Un tu?

Es vēlētos dzīvot pasaku namiņā, kas atrodas meža vidū. Tas iebūvēts zābakā. Jā, zābakā! Kurpju šņores kalpotu kā žalūzijas. Tās dienā varētu atvērt ielaist nelielu saules staru, kas ieceļotu caur koku zariem. Bet naktī aizvērt, lai mēness gaisma nekož caurumus ciešā miega sapņos. Netālu varētu dzirdēt nelielas upes ūdens straumi, kā tas nesas lejā pa ūdens kritumu. Zābaka augšu mēs aizšūtu ciet, lai lietus un sniegs nekrīt uz galvas, un, lai skudras nezog brokastis no galda. Mums būtu nelielas kāpnes, kas vestu līdz guļamistabas logam, lai pēc nakts pastaigām var doties pa taisno uz sapņu zemi. Pirmajā stāvā mums būtu glauna dzīvojamā istaba, kur mēs uzņemtu viesus. Tai būtu aitādas paklājs, lai pēdām allaž silti. Un uz maza galdiņa vienmēr būtu karsta un pilna tējas kanna. Tai blakus nelielas, trauslas porcelāna tasītes, un saldummīļiem, svaigas īrisa konfektes. Mēs klausītos latviešu tautas dziesmas, kas spēlētu vecā radio kastē. Mums būtu iedomīgs kaķis, kas sēdētu istabas stūrī un vērotu visus ar niķīgu skatu. Mēs pa dienu ietu lasīt sēnes un ogas, vakarā dzertu tēju, bet naktī mēs sapņotu par to kā būtu, ja būtu. 

Fata Morgana

It's like in the story of the devil and the boy. They were counting to ten, and before they even begun I could tell you that the devil will cheat and that the boy will lose. But how does it really work? Don't you become the loser the moment you break the rules? How about the unwritten rules? Either way, the boy lost and his soul was probably transferred into devil's account. Not that the kid gave a fuck anyway.

So from here we lose count. It doesn't matter what we were counting, why we were counting, ... All that is just useless background information. It's like a mirage, it's there, but it isn't. It's a fata morgana. Illusions appear in our lives without special invitations, they just come and go as they please. The uncomfortable part is that we don't always know if things are real or not. Mostly we assume that everything is either real (like a young child would), or we assume that everything is fake (like a pessimist would). This brings us to a question - in this story, was the devil real? Or was he real only because the perspective we had was that of a kid. Maybe the devil was never there! (?)

Stories

Stories they tell. They all have stories that need to be told, but very few of them ever say a word.
And there they all stand, trying to communicate with people with non-verbal signs.
I would love to hear all your stories! Speak up you fools!!!

Cuz I'm Going Crazy

This is just another story about an ordinary girl who lost her mind. This is no story. This is a simple statement, no story. This girl did not simply become crazy. She was crazy ever since she could remember herself. She was different, unique, useless. She was scared. She knew that one must let go of certainties, one must step out of the comfort zone, but she never took action. She knew how to do things, and once she knew something, she knew it well. She was good at the things she did. And she knew that she could do a lot more. She could do less, but she could also do more. She could tackle higher walls, she could build even higher ones. She'd be capable to do anything that she really wanted to do.

But she plays it safe, she is stuck in a routine. But she gets out of her shell every now and then. She leaves it all behind, if just for a day. Just to see something she has not seen before. Because the more she sees, the less she knows.

It's a simple statement. She is alone, and that is the way she wants things to be. There is no room for pity, there is no space for excuses, there is nothings that she hasn't heard. She has seen more than one can imagine. She has experienced things that can not be described, good and bad. She is lost, but she knows that she's lost. She wants things to change. Things change all the time, just not the ones she'd like to change. Turns out she can't control everything. She feels disappointed, and sad.

However, sometimes she knows how to let go. There are times when she is happy, sometimes for little reason, or no reason at all. Sometimes the reasons are good, meaningful. Now she is happy that she will be once again gone from life's hassles for some days. She will be all by herself, just the way she loves it. She will be still in her comfort shell, but in another location. She will be gone psychically and mentally.

So thanks for dropping by,
call again when I'm back.

Migrating Fox

It's been dull, rainy all day; just the way I love it. But I spent most of the day inside anyway. I was at work. It always sucks to go back to work after a holiday.. Even when the holidays aren't long (like mine, usually short and sweet!!). The days are getting shorter, it's already getting dark outside now, and it's just almost seven in the evening. It's poker night tonight. I don't really know why I keep attending poker nights. It seems so vague, so shallow and empty. But somehow they fill up an entire evening almost every week. Some part of all that experience even fuels me.. in a way that can not be explained. My holiday was so short, but it seems like I was gone for at least two weeks. I am so recharged, a part of me has reborn, and I feel like an entirely new being. I can feel my pulse, and I can feel myself living, rather than existing. But my job brings me down. To be straight forward, my job is depressing to it's last molecule. Every bit of it is plain sad. I try to be positive, but I realize how pathetic it feels. I live for little things, the things that step by step are losing meaning, step by step my priorities change. And I often find myself at a state where I do not care about anything at all. There are moments where nothing has meaning, I feel as if life is an empty shall that simply lies on the shore, waiting to be washed away. What is life really? Is it a game? Or is it a book, that has already been written? I don't know how I view the concept of life.

Life is fiction..

Is it?

Wicklow Mountains

"Jāj pa ceļu pasaciņa."

Pastāsti lūdzu man pasaciņu par ziliem ziloņiem, brēcošām govīm un uzzīmētiem kaķēniem. Esmu vēl bērns, tā kā raugi, lai pasaks beigas ir gaišas.

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