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Monday, October 29, 2012

My lovely ghosts (continuing)

Leonie’s fireflies
When Leonie was a little girl, the only person she truly loved was her grandmother. Both of her parents were working abroad, only seeing her twice a month. As a child she always felt like she lost them already and she didn’t care that much because she had her grandmother. Grandmother came to her life straight out of nothing, like a gentle breeze into an empty room. Before that, Leonie was only surrounded by fairies and little grumpy goblins in their big beautiful house. Her Russian granny brought all sorts of unimaginable and magical things into Leonie’s life. Granny couldn’t speak any language but Russian, she was scared to death of washing machines and she only hand washed the laundry. Leonie loved the smell of their bathroom when her granny used to do the laundry in the bath tub stepping on the clothes. Every night before she went to sleep she was writing a long love letters to her dead lover. Once Leonie asked, why she wasn’t writing anything to her dead husband as well and Grandmother only replied that people are usually not married to their true loves. Leonie used to wonder why it was so and she thought that grown-ups were so silly. Why would you marry if not because of love? Grandmother was putting her love letters underneath her pillow so the ghost of her dead lover could collect them and had something to read and remember about. Leonie saw his ghost once, when he woke her up, begging her to explain her grandmother that he has never loved her and if she could please stop writing him letters because they disturbed his peace. Leonie didn’t have the heart to tell her such a thing, so she would always sneak in to her room and took the love letters away. Grandmother always got drunk on vodka in order to sleep well and wake up happier so her sleep was very heavy and she never noticed what was Leonie doing with the letters. On the other hand, when she woke up and found out that the letter is gone, her life made so much more sense than before.
When she died, Leonie’s heart cracked. It was almost Christmas. Leonie climbed on the roof of her house with thousands of grandmother’s love letters. It was quite windy when she was throwing them out of the roof. They flew a little, then burst into innumerable fireflies and the night became a day.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Saturday morning

The Party Terror

I hate hate hate when I’m at the party and some idiots are telling me to SMILE! Why the fuck would I smile when I don’t feel like smiling? I will smile only if I want. It’s incredibly sad that there’s always a certain pressure on people when they are going out. All those expectations! We must be in a party mood, smile and dance all the time. I can be dancing/ smiling inside. I hope some people could understand it.  Is it actually that difficult to understand? I swear I’m enjoying myself just sitting and looking around, chatting to someone and silently thinking about the potential sex possibilities that can happen that night. This is my favourite reason why to attend the party. However if you go somewhere, where you find all the people extremely boring and pretentious, the best thing to do is to leave the party and make your own one in your bed. I think the best parties are actually happening in our beds, either the sexual ones, or very peaceful watching film ones, dreaming about magical places, drinking coffee in the mornings.   

Friday, October 19, 2012


Walking in the night
awaken by bees born in starry night
So scared of webs on her breasts
With pink headache
and rainbow behind my eyes
I was wandering in the light that is too bright
Hiding in the inky puddles
that someone threw up
Trying to dance in the place where the ghosts kidnapped my eyes
I missed them like I miss the honey in my coffee
Missed them like the wind lifting my curtains
Like her words saying prayers and curses
When I found them they smelled like caramel
and I could see the place where the fairies cry flowers
And it's always been like she said: Broken glass in the morning, broken heart at night.

Happy birthday Amelia

A crazy birhday video that I made for my dearest friend Amelia. 


I woke up this morning and no one else was in a flat. I felt strange and somehow lonely for no reason. I was lying in my bed trying to think about things that make me happy and here’s the list.  

-waking up into London’s traffic noises
-the smell of oranges on my hands
-writing on a dew-covered window
-my little brother’s laugher
-when Franny is happy
-every time Seidi says something that makes me laugh
-hiding in my closet and hoping that when I get out, my room will be covered with rainbow, marshmallows and little fairies
-falling asleep when someone’s telling me a fairy tale
- closing my eyes so I can see better
-coffee and porridge with fruit for breakfast
-chasing butterflies with hope that they will show me some unexplored place
- When I talk to my ghosts and dance with Sunday’s nymphs
- and all the things I truly love but can't remember them right now

This list made me so happy and I decided that I’ll carry it with me all the time so I can read it when I feel like shit unless I’ll lose it, which is very possible in my case.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

My lovely ghosts: GEORGIE’S FALL, part 1

My lovely ghosts

I met Georgie, the Ghost, when I was on my year abroad in Valencia. He would just come/ fly into my room in the middle of the night as if not knowing that the night was the time when most of the humans would be sleeping. No, Georgie didn’t seem to care.  At the time I considered him as the most annoying ghost I’ve ever met until I got to know Margaret but well that’s another story.
First time I met him, I’ve noticed an unmistakeable sadness in his eyes or more precisely in his entire expression. I’ve always felt like it must have been there before, that maybe he was born with this sadness, deeply engraved in his hazel eyes. They always seemed very familiar to me, as if I was seeing them all the time, somewhere, in the trees, autumn leaves, during those long London’s rainy days.
Georgie told me so much about his childhood. He loved sitting on the tree, secretly looking at the people underneath. He used to think that people look so much more interesting and fascinating from his favourite tree. Moreover they didn’t scare him that much. He was daydreaming there, creating his lovely little world. The one thing he particularly loved doing was building the origami swans. He loved this idea of swans swimming through the innumerable amount of leaves. Every night, from his window he could see his swans shining in the dark. They gave him so much happiness and dreams full of unexpected pleasures.  Unfortunately, during one spring rainy day, Georgie’s father cut off his beloved tree. After this unfortunate event, nothing else in Georgie’s life made him as happy as sitting in this adored tree.  Well not exactly nothing else, until he met Leonie..........
 to be continued

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The importance of being a truck driver

I feel like there’s so much pressure on how much people have to decide about everything nowadays in order to be someone or to get somewhere. No one is allowed to be lost anymore. Maybe people forget that being lost could feel very nice sometimes. Especially when your life is in front of you and there are too many paths and choices to make so you just want life to decide for you and take any opportunity that brings you. Life is so ephemeral and beautifully erratic. Why should we waste it by doing something that doesn’t fulfil us and robs us of our imagination? Because we need money, because we shouldn’t be selfish and think about the others.... yes, I know that this is the answer. Everyone knows it. You can’t really be free and love/ beloved at the same time. Love takes hostages and so does life. Life is an unbearable bitch that carries a colourful poetry. We have to decide what our favourite pages are and to be grateful every time we read them. Or we might as well throw the colourful poetry away and hit this bitch (life) on the face, so hard that it bruises. It’s entirely up to us but the truth is, sad of course, that life always fucks you, never the other way round. We were born to live, that’s the only thing we should complete, easy thing to do and yet almost everyone fails doing it. I think maybe in the future I would like to have my own company with lots of funny, smart, crazy and adorable people who would make other people happy just by smiling at them. Or maybe I would like to be a truck driver, just to drive during the long dark nights. To see nothing but the lonely street in front of me. Maybe there’s something beautiful about making decisions after all, even if we are not entirely free of making our own choice. I would love to believe that. 

Sunday, October 7, 2012


This morning I woke up and I was eating butterflies out of a can.

Saturday night at Proud Cabaret

How amazing is it to explore London! Everytime finding a new adventure. Last night I and my ladies went to Proud Cabaret, close to Aldgate. It is an incredible place to spend Saturday night, be completely overwhelmed by the amazing performances (from ballet to burlesque), fancy dresses and sex in the air. Everything was brilliant apart from some assholes thinking that when they say hi to you, you should give them a blowjob immediately. I wish they would first look at themselves in the mirror and think before they even dare to say hello to some ladies.  It's not even the appearance but the attitude and how they convey themselves... it's a disaster. Fortunately we ended up in Liverpool Street in a 24 hours cafe where I had a delicious sandwich and I thought I could enjoy the rest of the night. However on the way back home, other idiots would sing 'adorably' the whole way on the bus. What happened to the men? I mean where are those gentlemen who can behave a little? Is this the only thing we can find nowadays?

Saturday, October 6, 2012


It was my 23th birthday and I found myself in this lovely cemetery while I was waiting for my friend. What a peaceful place with so many stories, memories and half-forgotten lives. The gentle breeze was playing with my hair, trying to whisper something into my ears. It was a whisper spoken in many languages, accents and passions. I wish I could captured it in my mind and play it again everytime I wanted to. There was a certain smell of  a wisdome and peace that reminded me of cinnamom and camomiles.
I think I must have been sitting there for so long as a cemetery guide came to me and asked if I was ok. I told him it was my birthday and he said he would give me a tour guide for free. He was walking me around, telling me about those amazing people who were buried there. The best birthday present ever.