In Sopot, Poland, stands a building that looks like Disney, Dali and Gehry got drunk together and started doodling. It's called Krzywy Domek and that seems fitting, somehow. A building like that should have a name that starts with 'krzy' -cause we're never gonna survive, unless we get a little krzy.
Photo found here: http://www.dziennik.pl/foto/article311070/Sopocki_Monciak.html
When i was a kid, i used to squint looking at lights, because then they'd get these rays coming out of them which i thought were so beautiful. Driving by this sunset, my camera appeared to think the same way last weekend.
One of nature's monochromatic wonders: the Orca bean, also known as the Yin Yang bean and the Calypso bean, guaranteed to give you whale-like quantities of perfectly balanced hip-shaking gass aboard Cousteau's ship.
Photo found here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/samboerou/3030758090/sizes/l/
8 years ago today my father died. In his obituary we quoted part of the letter below.
To the point of singing (letter to a deceased friend who does not want to be mentioned)
The first thing I thought and the only thing I dared to hope was: he took his last bit of vitality and split, tired of therapeutic interfering and mandatory recovery. One of these days we’ll probably get a message from Paris or some other worldly place: screw it, I’m out, you guys deal with it. I was only fantasizing, because reality is unimaginable anyway, especially the one of somebody else’s depression. But the day before you were acting cheerful to the point of singing, as though you really wanted me to have this misplaced fantasy. On the most beautiful day of the year, it was even Ascension, I was walking besides the water very early in the morning. When for a moment I thought that no one could hear me, I called your name. The old desire to perform miracles and to command life came over me like a madness. The water was silent and kept you hidden, but it also allowed me the illusion that it had nothing at all to hide. For water is innocent of the temptations that well from it; it even washes away its own sins. The scenery was exuberantly summery. The birds chirped like neomists. Nothing sad at all was going on, unless everything would be sad and the summer itself but a shrill cry of distress. After a few hours of magic in vain and foolish hope I just drove back home. Around the place where you were thrust fermented to the surface six days later, I caught myself singing again, a requiem, and then quietly, but still. Whoever has fooled us that singing has something to do with liveliness? At the funeral I compulsory thought: if only he had known, so many people struck with grief, so much affection and appreciation, maybe he would have still been here, lifted from the abyss of despair and water. Like most of the things I think, that was probably nonsense. Compared to reality itself and its innocent carelessness, the question why and every answer to it is conceited and uninteresting. And now I take back everything except for my surprise and want to know of no explanation or solace, according to the logic of Rachel: because you are no longer here. It is as it is, because that’s how it is. Our conjunctions are irrelevant and a few self-willed conjunctions is all we can offer. It should not have been like this and it was not an inevitable necessity: it is an undecorated and indigestible fact, a stone in the stomach. Reality is unimaginable. If it was imaginable, we could have just as well thought it up ourselves and it would have been superfluous. Further I can’t get with my blunt thoughts after all these years. I’m afraid it will let you down.
My aunt makes a dessert that has nothing to do with egg, but looks like fried egg, and tastes so good that i once almost exploded having eaten so much of it -i simply could not stop. To make up for the vicious attacks by her hell-hound this weekend, she came by and gave me this bowl. Frankly, i'm impressed i had the restraint to take pictures before burrying my head in it and sucking it down. It's truly disturbingly good.
How exactly i survived, i'm not sure; it's still a bit of a blur
But my house was invaded by a hairy monster this weekend, even hairier and more monstrous than i am, and we had a fierce battle
Now don't be deceived by the size and relative cutiseness off this beast
It was in fact a nuclear power driven hound from hell, aiming it's sharp fangs at my throat every chance it got
And it made repeated attempts to drown me in drool
At one point i hoped to have gained the upper hand
But then it had the upper paw again
After which it proceeded to almost gnaw my arm off
It was horrible, and i'm lucky to have survived it. I don't know how my aunt and uncle manage every day with this fury-hell-hath-not-for-it's-right-here-on-earth. They must have a wardrobe made entirely from asbestos.
Almost ran over a hedgehog with my car the other day. Managed to swerve so that he ended up right between my tyres, which must have been scary too, and quite a lot of noise, but hopefully not harmful. Hedgehogs should be the international symbol for peace instead of doves: doves are actually aggressive and nasty creatures, who'd attack you if they could. Hedgehogs get rid of pests and roll up into a prickly ball when under threat -which is pretty cool and only stupid if that threat is a ton of fast-moving metal.
After some research, though, i've learned that there are a few species of hedgehog who, due to warm conditions, don't have enough spines to be fully protected when they roll up, so some chose to run away, but some, and this is a really funny idea, attack. Imagine being attacked by a hedgehog; if you have a sword, it could be quite the fencing duel.
Do you think they knit in their spare time?
(photo found here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/meantux/351270020/sizes/o/ )
With further ado -because i never understood why you'd go without it. Seems to me life's mostly ado, so we might as well give it due place. Don't mind if ado. Also, i used to think of myself as two thirds water, one third crap, but i have recently adjusted that view to a more precise two thirds water, one third other shit. Which neatly ties in to photography. Or maybe it doesn't. Can't help photography, really, but it doesn't seem to mind, either. I swim, preferably underwater. Something to do with flying, probably. Writing scares me -which more and more seems a good reason to do it. Exactly 2 people have asked me what a phaticist is -so i changed it to phaticister. I love broccoli. And ginger.