¾ day of thoughts

why is she wearing plastic suspenders… and why she isn’t here yet, they’re going to leave without us, even though the buses are old and stinky, maybe that’s because of her suspenders, yes, definitely, the smell of gas…
(mode on)
Oh great I fell asleep with music playing once again I need to plug the stereo out or I’ll go mad
Iceland
A friend
My brain doesn’t have a loading screen it is immediately turned on one second after my waking up I wonder why my friends always mutter just give me five minutes and fall asleep I can’t do something like that
I didn’t want eggs for breakfast but oh well my mum fried them I didn’t say I don’t want them I’m not even that hungry but cold eggs are even worse
A person
I’ll take a book to school so I won’t be bored and sunglasses remember to take them
(…)
You’re supposed to think in Polish ya know
I forgot the sunglasses
Why did I have to choose a historical romance Caterina and sir Chase are ridiculous but at least it’s better than English lesson
Mama’s got a problem she don’t know what to say she’s got to be the loser in the end
How come she hates spring it’s wonderful in my opinion every season is the best winter with snow and summer with annoying sun and spring spring has blooming plum trees oh how I love it but now they’re losing their flowers what a pity I’ll have to wait another year
Woody Allen
One more second and I’ll eat my own arm I’m starving
(…)
Everything is so surrealistically beautiful the greatest feat in art the most marvelous thing ever created
Inní mér syngur vitleysingur
And once again nobody will stop to help me I guess I’m getting used to this but there is no freaking way I’m putting the chain in its place maybe in a millenium I need a third hand or something
Somebody actually stopped and helped me and his voice was really nice and he barely touched the bike and he made it I’m happy that somebody like that still exist I’d help someone with this if I could repair it but I’d make it even worse I think it reminds me of my accident it was wonderful to fly but I have a not-so-pretty scar
The drums the drums give me the drums’ part
(…)
przeszkoda=obstacle=el obstáculo Interpol has a song called Obstacle I could check what it means but I associated it with miracles
Cleaning my shoes will take ages I shouldn’t’ve jumped into that mud or at least think before doing so or at least stop behaving like an insane person and go back instead of going forward
No I can’t sleep right now I’ve got things to do I’m not tired enough I’ve raised my sugar level
Did The Beatles split up because of Yoko Ono
It’s curious how the thoughts go like a domino and I’m going to get rid of them for a while

xxx

Ten or fifteen years back I knew that xxx stood for so called straight edge movement (people who believed in “no sex, no drugs, no alcohol” life). Nowadays type “xxx” in Google and you’ll get thousands of links to all sorts of porn sites. Today I googled “xxx amsterdam”. Anyone who has been to the city knows that you can find this sign almost everywhere, including public rubbish bins. It can’t be the straight edge thing I thought, but then again I found it hard to believe that I should link it to pornography. So I checked it and it turned out that the xxx sign is a part of Amsterdam’s Coat of Arms. The three crosses in the coat of arms are the St. Andrew’s Crosses. On this type of cross (which resembles the letter X) one of Jesus’ disciples died, according to the tradition. I’m afraid however, that the contemporary Amsterdam (and I don’t mean the authorities here) has adopted the sign to mean something entirely different. How ironic is that…

And one more thing. I have this habit, a need rather, to visit a church whenever I am in a foreign city (in western countries that is). It evokes the feeling of belonging to the Western civilization, the continuity and unity. As I was strolling through the streets of Amsterdam I could not find a single church that I could enter (most of them are adapted for hotels now anyway), instead I found myself in the red-light district.

Once upon a time …

Once upon a time in a little town lived a young girl Pako. She was very lonely and she never had anything to do. Only in the evenings she went to a market and sold cigarette-lighters with Al Pacino’s portrait on it.
On a cold winter evening she was sitting alone heating her hands with the lighters and complaining about herself. There was nobody on the street so she decided to relax a little. She took out her MP3 player and started to listen to music. She fell asleep and dreamed about Christmas Eve’s tables, Christmas Trees, gifts and a fragment from “A Nightmare on Elm Street”.
When she woke up she realised that her lighters had gone.
“What will my boss say?!” she panicked.
Then she noticed the footmarks on the snow going inside the Town Hall. She stood up and full of anger went inside the building. The thief had left wet tracks behind so she found him very quickly.
A slim boy was cowering under a bench in the hall. There was smoke above his head. The cigarette-lighters with Al Pacino’s portrait were lying on the floor everywhere.
“Damn Scot!” she shouted.
The boy moved. “I am not a Scot, he started lazily, I am an Italian.”
Pako’s sad eyes brightened. To have her own, real Italian… that really was something! That would reward her for every evil!
But there was a one defect.
Her future maccaroni lover had a twirl in his mouth.
“Tea, he unrolled paper-tissue, wanna smoke or… infuse?”
They fell in love with each other, fled to Corleone and lived happily but short… maybe because of that tea?

a commission on the Way Of the Cross day

You like to walk your ways, those which you know, those you are accustomed to. You never want to try any new ways, out of fear. And the whole life is spent on the same way, to and fro. Like a horse that knows its way home and is able to come back even blindfolded. To work, and back from work, to school and back from school, to the grocery and back form the grocery, on vacation and back from vacation. The same way all the time.

He let Himself be led a different way, a way He hadn’t known before, a unique way.

How absolutely fantastic it is to enter the way which you have never tried before, the way you put your steps on for the first time, the way that was not planned before, or maybe even not wanted before. Only then you may feel you live for real.

And it does not matter, that some blood might be spilled on the way. After all, Life means more than life.

Via Dolorosa

Vermeer

In this picture the maim object is a Dutch woman doing her everyday task. She pours milk from the ceramic jug into the bowl. Her concentration is directed completely at the flowing milk and all my attention focuses on that hollow jug, deep dark inside. Like the woman I try not to spill any drop of milk. A thin trickle of white liquid mesmerises and hypnotises my brain. After few minutes I catch sight of other details in the picture, like the basket with bread inside, or a very mysterious blue pitcher with a cap. All the objects are highlighted by the light that falls through the window above. The sunlight seems to play with the rim of the basket and the pitcher. It fascinates me very much because it’s exactly the opposite to the brown jug – it’s closed. We can only imagine what is inside, or if it’s completely empty. Like a curious kid I’d like to take a peek under the cap.