A dream house

What a dream house, huh? Almost like the dream house. It's very close, if you ask me.

A place you can call home. Finally. After decades of torture by the family, room mates, noisy neighbours, loud traffic, crazy quarter and, last but not the least, a bad vibe.

I passed by this house on my way to the-little-guy-I'm-tutoring's house and not for the first time. Maybe it's the seasons and maybe it's me, but I've never noticed this house before.

Quite weird actually, since I'm usually the one to scan the surroundings. Maybe it's my affection towards the world (not) and maybe it's my obsession of having to know where I am and where the nearest exit is.

So, I was passing there the other day - again - but this time noticing the house almost devoured by ivy, standing there, in the middle of the street. It's located quite awkwardly, at the top of a dead-end street, but turned completely towards the street, the open space and a tiny green patch across the street.

It's a fancy neighbourhood, but I haven't even gone there much in the last ten or so years. Maybe it's because I went to school there and it kind of reminded me of the bad stuff more than it made me go visit it and recall the few non-painful memories I have of that place.

This was another memory in creation and I'm still not sure whether it's a good one or a bad one.

As I lifted my head as I was about to climb the last couple of stairs that take me upwards through the part, I saw this lovely house and found myself standing in the street, staring at the house. To any passer-by it would seem as if I were planning to rob the house and therefore scanning the windows, the gates and the surroundings.

I was simply bedazzled by it. There was a weird moment of silence and, although I could see a woman passing behind me, walking her dog, there wasn't a sound to be heard. I felt like I was floating in space, together with the house, the opened window that was uncovering the insides of the house and the ivy that would eventually pretty much eat up the whole house if it were unattended.

I somehow felt like a character in one of those movies, where a girl and a guy start a family, search for a new home and then park inside of a house with a for-sale sigh, imagining their life, their kids and their future in it.

There was no for-sale sign, but I still saw a film roll in front of my eyes. I saw myself on the terrace on the eastern side of the house, chilling in a wicker chair, enjoying the cool shade and waiting for a couple of my friends to drop by for a cozy hang out.

The grin on my face suddenly gets clouded over by a horrible thought - will I ever have this? Is it possible that I could get my hands on a place like this? And for what cost - a thirty-year loan from the bank - or worse?

Will I spend the rest of my life trying to overloud my neighbours and outspeak my family? The idea of an eternal housing agony pops the bubble and I'm back in the middle of the street, cars driving by, people walking past, the world still going round, faster than ever.

I tilt my head, take out my iPod and hope to save the image as it was in my head and not as it is to anyone standing in front of it.

I was there and I was happy, even if it was only in my head and it only lasted a short minute.

Sushi time

So, I'm going to a Japanese restaurant tomorrow.

People living in big cities and, well, not here might find this sentence not so much far from the ordinary, but living in a crap city like this, you don't get the chance to go to a foreign restaurant and often as you'd like.

First of all, the choice is miserable. Italian boils down to pizza places, Mexican gets you down to two overprices mess-hall-looking cafeterias and Chinese is, well, Chinese.

The most exotic you can get is Indian and Japanese, first of them being way overprices for a bowl of rice and overcooked vegetables and the other one turned into an überfancy penthouse lounge bar in a skyscraper at the central square.

The choice is, as you can notice, crap.

Nevertheless, there's a new restaurant called 花札 or Hanafuda, meaning something like flower cards or floral playing cards. I don't see the point, but I guess it's just me.

We've booked a table (which sounds really ridiculous, because I rarely eat out) and we'll see what the food's like. Luckily, they're having some special freshly-opened-place menus, so I'm hoping I won't have to get a loan from the bank to pay for the food.

It's been ages since I've had some umi - too long, if I might add. I think it was in Stockholm back in 2004. Geez, I really gotta move. Anyway, some midori and shoyu and I'll be happy.

Believe it or not, this is the peak of my day. Go figure.


Edit: Japanese delight postponed. Meh.

I need a job to be able to party.

It must be one of those retarded paradoxes like Once one reaches nirvana, one is ready to cross over or One must look into oneself to fully see others or One must have nothing to gain everything.


Without a job I'm broke. Without a job I've got time to party. Without a job I don't have money to party. With a job I don't have the time to party.


With a job I don't have the will to do anything except shut down the blinds and turn up the music, so that I don't hear or see anything from the outside world.


Which brings me to the conclusion that I need a job to get money to make it work somehow and, finally, party. So, I need a job that doesn't involve people, that doesn't involve me sitting in an office all day long and which pays decent enough to be able to life off.


I don't need much really. I'm not into stuff and clothes and so. I like to get myself a little something from time to time, but when people ask me what I'd like (like my siblings or someone), I usually have no idea. Now that I think of it, I'm not sure whether it's good or bad.


In any case, the job search is on. I'm going global and I'm hoping I won't have to get out of my flat.


No people, no public transportation, no hassle. And I'll do anything.

The New, Happy 2011

I still can't gripe the fact that another one has creeped up on us. Twenty-eleven, with all its surprises and expectancies. Since I'm lazing off in Austria, I still haven’t been forced into paperwork that much, so I'm not used to writing the number yet.

I don't see it that often either. Only when I went through some blogs now did I notice the horrid number above the posts. Should I be terrified it by it or just enjoy the bliss of knowing that 2010 is finally over? Nine was horrible, ten wasn't that much better and I simply don't know what to expect from it.

Aside the fact that it's basically just a number on a piece of paper, people (sometimes including me) tend to make a big deal out of it. In a way it reminds me of what I read when I was preparing an exam on Americas' Indians and how they knowingly divided the years in periods, in order to finish a certain circle and be able to start a new one ― fresh and optimistic.

Why can’t we have our own personal calendars, where we write our own personal tasks, plans and hopes? Why does it all have to be predetermined? Why do we have to align to someone else’s calendar?

New Year’s resolutions are so unproductive anyway. People just make a big fuss out of them, struggle for a couple of weeks and decide they’re going to try anew at the next year beginning anyway. And even if they do manage to work it out, they’ll just swap it for another resolution in a bit more than three hundred days.

There should be decade’s resolutions. Try to work that out!

Most of the people who know me won't even bother. You just have to perk up is what most of them are likely to say. When you're pessimistic (or at the very least realistic), people you're surrounded by usually won't give you much credit when talking about some stuff that leans more to the serious side. It's just your pessimism talking...

I really need a good year. Nothing selfish indeed and not much to do with me really. I can't think anything good will happen by nature. Maybe less bad. It's just that I hope all the bad things have come too an end. We've had so many lately and I reckon people need a perk up ― something to make it all bearable. A bit more bearable. At least something.

Fuck, I don't even know what I'd want. I know what I wouldn't want. But if some thing or being came up to me and said a wish of mine could be granted, I wouldn't have a clue in this world. Some would call it indecisive, some spoilt, some lazy... I just don't want to make plans for something that I have no control of. I’d probably go all miss-World and rant about world peace and health and no hunger and stuff.

Especially lately, when the world is changing so rapidly, can one notice how helpless we all are. And how we think we're running our own lives. Steady jobs, mortgages and bank loans. In our own vicious circles, forced to a life we don't really want and inhibited from those we'd prefer.

An invisible and untangible leash.

Pessimism sucks. It's so contra productive and it brings you down. Whatever you accomplish, a novelty just pops up. Something new to occupy your mind and make you lose sight of some (possibly) nice things that are happening around. It's so tiring. I despise it.

But it cannot be helped. Not unless you run away. And not even then, I think. It's hard for me to leave stuff behind. Not so much things, but thoughts. And people. And thoughts about people. Sometimes I wish there was a button that I could click which would just make me stop analyzing. My thoughts, my words, my deeds, my efforts, my opposites.

To be free of thoughts and worries; of tabs and lists; dates, cards and expiration dates. Of schedules, discomfort, annoyance, hopelessness and helplessness...

I’ve been there once. And I managed to forget about it all. But it all still came back.

That moment is way too precious to forget it though. So you cling to it and hope it will come back. Hope you’ll be able to get there once more. Maybe it’s not that close and maybe it’s not a place at all, but you cuddle the feeling and nourish it and water it and hope it will grow so big and cozy and powerful it will simply devour you.

I better go and finish my coffee now. I think the milk has gone bad. I'll really have to get used to the date.

three heel kicks.

i've trained my brain not to think about travelling, since it'd only bring me sorrow, pain, memories and anguish. but maybe if i start building up some plans in my head, there could possibly be a positive thought towards the whole thing, so i could take a shot and try to go away from here further than ten kilometres. you can already notice the positiveness, no? :b

so, i'm supposed to go to kranj, slovenia for a party in about two weeks and then to ljubljana, slovenia at the beginning of december for the long awaited niyaz concert. if you have any likings for some traditional, vocal, ethnic and eastern sound - you'll love this!

and then... i'm hopefully gonna manage to go visit my mate ante who's moved to klagenfurt, austria. and yes, we do say kleygh'nfart instead, no worries - not too much though, or he'd blab it out at work one day... :b

and then... oz. anna's wedding, stars falling from the sky, the world spinning in the opposite direction... it's still to soon to say anything, but it's also too soon not to start planning it already. i won't go on rambling about the whole professional and financial situation at all, so i'll just leave it at that.

then, depending on the money (of which i have none, but will have to get a loan from the bank for the next twenty years in order to go to australia), i'd like to head off to helsinki, finland to visit nixa and tiitus, who've moved there for a year or so, which would be a perfect opportunity to stay in suomi longer than seven minutes (like the last time).

and after that, who knows. it's just too far away... bulgaria, romania, france, australia, india, japan...?