“Si nejaký negatívny.”
Povedal mi kamarát.
“Si si istý, že máš
Sám seba vlastne rád?”
Neviem či čítal Osha,
Či snáď knihy dákeho mystika.
Otázka sebalásky totiž
Každého z nás sa dotýka.
“Nuž kamarát neviem veru.
(Zvolil som jemný tón.
Mám pocit akoby som v srdci mal dieru.
Láska vojde a o chvíľu – je zo srdca von.”
Neviem, či ale neskočil som,
Z kaluže rovno do blata.
Kamarát hneď sa mi ponúkol,
Že nájde ihlu veľkú a dieru zapláta.
Napísal som Ježiškovi,
Z posledných síl svojej chabej viery,
Či reku aspoň On ešte verí, že
Môžeme tu žiť v mieri.
Vianoce sa blížia,
Pošty asi dosť mu teraz chodí.
Ktovie či je zvedavý
Na to ako sa mi vodí.
Chcem sa mu vyznať, že mám Vianoce
Tak trochu nejak na saláme.
Keď vidím ako väčšinou
Všetko vlastne len predstierame.
V tých vinšoch o pokoji, láske
Už neviem čo mám hľadať.
Keď sotva skončia sviatky
Poď ho mlátiť sa a hádať.
Povedal si cisár Nero
Nie je dobré vládnuť ľuďom živeným vierou.
Chlebom a hrami živená masa
Lepšie despotom ovláda sa.
* Historicky nie celkom presný rým
snáď ale viete o čom hovorím.
Už starí Rimania vedeli ako na to
Ľudia zabavili sa, cisár si stískal zlato.
Tak aj ja tu sedím
Futbal, pivko, dobre je mi.
Ako dobre pri tej telke
Zabúda sa na problémy.
Len škoda, že neviem do lopty kopať
A na záhrade mi netečie ropa.
Nezáleží ako skončí zápas
Zajtra budem musieť do fabriky za pás.
Odchádzal som do sveta
Zbalila mi mama rezne.
Ešte nevedel som ako vzácne bude mi
Čo doma som mával bežne.
Zakopnutia, pády, zablúdenia prídu
Dostaneme sa cez ne.
Kto nič nezaseje
Nič potom ani nežne.
Ešte mamu mám
Na cestu mi rezne stále balí.
Raz pripojím sa ale k tým,
Čo všetko by za to dali
Hoc ponúknu im steaky z reklamy
Ešte raz zahryznúť sa do rezňa od mamy.
I always wanted to create a comic that would have some potential to entertain people, but with my drawing skills I thought it’s not really possible. Eventually, after seeing a few doodling artists gaining popularity with somewhat simpler drawing techniques, but good stories, or funny content, I realised that perhaps there is a chance for me to try. Of course I could have tried even before this realisation, but the fear of failure was holding me back. This explanation wasn’t intentional, but it quite fits – not acting because of fear of failure is actually one of the common symptoms of having a pain body.
* Disclaimer: There will be swearing in my comic.
Now, what the fuck is pain body?
If you’re familiar with teachings of Eckhart Tolle, or at least attempted to read some self help books (because adulthood sucks) you should know that Pain Body is a fictional entity made of our trauma and trauma responses and it interacts with our mind and “real” body in the most annoying ways. You could theoretically call it an emotional baggage (something ugly and heavy that we drag around), but as I quite like Eckhart I opted for Pain Body as the main character in my comic.
Of course every super hero in comic book, even villains, should have a side kick, so I’ve given a Little Broken Heart to my Pain Body #PB78 as its trusty companion.
PS 1 – I have made this deal with my Pain Body that it’ll let me do stuff that gives me some joy and fulfillment, in return for giving it som PR and keeping it alive and well without too much effort aimed at its eradication (given that it’s pretty much futile to destroy Pain Body, I feel like it was a bargain).
PS 2 – This is just a short introduction and I might change the style of the drawing, but I hope it will be fun reading.
Povedala dnes moja mať,
Že sa na všetko môže vykašľať.
Vraví “Aj tak všetko, to mi ver.
Naposledky vyjde na mizer!”
Musím sa ja apu opýtať,
Či ozaj má pravdu naša mať.
Či to ozaj tak veru je,
Že človek so všetkým zbytočne bojuje.
Apa zadumá sa, brvy vykrúti.
Protirečiť mati mu nie je po chuti.
Hlavou teda kývne neklamný to znak,
Že to asi bude veru tak.
I made a deal with Anneke that we will try to do more photo shoots now that I bought new lens. It was just a little test, but they seem to be pretty good.
Just a few photos showing Anneke wearing outfit inspired by SKA culture. I was happy that she loved The Interrupters and hopefully one day we will see them together.
Yesterday my friends’ father died.
And whilst it doesn’t impact me directly, it’s yet another piece of sadness that someone has to carry on top of what they were already carrying.
Recently I’ve started reading a book about Kurds and it just opened my eyes to the tragedy of this nation. As well as miracle that it is.
With my own father suffering from cancer I cannot help but feel a lot of sadness myself. It’s not always present, or at least it’s not always seeking some attention from me, but I know it’s there.
I’ve been listening to Moby’s phenomenal album Destroyed in the past two days as I shared a song from it with a girl I recently met online and we became friends. Even though song I shared was Stella Maris, from the album I especially love the song The Day.
It is about a day Moby spent in the hospital with his dying mother.
She passed away from lung cancer in 1997.
Before The Day I used to contemplate what it’s like to lose a parent listening to The Ocean Spray by Manic Street Preachers.
This phenomenal rock anthem was written by James Dean Bradfield remembering time spent at hospital with his mother and it’s simply a reference to a cranberry juice drink given to patients in hospitals in UK and Ireland.
James’ mother died in 1999.
I’m not even sure what I want to say with these words.
I had this idea for a short story that would start with Moby in the hospital and the main protagonist going on with his or her day and the idea was to simply refer to some moments in the pop music culture through the main character, but as I often get ideas for a story and almost never end up actually writing anything, I thought I will at least capture what I felt.
I’ve decided to write more often and I suppose such decision must inevitably come with some spontaneous spurs of inspiration leading to somewhat chaotic posts.
Yet I believe there’s value and beauty in them as they too capture a moment in time, how we felt as a photograph does.
By the way, I’ve also bought new camera lens today. I hope to capture some moments visually too. Although words are my favourite way of preserving time and feelings.
I heard some people ask why we
Wish peace to the dead
When we maybe should wish and work
For peace for the living instead
But I worry that peace doesn’t just happen
One has to work for it (and quite hard!)
And it’s only privilege of the dead
To give some rest to their guard
It’s almost as if our minds were constantly
Assessing if we should fight or flight
And even if some things look favorable
We focus on those that don’t seem right
So we push ourselves out of comfort zone
In the pursuit of happiness
Never really realising that instead of wanting more
We could just maybe accept less
Do. Grow. Improve. Change. Increase.
Never settle or dare to be satisfied
Just don’t be surprised when you find out
That somewhere along the way your peace died
–
I believe peace is reserved for the dead indeed
Us living simply can’t escape the chaos of our mind
At least we can seek some comfort in knowing
That by default peace was never ours to find
In Via - On The Way 