I am afraid of the storms. Especially at the night time. I am panically afraid of it. The sounds, the lights... Everything makes me wake up and look at the window with just one question: "WHY"? When the trees are falling down and the branches are waving faster and faster... The wind is blowing into the window with the powers of thousand angry people. It looks like the wind will pick up your house, pick up the roof of your house and will start to spin you around and then when you got dizzy, that "angry people" will hit you on the ground from thousand metres. When the storm starts with heavy rains and strong winds with the lightnings it makes me frustrated. It makes me feel scared. It is scary. At night it is scary. Everything at night looks more frightful than it is used to look at the day time. They say: only for people who has got a huge imagination nights are scary, because everything is in your minds. There are nothing more than your imagination. But for me... Well, I am panically afraid of the nights. It looks like at the night time all the things become real. All your fears are sitting or standing near you and breathing slowly. You can not hide from them. That fears aren't afraid of the lamp light. They aren't afraid of nothing, except themselves. You can't close your eyes, because you can feel clearly, that someone, anyone is watching you. Watching you and is standing near the doors, watching you and is standing near the closet, watching you and sitting on the ceilings. They are like a scanners. They are scanning all your fears and making it true. At the nights everything become alive. In the silent night, suddenly something falls down you wake up and you start to breath more silently, you start to breath slowlier. You are listening everything carefully. Everything looks scary at the night. More scary at the night. But when you wake up at the morning, even though it is very early morning, you are feeling more thankful of the day than you were before. You just say: Thank you God, for another wonderful, fantastic and awesome day of living.

Bang. Bang. You are dead

Bang. Bang. You are dead. From hatred. From disrespect to another's: weaker, slower, sillier life. From the duty to defend the country against those who, in our opinion, are attacking. Friends become enemies. The whole world is walking on a thin line of life, and the blood is flowing around it. Because the world without blood can not be cleaner. It's like blood cleans up the world. I do not understand it, I can not understand. Why those who do not want to kill are being forced to do it? Why are these "Peace missions" in the Middle East are even more bloody? Why young people are forced to defend the country, which no one is really attacking? Why are those who are making the problems, not going to solve them? Why to the army has to go all, but from it backs just a few? After all, it is life. The government doesn't care. For them there is important only money. After all, how else rich gentlemen and ladies will buy a villa on the lake shore? There will be no soldiers- there will be no blood. There will be no blood- there will be no money. You know, I am sometimes sad ... Our world revolves around the money and blood, around the pain and sorrow, and that millionaires do not care.They need only money. Why do young people have to leave their homes, families, and go to the bloody world? Why? I do not understand. I can not understand. You know, I am feeling disgusted. I want to take those who are selfish, heartless, disgusting, and who are juggling the lives of others as if it were their own life. I want to walk near them and at the faces shout: Wake up! Here it's not your life! I want to scream, cry, shout. I do not understand why, God, why? I do not understand why adults do not value the lives of others? Why? Why do they want to kill, why do they kill? Why? I do not understand, God, I can not understand. Are their hearts of stone, that sparkles in the eyes just about the money? I do not understand the bloody peace missions, I can not understand young people who are converted to the killers, I can not understand, and I feel hurted. I want to scream, shout and ask: Are you stupid adults? Can you open those closed eyes? Can you finish the pointless war? Wake up, wake up! I do not understand why you are so blind? Wake up, finally! This is not a game... WAKE UP!

For what?

The little girl is sitting near the window,
The wind is blowing and she hears the shots
How sad to live?! How sad to live?!
The sound of bleeding heart, the sound of children cry,
The sound of feeling that you are not alive.
How sad to live?! How sad to live?!
Her eyes are full of tears...
The mother dead, and brother is breathing slowly;
The life is hard she feels it clearly
When holds the brother in the lake of blood and tears...
How sad to live?! How sad to live?!
The bird away is flying,
The white pigeon away from there.
No one could change the feeling here,
The dark and sad, the coldness here
Please, God, bring some peace near.
How sad to live?! How sad to live?!
The girl keeps tears and holds the breathless brother.
 But the peace is gone away from thousand miles, no mother...
 How sad to live, just how it's sad...

The view of blood which is leaking from the chest full of the bullets. The sound of cries. The feel of empty pain. Tanks passing the streets, soldiers everywhere, in the air you can clearly feel scaryiness. All the time there was a war for the territory. All soldiers were fighting for the territory. All needed just one: territory. But you know what? They all really wanted just fame. All people were fighting just to show how important they are, and how unimportant are other people. They fought for their ambitious, for their wish to show how important they are... Today I'd like to ask you one thing, just one very short question: For what? For what innocent people are dying? For what, please tell me, important people I am asking you... For what? Are you, those who are making this thing, have you ever thought how hard is to loose somebody you love with all your soul and all your heart? For what these things are going on? The life is not a game. You will not have second life after the "GAME OVER". There will not be any "NEW GAME". And I am asking you, these who are fighting for nothing: Is it so hard to be glad of health you have got, is it so hard to be glad of smiles you can see everyday, is it so hard to be greatful that you are not starving? Now, today, when in Africa, Brasil, Guatemala, India so many people are starving and everyday is like a fight for living to them, is it so hard to forget your ambitious? Personally, for me it looks more than sad to see and to hear about the people who are dying, when in the world the richest countries are spending their money on the guns and other war inventor. Did you ever count how much money are wasted on the war. How many children for those money could have earned education? How many talented children died from illnesses, because they were poor? And now I am asking you: 'Do for you, matured people, doesn't look silly to war, to argue who is better? Could you forget your ambitious for a week, for a month, for a year, for all time?' We are all the same people. There is just one religion in the world: BELIEVE IN SOMETHING. There is just one race of people: HUMAN. There is no person in the world who is more talented than other. There is no other person who is more beautiful than other. We are all in one. We are one big team. And you know what the children in all world asks for God to make every night before they fall asleep? That all people would be happy and healthy. They are asking every night just for one thing: PEACE. Is it so hard to make, if we are all one big team?

Writers.

You know, I often think ... If the people who love to read is considered to be lazy for living, so who is the person who writes? Maybe you can consider writers as a hard working people, that they let for readers to be lazy? What exactly are the writers? Illusionists, who act that they are suffering? Acting suffer? The writer has to act, he has to empathize, he has to experience the pain and keep it compressed inside. Writers need drama, writers need tears, they need pain. Writers need emotions. The writer should act. Every word, every letter must scream from the pain, must shout from the sadness. Every sentence must burn your soul. Keep the sparkle in the heart and burn it very very quickly. Each phrase have to force you to think, to analyze. The writer must suffer. Generally, suffer makes our life more mature, it help us to grow us, pain makes our foundation stronger, tears helps to keep the flowers of compassion in our hearts. In my opinion, people like pain, like tears, like painful drama with its charming end. This is how it is. After all, someone must pretend to suffer. Someone needs to pretend to be weak and vulnerable, broken. Writers. They need to act. Act that they are alive. Convince the lazy reader, that they are alive. They need to suffer. They have to act the pain- they have to live. To live. Writers must live. Day by day to live. To live. They have to prove that they are living. This is their one and only responsibility. They have to prove that they are living. They are cheating in this game. They are showing an examples of living for those lazy readers, but they are just writing. With no purposes, just making other people think that they are smarter and more talented than that person is. Writers are liars. Writers are an illiusionists, who want to show who they aren't. They are representing themselves as alive people. They are acting living...

The note on the bus station

From an early age the little girl, Jimena wanted to kill routine and meet the adventures. Now, she is middle-aged woman with a university degree and routine, which she didn't kill. All life her parents taught her to live a comfortable life with minimalist unexpection: rain, while Jimena in her work calendar, in which everything was planned in minute, she was clearly written: "Sunny"; teachers delays, long queues in shops and bad bus schedules. One of the beautiful rainy day like she wasn't planned, when the tiny drops of rain fell on her black coat and looked like the drops are colouring everything with unhuman powers, Jimena noticed an ad on a bus stop. Publication of the low-tattered leaflet, which appears to have suffered no less than the asphalt of this street, the advertisment simply cried, screamed and did not let to pass through it. In the ad was written: "Have you ever wanted do not explain things, because more than something you liked to slide on the life's ground and that ground had to be nice to see and to feel? Since you gave a lot of efforts to make the life comfortable, you might didn't want to deal with what is hiding behind of it? Or probably do not want to admit that sometimes you felt superfluous and strange? Although sometimes you wanted to know the secret, which was destined to learn, but are you never recognized that the fate awarded you with an unusual gift, and gave hope, like point of the light in the darkness, that helped you understood that the way has got the waysides. For the people who aren't rushing. I am almost sure that you wanted to stop time or rewind it back, and believe those who seek the truth and doubt those - who have found it. I know that you realized that the freedom to feel fail is the main reason of success and while you did not stop trying- you aren't lose. If you realised that, then you know how to learn to hear, see, feel and smell the human world things, not just visible to the naked eye and hand touched things. If that was not enough for you to understand the meaning of life, let me kill the routine and introduce to you ... Yes, yes! You! With untold adventures. Well, all you need is to get up and without waiting just shout: Yes, I'm worth it! "
Jimena seemed almost dead. She wasn't moving. Suddenly, her eyes shone. Pulse became high, she began to breathe more frequently. Suddenly, she jumped high into the air, smiled to the world and shouted: Yes, I'm worth it! On that day she felt more than alive: the whole world, which was so boring, became beautiful. All that boring, hard world for her, for Jimena, has become an extraordinary challenge, which she was ready to overcome. For the first time she realized that her years in the passport is just a hoax. For the first time, that sad woman, became young not the age, but the soul, for the first time she wanted not a comfortable life, but adventures.
Guess where she went first? That fun and lively woman came to my house and in the wide opened door shouted: Yes, I'm worth it!
Suddenly I saw myself at the mirror, all of that mirror was painted with thousand sentences from four words: "Yes, I'm worth it." And you know what? Suddenly I realized that this sad woman always lived in me, till the life came to me and started to shake me and scream: Yes, you're worth it!

After all, in fact, life has no logic, no straight road on which you could go. Life is an endless difficulties, turns, misunderstandings. Life is an adventure. Everyone needs to live it, sometimes go off the reality, fly, love, dream, dance, shout, sing ... Live, live, and love everyone more and more. I wish all of you to discover yourself, kill your routine and, of course, enjoy everything!

Living

Every person is free to do whatever he or she wants. Nobody should care of it.

'No, it's not making me hurted.

No, I am not suffering.

This is how it is. I get used to.

You can get used to all things.

By the way, I have no choice.

No, it's not making me hurted.

Maybe, just a little bit, sometimes.

But I'm not thinking of it. It's useless.

Every has got similar troubles.

You can't choose, this is how it is.

That is life, like they are saying, that is life.

Doesn't matter it will pass through

Yes, this is how it is, one day it will finishes.'

(my translation of Bernard Friott poem)


I do not know why people should care of others. Care and ask why the person is like that. I do not know. I can not answer... You are waiting for an explanation, you want to know. I can answer just: I do not know. There is no reason, or maybe I do not remember it. I am who I am and that's a point. I didn't choose...

Let's think

I am wondering how it feels to walk on coals, and feel nothing. Feel nothing. The interesting thing is that people are paying to convince theirself that they aren't hurt. That they are feeling great. Although their feet in the air has become fried and they already able to smell the fire. They are calm. And I am still wondering how it feels to be an Indian soldier and kill a snake ... Without remorse. Without fear. Without compassion. I am thinking what should then feel the snake? Emptyiness? Pain? Relief What then should feel the snake when the spear goes directly into the heart, spread sharper than the harsh words, fine-cut and sharpened by an experienced warrior... What then the snake should feel, when it's heart is pierced by a spear, and is tearing all the arteries, leaves neither the slightest chance to survive, when just in a second it's thread of the life is lost. Nothing left. What then should feel the snake, when from it's heart runs bright red blood and flows, flows, flows ...And what the soldier would think that moment, I am thinking... The soldier, who is the chef of his tribe, but his soul is dirty. Soul soaked with blood, red as a poppy in the field, blood which you can't wash with soap; you could not take the soul, wash it and put it again into the right place. No... He has to feel shame which is so great that hurts his stomach and never lets to forget what had happened. Guilty, which would always be in front of his eyes, never let to forget, at least for a short pass through the streams, forests which are full of the blood, without thinking about anything else. I'm still thinking. I am thinking. You are thinking. Let's think.