Wednesday, 30 November 2011
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 When you needed information, you had to use a big, heavy, often outdated encyclopaedia.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
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
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.
Monday, 14 November 2011
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…:)
Labels: serious stuff
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
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.
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
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.