the importance of being...

...what today wants you to be

a skip of the lip

there's nothing quite as lonely as an empty mailbox...

reality is subjective. yes, for sure. then what kind of reality is this?! it's an oxymoron...reality is just our imaginative personal perceptive. we are much confused and we have no other way of existing.

love is not in the air. it is air. it is just as thin and engulfing, it sets a mood, it enchants you, then it leaves, like the morning mist over a lake is bound to do. or it's presence is just not so tangible.

are we happier now? were we happier then? what if i prove you now we seem to know we HAVE to be happy, while once..well, they just didn't see it as the big important part of the picture it is now. how far back am i talking about? don't know...middle ages? but why all of a sudden we are bound to be happy? to prove a progressive society? fuck that. i don't know what i should be, i don't feel like anything, let alone happy or satisfied, i am just petrified, stoned, stunned, barely amused, but i bet the glitch is in me, everybody else seems to enjoy the ride. save for those morose kids in the corner, but i don't like them anyway. happy...i have time for a change of attitude, it takes a flick of your wrist.

A tale of cats and rabbits

All along the roofs of the small town there was no other cat but Morty. Strange, but he enjoyed it. Rain drops came many and sternly hit the tops. And don't kitties just dislike this pouring punishment! Hop and trot along the slippery roof top he was rejoiced with what his body could do. It's lovely being a cat, it really is, even in a world so full of men.

The rain soon stopped and Mortimer felt hungry all of a sudden. For two hours he lingered in the streets but there was nothing good he found nothing good to eat and as he walked and walked there he was at the end of the street, before him the path towards the woods. Sure enough Morty soon found rodents. Yet he his belly was so insatiable he needed more. There was something in the humid air of the forest he could not quite grasp. Or was it his inborn curiosity?

Deeper he went, and then a little deeper. Strange songs caught his ear, but just as he was to follow them he saw a tree-trunk lit with dim radiance. What is this, he wondered?

As he approached he saw two rabbits scattering around a living room. Well is that odd or not? But before he had his time to ponder on the matter one of the lady bunnies saw him and smiled. Mortimer was ready to disappear but she ushered him in with a wave and as soon as that the other opened a door in the trunk and said

- Do come in, you are most welcome! You are Mortimer, no?

- Funny, how should you know...

- You are a famous little cat! We praise all cats.

Mortimer would leave if he was not indeed an insatiable little pussy, who smelled fresh milk in the living room.

- Enter, please, we'll treat you to our table's goods. I am Dorothy and this is my friend Lola Bunny, we are alone and would enjoy some company. I know cats to be very witty and chatty and fine companions.

- So humans say.

He entered and it was so much like his human owner's house! A little table was arrange in a fine order. The minute his paws stepped inside the bunnies dashed about serving him.

- Tea or milk? Oh, silly me! It's milk, alright!

- We have only carrots, pardon!

- Have a napkin!

- Have a knife!

- Have your spoon!

- And have your milk!

- Do feel at home!

- Do feel at ease!

They seemed so hospitable.

Slick little Mortimer didn't feel at ease. Oh, how strange! Dorothy was making sure to give him the utmost comfort. It was her party and it was perfect.

- Morty, darling, you still seem so anxious!

- Dorothy, do not remind him, love, he shan't regain a calm composure like this,- said Lola Bunny, gently smiling.

Morty wiped his whiskers and remarked:

- Well, I am a silly kitty, Miss Bunny and Miss Dorothy. Silly cats do not always know why they are frightened.

- I thought you've learned already to accept a good thing coming to you.

- I seem to not be so little any more to expect only goodness, I mean no disrespect.

They giggled.

- Oh, you are a silly kitty, indeed. But so so charming!

- It's a cat's only magic trick, I am afraid.

- We have no magic of our own whatsoever, Morty, so you can pride yourself for even this little bit you have.

- Is it true cats have nine lives?

- Only superstition. At the most you are granted six.

- Now why is that.

- Nobody told me, I am not old enough.

- Oh, silly kitty! You are far to old for naivety and far to young to be wise! Now what is that?

- I think humans call it teens.

- Oh, who cares about what human say.

- Not me, Miss Dorothy. What is it that you do?

- We knit.

- We saw.

- We sit.

- We draw.

- We cook and clean.

- We breed and play the violin.

- I wonder why you praise cats then, we're quick and slick, but nothing more.

- But you have charm, you purr and claw.

- You make sounds like no other can.

Their faces were adorn with ghastly grins.

- Milk is fine for your bowels, why don't you drink or lick?

- I'll have to leave if I drink it and I really like to sit with you.

- Nonsense! You should not leave when you are finished.

- I do not want to intrude.

- You won't, I assure you.

- Will you play the violin for me?- he asked, thinking music will calm him down.

- Oh!- squeaked Lola Bunny and tucked her face in Dorothy's shoulder.

- There, there, darling! Soon it shall be fixed!

- Oh, is it broken?

Both bunnies pointed towards a shelf. There, like a carcrash cripple lied a violin, twisted and mangled, a most poor sight.

- What happened?

- Well..

- You see..

- Her and me..

- Last night when we were playing..

- We had an argument with our men.

- We screamed and scratched and then..

- I, like the fool I am, threw the violin on the floor in rage.

- And we all fell silent and turned a peaceful page. Nonetheless, the instrument is all apart.

- We need cats bowels for a good new start.

- We've tried to make amends since then, we have a brand new wooden case.

- So we assume fortune sent you to our place.

- I disagree, it must be my misfortune.

- Oh, or was it curiosity?

Mortimer dashed, the rabbits jumped, the door was closed, all windows shut. They ran about and all became a mess of little chairs, little ribbons, cups and pots. Morty hopped onto the shelf and pushed down all the small dishes, tiny pottery and minuscule souvenirs.

- What are you doing?!

- Naughty kitty!

- Do come down!

Yet he climbed higher, on the very top of the shelf.

- What have I done to you? Let me go, my bowels are young and small, they are no good at all!

- All cats are guilty to us, we are from the rodent family.

- May i ask how many mice you've killed?

- But I eat mice!

- And we play violin! Please, come assist us with your bowels. They are just fine, I'm sure!

Mortimer squinted and looked about. Will he escape? He was in doubt.

- I will come down, I'm sorry, I was just amazed! it came to sudden to me. I see now, I do owe you my bowels, for all the mice and rats I've killed.

- Splendid!

- Yes, indeed, but I'll ask one final treat! Nothing's better for my bowel then meat. Then they make the finest sounds, so is there any fatty meat around?

- Let us check!

- Yes, let us check! If not in here, maybe right behind the cellar door...

- There will be meat from other cats we've slain before.

They rushed, chattering and chanting, while Mortimer, little Mr. Furry-Charming, took the keys still hanging from the lock and locked one in the kitchen, the other one behind the cellar door.

- You beast!

- You dirty cat!

- You tricked us!

- But we'll catch you back!

A candle still stood flaming on the table and he put it under the window draper. He smiled as the draper turned ablaze and walked out with an unseeing gaze.

- Silly rabbits, tricks are for cats.

гръм и мълнии

ако много мислиш за един проблем не се приближаваш до решението му, той просто започва повече да ти тежи.

два пъти

всичко е наред

няма за какво да се тревожиш

този свят си е проклет

ще ти се присмее без да се изложиш

но момчетата са със усмивки

и момичетата плачат всяко с по един красив букет

вероятно всичко е в порядък

такъв е бил установеният ни ред

с хилядолетия все някой някъде

ударен плаче и криви ръце

дамите ухаят плашещо добре

господата шапки свалят

сърцата им с кръвното са зле

но за флирта ще рискуват

иначе кълбото на земята може неочаквано да спре!

ако ще падаш, падай със старание

падай с кръв и писък

два пъти поне

ако ще раняваш, бъркай надълбоко

бъркай с огън, ножове, ръце

два пъти поне

тогава всичко е наред

момичетата ходят на балет и спортни танци

момчетата играят футбол окрасени с ланци

научени са за съветите да бъдат глухи

и как сърцата си магически да правят сухи

за да живееш не е нужно да си свят

и наложително е да не си поет

момичетата учат се да преживяват

сутрините, когато момчета сами ще ги оставят

а мъжете силно вярват,

че жената е до тях, за да ги изяде

с това доверие ще се оправим

гарантирано е- ще сме зле.

всичко ни е регулирано, установено

в типове, в кутийки, в малки умове

подредено по партиди

класифицирано по страхове

и с тях се учим да живеем по- щастливо

и се проваляме с голям успех

както на съвременен човек му се полага

със стандартизирано клише

така и мъката се изживява

и продължаваме,

на място със усърдие

фалшивата земя да тъпчем,

с погледи отправени напред

прави се така

когато кажат "скачай!"

питаш "колко на високо?"

и се спъваш, падаш, обелваш си носа,

ставаш, коленете си изтупваш и безумно продължаваш.

скачаш, скачаш, докато кръвта по теб изсъхне.

отстрани те чака някой, но това не продължава вечно.

скачането няма да те "залепи"

с подмяната на себе си не би постигнал своя същност

своя цялост и добра съдба

но по- лесно е да подражаваш

може и да е с по- мъничка вреда

в съвършеното умение да се самозаблуждаваш

ти размаза своите колена

като кажат "скачай!"

отговаряш "аз съм инвалид, не мога."

и очите си затваряш

да потънеш в бурите в своята глава

колкото повече, толкова повече

колкото повече се опитваш да се изпълниш, толкова по- празен ставаш.

някой по- голям май се шегува с теб.

или ти сам си погаждаш номера.

стегни се.

отпусни се.

вдишай.

ето го- пред теб е пътят.

Джулай-гуляй

Имало е по- добри дни, имало е по- добри нощи. Но в умът ми не са така ясни. Първи юли ще продължи да се случва, но духът не е същият. Ние не сме свободни, ние сме просто пияни. Обаче, хора, това не ми пречи да ви харесвам и пак да си искам дистанцията. Джулайската колективност ви липсваше, но бяхте толкова красиви и млади, простено да ви е всичко, което не сте успели да постигнете! Простено да ви е! Джулай е денят на прошката и на повечето обич, повечето радост, повечето живот! Грабете! Грабете! Грабете! С пълни шепи, раници, кофи, с всичко подръчно взимайте си живот!