Friday, November 22, 2013

Apocalyptic joke

     This is a song I wrote and recorded over a year ago. It's Polish but you can read my loose translation below. Enjoy:)


1
Last night I had a beautiful dream
I dreamed about the end of the world
Some shit fell from the sky
It's time to close the business

The cities and villages burn
Humanity reached the end
Apocalyptic joke
But no one wants to laugh

2
From the Wall Street flows a river of lava
The dollars didn't help them
London isn't doing good either
The pound sterling went down

Why don't I sing about Poland?
It's my motherland after all.
Because where Poland was
Now there is just lots of water

3
Imagine this:
no more tax to pay
Guantanamo is finished
Israel's wall broke down

I'm only sorry for animals
Cats, cows, zebras
Dogs, elephants and dolphins
Even flies

4
I'm also sorry for pizza, wine
Girls and my favorite bands
But on the other hand
when I'm dead
I can dream about whatever I want

Good books, good people
Free love, free world
But then why to do it again?
Humans had their chance.

5
I'm chilling out on the balcony
The view is breathtaking
And I'm so happy
That the soaps on TV are over

The scandals are in past
The wars are past too
And I'm so happy
that political parties went to hell

6
My neighbor came, he brought vodka
He says that he doesn't like to drink alone
He said: call me Lesiu
Why should we call ourselves "sir"?

And then one more meteor fell from the sky
and I woke up.
Bloody hell!
The world is still there!

Friday, November 1, 2013

The Factory

   















 


      God, the last two weeks were so intense. I hardly believe how many things happened. The new house is great, but it will take a while until I feel here like home. It takes time for me.
     Funny thing with it actually. When I arrived at the Factory couple of months ago I didn’t like it (to say it mildly). I felt lonely, neglected, it was dark, dirty, cold, some of the people were getting on my nerves. But now I miss that fucking place:). I miss the big space, long ghostly corridors, Domink’s swearing at life, Ricote’s past-the-sale-by-date-treats, David’s unusual composure, Marta and Petra’s moodiness, Janusz’ life wisdoms, Celina’s  weird voice timbre, Joel's Viking face, Kriss'... well, Kriss for being Kriss, rats, my room and solitary contemplative evenings, or the jam sessions till late, and the next day coughing out the tar from all the cigarettes we smoke at David’s.

     I know I’m sentimental. The thing is that when I arrived to London I didn’t know anyone except for Radhika who helped me to get sorted out here in the first place. But slowly I got to know some nice people, who turned into close friends, some of them even very close. This is important stuff. Belonging is the essence of being I think. When you share with others, you grow, expand, enjoy the energy flow. If you’re stuck with yourself, you wither, like a spark separated from fire. This is my experience.

     Tania joined me today, after almost four months of separation. She was tired after the journey and the last few days of packing fever. On top of it she got a headache and sore throat, so we didn’t really had much of exchange. Also I think she might be afraid that I’ve changed too much, being here on my own for so long. I know I’ve changed, but I believe it’s a good change. Anyway – change just is, you can not really judge it.

Home

Where is my home, my Friend?
Is it made of bricks, pipes and screws
or maybe ideas, words and people’s faces?
Do I find it in the midnight talks,
with cigarette smoke dancing,
painting dragons on the wall?
Is my home made of books
I got on amazon last year?
Is it the music someone recommended?
Is it that breakfast place,
where on Tuesday I had a meal
with a very good friend,
and we washed it down with a pint of Stella?
Is home only for those lucky bastards,
who had smooth childhood,
loving parents
who never drank,
never fought
and never were irresponsible assholes?
And for the rest of us?
I think it might be a bit of each.
Let’s look for it together,
my Friend.
Let's look for it.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Enjoy the ride

   




















     So many changes, and I don't only mean external things, like moving the house, etc. But yes, I moved to a new place, a house in Barking. I wrote little bit about it few entries ago. La casa de Maria, amazing Italian girl, who found us on gumtree. I’m here from Saturday. On Thursday we had a big good bye party in the Factory. David, Joel, Kriss, Petra, Marius, Ricote and his couchsurfing friend. Jam session until morning, wine, weed, dance, improvised songs, laugh and talks. Sounds bit decadent, I know, but it wasn’t. A friend (thank u, Colleen:), wrote me some time ago, that life is a ride, so why not to enjoy it. I’m not saying that from now I want to be a party animal, but I just try to go with the flow, stop to worry too much, take things as they come, not strive for perfection all the time. The truth is that for the last few weeks I feel happy. Relaxed, laid back, full of hope, alive.

     I’m reading a book by Brene Brown, where she’s prizing the power of vulnerability. There is something in it. Accepting our vulnerability gives us the sense of higher protection and internal power. When we reject it, trying to control everything around us, we fall from grace, if you will. I think that a big part of anxiety and depression comes from our failure to control our lives. Or rather I mean it comes from our very intent to control. Failure? We are always going to fail, when we want to control everything. We are just doomed to do so. But that’s the secret – to let it go. To enjoy the ride, as Colleen put it.

     In an hour David comes. We will rehearse few songs and then try some busking in the city. We've been playing for a while now, but never did streets together. Let’s see how it goes, I’ll write a “report” later. I have a week off, so can chill out, try to enjoy de callejear. Then on Friday, Tania comes, and so the new chapter starts.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

You First, Brother

Rainbow Gathering, Slovakia, 2012 


 















     So. If I had any doubts, now I don’t, it’s a fact – deep down I am a real hippy.
     After ten hours of bus ride I got to the European Rainbow Gathering near Lukovistia, on the South of Slovakia.
     I was tired, sweaty, anxious and not really sure what I was doing there and if it was a good idea for a relaxing, therapeutic summer adventure. Specially after a week with my spiritual master, brothers and sisters, I felt bit lonely, left behind and I knew that nothing could amount to that great week we spend together. Still now I was here, so I was going to do my best.
     When the middle age, bold, fat guy, immediately after getting off the bus, took off his cloths (and I mean all of it) and started to march towards the campsite with his upper and lower (hairy) back shining with profuse perspiration (the sky was pouring heat!), I felt even more depressed, but, hey – after all this was Rainbow, not Louvre!
     He looked like he knew the way, so I followed him. After about twenty minutes walk we came to a glade. And that was it – my fatigue and bad mood left me completely and it was then when I realized that I was a real hippy. I deeply fell in love with what I saw!

     There was around hundred people playing in the meadow. Some of them were naked, some dressed in colorful, rainbow-like rags, some were playing tag, other enjoying shower from the barrel fastened to a crown of a tree, some drumming all kinds of drums (there were even tablas), playing accordions, guitars, ukuleles, bagpipes, children were chasing dogs (and the other way around too), some dreadlock yogis chanted mantras…
     I admit that for a moment I felt that I entered a heaven. I stood there, at the top of the hill, with my mouth wide open, savouring this bucolic, idyllic picture.
     It was kind of ecstatic. For a moment I remembered the story of Gopa Kumar entering the pastures of spiritual world, and I imagined how it must felt. Leaving all that madness of material kingdom behind and eventually finding yourself home, in the land of love, freedom and dedication.
     Finally I started to descend. People seeing my backpack greeted me with a cheerful shouting, wave or even a hug or a kiss.
     “Welcome home, brother!” – they said.
     Someone explained to me that it wasn’t the main area of the gathering and I should walk further to find some place to camp.

     As I walked I saw more tents and teepees. Some hidden in the forest or bushes, some in the open. And also there were more and more people. First thing I noticed was that everyone looked in each other’s eyes and everyone smiled. Soon I was to discover that it wasn’t just being polite, but people were actually nice to each other. They were helping each other, like for example carrying stuff, setting tent, etc., sharing whatever they got, even if it was only a small piece of chocolate, bread or a cigarette. Oh, yes, I should mention here that the gathering was alcohol-free and meat-free. There wasn’t an official ban, nobody enforced anything, but still almost all people abided by that unwritten law.

     After few minutes I got to the main clearing, so called “food circle”, which was the centre of Gathering. I decided to camp on the top of the hill. In that way I could see everything that was to be seen and wouldn’t miss anything.
     When I set my tent, I looked down – at the colorful, noisy, happy chaos. And I smiled.

* * *

     I needed a shower. I stank like an angry skunk (not that I know how angry skunk stinks, but it was bad, very bad). A whole summer day spent in buses and dirty bus stations can do it to anybody.
     I went to the shower area I passed before. There were about thirty people waiting in line. Man, women, children. And everyone was completely, definitely, utterly undressed.
     No, wait! There! Relief! I spotted one guy with his shorts on… Wait, no, he took them off…
     Not that I have anything against nudity, it is natural thing, and after all I decided to be a hippy for these few days, but still, it was little bit too much for me.
     I looked at the people in the cue. They were completely at ease. They talked, laughed, discussed Thoreau, Chomsky and Osho… I felt embarrassed being the only one wearing swimming trunks. Ok – nobody was forcing me to anything, no one even looked with disapproval at my puritan sorry self. But still I felt stupid. Should I do it? Should I overcome my weakness and prove to myself to be a truly free man? Or maybe I was being oppressed by a social pressure and to be free I should stay dressed to prove that I was free? I took a deep breath…
     And I did it. I took of the trunks and kicked them aside.
     Here I was. Living trough the one of the oldest civilized human nightmares – standing naked in a crowd of people. My ears were burning, my hands couldn’t find their natural position (that’s what pockets are for!), my thoughts were racing.
     But nothing happened. No one even noticed.
     And when my turn to shower came, and I stood there in the streams of icy cold water, on the small, stone platform (like a little stage), in front of all those people, I felt rather stress-free. I even waved encouragingly to a shy, skinny, fully dressed young man who hesitantly joined the queue.

     I would like to make here a small observation. In the main stream society people are sensitized to nudity and it has a definitely sexual connotation. On one hand it is a taboo, on the other, it is used a lot, for example in advertisement, TV, etc., to attract people, playing on their lower instincts. But there, where nudity was a very common, ordinary affair, the sexual aspect wasn’t really prominent. It was rather innocent and funny. During the whole stay, I haven’t seen a single case of promiscuity, not counting a shy, stammering hippy couple who were looking for someone “to join them in the session of divine, free love”.  I was surprised, I have to say. Not that I’m becoming a nudist now, I think that wearing cloths has its numerous advantages (for example hiding nature flaws, to mention one). Still, I think it was an interesting experience. Instructive.

* * *
     My first food circle. It was something. Something remarkable.
     Imagine – dusk well on it’s way. The little fire in the middle of the glade couldn’t disperse the darkness.
     “Close the circle! Close the circle!” – shouts were echoing among the hills.
     I came closer. Someone took my hand. Tall, blond rasta guy.
     “Close the circle” – he said with a smile. I stretched my hand, trying to reach a girl on my left. She laughed as she tried to stretched her hand and it was still about two meters of free space between us. Eventually we managed. The circle was growing. More and more people were coming from all over the place – from the forest, valley, and surrounding hills. I couldn’t see far, but the growing hubbub of voices told me that we must be now few hundreds or more. As more people came, we were spreading further and further from the centre.
     “Make the second circle” – someone shouted. We just couldn’t spread more if we wanted to stay on the hill. The inner circle started to form and quite soon it was almost as big as ours.
     In the meantime the chanting started. The song was very simple and catchy.

We are circling, circling together
We are singing, singing with our hearts on
This is family, this is unity
This is celebration, this is sacred

     Then the rasta guy on my right looked at my eyes and slowly kissed my hand. I was a bit bewildered, but I realized this is kind of a chain and I should send the kiss further. I looked at the girl on my left, and… I kissed my own hand! I’ve got no idea why I did it. I guess I was just too lost. The girl laughed wholeheartedly and send the kiss further. Then there was a kiss on the cheek and even a kiss on the shoulder. Soon I was pretty good at it, and I didn’t kiss any of my own body parts anymore.
     And then there was the best part. The song gradually faded away and something else started. It was like deep thunder rising from the ground.
     Goosebumps.
     Om chanting.
     I don’t find Om very attractive. After all it is just one of the divine sounds and it doesn’t have the sweetness the Krishna’s name has. But believe me, when few hundred people, holding hands, starts to chant Om together, it is breathtaking. Standing there under the sky sprinkled with thousands of stars, chanting with the multitude, I felt lifted to the air by that powerful, all-pervasive sound. That was a sound of awe-inspiring Visnu, the creator of the world.
     Eventually it faded too. Everyone rose their folded hands to the sky and then we all paid obeisance to Divine, in gratefulness for the food that was about to be served.

* * *
 
   When after four days I was finally bidding farewell to the hippy paradise, I didn’t expect to be back just in couple of days. Who would? So I was walking very slowly to the bus stop, looking at the sleeping camp. The rising sun poured the gold on the scattered sleeping bags, dusty tents and smoky teepees. Few lonely, dirty survivors of yesterday wished me a happy journey. French young poet in a suit and wild tie gave me a piece of chocolate and played for me on a violin few lines from the International.
     And that was good bye.

     Then, couple of days later I was on the road again. Once more I enjoyed the familiar feeling of sweatiness, exhaustion and carsickness (who rode Eastern European busses knows what I’m talking about). But this time I wasn’t alone.
     It was actually Tania who made me to go the second time.
     After coming back home I was very enthusiastic in my reportage and a bit of that enthusiasm got transmitted to my better half. Basically she put it like this:
     “I’m going. Whether you goin’ with me or not.”
     So I could go or not, and I preferred to go. No, the decision to accompany her had nothing to do with my insecurity because of all those handsome rastas and hippies walking out there with their beautiful drums, guitars and dreamy eyes. I was just happy to get another chance to re-experience Rainbow.
     We also asked my sister, Ania, to join us, and she was happy to do it.

     When we started to get closer to the camp site, the girls felt stressed and a bit awkward. “Are we going to fit? How will we survive the “naked” shower? What about the toilets?” (Oh, yes, Shit Pits! I completely forgot to mention those sweet and cozy places. I will come to it).
     Me however, I felt like coming back home. I was an experienced guide, nonchalant pack leader, Rainbow veteran.
     “On the right you see the Healing Teepee, there, in those bushes are showers… I mean a shower. Single. On the left there is a children kitchen, and here is the main food circle, over there, that white patch, it used to be Krishna’s temple, and I was camping there, by that shrub… There is a funny story…”
     “Could you stop now?” asked Tania.
     “Yeap, please” added Ania.

* * *
     Ania’s biggest fear was the toilet. She wasn’t very inspired by my description of it. So first of all it wasn’t even called a toilet, but, as I mentioned before, “a shit pit”. What a picturesque and juicy term.
     When I first heard about it after arriving few days before I imagined a long drainage ditch with a perch and a row of people sitting on it, smoking cigarettes and having a conversation, you know, like in the war movies, in the POW camp.
     The reality was less shocking, though still not very comforting.
     So first of all there was a designated area for it. And the in that area (in the forest) there were small trenches, maybe 6-7 feet long, 1 feet deep, and they were randomly dug around. The rules were – no toilet paper, just water, washing hands with ashes, and covering the end product with earth.
    At first I was seriously considering holding on until going back home, but then I managed to get used to it. As long as it was daylight, it wasn’t a problem, but God have mercy on those wretched creatures who were hard-pressed during the night hours and had to roam in the darkness. Poor buggers.
     Anyway, for some reason Ania wasn’t inspired by my description of the “toilets”, but eventually she became believer and in the end she was even openly scorning those, who broke the rules and used that forbidden, bourgeois toilet paper.

* * *

       Oh, God, what a cold night it was! I couldn’t believe that just in couple of days the temperature could drop so dramatically. I went to sleep in my underwear, but soon I was wearing everything I owned including four pairs of socks and a hat. And still I was freezing.
     Since I had my private small tent, I couldn’t cuddle up for warmth with Tania. Eventually at 2 AM I took my half-broken torchlight and I went to the forest to collect wood for a bonfire. It took me some time, specially that my torch was going off and on, but ultimately I managed.
     Pretty soon I was falling asleep nicely warmed up, looking at the thousand of stars.

     When I opened my eyes the sun was already high up. Tania was sleeping next to me, she must have a tough night too. And there was this guy with a turban and lots of tattoos, sitting next to us (actually sitting almost on my head).
     “Good morning” said he with a slight German accent. “You don’t mind that I’m using your fire to make chapatis?”
     I looked at him somewhat vacantly, still half asleep.
    “Yes… Of course. No problem”
     Actually I remembered the guy from before. He was doing an improvisation with a guitar, making up a song about the proper and responsible use of shit pits. I remember that I liked his sense of humor, and also fact that he was always helping with food serving.
     I got up and took quick bottle shower behind the tent. Tania and Ania were up too.
     We decided to do a morning program. It was  Janmastami day (Krishna’s birthday). For that purpose I had even brought my mrdanga (Indian drum). It looked kind of funny – since I didn’t have a mrdanga cover I improvised something using an old bathrob and piece of string. It resembled some fury, weird animal.
     Tania created a spontaneous altar, and we sat together and sang Hare Krishna.
     I could see that we gained some respect in Walter’s (the chapati guy) eyes. He looked with an interest at us. When we got to maha-mantra he joined us, not interrupting the chapatis making process.
     When he got his first chapati made, he produced a small, silver plate, put the chapati on it, then bent his head low and chanted some mantras I didn’t recognize.
   
     After the morning chanting, we got into cooking project. We had brought from Poland butter, powdered milk, icing sugar and dry fruits. Sweet balls time!
     Tania mixed everything in a plastic bag, Ania and me, we cut nuts, dates and raisins, and soon we had maybe hundred or more sweet balls. Then we started bhajan. Tania on caratals, me, mrdanga.
     In a little while we gathered a small crowd. Some of them were attracted by chanting and some definitely by a sight of the beautiful sweets.
     “Ania, distribute the food” – I said between the maha mantras. She was little bit shy, but soon she was dancing and walking all over the place, giving prasadam (food offered to Divine) to everyone around.
     People were charmed. They asked for a recipe, chanted with us, smiled, waved, danced. It was really cool. I felt like in old Iskcon days, during festivals.

     At one point, someone grabbed a full plate and went away with it. I was little bit worried, particularly because guy who took it, didn’t look very normal, he was either high or very off. I looked at him doubtfully, but he just started to distribute prasadam himself.

* * *

     Next day I was woken up by Krsna’s names.
     I was sleeping next to the bonfire again (I was smart and the day before I prepared wood for the morning).
     I looked around. The camp was completely asleep, except for a small group by the big fire down the valley. They sang some mantras, playing guitar and drums.
     I grabbed the mrdanga and almost run down there.
     The people assembled around the fire looked very weary. Some of them were naked, cover with ashes, with red eyes. A sad girl with a guitar was leading bhajan. When I joined gently with mrdanga, they greeted me with smiles and made a space in a circle.
     They looked at the rising sun and sang to a soft and sweet tune:

     Govinda, Gopala, Narayana
     Govinda, Gopala, Narayana

     We chanted and we swayed and we crooned and we smiled and someone even cried nostalgically, and I thought, it was a very magical morning.

* * *
     There were more pastimes and stories to tell, but I think I’ll end it here. A good story-teller knows when to stop.
     In the end I was bit tired, we all were, but still, it was worth it.
     I’m not a sentimentalist – I wasn’t blind to pretentiousness of some, to two hippy girls looking for an attention of a handsome and esoteric guitar-player, to a bunch of ganja smokers who were stoned 24/7, to spoiled kids, or overtly zealous environmentalists. I saw all these things. But I was thinking about something that my Swami said: “We don’t judge others by who they are, but by the ideal they strive for”.
     I tried that and I think it worked. I think I met some beautiful people there and some of that beauty dribbled on me, making me... just better.
     You would like it there.

Anarchist Bookfair - London 2013

   




















     When David and I got there, the campus’ streets were already full of anarchists of all denominations. Young, excited punks, grey-haired intellectualists in corduroy suits, serious feminists with dogged determination on their faces, dread-lock gurus giving speeches about Middle East and oppression of the State. I loved it.
     In the corner there was a lonely Socialist Party stall, with a sad, bit embarrassed girl standing next to it and trying to hand leaflets to uninterested passer-bys. It was interesting to see how the grudge on the Marx-Bakunin line is still alive. Like touching the history.
     We got into the building to look for Maria. We were planning to meet there from our last meeting. Also she wanted to meet David, who may move to her place in December.
     It was pretty stuffy inside. Or maybe it was the hangover. David didn’t feel good either. The yesterday’s jam session was going for almost the whole night, I was in bed at 4 AM, and not in the best shape.
     There was no sight of her to be seen anywhere. I called her. She got a terrible toothache so she couldn’t make it.

     David and I decided to go out for a moment to grab some fresh air, coffee and maybe a small beer to shake off the stupor. We sat on the bench in the park and went through the Bookfair program to decide what to do. Eventually we made our mind. We’d start from “Libres” – talk and performance by Pilar Lopez about 1936 Spanish Revolution, then “Anarchism & the Middle East” and to finish, “Sexual Consent Workshop”.

     The lecture theater was roomy, and had very comfortable chairs. That was a good start. The audience was dark-haired, olive complexion, the Spanish language resonated around. The girl who, I supposed was a lecturer struggled with the computer and projector. She didn’t really succeeded so it was going on and off for the whole hour, stuck on one slide (a ten years old boy drinking wine from the wine skin). She spoke very quietly, so the audience leaned forward and hardly breathed, trying to understand almost inaudible words. I realized that it was going to be very basic presentation on Spanish Civil War and the things that led to it, and I studied the topic in depth, so I let myself to drift. In the semi-darkness I was looking at the listeners’ faces. Maybe I’ll sound too idealistic, but it struck me how many nice, beautiful and interesting faces were there. Thoughtful eyes, kind smiles, openness and forthrightness. You don’t see it every day on the street, where people are usually very self-involved, careful, distrustful and distant.
     The talk was varied by songs from the Civil War. The lecturer had sweet, sonorous voice, very attractive. “Anda Jaleo”, “En la plaza de mi pueblo”, “Si me quieres escribir”. Love those songs.
     We didn’t go to the second talk we planned. Instead we went to get some food. There were veggie burgers sold outside for a donation, but the queue was so long and moving so slow that we decided to go to a shop. Got some veggie curry and bread, and sat outside.

     I was approached by a guy I didn’t know, but he seemed to know me. He spoke Polish and I realized, he must be D., the Polish anarcho-syndicalist I was writing with since I’m in the UK. He brought me the latest issue of Inny Świat (anarchist magazine) that had an interview I gave last summer (about my music, songs and general ideas about life). Then he invited me for a direct action next Sunday, but I think I wont go. I need some positive engagement, not sabotage initiatives, however justified they might be.

     I was little bit shy when we got to the “Sexual Consent Workshop”. I’m not used to talk about sex in a nonsexual situation, with strangers. I find it little awkward. Still I thought it could be an educational experience, and it’s good to break free from our own limitations. David said that he was ok, relaxed. I guess he takes things easy much easier then me.

     And the workshop itself? I have mixed feelings. I was expecting something more general, like setting the boundaries, maybe talking about experimenting even, but it was very abuse orientated. You could see that many people there (girls mostly) were abused in one point of their life or another, and there was a weird tension in the air. Lots of guilt, resentment...don’t know. I guess it is needed to do this workshops, there are people that this issue is very relevant to, but I think for it to work it has to be more objective, neutral and even-tempered. Ok – there was nothing inappropriate or weird in that workshop, I can’t really criticize  it, but it wasn’t my cup of tea.

     I know what put me off in the very beginning of it. The girl who led the workshop asked everyone to introduce themselves and say what pronoun they want to be addressed by – he, him, she, her. It was very artificial and I don’t see how exactly is it suppose to help in promoting tolerance, understanding, etc. There was an Arab man, older gentlemen and he just couldn’t understand what they are asking him to say. He looked embarrassed, like a child in a classroom, not comprehending what the teacher wants from him.

     And basically that was the end. We wandered for some time amongst the book stalls, my heart bleeding for not being able to afford any of this great literature. We collected all the free stuff we could and left.

     We finished the night with a long, slow walk through the crowded streets of London. Munching on a piece of bread and talking about meaning of life, love, fear, harmony.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

As I Roved Out - Irish traditional on uke

      Sunday spent mostly on making this cover. I'm all cheered up. Gracias a ti, David, por ayuda (bajo y la percusión)!

 

Who are you, me pretty fair maid,
And who are you, me honey?
Who are you, me pretty fair maid,
And who are you, me honey?
She answered me modestly,
I am me mother's darling

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

Will you come to me mother's house,
When the moon is shining clearly?
Will you come to me mother's house,
When the moon is shining clearly?
I'll open the door and I'll let you in
And devil the one will hear us

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

So I went to her house in the middle of the night
and the moon was shining clearly
I went to her house in the middle of the night
and the moon was shining clearly
She opened the door and she let me in
and devil the one did hear us

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

Then she took my horse by the bridle and the bit
And she led him to the stable
She took my horse by the bridle and the bit
And she led him to the stable
"So there's plenty of oats for a soldier's horse,
To eat it if he's able"

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o


Then she took me by her lily-white hand
And she led me to the table
She took me by her lily-white hand
And she led me to the table
"So there's plenty of wine for a soldier boy,
To drink it if he is able"

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

And she got up and she made the bed
And she made it nice and easy
She got up and she made the bed
And she made it nice and easy
And then she took me by the hand
Said: “Blow up the candle”

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

There we laid to the break of the day
And Devil the one that hear us
There we laid to the break of the day
And Devil the one that hear us
And she rose without the cloths
Saying "Darling, you must leave me”

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

When can I return again
And when will we get married?
When can I return again
And when will we get married?
When broken shells make temple bells
That’s when we’ll be married

Fiddle dai
You al da fal-de-diddle-da
Fai-di dai-di
didle-deldi-o

Life is magic

 




















     Life is magic, and I don’t mean it just in some metaphorical sense. The universe is really magic. We just see and touch the external, pale layer of it. We can reach deeper, if we really try. I’m pretty sure we have the tools, but we are so stupefied, so covered, nowadays.

     I can say from my own example. I lived my teenage years in the pre-internet era. We just had one TV channel. The only computer in the village belonged to a cop’s kid, and we used it to play (rarely) Commodore 64 games. When you wanted a music album, either you had to buy it (ha, ha, who had the money? It was like 1/10 of an avarage wage) or make a cassette copy, usually in a very bad quality. When you needed information, you had to use a big, heavy, often outdated encyclopaedia. When you wanted to meet someone, you just went to his home and knocked on the door. If you felt like watching porn… well, that wasn’t easy at all, and it was actually easier to use your colourful and relatively innocent imagination.

     Of course the life wasn’t idyllic, I had plenty of problems, involving broken heart, drugs and alcohol abuse, family issues, school problems – typical teenager quandaries. But somehow the mind worked in a slower pace, and not only that; it was also more magic-sensitive. I remember the evening, long winter walks, watching bright stars and the moon, and experiencing such a thrilling sensation of the presence of mystical beings, continuity of existence, higher connection… (I’m not including here the drugs’ experiences, so bugger off, I wasn’t high;). There were so many things, so many shades of emotions and feelings. Not only that. There were things happening, amazing things (but I leave it for another time).

     Many things changed since 90’s. Everything has speeded up. The unlimited access to information filled our heads, but emptied souls. We know more, but we experience less. That’s so scary. And many of us can’t cope with this unhealthy state. We suffer anxiety, depression, panic, feeling of being lost, meaningless of the world. And it’s not because the world lost its meaning (or never had it). It’s because we are so deafen by this lurid hubbub around us, that we can’t make any sense of anything. We are like a deer stepping out of the wild forest on a highway, blinded by the lights of a big truck which is about to smash him to a pulp. This is unhealthy world we live in, not us, who is messed up.

     We have to try to shake it off, break free.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

I want to remain a boy



     The day goes bit slow today. Hangover after yesterday's wine, we had a couple of spliffs with David, so today I’m little sad and moody. This morning I bought mashed potatoes, soya sausages, pickled cucumbers and cheese cake at the supermarket. After eating, I watched X Files and a bad movie (actually I scrolled through half of it).

     There are some things I want to write about, but I don’t want to sound like a grumbler. I know that I don’t like reading other’s people stuff, when they just complain, so why should I put other through this?

     I’m not good with words today. It’s not actually about whining. It’s about deep, heartfelt yearning. I wrote about it many times in different places. It’s something I lost or maybe not lost, but buried deep and now I have hard time rediscovering it. You know, it’s about the sense of protection from above. The feeling that Universe cares, that guardian spirits, or whatever, oversee us from some harmonious place, full of wisdom and love. Shit, I don’t want to sound so new agey. It’s that I remember feeling safe and looked after. Not so many years ago. Before my dad died, I think.

     There were times, Tania and me, we didn’t have a dime to rub against another, we lived in weird places, with not so nice people, we had difficulties in our relationship. But somehow at the end of the day I could sit down, put on some familiar music, take out my Tarot cards (“not new agey, huh?:”), or diary, and chill out completely, writing a poem about longing, my tribe, friends who must be out there somewhere, and feeling connected to a greater story, feeling deep inside that there is a sense to my existence, that someone is watching my steps, and "always being there to catch me".

     Yes, that’s what I’m complaining about. My material situation doesn’t bother me that much, I’ve been worse than that. It’s the feeling of loosing innocence, trust, security, simplicity, all those things that make you feel like a child. Sometimes I feel like I’m just a bare self left in a naked, too literal world.
     So I need you back, my dreams, my carrying spirits, my friendly, boyish God, my quiet evenings without time and thoughts of the end, my bright and filled with unending adventures future together with Tania, my hope to meet my soulmates one day, and the faith in gifts waiting on the camino.

     I guess, I want to stay a child. I wander if that’s what it is to be an adult? Disillusioned, down to earth, focusing on earthly matters, not those airy, silly dreams? If that’s the case, I want to remain a boy.  

New home

   




















     Today I went to see my new home. Well, I didn’t know if it was going to be my home, until I actually met Maria, the girl who owns the house.  
     But starting from beginning – few days ago I got an email from this girl. She saw my advert on gumtree and she liked Tania and me. I like what she said about herself, and I could feel from the few lines she sent me, that she was ok. But Barking... Shit, so far from my work, I thought. Over 160 quid for a monthly pass. Still, I decided to check it out. I called her, we had a chat, and then today, after work I went to meet Maria and see her place. I found out that the transport isn’t that bad – overground and tube take about 50 minuts, plus walking, waiting, I guess I can make it in an hour and 15 minutes, given or taken.

     Maria was supposed to meet me at the station. She wasn’t there, when I arrived, so I leaned against the wall and waited. It was fun – I was looking at the passing girls, wandering which one could be my “would be” landlord. I didn’t like any of them. So I was pretty much relieved when she showed up. Bit scruffy, different from the crowd and, what struck me most after just few words – very forthright, sincere. I felt connection straight away.
     She showed me the house, we chatted for an hour or more and finally we agreed that it’s a good idea to live together. So in a couple of weeks I’m moving in. Tania will get the plain ticket one of these days and she will join me. Finally, after more then four months of separation. I’m so relieved!
     I feel that things are falling into place at least. I enjoy my work, feel appreciated, start to find peace inside, now this thing with Maria and her house... I don’t know. It feels like the clouds are dispersing.
    What else?

     It’s evening already, as it usually is, when I sit to write. The weather is bad - rain, wind, cold. The vines are scratching against the windows and since my bed is just there, I have to get used to it, if I want to sleep. Sometimes the rats are squeaking and I’m wandering why those poor bastards don’t hide somewhere underground, instead of hanging on the creepers shattered by wind and rain, like some desperate, fur pirates. I’m listening to Camaron de la Isla, drinking wine, and planning to learn new song on ukulele, “Volando Voy”. Dominik invited me to the dinner, pasta with soya chunks, we watched some old Polish cabaret from sixties, I did laundry.
     Take care.
     Yours
     M.

Friday, September 27, 2013

Hello Earthlings

   




















     Hello Earthlings
     For the last few months I was whining about job hunting, and now, when I have it, it’s time to start whining about flat hunting. London, I like you, babe, but this is madness. First of all – I have to forget about a studio apartment for now. The prices are out of my range, at least for now. Maybe later, when Tatiana comes and starts working, we might get something, but right now it’s all about flat share. The room for a couple starts from 500 a month (in Liverpool I could have 3 bedrooms apartment for that price!). The problem is that since I’ve only just started working, I don’t have all the money to get started. I would need around 1000 quid – 500 for the room and 500 deposit. So those are off the table. But there is a small percentage of flat shares that accept weekly rent and one or two weeks deposit. And this is what I’m targeting now. In the best case scenario I’ll get it this or next week. In the worse case I will carry on by myself here for the next month until I collect 1000 quid, and then I’ll bring Tania here.
     Anyway, enough about numbers. They give me headache.

      1. Today I cycled to the City and back to Sydenham. I was pretty tired, but I loved dodging between the buses, cars, going through those huge, six lanes wide roundabouts, sparkly tadpole amongst whales and sharks. I was spoiled by Copenhagen and its dreamy bicycle lanes. If you want to live on the edge, get a bike and come to London.

     2. On the way I was listening to Donatan – Polish hip-hop, this particular project bringing back the pride of belonging to the Slav family. Good beats, strong language, sooo not my regular cup of tea, but I enjoyed it greatly.

     3. The job – I really like it – people, college, hours, everything. I’ll try to get rid of the agency and go directly for the school. Let’s see how it goes.

     4. I tried busking with my ukulele. Three times I was paralyzed by the stage fright, the forth time I managed to play one song and I was shushed by some posh lady living above the street. It was in Soho, residential bit. This elegant women with posh accent came to me and said politely: “Young man, do you know the hell we have to go through, living in this area?” I looked around at the beautiful street, green trees, fancy coffee-shops, elegant bars, in the very heart of London. It didn’t look like a hell to me, but I was more then willing to swap with her for my freezing room in a ruined factory in the middle of the black ghetto.

     5. Continuing X Files marathon. The truth is out there, I knew it! ;)

Thursday, September 19, 2013

About work and some other thoughts

   




















     It’s Thursday already. These days my life is revolving around the work. Learning new people, getting familiar with the place, duties, locating vocation in the triviality of everyday life.
     For me it’s difficult to adapt to new group. I want to, I’m a sociable being, I feel alive when I can exchange thoughts and feelings with other people, but it’s pretty hard in the beginning. People are different, and that’s cool, but I have problems with the beginnings of the acquaintance, when you have to get through people’s barriers, initial coldness, distrust towards strangers, etc. I don’t know, it’s just hard for me. I get tense, sometimes try too hard, my low self-esteem kicks in, and I feel I make a fool of myself. And it’s not unjustified fear. Sometimes I don’t make good first impression (maybe more often then I’d like to).
     Ok, someone could say – “so what? who cares?”. I know, I shouldn’t. But sometimes I’m tired of being an outsider. It’s nice to be part of the group. Of course not any group. I’m not that needy.

     I like our kids. Well, they are not kids anymore, they are teenagers, and in the college we call them learners, but it sound little bit dry, so I stick to “kids”. Some of them are very severely disabled. I know people who’d say “what’s the point of educating them, if probably they don’t get anything of it”. I used to get angry when I heard that, now I just feel sorry for those people, and usually I just don’t argue, it’s a waste of time.

    I think about ourselves, “healthy” people. Who are we? How limited and often erroneous is our understanding of the world and our selves? But we are learning, making baby steps, often with the help of people more progressed then ourselves. Someone could say that it’s a waste of time, we are learning so slow, but I think it’s important to see our lives in the perspective of eternity (yeap, this is a big word, I’m aware of that:). When I work with our kids, I feel that I’m returning the favor. And this work makes me progress more on the life path. I think, it must be because of it, that social work feels so important to me.

     * * *
The evening list

     1. Electric heater next to my feet feels nice. The autumn is here, wind flows freely through the gaps in the window frames. Two thick duvets, wool socks, hat and gloves – winter, I’m ready for you!

     2. Yesterday – hunger. I’m still waiting for my first wages, and right now I haven’t got a penny. Yesterday returning from work, hungry like a beast, I did a tour behind the supermarkets, to find some “goods”. Didn’t find anything! For a moment I thought that I would go to bed hungry, but then Dominik asked me to the dinner in his room. He invites me tonight too. I really appreciate.

     3. Asking around for a room to rent. I can’t search gumtree, because I wont be able to pay deposit at this moment, so I hope to find it through friends and friends’ friends.

     4. Started to watch X Files again. It used to be my favorite series. I love Mulder, Scully, but mostly I love nineties:)

     5. Anxiety is a weird thing. It’s like your mind turns against you. Today, on the bus, when the weird feeling of alienation and unease hit, I told myself – “It’s ok, don’t fight it. You can feel whatever you want, no problem”. I relaxed almost instantly.

     6. The only thing that gives sense to the Universe is love. I feel that nothing else has enduring value. Without love we are just living in a petty dream.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

London

   




















     It’s already two months since the last entry? It is. I was more active on my another blog, but tonight I feel like I need some time here.
     Changes. I don’t live in Liverpool anymore. I moved to London. Liverpool depressed me, I felt lonely, couldn’t find a job, didn’t know anyone around. Then my friend, Radhika, suggested moving to London. She knows a guy who lives in a kind of a squat and asked him to get me a free place, and so he did. So I live here over a month now.

     The place is ok. South East (Sydenham). It’s a huge factory, with some rooms. The guy who looks after it, lives here and makes it available to friends or people in need for free or some small fee. Until now I didn’t have to pay, but now he asked me for 15 quid a week, which is ok, specially since I started working.

     Yes, I have work now. Teaching assistant in a special needs college. It’s through an agency, but it seems to be pretty solid, I might stay there. It’s been only the first week. I like it. Of course there are things that I will never like (timetables, schedules, chain of command, and all those “job extras”), but then working with people who need help is a noble thing to do and feels good. Only thing it’s pretty far – it takes me about 90 minutes to get there by bus. It would be faster on bike, but I don’t have any yet. Tried to buy some today, but couldn’t find anything in my budget. The job is only around 30 hours so I’m not sure how much I will get after tax, I’ll find out next week.

     What else? Two months is a long time. Lot of things happened. I’ll just make a list:
     1. Still missing Tatiana very much. I’m one of two, not one of one.
     2. Going to the Hare Krishna temple from time to time to eat something. But I stay away from the devotees there. Not very pleasant atmosphere. Fanaticism and old-boyism, can’t stand it.
     3. Made a song, I think one of my best so far.
     4. I like London. Yes, it’s a struggle now, being poor isn’t good for having fun, but in spite of obstacles I like it. Why? It’s just so big and crowded... There must be some real things and people in that beehive. And it means I can meet them.
     5. Rats. They are outside fortunately, climbing the vines outside my window, mating, fighting, ignoring me. I wonder if they will find the way in once it gets colder. I guess they might.
     6. Debts still escalating but in a much slower rate. Maybe even the growth has stopped? Let’s see. Right now it’s over 2000 pounds. Next week I get my first wages, but I’ll try to put aside all of it, and try to live of dumpster diving and busking. In this way I could collect enough to rent a double room near my work and for the plain ticket for Tania.
     7. People of the squat. Maybe I’ll make a separate entry about them. It’s a weird mix:)

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Morning time travel on the beach

   


















Santander, 2005


     Nothing has been happening on my blog lately, as you can see for yourself. Days got blurred, it’s just every day the same: some exercises in the morning, then sending CVs, applications, calling, then a walk and then watching TV series to turn off (or just to take the edge of) worrying and then I fall asleep. There is a shower and two meals somewhere between those.
     I’m frustrated. I know that eventually something will come up, but since I have literally no income and no savings at the moment, the waiting is a bit tough. Also, because I’ve just arrived, I don’t have friends to talk to or cry on their shoulder like a real man;)
    Yesterday I went to the beach in Crosby. I like the open water, I grew up in the mountains so I hadn’t seen the sea until I was maybe fourteen or fifteen. I got myself a surprisingly good apple cake (from “Everything under 99p”), and I ate it, looking at the sea and trying not to look at the jellyfish rotting all over the place. I got bit nostalgic. I tried to remember all the beaches we traversed together with Tatiana. 

     - Polish beach at Wladyslawowo, thirteen years ago, when we were selling oil paintings and it didn’t go well, so we were broke and sad, but we knew everything will be good (eventually). So young, so hopeful. Oh, and when a dog pissed on our paintings on a very hot day, and it was stinking so much that people were avoiding our stall like it was a leprosy colony. I love those two lovely guys (...ehem - us) when I look at them now:)

     - Santander beach in Spain. Two times. First in 2001. We took a break from living in a rural community near Madrid. We had enough of petty politics, gossip, power games, etc. So we just showed everyone finger and left. It was so nice to be free and aloof from all that, and being able to plunge our feet in the hot sand, holding hands and being young. The second time it was... let me think... 2005? I got that crazy job in a vegetarian restaurant. Six days a week, almost a whole day cooking and the boss’ wife didn’t like me (it was a mutual feeling). Sunday was our only day we could chill out with Tania. Usually we just walked through the beach few miles to get to the peninsula with the Palacio de la Magdalena, and then for few hours we talked, read, drew, write. The secret was to pretend that the tomorrow didn’t exist.

     - Beach in Bray (Ireland). 2005. We had just moved from Denmark and we were still not sure if it was the right decision. I worked as a vegetarian chef in Dublin, Tatiana was a care assistant in a nursing home. We both worked hard, then I lost my job, so everything was on Tatiana’s shoulders. Poor thing, she worked twelve hours shifts on the Alzheimer’s floor so usually at end of the day she was exhausted. On our days off we liked to have long walks (we always do), and sometimes we walked through that cold and windy beach. We never swam there, though I remember one time, late at night, when we were coming drank home from a pub with my friend, we took our cloths and intended to jump to the water, but Tatiana (and his wife too) gave us such a bollocking that we gave up.

     - Moncofa (Valencia), 2001. That was just a short visit. We cooked food for a black metal festival in the area. One day we decided to take a rest and we went to the beach. The water was soooo warm. The only problem was that we both are lame swimmers, and the waves were high and the deep water started just two meters off the shore. We bought a small air mattress, but then we got scared so we didn’t use it. We just enjoyed the sun and freedom. I remember also enjoying all those topless girls. Tania didn’t mind, we laughed and freely commented on the sizes, colors and shapes.

     - Copenhagen, 2004. I think we went to the beach only once. Usually the weather was shitty, the wind wanted to tear your head off, but that day was a real scorcher. We went together with Artur, our best friend, who eventually ended up in Orlando, Florida. I can’t remember much about that day. Just the feeling of being relaxed, happy, laughing, joking. Soon afterwards we left for Ireland, Artur for America, and things got a bit rougher, both for him and for us.

     I can’t remember more. We used to live in Bristol. Have we never gone to the beach there? I can’t recall. Maybe not.
     Ok, time for the morning fitness.

Tatiana and me in Santander, Spain, 2005, one of our Sundays

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

List 1

     1. Yesterday I went to Albert Dock (I’ve got my favorite spot there, just by the wall, where I can lean against the bricks and stretch my legs) and I played some tunes. After a while there was a guy who came by bicycle and so it happened he liked Manu Chao. His name was Phil, we had a chat an he shared a bread and cheese with me. Music brings people together.

     2. Today I signed up to couchsurfing. I haven’t got a place to host people, but there are some couchsurfers' events in Liverpool, and still it’s a cool way to meet people. I suggested we could organize vegetarian dinner, where everyone brings some food. It could be fun.

     3. Yesterday night, I stumbled upon “The Girl From Ipanema” and I got un poco de taste for bossa nova. I’ve downloaded some stuff and I try to decide if I like it or not. Astrud Gilberto is playing now. There is something light and nostalgic about her songs. I’ll give it a chance. Trying new things is good.

     4. Bit worried about a job and money (haven’t got neither), but that’s old news.

     5. Unquenched longing. I guess I’m little bit homesick, missing Tatiana, my nephew and nieces, dogs, garden (Tania wrote me that the pumpkins and courgettes started to flower).

     6. Almost 11 PM, and yet the street is still noisy.

     7. The video below - from 1:00 - just see that guy dancing. This is... no words:) The coolest dance ever.



Sunday, July 7, 2013

Bit of the book, bit of the movie, bit of myself


      The midnight is getting here. Hot. I lay down just with my knickers on. From time to time I hear the cars passing by through my street. The house is empty, it’s just me, listening to some indie rock radio station. Boring.
     Two good things happened to me lately. One is a book and the other is a movie. “The Man Who Wanted To Be Happy” by Laurent Gonuelle and “It’s Kind of a Funny Story”. But first I say what’s the background, why these two pieces made me feel happy (or happier).
     For a while now I’m struggling with depression and anxiety. Sometimes I get better, sometimes worse, but it’s there, at least in the background for most of the time. It’s been few years already. I feel weighted down by the reality. Financially it goes awful, I keep making new debts just to survive, my career is basically non-existing, and so is my self-esteem. Then no friends, no people who get me... Just to clarify – I’m not whining here or trying to get sympathy. Actually at the moment (tonight) I feel good. It’s just an objective picture of my state of mind in the last few years.

     So first I read that book. One of my friends mentioned it on facebook. I couldn’t find the pdf for my kindle, so I decided to buy the regular book, but then I found out that the Polish edition is sold out and since I prefer to read books in my own language, I got another book by the same author (“Les dieux voyagent toujours incognito”) and really enjoyed it. It was a real eye opener. Eventually I got the English edition of “The Man Who Wanted To Be Happy”. The book was exactly what I needed. Clear and simple presentation of how our beliefs create our personal reality. There is a guy on holidays in Bali, he meets a spiritual teacher and he takes him on the road to self-discovery. Gradually he finds out that his failures, low self-esteem, inability to fulfill his dreams (or to have dreams at all for that matter) aren’t caused by the external world, which is neutral, but rather are the result of our deep-rooted beliefs we acquired during our lifetime.

     With every page I can just see how much it applies to my life. The childhood, insecurity because of my father’s drinking, my mother’s unfulfilled expectations about my education. Then I got better, when I took my life in my hands, moved out at the age of twenty. Then I fall in love with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and to my great surprise she loved me back and eventually we got married. At this point I started to have more faith in myself. If I could get such a girl, I could do anything;) Then we started to travel, be free, I learned music, did some writing and got published. And then the disaster struck – first my father’s death, which made me think and feel deeply that nothing makes sense, since we were going to die anyway. Then we moved to Copenhagen, and nothing worked, we just hit a concrete wall of opposition from the world. Bureaucratic, financial and professional catastrophe. It was there, three years ago, where my self-confidence disappeared and I started to experience anxiety waves.

     So the book made me happy, because it made a really convincing case that I’m not doomed to be depressed and feeling shitty, that these are only self-imposed, self-thought reactions to the every day challenges, and putting some work into it, I can learn new reactions, this time the positive ones. I think that most of our distress comes from the feeling of being unable to influence reality. When we feel like helpless victims of random situations and events, we just slowly die inside. Once we start to feel that we are the ones who shape our own lives, then we start to feel happy, energized, inspired. So this is the theory, for me it’s still a long way to go, but reading that book, it was liberating to see the ocean of possibilities.

     This was about a book. Then tonight, after watching about ten episodes of “The Big Bang Theory” I decided that if I see one more of Sheldon speeches, I will descent to the madness, so I better play something different. What could be better for me then a movie about a suicidal teenager who ends up in the psychiatric ward? I was right:) The movie was so nice, so positive. Maybe it wasn’t as nicely structured and thought through as the book, but I really appreciated the take on the importance of support, friendship, love, creativity in helping with psychological tribulations.

     This is rather a long post. Written in the middle of the night, so it should have a special Moon quality in it. Oh yes, in the movie there is an actor I have special feelings for. Jeremy Davies. I just love him since “The Million Dollar Hotel”. He didn’t have a big part in the movie I’ve watched tonight, but I enjoyed the little moments and things he put into his character.
     Ok, that’s enough rambling for tonight. Sleep well, guys.

Newsham Park

     I've just come back from the Newsham Park. I practiced ukulele, read a book, basked in the sun, but didn’t really feel it. I miss human company. Where are you, Earthlings? Good thing that I threw away my tobacco this morning. Otherwise I’d have smoked already. Made a big pot of lentil soup with potatoes, that should be enough for today and tomorrow morning.
     I took few pictures in the park and I exercised my amateur Photoshop skills on them. Ok, it’s Sunday. I’ll just watch movies for the rest of the day and try not to feel too guilty about it.








Saturday, July 6, 2013

In the docks

          Today it was my first time to go to the famous Liverpool docks. I found a good spot in Albert Dock and just had a lie down for about two hours, reading a book ("The Man Who Wanted To Be Happy" by Laurent Gaounelle, I'll write about it more later) and watching passer-by's (or passers-by?).

     The first one I took in an old courthouse (can't remember the name, you know the huge, ancient looking building behind the Queen Square). I didn't know what it was, otherwise I wouldn't go in. I thought it was maybe a museum or art gallery. When I realised where I was I was quiet disgusted. Huge, repulsing monument to the State coercion and cruelty. Everything designed to bring awe and fear in people. I escaped from the stifling catacombs as soon as I found the exit.

Still in the court

Getting closer to the docks. There were so many people! But I didn't mind. It felt nice to be lost in a crowd.



Chilling out on the patch of green, reading a book, peeking at tourists and pretty girls, snacking on a vegetarian sausage from Holland & Barret.


The Man Who Wanted To Be Happy - amazing book!

Liverpool at last

     Liverpool. I’ve moved in yesterday. I’m renting a small room in a shared house. It’s pretty cheap, and there is a possibility that from September I could take over the whole flat, which would be cool – the rent is low, it’s not too far from the city center (I walked there yesterday, it took me about half an hour), we could find some nice vegetarian housemate for one of the bedrooms (there are three small ones), that would be good.
     Also there is a nice park just behind the corner – Newsham Park, and I just see on the map that there is another one on the other side of the street – Edinburgh Park. This morning I did some jogging in the Newsham Park. It reminds me a little bit of the Clifton Park in Bristol, though it seems smaller and there are no cliffs. Then I did some exercise and mantra meditation. It’s just that I think I need some structure now, when the situation is so unclear. It helps with the transition.
     Yesterday I paid the rent, monthly bus pass, made the keys, did some small shopping, topped up the phone, and that’s it – I’m officially broke, I have four pounds left in my pocket. I’ll just take my ukulele to the streets and try to make some money with music and my heavenly voice. I’m confident I can make my daily grocery like this, but not more then that.
     So, the adventure is still on.

This is the view from my bedroom window. I forgot to say that it's quite  noisy (the street side). Something I'll have to get used to.


Monday, July 1, 2013

Things are moving forward

     I'm complaining too much, so let's have some positive news. The things are going forward. Today I've got two proofs of address, so I can finally register with an employment agency tomorrow and start the CRB check. Also I will view a cheap room in a shared house in Liverpool, and if it's ok, I wont be stuck in Crewe anymore. I know these are very basic things, but I'm happy with baby steps.
     The drawing is by Tania. This is a traditional Polish highlander brigand's dress:)




Sunday, June 30, 2013

Come wander with me



     We made this cover version (originally it's a song by Bonnie Beecher) with my love few months back, when we tried unsuccessfully to find our place in Krakow. She's such a darling, I miss her. We share the same saddness and maladjustment, but she is my light anyway:) Enjoy the song, folks, good night.

December fairies


   It’s been two weeks in UK already. So what’s the development? Eh, fuck it. I don’t feel like talking about the job hunting and stuff. I’d rather fly away, find some cozy hideout and look at stars, smoking cigarettes (the ones that don’t give cancer and smell of gingerbreads), and feeling safe and looked after. You know what I mean – the feeling of home, belonging, harmony. Something that I’m not sure can be reached on this messed up planet. Soon I’ll be forty (little bit more then in two years). Twenty, even ten years ago I thought that at this age I was going to know what it is all about - who I am, what I want from life, where is my place. It happens that I still don’t have a clue. I’m thirty seven years old dude, sitting alone in a dusty garret, in a crappy town, in a foreign country, without a dime to rub against another, watching The Big Bang Theory, writing bad poetry, and drinking way too much Strong Bow. But this is not what I wanted to say.

I miss it.
The sound of half-frozen brook, stars, icy air,
December fairies in their sheepskin coats
And rosy chicks.
To walk in the winter nights,
With snow creaking under the boots,
With ancient gods and spirits
Waving to us from their sky-ships,
With our thoughts crisp and clear,
Our roots deep and sturdy,
Our wings lighter then moonlight.
I remember the dark winter nights,
When I was a wolf.
I’ll meet you there.

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Short recap



     - I went to Liverpool two days ago. I liked the city. It was my first time. I’ve decided to stick to it. I mean until now I was hesitating between Liverpool and Manchester, but I have good feelings about the former, and also it will be good if I focus on one city, so maybe I could start to look for accommodation, options, etc.

     - I can’t register with the agencies until I have two proofs of address. I will have one when I get my bank card (so I can register online and print the statement). As for the second one, I’m not sure. Maybe I take a contract with Tesco phone, and then I just pull out, I think I have two weeks to cancel it, and I’d have second proof of address already. It’s such a pain in the ass to start living in a new country. I’m getting too old for it.

     - Since I’m pretty bankrupt right now (and I mean below Absolute Zero), I’m starting to look for some temp jobs. Who knows when I’ll get back into the social work. I have to maintain myself until then. I was considering finding some squatter’s place, but don’t really know where to start.  Apart from that I wrote a message to some Liverpool social center, where they have a vegetarian café fully run by volunteers. If they’d manage some lodgings for me, I could help them for a while. With my vegetarian cheffing experience, that could work well.

    - It’s Saturday. There is a bit of sun so maybe I’ll take my uke and go to the park, to practice some.

     Take care, invisible people.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

A boyish boy (or Home)

























"A boyish boy you are", said he,
the ghost of Christmas past.
I though he laughs at tears, but no,
his smile was kindly cast.

That’s boy:
“I cannot get it, sir, so please,
explain to my this life,
my hair is grey, but deep inside,
I feel like I was five”

“Like everybody else I try,
like grownups try to be,
to find a job, make money, home,
with breakfast drink my tea”

“But even if I try my best,
I’m lost, I’m lying not,
and deep inside I really know,
this world is not my home”

“So what advice you have, what aid,
what wisdom can you give?
Can man like me, a troubled soul
find peace, his realm to live?”

That’s where I ended speech, and looked
at window dark, deep night,
The Christmas ghost went home I guess,
and so must I embark.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Ukulele in the park

     I’m writing two blog posts a day. It just shows how little is happening in my life right now. But I  don’t like to be idle. I dragged my lazy and depressed ass out of the house and went to explore Crewe. Well, there is not much to explore here, but I wanted to go to the Queen’s Park and try to chill out in the sun. It’s a quite long walk, maybe 2 miles, so it was perfect. I forgot to take my American Spirit with me, so first I was angry, but then I told myself that it’s better not to pollute that nice summer walk (yes, smoking, I’m going to give it up, when Tatiana joins me, I promise).
     I found a reasonably secluded spot,  rested against the tree, took out my ukulele and let myself to sink into old songs. I wanted to have a souvenir, so I recorded one of my favorites, maybe you know it (Manu Chao “Me llaman calle”). At first I didn’t feel good there. I have this alienation feeling I can’t shake off yet, but then something switched inside, and I was ok.
     I did also another thing to change my attitude. I found a website with foreigners’ blogs who live in the UK. I decided to pick up the ones I found interesting and follow them here, on the Wayfarer. Mostly those are written by Americans, Canadians, but also others like Spanish, Italian, Bulgarian (I haven’t gone through all of them, so may be more nationalities). And basically they (I mean mostly Americans, but also Australians, Canadians) have very positive attitude towards life. I guess it runs in their blood, but as for me (Polish), we tend to be more negative, expecting the worst, complaining, etc. I’m little bit fed up of this so why not to try to change a little? I need to break out of this bloody pessimism pattern. The world is neutral. It’s up to us how we paint it.

That lovely little devil

   
      I had the weirdest dream ever. Weirdest but also the coolest.
     The background was such that I was married into this really wealthy, old aristocratic family, you know, like Granthams from Downton Abby. They didn’t like me very much, but I didn’t care, I loved my wife, she loved me.
     Eventually we had a baby. Oh, I loved her so much. She was tiny, smelled so beautiful, I was just carrying her around in bliss. Then at one point I lost her. I just turned away for a second and she was gone. Everyone was looking for her in panic, I was devastated, I thought someone kidnapped her, or maybe she had fallen into some hole.
     And then I found her. But to my surprise she was older. I lost her when she was a baby, but now she was like three - four years old. Still I knew she was my daughter. Not thinking that it was weird, I took her in my arms with relief.
     “Where have you been? We were looking for you everywhere! Don’t do it ever again” – I cried.
     “Sorry daddy I was hiding. I had some stuff to do” she said apologetically. “I love you daddy” she added with a smile and kissed me.
     It was the first time she spoke to me (of course it was - five minutes earlier she was like a month old), and I loved her voice. Only then I realized that she wasn’t a regular child. She was a little demon girl. And the weirdest thing was I still loved her like a madman. She loved me too. She gave me a strong hug, kiss, smiled impishly, winked and then changed back into a baby, so when everyone else came, they wouldn’t notice anything wrong.
     I loved this dream. I woke up happy, livened up. I think I may have some regrets for not having kids. It wasn’t the first time I dreamt about my daughter “Who-Could-Be”.

Monday, June 24, 2013

Monday is over

   

         Still bit withdrawn from life. Most of the day sitting in front of the screen and sending those applications all over the place. Today I’ve realized I could try homeless jobs. Generally I’m made for social work, but I don’t have to work with kids necessarily. I just need to do something that makes sense and is as far removed from capitalist relationships as possible. I don’t say it for a pose. I just don’t want to work for a capitalist enterprise. It feels so dry and empty. I need something with people, where I could use my energy to help others. Not because I’m a good person (though I’m trying), but it is the only thing that makes sense to me right now. Other things just feel stupid.
     What else? I feel lonely. Tatiana is couple of thousands miles away. I don’t have any company that I could really share my heart with. You know – doubts, fears, hopes. I have to hold it in. Not much creative neither. No way I could continue with my novel until I sort myself out. Not even songs writing. First the job. Then place to live. And only then I can start to think about other things. Why? I don’t know. I’m just too strung up to do anything else.
     Little song to mellow out, maybe a movie (“Safety Not Guaranteed”) and Monday is over.
   
  Big Machine (Acoustic Version) by Mark Duplass on Grooveshark
The drawing is "recycled" from my old blog. I like to escape to those dream realms:)

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Personal balloon

     The weekend was quiet, I’ve spent it mostly home. Saturday sending some CVs, filling up applications. Today was kind of idle – short walk with Ewa and Łukasz, enjoying the wind and rain, then we watched “The Time Traveler’s Wife” (I love this one, I’ve watched it five or maybe even six times already).
     Tatiana sent me a song she wants me to learn. It’s a spiritual, Hindu song, very beautiful, but I was just happy to hear her voice, her singing. I wanted to share it here, but somehow I wasn’t able to sort it out with the uploading and a player, so you wont know:)
     But I’m putting here her drawing of us flying in balloon, in our personal dreamland.


Thursday, June 20, 2013

Cup of warm milk

   

    I’ve chatted with a friend today. He’s Lithuanian, we got to know each other in Copenhagen, when I was a chef in Firefly, and he joined our team. Nice chap, we made a connection straight away. He reminded me myself with my insecurity and pointless worrying:) But not only that – we both have spiritual interests and similar sensitivity to the world. Recently he got together with a Danish girl and wants to go back to Denmark. I told him about being little lost these days. We talked about how we create our own reality, so it’s important what we put out to the world, how we project our thoughts on it. Yes, it makes sense.
     I’ve spent few hours sending CVs and applications around. It felt nice, I see there are many jobs I like. I got some replays, even two phone calls. Well, nothing specific showed up yet, but it is only a second day I’m doing it, so it’s fine. I'm focusing on Liverpool and Manchester. Wherever of these two I find job in, I’ll go. There is plenty of special schools in those places. Let’s what the Universe has in store.
     I started the day with Lisa Hannigan and I’m ending it with her. She is such a sweet and cheerful person, and at the same time there is something sad and nostalgic about her music and songs. I like that - the reality she is creating. I could try to dream a similar one. The first step would be to withdraw from the world news – riots, revolutions, wars, politicians, ecology, civil rights, animal rights, etc. It’s just too much for me at the moment. I know that world is going to shit, and I shouldn’t be indifferent, but at the same time we owe to help ourselves first. I just can’t take it right now. I need to craft a peaceful, warm, secure place for me and my love. That’s the mission for now. So instead of Chomsky I’ll go for Gandalf the Grey, instead of Gogol Bordello I’ll go for The Cranberries, instead of revolution I’ll just have a cup of warm milk with honey and cinnamon.
     Good night bros and sises.