Of Butterflies

Those butterflies, mean so much,

Butterflies in the stomach, 

Fluttering your soul.

Or on the mind of the collector?
Pinning you dead to the board.

Perhaps, in the sky, beautifully free.
Life,
Innocently high and sadly short. 

Hungry Soul

Surprise me,
Sing me a song.
Work some magic,
Show me the moon.
Earn me,
Learn me more.
Prove yourself right,
Without proving me wrong.
Persuade me,
Whisper the truth.
Win me,
By actions.

The Dream Cat

There we are. I want to write every day. But "every day" does not want me to write. I don't feel like writing every day and "every day" doesn't feel like waiting for me. So, I'm going to trick him in a way. Going through my old posts I picked one, relatively positive text and decided to translate it into English. Perhaps, my non-azeri friends would like to hear a story about a "dream cat". There was a story I read in Asiadeh's blog, an extract from "The Book Thief"( http://thoughts-in-rainbow.blogspot.com/2013/02/soz-silklyn-qz.html ). The author's aim was to deliver truth through a tale. Inspiring. 

What if I tell you a tale through truth? What if I show you little wonders that you have never paid attention to? What if? I will name the story "A boy who shook a cat tree". Once upon a time, in one of the small city parks I saw a little boy who just started to walk. He was holding to his grandma's hands. But eyes fixed ahead of him, to walk, to explore. And then there was a cat, lazily strolling towards the sunshine, uninterested in the boy although not unaware of his presence. The boy dropped his grandma's hand and clumsily rushed to the cat. May be, he wanted to stroke the kitty. It is a difficult thing to read the thoughts of a two year old toddler. May be, he wanted to discover the cat, by touching. Whatever the boy wanted, the cat quickly became tired of him and jumped on to the tree behind him climbing up and up to the top. That is when I saw the things unseen. The boy approached the tree and started shaking it with all the zest that he had in his fragile hands, believing he will shake the cat off the tree. Everyone looked but nobody saw except me. I saw, how the boy's hands were weak enough even to cause a leaf to fall, I saw the fact the tree will not sway like our destinies and I saw that despite the firmness with which the tree stood upright, the cat watched the boy and feared it could fall, his claws tight in the tree trunk. It was two of us, the cat and I who saw now. The message was delivered - the tree represented our life. The cat was our dreams. And who were we? Perhaps, that little toddler who was trying to shake off his dreams!

In Time and Across the America

So it goes. Life, death, feelings, events, people and time. I will tell you about the travel through time and distance and how to experience it at home. You will need two books. "Slaughterhouse-Five or The Children's Crusade" by Kurt Vonnegut and "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac. Sit back and relax. Here we go.

When I picked Slaughterhouse-Five, I did it solely because it was a small book that could fit into my bag. The intention was to read it in metro. But after reading the first ten pages, the book was brought back and placed near the couch to be read only in the evenings. With this book, the size did not matter, what mattered was the contents. I read the azeri translation, it was not so bad. "So it goes", I learned. The story is told by an unknown person who through the main character Billy Pilgrim travels in time. Back and forth, back and forth. As if you are looking into kaleidoscope and you see the patterns, only not colours. Billy knows how he will die and does not care a bit because he can go back. Back to life, to his family and memories, but also, he goes back reluctantly to Dresden, to memories that are carved on his brain, irreversible. Dresden of the Second World War, Dresden after bombing, Dresden of sorrow. He has given up on life, but life hasn't given up on him. And so it goes... Lost soldier, lost soul, so lost that he sees the Tralfamadorians (aliens). I liked that word, it sticks. I liked the irony, I liked the satire. It was sad. Travelling back to the first the sentence of the book - "All this happened, more or less".

Stop travelling in time and indulge travelling across the America. From New York to West Coast and back and when you still are not satisfied travel from the North to Mexico City and back. The "beat generation" authors will want you to explore everything. From road maps to jalopies, from women to jails, from cars to friendship, from drugs to sex, from jazz to insanity. And this book leaves you with the "before and after" feelings. Kerouac as Sal Paradise is "on the road" for everything to see, eat, feel, live, risk. If I would choose a background music for "before" impressions, then it would be "Lady" by Modjo. But in the beginning of the book, I assumed it would be the "triangle affair". It turned out to be the "spotlight" thing. And the spotlights were all on Dean Moriarty, the hero of the book. All the way across the America, back and forth, Sal talks of Dean. Meanwhile, Dean is insanity itself! I could underline with a pencil (KKO) endless phrases and sentences that made sense, that inspired or even amazed me. However, I could not "underline" any of the characters in the book. You, yes you, might not agree with me. But I believe, Sal idolized Dean for no reason, unworthy. If you read this book, be prepared that the characters are high and get high from everything. There is plenty of drugs, alcohol, women and sex and a lot of JAZZ. The background music for the "after" impressions would be "Habits, stay high" by Tove Lo. The saddest part of the book was when the old man cried at the top of the stairs for his grandson was leaving him alone without bits of remorse. I felt sorry for him. The rest of the book - "feeling too high to feel sad".

To conclude with, I love travelling. But...not in time. Past and future have been hurting me anyways. I would travel across America, and down to Mexico City and Italy, and to everywhere. But...not for the search of insanity. I would, for the search of understanding and peace, the inner peace. 

Lyrics of an imaginary song

Breathe deep,

Hold on, I will come.

Someday, through time,

I'm on my way.

Hold on! Don't give up!

Sooner or later,

Sooner rather later,

Hold on! I will hold you soon,

In my heart and in my arms,

To never let you go again.

We will collide one day,
To be locked into each other,

Sooner or later,

Sooner rather later,

Hold on! 

I will make you smile,

Again. 

I will erase your tears,

So you never cry,

Again.

Hold on!

Mr.Murphy has taken care of everything, except the OCD

No need to get a degree in law or physics, right? Everyone knows good old uncle Murphy's law - anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Murhpy's law, otherwise known as the fourth law of thermodynamics or the law of meanness (from Russian - закон подлости) actually works. If you are late and urgently looking for parking lot, then you won't find any, you will circle around and around and around until at last moment when someone pulls out and you get that smug smile, someone else will beat you in a matter of a second. If you bought that pretty, expensive bag that you were yearning since the start of a new season, the next day, it will be on 50% sale. If you are on a duty at lunch time, you will get cover before and after lunch (teachers would understand me). If you plan a house renovation instead of a trip during your holidays and the workers just don't turn in. If you just challenged yourself that you will never ever buy any candy and chocolates and sweets, someone will knock on your door with these sweets and say hi. And when you decided to sleep at 11 each evening, forget, it will never happen. And sometimes, when you want to say something witty that turns into something foolishly Bridgetish. And your phone will be dead just before you realized that you didn't text home, and the family already decided you've been kidnapped by a maniac. And the weather will go wrong just when the heating system is turned off. And it will always rain if you don't take an umbrella. Sunny, when you forgot your sunglasses, overcast when you didn't. You will get those extra kilograms just before the graduation when you've planned to fit into that nice little green dress. 

But I tell you this, with so many obsessions and compulsions, Murphy won't trip me up. I make sure to check the door is locked thrice, and I carry umbrellas just to force the sun out behind the clouds and so it goes. :)

My Frenzy Gurus

I start writing this post in a terrible noise that  is shattering my brain cells into pieces.  It is possible for me to stop it but I do not. Do you have a Guru?  Ostensibly, they teach you how to live. They don't tell you vaguely to "try harder". They teach you, they give samples.  But then, it depends on what you are in love with in this life. Books? Then your  Guru is a combination of your favourite authors. Films? Music? Sports? Philosophers? Scientists? Scriptwriters?  There are no particular rules or timings to choose one.  Today, people who come to my mind as possible Gurus would be Rumi and Bradbury.  Rumi - because I desperately need  soothing words when anxiety attacks unexpectedly and Bradbury - because after reading one of his short stories I feel reinvigorated and inspired. Rumi's words embrace your soul like no human hands would do. And Bradbury - well, he tells you to jump off the cliff and grow wings! 

These two, are the enthusiasts of poetry and prose. Below are the words that embraced my melancholic heart today. 

Good Friday, everyone! Welcome to my heart! Oh, that little sweet joy! What a surprise! Look at who decided to pay a visit - my dear old peace! You grew older. You can't walk, let me walk you to a couch. You can relax there. My darling, melancholy, you help yourself, you feel like at home like you always do. Sorrow would like to kiss me on the cheeks? Well, cutie, I have a flu. It's catching. Come, have a seat. Oh, you brought your friends. Well, my heart is big enough to fit all friends of my friends. Here are the shames and regrets! My favourites. They always bring a bar of bitter chocolate.  Welcome, welcome. My dearest friends, I will entertain you today. Does everyone know how to play chess?

Come, come, come...

"With hindsight", we, historians say. Go away, remorse. I don't want to look back. But I still wish.

He who is not used to it, is already resting in peace. We have incredible bodies and souls, we suffer, we survive, we live, despite.

Questions of Science

Is time more torturous than distance?

Is dried lavender more healing than a single petal of a daisy?

Is silence deadlier than the words?

Why does a single name arise millions of emotions?

Does waiting equal masochism?

Do you feel or think the words on the tips of your fingers?

Pets or cats?

Trees or architecture?

Colours or scents?

Touches or whispers?

Why do we shrug? Why don't we, any more?

Egos or egos?

Pride or prejudice?

Science or fiction?

Oh, the Irony

Every saturday afternoon, after work I end up sitting at Second Cup Cafe all by myself. Unintentionally, I do not plan it. It just happens that way. I drink either black tea medium size or americano small. I have my own place in the corner to sit and relax. Sometimes the music is horrible, sometimes pleasing. I wait, sometimes for my sister, sometimes for my friend. Sometimes they come, sometimes not. This place will turn into some kind of shrine for me. I can sit in one of yoga positions and pretend I`m a statue. May be I will do the things I never dared, may be I will walk up to that lonely man whose head is periodically popping out from behind his laptop and say hi. May be I will walk up to the two women talking louder than I can stand and tell them to mind manners. They are eager to look well-mannered! Speaking Russian is one if the rules. Oh, and ordering too much stuff. May be I will order something different. May be I will sit and describe what I am doing, sitting, watching, drinking coffee and typing. Oh! The irony!

Many years ago, I was a part of "young political leaders" conference or symposium or whatever. It was an international event and along with Azeri yes-doubt-future-to-be-leaders there were foreigners, but mostly from post-soviet countries. But there was one girl from Swedish green party. We took her sightseeing around Baku to show what proud-to-be-azeri-youth we were. She said she was adopted from Sri Lanka. We still envied her being from Sweden, secretly. Every post-soviet citizen thinks Scandinavia is heaven, you know. Or thought so. Right when we showed her the building of State Oil Company, she said she envied us. Seeing a confusion in our eyes, she said: "you know, you can meet an oil-prince, get married and become rich any time. I wish I could meet him now and stay here". And what do they teach at schools in there, Scandinavia? I don`t remember her name, just words. We were all 18. We laughed about it. Oh! The Irony!

By the way, among the-future-to-be`s there was an azeri guy who tried his luck with me. "You have beautiful eyes" he said, but "you drank wine with Georgian team!". His luck was gone. Oh! The Irony!