heart of an artichoke

Apparently there's a sinkhole in our garden.

And art out there that's so good it drains you.

Un es esmu ļoti mazs lācītis.

Trešdiena.

Rets melanholisks rīts.

Biju izgājusi mātes (tobrīd tukšā) dzīvokļa pagalmiņā. Pavēroju lidojošu pūku, pamanīju, ka pār palodzi vienai no logiem ceturtajā stāvā rēgojās kaķa austiņas. Uz brīdi bija acu kontakts. Tad viena auss, tad tikai palodze.

Protams, ka biju neizgulējusies. Nopirku šādu kofeīnu par godu Diānai K. ♥

Vakarā devos satikt sen neredzētu draugu - Arti, kurš ir no Talsiem ar triju gadu pieredzi Vācijā. Aizvedu viņu uz Dad 5 gadu jubileju, burvīgs pasākums. Daudz siltas jūtas, kuras atsvēra rīta nomāktās. Dabūju nest vienu no kūkām.

Kad jau viss bija norimies, izdomājām, ka varētu paciemoties arī Vecrīgā, ja jau viņš šeit jūtas kā tūrists. Izdomāju, ka varētu pačekot DJ Bāru. Pa ceļam mums pievienojās vācietis, ar kuru Artis bija iepazinies jubilejā. Viņu sauc Matthias, viņš ir fiziķis, nogalēs biškopis. Viņš nedzer alu bērnības traumas dēļ un ir iemīlējies mūsu televīzijas tornī. DJ Bārs bija tukšs, tādēļ Alā, kurā danču vakars jau bija beidzies, mēs norunājām līdz brīdim, kad bārmenis ļoti skaisti iejaucās sarunā, lai teiktu, ka jāiet.

Citāts no divu ievērojami vecu vīru sarunas Majoru vilciena stacijā:

"Es sāku sadalīties."

"Es nesāku sadalīties, es sāku izkust."

if Ben Frost could affect the weather

A couple of days ago, while on my way from a train, and to resume what turned out the be a thoroughly amusing transcription process, I had the pleasure of walking in the vicinity of quite the composed woman who had just purchased quite the charming second-hand teddy bear. While waiting at a red light, I observed as she looked him over scrutinisingly, removing a couple bits of fluff, and then peeked down his overalls as if to check whether or not teddy had shat himself.

Inwardly, yet not so secretly, I'm a bit horrified at how bad my memory has appeared to have become. I have been drinking a lot, thanks to my wonderful, beautiful friends. Maybe it's ironic, considering how intent I about preserving memories when I was mostly unhappy.

Edgar showed me another musician who committed suicide. He hanged himself with his shirt from a barred window that wasn't all that high, which means he had to keep his legs off the ground while choking to death.

Roy Buchanan - The Messiah Will Come Again (live 1976)

But Ben Frost isn't dead. And maybe he can affect the weather, because I nodded off on the way back from his concert in Ventspils and reportedly missed the most amazing thunderstorm to grace this country in a good while.
His performance was almost literally mind-blowing, and by this I mean LOUD. And yes, really fucking good. It was quite fascinating to watch him on the stage, barefoot and wild, creating Sound that blasted from the speakers, shook the house to the foundations and me to the bone. I remember thinking: "I want that man."

a later date

Goodmorning.

Some undefinable time span that has lasted to the immediate present has been spent in a haze. Having been deprived of adequate sleepy sustenance, life just seems to get a bit mushy. I am, of course, partly at fault myself, since so many wonderful occurrences happen late at night, but even if I do get the hours, they lack depth, intersected by frequent waking and shifting. Since I've been stupidly happy, I'm not entirely sure what has brought this on.

This particular Thursday I wake after very vivid dreams featuring velociraptors behind doors (holding that round, rattling doorknob and pushing against the door, I couldn't have known that my dream possessed a hint of lucidity - that I was in control over whether or not I'd be able to hold the door closed, and hold I did.) and dead, then not dead father figures (as conviction makes it awfully real at the given moment, that part may just qualify as nightmarish: lying on the floor on his back, with overly pale, bluish skin and a vacant expression), and other already vague somethings having to do with a lot of stress and bright colours. I don't doubt this was under the influence of one of the melatonin pills I received from my mother yesterday, and that it is this I have to thank for the iffy, yet increasing clarity I'm hoping will last the day. I'm guessing that, having obtained the dreamspace to do so, my subconscious let loose a great deal of the thought residue that had accumulated during that time span which I hesitate to call even roughly the past two months, fearing blunder.

I will now cease writing and go off to commit myself to something responsible for a few hours, but oh, how reluctantly so. I keep forgetting how pleasant it is to do stuff I like.
Silly little blueberry

***

Here is what a past Emma naively wrote in hope that it would turn into something lengthy and structurized, ha ha. Considered dumping the whole thing - 'tis a bit stale, but, as she does, the sentimentality of fleeting memories got the better of me.

The "Cosmic Tranceportation" rave. Had no idea what to expect, ended up having the time of my life. Spiderweb decorations, strobe lights, the most lovely smoking breaks I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Paul and Morvv, the freakin' fuzzies all over the place, the guy who wasn't the mayor from BTVS. 
Wandering around alone in perfectly alternating sun, shade and wind while me buddies were working, (business trip, fyi). Them two shady guys in the park and their truly charming female friend who takes nicotine right to the lungs. "Bless you, darling".
Also Ryan, who I approached to avoid them, and who provided just the conversation I was hoping for. /I still haven't checked the music he recommended, jesus/ And last, but nowhere close to least: Maarupee ar Zhuu, M~ un Kalvaanu, seenju buljons. Trips, pastaiga, jumts. Zemenes, tumbas, bezmiegs. Te nav garumziimju.