chocolate all over my laptop.

I turn too shy when I'm near the pretty O., so I trick her to get her phone number; this gives me hope that I'll meet her not that accidentally one day.

I see my father rarely, so his depression seems to fade away to me, then I meet him and I feel guilty again.

I cuddle up to my mother on those rare days when I'm with her.

I call my sister very often with lots of laughing but not much sense; there is no content between us, but I keep up the form so that the bond doesn't get broken.

the snow looks unearthly when I get back home drunk at 3 am. intact, so special, and kitschy.

I talk to gay men who are strangers to me and I get very little sleep.

and I can't stop any more, I've given up reflection a long time ago. in this hum and hurried activities I keep the low murmur constant. this won't give a chance for the deeper thoughts to come to the surface.

not much contact with myself, which is I probably I feel so good.

the carnival stylistics has always had magical influence on me.

"My advice to anybody is GET BORN." (J. Winterson)

We were standing on the sixth floor and Sz. said that he did feel sorry for all the cats and dogs, but the fireworks were just so pretty. And we all wished each other that things would get better – as if it had ever been up to us.

As if it had ever been up to anybody else but us.

The cat, paralyzed with fear, was sitting quietly on the kitchen chair, I was drinking up my third bottle, and around me there were revolving a few satellites – a bunch of old friends who are my little family in this city.

Sarcasm can save you from collective hysteria, excess of emotions and hasty enthusiasm, but using it against people who always remember about you or against family who is always there ready to help when you turn around – it’s like hurting yourself really.

I don’t dream of revolutions, miracles or great victories. I have developed a liking not for a life that glitters, explodes and rouses me as a life like that happens only rarely – instead, I have a liking for a life that goes slowly but also surprises you with places and states of mind you find yourself in, and the quality of those places and states is so weird that you can’t even tell it good or bad, yet you feel immense pleasure of experiencing them, perceiving them and remembering them in a funny selective way. It’s good to realize that life is not a streak of pleasures and to find pleasure in being alive instead.

2.30 am, a short message from a gorgeously smelling girl whom I met on Friday; well, it deifnitely helped me sense that pleasure.