The bunny in a frictionless universe

Dude! I'm so hooked up with the 'Book of Random'! :o)

And here's the bunny...

PDA (Part 2)

This is JB, being aware. I met him last December and each single minute spent with him has made me question my own questions, and at the end, to realise life is way too short and he is way too smart. YOU zen that. And keep spamming me on sms, I love to know you are an unconscious part of this world.

The B Word

'The more beer you drink, the better I look' - that was my way of saying 'thanks' to Jochen when he blunted 'You are so beautiful' right in the middle of two karaoke songs.

It is oh-so-clichéed to say 'I know I am not beautiful - but...' so I will skip it. Guess sometimes you find a person that might think you are all perfect in all your imperfections whilst others just never get to see it.

What I want to talk about is the big B. Beauty. Beautiful. The Beauty and the Beast. Or perhaps just how come all our lives we strive to be a universal wonder such as Gisele Bündchen and we oversee that a good hair day, a sunny situation, a wave of self-esteem, or Christmas, do actually make a person to reach the big B.

So how does it work? No matter how many times a week I go to the gym, or how many NutraSweet I manage to trade for sugar, the laws of attraction never work the same way. The issue with me is that sometimes I just see everybody as gorgeous. I like people, and get over-excited when I pass the first layer and get the perception of how somebody really is. Not much to ask, and that is why I fall in love around 78 times per week.

But when somebody likes me, foc, then it gets scary-I start by not believing it, then the doubt, the denial, and then it is time to go home, thanks for a wonderful evening. Or exactly the opposite.

Self-preservation, they call it.

The bunny said it...

'So many wonderful places and absolutely no cellphone reception in any of them'.

-H. Davies, The Book of Random.

In the Realm of the Senses

Despite the title of the post, nobody will get strangled here, but I've wanted for a long time to make a list of all things great to the senses; pure hedonistic, narcissistic, nihilistic, stylistic pleasures. What will change? Nothing. The planets will keep spinning... (after all, is anybody out there actually reading this blog?).

So here it goes:

• The feeling of my cashmere jumper when it slides on my arms.
• The flavour of a chocolate truffle eaten slowly.
• The smell of lavender.
• The heat of the sauna when you are there and close your eyes.
• The warmth of the sun on my belly when I wear my bikini to the park.
• To put on lipstick.
• The violet colour. And green.
• The tanginess of the cranberry juice.
• The first kiss of the day, when I haven't kissed Mike in many days.
• The smell of almonds.
• Taking a shower after running.
• To look at my toes right after I put some red enamel.
• Mango body butter.
• The warmth on my cheeks after making love.
• To look at my tattoo.
• To find the perfect angle for a picture.

And to everybody out there, the secret is to bang the rocks together guys!

-Douglas Adams, as wisely quoted by Extraterrestially Blue.

The i-Con

Absolutely back from Ukraine. I say absolutely because the impressions, the collected (and collective) moments, the wedding, the thoughts that stalked my brain in the numerous air connections... were a whirlwind that left me speechless for a couple of days. How does memory work? People nearby me know that I just cannot remember entire years and that I manage to confuse myself quite often. But ever since the day when I walked Saint Sofia's church my head has been full of weird stuff, such as the feel of my dad's hugs, the taste of the asparagus soup my grandma made, the colour of a bug my ex decided to call 'el bugo', and very surprisingly, the shape of the nose of the Benji-guy I met the other day when there was only a dim light from my hall on the background. And there they were a lot of icons. No wonder, Russian Orthodox, Ukranian Orthodox, Byzantine... the power of the image has been a thing to consider for a long time.

While looking at the 'images' of all these people I was thinking how relevant it might have been to have them all represented; that meant other generations would always remember them. How do we collect icons now? Tabloids? Nobel Prize? The V.F.'s Best Dressed List? I do think they are way too temporal, but all of them aim to persistence of the memory, to leave a mark, to let the world remember. And in our little lives we do strive for transcendence as well. Just as Naoko said to the guy in 'Norwegian Wood' - 'don't forget me'... we make it a demand, a silent scream, a day-to-day fight. But a change of scenery can change the whole perception of things and take the people to be part of the background.

Sometimes I wish I knew my icon. I would like to be in the head of Mike for three minutes and see what will be left when I leave this country. How do you store each smile, each talk, each laugh, each kiss, each walk holding hands and overall, each time we did not speak 'about it' so one day you can warm your hands on the bonfire of the burnt love? Guess he'll put all in his pocket and save it for a rainy day.

PDA (Part 1)

This is Lorena, my best friend. We've met since we were seven and she is the part of me that actually makes sense.

Half the Perfect World

Packing my bags again. Put the passport by the side of the ticket, charge the camera, check the bank account, water the plant (yes, one), decide if you need a pajamas or not.

But that is not my only routine. My pictures of London: park, modern art, people in B&W. My pictures of NY: park, modern art, people in B&W. My pictures of Madrid, and Münich and everywhere else... take a guess.

What is all of this about? Why do we (I) travel then? Darling Dude came up with a thought: I go to new places to find the same places. My biggest pleasures are to feel the grass in the parks, slowly taste the food, and as a principle to skip the main attractions. So this is not escaping. But it scares me to have such a routine, fok, I though I was doing something special. I am an ultimate travel junkie. Good thing that this time I am attending a wedding, so hopefully no more parks and modern art, yet heaps of people in B&W. Pryvit Kiev.

About dreams and hyper-reality and the day when I met Trentemøller

For the last weeks the border between dreams and reality is subtler than ever. I am not sure it happens because the 'new reality' is already waiting for me and is all shaped up in something I cannot recall building (heading to Mexico soon). I am just living in a giant bowl filled with Prozac Jell-o.

Take for example last Sunday - I was chilling out (that is what you do in chill out festivals) and five meters away Trentemøller happened. It was weird to see him that close and actually in daylight - my dream was more about nighttime and him being a diva. (For those of you who are not regulars to the electronic music scene, Trentemøller on the right happens to be the 'it' Dane on live performances and remixes now).

And talking about hyper-reality, while in Madrid I saw (almost by mistake) an exhibit of Richard Estes. He paints things as they are, extremely detailed. No, a photo cannot compete. Hard to explain but his method/technique is all about freezing the moment (or A moment) and let it live forever inside of the canvas. Here: http://www.colchsfc.ac.uk/art/richardestes-telephonebooths.jpg

So I am pretty much in this life that feels numb and gets suddenly shaken by awaken time that feels like dreaming and frozen paintings that look as if they were just happening.

Actually I met somebody on Friday. And he seems special, the 'hell yes special' kind that might give your life a twist. The issue now is that despite the hyper-real feeling of his touch, I am beginning to believe I dreamt about the whole thing when I was chilling out, or maybe I saw him in an Estes' portrait. Let's wait and see which one was the dream.