Saturday, 31 December 2011

The New Year's post

Artwork by Tania

So… the New Year’s post.
How was the 2011? Saying ‘crappy’ would be a great simplification. In some way it was the worst year in my life. The outside world wasn’t too friendly but my own mind gave me a proper thrashing too (bastard). On the other hand it was good. I’ve learned a lot about myself, become richer (alas, only spiritually:)… But let’s ‘itemize’.

- It started kind of ok. Still home in Poland, but running out of savings with an amazing speed. After few months of chilling out (after the Bristol era) I begun to realize that nothing had materialized; no miraculous source of income, no one discovered my talents, no splendid heritage falling from the sky. It meant that soon I'd had to look for work again. Long hours of boring or exhausting (most likely both) job, problems with a boss, short, feverish weekends – all of that was about to come back in this or that form.

- My knee got messed up by excessive exercise. I spent a fortune on a treatment (not covered by insurance). Didn’t help. Savings shrunk even faster.

- In March we moved to Copenhagen. It was actually something I was looking forward too. We used to love the place and I was happy to come back after seven years. Pretty soon we crashed on the wall of bureaucracy and indifference. Looooong days spent in the offices, hostility of clerks, housing problems, financial problems (debts, debts, and then more debts).

- And eventually: May – the nervous breakdown. I shattered like a broken bottle of cheap, sour wine. Basically it happened from day to day. On Monday I was kind of ok; just a stressed, tired guy, on Tuesday I woke up trembling, terrified and completely lost. Man in pieces.

- June - finally we found a place to live! Little room in Valby. Not a chateau, but we could move on, and that was such a relief.

- Still no work. Fortunately Tania had a part time job, so we could kind of sustain ourselves (hardly).

- July – the highlight of the year – we went to a spiritual retreat to meet for a first time the person who was inspiring us for years with his lectures, books, letters. It was an amazing experience. Both me and Tania, we got initiated and filled with hopes for better times.

- August – the inspiration worn off quickly. It’s not easy to hold a head in the stars, when there is not much to put on the stove. The anxiety and panic attacks are back.

- September – I’m starting job as a chef. Of course I’m happy to have some income at last. But the hard work in a steamy kitchen and long shifts aren’t exactly what my nerves need. Anyway, it’s not that bad. I can cope.

- Work, work, work, anxiety, ukulele, work, anxiety, work, ukulele...

- November - successful knee surgery.

- Less anxiety. Then even lesser. Ukulele. Little more anxiety. Then little less...

- We finished paying off the debts (yay!!).

- And here I am – January the 1st, 2012.

That was a bloody long year, I’m telling you. But I’m glad. Tania is still here, so am I, so are our hopes, dreams, small Christmas tree with the handmade ornaments, new songs I’ve learned, some faith, couple of old bikes, new recipes, old peccadillos, new Tarot deck*…

Anyway, enough about me. Happy New Year to all of you, guys! Let's hope it will be a good one. I'm pretty sure, it will. But I'm a fool, so don't take it for granted.

*I don’t know if any of you, Tarot lovers, are reading it, but u must check out the Shadowscapes Tarot. The most beautiful deck, I’ve ever used.

Wednesday, 28 December 2011

Ukulele stuff

For the last month or so I'm exploring the ukulele world. I'm enjoying it so much, it's been a great escape from the everyday problems. It's a lovely, not too difficult instrument, good medicine for the shattered nerves. Here are some videos, I've done lately. Crappy quality, my voice...yhmmm, but whatever, I share anyway:)

Friday, 16 December 2011

Stars are getting friendlier

Artwork by Tania

Small, inspiring changes happening lately. Few things contributed. The first is the book I’m reading lately, “Self-help for your Nerves” by Dr Claire Weeks. A short, simple book about dealing with the anxiety disorder. I wish I stumbled upon it few months ago when I was really in the dark ditch, but on the other hand I’m happy about the road I walked. I feel kind of proud, like a young Sioux after a Rite of Passage. The journey is still not finished but I feel much more confident and strong.

So – the book – great help. Then two other things happened in a row. First I found out that three short stories I sent in the spring for a competition got a honourable mention. Well, I would be more happy if I found myself standing on the podium of winners, but still it was a nice surprise.

The next day I was contacted by a literary magazine I sent some short stories to. They liked them and want to publish it (they printed two of my stories before). What I really liked was that after saying that they want to publish it, they asked me if I've written something else this year, because they would love to read it. It felt so nice. Unfortunately last year wasn’t good for my creativity – changing the country, health problems, financial mess and mental tribulations left me without much energy and inspiration, so I wasn’t really writing anything suitable for print. Still I sent them some of my old stuff, let’s see if they like it.

Basically life is getting better. Some years ago I sent my details to a well known Vedic astrologer and he said that in the beginning of 2012 the influence of bad stars constellations will fade away and my position will become stronger. I’m looking forward to it:)

Anyway – thanks guys for sticking around, it means a lot to me. Also I want to thank people supporting me during last months – Tania, Tripurari Swami, Bart, Anton, Sita, Atma, Colleen, mom, and many others - I haven't mentioned all of you by name but you know who you are.

Saturday, 10 December 2011

Morning, evening - First Days 3

La rumba del fin del mundo by ? on Grooveshark

I’m chilling out at Højbro Plads. I have a doctor visit at five, the ultrasound of liver, it’s been bothering me lately. I’ve still got few hours, but I went out earlier, so I could be alone for a while, have some time to think, to breath. Last few weeks were really stressful, and I can feel that my mood is changing, I’m too sensitive, too touchy, too anxious. Well, let’s try to find a peace in this chaos. It’s not easy, and the health problems are not helping. I started to smoke again. Right now not too much, but I will probably smoke more. Whenever I’m in the transition, I pick up smoking. It helps me to relive the tension.

I like to be in a crowd. I feel like being one of many. It’s easier to distance myself from myself. I look at young people – loud, self-confident, laughing without reflection, but enjoying (I'm not criticizing, youth has its rights). Also I’m looking for the grey heads. They are reconciled with the passing of time, and it calms me down. I feel safe in the company of this simplest of wisdoms – the one arising from the old age, from the awareness of being in the last chapter. It doesn’t require any special level of understanding. It’s enough to listen to your inner voice. Right now I’m in the transition from the youth which ignores the reality of passing time, to the maturity, preceding the shy, lost old age.

I had to move to the sunshine, it’s cold, after all it’s still march. I’m sitting by the fountain (the one with cranes and frogs), someone dropped a glass in the café (jingling, musical sound), pretty brunette with a full, shapely rump and high heels slowly passed by, a Gypsy lady asked me for some change, a smell of garlic from the kebab kiosk, the dirty, tired rastas are laying on the street and eating something ugly, asking pedestrians for cigarettes, two young, sad gays are holding hands and whispering secrets to each other, the pigeons are hopping to get something from me, but I have nothing, sorry guys.
Despite of the gloves my fingers are frozen, pretty soon I’ll have to hide in the library.
The dirty rastas have got up, put on the Green Peace jackets and started to hunt people with their survey forms. And I thought they were street urchins. What a disappointment. Well, maybe they are, but only part time?

* * *

I’m sitting at Ryparken station, waiting for Tania. We are going to the show, Ruth Anna is going to perform with her group (I’ve got no idea what).
It’s dark already, the trains are going past, one by one, there are lights of starting airplanes in the sky, on the right a big football pitch; blurred figures are running with an invisible ball, their shouts are echoing in the dark, blending with the train announcements. Sharp wind, my face hurts, I pull up the collar, pull the hood over my face and keep writing.
In the change, in the never-ending journeys, maladjustment, the unquenched urge to seek something better, we can grasp the flash of what life is. Constant transformation, struggle between life and death, endless kaleidoscope of roles. All this change means loneliness. We are always trying to fill the empty spot, attempting to cure ourselves by making friends, creating families and stuff, forgetting that we are just passengers…
It’s important to be in motion – in this way we can stay focused on the important things. But here is a problem – are we objective or biased in our judgment? And what objectivity is anyway?

The Tania’s train is pulling into station. See you, man.

Friday, 9 December 2011

Looking for home - First Days 2

Artwork by Tania


When I scrambled out of the bus, with all my luggage and accordion, it was still dark outside. I was too tired to be happy to arrive. Twenty four hours journey can drain of emotions. Still I felt something (or I tried). The familiar view of the Hovedbanegården and the bicycle path I used to dash trough on my bike few years back, made me nostalgic-optimistic.
I almost got run over by a bike, while getting of the bus.
I took out Joachim’s phone number, but then I put it back to the pocket; it was too early to call anyone. I decided to get a coffee and a doughnut.
So. What is waiting for me here? I don’t mean the obvious experiences like looking for an apartment, bike, job, etc. What is waiting deeper? What will change inside? Who will I meet, what will I do? How will my life look in a month or a year?

* * *

I like Joachim’s and Matias’ apartment. Dirty, cold cubby-hole in the attic, musical instruments and old cameras scattered around, rusty pot-bellied stove, hardly giving any warmth, the wind howling trough the gaps between shutters. I know I can feel at ease. The guys seem to be friendly and open minded. Joachim offered me a scrambled egg, bread, tea and some tobacco. He said I can stay as long as I want to. Seeing my crappy sleeping bag, he gave me something better and tossed in a cushion. He left me the keys to the apartment, wished me a good luck and left.
Soon I realized there is no bathroom in the flat (no shower!? Ouch!), there is only a small privy outside. And that’s the centre of Copenhagen, Vesterbrogade. That’s why I love Copenhagen. No irony here – I sincerely appreciate this contempt for XXI century. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to use a jar. There is no way I’m walking out in the middle of the night, if I happen to be in need. In the morning I will just pour it out of the window, as it used to be done in the middle ages. Fuck, yeah:)
So I found myself in my first stop. So far everything is friendly and interesting. I’m always ashamed when I meet people showing pure generosity and selflessness, like that, no endeavour. I feel embarrassed because I need to make an effort to be like this, it doesn’t come naturally, it’s more like a conscious decision.

* * *

In the afternoon when I came from the library it turned out that Joachim fixed me up with a bicycle. When I say “fixed up” I don’t mean “stole”, but “found”. I think. I didn’t penetrate it further.
It was nice to have two wheels again. I mounted my girl (all bikes are girls to me) and set off to the city. The chain was wheezing and clattering as it was about to die, but still it was amazing to rush trough the Copenhagen illuminated by cars, neon lights, shop displays, in the crowd of other bikers. Fast, free, safe.

* * *

Joachim – short, chunky, curly grey hair, dark-blue eyes. In some way sad, bit absent, but still has an excellent, sarcastic sense of humour. On the one hand he seems lonely (“I don’t have many girlfriends, but when I do, I’m serious”), on the other, he has many friends, they know each other for years, they are like a tribe, family. He says that he would never give that away. He has a funny hat. Thick, old, felt, narrowing in the front. Like the Robin Hood’s hat, only much uglier and grey.

Matias – tall, skinny, blond, walking in a funny, clumsy way, like a teenager. There is always a mocking smile on his face. Narrow eyes, shinny, full of picaresque sparks. The girls must like him. The first impression – merry joker, good friend to the friends, jokingly ruthless to others. Very intelligent, well read. When we talked about good movies, he knew all the actors, directors, titles. Joachim wasn’t interested. For him all of it is “blah, blah, blah”.

* * *

Tania called me. She’s worried, misses me, waiting for something to come up.
I checked out few flats. Expensive, ugly, boring. Disaster.
In the evening Joachim and his band had a rehearsal in the apartment. After two hours of Balkan rhythms I started a chat with Simon, and he might know a place in Herlev. The apartment is in the basement but as he says, it’s quite good, and apparently cheap. He will talk with the landlady and let me know. I feel that might be my home.

* * *

I went to see Ruth. Seven years ago she was my best friends here. She lives close to Christiania in a container shed (looks better then it sounds). She works as a dance teacher. That’s so her. We talked about our lives, turbulences, changes. We had a fresh mint tea and I had a first shower in few days! So nice. Before I left she gave me a key and said I can come whenever I want, to do laundry, take a shower or check the email.

* * *

The evening with the guys. First we sat in the kitchen. Talked, listened to a music (I played reggae, they can’t stand, they played punk and hard core, which I’m not a big fan), smoked weed. Then they persuaded me to go to a concert with them. We got our bikes and dashed to Christiania, using shortcuts known only to the natives. The concert was in Opera. Very soon Matias disappeared in the arms of some pretty girl, so it was only Joachim and me. We started to buy rounds for each other, and in the meantime he was introducing me to his friends (I lost count very quickly). The concert wasn’t too good, but I still enjoyed it. It was nice to see that young people do something. There are places in Europe where they are just passive and stupid, like a lazy cattle.
I didn’t stay all night. Maybe I’m getting old. After few hours I lost my enthusiasm, and started to think only about a warm sleeping bag. I slipped out. I couldn’t find the damn shortcut we took to get there. It seemed that all the paths were overgrown. Maybe they open up only for the locals? You need to know the spell? I took the major streets.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Dear Copenhagen - First Days 1

A Girl Named Free by Zulya on Grooveshark
It’s a first entry of the series “First Days”. These are going to be scraps from my notes from the very first days in Copenhagen (and a bit before). This is my second time living here - I've spent few months in Copenhagen in 2004 - so there may be some references to it.


Dear Copenhagen
I’m coming again soon and if you don’t mind I want to tell you few things.
I will try to look at you trough the magic glasses, to see your secrets, dusty memories reflected on the flaking walls, old posters in the cafes and friends’ flats, comic strips, Kierkegaard, Andersen, Egon’s “Skide godt”, Christiania, Inuits, Solarplexus, circus people, busking with my clown accordion by Rundetårn (oh, I loved that so much), cycling on my wrecked bike…
I hope you will open yourself to me, I really want you to be my home. What am I going to give you in exchange? Is my heart not enough, girl?
I’m only asking you to mingle my path with the paths of other desperados, losers, seekers, Don Kichotes and dreamers. Wouldn’t that be nice to meet and start our own tribe?
Yours forever
Montresor de Amontillado

* * *

They told her that a girl couldn’t be a vagabond. She didn’t listen. She shouldered a bundle (an apple and one extra sleeveless dress for the hot days), put a song on her lips and challenged the winding caminos and sleepy towns. She can be a tramp if she wants to! And not only she is going to be alright, but on top of that she will find a treasure, learn a trade, meet a lover and discover the art of trumpet playing and apples juggling. And even if she wont manage all these, in the next life-dream she will shoulder a bundle and put a song on her lips again. That’s right ma’am.

* * *

I’ve managed to get a place in Copenhagen, so I have somewhere to go, when I get there. Ruth asked some friends to have me staying. Only for few days, but it’s a good start.
I’m tired of this itchy rash I’ve got and the hurting knee. That’s exactly what I need when I’m about to move abroad again, when I will have to look for an apartment, job, deal with all the paper work, etc. But that’s how it is. On the other hand difficulties help us to test the concept of ourselves against reality. Rising over our limitations should give us the real and lasting kind of happiness, yes? Love, friendship – these things make us happy too, but to really love and be a friend we have to “get out of ourselves”, become something more then we are.

I’m reading “History of Philosophy” by Tatarkiewicz. It’s not an easy reading, but once you enter into the land of ideas and abstraction, it reads nice and peaceful. It’s a subtle pleasure of communing with the pure ideas. I think that philosophy is closer to music and painting then to the more “precise” fields. Yesterday I read about Democritus and materialists who actually felt very close to me (which might appear strange since I’m considering myself a spiritual person). I just liked their sober minds, in opposition to the modern puffed up materialists, who just make me pissed off with their arrogance and all-knowing attitude.

I’m listening to Zulya a lot. Russian singer. Strong, jazzy vocal, her music has a mood like from old fairy tales, amazing, beautiful. Although lately my soul is numb, and I don’t feel very connected with the world of intuition and dreams, I can experience the charm of her music.
I have problem with the balance. For years I’m swimming in the dreamland of Highest Priestess, turning my back to the world, and then suddenly I give up her cosy shelter and I embrace the Magician’s energy – I want to change the world, save it, influence people, act on the social level. Today, listening to Zulya, I missed the peace and safety of the inner, spiritual realms.
I need to find a harmony. To learn how to live in the daylight but to draw from the night too. In the night to hunt werewolves (or to be one) and make friends with witches, in the day spread the Bakunin’s and Kropotkin’s message, write, participate, shape.

Wednesday, 30 November 2011

When I was a wolf

Drømte mig en drøm by Valravn on Grooveshark

Sometimes I think, my writing is too personal. I started this blog just with funny drawings, and for a while I was able to keep bystander’s distance to reality. But then I cracked – it just wasn’t me. It was fun and I still want to keep drawing (though my “afflatus” has left me for the time being), but I find myself in a natural environment when I’m introspective in my writing. Even while writing fiction I’m drawing mostly from my own life and feelings, more even then people who’ve read it, think (considering that these are mostly weird fiction/horror/magic stories).

The life is magic, and I don’t mean it just in some metaphorical sense. The universe is really magic. We just see and touch the external, pale layer of it. We can reach deeper, if we really try. I’m pretty sure we have the tools, but we are so stupefied, so covered, nowadays.

I can say from my own example. I lived my teenage years in the pre-internet era. We just had one TV channel. The only computer in the village belonged to a cop’s kid, and we used it to play (rarely) Commodore 64 games. When you wanted a music album, either you had to buy it (ha, ha, who had the money? It was like 1/10 of an avarage wage) or make a cassette copy, usually in a very bad quality. When you needed information, you had to use a big, heavy, often outdated encyclopaedia. When you wanted to meet someone, you just went to his home and knocked on the door. If you felt like watching porn… well, that wasn’t easy at all, and it was actually easier to use your colourful and relatively innocent imagination.

Of course the life wasn’t idyllic, I had plenty of problems, involving broken heart, drugs and alcohol abuse, family issues, school problems – typical teenager quandaries. But somehow the mind worked in a slower pace, and not only that; it was also more magic-sensitive. I remember the evening, long winter walks, watching bright stars and the moon, and experiencing such a thrilling sensation of the presence of mystical beings, continuity of existence, higher connection… (I’m not including here the drugs’ experiences, so bugger off, I wasn’t high;). There were so many things, so many shades of emotions and feelings. Not only that. There were things happening, amazing things (but I leave it for another time).

Many things changed since 90’s. Everything has speeded up. The unlimited access to information filled our heads, but emptied souls. We know more, but we experience less. That’s so scary. And many of us can’t cope with this unhealthy state. We suffer anxiety, depression, panic, feeling of being lost, meaningless of the world. And it’s not because the world lost its meaning (or never had it). It’s because we are so deafen by this lurid hubbub around us, that we can’t make any sense of anything. We are like a deer stepping out of the wild forest on a highway, blinded by the lights of a big truck which is about to smash him to a pulp. This is unhealthy world we live in, not us, who is messed up.
We have to try to shake it off, break free.

To walk in the winter nights,
With snow creaking under boots,
With ancient gods and ghosts
Waving to us from their sky-ships,
With our thoughts crisp and clear,
Our roots deep and sturdy,
Our wings lighter then moonlight.
I remember the dark winter nights,
When I was a wolf.
I’ll meet you there.

Sunday, 27 November 2011

Sickbed thoughts

I’m lazy and devoid of inspiration, but that’s exactly why I want to write at least few words (to break trough that ugly stupor).
Outside the window the gale is howling like an angry ghost.
I’ve just watched an episode of a very bad Polish criminal series (Instynkt). Jeez, I have to unplug from the computer, I really feel it kills my creativity.

Ok, short recap:

- I had a knee surgery. I messed up me knee last November, when I decided to take up exercising (as a part of “fighting depression and anxiety program”). It was giving me a hell for a year so eventually I decided to do something about it. Now my knee looks like an elephant leg, I have two ugly holes on its sides and it hurts, but… I don’t have to go to work for a while, which is so nice! I can chill, read books and learn uke. Yuppiee! (My grown up friends - yes, I do think that unproductive, creative action is much more fun then working, and I'm proud of it;)

- Ukelele playing is going well. The truth is that the last day before I got my uke, was the last day of anxiety fits. Almost. I had some bad time when I tried a puff of weed on Friday. I guess those little pleasures are over for me. I’m not too sad about it. But generally I’m fine. I’m happy learning something new, it calms me down, silences my thoughts’ trains. But I lost sensation in my fingertips from the strings. I hope it will pass. Will it, guitar players?:)

- Reading “Smoke and Mirrors” by Neil Gaiman again. I love this guy. I think I’ve read everything he’s ever written, including all Sandman albums and its derivatives. He’s genius. I can not even pick my favourite book of his, though “Graveyard Book” would be high up on the list.

- Thoughts about anarchism. This word has such a bad connotation. Most people think about punks, red terrorism, noise, chaos, disorder. When you say “I am an anarchist” you can almost physically feel that people become condescending towards you (if not openly scornful). But there is such a philosophical and social richness behind this term. There are practical alternatives to the mess we are finding ourselves now, alternatives involving grass root democracy, working economical noncapitalist and nonsocialist (socialism understood here as a statism) schemes, ecological solutions, beautiful educational ideas, psychological schools. Everything is here, there is an ocean of concepts and ideas, one life is perhaps not enough to know them all, what to speak about trying them out. But I’m not bitter about people's ignorance. I study the topic and whenever someone is interested I try to shed some light or share some good books. It takes time, that’s all.

- When I was waking up after operation I told the doctors and nurses that I love them all, that they are real, beautiful angels, that this trip on the anaesthetics was better then any trip I’ve ever had. Then I forgot Polish and for fifteen minutes I spoke with Tania in English, which seriously freaked her out, he, he. I'm not going back to Amager Hospital for a while, no way.

Wednesday, 23 November 2011

I’m so hippy tonight

The artwork by Tania/Saragrahi

So, what’s up? Has the world turned into a warm feather quilt already? Good people are not dying anymore and the TV series characters have integrity and speak with grace and wisdom? The steel weapons have turned into the wooden toys and the nuclear ones into fireworks waiting for a New Year’s party? Have Christian husbands taken Muslim wives and do they have Universal children who smoke natural dope and make free (not too dirty) love?

Have people stopped eating animals? (c’mon, they must have by now!) And those big, smelly, ugly banks – have they been burned to the ground? And those pimply, sad bankers – have they got a piece of land, each of them, and a plough and a bag of seeds? Those fuckers would be so much happier, and they would make rest of us so relieved, wouldn’t they? What about that poor junkie girl (what’s her name?) who prostitutes herself by the Øksnehallen? Have she met a shaman lover prince who gave her a handful of shrooms and her soul was cured of her Dark Passenger (as Dexter calls it)?

Have the atheists stopped to be so full of themselves and have the believers thrown away the mouldy books and replaced them with love? Have they? Oh, man - and those noisy, happy, red cheeked children – do they go on a sledge ride or swim in a mountain brook, or play hide-and-seek in the grandma’s orchard and don’t give a shit about that evil vampire playstation-slash-xbox-slash-!Pod-bullshit, designed to make another asshole rich and those pretty young beings brainwashed?

Actually not. None of these things have happened. And yet tonight I’m not too sad. I don’t even know why. I guess I believe that the old pretty things haven’t gone away forever, and those hopeful dreams are nor buried for good.
Salud comrades!

Monday, 14 November 2011

Armageddon tea

Rachel Eating An Icecream At A Truckstop In Japan by BMX Bandits on Grooveshark

I had an “economical crisis” dream.
It was such a nice dream, seriously. So, in it, the economical crisis had reached its peak and everything crushed – states, tv, internet, radio, army, institutions, international travels, all of it.
Me and Tania, we were caught in a small village I was born in. Basically in one day we were cut off from the rest of the world. At first we were scared, and actually we had a reason: for the first time in our lives we felt completely unprotected, the reality was unpredictable, at first glance even hostile.
But then something changed.
We went to my cousin’s (who is best friend of mine too) house to find out what to do. In the house there was already plenty of people – family, friends, neighbours. Someone opened a bottle of vodka, someone played a guitar, there was food on the table, candles everywhere (the electricity was also gone). Everyone looked bit frightened but also excited, people talked, exchanged news, speculations, words of comfort.
When we came in, everyone cheered, invited us to the table, there were strong hand shakes, hugs, patting on the back.
And then something happened with my mood – I wasn’t afraid any more. I was soooo relived! Why? Because the world I knew was finished. I realized how much I was entangled and tired of its meaningless complexity, complications, dependence, madness. From now on everything was reversed, the world was back to its natural simplicity. No more jobs, banks, new !Pods every six months, destroying the rainforest, new teenage idiotic stars, vampire sagas, anxiety disorders, depressions, political parties, nationalism, fuck it – any “ism” for that matter! It was all gone.
From now on only the things which make sense - cultivating the land, cultivating the self, evening storytelling with a bottle of homemade wine, children, shaping the closest community, closest world.
Wow, you can’t imagine how it felt. Sweet…:)

Wednesday, 9 November 2011

What if... (Nørrebro walk, poem, existential deliberations)

The artwork by Tania/Saragrahi

I took a train from Vigerslev Alle to Nørrebro, then I walked all the way to the Central Station. I like this route. After few months here it feels familiar, cosy. I listened to Ky-mani Marley on my mp3 (not !Pod:) and then there was this song/poem which started to come up. I sat for a moment and wrote it down. It's kind of existential, spiritual questioning for the meaning of morality, endeavours, being lost, being found, etc. Still I think it’s optimistic (in its genre;).
I was suppose to make music to it, but after few attempts I gave up. I didn't feel like drawing neither. Hence Tania's drawing instead. It shows perfect, mystical love, we are always longing to find.

What, if…

I may work on myself,
I may strive for a progress,
but what if there is no one to watch,
no one looks from the sky,
no spirits, no angels, no gods?

I can try to be a man,
I can try to rise up high,
but what if we are a drop of the sea,
what if we are a tiny grain of dust?

Maybe that’s my way,
that’s my road to tread,
maybe we are lonely blades,
on green, rippling meadows,
maybe we are lonely stars
on dark, so dark sky.

For us we must shine and fly,
not for gods, nor crowds.
For us we must climb and strive,
not for in heaven rewards.

Maybe that’s the point –
the silent, empty road,
no answered prayers, no burning bush.
Maybe that’s our life –
a little bee trying to fly, so she could die up high.

Learn how to shine and be fine,
even if there is no one to judge,
no one to say: “it’s a good way”,
or: “it’s wicked, do not.”

But maybe I’m wrong,
I’ve been wrong before,
maybe the truth is out there,
someone makes notes,
writes our lives in divine books,
watches our steps,
helps us when we go astray.

If that’s the case,
I’m still the same,
I still want to shine and fly,
still dream about dying high,
not for in heaven rewards,
not for gods, or crowds,
but for myself.

And my Friend,
if he’s there.

Sunday, 6 November 2011

Good to be home

The artwork by Tania/Saragrahi

I think I’m getting back. The lights are not blinding-grey and cold anymore, the sounds are softer, smells are yummier, songs are deeper, books speak, instead of coughing empty thoughts, smiles are what they suppose to be – mirrors of soul, not the impersonal grimaces. I don’t feel any longer like a spectator of a long, boring and disturbing play staged in a haunted house. For most of the time, at least, I don't. The last year Tarot readings kept pointing at the Moon and only now I know what they meant.
It was a long, tedious journey and I have to admit it scared a shit out of me (though I appreciate the lessons I learned on the way). It’s good to be myself again, good to be home.

Anyways… It’s a good evening. Tania is drawing Christmas cards already. She gave me a permission to publish the first one – that’s the one you see above. I so love her style; it brings the cosy feelings of security, purity, carelessness, childhood – all that stuff that matters, that brightens up the soul and helps to colour the reality, to paint over its apparent ugliness. I want to share with you more of her stuff, I’ll ask her if I’m allowed:). You will love it, I promise.

Tomorrow back to work, two 12h shifts in a steamy kitchen and then 3 days off. No idea what to do with it. Definitely reading. Also I’m waiting for the delivery of my first ukulele, but probably it wont come this week, so I will just download tons of ukulele tutorials and let myself dream about mastering it:).
Good night, guys.

Friday, 28 October 2011

Turning inside

Last night I woke up in the middle of a very important, meaningful dream. I knew I had to remember it – it was my subconsciousness or whoever telling me something significant. It was dark, I didn’t want to wake up Tania and I was sleepy so I decided I wouldn’t turn lights on and write it down. Instead I memorized a key-word, which would remind me everything in the morning. I was so sure I would remember it, ha, ha. Well, maybe it wasn’t that important message after all.

The first two days of my weekend I spent mostly in bed reading books and watching new episodes of Dexter. Today, after doing a huge laundry, I dragged myself out. I took a train to Flintholm, then a metro to Christiania, had a walk there, drunk a small beer (which in Denmark means just “a beer”), smoked a cigarette (first one since a long time), then walked to Nørreport and back home. Nothing exciting. I’m not considering taking up smoking again. I’m just so tired of my anxiety and constant worrying about everything that I wanted to do something stupid and not to feel bad about it. It worked:)

Then I drew the blinds, put some chilled music on and napped with radiators full power on and air humidity of a rainforest (from all that laundry drying in the room). It felt like sleeping in a sauna. When Tania came from work she told me I’m crazy and I should open the window, because it feels like a stinky, sweaty jungle in here:)

Main reflection from today – I think I'm losing hope for profound communication with people. That was my main drive for the first half of my life (assuming that I'm in the middle of it) - actually last few years it became even a kind of obsession – but now I start to withdraw. All those journeys, talks, faith leaps, sacrifices, etc. - it just doesn’t seem to work. Either there is something wrong with me, either with humanity, or I’m just out of luck, and don’t get meeting the right people. Whatever the reason is, I’m turning inside. I’m still open (I wouldn’t continue this blog if I wasn’t), but it’s more a habit then something real. (I’m not being bitter or whining here, so thanks for well meant advices!;)

Ok, the last day off is almost over. Tomorrow back to work. And on Sunday my pay-cheque should arrive. I’m thinking about new shoes and winter coat. And gloves without fingers! I love those and the ones I have are in shreds already. And a new train pass (two zones). I feel like a Copenhagen king with it.

Wednesday, 26 October 2011

Finding harmony in the chaos

Dzyn, dzyn, dzyn in Polish means ding, ding, ding.
No worries, I’m not falling into Christmas fever already. I just like the wintery moods that are clearly coming – shorter days, coolness, the fragrance of the air – this vague, nondescript, icy-sweet smell, announcing the end of the old and beginning of the new. I think, I like winter better then summer. Tania says it’s because I was born during winter months. If I was born let’s say in July, I would prefer summer for sure. I don’t know how it works for others, but with me it’s true.

1. Three days off. There is a certain advantage to working 12 hours shifts – though it is brutal and so freaking loooong, I get more days off then the regular people. I’ve planned to do… nothing. Just sink into my e-book reader and carry on with Tad Williams’ “Otherland”. I’ve just finished the first volume, three to go. Mmmmm, sweet…:) And they are as thick as bricks (if you can say that about the digital books)!

2. I had a good idea today; I googled “artists similar to Ane Brum”. So now I enjoy the evening in the company of Anna Ternheim, Nina Kinert, Sophie Zelmani and Susanne Sundfør. That’s exactly what I need – soft lady’s voice and songs about the peaceful stuff: love, longing, walks in the sunshine, picking up flowers, looking at clouds, holding hands, eating pasta, taking taxi to the cosy huts from childhood, playing with a dog…

3. I’ve finished another book too. “Nothing Can Be Changed Here” by Kazimierz Dabrowski. Because taking life easy is important, especially when you feel a mess, but it’s also important to look deep in, not being shallow. And this play is one of the most beautiful and weird things I’ve ever read. Look it up.

"I was reading something about Durrenmatt's philosophy… I find it very appealing… What he more or less says is that the struggle of truth and good with the world of daily reality can't have positive results; truth and good always lose, and the battle is hopeless. But that which can be called human in the best sense of the word, is the courage to carry out the tasks in which we believe the true essence of humanity lies, even though they are doomed to failure from the outset. Right to the end we mustn’t give way, mustn’t back out or accommodate ourselves… we must continue to be ourselves, to withstand the weight of evil and opposition. We must consciously take the path fate has destined for us… After all, it isn't so difficult - the greater difficulty lies in existence without that path, trying to find a direction without it."

4. That’s it for now. I’ve already got carried away and made this entry too draggy. My better half is sewing felted Christmas decorations in the shape of hearts, behind the door one of the housemates (by the sound of scrapping slippers I guess it's Justina) put the kettle on, Sophie Zelmanie wonders if she could, the imaginary cat plays with a sock on my foot. Though I feel inadequate, I don’t fight it, and it feels cool. Kind of peaceful.
See u guys.

Monday, 17 October 2011

Two stories

Ok, maybe it doesn't look very funny in this cartoon, but belive me, when it was hapenning, it was awsome. That cat was so sure he knew me, and then he was so confused when he saw his "second" owner standing next to me. But he had a right to be confused - we really looked like brothers.

On the personal note (overdoing it probably)

So here I go - for the last few months I'm going trough a rough time. Many things contributed to the mess I found myself in - dad's death, moving the country, looking for an apartment, job, health problems, bad shroom trip which scared (scarred) me to death, relationship stuff. All this brought me to a personal crisis I'm only starting to get out of. During this time I was writing and drawing about some of those things, but I kept it to myself. I felt it's too private to share. Here, on the Stranger I published just some drawings, omitting the text they were illustrations to. However lately I'm getting better and maybe because of getting some distance to myself I decided to publish some of the stuff I wrote that time. I seriously hope I haven't become exhibitionistic!:) I think it is just the writer's (or any human's for that matter) need to share.
I wasn't sure how to go about it, but eventually I decided to update the old posts. Before every new text I have added, I placed "update" in red so it is easier to find.

Still I promise - it's not going to be just all serious from now on!:)

Sunday, 9 October 2011

The sweet '90s

It wasn't only Dr. Alban. I think at some point it was Haddaway, Shaggy, Stakka Bo. Leila K. and Vanilla Ice :P

Monday, 3 October 2011

Pieces of her

Pieces of Her

She wanted to fly,
catch the ray of the sun,
but her wings were not fit
for this task.

When she hit the hard ground
she still tried to reach out
but her arms were too broken
to grasp.

Waiting rooms, crying grooms,
No one brings them warm wool blankets,
anxious minds, disappointed with life and drunk,
nothing can fill that dark spot,
so what…

First kiss, first love, first journey, first fist in the sky,
first religion, then second, then none,
filling cosmic space with laughs and yelling and cries,
hoping that someone out there will care.

Autumn sunshine splits trough green glass,
empty room, empty chair, empty soul,
Pieces of her lifted by gentle wind,
maybe in rainbow they meet…

Wednesday, 28 September 2011

Where did it go wrong?

I listened to Chomsky today. He was talking about the wage slavery. It's amazing how much of our world view is actually mere conditioning, not the objective truth. Now everyone is convinced that working for wages is something normal and obvious, but it wasn't so obvious one, two, three hundred years ago.
I'm fully convinced that we (humanity) had a good chance of creating something sensible. Enlightment gave us such wanderful ideas of personal freedom and its meaning. Then in the beginning of XX century something got seriously fucked up, and we never recovered, never got back on the right track.

That little Indian shop...

The scientists determined:
1. Your eyes get infected first.
2. Then your tongue starts to secrete excessive saliva.
3. You try to control your mind, but you can’t help – you have to enter the shop. And four pieces are bare minimum (sometimes it's 5, 6, may be even 10, if you are suicidal).
4. When devouring, you have to be fast. If your are too slow, you might get nauseous too early and hence not be able to finish your treat.
5. The rapture lasts about 30 – 60 seconds.
6. Then you start to feel queasy. If you are not an idiot, you knew it was going to happen, so you are prepared – bottle of cold water will be of a great help.
7. If you are an idiot (here I am), you don’t have any water (and any change left to buy one), which means you are doomed to suffer sore throat and wooziness for about a half an hour (up to an hour).
8. At this point you know you will never have sugar again. Never.
9. Then you get better. Give yourself a couple of days before walking Vesterbrogade again.

Sunday, 25 September 2011

A XIX century person

I'm a XIX century person. Seriously. This XXI century nonsense gives me a headache, nothing more.
Just imagine:
- You could calligraph beautiful letters on the paper and send it with a servant on the horse.
- You could believe in ghosts and no one would laugh.
- You could smoke tobacco and not to worry about the lung cancer.
- You could spend a night in an ancient Inn and exchange old tales with fellow travellers.
- You could meet a lady, fall in love, order a painting of her, and then look at it in the evenings by the candle light, drinking amontillado.
- You could speak French.
- You could find out that there is a curse put on you family.
- You could find in an old book the way to counteract that curse.
- In the course of that you could discover that your old servant is actually a spy of a secret society.
Ah, the beautiful, old days!

Indian Summer in Copenhagen

The sunniest day this fall (and probably this summer as well). Since my camera is the crappiest thing in the world, I decided to over-use photoshop a little. I hope it hasn't come too tacky.

* * *

This is funny - first I saw it on youtube this morning when I looked up the Danish history docummentaries, and then few hours later I stumbled upon this poster. I like those pointless synchronicities.

Der mini-Steppenwolf enjoying a Sunday walk (dammit - from behind my ears are sticking out even more then en face!)

Assistents Kierkegård, view from Nørrebrogade - my favorite graveyard. Not gloomy at all, nice place for a picnic or general chill out.

Ancient Aztec city discovered on Nørrebrogade.

So much light today! The city was suffused with sunshine. At last!

The view from Dronning Louises Bro. Algae look like little islands on the Pacific. Don't they?

Wow! Gods, Sphinx, Cupids, angels, everything...

Copenhagen postcard 1

Copenhagen postcard 2

If you dig deep enough where will it get you? Better stop peeling!

Copenhagen doors (to perception)

The first two on the left are from my town! I'm so proud:)

Neil Gaiman style

* * *

And that's it. It was a nice walk. I wish I could take pictures of people, but I'm too shy to do that. I tried, but then I felt like a stalker. For example this girl was so lovely, but when I was trying to get a shot I could almost hear people thinking - "what a pervert, he takes a photo of her neat bottom!". Too much stress;)

Saturday, 24 September 2011

Peculiar but lovely idea

One of my friends posted a link on facebook which inspired me with an idea. The link was about subscribing to surprise gifts sent to you by post every month. Interesting and cute initiative (even if it costs 12 quid per month).
But then it came to me – all the time I’m waiting for something good happening to me, people offering me something – good vibes, love, friendship. And it is always about me getting something – never about giving. So why not to try changing this tendency? Turn the mind around and instead of waiting, make something happening?
The idea is this – Copenhagen is a mine of old, lovely, cheap crap. There are flea markets at every corner. I know lot of lovely people (everyone is lovely deep inside in one or another way:). I’m earning money at last - I'll see my first pay-cheque in a week! I can start sending people small gifts. I know it’s out of blue and it may seem weird to many, but why not? Wouldn’t I be happy to see a postman with a small package for me, with a silly comic book from ‘50s, old fashioned doll with mysterious face expression, circus poster, weird coin, vintage nude postcard, worn out tarot deck, a feather from angel’s wing (even if it’s a goose’s one)? Would I care if it’s odd? Not really. I can attach a small letter to it, written in an old style, sharing few thoughts, events. It can be my rebelion against internetized, impersonal social interactions.
Fuck it, I’m going to do that.

The street is quiet

I’m here. It’s a dark night, few pale stars are looking down at the glowing city, one of the windows down there is mine. The morning is close. Listening to songs in a foreign language, but I don’t really care, I just like the energy and sound of it. I know it’s about the truth, freedom and anger. I like it. Maybe I can start to think about reactivating my anarchist e-zin. I’m trying to find some new identities, but actually I’ve already got some I’m ok with. A truth-seeker, activist. I just have to go deeper.

Tss, tss, tss,
The street is quiet,
as quiet as my head,
as quiet as my heart
at least tonight,
my gorgeous.

When I try to wear
postmodernist suit
I look funny,
I look like a fool.
Better to taste real ideas,
get strength from pure values,
look inside,
where real peace lays.
At least this night,
my adorable girl.

The world out there
goes into pieces,
politicians, serious issues,
wars, false idols,
silly jokers in uniforms,
bad poetry, good intentions,
but I’m ok
at least for now,
my sweet darling.

Monday, 19 September 2011

Disaster strikes

My better half is not dumb so eventually she figured out it was just the chain. Still for a moment there I thought she hit the deer or fell from the bridge.

Thursday, 15 September 2011

Wednesday, 14 September 2011

Tough job

I'm still reading "The Road Less Travelled". It's terrifying to realize how much of ourselves - our vision of the world, God, people, etc. is conditioned by the first contact with this material plane - I mean childhood. For many years it is our microcosmos and it would be reckless to think that it doesn't make us who we are now.
The positive thing is, that once we get it, we may actually start to rebuild the world we perceive and begin to see it as it is (or can be), not as we think it is. Still, it's a tough job.
Just a thought for today.

Sunday, 11 September 2011

To believe or not to believe?

In spite of appearances I'm not encouraging here to couldn't-give-a-damn attitude. I believe (oh, that faith again!) in the experiential spiritual life. And I distaste fanaticism and bigotry, no matter if it is the religious or atheistic one. I've encountered both and they are equally annoying;)

Saturday, 10 September 2011

Those nostalgic idiots

Today I've watched Midnight in Paris by Woody Allen. It really cheered me up, a lovely movie, I felt like all the problems got lifted for a moment. The cartoon came out of it (I'm not sure, but it may be a kind of a spoiler, but I hope it's not revealing too much;)

* * *


I always promise myself I wont write when I'm down, but then I do it anyway. And I come out as a stupid whiner.

What’s up? Nothing new, the same old story for the last few months - I am fed up with myself, so fucking fed up. I used to be happy inside. Not complacent but just happy. I knew who I was, valued myself, accepted my situation and tried making the best use of it.
I was proud of my open-mindedness, spiritual background, budding talents, loving beautiful women by my side, freedom.

What’s left? Not much. I don’t like myself anymore, feel locked in the place way too small for me, I just want to be someone else – someone who is more grounded, serene, peaceful, satisfied with the things that come by itself, accepting life as it is, enjoying little pleasures, feeling the presence of guardian spirits (God, if you will), playing cards with my love, having a beer with my brothers, reading some old SF novel without feeling that I’m wasting my time, hiking in the mountains near my hometown and feel refreshed and easy instead of lonely and alienated in the company of nature.
What else? It’s not that bad if I still can recall…

I remember sleigh party, crackling cold, bright moon, thousands of stars, laughing friends, singing, icy wind throwing snow at my face, existing just in the present. Wonderful feeling. Or sitting by the fireplace in my room, just before Christmas, with lights off, flames reflecting on the walls, listening to Cranberries and smoking cigarettes, not worrying even for a second about the cancer. Or writing a poem just for myself, not feeling the need to show it to anyone, to get recognition (or stupid “like” on facebook. Wow, life before internet!;). Or walking with my sweetheart in the evening to find an open shop, so we could get a can of cola and chewing gum for our last money. Or playing chess with my father while peeking at some old detective series in our small television set in the kitchen. Or trying to pray silently before dawn, watching darkness of the night turning into grey and then golden day, feeling small and looked after.

Yes, I do remember all those states of mind. It means that I’m not fucked up by default. So what's happened?

Death's counsel

I'm reading "The Road Less Travelled" by M. Scott Peck. This is really good stuff, makes you to rethink your life a lot. I like this passage:

"With death's counsel, the constant awarness of the limit of our time to live and love, we can always be guided to make the best use of our time and live life to the fullest. But if we are unwilling to fully face the fearsome presence of death on our left shoulder, we deprive ourselves of its counsel and cannot possibly live or love with clarity."

Monday, 5 September 2011

Jaya Radhe!

Today is the birthday of the very important Goddess in the spiritual tradition I chose long time ago. So happy birthday and please, bestow your blessings on all. Jaya Radhe!

Sunday, 4 September 2011

Internationale Dage - Taste the World

I went to have a look at the food festival in Rantzausgade. Bit too crowdy and too noisy for me (what a stiff I am!), or I just wasn't in the right mood. I walked couple of times back and forth, stopped for a moment to see the playback performance of dancing (butt shaking) girls, smelled fried fish (dribbling immensly) and eventually I decided that I must be a creature of the night, enjoying silence, subtle emotions and thoughtful conversations, not this tawdry entertainment.
God, I really sound like a stiff, don't I?

* * *

It’s a nice day. The summer decided to stay couple of days longer. I was in work today, but something was not right in the restaurant, so they sent us home. I took some food (chick pea stew and tofu cutlets), bottle of Chardonnay, my sketchbook, notebook, music, and so I went to explore my favourite city.
As always I’m open for the new people. Sitting in the park (graveyard actually) I read a book – spiritual emergency is my main thread lately – drink wine, eat toffee in chocolate and smile to passer-by’s like an idiot.


What’s so extraordinary about this city that makes me to resonate with it so much? Nothing spectacular happened here for me so far, no real friends, love, adventures, anything. And yet everyday when I go to the streets of Copenhagen I feel something magical is about to happen. It never does and yet I feel it strongly. At times it reaches the pick. Few times when I was cycling around listening to music, the experience of something inexpressible was so strong, that I almost cried. Like flying.
There is still this lack of satisfaction, like some very important element is missing, but I have the impression there is nothing to be worried about – it will come.


Ok, let’s get back to the planet Earth.

1. The first week of work behind me. Not easy but it enhances the taste of the free time. I value it much more now.
2. Still drawing and still having fun with it.
3. Funny enough, after few days of hard work in the restaurant my knee stopped to hurt. Maybe the hardcore work is the solution for all my problems? (Just kidding).

Saturday, 3 September 2011


There was a British chap, his name was Martyn.
he said the life with his wife made him a martyr.
To punish himself even more
he became a chef – what a bore.
He should know better. And be smarter.

There was Anna, this very classy girl.
She loved the vintage art, and her hair was curled.
She ended up in the kitchen,
(you do not go there to freshen),
oh merciful God, now she must twirl and whirl.

Anton, the man who knew lot of stuff -
though you were never sure what’s true and what’s bluff.
He was a chef most of his life
(poor, poor, poor his lovely wife).
Fortunately he was still sweet – not rough.

There was a lady, Bettina was her name.
She wanted a restaurant – no one is to blame.
On the very first day the disaster struck,
and on the second too, on the third as well.
But that brave women was still in the game.

There was this guy… I mean myself,
I wasn’t really sure if I’m a dwarf or elf.
One day I was unemployed,
felt like living in the void,
then I became a chef, should I kill myself?

Monday, 29 August 2011

Flying dreams

I start to think that I might be dissipointing the people who were counting on "Copenhagen adventures", and instead they get this random crap;)
But this is Hareskov forest, so I'm still in the range.
Anyway, I wont conceal that this blog is my small psychoterapy cave:P

* * *


I love those! Last night in the middle of the dream I realized that I was dreaming. I decided to chill out and have some fun - God knows I needed it - so I spent the whole night flying around. I went to Poland and England. It was so cool. I remember enjoying the freedom and rush of the cool air on my face. I laughed like a madman, twirling in the sky, shooting high, diving low. I knew that in reality I was laying in my bed and I was wandering if I laughed out loud and if so, if I was going to wake up Tania. But I didn't.

Thursday, 25 August 2011

Wednesday, 24 August 2011



No mister smart ass today. I’ll be completely transparent.
The main question these days – who the fuck am I? The identity crisis in its heyday. I’m tired of myself. Frankly speaking I can’t stand myself at all. I wish I could just step out of this body and mind, and be someone else. I believe I’m in the transition right now and it gives me some comfort, but still the frustration is there.

Sometimes I think, what if I could go back in time, when I was 18. Would I make other choices? First of all I would know the value of one-pointed focus. If I started then, I could be so good in something by now. Good in what? I would definitely go into arts. That was my thing from the very beginning. I was just confused.

I don’t want to be a moaner. I would like to take some practical steps, but I’m in the dark here. Without a guide, without support, without someone who would believe in me, who would see in me the things I’m trying to see myself – the artist, seeker, creative, sensitive person. Instead, I’m alone, without direction, without vision, with the indifferent, cold world out there.
I know that I will be able to get the pieces together just by myself, but I’m pissed off that I have to do it alone, struggle, waste time, go around in circles.

I wish I could meet someone who went trough all these, who has an artist inside, spirituality, who is more mature then me, more serious, experienced, but also chilled out, with great sense of humour. I so fucking miss good company.

In some sense I’m proud of being a person deep enough to have this kind of tribulations. But on the other hand I’m just not happy with myself. I’m sick of my total inadequacy, flaws and constant need of other people – like a child who always seeks to be defined by others. I’ve had enough of that crap. But also I understand where it comes from – out of piercing loneliness. Hence the neediness, clinginess.

I have all these things inside I wanna share, but there is nobody who gets me. And I have this hunger to get into others' minds, to drink their thoughts, feelings and ideas. But it feels like the people who surround me, they live in other dimension – in the world which doesn’t interest me, world of the flat conversations, shallow interests, imitations. Where the fuck are the other people? The folks full of the storms, dilemmas, creative fire, fresh, personal vision and hunger for fullness?Are they dead already? Died 100 years ago?

I used to pray for a peace – I mean inner peace, not the peace in the world:). I was completely honest about that. But now I don’t care that much. Life is always going to be a mess, there is no peace, just an eternal movement, flow. Now I miss people. My people. So we could talk until morning, come up with creative ideas, share our souls, get drunk, get sober, cycle around without purpose, have no secrets, make love (or however you call that thing friends do), grow together, expand…

Yeap. So that’s what those guys meant, when they wrote about the existential crisis. It looked so much better in books.