Coexisting with the Universe

2010-12-28T16:54:00.001-08:00

the dry bite of loneliness

On fictional space or The truth

2010-12-17T02:54:00.000-08:00

Candle light, every time I invite him over.

Carefully chosen underwear, always lace. I like them in beige, skin color, maybe with golden details. Or black.

Body washed in water. Private parts with scentless soap, hair with scentless shampoo. I like to smell like myself.

I am careful to clip my nails so as not to injure him, or leave marks.

I let my hair fall free and wear very little and light fabric. Mostly silk and simple cotton, clean cut.

Sometimes I will put a flower in my hair.

Martini Bianco, served on rocks with lime on the balcony, during hot summer nights, such as this one.

Bathtub is ready, lukewarm water to cool us down.

I sit on the balcony, the moon is full, it’s close to midnight, he will soon be here, I am ready. I put a record on, old tunes from the 30s, 40s and 50s. This is my favorite music. Etta James, for example, and her voice perfect in the combination with the small cracking sounds produced by the record player, singing At Last. The music is under my skin, my body already in the mood. I am closing my eyes. Light breeze is caressing me. I can almost feel the fairies sing and hear them fly, dance and feast. My shirt, silk, skin color, with a golden lace collar, is held on with a single button at the bottom of the back of my neck. It is there that I feel his warm breath. The little hairs are highly attentive when the button comes undone and my nipples are met with the fresh summer breeze, instantly eager to cooperate. I am being lifted from my chair, the air around me is changing and then, still with my eyes closed, I am being lowered into water. I lie there, in clear water, protected by black lace of my underwear, lit by the candlelight. I can feel him watching me. My breathing is heavier by the second. My skin calling for attention, yearning for his touch.

Two large hands are gently stripping me free of the lace.

On frustration or Whatever happened to my part?

2010-12-12T06:49:00.000-08:00

a meditation on possible future.

When in dessagreement with institution – leave institution.

And so, I need to start looking for a job. But what kind of job do I want to have? Or better, in what kind of labour do I want to transform into money? What kind of money do I want to earn?

I want to earn money with knitting and crocheying.

I want to earn money with writting.

I want to earn money with performing. Do I?

I want to earn money with the food I make.

I can open a petit cafe restaurant. This petit cafe would sell very good cafe, infact it would sell the best one. It would include a huge variety of tea – like rose-buds tea. And creamy hot chocolate. White, dark, milk, with lavander, chilly peppers, ginger or sea salt. I would get all these ingredients from private people from India, Shri Lanka, China, Chile, Argentina, France, Croatia – and yes, I would ship it by plane if necessary. I would also make cakes. Cakes like the fresh Apple Pie I made last night for the DancingKids. All kinds of chocolate-cherry combination cakes. Banana-sweetpotato cake.

I would put flowers on the tables, wooden tables, wooden chairs. I would also serve soup, home made soup. And quiche “Shiran”, and simple sandwiches, and salads, because Katie likes those.

If my friends would feel inspired, I would allow them to make food, too. Specially if they had recipies they simply had to share.

I would develop photographs I made when younger and hang them on the walls. Photos of the sky, photos of cities I visited. Photos of people reading, thinking, singing. Reading – I would have books lying around. Books that I read, but also books that other people read and decided to leave there so other people can read those, too. I would also make space for some arts magazines. Local and worldwide.

Wouldn’t that be a beautiful place? I would also ask friends to make pillows, cups, mugs, cutlery – all that could be made by hand – would be.

Where would this petit cafe be?

In Zagreb? Paris? NewYork? I don’t know.

Where is my place in this world? I don’t know. Because it so obviously is and is NOT here.

Tel Aviv might be a place for my cafe. Or Stockholm.

I am afraid of the local feeling. Is it that I feel that freedom comes with being recognized in the world, traveling around, not having a stable place? Is it fear of Pär not making an effort of comming to Zagreb or Tel Aviv? But whoever said that I will not be able to travel?

Who cares? I wonder. Who gives a damn, anyway?

So I will bake. And make hats.

A meditation on love or What do I think when I think about love

2010-11-27T09:20:00.000-08:00

"I'm not interested in how people move; I'm interested in what makes them move.”

Pina Bausch

For the sake of the argument I want to compare love to money. In order to give some away, you need to have access to some, you need to have some. And I would be happy with this if I wouldn't know how (as I see it) the whole secret with money (and it's flow) actually lies in the space of “the financial” - meaning money which does not really exist. So we make money and bet money and sell money that is not physically there.

And I don't even want to go into the belief system of the Money in general - meaning that the whole convention of Money basically depends on OUR mutual agreement that this special, fancy paper actually represents value. Or even HAS value. Owns value?

Still, I base my following theory on the notion of needing to have in order to give away.

What that would mean emotionally is as follows. One needs to have access to love, one needs to have love in order to show love and give love to another.

So where is it that we “have love”?

I believe (and I consciously switch to belief system now) that by finding love towards the Self - one gets in touch with love, one starts to understand it and meet it and grow it.

At this point what I mean with Love towards self is - self-respect, for example.

The moment in which one gives him/herself space to be who one is. Fully and unconditionally.

One stops censoring and editing oneself and learns how to face the world from that point of view.

Generally, at this stage fear presents itself as an obstacle.

Maybe more than why I would ask how do we recognize it but not let it take power upon the state of us?

I would like to present the priority of being honest to the Self before the priority to the SuperEgo or Id (if I borrow on Freud's vocabulary).

This implies work, actually. Work in Self-discovery. Individually. Singularly.

Recognizing Fear and walking, nevertheless.

Making choices that might make us self-conscious, that might make us feel like we are out of control - I want to point out now that the feeling of control itself is WHAT?

What is making us feel that we have control anyway and what is this control?

The feeling of security that comes out of routine?

We are alone, our own masters of everything and no one can influence us?

And is that what we want to be?

Finally, rather that being alone one can be together.

Share Power Collectively.

Find inspiration in each others singularities and use them to move forward, with each-other's personalities paint our present.

I highly recommend knitting.

Yours truly.

Manifesto or Manifesto

2010-11-16T08:26:00.000-08:00

“1 - In societies dominated by modern conditions of production, life is presented as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived is now receded into a representation.”

Guy Debord, Society of the Spectacle

I am trying to understand one simple thing - it seems as if the most desirable mode of being nowadays is the one of an individual yet when I look around myself, what I notice is people very actively choosing to look exactly like the first person on their right (which tends to be a best friend).

And the question that I wish to pose is - Seriously?

The Society of the Spectacle here comes into the picture as a very significant work in explaining how todays society thinks-feels-acts.

I am pointing at the mode of passivity - consider this - one could basically sit in front of a computer and survive. Yes, one could make money online, one could spend that same money online even faster; the advertisement is right there, taking care that we know what's IN and what NOT; I will not go into that one can stream TV, shows, radio;

and people, we can DOWNLOAD.

So, why bother?

***

It is more and more common that this influences the laziness that is preventing one investigating the self.

I will make a line now starting with words from a friend of mine who noted well when she said that most of the children nowadays see only one image of the naked body - a Playboy naked body. Parents don't get naked in front of their children anymore. Children certainly don't get naked in front of each other.

This implies that it is not very weird after all that people get more and more shy with what their bodies look like because, let's face it, most of us do NOT look like Hugh Jackman.

I will take this notion of shyness a little further by saying that there is this potential that we all carry with us. Most of us never get to fulfill the full potential of our potential - why? - because we are “not sure” we can.

And when was the last time you took a risk?

Any kind of risk?

Yet alone a risk that could leave you embarrassed, standing alone in the middle of a room, looking stupid and sad and confused.

***

I would like to encourage - Quests for the Holy Grails!

And each morning you wake up and search for a Holy Grail that might be a different one that the one yesterday.

I am sure you will be left alone, embarrassed in the middle of a room, looking stupid and sad.

I am equally sure there will be a friend standing next to you, who will start laughing and buy you a beer.

And you will be hurt and wounded and happy and excited and inspired and depressed and an inch away from slicing your heart open and flying in the sky.

And you will feel so alive after every little victory and after every little defeat - because by both you will gain experience, you will meet another part of yourself,

you will take another little step for humanity but a HUGE step for yourself.

Find out who you are and sit on that horse and RIDE YOUR FUCKING LIFE INTO THE SUNSET!

***

That's all I wish to share today.

Gandi

On life or Death

2010-11-01T04:42:00.000-07:00

“...all of us came in through the same door...”

Lisa Ekdahl

Silence. Taking a moment to celebrate the dead.

In this moment are we secretly actually taking time to make peace with death. or Death.

Indirectly.

By lighting a candle we say - I know you are somewhere there, waiting for me. And I am OK with that.

In this moment are we so full of life, so inspired that we feel that we are never going to die?

And is this a moment that is so easy to forget about on a regular Monday morning?

How does one not forget - is the ultimate question.

Specially when we do have all the answers.

And still, sometimes we decide to make a compromise.

Why do we compromise?

Why do we compromise our belief and our trust in just being able to be inspired and live life?

Live life that we find a good life deep down in the dusty corners of our soul that we decide to keep dusty because it is easier?

And is it really easier to live by other people's rules and habits?

I find this a constant question that never gets answered, it just becomes more and less important. More important when you feel far away from it and vice versa.

Would I want to live in a utopian world - utopian being my new word of the day - where every body is eager to just be?

Voila.

I will make some pasta now. Thank you very much.

Or life or Death

2010-11-01T04:23:00.001-07:00

“...all of us came in through the same door...”

Lisa Ekdahl

Silence. Taking a moment to celebrate the dead.

In this moment are we secretly actually taking time to make peace with death. or Death.

Indirectly.

By lighting a candle we say - I know you are somewhere there, waiting for me. And I am OK with that.

In this moment are we so full of life, so inspired that we feel that we are never going to die?

And is this a moment that is so easy to forget about on a regular Monday morning?

How does one not forget - is the ultimate question.

Specially when we do have all the answers.

And still, sometimes we decide to make a compromise.

Why do we compromise?

Why do we compromise our belief and our trust in just being able to be inspired and live life?

Live life that we find a good life deep down in the dusty corners of our soul that we decide to keep dusty because it is easier?

And is it really easier to live by other people's rules and habits?

I find this a constant question that never gets answered, it just becomes more and less important. More important when you feel far away from it and vice versa.

Would I want to live in a utopian world - utopian being my new word of the day - where every body is eager to just be?

Voila.

I will make some pasta now. Thank you very much.

Still surrendering or The journey to the invisible

2010-10-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

“ Viewed from the utmost reaches of space, the earth is no larger than a speck of dust. Remember that the next time you write the word “humanity”. ”

Paul Auster, Travels in the scriptorium

There comes a moment in which you discover that you needn't do anything extra.

This moment, slowly but surely, leads into discovery of the amount of extra you actually perform.

Then you realize that you don't need to do a lot of stuff you THINK makes a difference but actually only makes it more complicated.

And then you become shit scared of this new thing - you don't really know how to approach it.

For a moment you feel super passive, almost as if you are not in CONTROL of your own life. (And one just HAS to be in control, no?)

And then, just about as you are ready to loose your mind and like totally freak out -

a moment of pure beauty unfolds right here and now.

A moment of clarity, like no other.

The answer, glowing like a genuine Holy Grail.

The next thing you know you are gliding.

All looks the same, but somehow sill just a little bit different.

Naturally, you do still see the echo of your habits resonating in the space. The new thing is that you find it very light to forgive yourself and continue gliding.

Possible side-effects:

- one becomes more attentive to people smiling.

- stress stops being a word one recognizes in one's vocabulary

- a general feeling of lightness tends to take over and happiness rests calmly on the bottom of the well, supporting, always there.

- light becomes sparkly

***

I wish to balance this text with a bit of pessimism.

On temptation or Letting go

2010-10-10T08:14:00.000-07:00

“The temptation to wait until the perfect situation and the right people are in place before you make your best effort is simply avoidance. Do not wait. Your dedication to the given circumstances right now, will eventually bring you closer to others who share your own belief and commitment.”

Anne Bogart, -and then, you act-

A moment:

Chopsitcks are in place, picking food of the plate and carrying it to the mouth. Chewing occurs, approx. 30 bites per load. Digestion beggins. Paralel with eating, round table small talk. Teachers, classes, relationships, who did what with whom last weekend and how does it effect the community. Back to food, then a couple of laughs. Sounds of plates being put on the bar looking thing, chatter going from louder to softer, information bursting out of peoples mouths. Busy brains, busy bodies. I lift my eyes from the plate, and there you are, looking straight at me from accross the room.

Time stops. Silence occurs. Gravity denied.

And we smile.

A moment:

Walking down the street an image comes, the golden star clip on. Sometimes on the collar, sometimes between buttons.

I realize I am not breathing.

A moment:

Going to sleep, brain burning, screaming and pushing all the desires, longings. Going to sleep, letting all the desires, longings, wishes - letting all of the wishes go. Going to sleep, surrendering to the Big Blue. Almost asleep, brain burning, screaming and pushing all the desires, longings. While I let go.

All the moments. Irresistible.

On Memory

2010-10-03T15:00:00.000-07:00

“God, the Almighty, the All-knowing, has misplaced a cup?”

from Spamalot

really, very simply

one does need not seek for more of new

really

one simply needs to remember what one already knows/has/owns

because magic is not in the stones the walls are made of, or in the frescoes, or in the golden cup

the magic is in the hearts of the ones who open up the space for it

and allow the flow to support

as i said

one simply needs to remember that one already knows that

On understanding or An attention span

2010-09-20T10:27:00.000-07:00

To start with another quote by Anne Bogart.

“Ultimately, the role of art is to wake us up. Routine takes the place of life so easily. The senses resign, numbness enters. Our job as artists is to sharpen our perceptual mechanism on a daily basis in order to venture out into the world with the curiosity to receive, perceive and report back. And yet the present culture and overabundance has dulled our perceptual mechanisms enormously. Because of out responsibility to depth-dive and then surface with fresh visions about the human situation, it is critical to find innovative and effective ways to develop observation and discernment.

The US is, at present, culturally starved. Almost everything produced by the commercial arena insults out intelligence: reality TV, fast food and books written for dummies; these are all an overwhelming insult of out perceptual facility. Art, news and entertainment largely reflect the surface rather that what is inside; form rules over content. We tent to judge things by the outside, by what something looks like. We think that we know all about a think because we know what it looks like. In fact we know very little. We have not explored the depths.

...”

It goes on and on and gets better, the best, the bestest!

The question I was posing the other day reflects the situation I find myself in - an artist facing the audience used to Big Brother, PlayStation3, Game Box, X Box and all the other boxes, not to mention Cable TV, facebook and McDonalds that is at least 2 times less expensive that a cheap restaurant anywhere in the world?

And what happens when an art students span of attention and interest equals that of a 15 year old boy who just saw breasts for the first time?!

Will art stay standing (?) - for it seams that since ancient Greece we have been going downhill considering that Euripides staged a play, all of Athens showed up and saw it before they voted on the subject of refugees, in this particular case.

Have no time to finish what I started, at this point.

I leave myself with a question: Since I am obviously not gonna give up on the hope for utopian artists life - how do I get there? In the context of TODAY?

2010-09-14T14:42:00.000-07:00

“Perhaps the gift of attention is also a gift of love.”

Anne Bogart, - and then, you act -

It is difficult to support a sentence as strong as Bogarts'.

So much beauty in making the idea live.

***

How does one get to see a smile, a twinkle in the eye, a silly little dance?

I guess one just needs to welcome it and give it time to grow.

And then simply smile back.

2010-09-10T17:10:00.000-07:00

“ Most pedestrian movement is prose while dancing is poetry.”

Anne Bogart, taken from “and then, you act - making art in an unpredictable world”

I think one should go with one's heart rather than one's mind.

Do a head stand.

And surrender.

1st of Semptember

2010-08-31T23:52:00.000-07:00

“ ... in your kitchen there is a problem

your sink and clogged when we arrived was already

we had some problems !!!

see you ”

an American

Thus one comes back home. The summer has ended and one is ready to commit yet again to another year of wonders. Coming back to life, somehow, everything is the same - yet just a little different.

What is this process that happens during a summer when a years worth of time and experience that has been put on hold now gets to settle down into a person. Add some sun and an occasional party, some old people and some new people and voilà - your person is forever changed.

And one would guess this is a great thing for what would happen once let's say I come back and all has stayed grim and grey, covered in last years frustrations, hardships and tears?! Now, for example, I can see all these as a part of my past, a part of my person, and I do not feel but content of the times past and am looking forward for what is to come. And somehow the feeling of calmness when facing another year when I can be sure now that I will not make old choices but new ones which are going to be slightly wiser than ever before.

And so we begin. A new year of wonders just waiting to be bitten into. Should one feel tempted or ... well, guess tempted is good enough for me. As long as I don't bite into like a sandwich that is like a year old.?!

2010-07-17T01:08:00.000-07:00

“Lady Justice wept today.”

Sue Sylvester, Glee

***

We might not be meant to share a love scene.

Ever.

So I decided to imagine one and not let it be just a project of my imagination but make it real by putting it on a blank page that will loose it's innocence by the ink transcribing my thoughts upon it. My thoughts about you, to be exact. Thoughts that call you, my dear, even though you can not understand them from all the noise that happens in the world.

I will make the scene magical, romantic, heartbreakingly erotic because that is the way I would like to be consumed by your simplicity, your heaviness, your smile.

(I can feel your penis entering my anus.)

You make dinner for me so you give me time to relax, to get used to being so close to you, being alone with you. You support my comfort by being interested in me, by smiling at my jokes, keeping the beer flowing. You make me believe you want me to be there. You ask me to stay.

And now I see.

My ignorance? My youth. Can one blame oneself for ones youth?

It breaks my heart nevertheless. Even though it might not have happened the way I am able to see it now, be it the only way I can see it now, through my sorrow and frustration.

You show me to your bed and you stop. Looking at me as if I am standing nude before your eyes. Looking back at you, shivering. My knees are weak with desire.

I feel your fingers sliding down my collar bone. I close my eyes and sigh.

You make time stop

and wait

while you enjoy every inch my skin can offer.

How can I be alone, here, in someone else's bed. Sleep as if everything is fine when fine is as far away as fine can be. Tiredness I feel.

The feelings I have for you are exhausting me.

I let you touch me. I enjoy the attention I receive. I soak it like a sponge that has seen no water in a century, like sand in an hourglass. I have been craving for your touch long after we have finished our numberless cigarettes.

(Penetrating and seeking pleasure.)

On coming back home or How to speak a language no one understands

2010-07-08T14:40:00.000-07:00

“I know that we are young and I know that you may love me but I just can't be with you like this anymore.”

Lady GaGa, Alejandro

There's this thing about language. Powerful tool. I don't really think we are aware of the power it holds over us. Really.

By giving us specific vocabulary it gives us means of thinking and grasping ideas. The grammar gives us the possibility of forming these ideas into “communicationable” forms.

More or less complex. Less or more simple.

How do you express the feeling of loneliness?

The feeling so great it inspires ripping of the skin. Ideas of it. Practice of it. Loneliness that makes you sit and look at the people around you and see then as fading images so remotely far away from you. And even if you get the courage to speak the silence, the pressure of silence completely sucks in your voice. Wasted voice, wasted air. Air that could have been the first breath of a new born life. Wasted. Into the (w)hole of loneliness.

How does one find, yet again, the will to carry on? The will to keep living this life and not to give up.

On midnight or The Quest for Peace

2010-06-19T15:21:00.000-07:00

Something like walking with the moving water while the wind massages your scalp, hiding in the tiny spaces between the roots of your hair. Your ears melting with the voice of the sparkling river that sings to the moon, which in turn lights up your way. You hear the hymn of the Elves that live high in the treetops.

All this too easy to visualize sitting in my chair. Pondering on imagination while extinguishing my cigarette that I smoked with such pleasure over the glass of Martini. Extra dry. Paganini in the background. Three minutes to midnight. Alone at home. Saturday night.

One minute to midnight.

It is a paradox I embrace. A paradox of need and not giving up – on what? An idea of what I not so much deserve but figure I can find. Somehow it is experience that points out to the possibility of meeting a soul mate – and now that I find myself searching again – I see I know what I want, but this I cannot get on purpose. It is about welcoming it, trusting that it is out there. And I choose to trust. And wait for the magic. Which makes me sit alone tonight.

The frustration I sometimes, or more often than not, in these times of exhaustion, feel, can break my heart into peaces so small that I loose them in the piles of dust that I can find on the floor of my bedroom nowadays. Still I watch my desires and I push them even further. Until I pains me. At which point I choose to laugh and accept the world for what it is.

And at this point I am disappointed in the world since I see that the potential that is there is only realized in the clouds that fly over my head, in the rivers and trees, and the most majestical Sun. But most of the eyes I see around me are empty eyes. Brains that seek strong food and microwave popcorn relationships. Over and done in 15 seconds, extra butter, extra salt.

It is then, late at night, when in the middle of an alcohol rush, confusion and noise, I receive the tiniest kiss high up on my left cheek, just under the eye, that I witness a glimpse of the original magic that I believe in. The magic that has to be there because, even though so many eyes are empty of passion, we are here, living and fighting day by day, hour after hour.

Sixteen minutes past midnight. Drunken neighbors, raised voices, baby in despair.

On releasing or I wish you to do this to me

2010-06-16T15:00:00.000-07:00

An intimate hissing sound, with eyes closed, the pleasure of filling ones lungs with air. With fresh summer evening air. Enhancing ones blood with oxygen. To support thought. To support movement. To support life.

Space is created to welcome the volume of air, ribs spreading apart, skin stretching over the torso. Stretching until the point it hurts; a little. A bit. So the pleasure is not taken for granted. Or, one might add, the passion one feels for the moment makes you desire even more, more. More. Like an orgasm you wish would last forever.

When you feel it coming, the moment you know it’s unavoidable – you hold back, anticipate the rush, the explosion – and then release. You let go so completely. And you fall.

Once you see the ground, you jump on top of your fall, and pull, strain, you ride it from your groin into your head. Until it hits. Your lungs filled with the air you don’t let go of.

And then you see the fireworks.

Hold still for a moment... before... you... breathe out.

And release.

To the oblivion so complete it brings tears to your eyes.

On Freedom or Myself

2010-06-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

Inexplicable.
The pressure.

For the sake of the argument I ask that we ignore that there is a debate on what is Individual - let´s just take it for granted - for one reason or the other - we think, I think, I am an individual.
With a sense of freedom.
With a sense of justice.
With a sense of personal space.

And this is actually the point I will use against myself in order to try to figure out, to try to convince myself that there is space for everyone.

Comparing?

Big error.

Which comes precisely from my thinking about myself about an individual person that did this to get that - so how come that one who did that ended up with something else. Or with the same thing I ended up with.

What is justice?
Can I understand it?
Probably just as well as I can understand the sense of my "I".

So there is this storm, smothering me. Cutting all the air for me to inhale. I am dying.

Dry as a dead flower.

Courage is the power to let go of familliar.
as stated by Raymond Lindquist

I just wish someone like God could come down and explane me once and for all - how does it all work - so I can stop wasting time in trying to figure it out and just go on with my life.

Call a person on a date.
Make dinner.
Tape my feet so my skin doesn´t burst open the next time I do a run of repertory.

Let the storm pass.
Let the storm pass.
Let the storm pass.

And then all will be ok.

On singularity or the Wonders of a hot summer breeze

2010-06-04T15:19:00.000-07:00

“Julia, you are the butter to my bread and the breath to my life. I love you, darling girl.”

Julie&Julia

I feel alone in the world.

Which is clearly over dramatizing the state I find myself in but here I am, alone at home, it’s me and myself, and loads of fun things to do, yet I can’t stop thinking how delightful it would be to feel fingers caressing my skin. Fingers instead of air. The beautiful warm summer air.

I see a field of wild poppy flowers. I am running through that field, with the Sun following every move I make. The joy I feel is pushing little screams of happiness out of my lungs. I am spreading my arms wide open as if to embrace an invisible soul that is there with me. Here, with me. I welcome the kick of adrenalin as I take my shirt of and throw it away into the unknown. I am running towards the river. I am excited, overwhelmed, captured by the rawness of the emotion. I am down to my underwear, running towards the water. And I jump. For a moment, the brief moment I find myself in the air, so completely free – time comes to a stop. And I endeavor in the sensation of weightlessness as I fall. Falling forever. Before hitting the cool freshness of the river. Ever moving flow of clear water. The water that supports me. The water that loves me. The water that holds me in it’s palm and takes me to the ocean and let’s me dissolve into it’s fullness.

I become the ocean.

I become the sea.

The rivers, lakes, ponds.

I evaporate.

And while cool down I am becoming clouds.

I am flying once again.

So completely free.

And then I fall.

Falling forever I am the rain. I feed the soil. I feed the Earth.

I am consumated by flora and fauna.

I am consumated by human kind.

I am being consumated by you.

I am yours.

So completely lost in your existance. While you love me and care for me. While you touch me and pleasure me. While you tear my world apart and put it back together again – I let you. I let you be my king and my queen, my light and my night. My all, my everything, forever.

Until I change my mind.

On falling in love or Falling - in general

2010-06-01T14:28:00.000-07:00

“Pick me. Choose me. Love me.”

Grey's Anatomy

It is precisely this moment, after I had a random glass of wine, that makes me want to go there and scream these words into your face, then surrender to the power of your will and make sweet, sweet love for the rest of the years between us; always the years, always the love, always the hours.

I can imagine that this is nothing new in the world of high rated emotion. It is dangerous, unpredictable and all these different, strong adjectives. But what no one can tell you is that it is the same - every time.

To fall in love - maybe this is why the verb FALL is used to describe the feeling. The moment you see it coming, it is like seeing that there is a hole in the road, a huge, black hole, the size of the Universe (for example). The road is marked with signs, flashing symbols, shining arrows pointing in all the different directions - which you see and ignore because what (?) the hormones make you loose any sense of preservation, survival or self-awareness. You just fucking jump.

And then say - shit.

Because it is only when you start falling (for a person) that you realize that you weren't ready. You also realize that your cell is out of battery, you never even had a parachute, and you're so young, you're not ready to jeopardize your existence.

***

So there are all these things going through the brain that is impossible to write about. I am not talking only about insecurity, this special weakness in the knees - and common sense - and the constant desire, but also the pictures of the ideal relationship, all the possibilities of breakfasts in bed, reading in bed, reading on a couch, reading on the terrace, eating on the terrace, eating and cooking, throwing flour at each other while fighting about who is doing the tempura, sharing a bowl of spaghetti in the ridiculous hope of having a “Lady and the Tramp” moment, singing the favorite song while in the shower, making love in the shower, showering before making love, showering after making love, washing teeth together, supporting one another after a hard day - while standing in the kitchen and cooking together before watching bad movies in bed, watching bad movies on the sofa, sharing a cigarette on the balcony after the spaghetti dinner which finally did end just like “Lady and the Tramp”, waking up next to a person, waking up next to the person; lying in bed and receiving a hug and just staying still, forever, feeling your breath caressing my skin and even when the position becomes slightly uncomfortable - I don't move.

***

And when I want to make all these things happen - I remember I have no control.

I am falling.

And I want to scream when the helplessness starts ripping my chest open.

But I don't.

I remember who I am. And where I am going.

And I take another step.

I let go.

Even though it makes me cry a bit.

Because I trust that if it needs me, it will find me. And I will just need to give a little push at the right moment. A little encouragement is all that will be needed.

So I relax and wait for the moment, ready for it to happen, with the little encouragement ready to be given at any given point, at a precisely given point. In time. And space.

On Love or How to survive

2010-05-27T23:40:00.000-07:00

“and I don't care if you don't want me, I'm yours right now”

I put a spell on you, by Nina Simone

My heart is standing still in the vacuum of my chest.

Cleaning my ears didn't help.

Even the Sun didn't take away the sorrow.

It is about time. It is about a time. It takes place in a time. And has nothing to do with the space.

Tears are withheld somewhere inside. I can feel them wanting to reach my eyes but I stop them just before. I stop them. Pulling myself together and pushing through one more day. I am waiting for a release.

And I lied about the Sun, it does help a bit.

On trust or How to let go?

2010-05-15T03:08:00.000-07:00

“The mind is so crowded with the known, which is the product of thought. The mind is filled with past knowledge, past experience, the whole of memory - which is a part of the brain - it is filled with the known. ... So when the whole mind, including the brain, is empty of the known, then you will use the known when it is necessary, but functioning always from the unknown - from the mind that is free of the known.”

Krishnamurti, the Impossible Question

Letting go of the mind is the most difficult process I have ever wanted to be a part of. The moment you decide to trust (believe?) rather than 'know' your way around is the one you keep coming back to. You need to keep making the choice over and over again. You. Me. Whoever wants to.

A constant fight with a habit of how one has been used to live up to the point of making the choice. That always comes back. Because you learn, you gather experience and you move on. In the curved space space.

And the intensity of the emotion that you come across. Emotion that you put away because they might hurt you. One protects oneself. And when you welcome the emotion, the first time is like a car crash. A beautiful intense emotion comes when least expected. And there is no good or bad, there is just observation, experience, letting go.

When it starts pulling to much you learn how to drop and move on.

And trust that what really needs to be a part of you will bounce back.

We know that we are energy. And we know how energy functions. So it is not so hard to imagine.

It takes a lot of imagination.

And it feels like life is over, you have no more control. You don't live in a box. And at first you have no idea who you are.

Matrix?

But slowly you start to recognize what is and what not. You make choices and you keep reminding yourself. And you sail.

You sail.

I sail.

Sun sails.

A list or Just needing or not

2010-05-10T13:21:00.000-07:00

“Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise.”

Sigmund Freud

I know that the Sun came out every day of my life.

I know that even if I learn how to sit on my eyelashes, 2 + 2 will give 4.

I know that Paganini is said to be one of the best violin players humanity has ever known.

I know that I am tired and ignoring it. Still want to read some texts.

I know that politics needs to exist.

I know that nothing really needs to be. We make it that way.

I know that necessary does not have to be the obvious and comfortable.

I know that love...

I know that all the happy families are all alike. Every unhappy family is unhappy in it's own way.

I know that cars tend to have 4 wheels.

I know that we can all agree that green is green - I also know that we don't know if what we all see is the one and the same green.

I know that Earth was considered to be flat for quite some time - and who can blame us for thinking so.

I know that bread and wine have been with us for so long. But will not mention Jesus at this point.

I know that Hiroshima, Nagasaki didn't need to happen.

I know that love...

I know that the Icelandic volcano is very persistent and kicking out ass.

I know that we, as humans, are so very fragile. Even the brain, yes, protected with a bit of skull - not the strongest material, bone.

I know that we all write 2010, but there are like a dozen calendars pointing to a different number.

I know that Nina Simone was one great woman.

I know that I don't really know so much.

I know that what I do know is safely stored is the grey mush in what I call my head. Go figure.

I know that all this is kind of pointless. And that it doesn't make me care less.

I know that it makes me care even more.

I know that we want beauty - no matter what you might think at this point.

I know that frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

I know that there is a lot of people out there who dislike chocolate.

I know that atoms are not the smallest particles, even though I was taught in school they were.

I know that I could go on forever.

I know that I will not because I am tired.

On Waiting or Why does it always rain on me?

2010-05-05T13:09:00.000-07:00

“...They pull me back to the present and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.”

A Single Man by Tom Ford

It has been right there

in front of my eyes

my skin wants to Burst with a Rapture o

nly the oldest of the Universe might imagine

Hold me Hold me Hold me

I scream But no body can listen

in this vacuum

of short life expectancy

Can happiness survive the pessimistic logic of the path Life itself is hopping on?

And still.

I believe.

That.

“Someday, he'll come along.”

Saturday night in Utrecht or Where do I go

2010-04-24T14:21:00.000-07:00

“Fog in the channel, Europe unreachable.”

'59 wether forecast, England

It's like this, It was ok.

Just like the other day when they had a fight. The fact she was dead - didn't really change a lot. The blood will be removed from the covers, only a nose bleed. And she will be chopped and actually cremated in the living room. Then I could sell the house. Or not, it would be strangle attractive to make love in the room that you murdered someone in. I mean, not really murdered. More like, helped to get to the much deserved other side.

Hold me. Hold me closer. Yes.

Oh, yes.

Pasta is almost ready. Almost, I say. Never knowing what to do with myself in these last minutes. There is not really enough time to leave and do something else but guarding the stove feels ridiculous.

Like when I wake up and by bed is bathing in the hot summer sun! The breeze running in through the open window. I just remove the covers and let my naked self be taken by mother nature.

I want to hit my hear against the wall until I faint. Or cut my wrists and feel a bit sick while I make myself look at my blood leaving me. Leaving me forever. Then I change my mind and I start drinking it, for I see no other way to take it back in.

And I really want it back in, I change my mind, no death today.

Too late, I say.

Running her fingers through his short hair. You can see the smallest movement of his eyes, very little but they do roll back and yes, they are back, focused. It is also very visible how she can see it too, and she makes another move, just to enjoy that fraction of a moment when his eyes.

Rain.

On Inventing or Do I run in Circles?

2010-04-18T02:16:00.000-07:00

Can we invent something NEW or do we keep reinventing ourselves?

and does specificity remove the demands of the “established” – simply because it has no category to fall under – but when (and if) the category is established are we back in the circle of demanding a – what? – a signature, a fashion?

I noticed a similarity in the biographies of some famous choreographers. They were young and went to school and once they were free of the institutions they spent some time in trying to forget what they learned. In that process they came up with an idea, which in their case, became a hit! Now, in 2010, these people’s names -we- treat as institutions. Which is an interesting thing – because on one side they keep searching for something new and yet you can recognize that something is de Keersmaeker, Forsythe, Bauch or Stuart.

So, what’s the deal?

There is another thing I want to address before I move o

n. And this is an example of Forsythe’s work being tought as repertory. What is being tought as repertory at this day and age is mostly work he did with Ballet Frankfurt in 80s and 90s. And of course, a work like Heterotopia can not be a part of the Repertory Class since the Forsythe company is still touring the piece – but then there is a serious delay we are talking about here. Because what is tought as “contemporary“ is actually 25 years old. Older than I am.

This delay is an example I would like to take in order to

debate my theory on establishing a name. Forsythe is still today creating new works I find much more interesting and exciting for myself no matter how much I adore watching old videos of Sylvie Guillem dancing the lead in In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated. Still, you watch Heterotopia and you know who made it, you know who is standing behind the work. Because the man has developed a style.

This style can, in the same time, put Rosas in La Monnaie - which will evidently invite it’s audience which will dress up and go to see a Rosas piece. And they will still expect, in 2010, a touch of ‘82s Fase. And with this example I can break my brain for de Keersmaeker manages to break my expectations of a Rosas piece but still satisfy my secret desire for a touch of Fase even in her latest work.

But now that Rosas has 30 years experience on stage, it has slowly become a part of Repertory Classes all over the world. Thus drawing the conclusion that from what once was a work that made Martha Graham feel old now puts itself into her shoes. Like Graham was, it is tought to the new generations of young dancers and they are – we are making it a part of our general vocabulary. We are used to it, know it as the fact that the Sun comes up every morning.

Does that put pressure on any of these people, this expectation we have? Does having a style make you bound to reproduce it over and over again? Or does it come naturally, in which case, I don’t really need to worry because I can just dump it in the other box we all know -- which is called The Circle of Life. Which moves us all.

So here we are, the young dancers, trying so hard, to ignore the Circle of Life and invent something new. And the fact is that de Keersmaeker didn’t invent anything new back in the ‘82. She rather took some things she already had from before and put them together in a way that she, and I quote, “liked”. And is this where the style comes from? The fact that I like something and will choose to present it this way or that way, no matter what it is that I am presenting. So even in, lets say, 30 years from now, I will present something else but still in the way I like to present it – which could then be view as something MINE rather somebody elses.

So now that I vaguely made the process of coming to recognising a style clear – I still haven’t cleared up the market situation. For time will tell who’s work people will like to see in 30 years from now and who’s work will be passed on in Repertory Classes. Who’s work will from being specific or new become established and passed on in Class? And who makes that decision?

Funny to say but it just might be The Circle of Life after all.

On Time or How do we Love?

2010-03-27T06:41:00.000-07:00

“To this day I find it hard to gaze directly at people like Hassan, people who mean every word they say.”

Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

What is Fear and are we do our Beliefs make us Oblivious?

But above all - why do I feel like I should know everything and have all under control?

I would like to describe a feeling I carry in my chest at the moment. If you would stand in front of me and look at me, the heaviness would be just behind the sternum bone, leaning somehow to the heart, (so to your right, my left) and taking space that rightly belongs to the air which is about to fill my lungs and start yet another rush of oxygen through my veins. Oxygen that I need in order to live... my life... fully.

I look around myself, a sunny day beyond the window of this “clean-shaven” bar set just a couple of tram-stops away from the centre of Brussels.

People, young and not so young. Children. Families.

The table next to me is occupied by a son, I would say, in his late 50s. Across to him there sits a woman, in her 80s. A mother. Or an aunt. In that case, definitively his mothers sister.

They drink beer. In silence.

She is having the normal Vedett and he is having a Vedett Blanche.

She took her coat off, which I understand since it is warm outside at the moment. Spring has come back yet she still caries her winter coat upon her shoulders, and a heavy sweater. He, on the other hand, wears a striped white-blue shirt, but I can only see the collar since he has a light sweater over the shirt. Dark blue with a light brown stripe horizontally placed across his chest. On top he still has his washed out green-beige jacket.

You can see they are family because of their hair. Anyway, the lady is turned with her back towards me. I can only see her right ear, part of her right cheek and the corner of her glasses.

I see now that it is not a sweater she is wearing but a cardigan. A washed green cardigan on top of a dark blue dress covered in light blue-white pattern of leaves.

Denise, Denise by Blondie.

Their hair is implying grey but on both of them, specially at her age, the implication is still just an implication. You can still strongly that their hair was black and healthy in the 60s when he was only a boy and she a proud mother of two with a successful husband working as a chemical

engineer for a successful Belgian power plant.

She put the bars monthly activity plan under her glass in order to protect the surface of the table.

Every once in a while they speak to each other, smiles on their faces. But then silence falls between them again and he looks around. Worried. Bored. Covering his mouth with his hand, touching his brow with the pointing finger of his right hand.

He got them another beer.

When she is not holding a class she crosses her hands under the table, on her thighs, just above her knees. Once or twice she used her right hand, lazily picked it up from its resting place, to make a gesture while speaking.

I see their mouth open yet no sound is reaching me. Even though I sit close enough to hear.

The sound is overpowered by the light chatter of the people, cups being placed on their little matching plates, cups filled with hot, fresh coffee. Glasses storing fresh orange juice, sparkling water and hot chocolate drinks.

All is hovering in the blinding rays of light coming in through the windows.

If just for a moment all living is stilled while dust is doing its dance, flirting with the Sun.

“And that's the thing about people who mean every word they say. They think everyone else does too.”

To heal a broken heart or Sugar overdose

2010-03-21T03:41:00.000-07:00

“April was a lonely month to spend alone. In April, everyone around me looked happy. People would throw off their coats...”

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Woods

Failure. Total and utter. Complete.

There was a moment when time collapsed and in a whirlpool of a black hole I fell and hooked onto a never ending parade of what?

Disappointment would include expectation - which was not present.

To fall was so easy, because the smile was so..., the only possible thing in the near future was happiness. Tenderness. If only for a moment. But this could have been my mistake. I did want - I do want more of that.

How can you miss that, this moment when all of the Universe aligns and points to one person? Everything is possible. Everything is happening.

And then?

Sorrow. Because you serve your heart of a silver plate - since you already had it prepared, you always have it prepared, you always have to be ready to jump, for the opportunity does not arise too often. And he? Looks at the plate and pokes it. Bewildered. And you look at him using a toothpick. A bloody fucking toothpick!

Who has ever, in the complete history of time, used a toothpick to handle a heart served on a silver plate?!

A toothpick.

Evidently the heart starts to bleed. And instead of pulling it away, you push it even closer. You invest all of your love, all of your trust in the obviousness of the choice, and you bleed.

Keeps coming back to this silver plate, and keeps looking.

He was close. After so many months - he was close.

And he didn't even send a text.

While the heart is getting rotten, blood turning into dust that is slowly blown away by the North Wind, the plate stays silver, sparkling in all its glory. Masterfully crafted by the hope that love is worth the trouble.

It's all about Anna or Suzy, can I call you Suzy?

2010-03-03T12:23:00.000-08:00

“Smoking can kill”

a cigarette package

Raining all night long.

At times you like it, at times it keeps you from falling asleep. Then you can not hear it any more. You can only see silent drops of water sliding down your window. Drops that are breaking the lights of the city. Rainbows. A magic land somewhere far away. You decorate the view with luscious curves of smoke you exhale so tenderly. So softly. So lovingly.

Memories. One with the birthday cake. One with a kiss. One with streets of an unknown city. One with loneliness. Heavily, light stars above the still sea. Dark blue, invisible the distance, it melts with the sky. There you are lying with him. Fragile.

You give in to the passion. The whirlpool of thoughts.

It is the skin that asks for your attention. So awake when all else, but traffic, is asleep.

Butterflies fly no more. They are still. As silent as sheep, warm, wrapped in the softness of they wool coats.

It is me. On a corner. In front of the news-stand. Freshly printed Le post has just been delivered. An older, grey haired, man comes out of the back of a van, throwing bundles of newspaper to the woman in front of the tin box with glass windows. She looks at him, silent. Rain. Hope in her eyes, pain in her look. She longs for him. The ignorant delivery person. The van joins the slow, night traffic when she picks up the new paper that will once again be recycled in a week. She looks after the van one more time. Then sighs and returns to her late night work. Selling newspaper, magazines, postcards, gums and tobacco.

It is the skin that asks for your attention. So awake when all else, but traffic, is asleep.

Butterflies fly no more. They are still. As silent as sheep, warm, wrapped in the softness of they wool coats.

Anna. Anna is my name. Anna, the flat battery. The city is dark. Like the deepest forest of the lands far, far away.

You can hear the sounds. The nature calls. Mating. Loving. Living.

Generation after generation, time passes. Slowly flowing, present.

Your past in your memories. The inability to prove it ever existed. Like smoke. The luscious curves of smoke you exhale so tenderly. So softly. So lovingly. From the deepest depths of your lungs.

The neglected promise vanishes forgotten in the distant past of yesterday.

You light another cigarette.

And you sleep.

Alone.

On Anna or Why do we read?

2010-02-25T12:31:00.000-08:00

“It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.”

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

So you read because so many have done it before you. It is a big read. Heavy. It is most comfortable to sit while reading it. The size doesn't make it, what could be considered - a comfortable read. Bed is out of the question. You rather sit in a big, soft chair, a sofa or your living room couch.

You have heard so much about it that the name gives you goose-bumps but so far you have no personal connection to her. Somehow, you feel the greatness of her image but you yourself haven't met her yet. And so, you do.

And it all goes well, when sweet or sour. You let go and are sucked in.

You see how it demands attention. It is impossible to let go. You give in.

You start wanting it when it's not close and you forget about your life, it is about her now.

And this whirlpool spins and spins, round and round. Like a big, shiny carousel on a hot summer night. Like cotton sugar, ice cream and melted chocolate that sticks to your finger which you then cover with your lips and just let it dissolve into your system. You close your eyes while you do that and celebrate the moment of pure beauty.

And then the train and you freeze but it is not the moment. She somehow ended up taking the train instead. And this is not what you have expected. But then you have no time to think your way out of this confusion when there she is, decision made and her neck so fragile.

The final blow is the moment when she changes her mind. And you follow.

The sudden realization brings her back to consciousness and presents the points of views that were not available before since she is who she is and any other way would be just wrong. And for that her life is taken away from her. By another's decision. Actually.

At the end of the day, it is only a work of fiction.

...that was read by so many.

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family are unhappy in it's own way.”

Lav Nikolajevič Tolstoj, Ana Karenjina

The seed of a peach three - A short story

2010-02-13T14:12:00.000-08:00

There happened a moment in time and space that nobody could explain, not even the little boy that has been eating a ripe peach in the middle of the road on a snowy January afternoon.

As he was biting into the peach the boy thought about the break in time and space continuum and thought about relativity of it all - when all fell silent. He didn't give it a second thought - instead he took another bite and listened to the birds that were flying through the hot air of a sunny morning in the Central Park. He said hello! to the old lady that was feeding the birds with the old bread her husband tenderly stores for he knows how much she appreciates the moment of freedom she imagines the birds feel when they spread their wings and fly away, free, anonymous and

careless - after having eaten for the first time in what might have possibly been - years. She looked at him before he turned his head and took a couple of steps through the water. Biting into the peach he admired the view over the endless rice fields. There were men and women working in the fields under the heavy grey sky. The silence was caressing his ears. There were no birds here.

He closed his eyes and dived into the silence with his mind. In this state he could feel the change when it happened. He opened his eyes to see he was standing on a sand beach and that there is no end to the sea, the calm, deep, blue sea. Taking in all the beauty he bit into the core of the peach, which took him by surprise.

Looking down the road, he smiled - and ran home.

He was just in time for dinner.

On artistry or How to claim your space and time

2010-02-10T14:03:00.000-08:00

“If you want him, come and claim him!”

Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings, the Fellowship of the Ring

You come on stage and do something that nobody else can do. But more than that - finding it inside your self - what is it that I can do that no body else can do?

Technique is something all can achieve, one way or another, it “only” takes hard work and discipline. But then the big test comes. You use your technique for your artistry.

And what the fuck does that mean?!

I do understand the meaning of the words and the meaning of the whole sentence, but the focal point of my research here is the relationship between myself and myself, myself and the crowd, myself and my life, my life and my art.

These are all thoughts in process...

Because at this moment I gather the last couple of months of my life that will soon fulfill it's 21st year of existence which lead to this question -

WHAT - IS - MY - ART?!

And the answer to this question, how ever much I didn't really like to confess is

I - HAVE - NO - FUCKING - IDEA.

I have a lot of clues.

A lot of small opinions, small ideas that I would eventually like to realize, but not at all enough experience in the creative process of - creating - to be able to point at something and say - yes, this is mine. This is what I want to say.

Nothing that I have made so far has hit the point so clearly that I can bet my life on it - and this feels strange to say, for I did believe I made stuff I would be able to bet my life on...

There are traces of ideas that I can trace through basically all the work I have ever made.

And as I see how my work is developing, looking back like 7 years, I can see what I am interested in and I can also understand what I am interested in and why.

But I reacher a point of just waking up on a regular Wednesday and saying - ok, this has to stop. It's all or nothing as from now.

No compromises any longer.

No compromises as in I will not longer use the technique to practice technique but rather to search how do I want to use the technique to discover myself within something else that is not closed within walls of my mind.

And ok, it didn't just dawn upon me on a regular Wednesday. The thoughts have been gathering for a while now, but you think and you try to put the pieces together, then you “give up” and then you let them be - and puff, one day it makes sense.

The way of seeing the world started to change, I have to say.

Because it is no longer satisfying enough to make the yoga position happen, and then just because you can hold it that it makes you satisfied. Every asana becomes a whole different universe that turns your insides upside down.

And what a difference does it make in let's say holding a balance - for this balance is not only a balance of a dance step, it is a balance of your peace inside you that eventually makes it possible to stand on the demi point while doing God knows what with the rest of your body.

And yes, it is not this simple or banal.

It is then that you say - SHIT. I know so much. I have this ridiculous amount of facts stored within the grey mush we tend to call BRAIN but what am I doing with that?! How is it helping me - OR NOT - to live my life?

And this is the scary part I discovered.

It is not helping.

Or, if you look at it in a different way, it is.

It is helping me to hide and to fire back facts and technique whenever I feel compromised and not safe.

And I choose not to hide any longer.

In the end I choose to jump, whether I have a parachute - or not!

On Difficulties or How now brown Cow?

2010-01-23T01:34:00.000-08:00

“I'm going back to New York city, I do believe I had enough.”

Just like Tom Thumb's Blues, Nina Simone after Bob Dylan

What do you do when your actually - lost in Juarez and it's Easter time too. And your gravity fails and negativity don't pull you through.

Working with this feeling of wanting to break something but there are knots holding you down. And when I am not talking about killing someone but rather having the feeling that my own personal freedom has been cut off for the sake of I don't know what... The School. The Rules. The Rules which are misnamed as Universal when actually they apply differently for each Individual when we have already established that there is no actual Individualism - we are a Group - we learn by repetition and we make New by repeating the Old. And this makes me angry. Sad. Lonely. Eager. Disappointed. Very disappointed.

And being disappointed means I had different expectation.

Kind of like talking about the Army yesterday evening. This question of - applying to be a part of an organization which is mainly there for the purpose of war.

Point One - in 2010, with all our internet, science, knowledge, diplomacy - we are still at war. We are still a species who is able to hate and kill. And not only kill for food, territory but also for the sake of it - or even worse - for the pleasure of it - the pleasure of feeling powerful. But isn't this what distinct us from the animal world - the ability to think rationally?

Point Two - in 2010, if you join the army what purpose are you exactly eager to fill? If there is no war, do you join to get ready and then you pump and pump till there is war? So basically you are investing the energy in attracting war? And if there is war and you want to join - so consciously you are going to support this mess of violence, money and power? And not only that but you are consciously getting your self into a life threatening situation?

Which brings me to the Point Three - in 2010, there are still countries that don't have a professional army but they collect penises that just came of age in which they have no choice, no voice but to listen and go. And what about countries that do that even with vaginas? I mean, there you have it, a completely old, completely new notion of Gender. A completely different universe I can not figure out.

There is knowledge enough. And I don't understand how come when you know something and have an idea - the powerful one is so fast in not giving you the time of day - and can actually feel the threat from the idea?!

Why do we keep acting so stupid - is a question that makes me disappointed and mildly depressed - because I see it all the time but I don't UNDERSTAND it. I can not understand as I can understand that 1+1=2. I know the math, and I know that every time I put and apple next to an apple - I will have two apples - and no body gets hurt, no body gets sick, injured, pressured, discriminated.

Reading recommendation - Atonement by Ian McEwan and Lord of the Flies by William Golding.

Lord of the Flies was a book that really hit the soar spot. And it was not the island or the boys or even when they start killing each other - all these things I did expect but the character of Piggy was the one to make the difference. And not because he is the Smart one or even because he is bullied for being fat - but because without his spectacles he is as good as blind - but the spectacles can make fire happen - so they get stolen. They got stolen when the issue of making fire was never really a question - for it was in no ones benefit that there was no smoke signal - and yet the situation let to war and violence and the Reason, the Common Sense were soon as good as gone.

In the end the book only confirmed that it is hard work to be honest, truthful and patient - but it only enhanced the weakness of all there words when it meets the passion of power.

Here I might have a point.

The passion of the honest, humble, simple, the passion of love seeks no proof. And power does. So in order to prove itself it must concur and win - but tell me, reader, who actually cares?

Because it all comes back to us. I am the only one that can really confirm that I won and that I am powerful - but only in weaker peoples fear and more powerful peoples pride. But the most powerful will wont the power of their own. And so we build the world of capitalism, isn't it!?

Even it comes to studying arts.

For money is involved, after all. Subsidies, financial support, scholarships.

And money does make the world go round.

Apparently.

On Love.

2010-01-15T14:56:00.000-08:00

“Come back. Come back to me.”

Atonement, Ian McEwan

Laughter. Laughter.

Days turn into nights.

Sun. Sea. Tasty food. Smell of lavender. Waves. Waves hitting the stone.

Laughter.

The eyes meet under the blinding light. The gaze. Rests.

Nights turn into days.

Laughter. Laughter. Laughter.

They are lying opposite each other. Finally. The window is wide open letting the soft summer breeze cool their overheated bodies. Hands are being held. Eyes closed.

Lips and being thought of. But no body moves.

He is opening his eyes. Seeing her in front of him, so close, brings a smile to his face. A calm, content smile. The corner of his lips widen but they don't part. Slowly, heavily breathes out. Closes his eyes.

Moves his head carefully ever-so-slightly forwards. Rests.

Time. The breeze licks her for a second, cold air, surprise. Opens her eyes.

Moves her head towards him. A bit. Like nothing happened.

Bites her lip. But he sleeps. So tonight, she is guessing, is not the night.

Oh the sweet sorrow of time. Impatient. Clumsy.

Holds his hand even tighter even though the temperature is... de-concentrating.

Time. Eyes get tired.

Just one last look at him. He moves forwards. So close. But he sleeps.

She closes her eyes.

He moves closer. There it is. He can feel the air coming from her lungs to his lips. So close.

This air that fills my longs has just left her.

Has just left her.

All the hair on his body rises in a single moment.

All the hair on her body rises in a single moment.

The lips. Almost there. So he is not asleep.

I know they are there. Just in front of me. I just need to move... No.

Not yet.

Let me feel your breath. Let me hear your heartbeat.

There is no wind. There is no sound. The sea is still. The moon is gone.

Only stars.

Calm. All relaxes. All sinks into the soft bed sheets.

Only the slightest movement. Tip of the nose.

Rest.

Rest there and feel the satisfaction of the skin. This particle of the skin on the tip of your nose.

Rest.

And then. Then. The tips of the lips made an electrical response between the bodies. Rests. Rests there. Rests.

And sleeps.

Next to me.

On Life or What is 2010?

2010-01-07T10:37:00.000-08:00

“Letters are just pieces of paper,” I said. “Burn them, and what stays in your heart will stay; keep them, and what vanishes will vanish.”

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

I have been troubled by the notion of not taking responsibility.

But first I want to say something about the ability to raise an argument. I am doing my best in not trying to prove a point. But I am trying to understand how do some things work, as far as my knowledge allows me, and then simply question it. I don't find myself capable or razing what would I call a serious argument but still I learn by trying. Sure thing, I have opinions of different kinds but even them I do not hold close to my heart as in I would be part of a revolution. With my opinions I try to have a relationship. I test them and they survive - or not - and we all live happy. It is a constant flow of thought.

Only some specific emotion, ones I can not really describe, transcend the realm of all I can name and became something I don't even want to name if I see that the person I am talking to does not know them him or herself.

Writing is a kind of a new thing for me. I am still searching for a way of how to deal with it. I am searching to ways to compose. I am searching for ways to put ideas together and verbalize them. Verbalizing ideas is a process I find quite exhilarating. I am starting to have a desire to know more words, to know this language better so I can point to some things more precisely and in a more sensual way... somehow.

Funnily enough when thinking about writing I rarely think about writing in my mother tongue.

Going back to today's burning point.

As I already said, it has been the taking the responsibility or should I better say - avoiding the responsibility was the thing that started a line of questions that I still can't figure out. For not only does it happen in politics - and this alone is bad enough considering how much we depend on it - but it also happens in the academy I attend, an art school which is teaching art - so what could go wrong there? And it is precisely this expectation that I had that made it so big for me.

So many times have I seen that there's a problem and in dealing with it only the surface is taken care of. We clean only the visible. We correct only the most demanding piece of the problem. The rest can go on till somebody else steps on it and tries to make a change.

This way the problem is never solved and is never taken care of completely but lingers around forever.

But the most interesting moment actually occurs when one comes and tries to dig in - and someone protects the problem (usually a persona in a high position which feels threatened or maybe jeopardized!). At this point it stops being about the problem but about the egos - and this might be an interesting point. The Ego and How do I protect the weak thing I stand for?

For is it not that when you are a person who knows who she or he is - that the need to prove oneself or protect - completely disappears? But then who is so “strong” as to say that a mistake was made?

And talking from personal experience, and I am still only learning, the first time I dumped my ego and admitted a mistake was challenging but that was it. All the pain and agony I was expecting never came across. But still, it was difficult to make the decision and jump into the unknown space.

I think in circles nowadays but - it is more and more clear that the “circle of life” is not a fairy tale. All somehow does manage to intertwine and support and import and export but ... ah ... I guess one can also go into morality at this point.

Simple thought - even though the question I am seeking for lies hidden beneath a lot of mess.

Humanity and moral. What is moral?

And how did we get to ask the question of moral.

But I will not go into moral at this point even though I did want to point it out. Silly.

There are moments in lives in each and every one of us, I sincerely believe this, that we get to make a choice - a choice between doing it the easy way or the presumably the more complicated way. And why do we tend to choose the laziness over work? Why do we tend to choose shortcut even though in the end it is the longer and physically more demanding way? Why do we choose to make it shorter - even if the time span didn't allow us to go all the way so the thing falls apart and you need to do it all over again making the time of work double, triple and so on?

Why do we choose to do something that we don't really want to do and then we do it half way?!

Because in the end it is about making personal choices. It is about making decisions. And dealing with expectation. Our own or our own that we disguise in our mom's.

---> And seriously, I don't believe that the amount of people that does not make choices but f*** around is the actual amount of people who, for different reasons, CAN'T make choices.

On Time or Christmas is all around

2009-12-08T00:51:00.000-08:00

“I want to know God's thoughts; the rest are details.”

Albert Einstein

OK, today it is TIME itself that makes me wonder. Here I am, dead tired at the night of the year when all is asleep. All I want to do is rest for a while when life is full of schedules that just go on and push, completely insensitive towards the human part of people. Somehow only we, the glorious human kind, pretend that winter is not slower than summer, only we try to ignore the obvious natural biorhythm that tells us to lower our speed, ponder for a while.

It is hard to articulate thoughts on time when time is being so ... relative.

When I was younger that 14 I remember how time would never pass. Every second took eternity for it's short life and there were so many seconds to live through. Christmas to Christmas was getting longer the closer Christmas got. And the dinner before opening the Christmas gifts was the longest dinner one could ever imagine going through.

And then something shifted. All of a sudden now I am surprised that we are already in another December, facing yet another Christmas. My 21st Christmas on this Earth, in this life.

I guess that this shift comes from my eternal efforts in living HERE and NOW. Doing that my seconds no longer seam as eternity which would eventually make it bad. On the contrary, they seam to be specks of time that I get to live through. And every new second is great because it can remind me that I am not dead. Yet.

It has a lot do to with death. For as I told somebody the other day, you really, honestly, even realistically, can not know which one of these moments will be the last one for you. You can not know when the lights will go of for you.

Which makes me be happy for all the new seconds I get to go through.

This beautiful thought about loving each and every second of my life gets less present at times like these, when I am so full of life that I could just throw up right here and now, when I'm lying in my bed, thinking about the ballet class I didn't even refuse to go to. My body just stayed in bed and I joined in on the party of slow reading and extra sleeping. When my thoughts are running around, completely free, with no one to take care of them and clean the mess they make. When every moment of the day is so heavy for the lack of sleep I am experiencing. When I am so clumsy that I break stuff and hit people and door frames because I don't even bother to estimate the distance... Then the second stops being a blessing and becomes a race, a countdown.

Which makes it, funny enough, pass slower.

The attempt to make it more clear follows.

Living in the present is a practice that makes life actually pass more quickly. And with more satisfaction. I mean, it makes ME feel like that.

But why is that, I don't know. What did figure out goes somehow like this.

The Past is memories.

The Future is hopes, expectations, ideas - basically thoughts.

And the Present is HERE, in my bed, with my computer, and NOW, at the moment, with each letter I time into my computer my pressing different keys on my keyboard.

The Past and the Future are inevitably a part of who I am in the Present. Which does not mean that I need to pay extra attention to them.

But if time is relative (which I know nothing about actually, and now I am sticking to my thoughts on spiritual part of human life) then the Past, the Present and the Future are actually the same moment. They all are here and now.

They are I.

And my ability to be here and have a memory and an idea.

So basically, whether I want it or not, I am only ever truly connected and experiencing this second. This one present second.

Then I try to ask why would I ever want to run away to my past of my present? When anyway they are here with me all the time. Whether I want it or not.

And to go back to throwing up over the schedule, over the house, over the commercialism of art in a way.

Somehow this all helps me to remember that all I ever can do is my best in each and every second I spend on this Earth. And my best changes influenced my all these things around me for if I live here and now my experience of here and now becomes so much more intensive. I have more strength but also I get more tired. And all of that I do for love.

So I finish for I need to go back to the schedule.

(No hard feelings... ;) )

“ Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of a genius -- and a lot of courage -- to move in the opposite direction.”

Albert Einstein

On Living or Do you remember Mrs Dalloway

2009-11-27T07:06:00.000-08:00

“Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.”

Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway

You can always only do your best.

And sometimes this is so hard. So amazingly hard.

Because your best is just so small compared to everything out there.

But somewhere, somebody is watching. And caring about what you do.

And at that point your best changes the world.

It is so much about support.

It is all about support.

I think it is not only the world of art that holds so much expectation, pressure and pain. We fight all the time. And bite and work and sweat and learn new things and the more you know the less you know. So hard to deal with this.

And seeing others that don't care nearly as much but still get by, day by day, just hurts so much.

And who can actually say that “they” don't care as much, who am I to judge!?

Living calmly, centered, healthy and with the Universe.

This life is not made for living this way.

And still I want no compromise.

I need to be reminded because I forget.

And to remind myself is so hard.

So I search for support.

I search for support all the time.

Sex,Gender,Sexuality or How I enjoy bending the Rules

2009-11-21T00:32:00.000-08:00

“The category of sex is the political category that founds society as heterosexual.”
Monique Wittig, one of the opening quotes of Gender Trouble by Judith Buttler

The process of socialization is making us apply the role of men to all human bearing the gift of a penis and the role of women to all human bearing the gift of a vagina.
What I want to imply here is that Sex is not Gender. (And later, Sex or Gender are not Sexuality)

So many things this could lead into.

One is born a child with a Sex - with an organ implying that later in life this child will or will not grow a beard. But somehow the Society decided, somewhere down the long line of history, that the same organ will decide for the child (opposite to the child making the decision on it's own) whether to wear pants or a skirt, whether to wear his hair long or short and whether to have intercourse with another man or a woman - all notions that concert the Gender and Sexuality - and not the Sex.

To break it apart even more.

What's in the name?
We like to name things. We like to give names to things and then we like to expect these things to do as they were named. And it is this expectation that makes me go - “Well, fuck that.”
The constant burden of expectation is something we keep dealing with all the time. There are numberless examples in my memories that I could name now - only you could too and would do it better - scenes from school, scenes from the dinner table, scenes from meeting the elderly, the more important, the more beautiful, the more smart, the more - it seams that everybody is a bit more that you are at any given moment in time. And space for that matter.
And it only becomes far more personal when it comes to finding what does it mean to be your Gender and choosing and expressing your Sexuality. Because what Butler states and I love is that Gender is PERFORMED. And I would even dare to pull it as far as saying that WE are the PERFORMANCE of ourselves in any given point in time or space. For everything that I do is an act of my will that I manifested in time and space by my body - and this is the same line I could use to explain what I do on stage when I perform my dances.

To go a bit back at this point.

So the child has been born. It is given it's sex by it's organ which makes it a HIM* or a HER*. The it will be raised to live up to his or hers gender. He will learn to act as a BOY* and she will learn to act as a GIRL*. And then the boy and the girl will get all messed up in the fight called puberty when they will both start to find out their sexualities. In most cases they will realize that they only feel attracted to the person of the opposite sex thus becoming heterosexual*. Some will find themselves as homo*-, bi*-, trans*-, a*- or simply sexual. And specially since these are still considered as minorities in the world of sexuality - performing those might become even a bigger deal than performing your heterosexual role that is, by now, so familiar a role. And all of these sexualities have expectations of their own - and to be accepted you must follow the rules of whatever country you want to join.

(* names...)

Which finally leads me to popping the today's question.
What happens when you don't find yourself fit any of these categories?

For one, you start not fulfilling the expectations of your role which is always difficult to deal with - on the side of the individual - because the Society has a way of dealing with things it can not recognize and the system will have Society back up and running in no time.
It is like in the villain text - the Society is the one holding the Power. Questioning the Power makes the one holding it feel threatened and creates the need of eliminating the source of the problem. Which is, in a way, only natural - depending on who is the one holding Power and how did he gain it. (ex. Monarchy vs. Democracy - Hetero vs. Homo)

But that aside, I want to focus on the individual. Finding out who you are is more important (for me) that fitting the grid. Even though it sometimes calls for fighting the grid. Because the grid, the rigorous Society will search for ways to test you, to put you down and make you become silent and “content”. It will promise you the world in order to come and join, it will make you work for that so hard, but in the crucial moment it will not let you voice out your thoughts but will cage them for as long as is needed - for your thoughts to become the thoughts of the grid.

But my argument here is that there is space for all of us. I guess what I want to say is that there is space for Individualism inside the Society. Because the Individualism is not against Society most of the time. It only reacts when attacked, to protect itself. And in fact, it is more silent and less demanding that Society itself.
The same goes for expecting me to be a heterosexual man that acts accordingly. I am a man. Obviously. I like that my hormones make my body grow a beard and I like wearing that beard. But I also like being a feminist. And why would one exclude the other?

So.

Basically, it is the fight for the Freedom of Thought-Speech-Act.
And this is a fight that will only grow more louder as the Society starts going through a change. Because Individualism is growing stronger. And yet another sexual revolution is upon us. We are going to learn to name things for what they are. Sex being Sex, Gender being Gender and Sexuality being Sexuality. And we are going to deal with all the new possibilities that naming things properly will put forth.

And I am not saying that it is not a lot of work - but it is work that will make us work better together. It is work that promotes compassion, acceptance, equality and support.
Ideas that have a history of trying to be fully employed. But have not been able to do so, and do it ever so fully. Not yet.

P.

To do it or Not to do it

2009-11-13T08:03:00.000-08:00

“Look for God. Look for God as the man with his head on fire looks for water.”
Elizabeth Gilbert, “Eat, Pray, Love”

I have been looking for God for so long. Then I met him and we became friends. Then I started to see how my life is changing. I have been becoming calmer, safer. I didn't feel lonely anymore. And I have started to ask questions about what I want and how do I want to do that. Was I happy or was I said. I was trying to write this huge article on pleasure but that will have to wait because NEWSFLASH, my faith in myself got tested today. So tested.
And it survived and is still alive and well.

It is usually the moment when I feel that I have learned something new in my life, something spiritual, most often, and got it into practice - that the feeling get's tested. Immediately is usually when I get a stone put in front of myself - as if life is saying: “So you think you can dance. Let me see you dance, then!” Well, today I did my dance. My decision, which was supposed to be the smallest and the most quiet turned out to rock my life. When I was caught leaving a class and asked why I didn't say “Because I'm tired.” but instead I said the real reason which is implying that I know a thing or two about rhythm and dance, that I am making a decision for myself in a place I was not supposed to be making decisions for myself. It implied that I had a wish and that I was going for it. (The article I gave up on for a moment is precisely about making a wish and feeling worthy of making the wish. Then going for it. Or not.)
In the face of a theater drama performance about me being like this and like that and where did I get the idea I could make this decision is where instead making a run or agreeing and letting go of everything I believed in - I stood up for myself, calmly, and with pride.

I was calm. And I said what I was thinking about. And I was calm.

Surely you can imagine what are the consequences I have to deal with after receiving a sentence like “If you ever wanted to make an enemy of someone, well, now you made one.”...
But let me ask you - aside the discussion - “enemy”... “enemy” ... I don't want to make an enemy of anyone! But I do want to be able to express what I feel.

I am not the most literate today and basically what I want to get across is that this moment is hard. This moment in which you make a decision and go for it and even when you could run your life into a hard, brick wall - makes so much sense! Being calm makes you firm and this makes the other person crazy, so now I have an enemy, but I stood up and I had a point and it feels great!

I was talking about responsibility! Now I can connect to that - this is the point when responsibility tends not to feel good. It doesn't feel comfortable. I could jeopardize my place in this school, for a start. Which is basically why all the rest of my life works (school gives the certificare, the commune takes the certificate, gives out a viza. school gives scholarship, scholarship pays apartment. and so on...)...

But is all of that worth being in the school where a teacher makes an enemy of you for making a statement, a decision, a wish?!
Well, I will answer this one for you - NO!

What is compassion or On the villain

2009-10-31T06:24:00.000-07:00

"To me, Yassi was the real rebel. She did not join any political group or organization."
Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran

Thinking about who is the villain led me to understanding the words I read in this book - Nafisi describing the villain being a person without ability of compassion. The person who can only see one way and then digs and throws bombs without ever thinking it over.

I first started thinking about the villain not so long ago when I asked myself how can some people be so stubborn. Remembering how many times I was called this way, I saw that there is a difference to the ways stubbornness can be performed.
Let me go this way. Originally I would call one stubborn when one is not giving up on the idea no matter how much others try to change one's opinion. Then I dug a bit deeper and asked myself why would one want to push his way so much.
Next thing I conclude that basically there are two possibilities.

Firstly (and more often) one has an idea or a stand. Let's say one is fighting for more floor work classes. He or she at this point can only see that he or she is not satisfied with the amount of the given classes that are on the schedule and he or she is really firm in trying to change this. He or she goes off and starts fighting. He or she does not react on feedback and is only protecting his stand when challenged. The arguments tend to be simple and they tend to illustrate one's one point of view.
Secondly one has an idea or a stand. Let's say one is fighting for more floor work classes. He or she at this point think about the reasons he or she is interested in having to spend more hours being on the floor, he or she is considering how floor work is influencing the physicality of oneself and what kind of influence it will have on one's body considering one's spending more time on his feet at the moment. He or she will consider what is the greater influence of the floor work on one's, for example, career. After all this consideration one is going to consider the say of the institution appointing the classes to him or her, he or she will consider then is the institution the right institution for oneself (maybe there are other places in the world appointing more floor work by default) and then he or she might even think about writing he before she every time they are mentioned. Lastly she or he will even consider that the classes that are holding the majority on the schedule at the moment actually have a say in the floor work department and make more sense considering the floor that the actual floor work itself.

Having said all this - I think I made my point and will move into adding the First and the Second the notion of Power.

I mean, I understand that when you have power you have to make choices that concern a lot of people, in the institution, for example. And that hopefully you gained power by experience, hard work and knowledge. (And love.) This way of gaining power would make me have trust in the person, institution responsible for making the decisions.

OK, now I also see different combination's - the First being in power, but the First being the follower (and getting the idea - trying to gain power?) and the Second being in power, and the Second being the follower - and the different combination's of them together.
In the ideal world all would be the Second but in the real world how do we deal when encountering the First.

Simple situation - a group of people working of a common goal. They talk, they consider, they move forward until one decides that the group in not moving in the direction he (or she) finds worthy - here we get to the point of conflict.
We have the First that is looking forward to gaining power over the group (for whatever reasons - that's another story) and the Group, the combination of weaker Firsts and Seconds - and a stronger Second that might already have a bit of Power (since more experience, knowledge -or love- could have made the group instinctivly give him more say in the matters of moving forward). Basically the conflict is between the First, the Second - and the Group supporting an opinion over the other.
Politics.
Why I find this interesting in because the First tends to start fighting because it is less Democrativ, less Compromising
and has less possibility of Compassion to see that the common goal is Common goal and the one making the decisions is the Group instead of the individual - he seeks of Power - and this is maybe actually a text on Power instead of Compassion. But to get back to the Compassion.
One of the reasons why I see the Second being trusted by the Group is because the Second can think for the Group. He values different opinions and is able to consider them all, pick the most suitable one and then point it out - which would possibly be recognized by the Group and would lead into this whole mess because the First would get jealous because the Power is not in his garden. Because of the lack of more than one thing, the First starts to fight and he starts to build his Power with repression. What he counts on (or not, because he can't see it) (or she) is that the more Liberal Second is going to give in to the argument for it does NOT benefit the Group's moving forward. The Second's Compassion, Liberalism makes him weaker in the face of the Hammer Power.

Which finally leads me to the point of the Second finding it's way (to settle the gender argument) to Power and Lead.
Nafisi is describing countless moments of women fighting for their rights, Women against the Veil.
But the one in Power is the First, it is the Villain. It is the one pushing his own ways and the one with no Compassion - even as much to consider the fact that our sex organ does not give us more Power - unless me make it that way -

which in the end leads me back to the notion of Gender.
But Gender is here ( in my mind) all the time, so let's finish the Power of the First and Second.

Hopefully I will now go back to something I might have mentioned before.
At the moment the Second can ether adapt to the ways of the First and fight the fuck back
OR
it has to consider another way, a way much harder to deal with, for it implies all of us taking our own responsibility for ourselves. One can come and make a revolution for a better world but the First's will still exist in 50 years if we don't teach the notion of Responsibility.
Because even if the First would consider the ways of both the First and the Second - and then consciously choose the ways of the First - I could live with that because it would mean that I could make my own choice and move away - if I wouldn't like being with a First.
But somehow I feel that if all would be able to see both and make a choice - that all would choose the Second. Which would inevitably lead to a better world. A world where people make choices and answer to them, being good or bad. And of course not all can make good choices all the time but then the bad choices would be more clear with teaching us something - the one who makes a bad choice and bravely takes the effects of it and another who witnesses the process and can make a conclusion.

And wouldn't that possibly be, not necessarily an ideal world, but a better world for all of us to live in?!

P.

On Building Walls or What good will that do?

2009-10-25T05:08:00.000-07:00

“It is the East and Juliet is the West!” followed by “Juliet is the Sky and I am the Sun!”

Nature Theater of Oklahoma, “Romeo and Juliet”

Seriously. Vulnerability.

What does it mean to live your life full on? To breathe so deeply that you get dizzy? Look at the Sun right between it’s eyes? Swim naked in the wildest of the oceans?

What does it mean to be free?

Freedom is my next question.

What does it mean to be free?

Back in school I was made to read books. I was made to read books from the list of literature that was considered appropriate. I had no problem with “Anna Karenina” or “Romeo and Juliet”. But there were so many books that would just make me go dull. Books that were obligatory and I just had to go through them. I felt so sad when I had to spend time on reading books that didn’t make me interested, I would feel like I was not picking anything up. Not a single word. No emotion, image or idea.

Then there were subjects like physics. It was not physics itself that was the problem. It was the endless hours I would have to spend sitting in a classroom full of people talking, the poor teacher trying to be louder and get some order in the room.

And then there were sentences like “You are too young to understand that”. This one is still very painfull for I tend to be the youngest in the group.

The day I graduated from high school (it was middle of the summer, a year before my generation would go through the same process) I took my diploma and took the tram home. I showed the diploma to my parents and got kissed by both of them. Then I asked if they would let me celebrate which they gladely accepted. They were very surprised when I picked some books from the shelfs, went to my bedroom and spent 3 days eating and reading whatever I wanted to read!

And at that moment I felt free. I felt so free. Because I was the one making my own decisions. I was making decisions on who’s thoughts were entering my head, on what form I was reading and who the characters were.

The part about making decisions I love the most is that I am the one taking all the responsibility. I am the one who will be influenced by my decision – and it will be good or it will be not so good – in any case I can say I did it and I can take “the blame” – for both, good or bad.

After making the decision it usually goes good and this good is the best GOOD in the world because you, or in this case, I – made it happen.

And then the questions came – How will you do that? Isn’t it hard? What if it goes wrong? But that’s so far from here? Wouldn’t you prefer to do something else?

Which leads me to the question of protection of the person asking the question...

Basic Thoughts on Life or Why go through all the trouble

2009-10-24T04:09:00.000-07:00

“If you really love me then let's make a vow. Right here, together, right now. OK? OK.”
The opening scene of Me You and Everyone We Know by Miranda July

The simplicity is one of the things that counts. Why? Because simplicity implies honesty. Why?
OK, thinking composition and being annoyed by the chair I am sitting on. The internet is not working properly in this bar, and my home will be internet-less for 5 more days so guess I just have to deal with it.
I am sitting here and thinking how to start? Where are all the ideas now that I actually decided to try and share my thoughts with the unknown. It is catching the moment of inspiration and letting the chain of thoughts run for this is how I like to write. I myself rarely read what I wrote. Somehow I like to let it run out and have somebody else continue the chain. This is why the idea of blogging hit me as interesting a couple of days ago when a friend came along and said “Hey, I got offered to write a blog for a Swedish radio station or whatever”. Obviously, he is Swedish.
I, on the other hand, am Croatian.
But to continue the thought, blog blog blog. So here I am, writing my first post.
Then I was thinking what do I have to say in my first post - and that was painful. Life, death, all the great love stories, rain, Rain, ... But how about the start itself?!

One of the questions that came across my mind while thinking about joining the blog community was commitment. Can I actually come and become a regular, posting a text once a week and be persistent - considering all the reading I want to do, photo taking and the biggest challenge - the busy busy dance student schedule. Because commitment is one of the ideas that I ponder about a lot lately. The other being responsibility. To take you through a composition workshop idea - How does a process of creation start and becomes realized. What are the possibilities? So the way I would work is mostly having an idea, an image, and then working on making it happen. But then I got a task - go and create a theme, a movement phrase, for example. And stay with it. See how it evolves and where does it take you and how does it grow.
Basically, commit to the process instead the product.
And then I started to work on it. I couldn't start being surprised how pushy the guy (leader of the workshop) was in making me go through the process until I found an interesting thing. The first day of the workshop my dancers for the week made their dance phrases and I decided and made a structure and it all functioned well. The other day I came back and said to my dancers to bare with me and forget what we have spent a lot of time on and start again working only with their movement. A couple of hours later we had 2 minutes of raw material that made my eyes fill with tears and yesterday, Friday, late in the afternoon, just before finishing off the week the material brings us to an end, to the end of the piece and we have ourselves a little history.
And then I go and say yes, this is it, this is it.

Commitment is a heavy thing. But it makes sense. Like being in a relationship, you can put up walls and protections of all kinds and live a happy life. But how happy that life really is, then. Going through with commitment, on the other hand, makes you constantly revalue your opinion and your beliefs for the sake of the other and for the sake of you mutual respect, growth and life.
And I find that a good thing.
It keeps you up to date.
Keeps you fresh and alive.
And this small victory makes it worth the while.
...
There are more thoughts now on making some of my statements more specific ... but hey.
The first post is only the introduction, right?!

P.