вторник, 6 януари 2015 г.


you are a world
   within a world
      within a world.


in fact,
perfection bows to you.

you are Creation amongst a trillion starborn gods in the drizzling rain of universal nonlife.

your name is Genesis,

      from you
   burst out
all days

      the infinite world
   which you are in
is your creation.

неделя, 4 януари 2015 г.



the v between my thighs
originates from the
sweaty little v
at the top of your upper lip

the v in vagina is the same
as the v in vino


before he erupted in
torrents of mad
rage, anger, fire and ash

v is the most beautiful letter
it exists in a perfect shape
a descent into the Marian Trench
of my slippery mind.


pretend to be french
pretentious is great

french kissing is not enough

french wine does not taste
as french as it could
unless you drink it
with a death wish in the other hand

pretend to be Marlon Brando
Bridgitte Bardo is good as well

ART will never go out of date

you are not smart
unless you can seem to like Zizek
although you’re not sure
if he’s Slovak or Sloven


we lost our bohem princes a long time ago

they died
when absinthe was banned
bohemia dies

as soon as it obeys


i have discovered silence with you

i have discovered myself without you

writing came back to me
i thought you brought it
but it came back
on its own accord

not because you
made my head swell with words

but because I
have unearthed the world

it was buried
underneath you
below your scowl
above your smirk
before you came
and after you have gone

i thought you were a key
to a chamber

you were the chamber whilst the key
were I

the real true meaning
of a world with
six billion humans
is not

to find one human to share silences with

but to share the silence of the world with the one human self


you make me feel

you get up
to leave
i kiss Satan

you scare me
not when you are violent
but with silence
and sighs

with kissing me goodbye
you say hello

you take my breath away

you choke
with your fingers clutching
my throat
my heart
my life

you hit the strings
of your
old guitar
you don’t sing

as always
you know
i’d run away

with the lyrical
of words we fear

You give me nothing but joy.

вторник, 7 октомври 2014 г.

On Goals.

I have been asked, in the past year and something, quite frequently "Why do you study Social Policy? I mean, like, what do you want to do with it?"

And for a year and something I got very frustrated every time someone would ask me that bloody question because I had no way of wording to myself, let alone to someone else, an adequate and satisfactory answer. Which lead to the effort of thinking of an answer being pushed aside, like some cigarette you've lit up and realised you don't really want to smoke right this moment. This went on for a while and I had more important business to attend to and more important things to ponder on. Apparently, I felt reading about some retarded man in Russia trying to annex countries and start wars was a greater priority to my life, than figuring out why the hell I was spending £9k of the British government's money a year on my degree.

Don't let me be misunderstood - I knew and I know now firmly and with no less confidence, that I love my degree. I also love the fact that I gave up everything to chase some sort of academic dreamland in a different and quite scary country. I knew, with complete certainty, that what I am doing is right and purposeful for me. But, for the life of me, there was no saying why exactly I was doing it and how it was contributing to my goal. 

My goal.

Now, that is rather important. It is important because it is completely non-existent. It's bullshit, it's balls, it's Santa Clause buying a Hanukah card for the Easter Bunny. When asked "What do You want to do with Your life?" at 03:00 in some bar or another, or some house or another, or some bus stop or another (because these are the usual circumstances for such existential, getting-to-know-each-other questions to be asked), I would normally turn my delicately intoxicated smile towards the enquirer and reply with a cheerful answer out of a 1998 Miss Universe competition "Do good. Save the world. That kinda thing."

That, if you have any idea how the world works, is a rather stupid answer. Especially if you're going to University for it. 

Well, today I have changed this answer. I sat down with a lovely 20 year old Hunter S. Thompson and discussed the nature of humans and goals and how to live your life and he gave me a few brilliant ideas and his genius, carried to me across the years via the magic of the Internet, inspired in me those evasive words, which somehow managed to formulate an answer in my head. A stance I can take. A claim I can make. 

Fuck goals.

Fuck goals and fuck the idea of "WHAT" I want to become. I happen to have been born a female human on Earth in a small village in a small country with questionable ethnic origins and even more so questionable moral beliefs. I, having been fondled, mangled, kissed and thrashed by my circumstance and surroundings, became a somewhat conscious being at some point and ever since have been building on that solid ground of being. 

We are asked, often, what we want to be. Examples given are a soldier, a dancer, a parent, a teacher, a scientist. Well, I dare ask, who was the first soldier? Who created the archetype of the artist or the teacher, or the politician? Who dared to think "I want to do this or that and be me, and achieve this and that, and whether this is a profession, or whether this is a goal, or an idea, or even a sane thought, I care not, for I wish only to become what I have always been and to achieve what my inner voice yells at me and at the world, and I need no definition and no name and no praise, because doing what is, for my being, fundamentally right, is, alone, the very core path of life, which I physically need to follow." 

I don't know what I want to be. I don't know whether I want to be anything. I don't know exactly what I want to do. I have no great talents - I am no artist, no musician, no scientist or mathematician, no philosophy flows out my mouth, no poetry flows out my pen, I have mastered no sport or craft. However, in my heart, all I want is to do good and be useful. And so I have taken up a course in how to be useful to help me understand in what way my limited skill and wit can be put to good use to give back what I have been given by the world. Yet, there is no certain goal. There is no image of greatness and splendour at the end of my degree. There is a self that I have somehow gathered, an idea of what I am, and my degree is an addition to that self, which I have decided would be useful and fulfilling to complete. I believe that we, too often, look at such decisions in life as means to ends, as a sort of training for this entirely new creature, which will climb out of your pens and mouths and onto your diploma and spread itself out as the new, adult version of you and will grab you by the arm, dragging you to Jobland, where you will now begin your adult life. 

That's not how these things generally work. 

Your University investment is a part of You. It is a diploma, which will contribute to Your life with knowledge and accreditation. It is a new pool of knowledge to help You achieve Your self and to make You understand better topics, which are of interest to You and aid You in working on projects and ideas, which You would have wanted to work on with or without having spent four years drinking your head off at pub-crawls and socials. 

There is apt supply of workers. There is a great lack of people. There is quite a few goals set up by quite a few million young creatures.  There is quite a few creatures that are lead to believe that they will become people, whilst really they are being lead to put on the meatsuits of the jobs they will become. I say jobs because a job is just that -  a position, shaped as a human, where one has no self, because one is too busy doing accounting. A career requires a human. A life requires a person.  

Do I have a goal? No. 

Do I have life? Yes.

Do I have myself? I'm not quite sure, but I'm working on it. 

My dear beloved Hunter S. Thompson once took to advising a friend on the purpose of life and said this to him:

"To put our faith in tangible goals would seem to be, at best, unwise. So we do not strive to be firemen, we do not strive to be bankers, nor policemen, nor doctors. WE STRIVE TO BE OURSELVES.

But don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean that we can’t BE firemen, bankers, or doctors—but that we must make the goal conform to the individual, rather than make the individual conform to the goal. In every man, heredity and environment have combined to produce a creature of certain abilities and desires—including a deeply ingrained need to function in such a way that his life will be MEANINGFUL. A man has to BE something; he has to matter."

сряда, 26 март 2014 г.

Destination Number One

by Georgi Kamov

Once again, I am uploading this. I am uploading it because it is the best piece of Socio-Political work I have read in my short and uneducated life, because it applies to Bulgaria TODAY more than an news article ever has, because I am proud to call the man who wrote this a friend, a brother. Because this is the social innovation we all want, we all dream of, and we all need desperately. Because it is not the wishful thinking of a man, barely turned thirty, who naively believes the world can be a better place. Because it is the single piece of work, which I use anytime I need to defend realistic-optimism and the fact that we, who smile in the face of recession and snicker at austerity are not some retarder hippies, but a bunch of people, who refuse to back down when a few graphs start pointing in the wrong direction and more than a few people realistically need work and need benefits, and need help, and in other words need something new to happen to take their social reality in a new direction. Because the spirit of this work is applicable anywhere in the world. 
And, mostly, just because I like reading it.