4rth dimension

In the middle of realizing something bigger than myself, flying higher than a kite, falling deeper than saliva drunk and founding myself in a secret garden, on the roof looking over the sleeping Fulton @ 4am in the morning. Drinking burning Absinthe shots in the deepest of Killabrews and listening to crazy talk of curly drunkenness telling me something about what I am supposed to feel...
Fuck this crap. I don't have to go along with expectations of others. My own "mistakes" are mine and they are just a part of the Plan. One way or another I am on the road. Maybe it is a path, maybe a big highway - it is a road. My road.
Feeling lonely by the morning sunrise I fall asleep in the sweet cuddling of black sheets and dream of explosive weed, microwave pianos and burn in the fire that I started myself. My mind is leaving me step by step, but it keeps coming back to remind me that all this is simply temporary. A butterfly is to wave its wings and the world will change once more. It may take a day or a year - I am good at waiting.
No Spain this spring... Fuck exchange arrangements.

Сердце не продам на аукционе

I've not written for too long to come back and look retrospective at everything that happened in between. What happened has happened and I am pretty much living in the mighty Now. I've got to say it has got its moments...

Nonetheless, the chain of bottles, skirts and airplanes has brought me here, in Russia – the place that is supposed to be my homeland, but somehow seems only as a well known coffee-bar that I used to visit every day and got to know all its inhabitants. Figuring out what does it mean to be Russian was the hardest part of the journey... I still did not make it to the top of Sinai, but nonetheless got my eyes on the shadow of the sign, marking a road ahead of me.

How surprised I was when I figured that bachelor life's pro's are nothing in comparison to its con's. My life alone does not seem to be nearly as fulfilled as it used to be when I had someone to share it with. Someone in mind to pass it on to. However I've got no intention of fooling myself into a common misconception of a “Grown up life” and getting married in this half of my life. There is no way that some stupid property contract would be able to tear my life apart or influence it in any way. What I am hoping for is that one day I will stand strong enough to command the circumstances and conquer the death which is after me by continuing the cycle.

After listening to thousands of old and smart people trying to give me a substantial advice in life: what to do, how to prosper, reach happiness, fulfill the Grand Design and all the rest of shiny jewels that humanity seems to run for, I've made up my mind on the matter. They don't know shit themselves and somewhere deep, inside their tired skulls, they want me to explore and discover, whether what they think the road must be is the right one. Bullshit. You all had your own life to try it out. Failed? Too bad... I don't have compassion.

Once in June I went for a swim in a cold-as-a-fuck lake and later chilled in the hot sun, watching other people do the same. They jumped in the cold water, cursed the hell out of it, themselves, their relatives and everything that came up to their minds, then went out of the water, stood under the burning sun and said “HOW AWESOME!!!”. I did the same... There is something incredible in the way we need this contrast between trouble and pleasure... When we don't have the trouble – we create it. If we don't – it comes to us itself. Everything for us to feel good is out here – in this world of wonders... It only sucks that lots of us do not manage to stay alive until the pleasure time comes... But what can u do, right?

Why did I just write down all this quasi-philosophical bullshit? No particular reason really – I don't give a fuck what the reader would think – I just wanted to do it. However, following my earlier thoughts, I'd say that I am either already in shit till my neck or it's coming after me and then quite soon its gonna get better. Lately I am having quite weird dreams. I run away from something that is trying to kill me and hide in the hands of someone I adore. But neither I get to see the villain, nor I get to focus on the face of my savior. All I understand out of this dream is that I've got to keep moving. I have five tickets on my hands already, but I suppose that it will take more to figure out which destination is mine. I don't believe in dreams and I am not crazy to think that someone/something is making them for me – I stick to the idea that it is a part of myself giving me signals. I can trust myself, can't I, for if I can't – who is there else to trust?

Anyhow, the time that I decided to waste on writing journals is over, hopefully I will come back to it, until then – so long to anyone who was reading this and good luck figuring out something in this mess of a world.

Traveler.

In between the here and there, at the bottom of despair,

Lies a cup and lonely pack of cigarettes

Doesn't matter it's unfair, doesn't matter who's up there

He will never really care for her regrets

She will take a drag. Nervous. What's waiting behind the gates?

Girls will start to brag. Shameless. Why did she leave to the States?

Father wouldn't know. Clueless. Has anyone done her harm?

Mother'll understand. Always. And wait till she's back again.

Saturday morning thoughts

Woke up way past 3 o'clock in the afternoon with the feeling that I was really kicking last night, but I might just as well regret it all today. The morning indeed was full of surprises, some of them positive, some negative. The search for Hellenistic ideal slightly transformed into understanding of the cyclical, possibly spiral organization of things. I am climbing out of one pitfall in order to fall into the other and I do not see the end to this, other than death.
My exhausted body is resting on the black sheets of misery and salvation, staring in the direction of the newborn stars, which I will not see until the late evening. My own thoughts and the thoughts of others tangled in the passionate waltz are spinning around, having me as a silent observer enjoying the show. Once I got rid of the unbearable heaviness of waiting for the things to resolve, the lump in my throat disappeared, leaving a bad taste in the mouth, comparable to the aftertaste of the bad sour wine.
If before I was dieing of boredom and loneliness, I am left with loneliness solely now. Reaching a hand which no one dares to take, singing a song which no one can sing along with. If I was to compare myself and people to onions, I would wish that we peeled off the unnecessary layers, standing virtually naked in front of each other, going back to the lovely simplicity which we once had, but no longer dare to approach. In no way this simplicity will simplify us, or our lives - they would remain complex and unbearably attractive, as they are now. What it would change is the useless, foolish chase after substitutions of happiness, which always end up being a dust in our hands when the clock hits twelve. It will not make us more vulnerable, but stronger, bring more sense to our lives.
18th of April. Could have been, but it didn't happen. Tomorrow is 19th. Another meaningful date in my life. Sometimes the difference between 18th and 19th fits in the whole life.
Small details matter. Big details help to understand. I keep trying on different perspectives.