Monday, 8 September 2014

Sometimes it seems

that the only way to keep depression at bay is to attend a clown performance.
But clowns are never merely happy, they are always also sad, and sometimes your feeling of sadness is too deep and the clowns don't really do anything for you in the sense of cheering you up. Well, ok, you might chuckle (Emilie, I remember to chuckle and not giggle) every now and then, or experience a momentary lapse of reason in which you forget your woes, but in the end you come out of the theatre sort of empty, with a deep reverberating void (or hurt, or sadness, or... I don't really know what it is) somewhere deep inside your soul (and no, it has nothing to do with the performance).
So you stroll down the old Roman road and find yourself in an old crusader's church, which is rather unusual for the town you live in (I mean the church is unusual for the town you live in and it is also unusual for you to find yourself in a church in the town you live in).
And just as you are trying to get your head round these surprising facts you realise a spaceship is trying to land inside the church and you just stand there, mesmerised, gazing at the spaceship, wondering if they have come to fill your void or take away your pain (it is really surprising how self-absorbed one can be at a moment like this) .... But they don't.... They just hover there, gazing back at you, totally oblivious as to what is going on inside your head. After a while you realise you have been involuntarily involved in a staring competition. Minutes pass, maybe hours, days, weeks, months, years or maybe even lifetimes. You no longer know how long it has been. You are tired. Tired of staring, tired of standing, tired of yourself... Suddenly the spaceship is sucked into your big void and for a micro-second you are content, because you have just realised that this void of yours has a name.
But now the church is empty. You step out and find yourself in a magic garden.
 It is the middle of the night and time has stopped. Shiny, colourful and bright watering cans are hovering over the bushes bathing them in white light. They never stop. Hovering. Watering. You splash some white light across your face. It keeps you awake, but also makes you notice that parts of your beard have turned grey. It sure has been a long day. Your mind tries to recapture the day. You try to remember what is was like when you woke up.The morning seems so long ago and far away that the brain just sends a G291 system error, and after a quick shower in the white light you step out of the enclosed garden and into a dark closed space.
It is a small, dark space and yet an  entire galaxy of red dwarfs and electric blue wormholes are confined within it. You step onto the Einstein-Rosen bridge, look into the deep, black (but for the flickering explosions  of blue light) abyss below and suddenly you are looking up at something that seems so similar and yet so different you just can't put your finger on it. You slowly count the trillions of red dwarfs, and as you gaze at each one, you feel what an uneventful existence they lead. On the way you alternate between crossing Einstein-Rosen bridges and sliding through wormholes. Finally you have counted all the red dwarfs, crossed all the bridges (and burnt some of them), crawled or sledged through each wormhole and entered all the data into a spreadsheet. You know your day's work has been done, so you decide to jump on the bridge and catch a wormhole so that you can have a quick drink with a friend from the past.
 You fall head first into his Paris studio, but he does not flinch when you tumble across the floor and the room overflows with body parts, cameras, negatives, captured images and memories that spill throughout the room. Once you pick up your body parts and pull yourself together you look at the man at work, deeply engulfed in his thoughts, observing the rays of light spreading across his studio and you immediately know it is 1921 and that he is onto something important, so you just pat him on his back gently, whisper an almost silent hi man, climb back onto the bridge and catch the last wormhole going in the morningbound direction.

Sunday, 7 September 2014


I am not much of a selfie man, as I do not find myself particularly interesting as a photographic object, but I have just done my third seflie (not counting the ones that I was a part of) in my life.

Friday, 5 September 2014

They tried

to jumpstart my heart by trashing it around the place. But it didn't work on this evening.

Thursday, 7 August 2014


It is always great fun when Joke come to town (and this ain't no joke), so as they are currently touring the region, you better chuck in the towel, grab a beer (which I couldn't as I was still on antibiotics), go to their concert, have fun and worry about tomorrow and all the serious stuff when the time comes for it (it is summer after all).

Monday, 4 August 2014

Trnfest - 1st day of the edition that never happened

Supposedly this year's Trnfest is never going to happen. Last year was the last one ever. So roughly a week after it would have started if it would have happened (but which it is not, might I remind you)  we all miraculously gathered at KUD to convince ourselves that it is truly not happening. So what we did not see was the new director of KUD (above) recite a poem and share a few words with us...
 ...we certainly didn't see Brane (iz Ljubljane) perform his antics on stage (nor did we hear him recite his deep and meaningful poetry)...

...nor did we see Katjuša the cat wondering across stage...
    However we did see bat(wo)man sleeping in the cave
 while listening to the soothing sound of the accordion
   and the slightly rougher sounds of the guitar.

 (And this is some of us later on in the evening... not bad for a non-event, eh?)

Saturday, 2 August 2014

Joss Stone

When one Stone comes to town, the rest seem to follow shortly. So when there was a small Stone reunion in Ljubljana (hi everyone, it was really lovely to see all of you) Joss (and yes, I know she is not really a Stone, but the story would be totally ruined if I took that into account - blast, I've done it again) acted like any true Stone would and traveled hundreds of miles just to join in the small family celebration.
Joss, now that I know you have leant two Slovene words, I better use them both to sign off: hvala for the great concert and oprosti for dragging you into this mess of a blog entry (but hey, the picture ain't half bad, what do you say?).

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

Monday, 21 July 2014

Thursday, 17 July 2014

Friday, 11 July 2014

Just to mess

with you, a second post from the same day...

The moon was full

but as it was a cloudy night nobody would have known if it was not for the howling of the warewolves.

Monday, 7 July 2014

This time I will

borrow somebody else's text to go with my photo (which for a change was not taken with a camera, but with a phone - I know! Imagine somebody from the past (let’s say Alexander Graham Bell) falling through a wormhole and reading this and wondering how can you possibly take a photo with a phone, or somebody coming through an entirely different wormhole and wondering what is a camera and what is a phone?).

Anyway, every time I cycle through this village this poem pops into my head:

Rappelle-toi Barbara
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là
Et tu marchais souriante
Épanouie ravie ruisselante
Sous la pluie
Rappelle-toi Barbara
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest
Et je t'ai croisée rue de Siam
Tu souriais
Et moi je souriais de même
Rappelle-toi Barbara
Toi que je ne connaissais pas
Toi qui ne me connaissais pas
Rappelle-toi quand même ce jour-là
N'oublie pas
Un homme sous un porche s'abritait
Et il a crié ton nom
Et tu as couru vers lui sous la pluie
Ruisselante ravie épanouie
Et tu t'es jetée dans ses bras
Rappelle-toi cela Barbara
Et ne m'en veux pas si je te tutoie
Je dis tu à tous ceux que j'aime
Même si je ne les ai vus qu'une seule fois
Je dis tu à tous ceux qui s'aiment
Même si je ne les connais pas
Rappelle-toi Barbara
N'oublie pas
Cette pluie sage et heureuse
Sur ton visage heureux
Sur cette ville heureuse
Cette pluie sur la mer
Sur l'arsenal
Sur le bateau d'Ouessant
Oh Barbara
Quelle connerie la guerre
Qu'es-tu devenue maintenant
Sous cette pluie de fer
De feu d'acier de sang
Et celui qui te serrait dans ses bras
Est-il mort disparu ou bien encore vivant
Oh Barbara
Il pleut sans cesse sur Brest
Comme il pleuvait avant
Mais ce n'est plus pareil et tout est abimé
C'est une pluie de deuil terrible et désolée
Ce n'est même plus l'orage
De fer d'acier de sang
Tout simplement des nuages
Qui crèvent comme des chiens
Des chiens qui disparaissent
Au fil de l'eau sur Brest
Et vont pourrir au loin
Au loin très loin de Brest
Dont il ne reste rien.

(Jacques Prévert) 

Saturday, 5 July 2014

I have been

somewhere I have not been for a very very long time... and this means things are getting better (even though it is hard to say this as I am totally and utterly convinced that anything good will be taken away)

Thursday, 3 July 2014

Dance photo

It is always hard to chose a dance photo, as they are so different even when they were taken during the same performance. But this one seemed a bit different from the ones I did before so I went with this one... When chosing a photo you behave similar as when you are taking them - you just go with your gut feeling.

Monday, 30 June 2014

The young rhymes festival

was back with a vengeance and I just about managed to catch the very last day of the festival, which was invaded by young American poets.

Thursday, 12 June 2014

My quick photo session

with Zoran Srdić Janežič at his exhibition.

Artist spanking the politician

Artist slaying the system

 Artist saving his friend

Death of the artist

 Death of the artist II