Abode of snow

I must have gone mad; I'm waking up with the same feeling every morning since we've crossed 3 000 meters. I hate cold and I'm afraid of heights. So how come I'm here? I'm shivering. I crave for a shower like a junkie craves for a fix.

My companion is lighting his pipe but I cannot care less. I want to cross the mountains. Let's bloody go!

I dream of lazy days that are to come, about subtropical hideaway that is awaiting me. I long for a drink, I cannot wait to get wasted. And my mind is filled with the dirtiest of thoughts, so graphical and explicit and crazy.

Well, as I say, I must have gone mad.

Home alone

She's got her place and I have mine. She used to spend all her time here but she's halved her presence in my bed as she sobered up. Well, I still enjoy halving her buttocks pretty much the same way as on day one.

Anyway — that's not the point.

It's just the ambivalent feeling once I'm left on my own. Having enough time to work in the evenings. Or watch porn. To go out with whomever I decide to without the unavoidable necessity to report her, ideally before and after.

And yet — something's terribly wrong; the atmosphere is totally different without a lazy kitty around. And it's not about halving her buttocks whenever I want to.

American woman

It was early May and I walked her to the hill behind the town. We became more and more aroused as we walked and talked and ended up making love in the meadow — it was quick and dirty and very, very pleasant. One of those days I'll remember till the end of my days.

She was getting her PhD and pursuing her career at the time and I was wandering the world in the best tradition of Jack Kerouac.

Fast forward to 2009 and thanks to Skype I see her again. She's a woman in her thirties. Traded her job in international diplomacy for a chance to stay in the States. Worked as a waiter. And was laid off recently. She's married to one man and having a child with another. He's unemployed, too. They're living in a rented place in the suburbs.

She's all different. She's changed. Sparkless, chubby and more realistic than ever. Her dreams are gone and she's accepting her life the way it is. Dull? She seemed even far worse off than I am.

I loved her once. And today, I still can't believe the bizarre twist of fate when I learned she named her firstborn daughter Zoe. The same name I'd give mine, would gods blessed me with one.

Dull thoughts

Sitting on the toilet, reading FHM. Not so long ago, I'd feel a strong urge to masturbate. Today, I don't. I'm lazy, much lazier than I used to be. And numb. My belly is getting larger by the day and I don't seem to be doing anything about it. Stopped jogging, started eating junk food. I do not care about myself anymore. I'm dull.

Working like a slave doesn't help the situation — having no time to think things over makes it more difficult. So what? I'm dull.

Having a great chick by my side hardly excites me. I like watching TV and browsing the net.

I'm finished. I need to pull the handbrake or a swift change of scenery.

Leonard Cohen, Prague 29 August 2009

Part one: Dance Me to the End of Love * The Future * Ain't No Cure for Love * Bird On The Wire * Everybody Knows * In My Secret Life * Who By Fire? * Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye * Lover Lover Lover * Waiting for the Miracle * Anthem

Part two: Tower of Song * Suzanne * Sisters of Mercy * The Gypsy's Wife * The Partisan * Boogie Street * Hallelujah * I'm Your Man * Take This Waltz

Encore: So Long, Marianne * First We Take Manhattan * Famous Blue Raincoat * If It Be Your Will * Closing Time * I Tried To Leave You * Whither Thou Goest

Hallelujah

Lying stark naked on a rug in the middle of a steamy suburban night, all alone, slowly sinking into loneliness and despair. Buckley's few years drown and the Zen Buddhist poet hasn't shown around for some time. No, I won't hear this one live, ever.

Roll on, here I am almost ten years later and so is he, the troubadour, the minstrel, the bard, kneeling in front of the adoring audience.

It's just a vague breath of bygone days, quickly disappearing in gourmet food and wine of the V.I.P. sector. I'll have more chocolate fondue, she giggles, and I'm leaving my foolish thoughts to vanish.

Questions

The situation is appealing. It is as mind-numbing as it is mind-blowing. Caught between a rock and a hard place could suggest a thing, yet does it?

I could be with someone but I'm on my own, stuck in a centre of a triangle or quadrangle of women who would — under certain conditions — be my partners. They're all great in their own way, nevertheless none of them is perfect in the way I'd like. And, of course, I don't fill in their world either. Should I lessen my expectations? Should I lower my head? Should I cheapen myself, being already cheap enough? Or put it the other way around, should they get used to me? Should they accept me the way I am, they way I think and act? Should they lessen their expectations instead?

Should anybody compromise for the sake of getting closer to a vague happiness? Is that satisfying? And what about other reasons that are driving us — none less than the first one mentioned. Vanity, social acceptance, fear. There's more and more to think of.

As always, so many questions, so few answers.

Eagles, Prague 8 June 2009

Took her to a concert. Basically, sweet-talked her into it by mentioning corporate catering. That hooked her. She didn't pay attention to music too much, just tucked into whatever she felt like and savoured it with a childish grin and awe over her face. From time to time, I glanced at her; quietly and patiently, not to woo her, not to try breaking her, just to paint a mental picture of her beauty, of the way she smiles, talks, moves. I guess she might have noticed a glimpse of sadness, yet that might have been it — if it even was. No pathetic mess, no clingy desperate ex.

She was enjoying chocolate fondue with strawberries — and that's how I'll remember her in the months to come.

Yeah, and Hotel California is still great.

A quick one on man

Just in case somebody feels the same way, they're not alone. Blaise Pascal put it down nicely in the Pensées almost 350 years ago:

What a chimera then is man! What a novelty! What a monster, what a chaos, what a contradiction, what a prodigy! Judge of all things, imbecile worm of the earth; depositary of truth, a sink of uncertainty and error; the pride and refuse of the universe!

Tequila sunrise

Sunday morning, 4 am. I didn't party party last night. Didn't even go out. Stayed at home and watched the ceiling. Browsed the net. Didn't call anybody. Sincerely, didn't even feel like having anybody to call.

A single thought passed my mind — how much has my life changed in the last year and a half. There's no late night calls anymore, no blackouts, no hangovers — and no crazy friends around. The fridge is still packed with bottles. They're all sealed. I should start giving them away.

Sometimes I ache for a fag. To open a window and light one. Sometimes I ache for graver deeds, too. Yet I hold back.

Ooh that's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning
That's why I'm easy
I'm easy like Sunday morning!

I go buy fresh rolls instead.

The happiest man alive

When I think I can't fall any deeper — I do. I always surprise myself how deep the hole is. The rabbit hole. Physical and mental emptiness even stopped being nauseating; being on the bring of nothingness is nirvanic. I mean, it doesn't feel bad anymore. I can handle twelve-hour work shifts without barking at people around me. I can handle my diminishing and almost illusory private life, too. Maybe I lack sleep — buy hey, that's what keeps me going.

Maybe if they started selling soma, I'd be the happiest man alive.

Simply Red, Prague 24 May 2009

Took her to see the show. Not that she mentioned she was a fan. Not that I was one either. Maybe I just thought it would be a better idea than exercising in my bed. Whatever.

To a degree, we enjoyed catering — including sushi for her and unlimited access to chocolate for me — more than the concert itself. Plus wine, wine and more wine. When the lights went down, we could not stop poking fun at poor Mick.

Afterwards, we walked down the nightly city. And for a moment, I forgot wondering if there was any meaning to it at all. I'll keep holding on.

Moonlight sonata

Side by side on a bed. Laughing and teasing. Talking more than we did in ages. It is intimate, at least it is for me. Now, I can feel it — suddenly. I avoid touches, avoid glances. I'm here and I'm not. She likes it that way, I can tell. Yet I can't tell if that's all she wants. If I knew, if I only knew!

What? What would I do? Would I passionately make love to her tonight only to ignore her in the nights to come? Would I promise — myself, of course — that it'll all be different — only to find out it wouldn't? 'Cos it so bloody difficult to change. To change me.

Hence Beethoven instead. Again.

Outward bound

Went out to clear my mind. A club, drum and bass, two beers and two pills. Didn't feel like dancing. Felt like eating a hamburger. Did. Caught a cab and went home. Stared at ceiling until six.

Slept until midday. Teased by the sun, made a phone call. Had a date. Pashing in the meadows behind the city, dining together. Drove her off, went home, slept again.

Read the news. Listened to Bjørnstad. Did not feel melodramatic.

In the park

One of those sunny days that ask for going out, love and making love in the wild. We're driving to a lake surrounded by a park on the city outskirts. Talking about life and how it's changed since we've known each other. It's been merely a year, I note after a short walk as we sit on a bench concealed in the corner.

Sitting in the restaurant an hour later, I feel like it's been a century, not a year. It all simply... clicks. Yet the timing is far from right.

How did you dare?, she texts me late at night. Dunna, I answer. Most probably, I felt like doing it so I did.

Hope there's more years to come.

What crisis?

It's one of those unexpected quiet parties. Fancy a joint?, a colleague asks me as we're driving home. It's Thursday afternoon, half-weekend, therefore I don't even pretend to hesitate. I'm in.

Sitting on the bank of the river, there's us and some others, all office rats puffing their laziness away. They let Ellie go, someone mentions. Yeah, boobs didn't help, did they?

Swans are having bread rolls instead of an afternoon tea.

Inline skates are in again.

So are the miniskirts.

Sun is setting. I enjoy its rays touching my skin after months of wintery coldness. And the ice inside me is melting, too.

Wireless fidelity

Plastic People come there — and so is she. They have a beautiful prehistoric iMac G3 in the back library-slash-office, I had one of those once, too. The bar is usually crowded and noisy. And polluted. Smoking is still allowed in pubs in this country. I should hate this place, yet I love it.

I didn't expect to see her — at least not anytime soon. She called saying she had a problem with wi-fi and asked if I could come over to fix it. Yeah, I guess I could. Instead, we met there. She talked a lot and I patiently listened. And then we went sleeping at her place. Separate beds — for those who care.

The morning was lovely and intoxicating, it felt like mornings in Paddington. I went to buy ingredients and she prepared a luxury breakkie. We giggled as if... —

I slapped her ass few times as she danced around the kitchen more naked than clothed. I could sense her pussy under almost non-existent panties. Then she stripped and I gave her a massage. How close were we? Could I? Couldn't I?

I didn't. I know where to find her and she knows who to call in case there's an issue with wi-fi again.

In the Ghetto

Radio in my ears is playing Nick Cave's rendition of Elvis's classic. Walking down deserted streets after midnight seemed to be a better idea than being left home in agony, hunted by demons of solitude, demons I hate and adore at the same time as they torture me the same way they make me relish my life and subdue the everlasting numbness of my days.

Buying a Kinder egg, not for me; it's for those deep curious eyes.

Kneeling

Life hurts — and on top of that it's fatal. It can squeeze my heart deep in the night when I'm too weak to pass out. Looking up the stars, if there's any, and trying to hide from troubling thoughts, unable to suffer like a man when confronted with my existence. It seems never-ending, stabbing me, boiling me, ripping me, smiting me. Negligence, ignorance, confusion, all my miscalculated slips and wrongdoings over the years are coming back to me. Lies, lies, and more lies — in and around me. And solitude, it strikes me — so unwanted, so desperate, so lonely. It's all falling on me like a rubber wrap, blinding me, tying me, suffocating me, hunting me down.

But then, for a single smile of those deep curious eyes, I'd lay down my life with grace. As for that moment alone, it's worth to live and worth to die.

Family man

I don't know. I've been told zillion times to avoid doing that — but I can't help myself. She appears from nowhere, we chit-chat, drink wine, watch a movie and rather sooner than later end up in bed. And then all of a sudden, there's a relationship. I come home and she's home.

Hello!! — She's home at my home.

I guess I don't mind. I come home mainly to sleep anyway, so why bother, right? I can sleep with her. She gets me and as a bonus she can enjoy my erotic yakking and my erratic ego. And of course — she can cook and wash up, too, hopefully at least occasionally.

I also get to do whatever else partners do — one gets a vague idea from sitcoms and I learnt a thing here and there.

Generally, things like sharing a bath, seducing when not necessary, being fun and being around contribute to a good vibe. Talking late at night in bed and falling asleep while hugging do, too. Being moron and only sporadically around ain't that great. Also coming home wasted too often is not a terrific idea at all.

Thinking about it, I'm a more on a good side. I even take garbage bag with me when I leave the place. I can operate a washing machine and a microwave oven. And I can lend a helping hand even if not asked to.

Yet I still don't know. I wonder. I hesitate. I'm way too far from being sure I'm a natural-born family man.

Just looking

I observed the Alps from the office kitchen when the weather was nice. Waited for the water to boil and sipped tea afterwards, gazing at the mountains. Guten tag, said somebody passing by. G'day, I answered.

Did you enjoy your food?, repeated uninterested waiters their routine question over and over in different places. I blankly nodded while my grim expression screamed no-bloody-way! everywhere I went.

Everywhere but Swagat, the place to eat Indian in this city.

Stared through the hotel window at night. Flipped through TV channels. Scrutinised my face in the mirror. No, I wasn't bored, just lifeless.

If I was expecting redemption through driving home in blizzard, it hadn't come.

Where the heck is warmth?

Burnt out

Why, oh why, didn't I bite his cock off when I had a chance, thinks she, looking at me with a mix of hate, disgrace — and love. I'm trying to stay as cold and numb as possible; and it's not too difficult. Been there, done that.

She's smoking at a solid pace of 5 ciggies an hour. Having her fifteenth, meaning we've already been sitting here for 3 hours.

I told her everything she eagerly wanted to hear. That perhaps smoking 40 a day ain't the best way to keep a non-smoker by her side. That being regularly three hours late for meetings ain't the best way to keep a reasonably square guy. And that otherwise she's close to perfect. And I'm sorry; 'cos — to a degree — I am.

She's desperately trying to keep her cool and hide her wetting eyes. I'm walking her off. One more hug, a brief fleeting kiss, a sigh and it's over. Night is closing on me, I'm suffocating; exhausted by the experience, I need to fall asleep to breathe again.

Là-bas

This is very much like the old days; my place deserted in the same way my soul is. Nothing but mess and leftovers remind me of once glamorous youth of yesteryear. It's late at night; emptiness is asking questions, demanding answers. I cannot fall asleep. A zombie-to-be is staring into darkness. Would be watching a movie instead; if I only understood French. Tonight, it'd be Les nuits fauves for sure.

Hanging around, lingering, reflecting. This is me, brainwashed by never-ending commitments; by useless, unimportant responsibility. Not blaming anyone, not even myself. It is how it is — a conformist approach by a conformist scumbag. Am too weak to look for a quick fix tonight, just making a note.

On the light side, it's been snowing today.

Ample make this bed

As fate would have it, suddenly there's two of them. Both tall, both beautiful, both a bit... insecure? Both, as it seems, attached to me. Unaware that they're sharing me.

Here I am. An imaginary fag hanging out of my gob, I'm neither Bogey nor Bebel. Just a tosser who has to toss one of them at his earliest convenience.

Will act sharp. Look and be sorry. All's fair in love and war.

Or, if my dirty old soul would handle such turn, I could ditch them both and start fresh and clean.

Nonsense, of course, that was just a thought. Sigh. Sigh.

Yoshinoya

Dead tired. Silently walking home and buying something to eat along the way. Closing the doors behind me, falling on the sofa. Having a sip of JB, looking at high-rise shadows from the balcony. Music — maybe something very ambient, very eighties. Eno.

Teriyaki chicken, chopsticks, green tea. And snoozing off.

Cannot forget that place, I even remember the click of the doors, the colour of the carpet, the sound of the sofa as I was diving in. Some days are much more difficult than others. And longing, it fills me head to toe.