Saturday, July 15, 2017

You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave

The sky was brightening up by the minute. He was strolling down the street. He had reached his destination. You can check out anytime, a scantily clad, undoubtedly stoned girl in a flower dress told him, as she handed him a pair of keys. He decided to head to the hotel bar for a night cap. He suddenly saw an unexpected crowd sitting by the bar there. They exchanged pleasantries, sipping on bourbon and gin. Once the night seemed to be capped, she approached him. "Fancy seeing you here," he smirked, as he exhaled another fume. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" she mysteriously smiled. "Let's go for a walk," she insisted. He got up, slightly wobbled by one too many night caps, dazed and confused by why she would want to take a walk with him. The four of them strolled around the sleazy, barely inhabited hotel halls. Such a lovely place, such a lovely face. At one point they all entered his room. It was a big, two room suite. The diabolical contradiction between the barely recognizable flower wallpaper, which had surely seen a lot and the perfectly made bed with snow white sheets. This was the end point, or so he thought, He was tired, so he got in the bed. "I need some sleep, good night, people." They left the room and he turned onto one side. Then, an unexpected turn of events occurred. Two of their companions wandered off, into the labyrinth of halls outside and she was all of a sudden next to him. Her hair magnificently laying over her bare back. He suddenly remembered many moments from the past. This was familiar, yet somehow impossible.

She leaned over and whispered into his ear: "I've missed you..." He was even more confused. He was drunk, his breath smelling like cheap cigarettes and bourbon. All of the things she hated, were overwhelmingly present. She laid on top of him and kissed his neck. He didn't know how he felt. I guess this was what had been at the back of his mind this whole time. The idea of this had haunted him for a good while. And now, it suddenly was happening. He succumbed to his natural instincts and leaned over to kiss her. Their bodies connected in a dirty dance, which was passionate, spontaneous and unexpected. All of a sudden, he caught his companions with the corner of his eye, peeking through the opening in the door. One of them whispered, loudly enough so he could be heard: "Leave these two alone. I had a feeling this might happen." She didn't even notice. She was way past the point of caring. The whole situation was bizarre, he thought to himself. Her, this place and this situation was what he had wanted, or was it? His semi-conscious mind decided to ask a silly question at this point. "Is this really what you want?" She didn't answer or say nothing, as her face disappeared behind the bed sheet. This really was something else. "I'm going to hell for this, but who cares, right?", he tried to joke but immediately was overwhelmed by his senses. He was in the paradise part of hell, whatever that meant. As her gorgeous body emerged from underneath the bed sheet and laid next to him, he decided to take the initiative. They spent the whole night in ecstatic emotions and sensational feelings. She had finally fallen asleep, her arms wrapped around his chest. He reached to the night stand and lit a smoke. His brain had turned into pudding. He did not know what to think or what had happened. This all seemed so unreal, almost like a dream...

The sound of the alarm slowly crept in. He opened his eyes. He was laying in his bed, alone. He couldn't comprehend it for the first couple of seconds. It was only just a dream. He was still in his bed, still alone like he had been for a good while now. His brain was playing tricks on him. He thought to himself, why this? The answer he didn't know, but I guess this is what your brain does to you in this state. Time to move on.

Friday, June 23, 2017

Solitude is the best medicine after all.

It's a shame I only returned to this magical place now. It's magical because of its being, its existence, the silence, peace and green fields surrounding it. This bed has seen it all. Actually, no, this bed has only seen the best of times. I can't say that now it's the worst of times, but it is the first time in a while I've been alone in this bed. And damn, does it feel good. More space, both for thought and for the body. The tradition has to be maintained.

It's the 21st year of my life and the 21st time in my life I'm spending this particular day in this house, in this place, surrounded by family. It's a beautiful thing, it's the essential thing for me. I always say that I would come here more often, when in reality, in the past 4 years or so, I haven't really been here. Way too little time has been spent roaming these fields or shoveling dirt or mowing the lawn around these grounds. And that's something I still want to change. The silence and grace of this place are just too great. The past two years, on this particular day, this particular festivity, I have been with a significant other. This year is the exception. This year I'm all by myself, preparing for the worst but expecting the best. Only time will tell, how things unfold this time around. Who knows? But that's the beauty of it - the unknown.

This year it's family first. The real family, the blood family. They're the only people that I can trust, that I can rely on and the only ones who truly care about me. At this point, everyone else becomes insignificant. It's about the bond that has been formed by maintaining relationships within the family. It's a lost art, really, I feel like. People are over-consumed with egotistical goals and futures. They need to look outside their boxes, at the bigger picture. Realize that it's not me or you or him or her, that's in the center of the world. No person is. As it should be. It's all about your perspective and your ability to adjust. Family is always first. They brought you into this world and shaped you as a person. Not for everyone is this blood family, but that doesn't really matter. It's all about the relationships, the experiences, the upbringing.

Solitude is the magnum opus of creativity, at least for me. Use the time you have alone wisely. Think about things you wouldn't think around others. Make use of this time and it can do almost anything for you. As long as you are willing to work for that.

Seems like this was just a bunch of nonsense, I hope not entirely. May your family always be with you, despite differences. In the end, it's the only thing you have in this world, that you're related by blood to. Happy Midsummers and see you around!


Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Coincidences? I think yes.

Hello, it's me!

I found this in the draft pile, edited it a bit and finally publishing it. The first part can be found, posted on the 28th of October 2016. Enjoy!

It's time for part 2 of "All grown up. Or is it so?", now known as "Two-thirds of a French diet".

After smoking a couple and ordering another glass of Irish whiskey on the rocks, he sat back down and kept on keeping on. Oh booy, did the whiskey help. He was finally fully enjoying the things he had been missing in life. Smoking, whiskey, the silence, the peace. He felt good.

And then, an unexpected(well, not really) guest walked into the bar. He had forgotten that they were supposed to meet there. They sat down, and he offered her a drink. "Nope, I'm behind the wheel today. Still have some drinking to do later on." Did she do the drinking later part? Yes. Did it go according to her initial plan? Well, maybe, but probably not. After about 90 minutes of just finally being able to talk to someone, a question emerged. "How much time do you have before you need to go?" -"Well, I kind of feel like staying here." - "Let's get some wine and go to your place, it's empty, right? I really don't want to go home tonight." - "But, but, I'll be a terrible person if I cancel now..." - "There's nothing wrong with doing what you want the most. Come on, we can only buy wine for another 20 minutes!"

So they got out of the bar and rushed to the car, which was about a block away. In a matter of 13 minutes, they managed to get to a supermarket, find a parking spot on the curb, get in, get wine, get food, get out and have a smoke before calmly driving to the designated party space for the night. The soundtrack of the night was old. Old, but gold. 

The computer on the table was blasting Poison by Alice Cooper. It was 11:30 PM. They were about to run out of wine. They both knew at that point that they should've bought two bottles. Oh, well. They looked around the apartment for something to quench their thirst. Unfortunately, the cheap, everyday drinking wine reserves were out. "What's the status?" - "Well, we could drink this one, but then we need to fly to Israel tomorrow and get a new one."  - "Easy, what time is the flight?" They both chuckled. After some extensive digging, she managed to find a bottle of vodka, not the most expensive stuff. But it had 3 pickled jalapeno peppers inside. They decided to live a little. The vodka burned, but one thing's for sure, the peppers killed the taste of cheap vodka. And what more can you ask for, really? It's 2 AM and you need a drink, I don't believe there's any room for complaints here. 

Morning. No headache, He's awake after just 5 hours of sleep. Ok. Whatever. She was still knocked out. He browsed Facebook for a while. A pinch of sorrow hit him again. Yet he was accustomed to it. What he really needed was to get out of bed, have a coffee and a cigarette. He decided not to wake her up until coffee was ready and cigarettes were rolled. He walked into her bedroom, quietly inviting her to wake up, put a cup of coffee underneath her nose. That awakened her. "Come on, get out of bed, it's noon." - "Coffee and cigarettes? I'm up!"

It was noon, and the only thing that seemed reasonable at that point was cigarettes and coffee. The sun was high, and they settled for a stereotypically French breakfast.  "This is almost a French diet, isn't it?" They both laughed. "Indeed it is. This is fun!" she said as she took a sip of the lukewarm coffee. She thought to herself whether this was a sign of things to come.

After this breakfast of French champions (of bohemian lifestyle), they agreed that another bottle of wine and lunch were very much needed. "I'll be able to drive tonight, right?" - "Of course, come on. Take it easy and just go with the flow." They went to the store, and bought a single bottle of wine, because, well, they were two responsible adults who were going to make and have lunch together and then go on with their daily business. Right? Wrong. A single bottle was a mistake. Of course, it wasn't enough.  The food was good though. They both channeled their inner chefs and made the most appetizing wok known to man. At least for them, at that time and that place, for sure.

After finishing that bottle of wine, enjoying another pair of cigarettes, still the same great music and the idleness of the moment, they figured they needed dessert. And more wine, obviously. So they went to the smaller, local supermarket. Luckily, there was both chocolate cake and Riesling at great prices. This time they didn't make the mistake of buying just one bottle of wine. This time they bought two. Although the second one was initially meant for something else. He had to be somewhere. So he figured he'd bring some nice wine since he knew he was going to be late anyway. Funny thing is, the wine bottle never reached it's designated destination, just like the consumer who bought it. 

The chocolate cake melted on your tongue, and in combination with the sweet, yet pleasantly sour flavour of the wine, ahh, dessert of kings, really economical and low-maintenance kings, more commonly known as university students. After this super nutritious meal, they both engaged into reminiscing about the past. This conversation only increased the already existing tension in the room. The stories shared were quite private, well, at least before they told them to each other they were. Soon they realized reality is much better. The past is only better in movies or on TV. So they decided to look at some past, in the form of Mad Men. And so they did.  

The past is something you can't control, and that's why you control and settle your present. Your reality. And that's what makes the saying "There's no time like the present" truly accurate. And even though they both had made plans for that night, outside of what they had gotten themselves into, that was the past. They both felt this was the time to free themselves of the past. If this coincidence of a weekend wasn't a sign of things to change, then I honestly don't know what could be. They looked each other in the eyes. Their hands had somehow become one, he leaned his head towards hers. 

To be continued.

Vau vau! Jeb Suņu laiks.

Kas tad tas? Latviešu valoda manā blogā?

Atcerieties, bija kādreiz tāda dziesma, kuru izpildīja apvienība ar nosaukumu SWAG TEAM? He, ja nu esi aizmirsis, vai neesi dzirdējis, šeku reku links. Jebkurā gadījumā, šovakar nevaru saprast, ko notiek. Šodien gāju caur super saulainai, taču nenormāli vējainai Rīgai un atcerējos šo izcilo, vienu no pirmajiem kvalitatīvajiem latviešu daiļdarbiem, kas pieskārās repa un populāru reperu parodiju tēmai. Bet ne par šo dziesmu patiesībā šovakar runa. Runa ir par suņu laiku, par pavasari, par kaisli un par cilvēka percepciju. Tīri tāds, viegls pārdomu raksts no manas puses. Lūdzu, kritizējiet, izsmejiet, oponējiet, reaģējiet! Ja piekritīsit, arī nesūdzēšos, droši vien.

Ik pa laikam dzirdama frāze par to, ka pavasaris ir suņu laiks. Kāpēc tā? Jo, acīmredzot, tiesa, atsaukties uz manis teikto kā simtprocentīgu avotu droši vien nevajadzētu, ap šo laiku esot viens no diviem suņu pārošanās laikiem gadā. Jā, kā izrādās, šis teiciens radies no tā, ka kuces skrien pie krančiem vai otrādi (te nav nekāda naida vai seksisma, tikai dzimumnodalījums suņiem). Un to pašu pielīdzina arī cilvēkiem. Tādi paši dzīvnieki vien esam, acīmredzot. Ja paroc mazliet dziļāk loģikas akā var šķist, ka tas vēl varētu šķist jēgpilni, jo pavasarī mostas daba, kas ir taisnība un ka tāpēc cilvēki vairāk satiekas, iemīlas, spontāni kopīgi pieņem sliktus lēmumus, uzsāk laimīgas vai ne tik laimīgas kopdzīves vai vismaz bohēmiskas kopeksistences bez noteiktām robežām un preambulu "Bet mēs jau īsti neesam kopā, katrs darām, ko gribam."

Lai arī es piekrītu, ka pavasarī mostas daba, par cilvēkiem es nebūtu tik pārliecināts. Tie parasti mostas biežāk. Bieži vien no rīta. Reizēm arī svešās gultās. Un reizēm to mēdz arī nožēlot. Par suņu pārošanās laikiem nemācēšu teikt, man nav un nekad nav bijis suņa, man nav nekas pret suņiem, bet man arī nekad nav bijusi vajadzība noskaidrot, kad un kāpēc suņiem ir pārošanās laiks. Galu galā, suņus ierobežo viņu reproduktīvajā brīvībā tāpat kā cilvēkus, tiesa, pilnīgi citu iemeslu dēļ un ar pilnīgi citām metodēm - kāpēc lai man interesētu viņu pārošanās laiks?

Tiesa, laikam jau tikpat jēdzīgs ir jautājums, kāpēc mani interesē šis acīmredzami vecais teiciens un kāpēc es par to jau esmu uzdrukājis vairākas rindkopas? Atbilde nez vai eksistē un ja eksistē, tad tā noteikti nav tik super vienkārša, lai es spētu to izteikt vai izdrukāt vārdos. Bet es šodien gāju uz darbu un iedomājos, ka kaut kas par šo tēmu būtu jāuzraksta šajā interneta nostūrī, kuru apmeklē pietiekami daudz cilvēku, lai es spētu pabarot savu ego pieteikami un piespiest sevi rakstīt iedvesmas brīžos, bet pietiekami maz cilvēku, lai es neuztrauktos un neiespringtu par to, ko esmu uzrakstījis, jo tad tas no izklaides jau kļūst par darbu, kas var arī nebūt slikti, bet tomēr, kreativitāte ir īpašība, ko grūti nopirkt un ja mēģina, parasti nedabū augstākās kvalitātes preci. Vismaz man tā šķiet.

Atgriežoties iepriekš pieminētajā suņu laika tēmā. Man šķiet, ka pavasari sauc par suņu laiku tikai tāpēc, ka visu rudeni un ziemu visi pārīši sēž savos dzīvokļos, mašīnās, Kungu ielas Costa Coffee otrā stāva dīvāniņos, un maigojas vai citādi viens otram (un reizēm, diemžēl vai par laimi arī svešiniekiem vai iestādes darbiniekiem) izrāda un apliecina savu mīlestību, vai vismaz to, ka mēles kustināt, nerunājot, prot abi. Un ka no viegla ekshibicionisma arī nav bail. Pavasarī visi šie ļautiņi ieņem parku soliņus, Nila meistardarbu - Jauno Daugavas promenādi, tiesa vecā krastmala un Andrejostas rajons arī netiek pelti. Atliek sestdienas skrējienā paskriet gar Daugavu no Salu tilta līdz Andrejostas pašam galam, un romantiskās komēdijas vai jebkuru daiļdarbu, kas iekļauj salkanas mīlestības klišejas, negribēsies lasīt/skatīties uz ilgu laiku. Un tā droši vien pat ir labāk. Mana hipotēze tomēr vairāk ir par to, ka suņu laiks ir labs koncepts, lai svaigi vientuļie vai ilglaicīgi nelaimīgie un nesaprastie prāti varētu pasūdzēties par to, cik ļoti viņiem nepatīk šie skati. Man šķiet, ka tam nav nekāda sakara ar gadalaiku, bet gan ar cilvēka percepciju.

Un te nu mēs ar jums, dārgais lasītāj, ja tu te vēl esi, kopīgi esam nonākuši pie percepcijas un mana viedokļa. Man rodas sajūta, ka ar suņu laiku ir līdzīgi kā ar citiem pesteļiem un māņticībām. Kad tam ir izskaidrojums laika dēļ, tāpēc, ka "pavasaris taču ir suņu laiks, cilvēki ļauj vaļu saviem dzīvnieciskajiem pārošanās instinktiem", tas norāda daudz vairāk nevis uz šiem cilvēkiem, bet gan šīs tēzes autoru un viņa dzīvi. Kad tu esi viens no viņiem (un šeit varu runāt tikai no savas necilās pieredzes skatu punkta), kad tu pats sēdi parkā uz soliņa vai kāda bāra mīkstajās mēbelēs un pavadi laiku ar savu otro pusīti, dzīvesbiedru, draugu, dvēseles radinieku vai vienkārši cilvēku, kurš piekrita ar tevi aiziet uz Rendezvous jeb tikšanos, tu šīs lietas nepamani. Tev tas neinteresē. Ja tu esi laimīgs, tu pārstāj interesēties par to, cik citiem ir labi. Pat ja tu to pamani, tu par to nedomā, tas tev netraucē, jo tas taču ir tik "relatable". Un tā tas ir ne tikai suņu laikā. Es esmu gatavs derēt ar kādu, ka nav nekādas jēdzīgas statistikas, kas pierāda, ka pavasarī cilvēkiem ir tendence uz vairāk savstarpēju romantisku attiecību veidošanu. Ja kādam ir statistika, padalieties, lūdzu!

Bottom line, nav vērts skumt par kaut ko, ko pašam ietekmēt ir grūti. Ja tu neesi kretīns un kaut mazliet strādā ar sevi, uzvedies kā pieklājīga būtne un centies sevi pilnveidot, ar laiku viss notiks pats no sevis. Cilvēks ir nepacietīgs dzīvnieks, taču raksturiņu audzināt nevienam nekad nav nācis par ļaunu. Nevajag uzvesties kā sunim stereotipā un, tā teikt, ārkārtīgi izrādīt vēlmi pēc fiziskas vai emocionālas baudas pārāk uzkrītoši. Visam savs laiks un sava vieta. Un pēc būtības jau, kamēr tas ir likuma robežās, neviens cits ārpus kaut kāda random džeka savā blogā jums droši vien nepiesiesies. Un nevajag arī, jo tas jau nav nekas slikts. Vienkārši visam ir robežas. Ja robežas spēj sajust, tas parasti atvieglo dzīvi gan tev, gan citiem.

Un tā es esmu beidzis savu (gandrīz) pilnmēness savārstījumu un pulkstenis ir stipri nepatīkamāks, kā tas bija pirms es sāku šo drukāt. Bet iedvesmai, mūzai un bezmiegam nepavēlēsi. Tā kā, paskatīsimies, vai es spēšu vēl kādreiz saņemties un ko iedrukāt arī dzimtajā mēlē. Tad jau redzēs.

Priekā un par produktīvu atlikušo nedēļu, novēlu tiem, kas meklē, atrast, tiem, kas atraduši, turēties un tiem, kam šķiet, ka ir atraduši, bet nav pārliecināti, pārliecināties!


P.S. Ja neviens vairs reāli nelieto terminu "Suņu laiks" šajā kontekstā, tad es vienkārši esmu dīvains indivīds, kuram likās, ka šī ir populāra lieta. In that case, viss šis ir irrelevant and I'm sorry for wasting your time.

Friday, March 24, 2017

War! What is it good for?

As Edwin Starr once famously sang and responded to this question, once and for all, in my opinion, "Absolutely NOTHING!"

*** *** ***
As one of the first nice, crisp spring nights was in the air, the dual celebration at home was winding down and had been celebrated in the most beautiful possible way - with an exotic celebratory feast, elixir of gods and confetti in the shape of butterflies. It was a truly idyllic and beautiful night, yet, winding down. Realizing there was another person to congratulate on completing another cycle around the Sun, he texted the final recipient of good wishes and congratulations for the day. Turns out, there was a party going on. Not exactly for this purpose, per se, still, a valid cause to get out and spread happiness on this night.

At the self-checkout counter in the supermarket, there he stood, laughing internally. Seven lollipops and a pineapple. He wondered, what could the check-out employees possibly think of his mind-boggling purchase at this time of day. As he looked their way for some assistance, he realized, they didn't care much. Their shift seemed to be close to over and they seemed way too jolly about it to care about the peculiarities in some stranger's products. As soon as the payment had been processed, he proceeded to take each of the seven lollipops, one by one and jammed them into 7 almost symmetrical spots of the magnificent exotic fruit in his hand. The final creation looked like something from another galaxy, which was kind of what he was going for.

Enjoying the crisp, yet tar-filled flavor of his cigarette, he stood at a red light and thought that this was probably a great idea. What better way to end a day than with a happy birthday girl and a drink to salute her inevitable aging process. While strolling in the direction of his destination, he practiced his gift-giving speech. It was all pulled out of thin air, but in the end, it turned out more than okay, and, most importantly, brought glee and pure, uncensored joy into the face of the recipient. Truthful happiness, a commodity hard to come by in the modern, disconnected age. Mission accomplished.

Turned out, his past had beat him here. Funnily enough, he was standing outside the bar, exhaling the fumes of another cancer stick, suddenly he heard a conversation. He didn't mean to interrupt or to barge in, it was simply loud enough to be overheard. A gleeful, yet somehow devilish voice responded to her counterparts question: "Leaving so soon?" -"Yeah, my Ex just showed up. Bye!", she almost yelled as she climbed up the steps and found something she probably didn't expect. Waving her goodbyes once more to the confused, yet amused owner of the cigarette, she stormed off into the nightly streets of old town.

"Life, it's the funniest thing sometimes, isn't it?", he thought to himself, as he put out his cigarette and proceeded to enter the premises for a night cap, before heading home.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

The show must go on

Moving on. It's not something everyone is capable of doing. Opening yourself up to the multitude of options makes you think. It always takes time, sometimes the amount of one's lifetime is not enough to take this small step in the everyday routine, which can be a humongous fucking leap for a life.

Hanging on to things can be very frustrating. Learning to let go is one of the arts which are near impossible to master. The emotional experiences of one's life accumulate into the choices we make. Some of them good ones, some not so much. But ultimately, all of the choices are made to make yourself feel better, but sometimes you need to make choices that make you be better, rather than feel better. Freeing yourself from the burden you placed upon yourself. There is no one to blame and no other person or thing responsible for your life other than yourself. And that is the most beautiful feeling - understanding that you are able to control the whole entirety of your existence.

*** *** ***
The finale almost made him cry. It was moving, yet as in best Hollywood traditions, empty at the same time. It left room for thought. And that is a good thing. The timing could not have been more suitable. As he prepared to go enjoy a cigarette and reminisce about the times of the past, the past presented itself in the form of a message, glaring into his eyes from the luminescent display of his beat-up, yet still highly functioning cell phone. The words that no one should ever feel are too much, unnecessary or extra. A "Thank you" goes a long way. Especially, when presented at the right time and place.

Exhaling and blowing the smoke into the twilight sky, his face turned from a sad grin into a real, genuine smile. The freedom, inexpressible through the medium of speech or the written word almost lifted him off the ground. Pure, no strings attached gratitude will do that to a man. Or a woman, for that matter. For the first time in a long time, he felt his choices were well thought out and appreciated for a change. Not by others, that didn't matter much, but rather by himself. The highest value of gratitude known to man, that of self-gratitude. Self-loathing is pushed into the darkness of the past and pure joy and feelings of liberation occupy the empty space within one's heart. It took time, longer than one might predict or expect, but the inevitable happened. The understanding that this is not a fight worth fighting, that this is a cause which has occupied his mind for way too many hours over the recent past. There is no one universal cure for heartbreak. There are a lot of short-term solutions which all work like a charm until you remember. But if you force yourself to live through that dream and push yourself over that edge, good things will happen. It's not easy to tell yourself that, especially when it's almost every other night. But it's all worth it in the end. It liberates you to be able to live, breathe and enjoy every fiber of existence once again.

*** *** ***
The past 24 hours had taught him more than the past 4 months. He learned both that apparently he was a sensible person, and the events thereafter seem to prove that. For a change.

He was happy. He was free as a bird you cannot change. He had found some shelter. Turns out, it had been just a shot away. The final trip took two tickets to get there, but touchdown brings him back around again to find. Find the light to his fire.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Crazy little thing called love.

Art. Big discussions emerge nowadays, what is art and what isn't. Well, I tend to agree with one of the more modern views, that art is shaped by the viewer, reader, the human processing this work. Popular art is popular because the author has been able to tap into a certain market of alike-thinking individuals, who are unified through this affection. The art we like to call bad, is simply not satisfying to many people apart from its creator. But the purpose of art is to please. Aesthetically, but mostly mentally and spiritually. Art has no definition. I might even go as far as to say art is like love. People try to decipher the way it works, assign it characteristics, functions. All of that is absolutely worthless because if you ever truly experience either love or art, or anything else for that matter, you realize that this is an individual thing. Always.

Man naturally looks to justify all of his actions. The truth is, if we all lived exactly as we wanted, the world would diminish at a pace we do not want to ever experience. Moral boundaries, laws and values, religion, politics and other preferences - without these things the world could not exist. The excessively brave and foolish individuals who indulge in the greatest pleasures and excesses of life are hated by many, celebrated by a few, but vaguely overlooked by most. The general idea one might take away from art in general is that it's an attempted manifestation of your problems. Not in all cases, obviously, but it is one of the more morally acceptable mediums of expressing emotions. Funny how that goes, since you could easily hire a therapist or just talk to someone. But we humans, for the most part, have this one nasty flaw. Emotional expression is hard, because of things like judgment, or fear thereof, and simply due to the fact that we are ashamed of them. And the worst part is, if you decide to be open to someone about them, in the fullest way possible, you quite logically, in my opinion, would expect the other person to feel the same way. But instead of trust, we choose to doubt, we choose to judge, shit on, criticize, often overlooking our own problems and using the emotions of others as emotional stepping stones to satisfy ourselves in the short-term. In the long-term, however, we sob, cry, scream, and the weaker ones, indulge into substances, such as alcohol, drugs, nicotine, over-working, sports, anything really to replace the anger, profound sadness or despair. But the superior drug still is lust. It's the poor man's version of love. Lust is like tequila shots or any other drug. It's fun, seems like a great idea at the start of the night, but then you wake up, regretting things you might not even remember. Self-loathing is a thing that happens to everyone, without exceptions. It's like masturbating. Everybody does it, and those who say they don't, are lying. Now, this might not be a perfectly true statement, but I have a feeling it's fairly close to the point.

Whether you want to admit it or not, life is full of messed up situations. It always has been and always will be. You are partially in control of how you perceive and handle then, but the aforementioned emotions tend to mess with that in many ways. If they didn't, half, hell, the better part of music, literature, cinema and other forms of art would not exist, as art is modeled after life situations, hypothetical or not, and if emotional interference wasn't a thing, well, there wouldn't be a lot of art. They say art requires inspiration. That is true. Uninspired art is the sad consequence of the Western way of civilization. It's doing it for the sake of doing it. That "Do what you love and love what you do" thing that is tossed around quite a bit these days is very much true. The dysfunction of a society is the magnum opus of the inner demons of the individuals who comprise it. And self-loathing is a general reason for enjoying art. When you explore a piece, it's never about the author, it's always about you. And that is fine. And I think it could be said that it's a well-established way of making your existence more tolerable. But again, it's an addiction. Suppress your demons too much, and you will suffer. Let them out too much, same thing. It's all about balance. Balance which still does not mean anything, because you can't put life on a scale, or on a chart. People have tried, but there are things numbers can't represent.

The rollercoaster that is life, is naturally full of ups, downs, different perceptions and view points. It occasionally also includes feeling unpleasant, at which point you might realize that something of significance exists for you. That is a slightly disturbing, yet oddly satisfying feeling.

As a bunch or brits once said it, "All you need is love, love is all you need." The word does not have a single meaning, but it still means generally similar things to the most of the populace. I concur, adding that art is the same way. Whether it's your own or someone else's, we all need the emotional getaway at times. And being in peace and living with that is a scary thing. Yet, if you overcome it, the fresh perspective on things gives you light. For a while, anyway. And that is something that helps you go forward. Keep moving, existing and hopefully, enjoying. You just need to come to this realization. The psychological joy self-loathing gives you is a quality drug, accessible to everyone. Enjoy responsibly!


P.S. This is my way of self-loathing. Don't listen to what people have to say and just express this feeling however you see fit. Smart and subtle is what keeps the world in shape. Foolish and excessive is what keeps it moving. I always choose movement over standing still, but it's up to you.