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Lightly, My Darling

It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly my darling.

Read it out loud, this beautiful excerpt may sound familiar, it is from the utopian novel called Island, told by even more beautiful mind of Aldous Huxley.

I know I need to read it once again because I think I would have much more use from it (if I may say so) now than I did 4 or 5 years ago. I think about all those books that I read a long time ago and it’s not that I didn’t enjoy them or understand them, it’s just that it may have been too soon.

One of our crazy high school teachers actually made some sense when he said that he agrees that making a bunch of 17-year-olds read Marcel Proust’s Combray in a short period and then expect them to identify with the novel’s main subject – the passing of time, is ridiculous. Proust was obsessed with destructive effect time has on people, events and relationship, an obsession worth having if you ask me now, but what the fuck does a kid in high school have to do with that? 

The only thing reading Proust when you’re that young is make you not want to have anything to do with his work ever again. Ten years later, I still remember how unbelievably confusing Combray was, even though I didn’t hate it as much as most of my peers. Ten years later, I haven’t yet decided it’s time to go back to it and continue reading the remaining six volumes, more than 4 000 pages aptly named In Search of Lost Time. I still have time to lose before I start feeling really bad about it, at least that’s what I’m counting on.

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Huxley’s Island on the other hand acts as a sedative, but not a mind numbing kind, it slows down time in an enlightening way. If you compare the cruel, frightening reality of Brave New World and Buddhist influences in Island – his last novel, it makes me happy that Huxley didn’t get more scared and worried as he got old and sick as if it’s somehow expected from an average modern mind’s point of view.

The key to being lucid and painfully aware of everything that is wrong (is dystopia our reality?) while making peace with your current state without feeling powerless our constantly out of focus is of course not yet known to me, the path is I think someone between Proust’s melancholia and fragility and Huxley’s spiritual philosophy, often enhanced by psychedelic drugs he started experimenting with in the 1950s.

A couple of days ago I learned how his last moments were like, which made me like him even more, not because of ‘wow, he’s so cool’ factor, because I think it represents a great mind fully embracing everything that is happening. The decaying body does not equal a decaying mind.

On his deathbed, unable to speak due to advanced laryngeal cancer, Huxley made a written request to his wife Laura for “LSD, 100 µg, intramuscular”.

 

There are things known

and there are things

unknown,

and in between are

the doors of perception. 

 

 

Have you heard about….??

Do you ever discover something ( like a song, series, food recipe, piece of clothing, any kind of skill ) that everyone was fully aware of since the beginning of our time on Earth?

Yeah, me too.

Nevertheless, you keep proudly talking about it, share thoughts publicly and basically acting like you single – handedly discovered a new planet in our solar system.

Yup.

Love it.

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Just kidding with  Despacito actually, I was seriously obsessed with it for a couple of months during its ‘prime time fame’, learned it by heart, but now my ears are bleeding just like everyone else’s. My Spanish has improved by 0,005 %, though!

Poetry Nights and how they put everything back in perspective

Sometimes I love cancelled plans, ironically they come to me with a great feeling of adrenaline rush and countless opportunities. I am an introvert by default – it is evident from my need to catch a break for a day or two after spending a lot of time closely interacting with other people for a while. It doesn’t mean they are not dear to me, I just need a small escape gap to give me a chance to recharge my batteries, and then I’m ready to socialize again and be a happy, functional human woman.

Like most of us, I enjoy being around people I like and who I’m comfortable with, talking is of course the main part of the deal so a healthy cocktail of chit-chattery, gossip, simple topics mixed with something new or more challenging is always the unintentional goal. One of the parts of being a social being in general is no matter how long you know someone, if your relationship is solid, you’ll always manage to discover new subjects, learn something and finally, get excited about things you didn’t even know they excite you.

So, cancelled plans. This week is the best time to be alive for all of us chronic cancellation and postponing loving assholes. It is the middle of a summer, the time when I usually turn into someone who is not a very good person, someone who doesn’t have the greatest conversation starters or any creative ideas whatsoever, someone who will talk about mosquito bites and suicide 90 per cent of the time. I would most likely team up with your grandma and present everyone with the data about the horrible effects of sun exposure and how you should, if possible, avoid it throughout the day. Going to the beach happens only from 6 to 7 AM or after 7 PM, there’s no in between. Literally. I will even casually throw in the word ‘cancer’ just to keep the party going, totally unaware how I’m being a bit of a hypocrite since I used to smoke a pack  a cigarettes a day and no one could say a word about it.

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Back to cancelled plans. The past couple of days the heatwave made everyone act like me. They are postponing work, public events – no open movie projections, even some theater plays got cancelled! Since nothing is going on, all we hear in the ‘news’ is: extreme temperatures, the worst summer ever, hell on earth… I read a title that went like this: Our readers experiences: ‘I went to the store today and died’. The whole article consists of random statements delivered by anonymous Croatian citizens (a.k.a. invented by the author) worrying about how to survive the heatwave. My absolute favourite comes from a brave female reader from Zagreb:

I drink water and pee all day, I can’t eat and I usually love to eat. If I put my clothes on, I’m hot. If I take it off, I get sticky. And the worst part of it all – the coffee doesn’t taste good.

What do I do when plans get cancelled and I’m lying naked in a pool of blood sweat next to the ventilator, but don’t want my brain to go into a complete shutdown? I read poetry – no matter if it’s going back to old gems or accidentally discovering new authors, it’s the best cure. Tonight I’m once again hanging out with my queen, Sylvia Plath.

One of her poems that leaves the greatest impression is called Mushrooms and although I didn’t pay much attention to it because of the title that seemed bleak (seriously?), became important to me right after I read it for the first time.

Mushrooms

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot’s in the door.

Sylvia Plath, The Colossus and Other Poems (1960)

 

When I read it now, I could swear that this poem is precisely what first inspired Margaret Atwood to write The Handmaid’s Tale, just look at the last verse. Sylvia Plath is an icon of feminism, a real one, not just a ‘one line pony’ as I like to call them nowadays. She lived in the 50’s and was, in a way, forced into accepting a role of a simple housewife, go after society’s rules, although her mind was way beyond that ever since she was a young girl.

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If I Could Just See You From Up Here by Norman Duenas

This is a poem about oppression and how it will not last forever. I don’t think it’s necessary to limit to the equal female rights problem only when oppression is not just gender based problem (what an understatement in lack of a better word), it is everywhere, it is evident, hidden, sometimes comes in layers, sometimes directly in your face. Oppression is the word I would use to describe what Plath was fearing the most during her young and later adult years, the fear of not being able to express herself and live freely without having to answer to anyone’s expectations deteriorated the state of her mental health leading her towards the tragic ending.

Mushrooms speaks to everyone who has ever felt isolated, misunderstood, underestimated or ignored and although it comes in a depressive tone, it is actually a positive, hopeful poem.  It provokes the thoughts of a revolution that will help restore the balance between the greedy oppressor and the underdog. It is in deed a revolution, but not the roaring, powerful kind, it is subtle and quiet, it comes on its tiptoes while you think everyone on the planet is asleep. Nothing is sure except that in the morning the sun will rise and deliver a surprise on its rays.

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We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.

 

 

Godard: ‘I get high staring at posters in the streets. I get high on people.’

Note: Godard who has just finished shooting his lates film One Plus One, agreed to meet Hermine Demoriane for this interview but would not consent to it being recorded. “What you don’t remember, make up”, he said. Excerpts from the interview follow.

We have a lot of professional filmmakers who would be better off doing something else.

 

HD: You have said everybody should make movies.

JLG: No. I did not say that,  I said more people should. There are not enough films. Look, there is no black cinema at all. Stokely Charmichael should make a film. But he can’t. Even if Mao sent him the money he would not find a distributor. There aren’t any films from the workers, either. I’d like to hand over my unit, lock, stock and barrel and let some of them get on with it. We need films FROM people, not FOR them. In the meantime, we have a lot of professional filmmakers who would be better off doing something else.

HD: What do you think of Claude Givaudan’s experiment?

JLG: Very good. You should be able to go into a shop and buy the latest Godard, take it home and project it with no more fuss than reading a paperback. In two years time we may be putting cassettes of our own films into TV sets.

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HD: You have said England was an American colony. Does this apply to its films?

JLG: There are no English films. There are American films set in London.

HD: What do you think of American cinema, then?

JLG: The most conservative in the world. It works on worn-out formulas totally irrelevant today. Its only aim is to lift people out of their environment for a moment and persuade them the world is a beautiful place so they keep quiet and allow the system which begats such films to continue.

HD: You didn’t even like Bonnie and Clyde?

JLG: Average. Very average.

HD: And the cinema in France?

JLG: Very conservative, too.

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HD: What do you reckon is the way to break the monopoly of the big companies?

JLG: Either drop a bomb or them or buy them.

HD: You have just made a film for French TV. Would you like to do more?

JLG: I see no difference between cinema and TV films. I would like to make more, yes, but I doubt if they’d get shown. TV is governmental, and not only in France. Governments are always clever enough to take it over. Consequently TV would be the same in Cuba as it is in Greece. I think opposition parties should have an equal influence.

HD: Do you believe that hippies could be a force to purge Capitalism, as the Red Guards purged Soviet Communism?

JLG: The hippies will do nothing until they are politised.

HD: They need a Mao?

JLG: Not necessarily. Only to get educated politically.

HD: The demonstration at the first night of the Green Berets proves that something is burning.

JLG: Yes, that was excellent. I wish someone had told me, I would have gone.

HD: Do you think the uprising could come from England eventually?

JLG: Yes, it is good here because there are plenty of people with money and open minds. But alas, they don’t use their minds, and they are usually corrupted by money. People could do things but won’t. Look at the Beatles for instance. And Peter Brook. He should have put his Marat/Sade outside Buckingham Palace.

HD: Are you aware to have prophested Sorbonne in La Chinoise?

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JLG: No. Prophesy is a mild form of fascism.

HD: What about your next film?

JLG: It is going to be produced and shot in America. That’s all I know about it. Except the title. I’ve got that. An American Movie.

HD: Have you ever taken acid?

JLG: No. Not interested. I get high staring at posters in the streets. I get high on people.

HD: Exactly what my mother says. Thank you.

 

*Interview with Jean-Luc Godard by Hermine Demoriane, published in IT (International Times) no. 39, 6-19 September 1968

Those Rare, Magical, No Internet Days

The crash may last between nine hours and four days,  the symptoms are generally the opposite of the stimulant effects. A person in the crash phase of  withdrawal may sleep for days, notice changes in appetite, and feel depressed and agitated. During acute withdrawal — which may continue for 1-3 weeks — irritability, fatigue, depression, insomnia, anxiety, and cravings are common.

Imposed by deliberate decision or due to the unwanted technological obstacles I’ve experienced quite a bit of internet free days since the beginning of this month. A week ago I was forced to stay in this new state of ‘freedom’ for the whole weekend (tragic, I know, I’m fine now).

Long story short: after some signs of anxiety started to kick in, it was time to start making phone calls. What does an internet provider have to possess in order to be an internet provider in the first place? That’s easy – a shitty costumer service. After a couple of warm exchange of words, we had to agree to disagree in where the problem seems to be coming from. Conversation ended with their promise that Someone will call me and come over to check the router. Naturally, mister Someone never arrived, or did anyone call me, but luckily on Sunday evening my brother managed to fix  the cable problem or whatever and bring me back to life, make me feel like a member of something greater than myself.*

* this may or may not be a complete irony, just like everything else I ever wrote

Phase 1: Hysteria

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During those two and a half days, I was freaking out because:

a) I didn’t collect all the necessary exam materials

b) The new Jim Jarmusch film I thought I had on my laptop wasn’t really there (it was paused after 12% of the movie was downloaded)

c) I couldn’t send pictures of our dog to my sister 😦

d) How am I supposed to know what’s going on in the world?! Don’t tell me to turn up the TV to watch the news, never!

e) How am I supposed to keep up with the mostly unknown people’s lives on Instagram?

f) I didn’t know what to do when I get that sudden, insatiable desire to stream an episode of Seinfeld or It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia

g) How do I make plans for going out with friends? Do I still have friends?

After finally reconnecting I downloaded the movie, but realized I don’t feel like watching it, answered a couple of ‘ARE YOU ALIVE??’ messages (ignored some of them, let them wonder you know, that’s sexy, mysterious and shit), turned the laptop off and continued reading the book I started that afternoon.

 

Same thing, different day

Sally Nixon: What Women Do When No One’s Watching

I would be chopping that book into little bits and pieces and dragging it around with me for the next two or three weeks until finally finishing it if I didn’t take another day off yesterday.

The thing is, I wasn’t feeling so well, I had a fever, headache, dizziness, cough – the whole disgusting package and even my poorly functioning brain realized staring into a screen trying to keep up with the Kardashians  complicated relationships in a certain David Cronenberg’s historic drama doesn’t work. I fell asleep, woke up, started thinking about stuff, got depressed a bit, stopped thinking about stuff, got up and grabbed that wonderful novel ( Life Is Elsewhere by Czech author Milan Kundera), started thinking about important, good stuff and finished the book. Even though I felt so beaten up, I could sense that my focus is back, alive and well, almost like it was when I was a kid that could easily devour a 400 page book in less than two days. I know those days are now far behind due to my Internet brain and some other reasons, but I also know there is a way of escaping the modern life shackles for a while.

In order to have an illusion of control, I made a list of what I need to start and or finish in the next week or so:

  • one horror movie review
  • watch two French New Wave films
  • watch David Lynch documentary
  • finish the essay on how Third-wave feminism lost its sense a while ago and is actually being contraproductive
  • start paying attention in my online literature class
  • Dedicate at least 10 minutes of the day to learning some Spanish (DuoLingo)
  • Finally start that small Tristan Tzara/Dadaism inspired post
  • Tell everyone how Kundera is the GOAT ✓

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Today, I am back online and while writing this I’m also watching three hot dog memes slowly dancing to Rihanna’s Wild Thoughts. Loving it. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, educate yourself.  Also, do yourself a favour and shut.it.all.out. from time to time.

Btw, that introduction quote is taken from a ‘recognize a drug addict’ website and is all about the cocaine withdrawal symptoms. Cheers!

Moonlight

My brain is melting, can’t really read or write anything. Today is ‘take photos and post them on the Instagram instead of studying’ day.

Also, to continue with today’s grand achievements – I made ice coffee and poured in a couple of drops of spoiled milk, drank it right away, loved it. In my defense, it didn’t smell or taste bad, only the texture was… well, questionable.

To get myself mentally back on track, I am posting one of my favourite poems, the one that decorates one of my bedroom walls. Whenever I mention poetry, there’s 95 percent of chance that I’m turning into your grandma and talking about French 19th-century symbolism movement.  This is Paul Verlaine‘s Clair de lune (Moonlight) from his 1869 collection of poems Fêtes galantes. Read carefully, add a bit of (non spoiled) milk, three ice cubes, mix it all up in  a cocktail shaker and enjoy.

 

Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.

Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune
Ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,

Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d’extase les jets d’eau,
Les grands jets d’eau sveltes parmi les marbres.       

Your soul is a landscape fair and fine
Where charming masqueraders swarm
Playing the lute and dancing and being almost
Sad beneath their fanciful costume.

Singing together in a minor key
Of love conquests and the life of risks,
In their fortune they do not seem to believe;
And their song melts into the lunar beam.

The quiet moon beam, sad and beautiful,
That lulls the birds in the trees to dream
And makes the fountain jets sob in a spree,
The tall slender jets that soothe the marbles.

       

* Finding different versions of poems, even from professional translators can be pretty frustrating because the new version never completely captures the whole point, the core of what the poet had in mind. It’s probably one of the main reasons why I will never stop learning foreign languages – to be able to enjoy literature in its original form. One day.

 

 

 

Chronic Dissatisfaction

This is not a self-help type of article, I can’t do that, not just because I think it’s cheesy, but simply because I’m not good at it. This is me asking some vital questions.

I see it everywhere around me – my mom does it, my sister, my father used to do it, my brother, my friends, oh and count me in, even though I’m reluctant to admit it. I’m talking about things – looking for, constantly craving and finally buying new stuff – clothes and accessorize are more common with female population and gadgets among men, but I don’t want to generalize and go along with common expectations since my dad has over 50 pairs of shoes and unknown number of shirts. Half of those are, you’ve guessed it, never worn.

It’s a never-ending loop, a process of looking for that perfect piece of clothing that is going to fill your life with purpose or create your improved identity, buying it, coming home and shortly after that realizing that you need something else. Every satisfied need for an object, no matter if it’s a T-shirt, a bag, a new lamp, table-cloth or iPhone opens a need for something else, something newer, something clean and unused.

Today I am in a position to pretentiously conclude I am more skillful than my sister in breaking the loop and realizing what is actually bothering me and therefore finding a solution for my heartache.

For example, my sister is in a never-ending look out for a new pair of  pants – she owns I don’t know how many, from a bunch of ridiculously similar jeans in to all kinds of print summer edition trousers, but it’s never enough. Whenever she goes to the store, she buys new pants but always comes back a bit sad because she couldn’t find the ones she had in mind. Asking her about what exactly did she have in mind ends up really badly with us having a fight so I stopped asking questions, I just observe and thank the gods I escaped from the power of the loop.

‘Chronic dissatisfaction, that’s what you have’, I always tell her while sitting on my high horse, never revealing that I stole that line from Penélope Cruz’s character in Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Nevertheless, I am familiar with the occasional feeling of despair and thinking ‘I am so lame and everything I own is a bunch of worn out shit’ when entering the shopping mall. The positive thing is, after going in a couple of stores and trying out some clothes, I realize I already have everything I like wearing back home in my closet so I just buy similar stuff to replace the older, shabby ones. At the end of the day, I don’t really throw out that scruffy sweater because I decide it has a SOUL, yep, that’s how I manage the craziness, I play along with pretending expendable objects have a deeper meaning.

 

via Daily Prompt: Loop

Guy Bourdin: The World of Strange Fantasies

Let’s talk about stepping over the lines of the safety zone through art and fashion. Perfectionism, violence, surrealism and eroticism. One name embodies it all – Guy Bourdin, a controversial and incredibly influential French photographer.

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“My pictures are just accidents. I am not a director, merely the agent of chance”

I remember sitting in a class dedicated to analysis and the use of violence in the media, it was one of the few interesting, contemporary subjects I really enjoyed dealing with throughout that year’s semester. We studied numerous films and TV commercials while trying to detect over the top, degrading content,  discussing whether the violent or sexual scenes are acceptable and art worthy or completely unnecessary, used only to shock and get attention.

After movies we focused on commercials and fashion editorials that are regularly filled with nudity, painfully obvious sexual allusions, glorification of drugs, weird, even gore images that have nothing to do with the product… One of the examples that stood out and made people react in a second were a couple of posters showing female legs in stockings and high heels, one of the photos was particularly provocative as it featured a woman photographed from the behind. She is wearing black stilettos and sexy fishnets and seems to be reaching for something or maybe falling down into the unknown, making us look at her body placed in an unusual, exploitative position.

That was one of Guy Bourdin’s most famous photographs, the one I had printed on a A4 size paper and glued to the wardrobe with a chewed up bubble gum. At the time, I didn’t know much about Bourdin’s work, I stumbled upon his photos in an old fashion magazine while I was sitting in my dentist’s waiting room. Where else, right? Who buys that shit anymore? While you’re sitting and waiting for a minor surgery that is about to take place in your mouth, you’re not happy or inspired or focused, you just need something to play with until your name gets called.

But, here’s the thing, of course I didn’t read a single article, I didn’t care about Keira Knightley’s style secrets interview, I totally ignored ‘this summer must have recommendation list’, but while flipping through those pages I saw something that made me go back and stare. It was a throwback to Bourdin’s 1979 Autumn campaign for Charles Jourdan brand. It is the same series of photos where the one from my wardrobe came from and each one was captivating because it was something I had not seen before. The photos in the magazine showed legs wearing high heeled shoes. Just legs, cut from the knee down. It was one of the many shoe editorials Bourdain made. The photos were surreal, I didn’t find them beautiful, attractive or aesthetically pleasing, but the fact that they gave me a moment of ‘out of this world experience’ was more than enough to intrigue me.  I wrote down his name on my phone in case I forget later (the fact that he had a French name made me even more interested).

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You are familiar with the epic line marketing campaign ‘experts’  love to (over)use whenever the opportunity presents itself: ‘SEX SELLS!’, they scream as they make a two-minute toothbrush commercial where half of the time we see a closeup of a very young and beautiful girl eyeing the man of her dreams while holding that brush. She is vigorously moving it around her mouth, in and out, and back in, smiling like she’s experiencing the greatest joy of her life. You’ve seen it all, they push sexual allusions into situations where it ends up looking far away from wanted sexy appeal, rather ridiculous and awkward. Sex is the most talked and thought about topic, right next to politics unfortunately, but placed in an artificial surroundings it just doesn’t work. But who cares, as long as it draws attention and invites us to comment the stupidity of the creative mind behind the genius idea.

Guy Bourdin

This is where Bourdain was a master – direct, but not trashy , although ridiculous if you take things and his obsession with detail out of the context. And he’s just not all about sex like those Dolce & Gabbana gang rape adverts. Even though there will always be criticism towards Bourdain’s objectification of women and depersonalizing them, turning them into victims and subordinated, weak characters, I never decided to explore that side of his work and pulling it through feministic social critique filter. Maybe I was afraid it would made me not like his work anymore and I didn’t want to ruin something that was so mesmerizing to me. Maybe I just didn’t care in this case, because I don’t look at the models in simulated death scenes in Bourdain’s photos as the victims. Maybe a very primal sensation, a voyeur in me doesn’t let me turn against this world of sexual fantasy and making me accept it as simply controversial. Contorversial is cool, even necessary. Fashion is all about objectification and commodity, so it’s always a relief when I find someone whose work overpasses those elements shows creativity and expression in their purest form.

Using Tarantino’s quotes as a conclusion sentence is always the best idea:

Why graphic violence? BECAUSE IT’S SO MUCH FUN! 

Guy Bourdin exclusive

 

 

Distopyan Nightmare is Real and It Won’t Go Away

I am an atheist, the most annoying kind. The type that even if a certain deity physically  reveals itself  to the world and we get a reliable scientific confirmation of its existence, I would say: ‘Ok, now I believe it’s real, but continue to live like this superb being doesn’t have anything to do with me, my thoughts , convictions and morality because reason and responsibility for my own actions is something I believe in more.’

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Art by John Wentz

 

How Many Gods Are There?

After growing up a bit, I realised the world is a colorful place in every sense of the word, and everything I stand for I have the right to defend, but keeping respect for everyone else’s beliefs is mandatory. Now we are in this limbo of uncertainty and horrible things happening to innocent people. Tolerance, acceptance, trust, exchange of information, education, personal and cultural growth have been replaced by a different kind of deity – the all mighty Fear. And nothing spreads as quickly and as successfully among people of different nationality, race, social status, etc., fear is universal and no one is immune to it. And who can blame us?

Terrorist attacks, as shocking and horrific as they are and always will be, are becoming a common every day threat, especially in big European cities. It is no wonder that the western media is covering those tragic losses of innocent people in a sensational manner, increasing the feelings of panic and hysteria. I won’t go into discussion about our hypocrisy in dealing with the deaths of mostly white, European citizens compared to everyday images of bombings and destruction in the Middle East that is getting a completely different coverage making it clear once again that there is no real ‘global society’ based on empathy and that some lives apparently do matter more. Of course I’m not implying that we should stop condemning senseless murders no matter where they happen and where the victims are from.

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When dystopian fiction becomes our reality

Brutal acts of violence that we were watching on our TV screens in the news every evening have spread from the streets of ‘far, far away’ countries to familiar streets, places that we visited or where our friends live in,  killing people whose language we understand.  And we can’t do nothing about it. For a while now, and especially for the past couple of years,  violence is no longer observed from the distance like watching a movie,  it has turned places and ordinary situations like sitting at a café, visiting a Christmas market or going to concerts in possible crime scenes and death traps. Even after going through immense shock, people manage to move on with their lives eventually, but every new attack pushes us further away from ‘being normal’ and helps building a dystopian reality giving us clear hints on how our near future will look like. The state’s apparatus of force and repression will have the unlimited freedom to intervene whenever they feel is necessary, heavy surveillance, travel bans, buying tickets to big sports events along with the ATTENDING AT YOUR OWN RISK forms, etc. Happy new year 1984!

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Once again, who can blame the society for this hysteria. This  is a time to be out of your mind and paranoid, if not now, when? We hear politicians going into big ‘destroy terrorism’ speeches saying ‘That’s it, we will not tolerate this!’, but every new incident, no matter how small, shows that stopping terrorism is just an expression used to calm the public a bit, although it can’t be done in reality. How can you destroy and stop something when you don’t know where to look and when the enemy will be ready to strike again and shake up every single of our values to the core. That is why I think all the ‘love wins’, pray for Paris/London/Bruxelles/Kabul, ‘eat – pray – love’ bullshit exists only as a group sedative to make us feel like we are doing something useful by expressing our condolences, sympathy and sadness. The longer I write it, the more I feel the same about this post.

Global Paranoia

Internet has opened many amazing possibilities, but has turned fake news into mainstream stories numerous times, even the simplest information have to be double-checked, finding people who are willing to say the truth without worrying about losing jobs and money is getting harder. Everyone is suspicious and nothing is certain except fear. Good news for politicians is that fear is useful because it stupefies the masses turning people into perfect victims of manipulation.

Yesterday’s London Bridge attack and Manchester arena bombing from two weeks ago started the discussion that keeps getting louder for a good reason – accidentally or not, the timing is perfect because in 4 days the UK will have general elections. Similar thing happened just days before the first round of French presidential elections when a policeman got killed in the center of Paris.  And what comes out from constantly injecting fear into society’s veins just like pus pops out from an infected pimple? Bigotry, ignorance, anger… continue the list. 

Conspiracy theories, you say? It may be, I haven’t explored the cases in detail, but the fact that we are in position that we have to consider such motives behind inexplicable inhumane actions speaks for itself on where our modern, globalist society is heading towards.

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I Am a Hypocrite, But So Are You

I love animals, all of them without the exception, except for snakes, fish and some types of birds, especially chickens, they freak me out almost as much as snakes do. Let’s start again, I love cute, playful animals the ones you can have as a pet and teach them a couple of tricks  – dogs, cats, bunnies, hamsters. I’m not totally crazy about hamsters, I wouldn’t like to own one as a pet but I don’t mind visiting someone who owns them and play around a bit if they are in the mood. Can you teach hamsters some tricks?

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Oh and I used to be obsessed with getting a skunk as a pet, that was my main goal for like a year or two, but I gave up eventually because my only pet at the time was a mentally unstable cat so I thought getting a skunk who is known to be at its most energized behaviour just before the sun comes out would be a bit of a drag to say the least. I postponed my ‘getting a skunk’ mission until my cat runs away or dies or whatever. One fine spring day the cat disappeared, which was normal because if you have been living under a rock and don’t know, cats are the biggest whores on the planet. He (my cat) came back after five days all wounded up and weird, which was normal, because of the whoremones and all, then disappeared again and never came back. A couple of deliberately petless years later, we got a labrador and fell hopelessly in love with that funny, droopy eyed, perpetually hungry creature. Again, skunks are out of the question.

But, I digress. I made my point, I am an animal lover and I think people are often behaving like ruthless idiots when they buy a dog and leave it alone in the yard when they go on a three-week vacation thinking: Oh well, he’ll manage! Sometimes buying a puppy for your 8-year-old doesn’t turn out quite the way you’ve expected because puppy’s are like human babies – annoying and aggressively needy. When Pongo (the dog) was a pup, we didn’t get a good night of sleep for the first month or two because he would wake up at 4 am, start eating the furniture very loudly, or scratching the door while whining because he needed to pee. Even though he didn’t sleep much, he was hyperactive during the day, we have photos of our hands covered in blood to prove just how much energy he had. So, when the 8-year old realises the dog is too much of a responsibility and leaves it  for his parents to take care of, they decide it’s time to dump the poor bastard somewhere on the road far away from home because god forbid he finds the way back.

That makes me very angry, for sure. But here’s the other thing – I love eating meat, wearing leather shoes, leather jackets and I buy leather bags. Poultry, pork, lamb, beef, game, doesn’t matter, I love it, not that I’m a huge carnivore, but I like to keep my options opened.  I tried horse meat once, I don’t remember the taste but I refused to eat it when I found out it’ s a horse. Where do we draw a line? It partially depends on the culture and your upbringing, I drew it right before the horse.  Although,  now I probably wouldn’t say no to it if someone prepared it for me in a fancy restaurant. I would definitely say no to dog or cat meat because it’s just too weird.

When I tell my friends I would wear a nice fur coat during dark, cold winters even though a whole pack of fluffy animals had to die for it to be made so that my selfish ass can get warm and look stylish, they look at me with shock and disgust. I don’t blame them, I’ve seen the videos of the torture hell animals go through before the fur is ripped from their bodies but somehow I manage to separate the horrible process from the final product and if you think that’s horrible, it is highly possible that you do the same, as well. I prefer buying a more expensive real leather jacket because I’ll wear it for the next 10 years, while eco leather can be a replacement, it’s never the same quality. And for me, the fact that a less quality alternative exists is not a good enough reason to stop buying genuine leather.  Your laptop, your clothes, iPhone, basically everything that is a result of mass production… guess who made that and in what kind of conditions? Just google Steve Jobs child labour and please don’t tell me those are just ‘conspiracy theories.’

The world is a horrible place and horrible things are happening all the time and often the system makes as a part of those atrocities without us being aware of the inclusion. We could be aware if we wanted to, but too much awareness would drive us crazy. The difference between me, a leather bag, fur lover and a friend of mine who is against killing animals for clothes, but regularly buys a new iPhone and orders stuff online? We are basically the same, the only difference is the moment when we decide to close our eyes and pretend we didn’t see inhumanity and injustice being used as a tool in order to satisfy our selfish needs. There’s no way of being a functioning part of modern society while being 100 % ethical on all levels. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,  at least trying to be nicer to each other for a start and make sure we are not setting the moral bar low for ourselves while it’s unreachable for everyone else. We are all trying to swim through the shit the best we can while creating all kinds of distractions and occupations.

I wonder how well would my dog and a skunk get a long with a bit of training?

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