for no one

The time was of outmost importance. It took 90 minutes. The hour and the half.

He held her and she held him in return. They did not speak much. When they did, it was about the passion. Occasionally, about the music. And every now and then, nonintelligible phrases only meant to heighten the experience.

They did.

There was a word on his hip and the constellation on her hand. There was a bed-frame and tapestries she found interesting. There were concepts he found unusual and in between them, below the frame and deep into the night, they met each other over and over again. There were no names, though.

The names are natural born complicators. So she hid hers and as he gave his freely away, it became too invaluable to use.

The time was of outmost importance. As was the date.

It could have meant nothing. In one of the worlds from far far away, it didn't. But in the world they met in, it was important. So they played along.

And in those 90 minutes, wrapped in the night and the spiral town, they freely shared the only things which were truly and always theirs.


A body. And another body. And the song which took forever to end.

only after dark

They talked about the family, him and her. For a long time. They talked of where they came from. Deep into the night and twinkling stars of the summer skies.

They talked. And the dawn approached.

And she said:

"I'm not...quite sure I understand. Or that I can offer an opinion which counts.
For I came from a wee place. And went where not many go."

And he said:

"That's ok. Sometimes we get seduced by what we supposed to think
as opposed to what we feel.

That's ok."

And where he sat, the light came first. The Sun smiled on him like a mother smiles when she sees her child. He sat there, on a nameless beach of a nameless world and said nameless word to make her feel better.

So she said:

"Thank you, Sad Joe."

And later, in the dark and in the cold, when she talked to the void of him in the world, she said again:

"Thank you."

For she missed him. And she thought of him often. How Sun kissed him. How she kissed him and how he kissed her, once upon a long lost time, where summer was neverending and the stars twinkled like the Christmas lights.

And that's how she traveled.

And that's how she travels still.

sidewalks in the sky

in the place where she learned to walk
on a pillow she learned how to read
she opened her eyes:

it didn't matter to anyone else

but her

the stories she walked past
turned back and looked at her
and she read them again

they were right.
their glances were piercing
they smelled of black coffee and cigarette smoke
and had the teeth of a shark

 she roasted them with pleasure

on an open fire of past

with a pinch of salt

and moved on.

yes: yes.

I want to talk to you

I really.really do

The sunsets subsided 

and the rains fell through

and all I want is to talk to you

again.

Silly, yes, I know:

Not like we ever did

Really. 

But never-the-less

I wanted to

And I miss you

I miss you with a power of seven million and eight powerplants

I miss you with the words of one thousand and six poets

I miss you with a passion of three hundred and two lovers who will never see each other again

I miss you- one me, among the billions- one you, among the billions

I want to talk to you.

It's time to stay
she concluded.

it is a time to go she said
the time to pack
spread the clothes on the bed and decide
which dresses go which stay
do not forget the lacy underwear

it is a time to decide she whispered

you might get lucky

remember all the times you were glad

you ran away

and let the things sort without your input

remember feel

feel the memory

he said we were nothing to start with he said

and that he just played along

it was stupid, do you not think?

playing along all that time

it was stupid.

to just play along.

it is a time to decide again

it is always that time

he said he did not feel it did not see it

and that..well...he knew it could not last

and that he just played along

while you gambled the highest stake

while you knew that you might lose while

you hoped you are winning

he traveled light he did

bless his heart

he traveled light  

bless his heart

the time to decide, yes:

you chose not to get lucky

so enlighten me, sweets,

which one of two won?

and while you're at it, darling

what was the game all about?

...

I met the best of the best
the smartest ones
the ones with the bodies lent by greek gods
the creative ones
the educated ones
the funny ones
and the ones who changed the worlds
all of them

we spoke through the sheets
we laughed at the dawns
we shared the breakfasts of words we learned how to play with
we tried hard
and less hard
that: togetherness
we always dreamed about.

then one of us would always leave
leave space for another to come.

and then she woke up

i listened the geek speak: he was so far from 'proper' good looks. but accross the table, he gave a new layer of meaning to the Apollo. so I smiled and played with my hair.

i cut my hair since. didn't save it this time. i cut my hair and changed the perfume but the net he caught me with still remained. i knew that. but it made the transition easier.

i listened the geek speak: i do not remember what he said. but the way he kept the concepts high up in the air, not letting them fall was enough to enchant me.

and that was it: the layer of creativity, the layer of book worm-ness and the layer of hope.

his voice was green and blue and in his eyes the skies changed shape. his hands were warm and gentle and their touch smelled like summer afternoon under the pine-trees. he was the geek, i listened him speak and

well

i chose to close my eyes.

14/05

I do not know even where to start
when to where to start
yes

i  smiled in the group of people

and it felt ok

chaos. yes. chaos narrative

that's what Frank would call it

i like my structures, though:

look listen read me trying to create one

i do not dare look at the notes, tho

i will cry i know i will cry

this research business: i never knew it could be so life changing

actually: i never felt it so

strong

before.

i feel blessed, yes: blessed

to be where i am

to get lost confused and found the wee strings of reality again

just to create more confusing tunes on them again

[this one goes out to Jane Speedy

and Viv Martin

and Donna West

and Kyra Pollitt]

žene no:2

women who changed my world

[and it was about time i start putting some references here

says an academic-to-be]

this one goes out 

to the patterns of un-known and un-said

yet to be discovered

yes: this one goes out.

to the ones who taught me how to tame the magic

under the eyelashes.

fellow travelers

we had the same upbringing. being alone was our shelter when the loneliness was yet to be defined. our bodies moved silently through the years of screaming. the crossroads came and went and we always chose to keep on moving. travelers' inns gave us temporary relief, and we were grateful. the world was huge. and we were good in being inconspicuous. so no one noticed.

we spoke many languages. we communicated with the strange peoples we met on the sides of highways and told them stories. we laughed with them and shared our meals with their wide eyed curious offspring. we hugged and were being hugged in return. then we would leave. moving was much easier than having to stay. we dreamed, extensively, about the days yet to come and wonders yet to be weaved from mundane. sometimes, we slept.

we understood each other, all the way to the bones and through the bloodstream. whenever we met on our wanderings, our souls intertwined and formed a shelter in the storm of mutual loneliness. it never lasted for a long time. we were all crap at staying so one or the other would take off in the morning. but we understood each other. and every time, we would meet again.

million dollar maybe

FD: You forgot the rule. Now, what is the rule? 

 Jake is professional. I am about three levels short of beginner. 

"Elbows up!"- Jake insists. "From a shoulder"- i look straight into his eyes. "Keep your left up!"- I nod.

Jake's holding the pads. I punch. Well, I try. I am three levels short of the beginner, as I already said. So when my first (excuse for a) punch lands on the pod, I stop. Embarassed. And look down.  

"Relax"- Jake says- "Let it out." the corners of his lips form a smile: "I can take it."

MF: Keep my left up? 

I breathe in. I breathe out. Behind the eyes, the snapshots of the encounters start flashing. The glands respond. The anger spreads it wings.


And takes off: 

  

3                       2            1                        now!                                   

PUNCH!

feirenough now fuck off!

PUNCH!

I will understand later. I understood before. I will understand again. I will explain. Analyse. 

And put it in the relevant brackets.

treatingmelikea perishablegood

PUNCH!


I will be ok. I deserve that. I don't deserve to be objectified. I am so much more than that. I am. I am. I am. I am. I do not need THAT in my life. All of my friends say so. They do. And I should trust them. I trust them.

PUNCH!

amazinglovelycreative

PUNCH!

PUNCH!

Majik is tooo pricey. Majik is too unstable. Majik  burns the boundaries. Majik is not healthy. Majik happens. Majik is what I feckin live on.  Majik. Is. Not. Responsible. 

PUNCH!

couldnotcare lesshow couldyou?

PUNCH!

Adults are responsible. Good people keep their integrity. And you. Cannot. Read. Your. Way. Out. Of. Behaving. Morally. 

PUNCH!

PUNCH!

PUNCH!

PUNCH!

PUNCH!


"Enough"- I hear Jake through the mist of adrenaline and scraps of random thoughts.
Yes.

OK.

Enough. 

FD: Is to protect yourself at all times. Now, what is the rule? 

Stay true to yourself. Do not do things for which you will hate yourself in the morning. Do your best not to hurt others. When you have to, do not procrastinate. Show instead of saying. Write instead of screaming. Punch, instead of smiling. You can only lead one life. Your own. There is nothing more. There is nothing else. And majik will keep on finding you. It will. It will. It will.

Hopefully, the next time it will have a pair of cojones.

MF: Protect myself at all times. 

("Million Dollar Baby", Clint Eastwood, 2004)

busted.

you have the right to remain silent.


anything you say/do/write/show/want/whisper/dream can and will be held against you.

           mirrors mirrors

you have the right to defend.


if you cannot afford a defense, the life will be happy to provide you with several.

behind those walls. 

did you understand these rights when they were handed over to you?

Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to us now?

I try to be true to you all.

sweet the sting

wee boy

what have you done, wee boy?

in all of your

adult-ness

you did not know how to play this game did you now

wee boy

well

i should have been warned.

i should have seen it

wee boy

i should have sensed it

envisioned it

i should have been smarter and wiser and

bigger

wee boy.

fair enough: i wasn't.

when they came to take me away

wee boy

i thought of you

and i remembered the words

oh

the words 

"you inspire me

you are different

you stand out

i love your expressiveness."

i hear you

child

but you didn't see

what i brought on the table

and you didn't see

how clouds roll and thunders laugh

watching over us

watching

knowing

well: they have been around for a while.

when they came to take me away

wee boy

i trusted them it was for the best

i trusted: they are my guardians

and you will never ever know what happened.

but 

i had to

and i have to

believe it's for the best.

I miss you

wee one.

i miss you i think of you i pray for you

they do not, though

and they won't

forgive them: they think about me first

as they always will.

wee boy.

i think about me first

as well.

but you would not know that

not with your adultness.

ola, sun!

I do not why there are scripts and why there are stories and why some stories work for you and some make no sense. I do not know why you want what you want but take what are you given because it is the grown up choice and you end up convincing yourself you didn't want it to start with. I don't know what lies in heart of star I don't know what makes people allergic to kiwi but crazy about green in general. I don't know how many times you have to knock before someone answers and how many streets you have to walk before you reach the end of map. 

I don't know why so many educated people choose to live as if outside of body but still prefer smoked salmon instead of egg & mayo triangle sandwich. I do not know how come there is so many of us and all of us still feel lonely at times. I don't know why you feel struck by lightning when the skies are perfectly clear. I do not know what is exact definition of integrity. I do not know why some stuff makes perfect sense and why other stuff makes perfect sense as well but in the other group of people. I also don't know what will happen. 

Next:

I know people like stories. I know that people feel stories. I know what I want. I know how to make grownup choice. I convince myself I do not want, when I am in the heart of star. I know I like green in general but don't mind kiwi. I knocked four times, each time louder than the one before it. When no one answered, I walked the street to the end of the map and started dancing the new avenue. It smelled of ginger and cinnamon. The scales of dragon were its hard shoulder, warm but traitorous. And the storm wind blew hard. My hands moved in the rhythm of clouds forming. It was wild. But then again, I knocked four times, each time louder than the other. And no one noticed.

My body played a trick on me so I opted for smoked salmon on a bed of creme fraiche plus dill. I was alone but didn't feel lonely which was very new and exciting. Therefore: the fear dipped its bony fingers to the bottom of my very merry core. The storm brought the lightning, as storms do. So that part was ok. I found the inn at the end of the world again. And the child came forth alone.

--

In today's talk in Watershed, Jeanette Winterson said that when you feel you are breaking down, you can go to the closest mirror and start reading poetry while watching your face changes to something you feel comfortable with.  So I put Dresden Dolls on. 

3 

2 

1  

                                                                                                      Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never saw before

2204

call me ummm...call me New. yes. New. call me New and hold my hand. hear my thoughts. hear! hear! call me New and let me entertain you:

address me as Old. address me as Old and  trust me. i've been around for a while

and i know what i'm talking about.

don't forget you are not as young anymore you should listen to me

for i hold the experience.

call me New! i grew up from stories Old made the material for

Feck off.

i grew up from fragments of what you used to call magic

and all is good and everything changes

put the  make up on

make the up-ness

dance the waltz of rules

you won't like it but the cheque will come on  fridays 

three working days to be processed

but

and

you will be safe

yes! do it! 

but

and save room for the faeries

and wide eyed wandering spirits

while handing out drinks

"thank you sir, come back soon!"

while moping the floors

while sorting the mail

written according to certain

hehe

standards

you look plain silly doing that

just so you know.

just: so you know.

the poem.

A KOLIKO SI IMALA LJUBAVNIKA?


A koliko si imala ljubavnika? i gdje si sve s njima 
spavala? i što su ti govorili? i kako, kako je to bilo? Daj mi
mira,
čuješ, daj mi mira, fućkam ti na tvoje
fotografije spremljene u kutiju od cipela,
pisamca o vjernoj ljubavi sakrivena po manžetama i u
policama pod rubljem, prestani,
prestani, idi već, kao nesnosnu muhu
pratim očima tvoj lik po svim ku-
tovima, idi,
izleti kroz prozor, nek te odnese propuh, idi, nemam vremena,
moram se ispavati, idi, rasplini se,
rastopi se negdje u toj narančastoj lokvi pod svjetiljkom,
izgubi se među slovima ove glupe knjige što
je čitam,

idi, ne volim te, ništa neću, ništa te ne pitam,
to me ne zanima,

fućkam ti na tvoje adrese i telefonske brojeve, i si-
jed
i sijed ću te još voljeti, nozaimeisusovo
koliko,

koliko si ih imala?

JIRI ŠOTOLA

za dlaku

there are some really angry men in this world

really...angry

so angry that they will try that anger out

on the ones who cannot defend themselves

on the weak ones

such as yours truly.

there are some really great friends in this world

really....great.

so great that they will kick those men in the groins

on the account of those who cannot do themselves

on the account of the weak ones

such as yours truly

who was lucky

very lucky

a few days ago.

let me...entertain you

she took her clothes off
bit by bit

she took her jeans, size 12. the ones with big holes on the knees, which she will never mend.

she took the t-shirt which she bought 5 years ago on a ski trip to France. I was never in France. Shhh its good for the story. The green one.

she took the under-wear off as well. La Senza white bra and the Primany panties. They laid beneath her feet.

and carefully put the black socks in the laundry basket beneath the bed.

then she took off the earings- green ones, made for her with seventeen tons of love in a small workshop in Zagreb, once upon a long lost time.

and the medallion named after one of her favorite books: Ilium. Dan Simmons' one. the reason she bought and got disappointed in Flashback, a few weeks ago.

she never wore any other jewelry.

then she took the sense of a day off. it itched. it felt like a bikini wax. Brazilian you mean? Shhh. it bounced around the room and finally settled in the corner of the mirror.

then she put a nail in defense machinery. the fluffy one, made from what was left from her favorite childhood doll.

the body pulsated.

and she was free to express.

she was right. and she was naked. and she regressed. and she progressed in her nakedness. and she was wrong.

and it did not matter at-all.

no-story

the lounge. after the long, nice bath. skin moisturized. muscles relaxed. gogol bordello on repeat.

fingers crossed.

alcohol.

Yeah o yeah you seen me walk 
On burning bridges 

i wish people answered my emails faster. 

then i could write more

and play correspondence game

on a higher level.

and dance the dance of meanings lost and found

[what was the word again? english seems to like it very very much..]

ah

 "properly"

yes

dance the dance of meanings            properly                    without giving the time

the time

time

to clutch.

  

through the roof and underground.

Just like their meanings they lay between the lines
Between the borders their real countries hide

but words are hard
i get that
words are hard when you have something to say
and you don't know how to say it
not even if you want to say it so

bluntly.

hidden behind the screen.

screaming from 

behind.

or whispering.
or singing.
or just

shallowly breathing

words are hard.

tongues are easier to use for kissing.

words are easier when they come from gipsies.
life is easier when sung.

the writing which writes you

read Jeannette Winterson.That's all I can say re- title. The page number is ...ummm.. you know what? Find it yourself. It is about the writing that writes you. You will know when you find it. Of course, you might end up reading the whole book.

I do hope you do. I finished it last night. and it was very...resonating. especially the last chapter.

you will know once you read it.


1.

I AM afraid

Fear

Fear is  the gas of my travels

I run away

I ran away

I stay.

I think I was about 5 when I lost home

maybe I searched for just that all this time?

I AM/WAS (mind the CAPS) different. I like & I live at the cross~roads.At all times. The heart asks pleasure first. I am Serbian, I am Croatian, I am Irish. I am Yugoslavian. Between embodied and dreamed/about stories. Between and after men who will protect me. Ahead of my shadow, protecting myself. Meself. Home is longing, 

Home is belonging.

I partially belong to oh so many places/states.

My first step takes place at the crossroads.

2.

[there is quite a lot of text at "2". but there is absolutely no way I would share it with a stranger. 

if you are a friend, ask me.

I will tell you.]

3.

If I write in Serbian

I am judged

and I am back to being

that little girl alone at the crossroads

with no where to run 

but inside.

4.

I do not like that fear. But it persists. It is weaved in the very core of me, like a golden thread/ barbed wire which connects it all/ keeps it all well apart. It pulsates in the daytime and wakes me up at night, through the hands of nightmarish men who are about to strangle me. 

Through the poisonous mushroom I eat in dream-cave and die. Just to wake up at 3 am, sweating.

Creeping over indigo skies of sandman's beaches. 

It waits.

It wakes.

...and it is always present.

5.

My English is limited. My Serbian/Croatian has bigger number of words. 

I need to write in English to keep myself safe. It gives me distance. To write about fear, longings, belongings and depths I need to see it from a few miles away. Being close to it is way too painful (and here is your answer, inquisitive woman from the unit). It is a root canal job being done with no anesthesia. Being done slowly. 

Writing in English is my painkiller. My morphium. My pill.

Hundreds of words for moment of no-pain.

That's the price for leaving the crossroads.

6.

this is a body thing

so shush

clear out the words

listen

engage

yes with both of those ear lobes

and those hands you keep crossed across the chest

engage

some lyrics hit you directly in a core i know

well what can i say

apart from deal with it

man up

this is a body thing

it has no printed references

for we do not talk about it

we do it

or you do it once you think no one is watching

no one is watching, then.

just the walls and the screen

a couple of pieces of furniture around you

maybe and just maybe: a plant.

p*e*r*f*o*r*m*a*n*c*e

in the bottom of the belly-beast
that's where it starts
that's where it always starts

who is it I-you want to be?

who is it we-us are?

what world do we paint with these words

which one of many 'feels real'
and which are just for the audience's sake
my lovely?

you do it, yes: you stand in front of them all
them all argounauts
and ...i don't know...sing 'em a song? tell 'em a story? paint 'em a picture....perfect...snapshot?

while i figure it out

word by word

k?

no not ok

fucking performance

embodied realities 

which stick to a skin

which yearns to be washed of

complexities.

ne daj se, inge

ne daj se, inge
ne daj se, godinama moja inge
dok tabanas putevima
i dok ti se dnevne sobe stranih gradova obijaju o plafon misli

ne daj se mornarima
to su samo uniforme
i ne daj se gusarima
jer blaga su davno potrosena na rum

ne daj se ni doktoratima ni aplauzima
jer ni jedni ni drugi ne garantuju mir
takodje: ne daj se razgovorima
jer te niko nece skontati kao mala kafana na Kalemegdanu
u kojoj si se krila i volela

tamo gde dises, umorna si
tamo gde se odmaras, svetlo te umara

odrasla si, inge
vise te ne valjaju po buvljacima
sad pricas tri svetska jezika
i kazu ti da si kul.

ne veruj im, inge.
nisu ni oni u tebe verovali
dok si ljubila prozore vozova
dok si mazila puteve ka sreci.
i prala sudove Pariza
u telima Barselone
i flertovala sa Karibima
u peni mora Dalmacije.


ne daj se, inge.
cuti, i pusti da te se napiju
osmehni se, i ponovo napuni pistolj
dosta je bilo
ajmo opet.

no more affairs

ch ch ch ch
changes

her hand embraced her
other hand and then
both of the hands danced
on her knee
and she smiled
for she got
it.

silence of the possibilities

none of the recent new years (the one on 1st and the one which started today)

didn't actually make me glide into it

it was more like
punch
slap
kick
                    hold on

brace yourself

slap

kick

punch

here, have a  few episodes of late night cathartic sobbing 

for times past and the fear of the times to come

brace yourself

and dance with someone who understands why one of your names is aku
and dance away

pretend you are interested
and that all of it is interesting
and make sure your seat belt is fastened
for we are taking off.

the new years took off

in a storm

the wheels creeked

and the wings almost broke

but now i see the sky

from the above.

bracing myself

talking unsayable

reaching the space

between the chaos narratives

and redemption ones.

wishing all the best

being ready to brace again

if needed. 

after the happy end

intro:

i have six sisters. between seven of us, we have three mothers and two fathers. the youngest and me share the mother, five others and me share a father, two of them have one mother, three another. geographically, we live in four places. one at place1, the other at place2, two at place3 and three at place4.
two of us spent most of our lives at Balkans, the rest are Western.

this is not a "guess who lives where and who share which parent" riddle. i don't give out too many details because i do care about privacy. and ethics.

this is an immediate family situation.

i spent most of my life searching for my family members and voila! unimaginable ("if they wanted to find you they would do so so far"- a very sarcastic friend whom i send two fingers at this occasion) happened! i know all of my sisters [whom i knew about- mind you, my father seems to like making children around the world].

two of them i met ten years ago. for the first time i saw someone who looks like me. despite the fact we talked in different languages and were products of different cultures, it meant a lot to me. we consequently lost touch, than been in touch for a while, then lost touch again and now one of them is back in the game with the other soon to follow (we are to meet in new year, or so she suggested).

three of them i met two years ago. for the first time, i found the living and breathing proof that stuff can work out for [yes yes i know its half of] my genetic make-up. they grew up without our father as well, and ..well.. they are three extraordinary women who welcomed me with their arms and hearts open in their homes and lives. we are still in touch and i have an open invite to visit them whenever i want. i saw them once since, but kept in touch and the last christmas i sent four "happy christmas, sister" cards. for the first time in my life, again.

happy end, right?
riiiiight...


end of intro

where do we go from there?

how do you incorporate twenty new members in the immediate family (this is where husbands and children come in)... especially if those are the ones you are supposed to know all about, love and hate, and had deep relationship with.. like i have with the youngest, who did grew up with me?

for you don't think of calling them when you have a problem (despite the fact you think they might actually help, even better than your usual support group for they do have much more experience in the matter).. as you are not sure it would be appropriate ("hey, she just met us and is calling us to help")- but then culture and beliefs kick in and tell you there is no one more appropriate to call than family, right?

riiight.

try googling it.

right.not even wikipedia has something on it.

and i really really like my sisters. i also do not want to disturb them. and being who i am, i do like to know what is a right thing to do. except that in this situation i am the one who has a chance to actually institutionalize the "right thing to do"[by doing the doctorate on a subject]. I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THAT!!! there. a wee bit of anger out. does miracles to the well being.

we did not share culture. i've been through one war more, for a start. and one set of sanctions. they beat me up in the matter of childbirth [i can't wait to be mother, but i am not one yet]. we are
so
different.

we did not grew up in the same place, do not think in the same language, not the same songs are embodied in our growing up oh and yes... we did not share the presence of out parents. so basically, we are strangers who coincidentally met.

but then i look at their faces. and realize i think that their children are so much more adorable than all the children in the world. and am happy when i see them smiling. the times spent with them are... special and unique and above all different than times with everyone else.

i have friends from all sides of world and from all the walks of life. just to make a point clearer.

i have six sisters.

i knew about them all of my life, and only recently i added true life experience to it. i still have no words to explain how that feels- and how much that means to me. despite the fact i do not know what is a right thing to do. despite the fact i might never find out.

i respect their privacy, but one thing i can tell you: my sisters are fucking amazing.

all of them. one is the best hugger in the world, one did thing she was most afraid in order to raise money for charity in her moment of need, one rose from the ashes to make it a zillion times better for herself, one welcomed a total stranger claiming to be her sister in her family home with two toddlers, one shared the intimate story about life changing experience with me and one picked up a phone on christmas day to tell me i should come over.

and that's why is important for me to do the right thing. unfortunately, raised as an only child for the first 15 years of my life, i have hard time in the role of a sibling.

but i write a blog.

and i will keep this posted.

I felt a wee bit guilty

I thought: people blog about all kinds of important .. generally important.. issues

for example: 

feminism.

living a better life

how is it to be "cryo-child"

adoption

music

to name a few.

I do this doctorate thing and I blog about

my internal processes of learning to live with myself in the world

and patches of the worlds 

ummm... yes, self-feckin-indulgent.

and not even in the right form

but as a patchwork of thoughts

of no prescriptive value.

what a lousy psychologist i make.

blog-wise.

The rocking of boats and the making of mirrors/excerpt

the body: 

still but moving.

boundaried and overflowing
dropping
hints

of the rides on the inside.

eyes see different colours

shadows form different contours

from yesterday and the day before

---------------------------------------------------

did you get that?

no?

yes i know

you missed out on many many moments

many many turning points

i could whirl and jump now

but i can't

won't

be bothered to stop my clocks again

so you can follow the show on  your own pace

sorry hun

i love you i do

but i am tired now:

i let the clown go home

and take the make-up off

the personality which emerged

i hugged it and felt it and bed it- here it writes.

you are still in the audience

on the left hand side of the ring

munching popcorn and playing with your phone in the breaks

thinking i do not notice

that you have more interesting stuff to do

than watching me playing truth or dare

with dreamlike creatures emerging from my bones

i understand.

it is not your life your story your truth

but it still makes me sad.

me, boundaried and overflowing

reaching from inside

--------------------------------------------------

damn!

i won.

hello

Yes.

I thought it was about time to say hello.

Hello.

We didn't speak for a while. Believe me, I didn't forget. It is hard to forget. But remembering often does me in. 

I am well. In the reference system you are used to, I am more than good. Compared to the people-space we shared, I am amazing. From the seat of embodied expectations..let's just not talk about it for the time being. 

I am far away, but the inside-me still needs time to catch up. It will, eventually. The tent I used to carry on my back and which almost turned me into a hunchback turned into a cloak. It is hanged by the side of my bed. I carefully put it on whenever time comes to travel. But, in the meantime, I stay.

It was strange in the beginning, but I think I am slowly getting used to it now. I lie, yes. But I do think labour pains of root- growing are about to pass. I see stuff in the new light.

I speak too vague, yes. Ok.

I have four jobs and one full time doctorate. I know how to make amazing raspberry merengue and up to 17 other meals without using a recipe. I live with a good friend in two bed room one red sofa apartment in the centre of Bristol. We watch movies on projector almost every night. I still spend more money on books than on clothes. It took me 3 days to finish first two books of 1Q84 and I ordered a 3rd on Amazon. It is due to arrive next Wednesday.

     

The weather is crap. I didn't feel summer for a few years now. But I visited Morocco last June and tried to make up for it in 45 degrees Celsius. Didn't really work. But I danced in the desert and rode a camel without fear.

Fear, yes. Guess that's what is different. It melted, through the days of non-summer and people from distant places. Friday nights behind the bar, Sundays in the office and cuddling with lovers I chose made it disappear. When I was in Belgrade last time a friend commented on how I lost it. It is weird to live without it, to be able to sleep through the night and not to have panic attacks. Labor pains, again. 

  

Anyway: Hello.

 I know my English is not perfect

but I found some good proof readers for the official documents

it works for me.

English is perfect to hide behind it

though

And explain, without having to feel

The words of our native languages are engraved in our endocrinology, as well. Not just neural networks. I learned that, too. Ever thought about it? Try it once, when you have time.

Or two. 

I will keep updating this letter.

Now it is late and I need to go.

To dissolve in the different world

yes

and shape some other stories

this story was same too many too many days

that's why I stopped by

to poke you in the back

with 

Hello.

damn i like the way you move

body is a tricky thing
and the words catch only a glimpse of it
the numbers as well, yes.
anything paper or screen can capture
it is never the whole flow

no.

i write because you will never see me

dance in the darkness

i would never let you see me 

it is mine private personal special and unique

it is body talking

and behaving

in the not-quite-translatable medium

of place space and time

(usually one digit

always a.m.)

body is a tricky thing

to understand without movement

but also: to grasp without audience

is it not?

yes yes i hear you

anatomy and physiology and endocrinology and the rest of 

all-ogies

[heh, technologies]

you can study it

but only among the other bodies

it gets the power

the drive

the purpose, if you like it

and, the most importantly

the meaning.

i never knew how different i look

until i met my sisters

who looked like nothing

i saw before

i met  the first lot when i was 20

and the rest when i was 28

my tricky thing

plays its tricks on me

like a magician

and it never reveals all of them

and it always picks its audience carefully

and it always leaves the trace of wonder

when it retreats to sleep

and lets the mind take over

like a river to the ocean

samo na cas.

unsayable is

what lingers between the layers

unwilling to bind

to rational request

in the darkness

between the thoughts

the woman reads the book

page by page

whole afternoon

the man builds the wall

brick by brick

at the same time

in the silence

between the words

the voices echo

through the towns and cities

the music penetrates

the corners of the room

in the looks

between the glances

the castles of the air

grow roots in tones

the anchors float

among the waves

of the flood.

it will come

it has happened