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!

Sevimli yazıçım Rey Bredberinin sitatlarından

İstanbul, Port Said, Nayrobi, Budapeşti görmək. Kitab yazmaq. Çoxlu siqaret çəkmək. Yarğandan yuvarlanmaq, amma yarı yolda ağaca ilişərək sağ qalmaq. Gecə yarısı Mərakeş küçələrindən birində bir neçə dəfə güllələnmək. Gözəl qadını sevmək.

...

Əvvəlcə dağdan özünü at, qanadların yerə düşən arada böyüyəcək.

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Bəzi insanlar çox gənc ikən qəmi dadırlar. Bunun heç bir xüsusi səbəbi yoxdur, mənə elə gəlir ki, onlar belə doğulublar. Onlar daha asanlıqla yaralanır, daha tez yorulur, daha çox ağlayır, daha uzun xatırlayır və dediyim kimi, dünyada hamıdan daha çox qəmginləşir. Mən bilirəm, çünki, onlardan biriyəm.

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Hər zaman nədənsə qorxan azlıq olub və hər zaman qaranlıqdan, gələcəkdən, keçmişdən, indidən qorxan, özlərindən və öz kölgələrindən qorxan çoxluq olub. 

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Bu da sənə həyat, MakDann dilləndi. Biri evə heç vaxt gəlməyən birisini hər zaman gözləyir. Həmişə kimsə sevildiyindən daha çox sevir və bir müddət sonra sən əzab çəkməmək üçün sevdiyinin yox olmasını istəyirsən. 

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Ah, incəsənət! Ah, həyat! Kəfkir gah ora, gah bura gedir, çətindən asana, asandan çətinə. Duyğulardan həyata, və yenə geri, duyğulara.

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Biz səyahət edirik, romantika axtarışında, səyahət edirik, memarlıq axtarışında, səyahət edirik ki, yolumuzu azıb, itək. 

...

"Stay alive!" , "Eat Gelato!" and "Read books!"

That's the advice given in the Hunger Games, to stay alive. I like reading two, three books simultaneously. It can give you a headache though if not carefully picked up but usually all I need to care is to pick one book that is deep in nature, that forces you into questioning, reasoning which you can only read after dinner or during the weekends wrapped in a blanket with a cup of hot tea and another that is shallow but enough to keep you interested, the one you can read in metro, while waiting for your doctor's appointment or just to distract your tired mind.  Absolutely accidentally you can choose these books but yet you will still draw parallels, be amused by coincidences. 

This summer by chance I had two books to read simultaneously - "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elisabeth Gilbert and "How I became stupid" by Martin Page. It was not a planned choice - but surprisingly, the former came to be about "finding yourself" and the latter about "losing yourself". Interesting twist. It is as if you've just put two ingredients together and discovered completely a new taste which would not have happened otherwise. Cooking and reading can also have parallels, you know, if you see them. So, here is an advice. "Eat Gelato!" Gilbert was teaching me how to put your pieces back together after falling apart and get yourself into Italy not for seeking love but finding peace in enjoying food while Page would want me to consider the possibilities of being a sheep in the herd to see why "all sheep are happily ever herded". Elisabeth found peace in meditation and Page lost the peace he believed to be a turmoil deliberately only to be replaced by another one. 

So, "stay alive" Suzanne Collins advises everyone. "Stay alive and strong" I advice you. I have picked the Hunger Games trilogy in a combination with "Hopscotch" by Julio Cortazar. Cortazar makes me jump from chapter 8 to 29 and from 114 to 9. A game of words and battle of thoughts sprinkled with love and carelessness. I try to contemplate over each sentence as it is said to be a very intellectual piece of work but in the end I find myself rushing through lines impatiently seeking an advice to apply in my life. After all, don't we - fiction lovers - lose ourselves in the books to find our selves a newborn, changed, grown up book-loving-creatures? In between the "hopscotch games" I have been reading the "Hunger Games" trilogy everywhere, at work, in metro, at home to distract myself. Expectations. They can be so wrong, so different. I should never expect. Here is another advice - "Never expect". Thus I expected one thing from the Hunger Games but quite a different thing came out. But after all, seeing the colours or smelling the distant scents from Orwell's "1984" and Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451" - that is what tunes me into the Hunger Games. "Stay alive!" - the tune is playing constantly in my mind. "You love me, real or not real?"-"Real" - That is how the trilogy ends. From hunger to revolution, from revolution to love. From love to peace?

Any fiction is a reflection of reality no matter how distorted that reality might seem. Our fantasies feed on life. And then we read books and feed ourselves with the fantasies of the people who came before us. Endless cycle. Chicken and egg. Here is an advice. "Stay alive and read books". 

Frankly Speaking

To be honest, try to, if you can, never be honest. Lie, cheat and be bad. Be rude and irresponsible. Disguise, act and play. If you believe yourself to be stupid then act as if you are Avicenna. If you think you are kind, be cruel. Hurt below belt. Try it! Noone gives a damn, seriously. All people need is a tragedy and food. Bread and circus, bread and fists, bread and olympics. Kill souls, but the best, remember is - kill joys, honestly. Be negative, go break windows, and mirrors and hearts, truly. Pretend that you are a King. Bribe the souls, show them no mercy. Target the precious, be a Crusader who killed for Jerusalem. Do not worry, the ends always justify the means. Winners never get judged.

There you are! Did I make you think horrible? Did you believe me? You did! Just because I said, frankly speaking? If I would write about being good and virtuous, you would think I lied. 

Frankly speaking, do not believe me!

Polar Humans

We split, we break down, we grow. From cells to humans, from humans to cells. Meanwhile, we are polarised, we polarise. It is in our nature. It is us who made up North and South. We keep on segregating - "you and me, mountains and plains, patricians and plebeians, natives and aliens, you and us". We draw borders, we cut in halves, like the 38th parallel. We discriminate, deliberately. We even divide the bears. Are polars more beautiful?