Stimmt. Wir Machen Was Mit Medien.

Urban Stories. The Cleaning Lady.

She starts her day as usual - sweeping yellow leaves into bigger and smaller piles, swearing on guys who throw the butts of cigarettes on the ground instead of bin and she's always there - welcoming random people on their way to work, being a psychotherapist while listening to petulant stories of grannies, telling how much old bones are hurting and complaining that the prices for medicine are raising up, greeting the postman, who's trying to enter the house, but apparently forgot the entry code as he stays too long at the front door thinking [Yeah, the time goes and modern technologies come with the time]. This everyday ritual hasn't changed at all. At least for last 20 years. Might happen that prisoners of the cells of the Blockhouse Paradise have changed, the kids already grew up, but she's still there - sweeping the streets and washing the stairways with chlorine [so the smell is worse than in a public swimming pool afterwards]. So invisible and regular she is. Like a thing. Like a clock of existence. Like a painting on a Museum's wall [which is admired through centuries, but actually nobody gives a damn about it - only in a matter to be well-educated/informed]. She could easily be an icon of this live Museum of Cells, where behind the closed doors people tend to quarrel, love, cook dinners and oversleep working hours. This is a way of being a part of a randomly formed social group, even unintentionally.

Her bluish purple smock doesn't change colors either [meaning of royalty and wealth, and wisdom] - paradoxically it's a part of this Urban Museum icon. A face of an angel in the Forgotten World - filled with degenerates, drug addicts, young families and old couples, homeless cats and sometimes dogs, living in or nearby this Blockhouse Paradise. No signs of high culture, no signs of buildings of high appreciation and amazement, no positive vibes around... maybe that's why it's called the "sleeping" residential complex... and there are many of them, having many of these fairies in bluish purple smocks sweeping around the magic dust.

Snow White and Russian Red.

Dorota Maslowska leaves me ignorant, despite she’s called a new rising star of Polish literature. And I can see she’s definitely a new one... just I couldn’t stand the very descriptive context in which she tried to make an insight of modern Polish youth. Beside the true hate of Russians [and everything what’s connected to that], the regular fun and loosing sense of reality under the impact of drugs and creation of virtual reality thanks to an addiction of the New Age – video games. I guess I will never get through the real meaning of the book, as I stopped reading it after a few pages. Maybe I’m getting older or maybe the translation was too direct, but I could get the opposite of aesthetic pleasure of reading. This game of words seemed so dirty and unpleasant to my senses of beauty. Maybe not even unpleasant but just SIMPLE, like hearing the chat between two drunken guys of my backyard – who are not kids anymore, but they remained the same, getting all great influences of street life – especially all swear words and all the synonims of normal things in more „poetic” way. Well, I leave this peace of modern literature for another undefinite time with hope that someday somebody will tell me the whole story of „The Polish – Russian war under the Red-White flag”.

Be A Friend of Nature!

There's a City in Italy Called...

Picture by Patrick Chevallier

Smells and Love Stories [Prague Airport].

Travelling in memories. In memories of the best student times of 2008. Would love to see more than Airport, but the time is limited.

The language sounds as usually soft [even if it’s told to be opposite], but this time I can hardly understand what people are talking about.
I love airports. Indeed. Those loads of people, searching their gates and carrying big bags – in different colors [makes overall view important and very posh. Hehe.] – make you feel you’re going somewhere. And indeed I am. There’s something inspiring in all this multi-cultural mess of business men, mums taking their kids to WC, beautiful strangers which make you fall-in and out of love [as fast as the gate-ways are going here and there and what a pitty - you’re heading in different direction. Sometimes you’re on the same Boeing dragon, feeling the power of its’ wings made of steel]. Clean toilets, smoking prohibitions, innovations, bored ladies in small coffee worlds located next to each other and repleted with smells coming from duty-free shops of Parfume. People communicating in all possible languages of the world or being silent and thinking great thoughts. There’s something magnificent and united in all this reality of sky-dive providers. And I’m in it. Keeping the feeling as long as it stays. Let’s fly. High in the sky.

Intellectual Tea Drinking.

Recently I was reading stories of a group of young people writing their interpretations about global icons. Beside a global phenomena of beauty and problems of homosexuals in Baltic region, there were a few inspiring stories about Erasmus experience – of a huge responsibility of presenting your country – as at some point suddenly it has your face and your views on life – which you share with other curious minds, wanting to explore more and more... but one thing which thrilled me and made me think of secretly following the exposed habbit someday – was one lady’s experience with souvenir cups. I don’t know if it was true and she does this regularly, but the plan was to come together with friends [or family, depends on your relations] and have an informative and fun thematic tea drinking – everyone would get one random cup – representing one country and have a lively discussion telling people, what’s happening in that country. Imagine – it’s December, it’s snowing outside, it’s freakin’ cold, but we go out for a smoke on the balcony and speak about international politics and survival kit for the chosen country... the cousine, the card games, the famous bastards, numerous loves at first sight, art galleries and fashion weeks... until not only tea becomes cold, but the feet as well start to become numb... but we continue...
Well, maybe I thought of this just because I have a small collection of such souvenir cups... otherwise – it’s quite nice way to follow the news on the world stage, if you didn’t manage to check yourself...

Hey, Soulsister...

The Truth is...

This blog seems to be dead. There are loads of Human Stories in my mind... and they are just waiting to be spread out... and waiting already for a long time... SHAME ON ME!

Hitch-Hiking Is Like Liquorice Candies - You Love It Or Hate it!

Sometimes seeing couples or loners on the road with paper signs with the names of big cities and with the thumb raised up makes a lively joke in a regular life of high-ways. Beside the fact that hitch-hiking is becoming quite popular among young people by means of exploring the world, the feelings about this method of travelling differ – and mainly it’s like with Liquorice candies – you like it or hate it. But what is hitch-hiking? It’s not just standing on the edge of a lonely or rather busy road with a thumb raised up trying to stop the car, which is going in a preferred direction. It’s more about meeting strangers on your way and conversations! Anyhow, even if English is worldly accepted communication language, knowing other languages gives a huge benefit of spending time in random companies of strangers quite vivid and full of discussions while getting to final destination. It’s about being brave to challenge self in spontaneous and unknown situations. The curiosity to explore is the thing that keeps it going. People call it crazy, people call it dangerous. And in both ways they are right, and it’s everyone’s choice to do it or not. And beside there’s always buses going on their regular routes at exact times of the day.
[Search for the full article inside "DoRight" June issue]