SOIL
Thu-3-Oct-2013



Da li iko zaista ima pojma koliko je bitan sopstveni prostor?

To može da bude sobièak 2x2 ili 10x veæi, kako god, ali ti znaš da je to tvoj prostor, tvoja èetiri zida, gde možeš da odeš kad god poželiš i povratiš izgubljenu snagu i koliko-toliko nadogradiš nerve koje ti okolina nemilice i svakodnevno secka.

Taj prostor može da bude i iznajmljen, ne mora èak ni da se vodi kao tvoj u papirologiji. Ti ga održavaš i samo ti tu boraviš. Tu je tvoj miris, tvoje stvari koje su složene ili razbacane po nekom sistemskom haosu kome samo ti znaš poredak.

Zamisli da to nemaš. Zamisli da, kada se oseæaš najiznurenije, najumornije, frustrirano van svake mere i granice i samo želiš da budeš sam sa sobom, negde privremeno odseèen od iritantnih humanoida, to ne možeš da ostvariš jer prosto nemaš taj prostor. Èak ni 2x2. Ništa.

Jasno, imaš porodicu, neku, takvu kakva je. Imaš prijatelje koji æe uvek biti tu za tebe. Možda imaš i nekog friend with benefits. Ali ti u datom trenutku ne želiš da budeš u njihovom društvu i da sa njima deliš energiju i konverzaciju jer si u minusu, a budimo realni - ništa nije džabe.

I zamisli da tako funkcionišeš godinama, bez te jedne, naizgled minorne stvari, a koja ti je zapravo preko potrebna. Do koje granice može da se napreže tvoj organizam pre nego što poène da puca po šavovima? Do koje mere tvoj um može da odmereno procesuira situacije pre nego što ti sve prekurèi?

I šta se dešava kada shvatiš da si prešišao granicu svoje izdržljivosti i da nemaš pojma šta te to drži tako fascinantno stabilnim? Tvrdoglavost? Inat? Neka viša sila?

Ali ništa ne traje veèno. I boga pitaj da li si uopšte stabilan.

A ti i dalje gaziš napred dok Mašinerija odnosi najlepše komade tvog biæa u nepovrat.

I onda doðe neki napièeni, popio-sam-pamet-svetu kurajber (potajno teško iskompleksiran, ali psst) i poène da te osuðuje što si groteskno sarkastièan, hladno praktièan i nedajbože bezoseæajan (i nedajbože religiozno indiferentan!). I kako, zaboga, može da te ne interesuje neravnopravnost rasa, polova i seksualnih orijentacija?!?

Naravno da te interesuje. A ponajviše globalno zagrevanje.

Onda doðeš u situaciju da naletiš na neku napaæenu dušu istu ili sliènu kao ti, a koja, naravno, od tebe oèekuje da uneseš živost i raznovrsnost u vašu "konekciju". Šalje ti mentalnu poruku "Ja se bojim da se otvorim, znaš... Potrudi se malo jbt!", a ovamo je sve OK i sve je do jaja. Taman posla da ti kreneš da se povlaèiš, iako u tebi sve vrišti "UMORAN SAM, SAMO ÆUTI I BUDI TU", ali naravno to neæeš reæi jer istog momenta kada priznaš da ti je neko potreban, naleteo si na tanak led.

I naravno, posle svih onih promašaja gde si svoje srce postavio kao pikado tablu na izvol'te, držiš se bezbedne udaljenosti. Džaba ti bilo - ono malo što je ostalo u tebi i što te iole èini ljudskim biæem, ovog puta mora da se zasluži. "Prema tome, sreæo, i ti se malo potrudi", mentalnom porukom i ti odgovaraš.

Ali retko kad, pa skoro nikad, nailaziš na pozitivan odgovor. Sledstveno tome, vraæaš se na prvobitan, poznat teren - vetrometinu, koju bezbedno gaziš i zadovoljno mrziš.

A najbolje je, zaista, taj svoj "prostor" naæi u drugoj osobi. Jeb'o prostoriju i zidove kad neko konstantno može da te nosi u sebi i èuva k'o malo vode na dlanu.

Meðutim, što bi moji drugari rekli - life is a bitch and then you die.

Uzdravlje.
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To You
Mon-23-Sep-2013



Y' know, we can get old and bitter, but that inner child is indestructible. We both know it, but not many people really understand it.

Then you ask yourself:
Za èije babe zdravlje ja sve ovo!?
And I'll always tell you:
Ni za èije, samo za tebe.
Loving yourself when the world has gone to shit is the greatest achievement. You know I'm not talking about narcissism or egoism. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

I miss that, you know. For ages and eons we try to explain stuff to others, but they never really get it, no matter how much we simplify it. I miss not having to explain. I miss looking you in the eye and seeing that you just know, and vice versa. I miss it since before we had bodies.

I still sing to the sound of your strings, hearing them in my mind whenever I feel inspired, hoping that in that very moment you're also playing, seemingly to yourself. Imagine how it looks from the perspective of some all-seeing eye (like Azrael from Discworld universe), how that observer-listener shuts out everything else in this world and leaves only you playing and me singing, ignoring the distance between us.

Well, at least someone is listening to our music. I'd hate to think of us as the proverbial falling tree in the forest.

But maybe, just maybe, that's what we really are. Because you're there, I'm here, two specks of energy dust in a maze of other energies. What are the odds? Not so good, yeah.

Nevermind, just live on. Don't wrinkle that forehead when there's no one to kiss the tension away. Embrace someone warm and light to soothe that everlasting ache. Work with diligence and play your guitar like your life depends on it. The world is crap as it is, but I still believe in magic.

And I always will.
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While I'm at it
Thu-12-Sep-2013


Octarine-colored stream is still managing to slip through the dry, clenched orifices of my senselessness, so let's have another go.
It's always like that. Outbursts impel me daily and they last for about a week, or a month, or even a few months, but then silence takes over. The Machinery becomes too much to ignore so eventually, slightly pissed, I pick through my weaponry and dive into the rumble. Nothing beats a good exercise, but repetition isn't much fun... Not that I have a choice.

I wish I could paint again. Maybe my former/present lover could help with that. "I'll paint, you play". Now if only it could work... One step at a time. Writing lyrics for his music seems like a good intro.
It's peculiar how sex and art get along nicely.

Sometimes I hate how meek I get with my best friends. I can't help it, they're both exceptionally strong and dominant individuals. Maybe I'm just lazy and overly relaxed... Laid-back pretty much describes my overall style. Anyway, I'm pretty sure we'd butt heads like angry rams if I pull out my kick-ass side too often. Lately it pursues me more and more and it unnerves me when authorities clash... I've been avoiding conflicts for far too long. I'm about to face another demon of mine, I guess.

The biggest mistake that intelligent people make is framing their own mind. How can you bind something that is meant to expand into infinity? Nothing is definite and complete. Why can't you just go beyond the boundaries? What are you afraid of?

Autumn is helping me go to the next level every year. I'm reverse like that: I start at the end and end with a start. That is, I never really end. Infinity is my highway...

What a lame entry this turned out to be. What the hell was I trying to say? Whatever it was, I lost it between instant thoughts and external distractions. I know it'll come back, but when it does I'm pretty sure that keyboard won't be anywhere near me. Don't you just hate that?
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Just another Today
Wed-11-Sep-2013



A splitting headache is lurking along the precipices of my brain, scratching the walls of my numb gray mass as if trying to scold me for drinking on a work day. Keep on scratchin', I ain't giving in to straight life.
I had only four hours of sleep, and the night before that as well, and tonight also doesn't look promising. "You'll sleep when you're dead", my best friends said.
But the thing is, the dead don't sleep. They're just dead. And I don't plan dying anytime soon - or ever, if it's possible. Dying is for pussies.
I prefer resting with a comfy lover, preferably after a good tumble, even if it's only for two hours. It sure beats seven hours of sleeping alone. Quality over quantity, I say.

"Bad girl, drunk by 6, kissing someone else's lips, smokes too many cigarettes a day, I'm not happy when I act this way..."
Madonna's single decent song in her entire career.
Am I happy?
I don't really know anymore. Pain and pleasure and ache and serenity all mushed into one. Is this how it feels to get old? Or is it just being aware? More or less, it's probably the same thing.

I hate the joint in my workplace. Toilet seats are cracked and they pinch my thighs like a bitch every time I forget to place my hands underneath. As if dealing with hemorrhoids isn't nasty enough. And taking a dump while sporting a hangover is fun all the more...and all that while listening the chatter of airheaded broads who believe they grabbed God by the nuts, coming every day to their polluted offices and relieving themselves in a crapper unworthy of a filthiest bar. If I had finished law school and came working in this place, I'd be bloody embarrassed.
Fucking Hall of justice. Ha. The irony isn't even funny anymore.

Seriously, what's wrong with these people? They can't even say to the bus driver that AC isn't working, or on the contrary, that it's freezing their limbs off. They'd rather choke than open the fucking window. They'll kill each other just to get their asses on the seat. They're lazy and moldy, but on the other hand, they work with unyielding fervor for ridiculous wages. They'd rather cry and mourn over their fate than actually do something about it. They maintain their blind faith, go to corrupted churches and follow stale, self-destructive rules, even though they're sinking in shit deeper and deeper with every passing minute of every new day. And of course, they're always good to take out their accumulated anger on someone who doesn't have anything to do with it.

Yeah, this is where we live. So don't ask yourself why I write in English; Serbian doesn't make sense anymore.

So here I am, typing this crap when I'm supposed to be working, but I think it's clear where true motivation lies. I'm not a fucking machine.

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