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?
A few days ago I bumped into an excellent blog by an a woman with (officially diagnosed) Asperger's (this one). In addition to that, after debriefing me about my family life, my therapist/coach asked whether my father is autistic (based on a brief description I gave of our relationship). And for the cherry on … Continue reading Asperger’s revisited. Autistic, gifted, sensitive, psychic?
Another snippet from a facebook discussion, this time initiated by one lamenting his situation of being not just an empath, but also gay. Knowing all this and more, I had to add my two cents, which I'm recycling here for the sake of preserving this personal document for posterity and those who can relate, or … Continue reading The queer empath and multiple outsiderhood
I live in your house now that you have died. We used to meet and part every summer, for 22 or 23 years. When I was a child, sometimes, after a year, I would barely recognise you on the level of emotions. After driving all night and crossing now mythic borders, I would receive a … Continue reading Letter to the other side. (Real life poetry.)
She certainly wasn't the woman of my dreams. But she knew very well how to wield an axe. And she made me paint. * * * Driven largely by yet another romantic disappointment, I set out to visit a stranger in one of the wilder regions of south-eastern Poland last November. I just wanted to … Continue reading The artist’s way: love stories in eastern Poland