netflix & chill

I think I've been given an unfair amount of joy this summer and the time leading up to it. An unjustly potent chance to gather a incredible crowd of individuals that will most likely remain very dear to me until the day I kick the bucket. I'm treading on this mass of floaty euphoria, induced by people, substance and music. And no, I'm not ever going shut up about it.

Apšuciems, Skaņu Mežs, Zunda Dārzs, Rūpniecības ielas dzīvoklis.
Studija Mārupē, divas ikoniskas mājvietas kvartāla attālumā, hurrdurr Chomsky.
Kaņepes Kultūras Centra trāpīgā iemanīšanās iesprukt kaut kādu lielo notikumu šķirbās..

***

Projekti, kuriem ir jārealizējas:

Šajā skaistajā vakarā sastapu arī Benitu, kura pieteicās būt mans izmēģinājuma trusītis pētnieciskā darbā par to, kā dažādi alkoholi maina emocionālo nostāju.

Galvenā doma par to, ko es varētu ķepināt no māla keramikas kursos, kuriem beidzot esmu pieteikusies, ir tie visi radījumi, kuri rādas acu priekšā pirms gulētiešanas, it īpaši biedējošie. Gribu detalizētu aprakstu par katra baiļu pielietošanas metodēm un funkcijām.

Netflix & chill rock-solid tradīcija. Palaizam puķīti.

Draugu pielietojums vai nu stipri personalizētā fotosesiju sērijā, vai nu slightly off tēlu radīšanā, whimsical to the max. Gan jau, ka iekļaus tās pašas rokas.

Growth sucks

and karma's a bitch. I am being offered, more or less, everything I've wished for in a relationship, and here I find myself unable to receive it. It seems wrong to deny such an offer, goddamn beautiful as it is, but I am cursed with the knowledge that I just wouldn't be able to fucking deal with giving myself up again. I am scared shitless of depending on another person. *see: "Cuddling: No Questions Asked"
The sad fact is, that from the point in my life that I engaged in my first serious relationship, I have not had sufficient time to myself. I haven't known how to deal with a single me. Now that I feel more than ready to choose that road, the obstacles in my way have taken a lot of trouble to represent a good amount of irony. I know what to do, it's just difficult to accept. Bitch.

not fucking fair

I know it's easy, okay? I know. It's too easy.

Pipilotti Rist - I'm a victim of this game (wicked game)

Cuddling: No Questions Asked

A friend once called me the most ridiculously happy person she knew. I recently had a desire to look a bit more closely at my obnoxious ☮❁everything is beautiful❂♥ choice of seeing the world around me. I call it obnoxious because it is, simply put, a deliberate inability to let go of a kalopsic vision I've lived on for a long time. I'm pretty sure I'm better off clinging to it, because it is what I recognize in myself when they say people are programmed to believe. Discarding it, I'd wither away into something else, whether for better or for worse, I can't say. But I'm sure I'd hate the process.

To formulate what I mean by it is not the easiest task: this is, I think, the fifth time I sit down to write and rewrite this particular post. I've tried to express it in a myriad of different ways, e.g. through several projects of capturing "the thing, the spark, the cherry on top", but there are less conscious things that represent it very aptly, such as my getting very exited about the most trivial things, like moss growing on a balcony
the feel of fabric against my skin, under my fingers
or the way a word rolls off one's tongue
(obnoxious);
such as my love for books and bodies and beauty; my desperate empathy that often does my harm than good, and my glee in keeping the mystery in things - I bet I'm being unnecessarily vague even now. It is what often keeps me from hating myself when I am riddled with guilt or grief, my unending appreciation for the friends I have and had, and the overly pronounced sense of loss when they're gone.

I've found that enough anxiety kills it. Killed it at least once. Lost the bubbles in my lemonade. Let life be taken over by tension in my chest and paranoia in my mind that wouldn't. fucking. leave. It was a long, dark period that destroyed many a thing I had built for the first time. Yet, I am bubbly once more.

Holding on, baby steps, yada-yada.
Have a shallow thought - "Sex is not the point." Silly it may be, but that tiny, specific statement was one of the things that made it a lot easier for me to communicate comfortably again. It served as a comforting concept for a gullible, ample-bosomed girl like myself, wondering how much of my likeability depends on my sex-appeal. It also spread itself into a metaphor, proclaiming that people don't necessarily need you to be the version of yourself that benefits them the most. Now, with everything and everybody that has/have happened to me in the past couple years, such concerns have been, for the most part, exterminated, but it feels important to mention.

What's more, it was intensely liberating to realize that, for me, the pinnacle of a relationship between two people is not a super-intimate, love-crazed, daring, trusting, sexually mind-blowing samba. It used to be the dream, sure, but over time I've found that it's not really what I'm looking for. Because in there, somewhere, is mutual dependency, idealistically and perfectly balanced, and not included in my little vision bubble of realistically happy things.
Now, although my libido does, indeed, disagree from with me time to time, what I want most from the people around me is just that connection that keeps conversations going throughout the late hours in the kitchen, the spit-balling back and forth, throwing ideas, observations, admirations around. Joint creation, seewhatididthere, har har.

Being bi has probably had something to do with this, since there is a considerably smaller amount of differentiation within feelings towards people of either sex. Which I find very comfortable, but has also fucked up the perception of my feelings to the extent that I cannot, at times, understand what it is I feel for somebody, no matter how distant or close. Still, I can definitely proclaim that I love all of my friends quite dearly, mostly platonically. It's probably prudent to voice that the confusion is less present than it was when a few certain fucky-uppy relationships were more recent, so yeah, don't worry, it doesn't have to get weird.

My point, though, relates to the title.
There are few things that I value more in this world than the opportunity to trust someone freely, with body, mind, moment - giving and receiving, no questions asked. To be able to enjoy a presence at close proximity without any concerns of what that implies or what's expected of you. An opportunity to caress for the sake of a caress, letting warmth and affection float around without leading you anywhere.
Such an opportunity doesn't necessarily have the option to be understood, not completely, but therein lies the trust and the freedom I am so thankful for.
And in case the previous paragraphs have not unburdened me of the need to clarify, I am not talking about anything more revealing than cuddling. I could be, but as of yet, I am not. My loved ones (see above) are aware of the sensitivity of my body at different levels. I am very fucking ticklish, I have a neck-area-related paranoia/weak spot, and I am amusingly easy to seduce. The fact that I am somewhat more vulnerable that the average Jill does well to deepen my respect for that kind of rare moment I would not have always believed possible. Then again, life seems to get more beautiful and delicate each day.
Go figure.

crushes & cat-piss

I would hate to think that my life patterns and my general liking for people will not throw me into another relationship too soon, but if the past is anything to go by, I don't really stay single for too long. I declare a moratorium from things relationship, ffs
Though I can't say I regret this last encounter in the slightest, however fucked up the general overview of the whole thing might be. Undefined, non-committal, rather challenging; very enjoyable. Yeah, yeah, so I imagined that things would go more smoothly than they did, I got me idealistic dreams, what else is new. There was that silly little part of me that expected Ed to be all distanced, since his face implied that he was, and since I'd finally succeeded in doing so myself. So now I'm responsible for another griefy grief, but we have both learned a lot, and I do mean a lot from each other. So, yeah, fuck you too, you weirdo, hope you're doing okay.

 

Jeff Bridges - Slow Boat

Dienā, kad izšķīros, es aizvilkos pie Diānas un solidarizējos ar viņu, gruzoties un klausījoties "sūdi nāk" dziesmas. Chris Isaak, Lana Del Rey, značit cliché to the max. Vienā brīdī atnāca Žū un bija mīļs, un tad kādā vēlākā brīdī mēs trijatā ostījām dažādus priekšmetus virtuvē ar nodomu lokalizēt kaķa čuru smaku. Tad, ļoti iespējams, skanēja šis seksīgās balss īpašnieks ˄

Dzīve šobrīd ir interesanta, nesūdzos.

sandwich

Feel like creating something, but I am hellishly out of practice in the sketching department, and my wordy muse is nowhere to be found, so I'm settling on a boring image that is roughly familiar to nearly everybody I know.
Having been holed up for about two days, I feel myself sinking into that treacherous brain-space which lives on lazy, binge-like behavior that is nobody's business but my own. I wouldn't say I have done nothing, but it's not much. I've got self-inflicted obligations waiting for me around the corner, though - all clean and dressed and pretty, I will be leaving the premises before long. As much as I ache for the beautiful people out there, there is a part of me reluctant to abandon this comforting place. Ya know. Home.
So excuse my uninterested, tedious prattling. I am bathing in nostalgia and I like it.

There is something to be said about being the only human being in the house, being lulled by the rain outside; happily indulging in very impressive graphic novels, both story-line & art-work wise; typing with one hand because the cat is lying on the other..

 "yaas."

The Antlers - Hospice

images galore

I had the loveliest of trips fri-to-sat. Ed and I set out on our adventure after the sweatiest band practice I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing, being the lucky ones of the evening and receiving the one room without ventilation.
So, acid. The taste was as bitter as the feelings intense. Music came in waves and made me feel like I was holding on for dear life. Goddamn you, Godspeed You!
We were out of sync, which was interesting, seeing as each got to observe the heights of the other from a saner standpoint. We had laughter and owl-demons on walls, and sound mutilations and strawberry ice cream, straight from the box, in the safe haven that is the sofa-bed. One thing we agreed on was that it didn't seem as cold as it usually does.

We were playing it pretty safe, but interesting stuff is always bound to happen, amirite? We had ventured downstairs with sober Pete and encountered some fellow drunken neighbors who were having a party of some sort on the second floor. My cat-friend was there, too - this gray & white little puss that hangs around that front yard from time to time. I'm pretty sure she's either lost of has been abandoned, 'cause she wears this dirty yellow collar and has pretty much adopted that yard, which often houses a very comfy motorcycle I've found her curled up on more than once. She's pretty dirty herself, but, oh, is she ever so sweet.
Our dear neighbors were exceedingly friendly, and Pete fucked off to Chomsky, so what we did, naturally, was join the festivities for a bit. Had some punch, played some Mortal Combat on Sega. Brief and blissful. Not sure if anyone suspected our disposition, but conversation was smooth enough, and they were probably too drunk to care anyway.

Towards the end, we had some obligatory existential conversation, actually went outside and had breakfast in the park, after which the fatigue started kicking in for real. Watched some very odd videos accompanied by a bottle of Lambrusco (of all things), and finally nodded off after 33 hours of no sleep, which was, in turn, remedied by 14 hours of that shit.

The picture above features the blueberries Ed brought back to me after his little nature hike in Mordanga. Mostly unrelated to more recent events.

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.

can't can't catch catch

For the past month or so, I've been bugging myself about finally getting around to writing an entry, but all the things I'd write about happen too spontaneously and too close together. I'd say that's a good thing, seeing as I'm finally getting out there. You know, out there. It's as if life as I know it is slowly being taken over by life as I wish for it to be. Dreams come true, what the fuck.

Yemen Blues - "Trape La Verite"

While shelving all these mental reminders, though, one thing I kept coming back to was getting anxious on public transport. Just as a good starter, something to get the words flowing, so I might as well. Think of an overcrowded tram - picture the awkward shuffling, the accidental brushes, the stress of trying to manage, (without excessive use of your elbows) to get out, get out, get out. There have been times when I just stand there, squeezed in between a pole and someone's backpack, resisting the urge to scream PERSONAL SPACE. Trying to ignore the creepy middle-aged guy "subtly" shuffling closer every once in a while. Yegh. I need to get a bike.

Though that's least interesting thing that's happened to me of late. I'm in fucking Edinburgh, for one. We're flying back tomorrow, Edgar, Paulie & me. It's been great, obviously. I love this place. I love the weather (you know which murderous wind I'm talking about), the funky people with their blunts and dreadlocks and crazy wedding plans, and their accent, god fucking damn it, that beautiful, beautiful accent.

It was an adventure (and a crash course in getting to know Paulie) to get here. Turns out air travel doesn't have to be all that scary. Except when you have to choose food or a place to sit and you've got two people who don't know what they want, who're used to going with the flow that's led by others. Highly amusing, I say. Had a very nice time.

Yesterday evening the three of us were sitting at the table with Edgar's flatmate Matt, who'd invited two of his slack-lining friends over: Tom, who's french, and Simon, who's polish, but everyone thinks he's french. We were having a joint-effort dinner consisting of two impressive omelettes (one of which was devoid of paprika and celery, the consideration warms me wee heart), some really good salad, and home-made bread made by a friend's bread machine. It was an unexpectedly family-like moment in between all of the general "chilling out", and I believe that feeling right there is why people love to travel.

Jeez, all this awesome bullshit we three have been up to. Happy Emma is happy. The alternative title to this post was "broforce", that' s the level of sap I am capable of. I really suck at the game, though.

If I could, I would definitely stay here for longer. Maybe end up like Ance (suprise latvian), who planned to stay for six months, and has now been here for nearly five years.
Plenty of incentive to go back, though. Bands, all the shit at home to sort through, Max in the hospital. I'm scared for him. Probably more than he is, ma says he's pretty cheerful. Living with one lame eye isn't the worst thing that can happen to a person, but, shit, he's my brother, it hurts. The sight he lost may return, though, so I'm hoping for the best.

I can't put all of my experiences to words, there are too many. Serves me right for ignoring this place for too long. I may elaborate at a later date, but, for now, shortly -

I Love You All #Frank

all the way home

Found this. I don't feel depressed, not now, but it's relatable and in a highly enjoyable format. I suggest you take a look at the one about the dinosaur costume as well.

Jau kādu pusotru nedēļu Mežaparkā ciemojas Guna [Gún-ná] un Tomas [Tū-mas]. Vienmēr prieks izrakt to zviedru valodu, noslaucīt putekļus, un izmantot kam vairāk kā pāris frāzēm vai lasīšanai vienatnē. I don't know if it's the swedishness, or just being part of my family, but there's this awkwardness that precedes them, this inability to be in any way smooth about life. It's kind of endearing.
Bet viņi, protams, ir super-mīļi un jauki un ģimene. Viņi vispār atbrauca ar mērķi izrevidēt dārzu un bēniņus, un jāsaka, ka te pat sāk izskatās civilizēti, padarīts krietns darbiņš.

Šodien (neskatamies uz faktu, ka ir pāri pusnaktij) bijām uz Avengers: Age Of Ultron. Es braucu no Dreiliņiem, tādēļ čakars, un es nešaubos, ka kaut kādā brīdī noteikti tika pieminēts fakts, ka mēs ejam uz seansu Alfā, bet kā reiz 19:10 atrados Forum Cinemas un priecājos, ka esmu laikā uz oficiālo sākumu 19:15. Pa ceļam uz 6. tramvaju satiku Arvi, kurš nupat kā bija redzējis; viņš kļuva par manu kompanjonu lielāko ceļa daļu pārbāztajā transportā. Mani mierināja ar faktu, ka filma gara, un tik tiešām nokavēju tikai kādu piektdaļu. Tā izrādījās labāka, nekā gaidīju, + parādījās vairāki iemīļoti aktieri blakus lomās. *Gollum, Gollum*

***

Vakar mēs visi trīs apciemojām tēva māsīcu, viņas vīru un co. Doles salā. Tur vienmēr ir jauki, tur vienmēr ir neticams daudzums ēdiena, kuru tev tagad ir jāstūķē sevī iekšā, bet tas ēdiens ir fantastisks, tādēļ sanāk. Ir, protams, arī ko dzert.
Mani mīļie, muzikālie, dāsnie, ēst-gatavot-mīlošie radinieki burtiski dzīvo blakus Daugavas muzejam, un pēc pārēšanās norisinās neizbēgama muzeja apskate. Tā ir burvīga vieta, it īpaši šajos pavasara laikapstākļos. Vecajās mājās smaržo pēc bērnības. Pašas muzeja ēkas iekštelpās mēdz būt arī kāda izstāde kombinācijā ar permanento, un par šobrīd esošo esmu sajūsmā - Edgara Vērpes gleznas. Viņam patīk zivis.

***

Aizvakar atbraucu pēc darbiņa mājās, kur ciemojās arī mamma. Viņa, tētis un Guna bija pielējušies ar džinu & toniku un traumatizēja manu nabaga (pieaugušo) brālēnu ar seksa apspriešanu. Man šo cilvēciņu dēļ ir iegaršojies džins, vai nav jauki?
Es piebildīšu, ka mēs tikai mazliet esam alkoholiķi, ja nu kāds taisās uztvert biežāk pieminēto, pudelēs esošo parāk nopietni.

Tā diena bija viena no tām, kura draud virmot nepārtrauktā stresā, bet izrādās ļoti patīkami mierīga. Vecumnieku kora skate Majoros nebija no labākajām, bet tikām cauri. Mēs iedziedājāmies & pārģērbāmies mazo cilvēciņu klasē - es ilgi un dikti jūsmoju par uzzīmētu Latvijas karti ar nokarenu "snīpi". Es aizmirsu to iemūžināt, bet ak mans dievs, šarmantāku LV nekad mūžā neesmu redzējusi, atskaitot, protams, īsto.
Nācās arī pielietot, tā teikt, "praktiskās korinieces" metodes: pēc mana izmēra jau tie svārki nav šūti, un šis nebija gluži tas variants, kad varēju tajos iedurstīt pāris saspraudes un miers. Nē, man un vēl vienai maza izmēra dāmai svārki tika piešūti pie krūštura. Iesaku šo metodi, nekas nespiež un nost arī neslīd.
Otrs figņāls mazāk smieklīgs, bet tomēr: esmu beidzot iegādājusies obligāto, citur-kā-uz-skatuves-tā-man-uz-sejas-nerādīsies spilgti sarkano lūpu krāsu, un korim jau sastājoties pie durvīm Sindija atskārta, ka ir aizmirsusi nokrāsot lūpas. Nodevu viņai ašu buču. No attāluma gan jau nevarēja redzēt, ka mazliet šķībi.

Uz darba vakarā maiņu tiku laikā, un tā norisinājās pārsteidzoši lēnīgi. Atpūtos un uzjautrinājos par visādām mazām lietām. No rīta kādi klienti bija ēduši zemenes, un jūs taču zināt, ka mums ir tā benčiku burciņa uz palodzes, un nu lūdzu..

***

Vēl divas dienas pirms tam Alice-the-secret-rabbit un Roberts-kurš-rotē-kucēnus aktualizēja savu sen organizēto pre-Eirovīzijas ballīti. Katram no mums bija jāsimbolizē vienu no valstīm, kura piedalījās. Man ieteca Islandi, es biju Islande.
Kā simbolizēt Islandi? DC Diāna man atgādināja, ka eksistē tāda Björk, es biju Björk. Tērps dažādu iemeslu dēļ bija pavisam cits, nekā biju iecerējusi, bet toties man tagad ir ļoti jauks paisley hipij-krekls. Protams, ka kavēju šo pasākumu, uz kuru bija sacepti ruma mafini ar attiecīgo valstu karodziņiem, izprintētas atsevišķas vērtējumu lapas, izvēlēti šova vadītāja tērps un vadītājas četri tērpi (viņa pat pauzēs gāja uz vannasistabu pārģērbties, a mēs, āpši, vienmēr vilcinājāmies un negājām atpakaļ uz lielo istabu, likdami viņai tur tupēt un mūs gaidīt). Protams, ka ierados vairāk kā stundu vēlāk uz ballīti, kurā mani piedzirdīja ar savu rumu, pārāk priecājās par manis atnestajām, pilnīgi un galīgi neatbilstošajām Vācu bonbongām, pēc kuras mani izguldīja un izglītoja iepriekšējo gadu briesmīgākajās Eirovīzijas un ne-Eirovīzijas dziesmās. Godam izcietām un izbaudījām. Paldies, mīļie. ♥

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And some more days prior to this, after an interesting night, I found myself walking home at 06:30 in the morning, buying cigarettes at the Brasas Fēnikss, and thereafter wearily reminiscing to Foo Fighters and chain-smoking all the way home.