It's early evening and it's quietly raining outside, making atmosphere gracefully tranquil. I'm on the bring of falling asleep. Worn, yet not dismantled. Just a night that was a bit longer than necessary. And litres of mojito; they seemed never-ending. It felt good. It was.
Few strokes in the swimming pool again, nude and beaming, halfway through the night. Refreshing and redeeming. As were two beautiful babes around me. None of them to be charmed, though. Nevermind? I do. 'Cos I wouldn't mind.
Switching down the engines after 2 am. I could go on, of course, the only thing needed was to step aside for a second and blow. And come back with a vengeance. I decided not to. Maybe some other night and maybe not at all. I'm broken enough 24 hours later anyway.
Listening to Rachmaninov does it for me on the days like this.
13 July 2008
30 June 2008
A udallesque one
Sunday was asking for a chill outside. I thought about flicking through the phone for a second, deciding to stick with myself. Jumped on a train and went down to a river bank. Then walked back few stations before catching another train to return.
Met a young bloke along the way who was asking where he was and how to get to a river. Ten minutes later, he asked me how to get somewhere where he presumably lived. And then we walked together for a while.
He said he was eighteen. He said he had a girlfriend, not a proper one, just to have one. He said he didn't go to school anymore, he found it boring. He said he worked but he didn't like it 'cos he wasn't getting paid enough. He said he could work as a mechanic, yet he never went to get any training. And he asked if I knew about a good place to share as his housemates were pissing him off.
That brief encounter left me feel good about myself (almost udallesque feeling). I may be stumbling and taking wrong turns and stopping where I shouldn't or driving too fast. I sometimes wonder if to go left or right or even if to go back a little and then decide once again.
Nevertheless, I still keep going and keep holding the general direction, however winding it may be.
And considering that little chat today, it really makes me feel good about myself.
Met a young bloke along the way who was asking where he was and how to get to a river. Ten minutes later, he asked me how to get somewhere where he presumably lived. And then we walked together for a while.
He said he was eighteen. He said he had a girlfriend, not a proper one, just to have one. He said he didn't go to school anymore, he found it boring. He said he worked but he didn't like it 'cos he wasn't getting paid enough. He said he could work as a mechanic, yet he never went to get any training. And he asked if I knew about a good place to share as his housemates were pissing him off.
That brief encounter left me feel good about myself (almost udallesque feeling). I may be stumbling and taking wrong turns and stopping where I shouldn't or driving too fast. I sometimes wonder if to go left or right or even if to go back a little and then decide once again.
Nevertheless, I still keep going and keep holding the general direction, however winding it may be.
And considering that little chat today, it really makes me feel good about myself.
29 June 2008
Cold turkey
Sitting in the back of a car, looking out of the window. Half brain dead, seemingly perfectly alright. Party speedball of vodka Red Bull is slowly wearing off. Another sleepless night. Sweating just slightly, few strokes in the pool half an hour earlier are helping. Shivering a lot, though. Heartbeat still through the roof.
Coming home and suddenly — the place is empty. I've had somebody around for last two weeks, non-stop. Now I'm alone. Feels great and scary at the same time.
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, hiding from persistent sun and intrusive phone calls. No, I'm not gonna go anywhere today, forget it. No, don't come. Not today. Switching that bloody thing off. About time.
My eyes are wide open and I'm dreaming.
Jekyll and Hyde scenario cannot work forever. I don't want the latter one to prevail. Yet I don't want the former to take over completely either. Or do I? Or should I?
Coming home and suddenly — the place is empty. I've had somebody around for last two weeks, non-stop. Now I'm alone. Feels great and scary at the same time.
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, hiding from persistent sun and intrusive phone calls. No, I'm not gonna go anywhere today, forget it. No, don't come. Not today. Switching that bloody thing off. About time.
My eyes are wide open and I'm dreaming.
Jekyll and Hyde scenario cannot work forever. I don't want the latter one to prevail. Yet I don't want the former to take over completely either. Or do I? Or should I?
07 June 2008
Staying alive
It will seem unimportant in a few days and I'll forget about it till the end of the month. Yet it still lingers in the air, a quad flying over my head, arrowing to a nearby bush. A shadow over my face that told me heaps more about how to live in a split of a second than years of hanging around in bars, yakking about so-called meaning of life.
I'm glad to be around.
I'm glad to be around.
31 May 2008
Balance
Friday night. I should be someplace else but I didn't feel like flying away this weekend. Or did I? I was torn till the very last minute, booking a ticket and then thinking things over. I'm not gonna get smashed this weekend. I'm not gonna be half-dead on Monday morning. I want to chill. On the other hand, I'm not gonna see friends. Any friends, for that matter.
Plans, plans.
Than a phone rings and it really doesn't matter that I missed the plane. Temptation is everywhere. I just need to think things over.
Plans, plans.
Than a phone rings and it really doesn't matter that I missed the plane. Temptation is everywhere. I just need to think things over.
25 May 2008
Weekend
As much as I'm trying to live so-called decent life, sometimes it just doesn't work out. Friday evening, I'm reading work materials at home, making sure I'm getting paid for a reason. I'm even taking notes so I'll have a clue what to comment in the meeting next week.
Saturday's totally different. I'm out of town kicking it on some balcony, sun is chopping me to pieces. It's alright, I don't mind. Having one after another, there's seemingly unlimited supply. Puffing on, puffing my life away. There's nothing to think about when a credit card and a stylishly rolled one dollar banknote appear on a table. Out of nowhere, as usually.
Flow of words is never-ending, hours are gone in a blink. Changing places, changing cities, talking too much, remembering nothing. How easy.
It's too late at night, I'm sitting at home, browsing Internet chat rooms, yakking with other owls, mechanically chewing a gum until it's... 11 am. At twelve I'm having a squash game on.
If this is my very last post, don't worry. It was fun. No regrets.
Saturday's totally different. I'm out of town kicking it on some balcony, sun is chopping me to pieces. It's alright, I don't mind. Having one after another, there's seemingly unlimited supply. Puffing on, puffing my life away. There's nothing to think about when a credit card and a stylishly rolled one dollar banknote appear on a table. Out of nowhere, as usually.
Flow of words is never-ending, hours are gone in a blink. Changing places, changing cities, talking too much, remembering nothing. How easy.
It's too late at night, I'm sitting at home, browsing Internet chat rooms, yakking with other owls, mechanically chewing a gum until it's... 11 am. At twelve I'm having a squash game on.
If this is my very last post, don't worry. It was fun. No regrets.
17 May 2008
Dreaming
She was so little. And so cute. Spoke a language I could not understand a single word of. Her deep black eyes made me wonder. What if. What if I wanted to spend three hours on a plane as often as possible. And learn a foreign language. Could I do that? Was it just a dream?
I drew her a map and she seemed to be interested. We talked and had a laugh. She told me a bit about the country, about the city and about the ocean. Plus her favourite football team. And I wondered.
We swapped business cards. Maybe I'll be buying a ticket soon.
Or not. One tends to be forgetting quickly and easily, exhausted by everyday existence, by so-called responsibilities and unavoidable commitments. Yet it's still great to dream.
I drew her a map and she seemed to be interested. We talked and had a laugh. She told me a bit about the country, about the city and about the ocean. Plus her favourite football team. And I wondered.
We swapped business cards. Maybe I'll be buying a ticket soon.
Or not. One tends to be forgetting quickly and easily, exhausted by everyday existence, by so-called responsibilities and unavoidable commitments. Yet it's still great to dream.
29 April 2008
Monday morning
One day I'm drifting through various places around the globe, wondering if it's the time of my life, the next moment I'm squashed under loads of emails, tasks and reminders, getting to understand a real meaning of 9 till 5 — it's 7 till 7.
Is really the grass always greener on the other side?
I do need a second for myself.
— How's your day today? — I'm asking through a messenger service.
— A bit better than yesterday... — She replies.
— Want a joke?
— Sure.
I'm quickly opening a new browser window, typing in an address and searching for a decent one — I've been doing it since forever.
Skimming through pages, looking for something lovely. They all seem a little odd but I guess it's only me. Finally, there's one that doesn't sound too clumsy. Copy, paste, enter.
She answers with a smiley.
I'm smiling, too. She has just made my day.
Is really the grass always greener on the other side?
I do need a second for myself.
— How's your day today? — I'm asking through a messenger service.
— A bit better than yesterday... — She replies.
— Want a joke?
— Sure.
I'm quickly opening a new browser window, typing in an address and searching for a decent one — I've been doing it since forever.
Skimming through pages, looking for something lovely. They all seem a little odd but I guess it's only me. Finally, there's one that doesn't sound too clumsy. Copy, paste, enter.
She answers with a smiley.
I'm smiling, too. She has just made my day.
27 April 2008
A gentle reminder
Mid-nineties. Have just come of age and started dating the most beautiful girl around. The most spectacular one. And have fallen in love. Deeply. As first shy kisses are exchanged, I'm leaving for a while.
Staying with a bunch of promising brains in a rural hostel, completely desolated, away from anything that would remind us of civilization. There is only snow and deep forests around.
Though I terribly suffer, being parted with her, I do enjoy it there, every minute of it, hanging out, reading Catch XXII, talking to friends I've been seeing for years but am likely to lose for good soon, enjoying sleepless nights and exhausted mornings but most of all — thinking of her, thinking of her, thinking of her — being completely absorbed in bottomless desire.
I bought a postcard when I was leaving the town, Escher's Balcony — to let her know that she was there with me.
It's after midnight, I'm freezing on a lifeless terrace and wondering what to put down to make sure she would understand. Nothing too serious, nothing too luscious. Must be spot on. Poetic. Maybe foolish. At the time, I didn't know I had to stay hungry, stay foolish. I simply was.
After all those years, I cannot recall what was it I wrote; I guess it could have been either something slightly romantic or slightly reserved — and there must have been far more between the lines. Though we were only about to learn about each other, I was eager to learn and happy to teach.
I remember thinking that this was it, that — while I knew so little about the girl — this was the definite love. Well, maybe it turned out it wasn't down the track but for the time-being it surely was.
So what's the moral of the story?
The balcony — it represents the moment when I was incredibly conscious about my life, I knew exactly what was going on and I knew that life was mine to handle. For that matter, a balcony, any balcony where I get time to reflect becomes an epitome of a gentle reminder: this is my life, my life to handle and I should rule the roost.
Staying with a bunch of promising brains in a rural hostel, completely desolated, away from anything that would remind us of civilization. There is only snow and deep forests around.
Though I terribly suffer, being parted with her, I do enjoy it there, every minute of it, hanging out, reading Catch XXII, talking to friends I've been seeing for years but am likely to lose for good soon, enjoying sleepless nights and exhausted mornings but most of all — thinking of her, thinking of her, thinking of her — being completely absorbed in bottomless desire.
I bought a postcard when I was leaving the town, Escher's Balcony — to let her know that she was there with me.
It's after midnight, I'm freezing on a lifeless terrace and wondering what to put down to make sure she would understand. Nothing too serious, nothing too luscious. Must be spot on. Poetic. Maybe foolish. At the time, I didn't know I had to stay hungry, stay foolish. I simply was.
After all those years, I cannot recall what was it I wrote; I guess it could have been either something slightly romantic or slightly reserved — and there must have been far more between the lines. Though we were only about to learn about each other, I was eager to learn and happy to teach.
I remember thinking that this was it, that — while I knew so little about the girl — this was the definite love. Well, maybe it turned out it wasn't down the track but for the time-being it surely was.
So what's the moral of the story?
The balcony — it represents the moment when I was incredibly conscious about my life, I knew exactly what was going on and I knew that life was mine to handle. For that matter, a balcony, any balcony where I get time to reflect becomes an epitome of a gentle reminder: this is my life, my life to handle and I should rule the roost.
16 April 2008
Over the clouds
Exactly as planned, I took off for a weekend. Landed in a provincial town where they still enjoy life as it comes. Far enough from everyday stress that proved to be too wearying last week. Spent a Friday night in a jazz club, had a few. Young musicians with balls, could not stop playing and jammed until late. A responsive audience, the night had its vibe.
Went to a second-hand bookstore on Saturday, a must-do anytime I'm around.
Just chilled on Sunday. Chilled. Sat in a pizza place with her, sipped a beer, then swapped it for a handful of cakes and a bench next to a fountain. The sun was shining and I felt fine.
— What you're up to? — asked she.
— I'm flying tonight.
— Bummer.
— I know.
Come what may. It's gonna be alright.
Went to a second-hand bookstore on Saturday, a must-do anytime I'm around.
Just chilled on Sunday. Chilled. Sat in a pizza place with her, sipped a beer, then swapped it for a handful of cakes and a bench next to a fountain. The sun was shining and I felt fine.
— What you're up to? — asked she.
— I'm flying tonight.
— Bummer.
— I know.
Come what may. It's gonna be alright.
09 April 2008
Seeking warmth
Listening to Paco de Lucía, semi-randomly chosen for me by iTunes. Haven't heard a single note of his guitar since maybe 1999. As I'm snoozing, all those once forgotten feelings are coming back with a vengeance.
I'm tired. Tired of a cold weather, a weakening loneliness in faceless crowds, tired of a useless mobile phone, empty walls and a numbing silence, but most of all, tired of a black hole in my mind that seems everlasting, bottomless and growing, a black hole that spreads fear and sorrow through my thoughts.
I am dying here.
I need to communicate. Keenly. I need to talk to people, I desperately need to laugh and have fun. And I need somebody who I can trust — after all, I am just a very ordinary human being.
I must fly away for a weekend to hold on to that little sanity that remains.
I'm tired. Tired of a cold weather, a weakening loneliness in faceless crowds, tired of a useless mobile phone, empty walls and a numbing silence, but most of all, tired of a black hole in my mind that seems everlasting, bottomless and growing, a black hole that spreads fear and sorrow through my thoughts.
I am dying here.
I need to communicate. Keenly. I need to talk to people, I desperately need to laugh and have fun. And I need somebody who I can trust — after all, I am just a very ordinary human being.
I must fly away for a weekend to hold on to that little sanity that remains.
31 March 2008
Ave Maria
An oldish guy sitting on a staircase of a burned down church, trembling with cold in a worn-out overcoat, praying quietly or maybe just trying to keep his hands warm. Snow is flying in the air, certainly unimpressed. The calmness is scary. Then Ave Maria hits the gloom from a nearby pole loudspeaker.
There is no flame in those eyes of his. No passion left. Could anybody make him scream? Would he scream, one wonders, can he scream at all? Or just ask for help? Can he? No words are needed, no gestures, just a glance, please.
Has he resigned altogether? Who is he, or rather who was he?
As I'm passing by I have a strange feeling. It cannot be me.
There is no flame in those eyes of his. No passion left. Could anybody make him scream? Would he scream, one wonders, can he scream at all? Or just ask for help? Can he? No words are needed, no gestures, just a glance, please.
Has he resigned altogether? Who is he, or rather who was he?
As I'm passing by I have a strange feeling. It cannot be me.
08 March 2008
Sense of humour
Two billboards, both funny.
The first one was a boring butter advertisement, saying "that's the taste of butter" until somebody added "for a tasteless price".
The second one shows Karel Schwarzenberg, the Czech foreign minister snoozing in the Parliament. The energy drink ad says "you'll last longer". Could anybody point me to a hidden innuendo, please?
The first one was a boring butter advertisement, saying "that's the taste of butter" until somebody added "for a tasteless price".
The second one shows Karel Schwarzenberg, the Czech foreign minister snoozing in the Parliament. The energy drink ad says "you'll last longer". Could anybody point me to a hidden innuendo, please?
18 February 2008
Atonement
I've just seen the movie. Few things resonate.
Firstly, it's a chick flick, no doubt. Great for late autumn, I suppose. Beautifully filmed, appropriate music, appreciable acting.
Secondly, I can't recall a chick flick that would prominently incorporate such a breathtakingly seditious sentence — In my dreams I kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt. An instant classic! Did MLK ever have a dream like that?
Thirdly, a real sentimental one. Me, Paddington, just outside one of the better bookstores around, across the street from two of my favourite cinemas. My last days in the city, hanging around, recording memories, to — sort of — never lose affection for people and things that went before. And chasing a coffee table book. A coffee table book, my dear friends.
A stand with free postcards and movie leaflets. Me, reading a short comment on the movie. I suspect something had left a trace. I remember considering going to see it. I remember whom with. I hesitated. I never went. No regrets. It meant to be that way.
That's how I'll look back on this one.
Firstly, it's a chick flick, no doubt. Great for late autumn, I suppose. Beautifully filmed, appropriate music, appreciable acting.
Secondly, I can't recall a chick flick that would prominently incorporate such a breathtakingly seditious sentence — In my dreams I kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt. An instant classic! Did MLK ever have a dream like that?
Thirdly, a real sentimental one. Me, Paddington, just outside one of the better bookstores around, across the street from two of my favourite cinemas. My last days in the city, hanging around, recording memories, to — sort of — never lose affection for people and things that went before. And chasing a coffee table book. A coffee table book, my dear friends.
A stand with free postcards and movie leaflets. Me, reading a short comment on the movie. I suspect something had left a trace. I remember considering going to see it. I remember whom with. I hesitated. I never went. No regrets. It meant to be that way.
That's how I'll look back on this one.
12 February 2008
May?
May this be the best time of my life without me actually knowing it?
Strolling my life away, drifting through cities, countries, streets, parks, airports, nailed to the Internet or a book, sipping coffee in dodgy cafeterias and snack bars, enjoying compressed music and night trams. Is this really it?
I'm just wondering, 'cos there's probably no way to know until much later.
Strolling my life away, drifting through cities, countries, streets, parks, airports, nailed to the Internet or a book, sipping coffee in dodgy cafeterias and snack bars, enjoying compressed music and night trams. Is this really it?
I'm just wondering, 'cos there's probably no way to know until much later.
08 February 2008
Feeling good
Haven't felt so good since... don't know when. Guess it has nothing to do with my current situation. How could it? It's all about booze. Take one beverage, then another one and mix them together. A bit more. Yeah, that feels right. And then drink. Drink more. And listen to a deep, deep music. Goose pimple music, honey. After a while, you find yourself watching the sky.
Could anybody hand me a joint, please?
Could anybody hand me a joint, please?
02 February 2008
Post orgasmic state
A one night stand. A quickie in a dark corridor. Bang-bang, off you go, thank you, see you again or maybe rather not. And now imagine considering a quickie and ending up having full-on sex for like two hours. Non-stop. Hot and sweaty, soaking in all kinds of bodily fluids, going through myriads mental states, ups and downs, flowing with it, enjoying, giving and taking as much as humanly possible on a roller coaster of lust.
And then, you're getting there. The waves of warmth are getting stronger, heartbeats through the roof, you're pushing harder and harder, you can feel the sensational finish just around the corner.
And then you come.
Yet there is no sex involved.
A personal record in f-words uttered then melting away in the bath, enjoying a margarita and a very Tony Montanesque mood.
Could I be talked into it again? Fuck yeah.
And then, you're getting there. The waves of warmth are getting stronger, heartbeats through the roof, you're pushing harder and harder, you can feel the sensational finish just around the corner.
And then you come.
Yet there is no sex involved.
A personal record in f-words uttered then melting away in the bath, enjoying a margarita and a very Tony Montanesque mood.
Could I be talked into it again? Fuck yeah.
23 January 2008
Sun
What a surprise. I've seen the sun today, lightening the Piccadilly. Had to take a photo as I doubt there's gonna be a chance to see a similar phenomenon anytime soon.
21 January 2008
20 January 2008
Cracking
Have just spent half a day in Charing Cross Road and around. Pleasing experience. Haven't bought a single book though I'm not sure it was the point. It takes a while to crack the numbness.
Should be coming here more often, thought I when passing out on the Tube.
Should be coming here more often, thought I when passing out on the Tube.
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