Размисли за хората и гларусите

   Гларусите и хората са твърде еднакви. Гларусите и хората сигурно са живеели заедно, обаче понеже са си омръзнали взаимно са се разделили по-късно. Гларусите и хората са толкова предвидими.

  Ако някой ден се разхождате по терасите на крайбрежните извивки, ще чуете меланхолията на досадните гларуси. Пищят ли, пищят. Пищят и дишат вашия въздух. И акат във въздуха, който вие дишате. Симбиоза, какво да ви кажа?!... Та, като чуете тези врещящи птици, се замислете ( или ако искате, недейте - аз тъй или инак го направих вече; мисълта ми не е чак толкоз важна ) колко много си приличаме ние и гларусите. Гларусите мрънкат и цепят въздуха със своите неясни по идея викове. Хората мрънкат за всичко и винаги. А другите са твърде заети да отбелязват колко прекрасно е всичко. Гларусите прелитат около вас и ви досаждат със зверските си писъци. Хората в градския транспорт разправят историята за компотите от сливи толкоз високо сутрин, че почти е сигурна тяхната роднинска връзка с онзи гларус над квартирата ви в Созопол. Като видите два гларуса на една скала си мислите, че са двойка, защото само влюбен гларус може да изтърпи такива викове от любимия, но те се разделят. Е, при хората е същото - мислите си колко сте влюбени и търпите меланхолично/истерично дрънкане на глупости, а после не сте толкова влюбени чак и си отивате. 

   Основни показатели, че сте гларус:

1) Мислите си, че не сте.

2) Обаче сте.

3) И толкоз.

   Ах, омразни гларуси, толкова харесвам гадните ви писъци и толкова ми е любопитно какви са мислите ви... Какво стои зад меланхоличното ви присъствие... И хората са гларуси, знайте! Мислите си, че не са, но те са.

   Знам една история, продавач на сладко от смокини ми я разказа; дъщеря му се влюбила в един гларус - гларус бял и голям и изобщо един приятен гларус, - седяла на скалите следобед и наблюдавала гларуса как лети около нея. Всяка надвечер момичето седяло на скалите, съзерцавало тихо полета на вресливата птица, нищо, че била вреслива - в нейните очи този гларус бил съвършен със всичките си недостатъци, чакала нетърпеливо гларусът да кацне на съседната скала и да я погледне. Знаете, гларусите са непривлекателни създания, но момичето виждало в лицето на гларуса не грозна и вреслива твар, а съвършена птичка, пееща най-красивите думи. 

   Ето, казвам ви, любовта между гларуси и хора е възможна! Но момичето не знаело какво значи погледът на този тъй необикновен гларус. Всеки ден тя се опитвала да разбере. Събуждала се с тази мисъл ( за гларусовия поглед ) , продавала сладката на баща си през деня, а вечер той я отменял с мълчаливата състрадателност на родител, за да може, обсебена от мисълта за несигурната любов, да изтича до скалите, да седне и да гледа полета на любимия.

   Лошото е, че тази история, като всяка друга, си има край. Днес скалата още си седи там. Скалата с една табелка. С името на момичето. Малко мелодраматично ви звучи, ама е вярно... Ей там си остана момичето и сега стареца сам си продава сладката. 

   Тази история, мили хора, няма поука. Ако си мислехте, че ще извлечете някаква велика сентенция за живота и подобни простотии - не. Всичко е едно усещане, преживяване и толкова. Няма поуки. Няма сентенции. Всички хора са гларуси. Обаче някои гларуси са хора. Тва е.

 ***

Thoughts about people and seagulls

People and seagulls are too similar.  Probably seagulls and people have lived together but due to shared boredom of each other they have later on split. Seagulls and people are so predictable.

If on a random day you walk on the terraces of the coastal curves, you will hear the melancholy of the bothersome seagulls. Screaming and screaming... Screaming and inhaling your own air. And shitting in the air you inhale. What can I say - symbiosis?!....  So, when you hear those noisy birds, do think ( or don't - I've already done it; my thought is not of such importance ) how similar we are with seagulls. Seagulls circle around, murmuring through the sky with their screams unclear in terms of origin. People always murmur and always with a reason. The rest are busy mentioning how beautiful  and perfect everything is. Seagulls fly around you, bothering you with their beast-like screams. Passenger on public transport tell the story of their plums jam so loudly that you can be certain about engagement with the noisy seagulls above the accommodation you had in Sozopol. When you see a pair of seagulls on a rock you consider them in love for such pesky screams can be put up with only if  belonging to the beloved. But they split. Well, it's the same with people - you think you're in love and ok with all the melancholic/ histerical bullshit talking but later realise you're not in love to that extent and just go away.

Main indicators you are a seagull :
1) You consider youself not
2) But you are.
3) That's it.

Oh, hideous seagulls, I am so fond of your shitty screams and so curious what you think about... What stand behind your melancholic presence.... People are seagulls too, do know! You believe they are not, but they are.
I know a story, an old man selling his production of fig jam told me about it; his daughter fell in love with a seagulls - a big and white seagulls and generally nice seagull, the girl sat on the rocks every afternoon and watched the seagull flying above her. Every day at twilight she sat on these rocks, quietly bewitched of the screaming bird's fly, she wasn't bothered by the screams - in her eyes this seagulls was perfect with all his flaws, so she waited him to land on the near rock and to look at her. You see, seagulls are quite unattractive creatures, but the girl couldn;t see the seagull as an ugly and noisy creature, it was for her the most beautiful bird singing the most beautiful words,
So, there's the point - love between seagulls and people is possible! However, the girl didn't know how to read this silent bird's look. Every day she tried so hard to understand.
She woke up with this thought ( about the seagull's look ) , daytime she sold her father's jam and in the late afternoons the old man took his shift with the compassionate silnce of a parent so as to free his daughter and she could run towards the rocks obssessed with this uncertain love, sit and watch her beloved's flying.
The bad thing here is this story has an end as every other. Today the rock still lies there, The rock with a label. The girl's name on the label. A bit too melodramatic, though true... There the girl left and the old man sells his jam alone now.
There is no moral in this story, dear people. If you expected to illicit a great sentence about life and such bullshit - wrong. Everything is one big portion of sensitivity, experience and that's it. No morals. No sentences. Every man is a seagull. But some seagulls are men.
That's it.

За кафето и теб

Кафето си ти. Ти си кафе.
Да.
Да.
Разбра ме. Знам.
Не, не. Не е така.
Добре.
Сутринта станах и отпих глътка топло кафе.
Хубаво беше.
Да.
Добре.
Сетих се, че ще те видя днес. Странно беше. Хареса ми. Не знам защо го споменавам, но така си беше.
И после бутилирах теб, Кафето, де. Не беше хубаво в бутилка, трябваше му кислород - ако не е окислено става твърде сладко.
Стоях цял ден, гледах умно и говорих умно. Усмихвах се на хората наоколо. И те пиеха "кафе" - гадно 3в1, което напомняше боза. Аз си пиех кафето от бутилката и си мислех за деня.
По обяд те видях на гарата.
Ами хубаво беше. Не споменах, че очите ти имат цвят на кафе. Напомнят ми за него. Добре е. Бутилката ми е празна в момента.
Говорим.
Хубаво е.
Така е. Да.
Не пиеш кафе, но не пиеш и бози. Казах ти - ти си кафе.
Прибирам се вкъщи.
Пия кафе.

The Freak of Freakland

There is a day. That's today. I traveled on a train. There was a train. I've been waiting for a Cancer to come to the station. There is a Cancer at the station. I had waited for a conversation with the Cancer. There was a conversation witht the Cancer. I had waited to travel with the Cancer. There was a common commute to Freakland. I had longed to travel with the Cancer by the window of the train to Freakland. There was me travelling by the window. The Cancer wasn't there.
We got to Freakland. We stapped foot separately. Every freak of Freakland stared at me. There was a communal staring. I had to wait and speak to the Cancer. There wasn't such thing. There were headphones and I put them. I should have waited for the Cancer. I didn't waited for the Cancer. The Cancer walked behind my back. There wasn't face by my side. There was mistake in all of it. I should've stopped and waited for the Cancer.
Should?
Orpheus lost the modern Eurydice.
The Freak of Freakland wasn't a freak. The Freak become a freak on Freakland.



End.

The Zodiac Prejudice: The Railways ( Part 3 )

I'm cold as a match 

Ready to strike...

- FF

Well, Maggie got to the station. Otherwise the story would've lost its sense. Sam was sitting on a bench, staring through his glasses. Maggie stopped for a second. She was curious to know. She wanted to see what he could see. What could he see through his eyes? How did he feel about it? What was amazing, astonishing, disappointing, sad, lithle, childish, remarkable, beautiful, intriguing? What did he see?

She went on, stumbled and stepped by his side. Taken aback,he looked at her for a second, then gazing in the nowhere ( again ) said:

"Have you noticed that railway lines wave in for certain length, then split and continue in two parallel lines?"

She looked at the far division.

"Yes, you are right," she blinked, "I haven't noticed."

"Sit " he smiled at her.

Further on, they talked about little things, big things, films and songs, bands and theoretical physics, literature and trivia awkwerdness. She calmed down. He was calm.

Then Maggie asked:

"Do you know that everything has a beginning but has an end too?"

They kept silence.

"You are not right. You need to change the sentence. You need to twist it for such an unfortunate truth deserves the solace of ostentatious beauty."

"And how should it sound?" Maggie asked.

"Rather... The beginning of an end is far less the value of the mean. What do you think?"

"Too complex. Complexity sucks."

"Ok, radical."

He gazed at the nothing again.

"What would you say about ... Between the beginning and the end is all we call impractical. Impractical is what matters."

Maggie feverishly looked for a hidden message that meant he did not like her. She failed to find it.

"Yes, I like it more that way."

Sam smiled and gazed at her face. This time his glasses were all in her direction. She could read them. At least, she decided to believe what she saw. She decided for once not to let strong sense overtake the beauty of probable illusion. She wanted to believe and so did she. Just let go and answered his gaze with a look full of simple complexity, beautiful anxiety and passive desire. 

Still looking at her eyes, Sam mumbled mumbled:

"So you share my lck of pragmatism?..."

She sighed a yes.

They kissed and continued tracing the railway lines and routes together.

What happened afterwards? I can't really give an answer to this question. It is not my story to follow it. Then Maggied and Sam followed the railways but today may be the beginning of an end... Or it could have been yesterday. That is how trivial life becomes unique to some - they need just to let go and quit planning. Others, though, need planning the next second or they quit life. The trivial ending is the perfect beginning of a story - it evokes the collision of simple and complex.

What more?!

The Zodiac Prejudice: The Yoghurt of My Thoughts ( Part 2 )

The trivial ending of an episode is not necessarily a flaw. It actually tests one's prejudices to literature, one's actual interest. Well, same cannot be stated for life. Life is too trivial and basic in its pop form that a trivial ending of an episode could be deadly.
Right from there, the smelly gym, Maggie went in Maths class. It was time of thoughts for her lacked of logical principles nature. As long as test was not on schedule, she could afford the splendour of 'utilizing' time not the best way. Or was it the best? So stepping still nervously in the classroom she met the curious eyes of little nasty people deprived of the virtue not to intrude.
She sat on a chair and opened the book randomly. The time to think  had come.
Pulling the sleeve of her shirt, anxious of what she was to do. To judge. To judge upon the many possible prejudices one can think of. Wrong word. Too short to be tall enough. Too unromantic. Too romantic. Not smart. Smart enough. Pisces? 1995? Why? Too old. 1998. Too young?
Maggie realised she was on her way to evaluate people and, unfortunately, that was her ultimate hate. Plus sexism in Game of Thrones. She started looking through options. Were there any choices she could skip making? Just like in computer games - you skip the reference part and then fight for your life as hard as possible. Hardly had she begun her brain-racking campaign when the teacher walked in. Everyone stood up.
"Good morning."
"Good morning." came as a declaration of indifference.
They sat once again. Maggie started  digging through the plot of every book she had chucked away under her bed. Alas, she couldn't recall a title of zodiac, sociology and love.
Love ?
Since when has I become love?!
Misunderstanding. Mixture of impressions. Confusion of definitions. That was it. She had to read Pride and Prejudice once again. There must have been something that could find its significance these days.
The conclusions of the by-gone day were as follows:
1) You need some rest!
2) Don't hesitate to stop resting. Think, damn!
3) Buy yoghurt.
4) Call Sam... Yes, do it!
It was her who got home by train.b she couldn't see him there. He was not on a daily shift now. All she wanted in order to come back in peace was simply see him.
It was not love. Love embodies the unknown depth in a single definition.
"Aerosmith will definitely help!"
3 songs later: Fuck! Nothing helped.
Maggie decided to remain anxious as she felt differently. And different needed to be observed. Interstellar put this question: if you notice something new, observe it, describe it, declare its natural laws. So Maggie did the same - kept the phenomenon for as long as she could.
On her pillow, at 23:43, she was still into thoughts about judging, Sam, Pride and Prejudice , Sam, zodiac, Sam. Obviously, it was his turn to disturb her unknowingly. She hoped, secretly and with certain worry that her figure disturbed him too. Unknowingly. She felt asleep.
The next morning Maggie woke up. Above, there in the semi-night sky, the moon was hanging. It was pouring with silver upon everything. She got up. Sam wasn't on the train. It was Friday. She wanted to see him. Just to talk. Talk about anything...
That day Maggie avoided any looks and talks of little importance. It turned out to be avoiding everything. Full of tension, though denying it to herself, she waited for her phone to ring. Maggie truly wanted to see him; just an hour with him... She could well pass beyond any prejudice. Hardly had her phone rung till the last class. Eventually, it did. A message:
Hey! The station. 3 o'clock?
- S.
A wave of sweet relief passed through her.
I'll be there.
- M.
Maggie, dreaming of the forthcoming, did care little about conscious reality. Walking down the boulevard, she listened to James Bay's Hold Back the River . The bustling now of the somehow affecting her. From where she started, a mess, a ball of confusion, a kiss bringing too many questions, now she felt relief of simplified image. Planning could not find ots place in her image. Having realised for a moment how superfluously overrated planning was, she decided to let herself on the flow. How trivial could an ending be?! You haven't seen yet.

Pre - Birthday Black Sun .

The hideous word birthday is literary under my skin these days. Everyone smiling at you, with semi-cared expression, showing their joy that ypu exist.
The brutal truth?!
Who actually cares if you were born on this day?!...
Let's simplify things. Imagining you din't exist, what would your friends do? Have other friends. Know somebody else appealling to them. Share different moments. Yes. It is the truth. Everyone is so happy you were born because they can't really imagine the Spectacular Now without you. But, think, do you try to imagine your own life without your friends? No, right?
Too much questions.
I am sullen ow because my pre-birthday mood instead of happy jumping is set to thinking of the probable non-existence. Mhm. Depressing? Not even close.
You know, Death Cab For Cutie are a great band. I love their style. Recently, I've been listening to their song, Black Sun, and I find it quite melancholically awakening. It opens your eyes of the world outside. Wheter the girl on the station, waiting for her bus, is eating and laughing, or the boy, beneath the muddy stairs, is upset about last night fight... Do you first think of their birthday? I don't think so. They are players in the same game as we are. Our imagining their problem is a part of the game. Yes. And when we have friends we don't imagine. We ask them. We get know them. We suppose. But don't actually imagine.
And don't think of the words "I can imagine how hard it is." followed by a brief sorrow. Come on, hardly anyone tells it because it is a statement of undoubted truth. Most of them just feel the need to tell something. I got it recently by meeting a semi-stranger. I was confused to keep quiet and say nothing. I shared my confusion. He answered he never feels uncomfortable to keep quiet. Then... I got it.
Most of the pre-birthday talking, the words of consideration and the trivial answers are indeed trivial .
My next step is to find the people that can aunderstand only by keeping quiet. That's not pure friendship. That's complicated art.
Of course, these are just thoughts of a sullen pre-birthday person. A Black Sun. 

   How could something so fair

 Be so cruel

When this black sun revolved

Around you

How to define an aesthete?...

On the late night train to the crappy non-hometown. It's already dark. Three more people in the department. Today was a morally-to-be-questioned day. All day I am absent in the field of my own questions. During sleep. During dreaming. During washing  my face. During drinking the dubious beverage at Zhoro's. What is the damn little object that is always on the way to getting on the journey to real psychology? One has to know their psychological pros and cons to be happy/successful/honest/peaceful. So I am trying. The train sets off. It's dark even at the isle of the damn train. There are just a few lamps out there . I can't really see the fewer trees at the depot station. They're thoroughly swallowed by the close darkness. At the other end of the department a woman of middle age is as I see just another observer of the outside-the-window darkness. She has a strange looking adornment on her maybe red hair. It's a kind of symmetrical plastic tool for keeping hair tight. Then I start thinking.
All day ( and the many days before ) I was throwing my mental baggage at the direction of people. But it was not the people. It was , actually were, two things.
Ethics and aesthetics.
That's the answer. There is no questions anymore, Hamlet.
It's the truth. People, even the whole society, have got used to hiding and killing their aesthetic feelings and aspirations for the sake of ethics. A simple but very important difference. It is vital for one to be aware of it.
Yes. The adornment. Here is how ethics makes people use the aesthetic aspect of symmetry, but doesn't allow one to give the answer symmetrically rude to a rude question.
In terms of spirituality, ethics is what gives the acknowledged frame of an aesthetic feeling. But this frame is brutal. Every frame is brutal as it is a boundary, a restriction.
What makes one an aesthete - the acknowledged symmetrical adornment or the metaphorical answer to an improper question?...