Since I see that there seems to be a stable number of people reading this blog recently, but the blog (like my mind :D) is kind of jumping from topic to topic. So I was wondering if some of the readers would feel like sharing what's their context and interest in this? I think at … Continue reading Who reads this and why?
It's about 12 years since I arrived at Gara de Nord at 6 AM, having crossed the Danube on a night train in the spring, in a crazy scent of ... jasmine? I'm not sure, some very sweet, aromatic flower in warm, moist southern air. Probably not jasmine. I don't know what grows on these … Continue reading Gara de Nord
This blog is about a year old now. Since my life has shifted quite a bit since I've started writing it, I keep thinking about re-branding or re-conceptualising what this is about. Actually the subject I might have the most things to say on recently is "survival in Berlin". Perhaps it's also relationships. Yes, I … Continue reading One year of hyper-empathy
Difficult to find a path back into writing after periods of action. Real-life action. Difficult to carry on with a narrative when the storyline is prone to sudden jerky jumps. Nevertheless trying to carry on with the commitment to writing, remembering over and over again how helpful it's been to me in the last months. … Continue reading Half an update on the upper triangle of Maslow’s pyramid
I so much like part of you. That part. I can almost fall in love with it, it's exceptional, it's fantastic, and unique, I haven't been able to find anything equal over the years. I don't think there can be another person like you. If that part is so awesome, the rest must be fantastic … Continue reading Part of you
Pasha, I remember your room full of suitcases, wigs manequins and – what the heck else? One of 7 rooms. Was your mum's spirit in there? . I remember they were made of leather, not plastic, and one of them said 1956? I remember the photos from Cambridge. How did you get through there as … Continue reading Found in one of the suitcases
Personal reflections on decades of pseudo-nomadism, packing, love, meaning, painting, and generally pretending to have an adventurous and deep life.
Your soul has left this house. I see this. I felt it a few days or weeks ago. It just suddenly became obvious, like a blatant and self-understood fact. * I don't know where it went. But the plaster has started falling off the walls in a few secret spots; the paint has started peeling … Continue reading Your soul has left this house. (Loss poetry.)
Late last year, perhaps in November, I decided to not be depressed anymore. A lot of crap had happened, and I was feeling crappy. I could sense myself going into the tailspin that I know really, really well – after hundreds (if not thousands? let me calculate the years) of repetitions. . Mindful, repetitious observation … Continue reading Is depression a choice?