Christopher Fleming.

You don't know Christopher Fleming? How come you don't know Christopher Fleming?
Wonderful guitar parts, tremendous lyrics, thrilling voice - romantic soul after all! That's our creative & sensitive being of friendly EVS family!
"Lord, here I go again... Day in, day out..." beside lyrics the flowing sound of guitar makes a bit dreamy, nostalgic, longing for undefined effect, showing scars of the past and heart bleeding, but still feeling... and image of dreamer's eyes, despite of pink glasses becoming darker, staying the same...
But still compositions [just heard 3 of them, but I know there will be more!] has some typically "British" music accents. [And I know that it could be irritating for him to read the "British" thing as he considers himself pure Irish and there is huge difference, but still - I can do nothing about that, as part of my life consisted of brit-pop influences of 90-ties - "Blur", "Verve" and "Oasis". Although the product of creativity is always original, it's easier to describe it with familiar things.]
Nevertheless, I cross my fingers for your little star up there under the painted sky, December Boy!

Rock This Macedonian Party.

Well, this story could be reffered to numerous new-found glories of numerous new-found musical creatures. Nowadays it's pretty hard to surprise fastidious public, which we present with the image of ourselves. We desire more, we ask for more... more amazements in enourmous world of sounds and cute attraction points in every song, which makes us if not moan along with the main voice screaming on the microphone, then at least make a little finger-play on wooden bar-table producing "echo-effect" with original drumbeats.

Hard job mixed with enjoyment. As it's harder than before to shine among numerous underground amateurs trying to fullfill the dream to be heard. Life of a Poet - you never know what you will get, but you never stop creating the reflections of your rich imaginary world, although so many times three dots are the fullstop of stories of new-found glories.
So what's going on here in Struga? I can tell it's a town of very talented kids [anyhow they stand out with ability to play more than one musical instrument...] grown-up with sounds of Rolling Stones , Eric Clapton and Metallica. Metallica more... for sure. As that's one of the bands making effective "electric zippers", when playing solos. Adding a bit sugar to this musical cocktail - a bit of Depeche Mode for a change ;)
So what can be heard finally from fulltime young orchestras? Mostly POP-ROCK [with gentle touch of joy taken from SKA] or revivals of old, well-known sounds of hits of last decades of 20th century. I shake my head, hearing Guns'n'Roses "Sweet Child of Mine", Lenny Kravitz "Fly Away" and Eric Clapton "Cocaine" like in those terrific past times of my youth. But anyhow, beside the well-known hits I can smell the search of new ways how to tell [sound] the same things. Most interesting part to hear - popsy/electronic hits in different rock versions, if I may call them that way. Lady Gaga's parts with male's voice and some more rough interlude sounds freakin' awesome. Maybe rock coverversions is a latest fashion in music business? Well, it will succeed for sure and will cover more public to follow...
I still don't have proper image of Macedonian young strivers of music world, but I continue watching fingers and exploring the sounds... that's the way aha, aha I like it...

[in pictures: Struga's Duo Slide & Bitola's SHINE]

Merry Fuckin' Christmas.

Fullfilling the most desired Christmas wish I had every year before Christmas 2009. And the feeling in the morning, going through the mess in the kitchen and trying to find something eatable left from wild Christmas party yesterday, was just the thing to prove it. Prove that Green Fairy was here in Skopje yesterday - fullfilling all kind of wishes you ever had a fantasy about - get laid, get high and overall drunk - partying as hell on Christmas! [ I guess Jesus was deliriously happy about such Birthday Celebration!]
The public involved in the event after First Wake-up had a strange, well-known feeling of 1st January [where am I and what I did last night?] as everything in the house, including morning faces and composition of mixed rows of dirty glasses & wine bottles, reminded of that. This time there was nothing but a neverending Christmas morning, which lasted all day... and consisted of talking bullshit mostly... with the members of great EVS family!
I drink my magic cucumber water for You, which I bought this morning for 55 Denars in the nearest shop [Damn! Even more expensive than Cigarettes! But for morning pleasure I guess you have to pay Double]!

Merry Fuckin' Christmas!
I'm lovin' it!

Edward Maya & Vika Jigulina "Stereo Love"

OrANGELove.

Richard Wilbur telling that the morning air is full of angels behind the open window. But window is closed today. Maybe he's right. I hear them knocking...
I lost a friend today. Dot.
And time has come. For cities of white cats, fragments of freedom and killing beauty.
Time for senseless stories about "fall-in-love with the stranger" of different cultural heritage, hiding inside the daily cup of coffee.

December of Joy. Meeting Imaginary December Boy.

December of shy flirt of sun. December of Joy. Meeting Imaginary December Boy. December of thinking, sinking deep into the thoughts. And evaluation process can begin. It already started, even without my permission. "This is the end, my only friend... THE END" [year 2oo9]
Here I am. Enjoying the sun playing shadow games in space of Ohrid lake and city itself [which is called the same by the way.]. And I smile back, whenever my eyes turn from postcard writing [yeah, finally!] to a shy glimpse at Paradise view, covered with harbour of lazy boats mixing with some passengers using different kinds of wehicles - skateboards, rollerskates, legs and wings. Everything in motion. And I'm somewhere there, having a power to press the button "Pause".

Lazy Sunday Talk. Latvians.

The morning is half cold sharing the fresh air with smell of Vanilla Coffee. Lazy sunday yawn. Some rays of sunlight disturbing and at the same time inviting to seize this day...

Discussions on Skype about present life and how amazingly beautiful it is, if you take it that way... and smile appears on my face while noticing that we all are in the world somewhere! Sending hugs from Ireland, discussing the E-bay benefits directly from Birmingham, following unnoticingly crazy adventures in Denmark and Spain, sending greetings from Georgia and kisses from Macedonia... and the question "Where are you now?" sounds so pleasant, because WE ARE IN THE WORLD! That's a short story about members of dreamer nation calling themselves Latvians! [and they are not the only ones.] And I'm proud of them, as they not only dream, but as well make a huge effort to make their dreams come true! And Skype is just another progress of information technologies helping us to realize that we are still at different hotspots, but so fuckin' close to each other. Because real friends are always somewhere near... And "home is where the heart is..."

Goran Gora - "Swim, Robert, swim"... and reach the sunrise... :)

Ljube - The Child of Nature.

The jeans jacket borrowed from friends, “The Beatles” and sparkling flames of ardour coming from young generation wishing to change this world – that was in the 70’s. Times are changing and passing by. But the sparkling flames still remain in collaboration with gained life experience. And the jeans jacket – that’s his own property now. Like the sparkling flames left for young generation.
Wearing glasses in style of Dandies. Smoking and making gestures, while telling the witty shortcuts of lifestories, which unconsciously make the whole impression of the person he is now. Telling that English wasn’t sufficient in his youth, but clothing in „manner of capitalism” was into just in the weird way to show the protest against existing dogmas of socialism. Expanding horizons. Not just seeing everything as a red square or green triangular (it depends how you zoom in the conditions of proposed way of living in every political regime).
Attracted to art since childhood. Remembers himself drawing everything that was in his daily outlook. And daily view was pleasant for young artist to explore his talent and passion of art. The art of nature. The love of nature. The nature that saves and that kills. The nature that is saved and is killed. In many ways. This is his message to society – to save the environment! And show the exact problem through the flowing moves of paintbrush.
Blusterous. Calling himself “Narciss” and why not? He has all rights to do that, as this story is only about his vision of this world. Through art, inside art and in crossroads. But still the art is winning this game, even if everything is against it.
His activities can’t be described in few words, it’s just the thing of feeling that can be only understood or not, like art itself. And beside our topic of Graffiti, which is also one of the expression fields of Ljube he makes art workshops (since 1993 in Art Association ZUM 93, now – ZUM 2002) around Macedonia, with this action letting society know that nature is dying because of our non-sense. Maybe painting the dead fish and polluted wood in an impressionistic way is not really helping nature directly, but people buy the paintings, people see the exhibitions and the true feelings of artists and the story every painting keeps inside. Beside the activating art in non-governmental way and saving the nature, he is Professor of Arts, working in a school in Struga and helping young talents to find themselves in the world of creating. Even despite the fact that art still remains as amateur profession ruled mostly by enthusiasts.
The true child of nature. Maybe will continue with Ljubeism as kind of new religion, which will take masses to follow and create the beauty, leaving the messages to the world… “You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us and the world will be as one…” [John Lennon - Imagine]

Strong Brain Flavor.

October.

Yellow leaves fall down the trees. People going slowly. Maybe enjoying a windy-refreshing walk. Maybe.

Pieces of Sugar on my white sheet. Look like little diamonds. The Little reminders of snow.
People hiding their noses in scarfs and having frivolous chats inside cafeterias.
Music is chilling. And the only thing is missing - the snowing outside...

Oxygen.

Starting with the rhythm of hip-hop and a skin-head guy rapping on the radio microphone. Talking hard. The composition number one says the title. “The Oxygen”.
The Oxygen – the dance of lungs. And the story goes on… about the girl from the big city and the boy from the provinces both called Sasha. Their love starts as usual sentimentally and suddenly noticing that lungs are dancing, the oxygen comes in bigger doses. Love in this case is compared to Oxygen – at least somebody made an alternative phrase of describing “Butterflies in Stomach”. And butterflies appear either in a few significant moments of the movie.
But the plot is more complicated than just love among two youngsters likely smoking weed in front of big monuments. The problem goes deeper, and for comparison the lack or either loads of “Oxygen” can cause all the biggest mistakes made by mankind. And examples are given in the next compositions of the movie. Full track contains 10 of them, covered in simple and easy discussion on present day topics skillfully using the elements that create the modern culture of the youth. Talking about Islamic countries, 11th September 2001, which was all made in name of big “love” (shown in videos of war and named as “LOVE PARADE”), and youth dependent on drugs, suffering either from big love or lack of it. The next composition called “Amnesia” tries to give one of the solutions – “Organize your brain clinical amnesia. Organize – I don’t remember anything, anything, anything…”
Movie is precisely describing the youth of the world, portraying the life of Russian example. The mixture of “Pump up the Volume”, “Trainspotting” and “Run Lola Run” scenes appear in the flow of pictures, taking the best part of it. Outstanding thinking, hippies running naked in the field of weed, rebels and all those who are in search for understanding in this world.
Ironic, containing delicious comparisons, excellent game of words, which touch, take and settle down in the memory. The above mentioned “Dance of Lungs”, “Provincial fur and fleas of big city”, “Heart in a shape of a big double-bed” and many others made by this hard talk of storytellers, alternating with visualization containing scenes of decelerated reality and as well impressive surrealism [e.g., girl walking on the moon in black gumboots decorated with colorful flowers, break-dance mixing with sound of broken glass].
The movie speaks to you and your conscience.
Organize your brain Amnesia and add some Oxygen!

The Shape of Music. Macedonia.

It rains. It makes situation complicated by itself. The feeling of hidding from something. Something undefined. Willing to wear gloves and hide the eyes under sunglasses, which accidentally I never had. Today it's raining.

I throw my imaginary paper planes into the storm. And look how they dance in the wind. So unbearable and tender paperwork. So desperately trying not to touch the ground.

I continue to read inspiring stories of my mates, who went to the world to find their Freedom [eventually and for eternity] like me. [Hot spots from Denmark] The cheerful plays with coffee-grounds in Turkish way, trying to imagine that the coffee [or what is left in a cup after one round of frivolous conversations at the round shape table] will whisper the secrets of inscrutable future paths. Hopefully it will. Just for fun. If the suitcase full of formulas of hereditary customs gained through the centuries were working few centuries ago, why should we doubt their power now?

But it's raining today. And there's time to think for a while. About the things that surprise and the things that scare. Seems weird, I'm already 2 weeks in the completely new environment, and I can't start write about the new cultural and social heritage, which meets me everyday as about something really WOOOW. I can't make lifestory about African refugees trying desperately to be the part of this European world [as I don't have Black guys around. And actually Spain is in another direction ;)] Culture shock don't live here. It went different direction. The only pleasant shock of my everyday view are mountains! Mountains... somewhere there, sleeping silently, watching everything from apart and remaining green. I wonder if they become yellow in the Fall season? [As they are mostly covered with trees.] Yeah, stupid question from the human being, who spent the most of his lifetime on flat land.

The touch of crying rose. And coffee in the cup shaped like music. Can You imagine the shape of music? [Like naked lady making slow moves, singing in the rain and going on barefoot. More to feel. The shape of music.] That's just a game of words. But the cup looked as a clef if you look from above. ;)

I had a chance during these 2 weeks of living [not existing] experience once more the Summer. And I was in love [since I came here]. How else You can explain the messing up with everything and that smile which never goes down? And the feeling of being inspiringly busy, creating loads of ideas, which have the real outcome [not just the list put in dark corner awaiting for better times.]

Darling, FUCK ME TWICE - I'm HOME! :)

Another Chance.

Little naive Girlie...
Can't forget that blind touch on her skin, which can't be understood neither "over"stood. The Touch in the dark. So deeply shy. Without any signs or explicit behavior. She thought it wouldn't be right. And that would be the wrong end, or was it the right start?

Un Coeur, S'il Vous Plaît.

Experts from French corner of the world telling that only musicians with licences can play music in Paris Underground, which they get, fairly winning in the official competition. The musical fight for legal being in eternal draught! [Amazing.] The source of profit and challenge of life. But I guess the true issue of this "being" is far more deeper than eternal wind on the stairs. It's all about Love-thing, I guess.

City of Paris. The Morning [Bonjour!]. Kisses on both cheeks. The Smell of newly-baked croissants, lyrical and drizzling rain, small parks, miniature streets and lifers around. Those, who never hurry, but are always on time. Sensitive keepers of old stuff. Listening music on vynil plates and sharing memories. Talking much. Giving flowers to their heart-ladies and arguing about politics. And tasting life like newly-baked croissants. [Slow down. Pleasure up.]

Wax Tailor featuring Charlotte Savary - Seize the Day... sharing pleasant melancholy of my contemplation. Delicious music piece from "Paris" movie. About those - Sentimental and punctual, disigning life as molecular equation and dreaming out future plans, playing modern harlots and being imigrants. About those, who are young again and in love, and those, who live their last days, while being young. About colorful games of destiny.
Imaginary Paris. More to love...

The Smell of Cherry Tobacco and Autumn.

Maybe that's my last smoke on the stairs of my Blockhouse Paradise. Someone has been here before. Someone left the smell of cherry tobacco. The rain drops playing melody on the window. It's raining. Latvian "Muse" [S.P.B.] is telling sad stories about past times, when we were poets and dreamers. Rising the urge of being hurt. Just a little bit. And I have no power to tell them to shut up. And it comes... silently and suddenly, but always at the same time - the Autumn Melancholy. With the longing for something undefined. The feeling that summer is gone. Gone with the birds. Gone far. Gone to Africa. Maybe.

But my Siberian-striped friend as usually joins me in my smoking ritual, playing with my hand as it was his own property. Enjoyable Cat flirt and the scars for memories.
Good-bye, my friend, I'll keep you here [in my heart.].

The Happy Land [Moving on.] Latvia.

Turkey.

The morning is refreshingly cold. I've just finished with checking youth pages and making newsletter on journalism stuff, and my thoughts came to Turkey...

The desirable willing of being a part of European Union, at least I can observe it in youth field. But maybe EU just needs a new firestarter [hell, yeah], if show must go on as usual, why not add some fire on it?
The thing that is irritating my mind is enourmous amounts (compared to others) of youth exchanges in Turkey [which is good in any way for international and open-minded society]. I see Turkish National Agency is making large investment in good future [in Europe]... mobility, integration, yeah, probably Turkey just needs to prove at least Europe the worth of itself. But why? Why something that already has a worth itself has to prove again itself?
Reminding myself the meeting of Turkish Minister of Foreign Affairs with Latvian Journalism Students in February 2009, which was obvious disaster. He sounded like a little dreamer, talking about serious topics as gas, Russia and all the good things from Turkey[that's his diplomatic duty, no doubt].
Heh, come on - another trash country [like my homeland Latvia itself] and raised hands praying for subsidies? Worth to fight for?
Yeah, I should better leave for morning sleep, instead of telling bullshit... But I wish that dream of Turkey becomes true... maybe we really need a new firestarter? :)

By the way, LCD Soundsystem - Tribulations sounds damn good!

Time For...

... Garlic.

Money. Money. Money.

Fairytales with shiny glitters for ugly, new-found beauties.
Abstract feelings, covered in plum jam and smell of money.
Doves are dead. Already.
Questions above the head. Sold for money.
Taken furiously and damn fast.
Oskar Wilde was damn good liar.

The Time.

"Sex and the City" was released on time. Indeed.
On time when there was the TIME for blurry talks & walks and overconsumption - shoes, dresses from Designer's Palaces', breakfasts at Tiffany's, music - so less passionate, clicheic and forgettable. And so many "Manhattan" Cocktails...
Adoration and ignorance - both taken as complex of pills together with further reaction. What reaction? Who knew? And who actually cared?

- [Cheryl Lynn] - Got To Be Real.
- So Be It [Pump Up The Volume]

Forever Young. Forever Drunk. [Вечно молодой, вечно пьяный...]

They came to celebrate. Another birthday. And this was the special one. And despite of this fact Riga meets them with snow. So white and so unbearable.

They never buy a return ticket, in case if the city charm gets them too far... and the willing to enjoy the beauty of individual attraction is so vigorous that there's no chance to resist.

They come from the city of lions and bridges. All with historical fairytale, beauty and in great amount. [St. Petersbourg]

Telling about white nights and bridges, which tend to split and merge again time to time. That's all about astounded bridge thing. If you stay on the wrong side of the bridge after great party, that just means you had a great party. Indeed! Now use your creativity to work out, where you'll spend the rest of the night. The tourists might be in a little trouble, while watching this phenomenal mechanical brigde thing.

Economical tendencies uniquely precise and appropriate portraying global stability crash. Massive dismissals from full-time and part-time job places. Although the amount of pubs is decreasing too in space and number.

They're considering themselves as workaholic beings. Already 3 years earning money by writing BA and MA Thesis and reports for lazy students. Day by day working together. And they succeed. Telling that if the Spring season was very productive by doing this stuff, pretty frivolous living can be afforded afterwards, including expanding horizons across the home city walls. Seems to worth it. But as for today earning money with this method of arranging things also experiencing the recession. As the nation's capacity of paying becomes less impressive.

Telling about american tourists and subcultures. Laughing on obtuseness of Yankees. And describing typical subcultures they are part of. The Roofers. Those, who livin' on the roofs or at least enjoying some late night beers sometime. But even they are experiencing hard times - as owners of the houses, which apparently having roofs, started to close the entrances to Roofers' Paradises. And why shouldn't they? Paradise makes you feel so damn good and sometimes or even pretty often you are too loud for expressing your king size happiness. That's a shame! Those morons living down there can't understand You...
But still there are known roofs, which are still available to enjoy the Roofers' Paradise. And if needed, you always can get the right coordinates.

So they continue to celebrate. Celebrate their silent moments of happiness for being in a Big city. Drinking beer, hidden in the gloves. Smiling and making jokes. Inviting to come along. To the city of lions, pretty bridges and just great people. I'm smiling with. [About those... forever young and forever drunk.]

Imagine.

I wonder how... I wonder why...
yesterday you told me about the blue blue sky...
but all that I can see... NEVERMIND.

We're Having a Party...

The Son of The Flower Lady.

He came from the country side. He was simple, warm and open. [Hello, world! I'm Yours!] And shining.
Shining whenever she smiled, she laughed, she looked.
But they were just friends. Under certain circumstances. She broke up, he didn't start yet. That's how it was. Just flowers left.
They usually met after school. Making round tours in familiar well-known places, passing the same crapy shops, where you can buy cheap beer and cigarettes, even if you're under 18 [and they were], fields full of frozen dogs' shit mines. It was winter 2004. It was cold. But still they met. Always at the same meeting point, always the same flowers. Red roses.
They were both looking for essence of life. They were both dreamers. Both lovers of beauty. Both somewhat outcasted. The king and queen of outcasted teens...
Graduation day came. She could hardly speak, when he appeared with the biggest rose she ever saw in her outcasted life. A bit seared. But still white. Like his feelings - a bit seared, but sincere.. the untouched beauty.
Years past by. They met again in another city. They both became students. So brave and so passionated about this life. No regrets.
They partied a lot. With great amount of boyfriends and girlfriends. Doing crazy things and less planning. Night walks and dancing on small, charming bridges of small, charming towns in sounds of imaginary music and plenty of emptied bottles of cheap wine, while the wind was blowing heart-shaped clouds under the painted sky.
Big plans to change the world and make it better place. Bob Sinclar and Junior Jack. It's all about love generation in stupid disco. Flowers remained. Silent.
His dream was to be a DJ. To have big head-phones and to hear the scrach of vinyl plate, mixing summer jam with blues of 60-ties... and seeing happy people. Dancing people... whole night long. On small, charming bridges or either on the dancefloors... And he did it. Despite of global economical crisis and depressing motions... enjoyed imaginary bed of roses. In new colors. And still does. This was the story about Son of The Flower Lady. To be continued...

Every human is invited here in this world with the purpose. Create your own. And follow...

nasing spešel.

Arvien jauni personāži piesakās man līdzi braukt. Arvien jaunos ceļojumos ar zināmiem galamērķiem un nejaušiem ceļabiedriem. Nu patīk man tā padarīšana - stāvēt šosejas malā ar paceltu īkšķi. Netverams vieglums. Visums atveras. Paldies! Tādas, lūk, tās odziņas.

God, can you hear me?

Fuck the People, who are trying to make a castle from ruins in the last minute...