rože noči, pt. 1

Lądek Zdrój, March 2017.

* * *

“trgal sem rože noči
trgal na njivi prekletih
trgal vse dolge noči
strup je bil v žalostnih cvetih

pil sem pijačo strasti
pil sem pijačo strupeno
pil sem jo v uri slasti
dušo prodal sem v zameno”


I used to live on the edge between the real and the poetic.

I still find myself surprised as to how did I manage to go from this – the one man adventure – into fear. I know who did this, yet I don’t know how. The artifacts – photos, mostly – serve as a way to pull myself out of a living hell. They serve as proof that I contain multitudes – and I can reach out to them as I need. That no matter how hard someone tries to cut me off from the very essence of life – I do have some sort of grasp that lets me get it back.

I have been hurt, badly. There’s a whole cautionary tale to be told about abuse – but that’s for another time and place. I’d rather this story be about the good things that happened.

let go

The previous post was right. The previous post was wrong. I neglected what I needed most.

The first step is my car, and it’s not that puzzling after all. My car is my dojo, one of many; it’s for getting places and people. Should a djinni appear out of the blue and grant a wish, I’d ask for infinite gasoline. That’s the first step. The second step is my camera…

The third step is you.

* * *

Warsaw / Jean

It’s hard to communicate. It’s easy to escape. It’s even easier to rage aimlessly. I’m trying to be a good person, and it scarcely works. The only thing that’s reliable is therapy; I’ve reached the dreamed-of point where I can voluntarily invite madness into my head instead of hopelessly trying to stave it away. I miss the not-so-long-ago time when we shot the understanding of god – even though I don’t miss the despair of that time. I know that no matter what happens, I’ll be okay.

I am making my own destiny; I have become the captain. I feel like I’m re-learning how to live, all anew. Everything is strange and weird, but at least now I can answer why.

At least when I get stuck, I get to unstuck myself.

the understanding of god

(She’s deadly afraid she’d “lose” it if things get good.)

– Can art just… leave you?
– No; but you can stop feeding it.
– How come? Feeding?
– Yes. Your talent feeds on whatever you give it. As long as life throws things at you: lovers, drama, trouble… you find inspiration. Get your life in perfect order, bam! inspiration gone. Trick is, you can feed it yourself.
– Isn’t this, like, a fraud?
– You have been thrown around aimlessly by the raging sea for so long you’ve become afraid of being a captain.

// the colors blue and purple: Dominika Katarzyna Borkowska.

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