At night,

she wouldn't just feed her fears, she would spoil them rotten. Any fantastic character that lingered after the story was told, any optical illusion in her peripheral vision, anything that went "bump" or "tap" or "squeak", any concept at all that destabilized her ability to feel safe, were all welcome to come together and embrace the futility of weighing oneself against the universe.

She would lie awake with a light on or a candle lit, or both, and refine her lack of significance in The Bigger Picture. There are countless ways to die. There are countless easy ways to die. Cross the street or slip on the stairs. Ingest the wrong poison. And then you're gone, leaving behind your very own, personal ripples of impact on a few beings and places and things before having whole lot of questionable nothing to deal with. Is that what wore the faces of demons and monsters and ghouls, leering at her from anywhere that was just out of sight? Is that what shaped those restless hours of her elevated heartbeat and city-born tinnitus masking any potential audial proof, of the reluctance to remove her blanket even when it was stifling, the half-dark shaping some undefinable object into a face that was not quite there, and not quite human? That great big Nothing in the never-ending story of life and death, coming to swallow everything. Gnawing away on the remaining time. Tick fucking tock.

She was glad, though, of having this reminder of the urgency of respecting existence and giving it all of the love she could possibly hold. Her fear held the hand of an undying desire to be that would not, could not fail to bring a sleep-deprived smile to her face. A tribute to a worthy cause. Right, so.. This is it. Here we are.                                    .

playlists

I posed for a picture on Saturday with a blackboard in my hands that claimed I would buy no milk in the year 2017. I do not yet know if I plan to follow through, but Laura Bužinska had just left after putting the responsibility of complying to the shiny-looking girl who was probably in charge of the pictures in that particular corner. Milk is bad for you, though, right?
Kaņepes Kultūras Centrs had organized an event in the spirit of Buy Nothing Day, which, depending on where you live, either coincides with or comes right after Black Friday. I later found out that the event (which included people waiting in line for the sewing machine to proceed with their buckwheat pillows and bringing broken devices to the little table where Fricis and Mārtiņš Celotājs both sat, happily tinkering away) is actually organized every two months or so, or whenever they get around to it. Which is pretty cool. KKC has seemingly been a solid supporter of responsible citizen stuff. Even if no one was enforcing the "buy nothing" thing, since that would have been bad for business.
The Minimalism movie, the grand finale of the whole ordeal, left a lasting impression on me, not so much on Terēze, my companion for the day. My mother has been claiming for years that one day, she'll get rid of all the excess shit and never worry about it again, so it's not like the concept is unfamiliar to me, but I did find myself wandering a Tiger shop soon afterwards simply to look at every vaguely humorous product and trying to gauge how unnecessary it was. Looks like I'm on a slippery slope to becoming a jaded ex-collector haunted by clean living and nostalgic memory, fuck me.

artist unknown

Once you've gotten your head out of the sound of shattering glass, things really aren't that bad. January was a month of tears, weaknesses and literal puppy love.

Jackson C. Frank - Milk and Honey

Lieki.

Kā tu domā, vai viņa juta riebumu pret manu pieskārienu, kad padevos un pabužināju plecu caur sarkano džemperi? Vai viņa ir apbruņojusies pret to tukšumu, kas visus inficēs caur smaidiem, smiekliem un apskāvieniem?

Man atliek vienīgi cerēt, ka apmaiņa bija pāragra, nevis bezcerīga.

Es zinu, ka es nemāku šos cilvēkus, šīs brīnumskaistās būtnes, kas ēd, dzer un elpo ciešanas. Nemāku pateikt, nemāku uztvert, nemāku palīdzēt, kā es vispār uzdrīkstos mēģināt

Neskatoties uz šo koeksistenci, vakars silts.
Paldies par ballīti, Mārtiņ. ♥

hate the dischord

It makes me feel alien. Most of my larger fuck-ups seem to be doing something that upsets principles pointing at things I don't see. I'm not sure how unique I am in deeming what I think of someone much more closely tied to the person themselves instead of the gestures they make, yet here I find myself on my ass, again.

I'm not claiming innocence through ignorance - there are plenty of selfish, petty, cruel actions I can sign my name under. I have been greedy, thoughtless, hypocritical, stupid.
And in the end, on top of all that, I fucking dare to love you all all the same, regardless of how harsh the words have been, regardless of how much we've hurt each other.

Another experience that isn't new to me is finding myself trying to prove to someone that I care. People seem to be mostly in two camps when it comes to this - there are those who say I think way too much of the well-being of others, and those who seem convinced I am incapable of giving a single fuck about them.
She's taken things a step further, claiming that I gather people around me for exploitation, for entertainment. Claiming that my voiced or demonstrated emotions are false, empty. That my only hope of regaining her respect is to admit that I couldn't care less.

And of course I can't help but wonder if she's right, to harbor lingering little doubts about everything I hold dear. But all I know is how I feel. I believe in these things mulling around in my chest, what else am I supposed to do? I've got my pretty little philosophies, I made these pretty little philosophies, it took a lot of hard fucking work to get here, alright? They're not non-editable, but some structures do, indeed, seem to have remained constant for enough time to make me dare to lean on them. I haven't the foggiest idea how make them comprehensible to those I have to prove myself to.

It does sound like a load of b-s.

Dark Dark Dark - "Daydreaming"

ardievu, tumbiņas

Terēze ir ciemos un guļ māsas gultā. Viņa teica, ka es, te, lejā, pie datora un mūzikas, viņai galīgi netraucēšu. Ceru, ka viņa man nemeloja/nepārvērtēja savu miega ciešumu.
Mjā, Kaspars beidzot ir paprasījis atpakaļ savas tumbiņas. Ticu, ka šī būs viena no pēdējām reizēm, kad šeit sēdēšu, čakarējoties ar skaļumu, lai atrastu to punktu, kurā melodija nav par skaļu, bet arī pārāk bieži neizzūd. Vispār jāpaspēlējas, kamēr vēl iespēja pastāv.

Apdāvināšu sevi ar pašas krutajām tumbiņām tad, kad es nejutīšos tāpat tik apdāvināta: Vakardien no rīta es pamodos no tā, ka māte pie gultas noliek paku, kurā bija ar nokavēšanos atnākušais Codex Seraphinianus. Arta man pirms pāris stundām iemeta linku, kura attēlā bija redzami kārtējā mazā testa rezultāti - esmu tas cilvēks, kas viņu šogad iedvesmos. Visbiedzot gribu arī pieminēt to, ko kopīgiem spēkiem izvilkām no laimītes dirsas:

"Lai sajustu to, cik brīvs esi, tev vajag darīt to, kas aizliegts."

Tas teikums dod ārkārtīgi patīkamu spēka ilūziju. Pati laimīte izskatās pēc krātera, un no viņas daži gabaliņi jau ir atdalījušies. Ja to apgriež otrādi, atsit jūras zemo slāņu radījumu. Apakšā (?) ir ieliekusies pirmā pilīte - vienīgais šķietami konkrētais veidojuma aspekts.

Es (šeit) tā arī nepieminēju, ka cepure tika atrasta arī otrreiz,
kad to no azotes izvilka nevis Robis, bet Tapiņš.

Kāpēc jātic savām pārliecībām ar tādu degsmi? Pēc mēneša ticēsi pretējam, (Diān; Terēz). Protams, ka ar degsmi tādu pašu. Varbūt šo svārstību dēļ esmu tik neizlēmīga. Un es nezinu, vai labāk ir ļauties pārliecībām un, attiecīgi, vilšanām, vai mēģināt noturēt savu sudīgo līdzsvaru uz tā sasodītā naža asmens. Jā, zinu, ķip chill, ja vien pie tā piedomā, but it's not all that easy to go with the flow when it seems more like the rapids. Kā arī - ziema.

Meh, suddenly I'm a fucking poet in a softer world of substance-induced forgetfulness.
Es neesmu tik dusmīga, cik te izklausos. Blogā patīkami lamāties.
Uzdrīkstos, jo noteikti vēl kādā brīdī sarakstu papildināšu.

Ar šallēm apmainīties ir tikpat banāli,

cik jaku bilde
un netīšie sirsniņsveķi, bet

tā pagaidām vēl smaržo pēc tevis.

lucidity is definitely an illusion

So, yeah, I am being well and properly "disillusioned" - as if some higher being decided to give some misconceptions of mine a thorough thrashing. The last paragraph of this was based on an existing situation that turned out nothing like I had hoped it would (miscommunication is hilarious), and then took a couple of steep turns after that, meaning the third-to-last paragraph is also based on convictions being cruelly challenged.

Maybe more of this later. I need sleep. Time dragged by when I was sick and is making up for that by why the f*ck is it two thirty in the increasingly snowy morning

atpakaļ

Francijas karodziņš-zobbakstāmais, kuru atradu Diānas džemperī, kuru man aizdeva pīpauzēm uz balkona paģiru dienā pēc tā Aptiekas vakara.

Under Byen

Salūžšana uz trepēm Mežaparkā ar ironijas piegaršu un kaķi klēpī.

"Jeg Er Din Mand"

Nakts, kad mākoņi ātri virzījās, "pašķiroties", lai ieskautu mēnesi, un radot viņai tādu kā iluzionāru fonu.

live, 2004

Visskaistākās dziesmas.

i will be a drunken historian

Baigi cool atkal komunicēt ar Gintiņu tā biežāk. Beidzot arī tiku pie tām skicītēm.
Earlier today, I wanted to lament the return of some inner instabilities, but since then I found that they are not as much old weaknesses to me anymore as a part of some bigger (forgive me) patterns that were set in motion in the summer and have presented themselves as either pleasing as fuck, fascinating as fuck, a lesson that's quite to the point or all three.
Here is some not entirely unrelated stuff that happened recently:
*losing, then finding, then losing my hat;
*rose petals and blood on the floor of McDonald's;
*this evening, visiting Arta's tiny room for the first time,
which was another one of those not-planned-at-all occurrences. There were country apples, smokeables and a laptop. What more could you ask for on a depressive October evening?

 

By the way, Drunk History - something I profusely encourage you to check out.
And as much as I value authenticity, if the first version of this post made sense to while writing it, I couldn't refrain myself from editing while inhabiting a clearer mind.

haptic

curious series of happenstances, experiences and desires

one consistent thing about life is that it does, indeed, get increasingly challenging as you age

The Elephant's Garden

found me box

I've spent some time smoking by my bedroom window, attentive to the wind as not to have smoke blow inside. I did this last night, staying up late, writing a rap part for a song Reinis sent me. Never ever would have thought to find myself in that position.
But hey, it's a lot of fucking fun.

What I was planning to do now was launch into a euphoric reminiscence of the trip to Warsaw. I think I'll take the opportunity to put down my amateur dabbling instead. I'll omit the singing bits, so y'all getting a pure cut of baby's first rap. To those wondering - it's mostly about my own inner growth, experiences and stuff, all vague enough. Enjoy.

can't believe myself - walking step by step into the known unknown

puny galaxies within each heartbeat I pump on my own

it's more than curiosity, I would have been most obsolete

had there been nothing in the air that ordered my to move my feet

reaching for the stars, reaching for the light,

shove 'em in my body and you better lock 'em up real tight

you better throw away the key, you got no more to do with me

but, tentative, sensitive is the option you would rather give

and I couldn't bear to mind such a fine sign, such a fine line

enabling two entities to intertwine

there's no need to lie - feeling kinda high

a giddy kind of wafting up and over, out of my mind

can't stop, too late, finally pulling my weight

and, coincidentally, confusion's feeling fucking great

why would you assume that I've stepped in the room,

immersed myself in tunes, just to see my visions go to ruins?

a sleep-encumbered, soul-connecting thing akin to resurrecting

softy seething, barely breathing method of over-achieving

idealistic, altruistic, only slightly masochistic

ambiguously platonic, don't you worry, hun, I'm on it

true to what I hold inside

cross my heart & hope to die

impossible to see through this visual snow

wouldn't you like to know whom to follow?

I'm not sure if I do, 'cause I've got my own fortitude

at least some kind of dignity when I can't face the solitude

I can be content with rising tendrils of smoke

got my little buzz and my imaginary cloak

really doesn't matter what you think I'll provoke

you see, we were there when all these creatures awoke

can never quite believe it when life opens up and means it

can never quite contain all that is outweighing the pain

yet it remains aflame.. 'kay, I'm game

I'm still having some difficulties enunciating each word in time, my regular lyrics have more breathing space. Ma used to bug me about slurring my words, and while I'm not completely incomprehensible unless feeling very timid, it's a good reason to train "lips, tongue & teeth".

(I may still edit the shit out of these rhymes, but that all depends.)

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.