statements back

"After careful calculations I've decided that percentage of the days when I am a mess is more than and average human being." 

But actually this is not true. As a statistic living person I like garlic as much as anyone else, sometimes I wear my woolen socks with summer shoes, though just inside, I drink a healthy amount of water and brush my teeth. I vacuum when it is necessary and I can concentrate on reading for 45 minutes. Buy flowers for myself and read out-loud for myself. I buy pack of chips and eat half of it on my way back home. I like watching people passing by and think how do they tie their shoe laces, I have somekinda schedule for the week but I really like to postpone things for a little but more. I check my social networks to see if someone gave a lousy appreciation like or a heart, or anything. Not like it matters a lot, but it becomes just one of those habits like social smoking or saying "mmm" when you eat a delicious meal. 

As a statistic person I am no much more special than no one else. And I am not weirder, or a bigger mess, or a genius, or a talent. And neither is anyone else. My belief in measurement scale of those things just evaporated and became non-existent. It is empowering to think that you are something more than others, but in the same time you could just believe that an onion is sweeter than sugar and you could be right, somebody had to make some sort of measure of sweetness. Llama with a turbano could be as good house pet as a pug, and to be honest way cuter, however it is how it is. 

And all I have to do is to take my statement of being a mess back. I am not. Just a little portion as well as anyone else. I suppose. 

I might take this one back as well, but not yet. 

Not Good Enough

it is quite a story when it comes to reminding yourself why. even nine whys can't sometimes trace back what was that was. 

.good. 

and it is still easier to think of it as good enough. 

the label that would be without additives, no preservatives, no parabens or pharmaceutics just doesn't stick on all those experiences.

and when they are almost worn off - the skin just gets thicker and stamps everything with a simple 

"Not Good Enough"

some know how to rip those ambiguous labels quite fast. 

.some. 

.likeme. 

actually takes care of them and tries to nourish them unconsciously. at the same time putting themselves in these devastating situations close to such as hair loss or inconvenient rashes. 

i know it sounds simple enough. but it is quite hard to weight good | not good enough on a simple human scale. and what if you can't find an excuse to call it not good enough even though you drained the bottle years ago. 

does the label have an expiration date or just an experience?

sometimes i think that finding answers would make me even more puzzled

and it's all to the memory 

Stephen Wiltshire draws Manhattan skyline from memory

how much?

the measure of stability is not a measure of heaviness.

I've been counting my belongings. I lost the count twice or three times. I've tried to decide what to throw out but I sincerely believe that I am not good at throwing things, people or emotions out. Not even sure if I want to be good at that. So I keep the weight.

I tried to forgive and forget. Managed the forgive part but never accomplished to forget.

Tried to sell things to others, but maybe the attachment to it reduced the price without words. It became secretly "never ever possible to belong to others". Tried to give away and that worked out, however, every time I met my belonging it would look to my eyes and send me signals "How could you do this to me?!"

It is not the belongings that make me feel stable and peaceful. It is a lack of them. And a constant cycle of things out and in. in and out.

now I count my peace. I loose the count twice or three times.

I never care

All the notes read out loud

My life is love. just the word isn't right. i would love to let the love free just i am not sure if it had grown the wings strong enough. my life is a bird. my life is a land

there is such a deep ocean of love washing my shores. every time taking something in and rarely leaving something behind. there are almost no washed out sticks of passion, there are no stones of desire, there are no pieces of amber reminding the victory and the hope. i heard someone say "if you are lucky you will never fall in love again". i haven't heard anyone being lucky 

in few decades you learn how to accept it- just like a fact that your tea got cold. unavoidable. but it takes more than just a time to give up. and i am not sure if i have what it takes.

it resembles a bit of a dream that repeats itself for years and years, and every time you don't get too far from the previous episode. i feel how the curiosity to dream it again overrules me and after short bargaining session takes all of my balance and leaves me with despair. leaves me with those weak wings to be blasted by the winds above the grey and powerful ocean. of unknown, of love. leaves me alone with unavoidable destiny. 

i feel that those last minutes to home are the most excruciating. my wings get sore, i lose my faith and fall. and it never hurts. the ocean and the sky turns up and down exchanging places and it feels like i have never stop fluttering my wings, like i kept on going. and i never stopped feeling. the painless moment is endless falling itself.

the endless course visited Robert Frost in June 1922 when he was up all night finishing his poem "New Hampshire" and has finally finished it when he realized that morning had come, he went for a walk and got the idea for "stopping by woods on a snowy evening" he wrote it about the snowy evening and the little horse as "if I'd had a hallucination" in just "a few minutes without strain"

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow. 

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   


He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   


The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

Something

Sometimes I think that I'm going to tattoo a third eye on my cheek next to my happy wrinkles, cut my hair that it would be as short as well trimmed lawn and move in back with my parents in the province town. Everybody would be asking "what happened?" or even be too scared to ask. Awkward silence and frightened looks in shops, banks and parks. And if somebody would ask "what happened?" I'd just answer "Nothing". Massive confusion and maybe at some point everybody would just get tired and get used to me. And the explanation would be just Nothing. Because nothing would have had happened. Nothing. Nothing feels better than saying truth and still surprising people. 

The very Zen moment of Nothing. 

Grace Cho illustration

Lacrimosa

Latin for 'weeping'

I've sent the frost and sun to wipe your yellow tears.
I've sent heavy steam disturbing your breath and bitting chill to make you understand how easy you can breathe during the other seasons.
I've sent you insanity to understand that life achievements are nothing if you don't know how to enjoy life failures.
I've sent you body illness to fill your psyche abyss.
You kept on crying and then I've sent you challenges that didn't leave you any time to shed a tear. I've been sending you gifts that you fought to accept. I've been sending you gifts that you thought were punishments.
I've sent you weeks of rain to flood your shallow soul. You kept on sobbing, surmising that at least you can hide your tears in the rain. Despite that you cried even more. People could not see you weeping. Rain washed your tears. You lost your daily attention.
I've sent you lonesomeness to understand that you are the best company for yourself.
I've sent you all this putting all my thoughts, prayers and heart into. Risking my kindness to be misinterpreted.

I don't want anything back except for you not to return into the misery you've escaped from. 

stop weeping. 

listen to me

Stimulation and Simulation

Controlled movements force the pressure towards body and cause a rapid vibration starting from capillaries to veins, from veins to arteries, from arteries to heart, from heart back again. Convulsively pushing and pulling, with the highest voltage included. Sinking in an unconsciousness, losing the basic control over the limbs and the mind. Disturbing the breathing routine and causing a sense of fainting. An instant flush of heat and energy rush. Blurring out. Fading away. Prolonging the moment with confirmation of I can I will. I want. I desire. I urge. I can. I will. I need. I lust. Basing on simple stories and creating more complex. Framing the situation in the cotton meaning frames and sending it to the transaction department. Flushing red, white and black colours down ones mind and gathering irrelevant idioms to determine the situation. Trying to find the most suitable name and keep it in a high level of interest. Simulate and Stimulate. Arouse a response. Arouse and keep it hot till the dinner. Turn on and off, and then turn on again. Brightness flashing in the speed of light. With two fingers on a switch and two in mouth. Electric shock and energy leak.

 

Sensitivity and Sun

Sensitivity and Sun.
Sensitivity and Sun.

Sensitivity and Sun.

  Circulating around and exercising body. Sensitivity and Sun. Stretching skin, kissing whispers of eyelashes, planting smile all over mysterious lands, singing in a romantic melody and whistling while I try to fall asleep. 

Sensitivity and Sun.

So much love to give, just come and ask for it.

Sensitivity and Sun.

I exhale those words as ocean exhales waves and splashes, as mountains exhale avalanches. 

Slowly spreading mist in your ear and getting lost in arms of forest and thoughts of fields.

Sensitivity and Sun.

Take me

Where you can be Sensitive and I can be Sunny

Structure me

Again, floating with no actual need to float, I'd better sink down. Freakishly hard to state anything yet. It is like waiting for a diagnosis. Nor there, nor here. And the problem is - one couldn't say that the mood is bad or joyful. Either way, that would be just a lie. The mood is inconsistent. Unstable. Something annoying is hurting with little spikes. Hurting my back and at the same time spreading small impulses through my neurons and getting deeper in my muscles. But it never causes not even a slight sense of anger. No anger... too bad.

One minute body is standing still with a thought of a sudden collapse. However, that collapse never comes. It's been a long long time and nothing had changed. Nothing was triggered to change. Nothing was made differently to change. The structure just standing waiting to collapse, disseminate. Clutter collectively gathers around and ones body becomes a waste yard. 

Really, haven't figured out how a person can be so disappointed of ones life line and still be a life lover at the same time. It happens. But nothing changes and I am pretty sure it is just because one haven't made a proper step to change it. Structure me because one step forward and two back don't work anymore. Nor body nor brain learn from mistakes. Especially heart. What a heck is matter with that muscle? It supposed to work properly but when head is tricking heart and other way round I have to wait for diagnosis. Impatiently. I packed my bags already, I left, I came back. Why?

And yet trying to calm down magically repeating "You'll be just fine, You'll be just fine, I'm not gonna do anything about it". That must be it. I'm not doing anything about it. Act or forget, you'd say. Bullshit, nor action nor trying to forget helps. I'll take another chance and screw all the opportunities I had, I have or I will have. If I can't get anger naturally I'll build it up. I couldn't be mad on you. But that's not the issue. I couldn't be mad on myself. The tender and carrying heart. Fuck it, really. Why?

It's all because of that book by Ayn Rand.

I don't know if anybody feels the same way. I don't know what the way it is. But god help me to figure out if it is just my silly head or it is a usual thing. Neither way would help me, but at least I could try to compete and get it all straight. And clear, and clean. That's how I like it. Please, structure me. In all positive ways.

CHRIS ROUND pertinent structure photography. You can find and learn more about it here

there is no end if there was no beginning

How can you understand when you've never saw. How can you see when your eyes are closed. Eye lashes glued together and little voices tingling in your head tell you to be afraid. But never encourages you to think that you can't determine yourself as being brave if you've never been afraid. 

As I wake up and can't roll to any of the sides because of the stiff body that imprisons me by night. I get free.

As I wake up and can't get rid of the thought that I got rid of the thought that has been haunting me for a half a year.

As I am awake and sit there silent and smile to my cup of coffee. And then smile to my second cup of coffee.
As I am awake and understand that all that strong feeling that I was dropping on others heads finally dropped on the right one. Mine. 

As I am going to sleep I recall that golden lining of a heavy Danish cloud hanging above the library for the past few hours.

I say words too fast. I let them go. Then I lose something. I let them go. Then I create something. I give away. I let them go.

You know, so many words for nothing. So many things that I care about, and not so sure if that many things care about me. I bet you felt like it. Difference is - I am not grumpy, I am not bitter, I am awake even when I sleep. And I am here for you. If you have a need.

Building myself as a green hedge, cutting bad thoughts off, putting some proper conversation fertilizers, trimming melancholy and shaping ideology. 

there is no end if there was no beginning

Awesome wave to Saturday's Britain

Hey Britain, I was thinking about you for quite a while. Tracking the force of a dull rain, counting your pavement tiles and touching skin of bottomless chests filled with husky accent.

I'm not a story teller. Not yet. It will take some time to put right words together and I can do that just if nobody is watching. I sleep like a rock, once I put my head on a pillow, think what have I done wrong and why I do not fix it, then fall asleep with deep deep dreams and dream that somebody sets oneself on fire. And it happens and happens again. And then I swim into the widths of lakes, naked and light tickles me from bellow.

Today is Saturday. Awesome wave of ∆ (Alt-J) is flowing through my headphones and bringing it's British indie rock to settle in my head. This quartet and their Awesome wave album, which was released last May had been announced the 7th best album of year 2012 in Guardian together with The XX and Tame Impala, other two bands that keep me going where I'm going. And it is not Downhill anymore.

Have a nice day my lovely Saturday birds. Fly, flow, continue being, happy or not just hang in there. It'll come. And dear Britain, I'll come to you. Maybe on some Saturday next month. 

Therefore remembering that I am still in Denmark and it is not that bad.

Kys og knus,

Ugne

Hey, keep keep

Hey! Keep doing.

Because they do... They always try to be strong, to carry the burden, to try and try, and try again. To build and not to worry too much if it is being destroyed. Just... build it again. And they succeed, the same as little ants rebuild their anthill, the same as disabled person starts running again. Less regrets, more actual actions. Less waste of time and more inner strength. More will to learn and more will to adapt to the situation, more power to leave what was not worthy and more strength to start what might be the necessary.

I ask myself who are "they". "They" are people who have been around me. Some of them for whole 22 years, some of them just for couple of years or months. Some of them will be for few more, some of them are already gone. Anyhow, all of them taught me something - carry on.

Say "No", when it is necessary, relax when hard times are stressing. Read fairy tales even though nobody is listening. Live as you were in a fairy tale, even though you are not. Laugh from the things that are not funny, and do not get angry if someone is laughing at you. It will make you even funnier. Support and stand for the most beloved just to make them feel that they suppose to love themselves. Sacrifice small things for bigger and do not regret it. Find a goal and more important - keep the goal. Keep trying if you find it worth it. Stop trying if it is for the better. Think less and act more. Some of them taught me to forget the bad and work for the better. Some of them taught me not to complain. Some taught me to be aware. Some of them taught me that no matter what lesson others try to teach you, it's your turn to learn and your turn to make mistakes.

And I am doing that. Not even promising to do. I am doing. With small aches and blisters that I get on my way to my goals. I am still doing.

We are makers and we will be, unless you are smaller than an ant. 

With huge love and a huge to-do list,

Ugne

Flaws and jaws

Actually it has been hard to put words in places but easy to make meaningless sentences.

A construction worker with no attested experience pouring grout in nano-scale cracks - trying to fix you. Trying to vanish old paint from facade. Trying to. To try. Physically exhausted and spiritually drained to the last drop - gained a spacious gap between tiles, which is filled with that admiration leftover that is leaking and soaking into passengers', strangers', buddies' bodies. Ripped up by the winds and blurred out from the blinding rays - it was tricked into the innocent white appearance. 

Relaxed muscles after the hopeless work, and an assured thought "I am just an insecure mess", in doubt to make any step that would lead further from the wretched remains of the previous temples. As someone said, you'll have to sweep all the dust and debris away to start putting up new things in a place instead. You're allowed to make mistakes, you are allowed to try to fix you, in case that doesn't happen I'll help to take care of wreckage. 

The cleaning period will be over soon. The construction will be put away for a while. Until the spring comes, now the facade and interior as well as exterior are being prepared for the snowy storms and frosty evenings. 

I'll be there. 

Inside. 

Getting cozy under my blankets and you are more than welcome stop by. 

To have a conversation, mhm, meaningful, mhm, with words in places.

Ups&Downs

Today mixed up with a handful of mud and handful of sand. 

On all those peaks and in all those valleys.

Surreal.

Hi.

You should just always remind yourself that they get just better with time. Just that.

walk

I've started walking with no actual reason or destination. It's been going on for a while. I've been going for a while. Trees, remarkable stones, rocks, forests just passed by and I was feeling that I can walk through any kind of surface, any kind of emotion, any kind of environment. That was partially true. Tripping on harder rocks and slipping on rotten wood pieces I kept on walking, sometimes against the wind, sometimes with the wind. I kept going. I knew that coming back would be hard and I've never liked coming back and disturbing the peace that settles down like a layer of dust after one leaves. I knew that even if I would be kicked out I had to go that direction the foot directed me. I had to continue and then just follow marks on the ground. Bread crumbs, white stones, blood spots. It doesn't really matter. I knew that if I walked to the end of the world all I have to do is to keep walking. I knew.

Usually, emotions betray really quick, and they still do. With tears in my eyes I kept on walking. Kept on biting my lip and humming Fisherman's Wife song. Where I pretend to be a good fisherman's women, working hard everyday, my hands cracked from the cold and salt, and in the night when I go to bed, I try to fall asleep listening to the boat breathing. At these moments my face beams with blissful solitude. I don't have to wait. That's my way and I keep on going.

Small thing

Music is on and tea is ready.

It's just a small thing.

Not in the mood to rattle on mindless things and ready to get going. 

There are few things that I have to do. And I better start now. 

Suddenly, I was immersed by unpredicted energy, slightly wicked courage and complete relaxation. 

It felt like those nights before important test in primary school, when you knew that you will be actually able to pass that test and even hit the top 10 in class. 

Boom. 

In your faces 9 year olds.

See you later. In some time.

 Mood - denim blue.

Small piece of blue denim.

 

 

7 years

As my evening ends with open books, four cups of coffee and Sundanese music I notice that my shoe is missing one lace.

Accidentally. Accidentally I stumbled upon the sounds of warm rain and thin bamboo boats, the sound of 7 years ago and 7 years in the future.

Having in mind folk tales and mystery and magic of a number 7, everything seems to be small pieces of a big picture. Big jigsaw puzzle. And now I am just putting the boring part together. Putting sky in the mountainous landscape picture. All that does not really matter but at the same time makes it complete.

Hopefully, that missing shoe lace will not make a huge difference in this picture.

Rainstorm

Rainstorm doesn't stop for the third day in a row and you would not stop complaining about it even it would be gone. Small jokes, that this rain is trying to wash off your sins, but apparently you have them too many that's why it is raining so much, are not comic anymore. Overall situation is so sad that it is even funny. With a marble face staring at you. Asking what have you done wrong? Asking what would you do?

My shelter has no holes for water to leak, no gaps for spiders to invade, no... I've sorted out many things and many things still left to sort out. I see things moving and searching for their places. I just levitate. I just flow with the rain, downhill, to the sea, to the tips of grassy hills and then down again. I do not care and I care too much. I waste my time and I plan my schedule thoroughly. I sit there nostalgic and suffering and I sit here melancholic and joyful. 

Rainstorm mixes all four winds and confuses them too much. If I could I would hug them all together and read them a fairy tale about how the winds have chosen their paths, about how the seasons have divided their territory. I would stroke their light and soft hair. And now I am just pouring down on my own shoulders with a marble face, with some confidence and confusion. Very strong in my very own shelter. Very calm.

Shelter from Carl Burton on Vimeo.