Comrade Blogger.

Okay.
I'd like to address an issue that's been bugging me for far too long now.
A lot of people gets discredited for being in communist party before the revolution.
That's just stupid.
Post-communist countries in general are crazy about communism.
Communism was wrong and it didn't work (except for maybe a couple years on Cuba [maybe the actual problem is with stalinism, not with communism]), anyway even the worst regimes have bright sides. Fascist military is far superior to democratic. Communist social politics worked just fine. Minorities were treated just as they should be.
But I don't want to advocate communism.
What I really want to say is;
Some people just had to be in "the party".
It was not uncommon for a college-educated intellectual to end up working on minimal wage in a coal mine just because they refused to join the party.
Frankly, I know many good people who were in the party.
And a fair share of them protested in 89' during the revolution. These people would have lost EVERYTHING they ever had if the revolution failed.
Being a member of the communist party is, well, a bit shameful, but definitely not enough to make a person worthless to the society.

For many joining communist party was simply survival.
Live or die.
That simple.

My hero Mr. Weebl wishes you Merry Christmas.

That makes two of us.

Pro Visions

Christmas treats and jugs of beer.
I chug, I chug,
and my nerves bleed
and vision blurs and
visions multiply.

I envisioned bright lights
and tree and gifts and
pounding hearts and
carols singed without
a pride.

Your ears wouldn't feel cold
even if you were an elf.
And that's quite an achievement.
And the fireplace is cozy and it
burns like heaven.

Indeed we can feast!
Carp's a noble mudfish
and potato salad is not for pigs.
Unless we're pigs.
Bitter heavens, I wanna be a pig!

Spiraling Down

Vicious circle in 3D is even more vicious.
The gravity loves depths, and especially
the gravity of this situation.
Go ahead; ask me.
Is this a poem or just prose?
Are there thorns on that rose?
Yes.
And thus, we're one more line below.
Because when I write...
...every line is a circle.

Irresponsibility

A word used by those in power to describe those with different values.
Frankly, I am sick of hearing it over and over again.

Last several days I have been obsessed with an idea; a machine, where anyone would be able to "record" everything that happens to them on any day, including ideas, emotions, senses... And then anyone could load a day of a different person.
Simply, it would allow people to share fragments of their lives.

I wonder, what would happen?
Would we start hating each other, because even though we're largely ignorant of our own faults, we would never forgive others' faults?
Or would we finally understand each other?

Responsibility is a myth.
Moral code is personal and unique for everyone.
Success in fulfilling one's values does not give them any right whatsoever to impose these values on anyone else.

And one more thing.
I just found out about a great art project by Candy Chang.
She set up a studio in Las Vegas, where people could anonymously post wooden plaques with confessions.
I'd guess her project helped people more than a hundred psychologists in a lifetime.

http://candychang.com/confessions/

I'm afraid of hates.

I've seen too much unhappiness tonight.
Unreasonable.
Whatever you believe in, be it numbers, genes, Darwin, God, yourself...
You will, or are, asking why?
But you're not a child anymore, knowing why spoons aren't flat doesn't satisfy you.
And, well... neither it satisfies a child. Whatever you answer, they ask another why. And then they ask you about life and stars and love and you don't know.
And then you say you get impatient...but really, it's all just being uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with being asked questions that you can't figure out the answer for.

No matter what you get up for in the mornings and no matter what you think about when you go to sleep...
I just hope you...
never become cruel, cynical.
It's a simple wish, and a cheesy one.

Not caring is okay.
Caring to harm is evil.

This is very much alike a post I put up here recently...

It's worth living to feel.  Feel anything. Goodbye sucks but... that feeling in your gut justifies it. I think it does, anyway...
It's late night/early morning.
I barely know what I'm writing anymore.
But I desire to write, to share.
No matter what?
No. I wish to share this feeling. Empty, yet swarming.
That's not a thing a keyboard could do, shamefully.
It is a time for me to give up the America.
See you around? Not for a while I guess.

There is a time barrier...
falling asleep now gives an end to all of this.
Do I want it to end?
I sort of did, when it was distant.
Do I want now?
Well, shit.
This is not the first time I submit myself to chance, god, fate... and whatever it is, it hasn't been treating me too badly.

13 stripes and 50 stars.
One triangle, one stripe.

Bigger is better?
or
"Všude dobře, doma nejlíp?"

Missing around.

I am not shooting, yet I am starting to miss.
Miss, will you miss me?
And you, miss-ter?
Maybe I'm just miss-interpreting all the signals.
Will I ever see you again? That remains a miss-tery.
But it's not all miss-erable.

It's miss-demeanor time.
And I'm not going to miss a single chance to
get a kiss under the miss-tletoe.

I'm a big fan of this shit.

It's strange...
Maybe I expected something to be physically different at this point.
I thought about what's going to happen for months...
And now it's just nineteen hours away.
I'm going home.

I feel anxious inside. It is one of the strangest feelings. I can clearly remember a young black girl waving at me and with a full smile saying "Have a nice life!"
That's rather drastic. Have a nice life. That's a nice way of saying "From this point on I will not partake in anything related to you. You are out of my life and I am out of yours. This is game-over. Continue button does not work. It's your fault. But I am not mad. It's a bit sad. I found answer to Shakespeare. Not to be.
It's not to be."

Historians say it's too early now to evaluate second world war.
I say it's hard to rate the shit that didn't even hit the fan yet.

Beautiful video. And it includes shots from Prague!

Pretty Lights - We Must Go On (official music video) from Pretty Lights Music on Vimeo.

Is it art yet?

There used to be times, when writing was only used to tell stories about knights with super-natural abilities who would kill all their foes.
Sounds a bit like Call of Duty, doesn't it?

All art forms take much time and need much development to evolve into something else than a low form of entertainment.
First movies were a thing for fun-fairs and circuses. The fact that the pictures move was just enough to entertain people. Since then viewers' tastes and expectations have made a huge leap.
But what about art forms even more recent than movies?
What about videogames? Electronic music? Hip hop?
They still haven't exhausted the excitement of "something new, flashy!"
Barely anyone would call a plot-less, pointless shooter game a work of art.
Much of mainstream hip hop uses formula "beat+bragging=Top 1 Billboard).
Most mainstream electronic music only cares about sound. Harmony? Melody? Tempo? All replaced with "wubwubwub" (yes, I'm simplifying. I know not all mainstream electro is dubsteb; but you get the point).

To me this makes it really interesting to care about these genres. I can see them evolve with my very eyes. And I'm pleased by there being many artists ahead of their time. You wouldn't say that's even possible with something so contemporary as videogames or electronic music, but it sure happens.
I was very pleased when I recently saw Pretty Lights' video for We Must Go On. I loved it. It's loving atmosphere is very refreshing, considering how violent the messages usually  conveyed by electro are.
I loved Heavy Rain. It's perhaps my new favorite videogame. It's brilliant, innovative, heart-touching.

Perhaps the revolution arrived. Even Call of Duty, shining beacon of all primitive in gaming, began to change; Black Ops 2 would support that. I am also delighted by the fact that Beyond: Good and Evil is going to be one of the biggest PS3 games next year. Projects like this and studios like Quantic Dream sure deserve their bite of mainstream media.

And of course the most mature and developed is indie scene. There is at least strong correlation - is not causation - between simple and pleasing (as opposed to beautiful) art and consumerist business model.

Perhaps poetry is the greatest of all arts, then? You certainly can't make any money with poetry.

I like Turkey more as a country than as a meat.

Thanksgiving sets a certain precedent that I do not agree with. It seems to me like it is indoctrinated with Leibniz's optimism - that our world is the optimal, best of all possible worlds.
Well... that is an argument that cannot come from anything but pure ignorance. I think the "best" really means "most balanced" - because anyone can see it's not best. People dying is not good. Is there enough love compared to death? Are the Editors right, when they say "In the end all you can hope for is that the love you've felt is equal to pain you've gone through"? Are Rolling Stones right when they say "You can't always get what you want"? Is Buddha right, when he talks about earth being the realm of suffering, as opposed to Nirvana?

Thanksgiving made me realized that the reason why I don't like New Year's resolutions is in fact because people never resolve to do anything great. Otherwise it's a great idea.
Thanksgiving seems to kill motivation to get better. You can't be always patted on your shoulder, even if you fail. That is a major problem of the first world.
I propose to create a new holiday to counter-balance Thanksgiving; The Day of Remembrance of All Utter Failures in Your Life.

Octane & Coffeine

iCouple weeks back I went to see a car show here in Atlanta. It's quite funny, really; every first Saturday morning of every month, rich people completely fill a parking lot of a shopping mall with their four-wheeled darlings.
I took a couple pictures, so I thought I might I share.


the difference between a green lambo and a green mustang is similar to that between a green apple and a green steak.

America is trying to convince me that BMW are cars for the poor and for the many.

The car that looks like a carpet. Huh, car-pet?

Obsession with cars is sometimes pretty dangerous.

This car is groovy.

The Kiss-Car.

It even has a duster in matching color!

 Any takers?

 Ople got swag.

 Which one is more of a trash can?

 The Douchecar.

 I wish there was a name for this color.

 You could make really nice handbags out of these seats.

 Someone put a lot of heart into this car. Get it?

 When the car fan community decides that a certain color is really fashionable, instantly a lot of veteran cars of that color randomly pop up.

And I thought people buy expensive cars so they could feel "better" or "unique". Well, so much for that.

The one and only: Seizure inducing tentacle simulator!

Play-to.

I've seen a great performance of West Side Story tonight.
Very professional, great acting, superb music, sophisticated stagecraft.

Yet somehow, it made me sad.
It was done by students of Pace Academy, an elite school in Atlanta.

Frankly, this production was larger than almost all commercial plays I've seen.
It was certainly much larger than what me and my friends have done last year - larger funding, larger crew. And more effort put into it.
This makes me rather bitter; I know I've done a lot for my - our - play. But whatever I could've done, it'd never match Pace's West Side Story.
This brings up the question of opportunities and successes and how they affect people, particularly students.

This is not completely unrelated: I've always believed that students should not be able to afford expensive boost. See, rich kids can buy stuff that doesn't give them hangover - therefore, they are not taught a necessary lesson and are more at risk of getting into a problem.
One way or another, this can be applied to a huge number of things. Being told ever since middle school that you're "the future", "the chosen" or simply "the best" is very nice and comfortable. But what elite schools fail to teach you is that you cannot always succeed. And there goes my insignificant yet for me important flaw of tonight's show: when it ends, all the actors get a clap. But what about the band? Nothing! The band stays out of sight. I think it's because the band was actually hired (and paid).
Doesn't this sound like artificially made success, rather than pure talent? No one would let elite kids fail at something. Grade inflation is a thing - whereas average grade in average school is C, on elite schools it's B.
But back to the play: the fact that disturbed me tonight is that even though I can see plenty of flaws in elite schooling, it obviously works. I wish it didn't, because it often creates individuals detached from reality - not actually prepared for a real life like they should be - some of them expect that they will change their surroundings, rather than that the surroundings will change them.
But somehow, they actually DO change their surroundings, for better and worse. In the long run it's usually better for them and worse for others, but that's the way the world, or at least parts of it, work (funny; settlers moved to America because they wanted, among other things, social mobility - the opportunity to change their social status. And now there's less social mobility in US than in many other developed countries.)
I always valued the trial and error method more than simply being told what is right. But the problem is; aren't errors too much of a waste of effort?

I certainly hope I will never have to believe that textbook knowledge is superior to experience.

Dilemma

"Intriguing?"
"I don't know... you could probably use any adjective to describe it."
I rolled my eyes. My brain was processing everything I've seen and heard during last couple hours; it was spewing out dozens and dozens thoughts and internal remarks at the time. My eyes were focused on a dark oily spot on the wall to the upper right of me. I quickly removed my stare when I remembered that psychology article I read some while ago - the one about subconscious ocular movements deployed when the individual is concentrated at imagining something.
"Except for simple."
He raised his lower lip to show that he was undecided.
"...And cheerful. Goodnight."
He gave an amused smirk and rolled his eyes to the top left corner. That indicates he's using memory, or so that article said. I hated feeling like a god-made machine that scientists could research, but that article proved useful to me in several previous instances and that triggered a little judge's hammer's clap in my skull, announcing the pragmatic myself has won the case.
"G'nite." he muttered back - a severe case of linguistic economy I thought.
I rolled my eyes to the upper right.

I am an animal in a cage. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. You can apply the Kübler-Ross model at humans and animals alike. Not only have I accepted being in a cage, I even went far enough to get comfortable with it. In my cage, in my space, I was the predator. I would observe my prey (and my capturers, but what's the difference anyway). There was no harming me in the Kingdom of Metalbaria.


to be continued. 

Some fresh electroswing.

A man who never lived but in satin would go extinct in the real world.

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=depressions-evolutionary

A great article about how depression helps us concentrate on solving our problems and helping our ability to analyze them.
It really reflects the thoughts I have had for a long time, but it supplies scientific proofs to support them.
Also I feel like this relates to me at certain point in past a lot.

My favourite chapter of Nietzsche's Zarathustra (so far)

XXVII. THE VIRTUOUS.

With thunder and heavenly fireworks must one speak to indolent and somnolent senses.

But beauty's voice speaketh gently: it appealeth only to the most awakened souls.

Gently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day my buckler; it was beauty's holy laughing and thrilling.

At you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty to-day. And thus came its voice unto me: "They want—to be paid besides!" 

Ye want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones! Ye want reward for virtue, and heaven for earth, and eternity for your to-day?

And now ye upbraid me for teaching that there is no reward-giver, nor paymaster? And verily, I do not even teach that virtue is its own reward.

Ah! this is my sorrow: into the basis of things have reward and punishment been insinuated—and now even into the basis of your souls, ye virtuous ones!

But like the snout of the boar shall my word grub up the basis of your souls; a ploughshare will I be called by you.

All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to light; and when ye lie in the sun, grubbed up and broken, then will also your falsehood be separated from your truth.

For this is your truth: ye are TOO PURE for the filth of the words: vengeance, punishment, recompense, retribution.

Ye love your virtue as a mother loveth her child; but when did one hear of a mother wanting to be paid for her love?

It is your dearest Self, your virtue. The ring's thirst is in you: to reach itself again struggleth every ring, and turneth itself.

And like the star that goeth out, so is every work of your virtue: ever is its light on its way and travelling—and when will it cease to be on its way?

Thus is the light of your virtue still on its way, even when its work is done. Be it forgotten and dead, still its ray of light liveth and travelleth.

That your virtue is your Self, and not an outward thing, a skin, or a cloak: that is the truth from the basis of your souls, ye virtuous ones!—

But sure enough there are those to whom virtue meaneth writhing under the lash: and ye have hearkened too much unto their crying!

And others are there who call virtue the slothfulness of their vices; and when once their hatred and jealousy relax the limbs, their "justice" becometh lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes.

And others are there who are drawn downwards: their devils draw them. But the more they sink, the more ardently gloweth their eye, and the longing for their God.

Ah! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye virtuous ones: "What I am NOT, that, that is God to me, and virtue!"

And others are there who go along heavily and creakingly, like carts taking stones downhill: they talk much of dignity and virtue—their drag they call virtue!

And others are there who are like eight-day clocks when wound up; they tick, and want people to call ticking—virtue.

Verily, in those have I mine amusement: wherever I find such clocks I shall wind them up with my mockery, and they shall even whirr thereby!

And others are proud of their modicum of righteousness, and for the sake of it do violence to all things: so that the world is drowned in their unrighteousness.

Ah! how ineptly cometh the word "virtue" out of their mouth! And when they say: "I am just," it always soundeth like: "I am just—revenged!"

With their virtues they want to scratch out the eyes of their enemies; and they elevate themselves only that they may lower others.

And again there are those who sit in their swamp, and speak thus from among the bulrushes: "Virtue—that is to sit quietly in the swamp.

We bite no one, and go out of the way of him who would bite; and in all matters we have the opinion that is given us."

And again there are those who love attitudes, and think that virtue is a sort of attitude.

Their knees continually adore, and their hands are eulogies of virtue, but their heart knoweth naught thereof.

And again there are those who regard it as virtue to say: "Virtue is necessary"; but after all they believe only that policemen are necessary.

And many a one who cannot see men's loftiness, calleth it virtue to see their baseness far too well: thus calleth he his evil eye virtue.—

And some want to be edified and raised up, and call it virtue: and others want to be cast down,—and likewise call it virtue.

And thus do almost all think that they participate in virtue; and at least every one claimeth to be an authority on "good" and "evil."

But Zarathustra came not to say unto all those liars and fools: "What do YE know of virtue! What COULD ye know of virtue!"—

But that ye, my friends, might become weary of the old words which ye have learned from the fools and liars:

That ye might become weary of the words "reward," "retribution," "punishment," "righteous vengeance."—

That ye might become weary of saying: "That an action is good is because it is unselfish."

Ah! my friends! That YOUR very Self be in your action, as the mother is in the child: let that be YOUR formula of virtue!

Verily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae and your virtue's favourite playthings; and now ye upbraid me, as children upbraid.

They played by the sea—then came there a wave and swept their playthings into the deep: and now do they cry.

But the same wave shall bring them new playthings, and spread before them new speckled shells!

Thus will they be comforted; and like them shall ye also, my friends, have your comforting—and new speckled shells!—

Thus spake Zarathustra.

-Friedrich Nietzsche: Thus spoke Zarathustra.

I am volatile to random bursts of happiness. Nietzsche advocates that there is, and neither there should be, a reward for being a good person. Being good itself is rewarding enough. Well, in that case, if I want to be a good person I should feel rewarded, even if I'm really not, right?
(:

I know, right?

Freedom for Tibet*

*applies only to Tibet. Cars not included.

What is the opposite of open-minded? I can't seem to find just the right word. Prejudiced? Closed-off?

Anyway, from my experience I get the notion that all of anti-open-minded people are afraid of death.
Think about it. Do you agree?

It's also quite logical. If you lock yourself down in your own head, it's only a matter of time to realize that the time will run out for you once.
It's like being in a prison. I bet prisoners fear death.

Someone once told me that all poems are about either death or love. I believe it. It all reverts to those two. Now let's put that statement together with saying that poems reflect our inner thoughts and emotions.
See? It's either death or love.

You can't love if you can't open yourself to the others.

Midnight Dreary

Happiness is the ability to appreciate the good and to not care about the bad.
This definition means that being happy is not going to fix anything [about oneself].
That's a huge disadvantage. But being happy is still worth it - that is, unless you have too much to fix.

But what if you can't be happy and you can't fix anything either? What if someone simply takes over your... well, you? What if someone can control what you can do and uses it to restrict you to the point that there's only one option for you?
Then the anger comes. Or madness perhaps, in both its meaning.

There is one problem with this anger. It brings a hangover. Some call this hangover "the feeling of defeat".

I've never heard of anyone who could cure defeat alone.
But what if the person who has power over you keeps you alone?

Then things aren't even grotesque anymore.
They're gloomy, dismal, dreary-

I've been given all I need.
I've had taken away all I wanted.

creepy.

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Zodiac_Killer_letters

It's a year

I was never very fond of calendars. They order you, as if they were superior. They tell you when the fall begins and when the year ends.
Fall never really starts with the calendar.
And for each one of us, the year ends at a different time. Just think about it. When does your year end?
Mine ended just now. A year from the first post here. A year from the first thing I've written. 

I remember it. I felt strange. It was peculiar. I sobered up after a week of being constantly drunk and I was trying to pull my shit together.

Philosophy says that beauty loses its wonder when it's repeated.
I have no worries though; beauty can never be exhausted.
We don't create. We have never created anything. Big Bang created everything. Or god did - whatever floats your boat. Humans are given the power to rearrange what there already is
To give it a meaning.

What represents this more than writing?

There are two things one does when being confronted with extreme uneasiness of being. If one goes through an existential crisis they're almost sure to fall into one of these categories: either they start to appreciate the wonderfulness of being with all its small components or they isolate themselves from feelings and sensations higher than they themselves are.
I never did go through a crisis and all the troubles I had I caused myself. But I want to fall into the first category nevertheless.
Aesthetics is important.
Aesthetic means pretty.
Meaning is more important.
Meaning means beautiful.

Let’s face one thing; we will never find the Truth.
But we’re getting closer and closer every generation.
Plato had a huge obstacle in finding the Truth because he lived before Newton. He had more to discover than to learn.
To be honest, though, I like it that way. It feels strange to know that someone, somewhere, before myself, must have had the same thoughts like I do. They probably wrote them down too. Maybe I should just read more instead of writing. But why would I do that? I’m enjoying myself far too much.

So there I go, towards another year. Let’s try to live up to this one. It’s gonna be a challenge but, oh boy, don’t I love these!

Ideal state

I have posted quite a bit of stuff about politics here, but nothing this exhausting so far. This is my project on Ideal State. At first I started writing it to publish here and then, purely coincidentally, I got the very same thing assigned for my philosophy class.
So here I present you a summary of all my political views - government, social policies, economy.

Comments appreciated.
please, please, if you read this, react. Let me know what you think

This is the link to the document:

Ideal State paper *click here*

It's the least we could do.

Loving lights.

I feel like the last bit of coal of a campfire. Still warm, but growing colder every second. I wish someone would throw some more material for me to burn through. Please cover me with leaves. My flame would rise up and shine bright once again, ever so passionately. But I'm probably finished now.

Perhaps I'm only the light at the end of a cigarette in a middle of the night, only flickering. And you don't know if you should put me out already or take one more puff.

The Loner said that people are full of lights. For every person that loves you there is one light shining inside of you. Maybe what I feel is just one of these lights inside of me, slowly fading away.

I don't even fucking know whether the light ever shined brightly. Maybe it was always just smoking a bit and flickering.

400

This is the post number 400.
And it's not even a year yet since I started with this blog.
It makes me want to come back to what happened since.
And there's certainly a lot of it.

We, as human beings, undergo constant change. How significant change it is is determined by how much we open ourselves to what we see around ourselves.
If there's something I really take pride in, it would be that I understand what must be done to truly open yourself towards your environment. It's not just listening. It's also thinking. Interpreting. Searching for causes and correlations.
A lot of people are not capable of doing that. Therefore they are what we call "ignorant".

Speaking of which, I argued with someone about success today. She said success is always desirable.
I replied with a story I know - my father's friend became a finance director in a Hong Kong branch of a certain American corporation. Huge success, right? But what did she get from it? Unhappiness. I cam see that living in Hong Kong is simply not good for her - we've visited her this summer.
See, problem about success is that it is misleading. It only counts with the possibility of a person knowing the best what's good for them. To have success you must first establish a goal. Setting up a goal for yourself is like creating an artificial dream. It just doesn't work - and if it does, it may get very scary.

I don't have a problem with this entire notion of "success being always desirable" though. What troubles me and makes my blood boil is, that this is one of the opinion that deny others' of their right to have a different opinion. Do not tell me that I should desire success. There are things more important to me and I have my reasons; go and be successful yourself. I pursue different achievements. Like experience, love (and by that I mean loving. There's nothing one can do to be truly loved. Being loved is a gift. Do not ask for gifts.), or finding the purpose. I consider those more important than some sort of pesky "success".

I also talked to a person that I honestly find fascinating. An Afghani boy who made it to America. Just imagine - being only 17 and already having lived in a refugee camp, having the memory of staring down into a barrel of a gun pointed at you, running away from death. I think this makes you a real person more than anything else does. We talked about happiness. He says his family was much happier in Afghanistan, when having food and drink was enough to make a man happy. In US...finding happiness is complicated.

Maybe that's the thing about happiness. It is one of the simplest emotions. Just searching for it is complex. But you can't find happiness on your own. Happiness is a gift. You can't ask for a gift.

Look at this graph. Psychology says those are all of our emotions. Where's happiness?

...sapias; vina liques et spatio brevi

spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem quam minimum credula postero...

The world is not a brothel for your emotions.
-Arthur Koestler

I think just the very opposite.
I don't want to seem arrogant, but what else would my world be than a brothel for my emotions?

...emotions are the only thing we can truly feel after all...

The single most legitimate reason to get Skyrim ever.

The Boy and a Common Sense

My mind is enveloped by the shadows.
They lurk and try to sway me out of the way.
Off the way that's righteous, sober and rational.

I indulge myself in those shadows;
not for long can a man endure
the cold light of logic.

This light can lead us through life's labyrinth safely,
but
what is staying alive good for, if we're to spend our lives in
boredom, certainty, without fear, without worry.

There once was a kid that couldn't feel pain.
He was going home from school and he tripped.
He picked himself up and continued.
He felt like something is wrong with his leg,
but
he could walk, so he rationally did so; following the light.

He died of internal bleeding before he arrived home.

Confidence is a currency
that allows us to buy the most luxurious of goods;
doubt.

And if you're broke on that currency, we call it insecure.
And that happens at the times, where you spent all of your currency on the luxurious stuff and don't have anything left; when you have plenty of silver plates, but no food to put on them.

Hate thyself to love thyself.

A very religious person can say that the god is dead.
A very romantic person can say that romance is dead.
A person with strong moral values can say that the society is rotten.

Why would they say so?
To make the world better.
Will their skepticism make it better?
Yes.

This is something beyond most people's understanding.
And that's beautiful, isn't it?

Because that religious person would have to be deeply disillusioned to say so.
Because that romantic person would have to be hurt by truth to say so.

Sometimes, in order to be happy, we need to take that dark and gloomy knowledge of ours as a fact. We know it's not a fact - not really - but facts are cold and therefore unable to burn us.

Also, facts can be changed easily; unlike knowledge.
Pain and desperation are the greatest motivators if you can handle them.




(and I'm not advocating Nietzsche here)

LANA DEL REY - THE PARADISE EDITION

0:50 MY PUSSY TASTES LIKE PEPSI COLA

Incompatible

Only sometimes do I wish that we were more similar to each other.
Our incompatibility hurts us.
And for we all are constantly licking our wounds, we do not see that all have survived.
Sure, we all have our cuts and scratches.

Break my body, hold my bones.

We need to expose ourselves,
and only wait and hope that world will not hate us for that.
Otherwise we'd just be a society where everyone is wearing their imaginary trench coats and you never know, who's wearing a bomb underneath it and who's not wearing nothing there to be ready for some raping action.

Buddha said that you can make only two mistakes on your path to truth; not going all the way and not starting at all.
That path is curvy and we're all blind to it.
The only thing that keeps us on that path is the electric fence along it.
That is, we're kept on it trough punishment.

But if we all hold each other's hand, the electricity will be divided between us. If we stand alone, the shock will kill us off separately.

And that's why I want everyone to to continue that path. I don't want you to stop walking.

And if you're not on it yet, I want to make you go on it.

The only just reason to become hopeless is being absolutely sure that you can never be happy, content, or at least satisfied.
Can you ever be certain about that?

Fairt enough.

I hate this boring art fair,
walking, breathing fart air.

"The worst thing about being an ugly stripper is that you get so many one dollar bills that you don't know where to put them."
-"You think so? That sounds pretty nice to me. I usually get coins thrown at me."

What language do I think in?

A question I have asked myself a lot recently.
Honestly, I cannot find the answer.
Czech and English I guess.

Maybe it depends on what am I thinking about.
If it fits better the Czech or English personality.

Anyway, I've been writing a lot in Czech last couple days,
that's my explanation why there's so few things posted here.
I have 15 new poems in my laptop.
I want my school magazine to publish some of them.
And once that is decided, I will post link to the rest here.
According to the statistics, there's about 30 % chance that you, as my dear viewer, do speak Czech. Yay!

Meanwhile please enjoy the two poems below. They're originally for my creative writing class, but I sort of like them.

60 watts

I keep this dirty old room lit.
My 60 watts are outnumbered.
There is no end to particles of dust.

I am turned on.
So is his guitar amp.
Hey amp, check me out, I’m hot!

Wait, he can’t hear me.
What if I try morse?

Blink, flash.

Hey, Mr. Guitar player, you’re in the way!
Is my ampie blinking back?
Yes, oh yes!

Stop it! Don’t turn him off.

Why are you holding your guitar like that?
Hey, you’ll hit the ceiling!
Or…

Blink, crash.

Some of them will stay forever.

When I look back at the pictures that I have taken over the course of last couple days, I realize that I was quite busy.
Somehow, I don't feel like it, though.

It's one thing to go to a barbecue festival and see some really nice cars there, but what does that give you, really?

It's a different kind of memories that stay with you. It's usually those that leave a scar on your soul. The "He-nearly-cut-my-hand-off-but-thanks-to-my-fast-reflexes-he-just-gave-me-this-scar" kind of scar. The one you're proud of having, because it somehow defines you. Marks your progress in finding yourself even.

On a similar note:
There's two kinds of atheism.
The "I don't need a god because I think that I am better than you"
and the "I don't need a god because I think the world around me is better than you think it is".

The worlds at mind's reach.

Lights flicker, forming a bokeh picture in front of my eyes.
It's as if the book in my hands emitted a faint shine, but logic tells me that cannot be.
The night is veiling my mind with a pitch black cloth and I fight back like a fly trapped inside a spider's web.
And a fresh supply of air flows towards my nostrils
and crickets' song reminds me of the dark woods that surround the house.

Every once in a while my eyes wander off of the white letter-stained page to glance through the window.
My brief stare down is terminated by the sight of the ol' borin' concrete.
If only at least a squirrel scuttled towards the other side of the yard.
But it doesn't.
And if it did, I probably wouldn't notice. Its silent pawsteps are far from my hearing; I can barely listen to my thoughts.
There's only one voice not drowned in the crickets' outcry.
The heavy and deep voice of Feudal Kingdom of Sentences.
Its Lords of Words and Peasants of Letters are asking me for attention from their crib in the hardcover that is buried within my lap.

I heed the call and disappear within the mind of the entity that is considered to be a god and a creator in the Feudal Kingdom of Sentences.

When Beauty walks the Hallway of World she sees mirrors everywhere.
I'm a mirror, you're a mirror.
But we're shattered.
All the mirrors are nothing but empty frames.
And all the shattered pieces lay on the ground.
No one can ever say which part belongs into which mirror,
but we know one thing: you could not make a single mirror out of them.
The mirrors must be just about right size so Beauty could see herself in them in her wholeness, but more mirrors mean... more Beauty.

Our worlds are like planets. Everyone lives in their own little world. But all of them have gravitation. And we are the centers of the gravitational fields, centers of our worlds. And when two of our world collide, they both attract each other. But how rarely does this happen! There must be something special for the worlds to collide in the first place.

To the moon

Just as literature is the ideal medium to share wisdom, movies ideal to quench your thirst for astonishing aesthetics, just like that are videogames the ideal medium to tell stories.

You see, telling stories is all about involvement.
Not too much involvement is needed - often games are based too much on their gameplay. But then there's:

To the Moon

I just finished it this weekend.
Honestly, best videogame I've played in last 5 years.

This 16-bit indie beauty takes us to the mind of old Johnny Wiles.
You see, Johnny is dying. And he has regrets.
Now, this is where the two bright scientists from Sigmund Corp. step in. They can alter memories, create a desire in the past that would lead to a different course of actions. It is only in your head, but that's all you got in the end, right?
And what is that desire that Johnny wished to fulfill but never really did?
To go to the moon.
Why?
Not even he knows! That's up to our two white-coats to find out.

I don't remember if I cried the first time I finished Dreamfall. But I sure did shed some tears for Johnny.

You don't need to be a gamer to play this.
Having a heart is enough.
Gameplay is minimal. Optimized, if you will.
You won't want to solve riddles and puzzles anyway.
You'll just always rush to see the next memory.
And the journey will take you all the way from Johnny's years as an old man to his childhood.

Truly beautiful,
priceless,
human.

Also, did I mention the soundtrack?


Just go get it. It's just 10 bucks.

Call me

Anyone?
Skype name: mulenex
Seriously, whoever reads this, add me.

Do not confuse individualism with being a cynic. Individualism does not equal “caring only about yourself”. It merely means not defining a framework in which the others operate. Caring about others is still pretty much desirable. The means are different – caring is not shaping others according to you. Though the Biblemight say it actually is.
 Well, that’s one thing that bible is wrong in. The second thing is Genesis 1:28.

I left my peers for strangersss.
And what did strangersss do?
Put me in a cellar and went to a fair.

Lips remain dry,
thirsty, untouched.
And the heart, heart is cooling down,
till it reaches cellar's room temperature.

And when it does, oh boy, when it does
I'll be coming back.
Back, to the land of warm hearts and cold snow.

If your limbs stick out of the frame they'll be cut off.

There is one reason why strong discipline is essentially a bad idea; it's just as bad idea as selling only one size of shoes for everybody.

Discipline is bonding.

If our perception of others' actions would be a window, discipline would be there to say: "This part of the window is too dirty and you shouldn't look through it."
It would only let you see one part of everyone. The same part of everyone.
And this part equals the whole in only one case; the discipline maker's.

Because, really; isn't it rather silly that one man in D.C. tells all the men from Minnesota to Texas, from California to Florida what to do?

Justice is individual.

Lao Tse, fouder of Taoism, when he was old, he wanted to leave the state he lived in to finish his life in solitude. When he was crossing the border a guard asked him to write his ideals in a book before he leaves.
This book became one of the most important books ever.

Who should we be more grateful to, who helped the world philosophy more:
Lao Tse or the guard?

Comp pol wisdom.

Maybe the purpose of education is modifying human nature to be more respectful.

I wish to become a Boddhisattva

I am in Hong Kong.

It's just about midnight.
Jet lag is keeping me awake.
I can see a river below when I look out through a window.
It reflects the skyscrapers on the opposite site.
Phillips logo is slowly changing its color from blue to white.
I find it very psychedelic.

I close my laptop and hide it underneath the bed. Internet is too slow here to be of any use.
I try to fall asleep.
Impossible.
I go around the room, looking for a distraction.

I open the table's drawer.
There's a bible and one more book;

Teachings of Buddha.
I take it.
I smell the old pages.

I start reading.
And I read.
I read.
My eyes are closing.
But I still read.
And read.
And then I fall asleep.

xxx

It's morning. 
I try to shake off the tiredness.
I am holding Teachings of Buddha in my hand.
I wish I could take this book with me.
I hesitantly put it back into the drawer.

I take my backpack and my suitcase.
And I wander away, bidding this cozy hotel room my last goodbye.



That was a memory of mine from this summer.
One of the many great memories.
I can still see it, bright and vivid.

I thought my chances of finding the book ever again are miserable; Teachings of Buddha are not a standardized religious text like Qu'ran or Bible. It's just fragments of Buddhist ideas that someone took the effort to put together.
But today I found it on Amazon.

Unlimited access to information is just as enriching as dangerous.
And it's very dangerous.

The Truth Contest

http://www.truthcontest.com/

Truth indeed may be simple when discovered.
But sometimes, it's impossible to discover it at all.
So let me stop your search for the collective truth right here:
Is there a collective summarizing truth that can be reached by humans, or is the truth in fact shattered into endless amount of fragments, that we cannot hope to recover?
Finding truth is not exactly trying to find the missing pieces to a puzzle.
We don't know if there are any pieces to fill the missing spots. We don't even know whether there are any missing spots. And maybe the part of the puzzle we put together so far does not belong; maybe we're joining several puzzles together believing that we have just one puzzle.

Interesting website, though.
That's what I wanted to say in this post, anyway.
Guess I let myself go again.
My alarm clock and I, we hate each other profoundly.

Higher standards, higher expectations

Sometimes we're just assholes, all of us.
At least deep inside we are.
We'd go crazy if we weren't.

Now go and check out
everydayblues.net

It's great.

It's salty.

It's credit crunch cereal.

I get sidetracked quite easily.

I'm not going to explain anything. 

Oh, how I love Mr. Weebl!

-Why is it always so hard to do the right thing?

-It might get easier for you, if you stopped doing the wrong thing by default. 

- everydayblues.net

Nickname of Afghanistan

The Graveyard of Empires

Click and think.

What We Must Sacrifice.

"Here, have some more of this swiss chocolate. Just the best for my plumpkin."
I broke off a moderately small piece and with feigned gratitude I put it in my mouth.
"Go on. Take everything. I want you to."
"No, thanks, I'm stuffed."
"Oh, just take it. Do you know how much we paid for that? And remember, we're doing it all just because we love you."
I didn't ask for any of it, I thought. Yet, since I was an obedient boy, I suppressed my urge to vomit and ate the rest of it.

My smartphone started ringing. 
"Daddy, would you excuse me, please?"
"There's no need for that, plumpkin. Whatever they want from you is not nearly as important as an evening with family."
However, I was curious. All men desire knowledge, right? At least that's what the hairy old person in my textbook said.
I carefully looked at my phone underneath the table. It felt like I was undertaking a great risk doing so. The screen read:  Missed Call (1): Timmy

Timmy was my best friend. He was the only poor kid on my school. He got a scholarship, because he was smart. A lot of people used to make fun of him, but I liked him. He was nice. I wasn't allowed to visit him, though, because he lived in a neighborhood that wasn't as nice as the one my family lives in. That's why my dad got a cellphone for Timmy. Timmy's parents couldn't afford it and my dad wanted me to be able to keep in touch with my best friend. We used to call a lot. When dad got him this phone, he allowed him to have only one number saved: mine. But why would Timmy call me now? I was very curious.

"Plumpkin, what are you looking at? Rather take a look at this, a documentary about dolphins! It's lovely and very educating. I'm sure you love dolphins."
I hate dolphins. Fuck dolphins.

xxx

Next morning I got up and went to school. Like all the good kids do. 7:53 and I was at my locker. Perfect, just like always. Except Timmy wasn't there. He's always there at 7:53.
He didn't show up in school at all that day.
Only his parents came in the afternoon. They were crying.
I never saw Timmy again.

Small talk is about people.
Academic discussion is about ideas.

For us to ever progress and evolve we need a steady supply of problems.
Solving of petty problems however is nowhere as fulfilling as the mere effort to solve those larger ones.

You could replace the entire subject of American History with...
...Comparative Politics that will teach you the "American" part of it
...and Philosophy that will teach you the "History" part of it

"Why would they behead Charles?! That's mean!!!"
-"He was a particularly creepy looking guy"

Are you civilized?

I was told that Eastern Europe may appear to Americans like the "biggest shithole"
Well, lemme tell y'all "civilized" Americans.
US may appear uncivilized to foreigners as well.
Most of foreign relations are mutual.
There's a strong look-at-those-miserable-capitalists regime in Russia. That made nations disrespect Russia just as much as Russians disrespect other nations.

It's hard to love someone who hates you.
(let me get real deep here: meanwhile most people would agree that aforesaid statement is true, what about: "It's hard to hate someone who loves you."?)

Also, I think, strict patriotic movements tend to conservatively depend on their own uncivilizedness. Global knowledge is almost unlimited. "American" knowledge, or "Czech" knowledge, or "German" knowledge are just pieces of the puzzle. We want the whole puzzle, right?

Also, is something civilized because it's stable?
Some would say the small European countries seem like savages, because the regime changes too often. Traditional countries like USA, where constitution and regime never really changed are way more "civilized".
Or are they? Well, constant changes even though they are potentially very violent, help responding to the most current trends.
Example: It was completely fine for everyone to possess a gun in 17th century. It wasn't even that dangerous; by far not everyone could afford it. However, nowadays, everyone's ability to get a gun  in certain African locations or USA is a major reason for violence. Our civilization simply overgrown the need for everyone to posses an automatic rifle. Whichever country changed since acknowledged that.

I'm gonna end this with a Philosophy textbook quote:
 "For Cosmopolitans diversity is just a fact."

Don't we all?

"I have this strange obsession with god. It's rather silly. I argue with him all the time. Problem is, he doesn't respond. But I'´ll kick his butt."
-Mr. Carson

I just found out that one person was linked to my blog by searching "art that makes you think" in google.

I feel glorious.

Converting text to music?

p22.com/musicfont/

Interesting idea.
Hey, now that we have a text to music converting website, we don't need any musicians anymore, right? Just a couple lyricists will do.

Please please me.

Happiness. The most elusive thing.
As I wander around the world I find out that there are only few people actually pleased with their lives, proud of what they've done, enthusiastic about what they will do.
Very few.
And I keep thinking; if conditions for live that those pleased individuals go through would be replicated for everyone, would the world be any happier? No. Probably, it'd be worse.
Part of being pleased with your life is having something to be grateful for.
People don't realize they should be grateful, when everyone has equal.
That's why god made us different.

By the way, Pascal's wager ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pascal's_Wager ) is completely fallacious and simply not true. Think about it.

I only smile when it's complicated

Aristotle said that a sign of an educated man is that he can keep 2 contradictory thoughts in his mind and let them fight for truth.

Interesting.
Somehow, to me it sounds also as an attribute of a loving person. Tolerant one.
However, there's an alarming number of hateful educated bastards.

If my hypothesis is correct, does it mean Aristotle is necessarily wrong?
No.
Depends on how we define an educated man.

Education is not a textbook thing. Czech dissidents learning latin in prisons come to my mind. Did they have the best teachers? Textbooks? Unlimited resources of study materials? Not by far!
Yet some of them wrote poems in latin. Others kept their notes in latin, so the prison officers couldn't read them.
There was a certain passion. Desire. Or perhaps necessity?
We could argue about that, but I am certain about what has motivated them this way: their experience.
Being in a prison isn't all rainbows and puppies.

In fact, though this may appear extremely deviated, we could say it helped them. Their crisis led them to understanding.

However desirable and comforting may life in wealth, peace and overall welfare be, it is thoroughly uninspiring to do great deeds. There's no reason to make world better, if it's okay already.
Only truly great men stand up to do something in this kind of environment.
Compared to political prison, where everyone wants to stand up against the evils.

That might render the world of welfare better, right?

Well, I think, on the contrary, that the simple deed of trying to make the world better anyhow you can is absolutely fulfilling, satisfactory.

There's probably something very wrong about this, but I enjoy things being fucked up. I can fix them, then. Also, it brings me closer to reality - there always are flaws, better to see them than to have them hurt you from cover.

"Some people think too much and some just get it."
-Ninja

Grief, smallpox, and poetry

"Broken spears lie in the roads;
We have torn our hair in our grief.
The houses are roofless now...
And the walls are splattered with gore...
We have pounded our hands in despair
Against the adobe walls."

- An Aztec wrote this.
That's one of the most civilized ways of expressing oneself.
It might even make a nice poem nowadays.

What does it say about Aztec?
What does it say about us, Europeans?


As one historian cleverly pointed out, it takes something else for every student to become interested in history.
Honestly, this little piece of writing made me care about Aztecs way more than anything else ever did.

Figurative banging

Fire burns within me.
I wrap my arms around you.
I shoot!
Oops; now they're firearms.

Just some music a friend of mine composed.

ZEBRA

Read

Don't read.
Do read.

Choose carefully.

Immaculate empathy

I         stroke         her         soft         white         hair
She       smiles        and         grabs       my       hand
Licks     the     sweat     off,     kisses      it      tenderly
I   stroke   her   her   breath   jumpstarts
Sparks in eyes shes burning so hot
webecomeoneforabriefmoment
onesoultouchesanother
passionatebloodrushesthroughmyveins
neverhaveieverseenapersonsoclose
iindulgemyselfinhershessoindulging
halt
We         embrace         and         we         fall         asleep

In and away.

I'm happy she didn't ask me with whom I had my lunch today.
I'd be ashamed to say "no one".

Since I came here I seem to be falling down, imploding into the labyrinth of my own mind.
And it's not only a maze; it's also a safehouse, just as any maze is.

Indoor, inbrains, in never rains.
Weather is always the same.
Things change less inside.

If the house owner dies, or moves away,
The house still stays.

And so it is with a man and his world.
When the world moves away,
We're left with nothing but our minds.

Minds that shine as bright lighthouse.
Lighthouse that warns you; you would crash, if you ever approached the coast,
coast of reality.

A stumble.

I have discovered StumbleUpon.
It fascinated me; the content it found for me fascinated me.
However, It made me feel much less special about myself.
I don't think that's a good thing - not now.
When all my self-esteem fizzles away, like it did during past few days,
-when I fully realize the distance from my world, when I realize social awkwardness doesn't just disappear as time goes,
then I'll hit rock bottom.

Some humbleness is necessary for me.
Self esteem is like grass; it's beautiful - if it weren't present, there would be just mud. But as it grows, it grows ugly. It needs to be trimmed. Yet trim carefully - you still want to have something when you're done.

Trust me, if you will, on this one.
There's one thing I need more than a beer and a walk through the night.
A hug. The most advanced weapon to tell the bad guys "go fuck yourself".
Yet never, never would I regard it as a weapon.
Just the very opposite.

Someone said: "All poems are about love or death."
I thought; and now I ask you. Aren't these the exact opposites?
I hope I'll get to develop this idea sometime. It's very important to me.

Hey, is this the other way?

"Were you warned"
I hear in my head these words play.
"When you came to USA?"
I hate today.
I pray I could lay.
Say, is ceiling gray?

Imma shoot y'all down. Because I can.

I find this rather fitting the situation I am finding myself in.

America is a country that loves itself.

Most European countries like to make fun of themselves, or simply hate themselves.

Sure, you'll find a couple ol' patriots and nationalists in every country. But the national pride just works the best in USA.

That is in a way a great thing. People need something to be proud of.

However, there is a problem to it; it prevents them from seeing the actual issues. There are some very fine things about USA, but there's a lot of bad stuff too. Particularly, almost everyone owning a gun is one of those problems. 

I mean - I get it. You need a gun to protect yourself. It makes sense for you to be able to get a gun because of that, right?
Well, NO.

If you make getting a gun easy, every other criminal can buy it now absolutely without problem. And shoot people with it. And so increasing the demand for guns - so people could defend. But they go nuts and attack someone. It happens all the time here. It's a vicious circle. Back in CZ you can stab someone. It's a very violent yet effective way of dealing with problems. That is pretty much the same like guns. However, there's a lot smaller chance that you will kill someone by stabbing them than shooting them. If a person with a knife gets into a choleric rage and stabs someone - ok, they're badly injured. When the knife-holder realizes what a terrible thing he's done, he'll call the ambulance and there's very solid chance the victim will be cured perfectly. With a gun - if the victim is not dead on the spot I'd say they can call it a lucky day.

Now there has been some medial buzz around that recently (shooting at Batman premiere, remember? Well, there's been a lot of other shootings you may not have heard of), but it will fade out when the news is not hot. There's not so many activists that would fight for making gun laws more strict. People just don't care about the wrongs around them so much here. They either choose to ignore them or accept them as they are. Which, again, might be a good thing (you can find an activist for every little piece of bullshit in EU), but it may also prove to be crippling any political or social development.

Deserving; a capital or a capital punishment?

The strangeness of this world overwhelms me at all times.
There's only one reason I can think of.

The values of society, personal values and hopes and dreams of people - it's all set in a wrong way.

And the problem is - it's set nationwide, backed up by laws, not possible to change.
back in Europe I know people who value success, education, art, content life, happiness, experience, and money. It's the healthy mix that makes the world go round.
Well, it's just not like that in USA. The capitalism is omnipresent and it contains everything else. You want education? Pay up! Art? Nothing is for free, dove!

It just shouldn't work like that. No one here would ever look at themselves and say: " Do I deserve all of this? What have I done to deserve it?" that is, of course, unless they're poor. Which is, ultimately, a simple equation.

Poor = bad.
Poor person = bad person, not valuable at all.

I've seen many poor doctors, skilled teachers, some chemists, most artists back in CZ. I don't think I'll find much of that here. And I don't consider it such a great thing. Money spoils people. I've simply seen too many poor and happy people to ever believe in power of capitalism.

You could call me naive, but that would essentially only prove how limited your view of the world would have to be.
There are some things I'm certain of.
And as much as there are advantages to having the "American dream", which is basically a certain value that is pretty much standardized, still the diversity of Europe with its closer connection to both reality and the world of dreams wins my heart. And now I don't think that is just personal. I imagine - if all the world realized this, wouldn't it be a much better place?

Fade out, fade away. I wish I'll fade in once again.

Things won't ever be like they were, isn't it so?

I have to say; I've never had a greater time like the last half year. It must've changed me for good.

I know now that there are no evil people.
I learned that things actually can be perfect.
I will never be ashamed for what I create again.

I have realized that the world is actually very sad. Only a small and limited number of people are happy. And why, how, do I deserve to be one of such few?
I don't really care.
I'll still try to do my best, to live to the full. And feeling that you do the best you can is way better, than to be told you do what you should.

There is much absurdity in the world. But when you feel loving arms around you, it seems so distant, not important, not real even.


Not much that I have before me. So much that I will miss. Just the people I've met lately. I am so lucky, yet so unfortunate. I got something and made it mine, just to leave it afterwards. And if it were my choice now, perhaps I wouldn't leave here at all.

It's "only" half a year, but it feels like leaving for ever. As if I never was to return.
And never being able to return would be probably the most painful thing I could live through. If something happened to me, something bad, then the perpetrator would be the most villainous individual in this space and time.

Because loving is just as important as being loved. Or even more important, even.

Scenes from the Suburbs

I have to admit, I'm not really a movie fan.
There's plenty that I haven't seen even though I know I should.
But today I finally got myself to watch one thing-
and it was just as beautiful as I thought it would be-

Scenes from the Suburbs.

A short movie inspired by Arcade Fire's album The Suburbs.
Or rather, not even a movie. More like a composition of scenes that are virtually independent, but allow you, just like shattered pieces of glass, to make out the entire image, the entire story, if you try hard enough.

In fact, it provides what movies and video-games can only very infrequently provide: a space for your own imagination. A space for emotions that are not thrown at you, but only for those that you can make yourself feel.

A part of heart will stay.

I am leaving.
Going far away.
In two days time I will kiss the ground goodbye and set sail.
And I will not see my beloved home for half year.
Sure, it's not that long, you might say.
But as I pack my stuff, I feel that I have to leave so much behind. And not only in the literal material meaning.
I am expected to leave a child and come back a man.

To me, such a hasty change always seemed inferior.
One cannot build as fast as they can destroy.
If you burn the bridge behind you, it will take you a lot of time to build a new one on the other side. And during that time, you are stranded, stranded on an island.

Over the hill, not far away.

"Look there, on the horizon. What do you see?"
I was puzzled, why would he ask about that? "Well, there's the hill and above it a line of ugly grey clouds. Why do you ask, grandpa?"
"And tell me, boy, what is behind that big green hill?"
"Well, there's the big evil hole."
"Yes, yes. The Abyss" he shunned a little, with a fearful, disgusted and worried look on his face. "Now, how far is it?" he continued.
"Very far!" I said. He looked satisfied with my answer.
"Yes, it looks like it's very far. But what if the hill wasn't there?"
"Well... uhm... I guess..." I was thinking for some time with my confused face on, I rolled my eyes and then my expression turned into the most solemn and proffessional that I could perform, and with abundant proudness in my eyes I exclaimed: "It would be just as far as it is now."
Grandpa looked at me, obviously doubting my scientific conclusion: "Would it, though?"
I, with the look of a dignified researcher with tens of years of practice, was not going to start doubting my hypothesis: "It indeed would, grandpa. Because hill is just a big pile of mud. If there wasn't the mud and if there would be only a field instead, the distance from our cabin to The Abyss would be very much the same."
"Well, we shall see about that, young man."
I was pleased that he called me 'young man', it made me feel even more scientist, but I didn't understand what he meant by 'we shall see'. "What do you mean, gran-" I was interrupted by him saying: "Now go get some sleep. We'll go on a walk tomorrow."

He sure didn't want to go down that line, to explain me how 'we shall see'. It was rather strange, really - I mean the whole thing - grandpa usually does not talk at all. He has always been a silent wise man, he almost has an image of a wizard. If only would he ever open his mouth, that would be to teach and advise, not to talk about some hill. It's weird.
But at least, we go for the walk tomorrow. We usually go to the village and people there, recognizing grandpa as the brightest moral authority in as far as this land goes, often give us gifts. Last time the blacksmith gave me a shovel. So I could search for treasure, he said. It was very nice of him.

I woke up in the morning and stretched my back. Then I looked out of the window and I've seen something very very wrong. The hill simply disappeared. It wasn't there anymore. Grandpa was sitting on the porch, smoking his pipe. I came to him and in panic I started yelling: "Grandpa, grandpa! What is happening? Why is The Abyss so close? How could the hill have disappeared?

He looked at me, in his eyes I could see his calm wisdom and with a lowered voice so typical for him, he said: "I made the hill go away. But The Abyss, The Abyss is just as far as it was. It does look much closer now, though, doesn't it? We can no longer hide behind the hill. If we look out of the window, we can only gaze into Its darkness." He took a deep breath and a look towards The Abyss and then he went on: "I hope this will be a lesson to you. Only the present and near can we ever see thruthfully. Hiding may not protect you, but rather leave unprepared. Now come, let's pack our bags. We are leaving this placce once and for all. We will live in the village from now on."

And so, just like that, we saved our threats from the most massive threat in our lives. If the problem won't disappear, it's time for you to do it. Some things just can't be solved.

As The Abyss expanded, it consumed our former cabin not many days after that. But here we are safe. Hidden, but already prepared.

Error 4:04 (AM): sleep not found

Don't you just love it when your brains decides to ring the bells in your head at 4am, saying: "alright folks, that's it for the night, been a real pleasure. Now go out and do shit, yo, stallin' is for fools, man." And just like that, you gotta go. It's bussiness time.

I fucking love legos.

This guy who makes those, he's brilliant. Those quotes he picks are pretty cool and as much as I don't like quoting famous people, he's making it an art form. Which is simply ingenious. Just as his artworks are.

zenpencils.com

(right click - open image if you can't see the text otherwise)