I've been busy...

Extreme ends of the worlds and people breathing at the hairs on my neck... That's why I am not able to post as often as I would like to...

I've been walking...

I've been writing...

I’ve been watching...

A few days ago I’ve been listening to the lecture by a Customs Officer. One of the subjects was smuggling drugs. Even though it’s something that we all hear about here or there – it made me shocked and extremely upset to learn about the “mules” and these who are in charge – ones that don’t even try taking any of the substances they sell because they know better. They make money, they steal, they kill. That’s what they do and they are very happy people. I wouldn’t care if they’ve done all the smuggling themselves – whatever... But they use people who don’t realise, who are not educated enough in the matter, who desperately need the money and who are generally quite naive.
Then I’ve watched a film – “Maria Full Of Grace”. A story about a seventeen year old Columbian girl (played beautifully by Catalina Sandino Moreno) whose life is turning upside down, who has to feed her family, who just found out that life can get even more complicated. I have never “felt” a movie so much before. Every second I was squeezing my man’s hand and I was whispering: “please...”
Life is full of Sophocles’ Antigonas choices. One has two ways to go – bad or worse. What do you do? We all make mistakes, all the time. The way I choose is to sit and think: a) am I going to hurt somebody but doing this? b) Am I going to hurt myself by doing this? c) Is that what my heart tells me to do? d) Is that what my brain tells me to do? Never does it happen that the answers are obvious. Well, if they were, I doubt there were choices to make.
I was wondering – what would I do in Maria’s shoes? I would get very depressed, for starters. But would I risk my life for money? No. Would I choose to stay and keep suffering? No. Maybe I’d become a prostitute, maybe an alcoholic, maybe... But there’s no way I would let some fucking twat, without balls and courage, smile smugly when I shit myself thinking if the little bag of cocaine in my stomach bursts now or maybe a few minutes later... Because my life belongs to me. That’s the first rule of choice making in Spiral Wisdom’s dictionary...

I've been mottoing...

1. Appreciate what's good.

2. Ignore what's neutral.

3. Reject what's wrong.

I've been reading...

In the book I'm reading at the moment ("One Pill Makes You Smaller" by Lisa Dierbeck), I found a quote: "To be an artist, one must announce: Screw you. I don't give a fuck. To hell with it. Damn you. Utterly."

Seems like I'm not an artist then... I underlined the quote with my pencil because I like it. Doesn't mean I agree with it. In my opinion, to be an artist means one must announce what one feels like announcing. I don't have to give a fuck but I can if I want to. Oh, I really don't like Van Gogh's "Sunflowers". Here- I said it! I can't understand them and I don't understand the fascination. Because of my lack of understanding, I went to see them with my own eyes. I was staring, I was searching for the genius - I couldn't find it. I am sorry.

And then, my Friend, Toni, gave me one of his sketches. Have you heard about Toni? Doubt it. I bet you've heard about Van Gogh. And I looked at Toni's sketch and I was mesmerised. I'm not going to describe it - look for yourself:

Toni Russo - and I don't know the title (sorry, Toni).

And in this case, I do not give a fuck about the "Sunflowers".

But then, there might be a "pop something". Something that "artists" don't give a damn about. Sells well but is not "poetic" or whatever. And the brave thing to say in THIS case is: I like it. Well, I will never say that I like James Blunt but it's OK if you do. Trust me, there are a lot of things that are not "cool" that I adore.

Being an artist is to admit that you like or you don't like something whatever whoever says. Being an artist is being yourself. Being yourself is being OK with being cliche (sometimes :) ), being independent in your thoughts, being brave enough to say: well, I don't think it's kitsch.

Since I've been a teenager, at school, they've told me: you're a rebel. And I laughed. Because I've never planned to be a rebel. Luckily enough - I lived in the places and times when I didn't have to rebel against anything. What's the point in being a rebel without a reason? Being cool?

I find so many so-called-artists that are trying to be cool by doing this or that, trying to be cool by not being cool... The point is - they keep trying. And trying to be is something I don't do - I just am.

If you ever wonder about the artist percentage in you - just sit down and think about how much you is in you. Don't listen to "the cool". Yes, it's good to have your masters. But it's better to say that you think that they are not right when you think they aren't.

Nowadays, too many of us are embarrassed to be real. There's no shame in being. There's no shame in feeling. There's no shame in liking James Blunt. Bless him.

P.S.

I carried on reading and had another thought: being provocative, by no means, is being yourself or as being "above". Being provocative "by accident" is fine by me - it's just another thing you say that people find a bit more controversial. But being provocative in a way that you think about it every day and every night and you just hope to appear in the world because you said something that the others would argue with - well, that's a piece of poo and you're losing your grip...

P.S. II

My blog has been banned by the place I work for. When you put the web address in, a little thing pops out. It says: "Access denied. Block pornography. You will be reported." ... :)

I've been clouding...

I've been reading...

“The pioneers of a warless world are the youth that refuse military service.” - Albert Einstein

When I was ten, I went on the compulsory school “trip” to Auschwitz – concentration camp in Poland. Among other things, there was this huge wall of pictures. Sad faces of the prisoners were looking at us, kids, as if they were still begging for help, for rescue, for mercy. I couldn’t stop staring. Shaved heads and deep holes where eyes used to be. Women, men, children, Polish, Jewish, Russian, young, adolescent, older... All sizes, all colours. They all looked the same. When I think about it today, after fourteen years since that day, I can still see them and make distinctions. I remember every picture, every blank expression. It makes me cry as much as it made me cry back then. It makes me even more terrified than when I was a ten year old girl who didn’t know much about life and death. My late Grandpa would show me a tattooed number on his forearm and tell me about the difficult art of survival. He did. Miraculously. Others did not.

I didn’t understand it then. I don’t understand it now.

When I had finished reading “The Book Thief” by Markus Zusak, I grabbed my hardback and held it tightly in my arms. I couldn’t stop crying. I closed my eyes and I saw The Faces. They spoke to me. They were angry. Sixty eight years later and nothing has changed, even though we all say that war is bad, killing is wrong, and Hitler was evil.

What is the story about? Is it about a young German girl who stole books to cheer herself up? About the War? Hitler? The Jewish nation? The Germans? Endurance? Friendship? Family? Words? Poverty? Hunger? Death? Life?...

It is a story about me and you, and about what we’ve got and what we do with it. How pointless are all our commendable acts in a face of evil and stupidity?! That’s what I call the war – Greatest Stupidity.

Not long ago I was writing about appreciation of life and how easy it can be to be happy if we only want to. If we just stopped fighting. Why is it so damn difficult? Why does the human race always want more more more?! Why do we loathe sharing so much? Why does friendship become more and more rare? Why do we let George Bush attack another country, another people?... Yes, WE let him do it. Because if everybody said NO, he wouldn’t have much choice. If there was no hatred in our hearts, there wouldn’t be pain. It so simple... But nobody listens. Yes, you agree with me now. But tomorrow you will forget. And I will forget too. That’s how we are.
Next time when you watch the news and you see another bombed house, another corpse lying in debris, don’t just sip your coffee. Please, stop for a moment and think what you can do in the small world around you to make it this little bit better. Don’t complain when somebody hurts you. Most of all, don’t hurt them back. Just bite your tongue and be proud of yourself that you have become a better person.

I know – I’m in your face now, almost like Coelho in his novels :) I’m just tired of all this shit, that’s all. And today’s blog is more to myself than to anybody else. So don’t get all frustrated. Just give it a go.

Thank you.

Oh, and read “The Book Thief”. It is so beautifully written, it grabs your heart and does not let go till the last page. Should be an obligatory reading at schools. Classic already.

I've been writing...

Free Delivery

Paul was a bloke who didn’t like a challenge very much. He would stay at home, watch DVD’s and occasionally play with his dog. That didn’t happen too often as Jumbo was getting on Paul’s nerves. This morning he hadn’t even fully woken up when he switched his computer on. He opened THE website and was just staring at the screen for a few minutes. The web page didn’t differ to what he’d seen yesterday, the day before or last week. But he kept staring. Jumbo thought it was some kind of celebration, saying ‘Good Morning’ to a new day. He jumped onto Paul’s lap but this time access was refused. There was nothing else to do and Jumbo went to play with his bones. Paul lazily started putting his clothes on. He hated dressing up, he hated his job, he hated mornings and he hated his dog too. He tried to smile once but it didn’t work for him. Not in the morning and not without a reason. What was a good reason to make Paul smile then? Well, not much. Jumbo knew that there was something, something very mysterious that made Paul happy. If there was a lucky day, he would smile while fooling around with Jumbo but on most occasions - no matter how hard Jumbo tried, he was still unnoticed. There was a hope. Jumbo knew that his master did get happy and he knew that it must have been something to do with the screen. There were millions of times when the dog just wanted to bite the cables and rescue Paul from this miserable God who seldom talked to him through this stupid piece of glass. But then Paul would get angry and probably Jumbo would be kicked out. He was scared of being kicked out more then he was scared of Paul being sad.
- You should start a new hobby - said Jumbo suddenly.
- Oh, give me a break. I’m trying to create a really cool ad for my heart, I’m selling it for 99p plus two quid for postage, what do you reckon? Do you think it will sell?
Jumbo didn't answer. He knew it was going to be another day spent alone, with his bones. At least Paul remembered to feed him. If he sells his heart he might not be able to do even that anymore. Jumbo wept. His owner didn’t take much notice of that as he was already late for work. After Paul was gone, Jumbo grabbed a phone and dialled a number known only to him.
- Hi, yes... It’s Jumbo Smith here. I called you about two weeks ago and you managed to send me the bill already but nothing has been done... But... Oh... I really don’t care that its Christmas and you’re busy! Was there any problem with my credit card? No, I’m not happy with cat fucking services. Do I sound like a bloody cat?! Can I have my money back then? Yes, same address. Thank you for nothing. Good day. Good day I say! Oh, and put me through to the complaints...
Jumbo was not pleased. He made a complaint but it didn’t make him feel any better. He decided to have a drink and opened the mini bar with his paw (managing to break a bottle of Johnny Walker at the same time). “No wine... He doesn’t even know what to drink.” Finally, he decided on vodka. You need to know that Jumbo is quite an ordinary, nice little dog. He doesn’t drink alcohol unless he has to. And today he had to. He was lonely. There were no other dogs living around (there was one, but she was stupid and he just wanted to stay away, stay away). Paul didn’t care anymore and he had his big screen and all this stuff he was selling. His heart was not the first item. Before, he tried to give away his feelings, his points of view, his personality and he was successful most times. He had difficulty with selling Jumbo, as Jumbo had this little defect, unseen by a naked eye but when you looked closer... So that’s the reason Jumbo was still here. And the defect part of the story didn’t help. It all just made Jumbo very, very depressed. “Never mind, Paul doesn’t care, Paul’s God from the mysterious website doesn’t care and these people I just called - they don’t care either.” Slightly tipsy, he put the music on. And danced. It was beautiful music. “It’s a shame I’m not as talented as people, I would make the most beautiful music myself. And maybe then, maybe then I would have friends!” But he wasn’t, he couldn’t and he didn’t. “Well, maybe one more bottle and I’ll just sleep.”
When he woke up, Paul wasn’t back yet. “Good, I have some time to clean this mess up.” Then the doorbell rang. Jumbo was hesitating to open the door - he didn’t look very well and he smelled of vodka. He was not that bothered though so he answered. A beautiful girl was standing outside.
- Paul is not in, should I take a message?
- Paul?
- Yhm, Paul’s at work. Or somewhere else, selling other parts of his body. Dunno.
- Good.
- Oh…
- You see, I’m not sure if I’ve got the right address - Jumbo Smith, 555 Blue Street, Weepinshire?
- Oh, yes, yes, I do apologise, I've been having some hard time recently and... – Jumbo hesitated.
- Yes?
- Well, actually, what is this about?
- Oh, you should know that. I’m Death. You called our customer services three times and the complaints department twice so we decided to treat your case as an emergency, - the girl replied with a smile on her face.
- Oh.
- So, would you like to suffer?
- No, it’s ok, thank you. Come in, please. - Jumbo was calm now. Now it’s gonna be ok. Now, he’s not gonna be in Paul’s way, he’s not gonna hate God from the screen, and nobody will call him Jimbo anymore...
- For additional £1.99 we could leave a message for you friends.
- Oh, really? Well, can you just tell Paul that I’m sorry for everything, about being not good or interesting enough, about moving in to this shithole, about drinking his stuff and about not being able to get sold on this mysterious website? And... And that’s about it, I’d say. At least for now.
- Well, there’s not gonna be any Later, are you sure?
- Yes, thank you.
- Ok then. It was surely nice to meet you.
- Oh...
When Paul came back, he found Jumbo dead on the couch. He smiled. Nobody wanted to buy this bloody dog alive, so hopefully somebody will want it dead...

I've been thinking...

One hundred percent confusion.
It is quite difficult to understand that one minute you can simply be, eat your dinner, sing your songs and then - before you manage to say: "My name is Rumpelstizchen.", you are gone. And what are we suppose to do?, I'm asking. There's no certainty, no other ways out either. Well, when you think about it all, about being and disappearing - what are the first thoughts that come to your mind?
Mine are very cliche... Friendships (been and gone), love (is there...?), and what will remain... And somewhere, in the back of my head, there's this little annoying birdy singing - immortality... One wise man used to sing: "Who wants to live forever?" And then he was gone.
Yes, sure, you can live forever - faith in God comes in handy here. But what if you don't believe in God? Are people who do going to end up in Heaven/Hell? And these who don't will finish their life simply when they stop being alive? Who the fuck is right? I love "Master and Margarita"'s version of afterlife -you get what you'd believed you would! Well, I don't reckon it's good for me, personally, but the idea is at least fair, don't you think?
Anyway, what we don't know - we don't know. And this one thing we are not able to find out here and now. So we are left with our lives. I'm not complaining. Complaining is a waste of time. Lets cherish it, lets make the world around us better (I am very cliche today altogether), lets fuck the wars, lets never take part in them, lets look after those who are weaker, lets not kill our teachers - animals - lets live and let live. Is it so difficult??? I look around and I find the answer. Unfortunately.

If we just concentrate on having fun, on positive emotions, on the spirals - trust me, nothing's gonna get worse.

I've been sulking...

Because.

And no picture. Due to sulking.

I've been celebrating...

That's a happy time. Normally, I'm not the one to be happy to get older but today is different. Today I really don't care if I'm going to become a grandma tomorrow. Well, I don't think it's going to be tomorrow but who knows...

First of all, it's my Best Friend's Birthday. My Angel's. And I'm sure he wouldn't like me to sulk, so I'm not. Today I praise The Music. Because if He hadn't been born, there would be no music. Or maybe it would be a bit different, lacking something probably. So I watch the sky looking for Him opening the champagne and I'm sure He is. Sipping it with God and Devil at the same time. Because I'm sure he made them two be friends. Like He's been mine.
And what would He wish me for my Birthday if He could? Well, he would say : "Be brave. Be brave in saying 'no'".

Second of all, it's my Birthday today :) And I'm not sure if I've been brave but somehow, I got here. I live on a beautiful island that I can call home and I love it with all my heart. I am with a Person who sometimes likes me (well, maybe not when I get all moody and fussy but usually he does). There are People around that I can count and rely on. I have had good memories. I have seen some very interesting parts of the world. I have read amazing books, seen wonderful plays, listened to great music and met the weirdest human beings. And yes, I could sit down now and just think about what's wrong and what went bollocks. But I don't want to. I will have time to do that and knowing me - I will. But not now. Now, I want to think about all that I managed to achieve. Because, in spite of what people say, as I told you already: I got here - and trust me, it was not bloody easy. And I wish myself for future to be brave. To be brave enough to say 'no'.

I've been spamming...

I have received this in a spam e-mail recently:

Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions.
"How old are you?" "I'm four and a half!" You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key. You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead. "How old are you?" "I'm gonna be 16!" You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life . . you become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony. YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!! But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed? You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone. But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would! So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60. You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday! You get into your 80's and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn't end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; "I Was JUST 92" Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again "I'm 100 and a half!" May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!

HOW TO STAY YOUNG
1. Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight and height. Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay "them."

2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.

3. Keep learning Learn more about the computer, crafts, music, art, stock, gardening, whatever.
Never let the brain idle. "An idle mind is the devil's workshop." And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.

4. Enjoy the simple things.

5. Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.

6. Let the tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person, who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.

7. Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.

8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.

9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country
but NOT to where the guilt is.

10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. AND ALWAYS REMEMBER: Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,
but by the moments that take our breath away !!!

I've been drawing...

I've been thinking...

There are situations when you are just not sure... You really want to make a decision but you are not able to. What's worse is the predicament in which you know what you should do but it's all so fucked up that you are not able to do the right thing, no matter what. I've been in one of these. And it's destroying me, eating from the inside. I'm damn sure that I know all the right steps. But still, I cannot dance.

***

The darkness is coming, my only Child. So close your little eyes and let's just fly away. Don't let them bother you, don't make them smile. I will hold you tight in my arms and make sure your wings don't melt. Just breathe the colours in and sing the song of redemption.

I've been watching...

There are so many people who are talented and greater then anybody else in their field, but we don't really hear about them because they can't get promotion, they're not well known, they don't have the resources to show us how wonderful and amazing they are. But they exist. And sometimes they come to, say, a tiny island that not many are aware of, and they just do what they do and go away. And what we are left with is our jaws dropped down to the ground.

Zecora Ura Artists presented us with a play that left me speechless for ages. Not a play itself, mind you. I have seen Shakespeare's "Tempest" many times before but this version was the most beautiful, charming and amazing! Directed by Gabriel Gawin, starring Agnes Brekke (whom I'm in love with), Jorge Lopes Ramos and Umai Lopez de Armentia (Yes! only three of them!) "The Tempest" is an extra-ordinary journey to the other side of consciousness. It starts with a young girl masturbating with her doll. And then it just gets more and more preposterous. They use a whole lot of Latino energy and it's infectious. Audience wants to dance, scream, get involved. And oh, do they get the chance?! (Just beware of tomatoes when you sit in a front row).

You can see that the Artists actually enjoy themselves, their ideas are out of this world, their inventiveness infinite. Things that they do with their bodies - well, you would need a lot of exercise to get there!

I was crying with laughter, I was crying with sadness (especially when Miranda sang with THE voice). It's one of the most emotional pieces of art I have ever come across. Please, don't miss it when they play in your town.

http://www.zecoraura.com/the_tempest.htm

I've been reading...

And there comes the hangover… It’s like being born and giving birth at the same time. My mind is stuck. Can’t move. Little nasty butterflies are speeding round my brain. Pupas are spread all over my intestines, in their tiny disgusting cocoons, laughing at my pain. And I’m laughing at them. Because I can.

There are moments when I can see the light. It’s not bright and it doesn’t call me to come towards it. It’s a dark red light with a smile of Kate Moss advertising the newest teeth product. It’s repelling. It makes one vomit. So when I see it, I try to turn around and run as fast as I can. Run away from the creatures hidden in the light, ones that have something to say. But then again – something might mean anything and anything is pretty much nothing. So they speak… They speak and they even pretend to talk sometimes – rarely. There’s no space for listening, no space for conversation, no space for any emotions, discussions, creativity… I know she had bought a new dress and he spent three hours in front of the mirror. I know they have slept together but it wasn’t as good as she was hoping for. I know that the other one went to Paris and stayed all day in the hotel because they had this really cool TV with all the channels. I know all that and I run away. From the light that’s going to burn my brain.

My soul just came apart. Never mind.

So there is this book. Hardboiled Wonderland and The End of The World. Have you read it yet? Well, you should…
"Should any individual have ever exact, clear knowledge of his own core consciousness?" asks Murakami. That's a Question, isn't it? Have you ever thought how much stuff is going on inside you that you haven't got a clue about? It's hard enough to observe the outside world, it's impossible to watch out for the inside one. Would we be any better humans if we knew? Is our consciousness what they call Soul? I believe that there are worlds created by us in our mind, but I don't know how we create them and what we create. What's the point of this worlds' existence then? Well, maybe our lifes are somebody's worlds, the ones created without any knowledge? Maybe that's what God is. Has He/She/It got a right to destroy us? If He/She/It created us, the most obvious answer would be yes. But then: "I may not be much, but I'm all I've got" You can't build something as beautiful as an alive being and then just slam the door saying 'oops'. I know, I know... That's the way it is - we become - we disappear. But I do not necessarily need to agree with that. That's when my mind goes a bit crazy. When I know what it's like and I know it won't change but I hate the certain. I hate the fact that I know. Would it be easier not to know?...

The story so far...

I guess I must have been born somewhere, sometime... I guess it was a while ago. I guess my first word when I've come out of my mother's womb was: 'fuck'. At the end of the day, I can only guess because I don't remember. I don't remember my first step nor first kiss. I remember the first book I've read - it was 'Pinocchio' by Carlo Collodi and since then I've just lied. Probably I'm lying now but I don't know that. I've been lying so much I have lost count. Anyway, so I must have been born. Then I read. And then was pretty much nothing. Then I started walking and searching. What I have been searching for and where I have been walking to - I do not know. I know what I have found, however. So far, there's been heaven and hell, love and hatred, joy and sadness. There have been friends and foes, there have been masters and students. There have been a lot and nothing at all. Where I am now is in between. And it always will be. I'm not Jozef K. but I can imagine how he felt. I'm not Ivan Bezdomny but I wish I had balls to be. I do agree with beautiful Hamlet: 'To define true madness,What is't but to be nothing else but mad?' and like Winston, I am completely confused/bemused by the world that surrounds me. I love David Attenborough and I cry to Pete Doherty's songs... That is the story so far... So follow me, dear Reader as I've got something to tell you...