За мама...

... от татко! И после хората се чудят от каде съм го взела този мой талант :)

Посрещане

Не идвай виновно усмихната
Недей да ме молиш с очи,
А просто до мене притихнала
За миг топлина потърси

От толкова път умори ли се?
От нощния студ не измръзна ли?
От хорските погледи скрий се
По теб като смокове плъзнали

Сега се завръщаш замислена
Много мъдрост ли в пътя събра
Или в златното слънце улисана
Не разбра,че вървиш по земя?

Очите ти как са ограбени
В косите стаена тъга
Мечтите на нощи забравени
Недей да си спомняш сега

Мечти и илюзии търсени
Романтика няма,нали?
Цинични вулгарни и мръсни
Днес хората правят пари

Видя ли врата незаключена?
Видя ли широка душа?
“- В нас скитник да спи?!
Ах,изключено!
Срам няма!И даже жена!”

Но ти не пропъждай мечтите
Без тях и сърцето ще спре
Ще търсиме двамата в дните
Човек със душа на дете...

Валентин Митов

Whose skin are you in?

More here

Pablo

We artists are indestructible, even in a prison cell or concentration camp I would be almighty in my own world of art. Even if I had to paint my pictures with my wet tongue on the dusty floor of my cell.

Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Mártir Patricio Ruiz y Picasso

Безвдъхновително

Какво е никога? Не е ли просто утре,
което някои ден ще дойде на земята.
Не е ли просто ехото на вън и вътре
или дъга, посята сред цветятя?

Какво е никога? Не е ли гръм в полето,
избиращ сам къде да се стовари.
Не е ли никога-то нещо, общо взето
и върнато на части със фанфари?

Какво е никога? Не е ли бавна песен,
която ти напомня, че те има?
Чадър във танц на вятъра поднесен
и чайник, търсещ вместо тебе синонима?

Какво е никога? Не е ли то след малко,
което малко трае цяла вечност.
Не е ли границата между истинско и жалко
или душата в лицемерната сърдечност?

Какво е никога? Не е ли то усмивка,
закътана във купищата снимки.
Не е ли пясъкът, омекващ под вълните
или е щастието в 20-те стотинки?

Какво е никога? Не е ли шест куплета,
формиращи една забавна мисъл
Прозрението, търсещо поета,
че този ден за нищо не е писал...

Reality bites

...and this is what I'm studying to do...

Do you?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Bluebird, Charles Bukowski

Ways to say...

I was thinking, how many ways are there to express oneself. When words don't rhyme, when pictures fade away, when all you need is voice and still you have none.

Three different ways to say I miss you

Classic


Hard



Lovely

Смъртоносни

Ambition issues

What did you wanna become when you were growing up? I had several dreams - vet, clothes designer, CSI. In that exact order. I have never wanted to become a princess. Or a ballerina. Or a stewardess (flight attendant my a**). Nor did I dream of being a manager. A marketing director. Any director, for that matter. I just wanted to do something interesting, something that would make a difference.
Now it's time for the inevitable question : So what? Everyone had one of those dreams. Everyone thought, after probably listening to M.L.King for some inspiration, that they would change the world. Ghandi bullshits. Most likely, you wouldn't change anything. You will have a shitty job in a shitty office, that will bring you enough excitement not to start a mass suicide forum...with your shitty coworkers. I know I will.

And I'm not really pissed off. This is the way life goes, I guess. But I really wish there is more to that. I'm not asking to reach the stars, go to Africa to cure cancer, bring peace in Iraq or even become the next mayor of Mezdra. I just wanna find out how to bring a tiny little piece of happiness in people's lives. I know I do it with some people around me. But I wanna go big (don't we all?). Changing the world is not for me. I would never handle the pressure of 8 billion people staring at me waiting for their part of the puzzle. However, I find hope. I find time to dream about backpacking places where tourists don't set foot. Leaving the 16 years of education and opening a bar at the seaside. Having the guts to start over again, when I realise I have failed.

How come so few become what they truly want? Is it really a shift in dreams or a spank by reality? "Baby, I know you wanna become a waitress and be happy, but you need a job that PAYS. Go finish your bachelor thesis now!" ... Everyone wants to go big, huge, massive. Otherwise, you lose all sense in life, do you not? 'Be the best you can be' slogans all over. Food making you stronger. Drinks making you fresher. Pills making you happier. Everyone is obsessed with becoming something more. Constantly. If you're not ambitious, you lose. In life. Punto.

I believe in second chances. I believe in looking for something more. Not in terms of big, in terms of different. I am a reflection of my mum's ambition, my dad's money and my bro's support. I am a result of the efforts of so many people to formulate my mind, body and soul, to put me in a box and define me. We are all unique cliches, aren't we? With our laptops, assignments, music and sports, language studying, coffee drinking, patterns following. I don't wanna be different. Everybody is. I wanna realise where my same-ness would feel best.

Some truths hurt more...

Let's face it. I really don't appreciate it when people tell me what I can and can't do. And I believe you don't either. But these videos stroke me. They are awfully honest, earthy, ...real. It's kinda scary what people do to themselves, but listening to their stories makes you wonder 'would I do it?'


They don't tell you 'don't do it'. They just tell you what would happen if you do...






See all the stories here

I'm here

MARIO BASANOV & VIDIS feat JAZZU - I'll be gone

Most of you know I really don't listen to that kinda music, but this tune is just damn good. And the video by Rimantas Lukavicius is magical.

.

Your tea, M'am

Now winter's coming and for me if there are no mandarins and no tea it just doesn't feel right. And while the first one is a result of the unbelievably heart-warming post-communist years in my home country, the second is a result of one of my most mature-and-healthy-lifestyle choices. I love tea. Herbal, fruit, white, black, green, with or without caffeine, with sugar, honey or sweetener, with or without lemon/milk... I just adore it. This is why looking for ways to make the ultimate winter drink (after heated rakia) more exciting makes me excited!Here are some pretty sweet ideas:

The first one is by Natalia Ponomareva - a Russian (duh!). The tea bag is packed like an origami bird and I gotta say if you have a transparent cup/tea glass it's absolutely worth it!




Another great idea is to play with the small paper holder (missing in the packaging of the tea in many countries, actually)... I find it amusing, especially the bungee jumper. The idea was by House Cafe, originally in order to promote healthier lifestyle. Later, people decided the tea is too cute to be sold only at the coffee house and it was released for production.




And my absolute favourite : The graphic designer Peter Hewitt, founder of Tea Forte in Concord, in 2003 created the company’s signature pyramid-shaped nylon bag (YEI!)

I adore the combination of geometric and organic: tall polyhedral infuser packs, each with a disarmingly natural-looking leaf/sprout tag. Plus the variety of flavours is mouth watering - Belgium Mint, Orchid Vanilla, Raspberry Nectar, Vienna Cinnamon!!!The only one I have slight taste buds doubt about is the Coco Truffle. Chocolate and tea just don't mix in my mind. Nevertheless, mind the cutest little cup (with a small opening on the lid) and check the idea!

Distorted

Long time, no see, my dear reader.
Tonight, I feel like music. I feel like tunes running up and down my body. Not just because I had several martinis and 3 glasses of cheap white, but because I passed through all my musical states of mind today.
This morning I started off with dnb&dubstep, when it started raining on me I went hardcore. All day at uni in my mind I was hearing a ska song, just to realise at the end I don'r have it on my player and substitute it with reggae. Tonight I went home, listening to some classic newage (I think) stuff, prepared for a party with a retro song playing and now I'm finishing off with classic and chill out.

I post them all below, the thing for you to decide is how exactly damaged my brain is.

iPorn

Its not cute, sexy or erotic.
It is more than that - I know some say it is cheap and pornographic and awful, but I find it ...wow. What's with people and sex? Whenever someone says a video like that is just damn good, there are some that jump 78sm in the air, claming that person to be an addict. It is not obsession, it is what it is - but at least this way it is obvious!
(plus Daft Punk as a music background is so amazingly playful)

Totenähnlich

Rude Boy

Turn up the volume for a man so politically incorrect, that he's on a whole other level of offend-ism...

Soul comfort

Comptine D'un Autre Octobre

When was the last time you wrote a letter?
Remember letters? The primitive version of e-mails…
I love writing. Not typing. There is something so charming in a piece of paper lying in front of you. Something so inviting. Putting thoughts, feelings, anger and love, all bound into one, word by word, line by line, page by page. And even at the end, when your fingers get kinda tired from holding the pen and your writing gets ugly (because its page 13 and you still haven’t reached that stupid conclusion you started the whole thing because of), you feel good. There is one feeling that comes with the end of every letter – relief. Elaborating on your own thoughts, putting part on your personal self on a sheet and sending it to someone. To anyone.
I know I sound so ‘Thursday night’ nostalgic. But today I found a letter. A real one.
Four years ago I left the life I had loved and known so well and traveled the 1079km to the unknown. I was scared and excited, but most of all, I wanted to never leave what was most important for me – my friends. I made each of them write me a letter. A real one. A letter with whatever in it - a song lyrics, ‘screw you for leaving us!’, a recreation of a happy memory. They all did. And not because this is something that friends do anyways when you ask them. They did it, because they knew I’ll need these letters.
So true. I’ve used them to keep myself from melting in the worst of storms, to stay safe in my own wondering mind and to pursue my id that time and space can never bound a smile. Can an e-mail give you all that?
I’m old school. I’m even retro. But if I could, I would probably choose to handwrite this blog. Word by word, line by line, page by page. Just because I want you to have a piece of my sunshine. And because I’m so much better of a writer when I hold a pen…

P.S.
"This must be Thursday," said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer, "I never could get the hang of Thursdays."
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams

Losing my religion

Love in a can

Art is not subjective. Whoever admires a single color on a canvas is merely phony. Art is passion. Art moves you. Art makes you wish your eyes were bigger, so that they can take it all in. Art does not provoke emotions, art creates them. If you have never spend 4h in a museum, walking in wet shoes, you don't love art. If you haven't spend evenings watching graffiti artists do their magic, you don't love art. If you haven't tried to understand that single color on canvas, because all said it's a masterpiece, you don't love art. If you believe art is kept in dry, secure places, you are wrong. Art is everywhere. Not behind glass covers and 'Please do not touch' signs. It surrounds us every single day.
The trick is for the art to find its true artist...

No matter who you are, no matter where you go in life

Three years ago...

Когато за поредна вечер седиш, взирайки се в монитора и се чудиш защо не си си легнала все още, при положение, че утре имаш лекции в 7, когато отваряш безразборно страници и четеш чужди истории, когато търсиш себе си в тези истории, когато чакаш дневния хороскоп да ти каже коя си, когато лягаш в легло, предвидено за двама съвсем сама, когато се усмихваш винаги, а не се смееш никога, когато миналото ти се струва по-истинско от настоящето... когато искаш да кажеш нещо, но нищо не звучи на място, когато искаш прегръдка, а получаваш потупване по рамото, когато искаш да пишеш, ала думите не те искат, когато една песен те кара да летиш, когато мразиш и обичаш, когато искаш да си в тялото на друг, но да останеш верен на себе си, когато не си вярваш, когато не се познаеш една сутрин в огледалото, когато докосваш един изгубен за теб свят всеки ден и искаш обратно този свят, тогава съзнаваш, че можеш повече. Когато очакваш някого или нещо, а нелепо получиш нещо друго, когато не искаш да си искрена, но искреността ти не е в контрола ти, когато трябва да бъдеш силна, а плачеш, когато ти се иска да заплачеш, но сълзите не идват....

Тогава разбираш, че ако не знаеш къде да започнеш, не означава, че не трябва да започваш!
Тогава... тогава е просто днес!

Deadly

In tune with last night

One of my personal favs

'you are so beautiful' vs slap on the ass

DnB party, Monday night. The sound is so good I really can't believe it. Too few people, but they're all dancing like crazy.

Act I.
A man comes by slaps my ass, smiles rather suggestively and continues his way.

Act II.
An older man comes to chat. Lookin kinda bored and definitely not belonging to the party. Conversation:
him: Where are you from?
me: Bulgaria
him: Where is Bulgaria?
me: $%%^&????????????????
I take a second look. True, middle aged, looking smart.
me: You really don't know?
him: Well, its like the least important country in the world...
me: (a finger)

Act III.
Three hours after the beginning, I feel sweaty, dirty, confused, but dancing. An energetic man comes by, jumping with the bass. Takes my hand and makes me do a pirouette. Takes my face in his hands and tells me 'You are so beautiful!' Then leaves.

Conclusion: I love rainy nights...

Simon says

Meditation on communication issues

If he doesn't want you to write back and you do, you are the needy, sad, miserable girl.

If he wants you to write back and you don't, you are the bitch.

If he doesn't want you to write back and you don't, you are heartless.

If he wants you to write back and you do...unexplored.

Some people just got it right!

Beginnings

Трябва да има начални думи, нали така...
Този блог е за вечерите, които искаш да си сам. За моментите, в които въпреки офертите за парти и списъка с контакти в скайп, ти искаш да си без никого. И то не по тъжния 'днес валя и следователно ще съм в депресия' начин. Не за да убедиш себе си колко си асоциален. Нито пък за да видиш дали ще липсваш на някого.А просто защото имаш нужда от тази вечер със себе си. Защото понякога ти се иска да те няма за малко (или повече).
Защото искаш да споделиш някои неща с някого/с никого/със себе си. Защото Yann Tiersen те кара да искаш да пишеш още и още. Защото понякога, късно вечер имаш нужда от една песен. Поправка, имаш нужда от точно определена песен. И от една емоция. Или от липсата на такава.

Защото да си сам не значи обезателно да си самотен...
:)