One of those days

you sit on a rollercoaster and let your heart interpret the world instead of your brain. So here are a few photos and feel your own story.

Scream

Ufff... Now I am in trouble. When I was on my way to see this performance a poem started forming in my head about this hipster turning up at a party with a Molotov cocktail (you know, in the here is a bottle, thanx for the invite way) (you see I have seen the Scream before, but a different version, so I was expecting some Molotov cocktails to be tossed about the place). And then, while I was watching the performance I got an idea for a photo. So after the performance I stepped to the crew and asked if I could do a photo - very unlike me - and guess what. We did it! And now the problem is that the feeling of the unwritten poem and the photo are completely unrelated (well not completely, but far enough), so as I look at the empty blog space I want to write about this hipster coming to a party, but it gives such a different feeling to the photo it makes me think no... I just can't. So, for today, you will just have to satisfy your curiosity with the photo and this little insight into the way my brain works ...
(and be on the look out for the poem that will appear somewhere else - hopefully)

Screaming

has never really helped anybody... well unless you are a singer in a band, of course.

15o continues

and this time they had the support of the demolition group. Surely, getting a band called Demolition Group to join 15.october protests in front of the Ljubljana (well Austrian really, just to show you how these financial things go) stock exchange can not be a coincidence. I mean, how could it be? So, there we were, waiting for the demolition to start. You could just feel the anticipation in the air.Some people even stayed at work late just to see what is going to happen (yes, the lights on the 2nd floor).
But then they got the news. 'Boys, there is going to be no demolition today. You can play a few songs, but no bricks will be moved. After all this is a peaceful protest.' And this sure brought the guys down. They were sad and did not know what to do, because they came here to do their job and they wanted to do it right, so what are they to do...? As the old ones seemed to be a tad lost, the young generation took charge of things and showed us that there is a future ahead of us all. As long as play the music, things are going to happen.
And yes, as always when hope is restored, or in times of desperation, in good times and in bad times, whether happy or sad, blue or green, young or old, one always ends up in bed, so why should this blog be an exception?

US3

and the lines from their song more or less describe the concert (for me anyway):
Groovy groovy
jazzy funky pounce bounce dance as we
Dip in the melodic
sea, the rhythm keeps flowin, it drips to MC
Sweet sugar pop
sugar pop rocks it pops ya dont stop
Till the sweet
beat drops
I show and prove
as a stick in move
Hear the poems
recited on top of the groove
Smooth, mind,
floating like a butterfly
Notes start to
float, suttle like a lullabye
Brace yourself as
the beat hits ya

(US3, Cantaloop)

On a road to nowhere

The wet streets. The empty streets. The dark streets. The streets that will soon be covered in snow. The streets with lights that have no meaning to you. Lights that blind you as you walk by with fully dilated pupils. It was the crystal meth you took. A few minutes ago. In the dark back alley. Some of it slipped from your little silver packet and fell onto the wet ground. You fell on all fours and licked the soaking street, like a stray dog quenching his thirst. Hoping you will get some of it back. Flowing down your veins. Hitting against the internal organs. Shutting them down one by one. Crushing the wounded heart. Blasting away the maddening thoughts. Making you believe you are sitting in a warm, dry room, watching telly, your lover at your side. His arms wrapped around you, protecting you from the cold outside. Not giving a thought to tomorrow. No worries, no threats.
As your shadow slowly brushed against mine on this cold, wet night, all of this desperation leaped out of your pores and clenched onto my face, slowly loosing grip and sliding down my duffel coat. Some of it ended up in my pocket, the rest was washed away, carried down the streets by the winter rain.

And in the end

I would like to thank the 6 strings and the chunk of wood, for without them the evening would not have been what it was.

Poetry in motion

Why can't I do this?

Birthday party

turned concert. So even on a night I don't go to see a concert I get one :)

Can I have a look?

at what is up there.
Afternoon performance:


Evening concert:

The cynical stare

of the singer of Cynicism Management.

Two for the price of one

(for free, of course). In today's world where everything is sold at 2 for the price of 1 or 3 for the price of 2, I guess I better sync with the times and give you two blog posts for free.
So here is post a)

Tracing

the traces. Following them into the distance. On and on. Till the very end. Or until you shout ‘STOP!’ And I turn around. And see the sparkle. Notice it, finally. Take another indecisive step forward. Hesitate. Turn back. Look at you again. Rub my eyes in disbelief. Take a step back. Towards you. And another. Realise you are way to far. I will never reach you. Start running. On the spot. Not getting any closer. Ever. Stopping to catch my breath. Noticing you in the distance. Smiling. Waving. And I still can’t really decide whether that is an invitation or not. I will have to come close and ask you. Whisper in your ear: ‘Was that me you were smiling at?’ Even though there was nobody else in the universe at that moment in time. A Frozen moment. A frozen smile. Frozen in time. Frozen in my step. Frozen in another lifetime. Frozen traces of you. Frozen traces of what used to be me. Frozen traces of what could have been us.

post b)

Fight for your art
I know you are all tired from reading post a. So I will just leave you with this image and thought: What would you fight for?

Sometimes art

is a collection of toys for grownups, and we play with them just as if we were in a (slightly larger) sandpit.

Hanging about

is what alfa boys do on a weeknight.

A day in the life

I read the news today, oh boy... (as the Beatles song goes)
So my version goes (stuck to the original lyrics wherever possible, so a lot of it is not mine, but from the Liverpudlian fab four):

I watched the news to day, oh boy
About a two year who almost made the grave
She was hit by a van
and then by another
just to be sure
A crowd of people stood and stared
They'd seen her face before
Nobody was really sure
If she really was the girl from next door.

I went to the theatre today oh boy
The leader had just died
in the middle of the night
A crowd of people turned away
but I just had to look
Having read the book

(Anyway, I thought the photo from yesterday's performance went well together with the story about the 2 year old girl who was hit by a van and nobody came to check on her, even though they walked past)

Day off

Well, it was Sunday after all. And even though I had a few ideas of the photos I could take, the day seemed to have passed before I got round to it. This is what happens when you sit behind the computer all day long, working on a translation of an archaeological text. Yes, I am an expert on Roman pottery fragments at the moment.
(I can be anything you want baby)
(or so it seems)
(syntax error)

Ironic

Alanis would have said if she were here. Just 100 metres away from where the 99% of the people (which reminds me - where were you? Or have you made it to the 1% and no longer care for the man (yes, and woman) in the street?) were demonstrating against the 1% of the extremely rich and powerful the German status symbol of the not quite so rich was promoting their newest and shiniest. I don't know if they were intentionally taking the Mickey out of the underpaid and underprivileged, have they developed a brand new efficient, safe and green car that the 99% of the people will be able to afford, or was their even manager just not thinking at all?
But enough about the company that is too lazy (or not creative enough) to think of a proper name for themselves. Let's get back to 15O. The October revolution? I thought the warming up period already took place in September, with the occupy Wall Street movement. And that now people will just come out of the woodwork and show solidarity, or stand up for their rights or just come and show their starving bodies and disillusioned souls. I don't know, I am no financial wizard or guru (as a quick glance at my bank account will tell you), but I think there is something wrong with a system where the rich get the profits when doing well (bank shareholders – by the way, do you remember the times when banking was free and banks were still more than capable of making profits) and the poor pay off the debts when the same people are creating a loss. I don't know how it works with you, but with me (as a freelancer) it works like this: when I am doing well, I put some money aside and when I am not doing well (which is lately more likely to be linked to institutions not paying for the work I have done than me actually not getting contracted for work) and then use it sparingly in times when the big shots screw with the system and nobody gets paid (why doesn’t somebody bail me - or you - out?). Again, not have studied economics, I think it is also wrong that a person pays over a grand a year for health insurance only to be told by the doctor that this €30 test will just add costs to his surgery which is why he will not do it, because he is not obliged (that is on the state level – yes hello America, countries in Europe are following your shiny example of medical care)... In the same breath he tells you that of course, if you want to pay yourself, he will do the test anytime. So anyway, enough ranting from me... Just to sum up, if I got this right, we have got no rights, but we still have to pick up the bill... so, will this just wither away and will we say farewell in another revolution? Or...

Total manipulation

(for a change)
In my head it might as well have looked like this as the two photos (which form this very simple collage) were taken within half an hour and 10 km of each other. And it does feel weird sometimes, all this jumping around and swift changes. It really is totally different to my translation work (well, there I might also be sometimes translating a highly expert archaeological text only to be interrupted by a last minute translation for a daft speaker in the parliament (because somebody came from overseas and he wants to impress him), so really it is not that different in my head, it is just physically static (except for my fingers) – and this immediate negation showed you that I never think what I will write on my blog, I always just write it as I go along). So before I reveal any more highly classified secrets as to how I approach my blog, I better bid you all fairwell, so, until tomorrow...

What

rock'n'roll is all about (the fans, not the babies (I guess, but what do I know?))

Fishing

for a dream (as my friend would say). Or fishing for a compliment. Or fishing for a reflection. Of fishing for money. Or that elusive feeling. Or food. Or recognition. Or happiness. Or love. Or a smile behind those tears. Or just sitting on the beach, without a fishing rod and gazing into space as the sun goes down.

Trapped

Get me out of here. This time it is truly me, and I managed to take the photo myself. It turns out a bit of time and space travel is all one needs.
(as an added bonus the photo truly reflects the feeling in the book I am currently reading - Jeff Noon's Falling out of cars)

Life

watching it ooze

out of my body

slowly and painlessly

with my every heartbeat

my every move and every breath

every second of every day

there is slightly less of it in me

Bikofe auction

Sunday afternoon. Not sunny. Not warm. Auction day at the local café.
As I came early to register (so I could bid for the dislocated family unit far away in another part of Europe) I still had some time to mess around while waiting for the auction to start. So what does one do when he has time on his hands... errrr... take photos?
While I was messing about the DJ was testing out the vinyl. Does it still scratch? Are the 80s still here? Of course they are!
The crowd gathered...

.. some tried out the things on sale...
and then the auction started.
Do I see a glove raised in the back? Are you bidding or just taking a photo? To me it seems to be somewhere in between the two. An undecisive bidder perhaps.

Some random cuteness...
...my favourite drawer...

and even though everybody was having an excellent time, in the end the hammer had to fall (or we were all hammered, feel free to pick your ending)

Ma√15′ {idiosyncrasy}| sin x= ly-fx²¯

is the name of the performance, and if only I paid more attention to maths in school I might have understood the connection between the title and the events on stage. But as it is I will just have to think about it. A lot.

Riot

Atari Teenage that is. And there was so much energy at the concert (also shown by the opening duet) that a riot could have easily started and been fueled for months from the energy at the concert alone. Just what the doctor ordered for a Friday evening.

Back to reality

and what have I got to say?

Simple

and to the point. Sometimes it is not about the photo (even if it is a photo blog). It is about what is in it. And this is one of them. Saw this on the building next to the parliament. It says (for those of you who do not read Slovenian) Death to poverty, hunger, war and hypocrisy, freedom to the people. So all in favour say yay, all opposed think again.

The first time

There is always the first time for everything. Today was my first time I made a gif. So now I know how it is done, I can only learn how to fail better.
(p.s. I like the way it escapes the normal size of the blog photos and I find it funny how it starts slowly and then gains momentum)

A side order

of light with my Guinness.

Sunday ride

A short video for a change. Music by Supergrass.

The Roman Invasion

While strolling to town on a sunny Saturday morning I bumped into a Roman invasion. A bit like the Spanish inquisition, nobody expects a Roman invasion. Well, not in this day and age, anyway. So imagine my surprise and horror at the thought that I will have to learn Latin (after skilfully avoiding it for decades). (No mea latine gratias) I decided that drastic measures need to be taken. Once, a long, long time ago, I met a girl who went by the name SuperNegotiatorGirl. She gave me her mobile number and said to call her if ever I need some super negotiating powers. I grabed hold of my mobile and even though I got her number a few mobiles ago, the number seemed to have been transfered to the new one. This boy has more luck then sense methinks. So one phonecall later she suddenly appeared in front of the Legatus Legionis. She had to cancel a negotiation between some world leader and his teenage daughter, but I guess it was well worth it. After hours of negotiations, the ladies came out to gossip

the children came out to playthe peasants jumped of joy

and the local governor stripped and ran across the field shouting 'I won, I won!'