fads that come and go, and the things that remain...

so we got yet another fad. and it lasted a while...
most all of belgrade got hooked within a couple of weeks and smiles went all around... "and then on facebook this and then on facebook that..." we expressed ourselves without reservation, pouring hours terabytes of personal information, childhood photos and those of the guy/girl last night...
the question is do we understand what we got ourselves involved in?
on one hand this is one of those "cheap" ways of achieving web presence, which is something that i've been trying to have for the past ten years (and yes, it's true - people started "finding" me through fb for the first time), on the other hand you're constantly entering information about your (deepest?) self into a machine, which could be linked back to your boss, local police, credit manager... luckily living at the end of the digital earth allows me a feeling of casualness - email is about as far as large organizations have gotten here. ok, perhaps a primitive version of ebanking...
so the internet is still my big playground, where i can buzz around looking for information related to my work, hobbies, interests... and that's about it. i can't order from amazon, i can't even pay for itunes, but i also have fewer worries about security. no one can take control of my bank account, or steal and abuse my social security number, yet i got a domain and hosting service
ten years ago i could only dream of anything more than email and basic surfing... now i have a broadband connection (ok, what is called broadband in serbia), i'm chatting right now with a friend in paris (only because our correspondence started 11 years ago through ytalk -we're oldshool), and i can share coffee and morning exercises with my brother in holland... it just keeps getting better...
... or at least different. evolution... so after a month of fb-ing all the time, i got up one morning and realized that i was kind of out of the loop. i had become an observer - wanting things to happen (to me), but not giving much... i'm satisfied with publishing photos every couple of days, but i could do that just about anywhere. the only real reason here is the exposure. and the fact that people do use the basic functions to communicate real things. after some playing i've found my place and i guess that is it. sorry, guys - don't expect me to answer just any invitation to this or that... i have another (several) program(s) running in the background and they demand my attention. as i wrote years ago "When I got my computer, everybody thought it was a toy... Sorry, but I can't afford a toy it took me almost a year to save the money for..."
the computer i bought then is still sitting by my desk today, although not plugged in... now it takes me only days to earn a computer, and even though i still my email and icq number from more than a decade ago are still active, the party's gone elsewhere. that's why we are here - you, me, and this blog. fb is just the new kid on the block. until the next ones along...

blankness...

this is what i "stare" at all day long. i'm so fused that i don't even need the instructions. other's words replace my own and what was supposed to be written here days ago is still wondering through the dark corners of my mind, trying to find the light.

familiar lament

'twas but a decade ago that we were six. these days we scrape together but half of that number. it isn't surprising considering that the dog passed away, and that children have mostly flown the nest... but that's why my thoughts are left unuttered, confined to a bunch of 0s and 1s somewhere on a server in a far away land.
we all imagine our lives in the future. more or less detailed but there is some image. but what happens to the details? could i imagine five years ago that in the year 2008 the family dinner would be my parents and me? perhaps this isn't that surprising and i only longed for my childhood dinners when i'd run home from school in order to sit down at a full table, every day at 7 o'clock... even with the usual quarrel that ended the evening.
as my life took me other places, the idea of that meal, that company was always present. even when i moved away my day would stop at 7 sharp, like when the siren's went of at 3.15 p.m. on may 7th when i was a kid... the day stopped and restarted at 7. and i thought of my family.
nowadays dinner is usually takeaway in front of the television, during a break from work. half the family lives abroad, and it seems that this number will increase in the next twelve months. even holidays aren't the same - it's just too unlikely that we will all manage to get home. and home is redefined. my home has been a backpack (metaphorically and occasionally literally) for months. i'm not tied down by any place, as long as i have a roof over my head at the end of the day and a place to charge my batteries. this doesn't mean that i've physically strayed far, but in my mind i can be anywhere (which i am often, perhaps too often). but in the back of my head there is that classic romanticized idea of the parental home, the fireplace that is always there in the winter, the light in the window at night...
so after the last episode a few days ago, when we managed to get together (missing only one), but didn't even share a meal, and with the vision of what should/could be but in a year, i find my self with the urge to sigh, but at the last moment i choose to hold it back. "this is the way it's supposed to be..."

barton fink and camera shopping...

the discussion boils within the cerebellum, which occasionally requires letting off steam. one way is that nice stretch of path that runs up the river from my building, another is meditating with camera in hand.
there's several things you can leave behind you when you go. i guess the most primitive one is to indulge that primitive instinct called proliferation, but we call it having children. this is that holiest of holies - the crown jewel in the existence of the family (wo)man. you leave your genes on earth, proving that you are a success - at least as far as darwin is concerned. then there's the material - leaving behind riches beyond your needs. here we can mathematically calculate and measure. did you create more in your life than you spent? that is, provided that you are not a christian believer and thus dismiss that
man is able to create, but rather process and amass. do we need to create more than we need? do we define ourselves using such measures? and thirdly there is that creativity that is truly our own - the genuine artistic effort, our thoughts embodied in various shapes and forms, which will possibly outlive our time on earth.
so the next great question is - what is the priority among these? unfortunately debating the issue only leads to new questions, that is if you ever get to the debated issue in the first place. technical existence is a bore. talking about earthly things is just a matter of finding the solution that is right for us to survive, but it cannot be all there is. it's exactly the same with question of whether there is a god or aliens - it just wouldn't make sense if this what we was was all there is. and perhaps by spending time and energy contemplating and discussing metaphysics, but as individuals, parts of the global system called humanity - don't we know too much about the models of cameras and effects of alcohol, and not enough about our true creative and contemplative potential.

bright early and eery

the sun is up, but the roosters aren't crowing. it is a gloomy monday morning, the first one since we shifted to daylight savings time and i woke exceptionally early.
the light was still on in the church clock. that pale green smudge of radiance was always something that i dreaded. it's been part of my life since elementary school, part of the morning routine of walking the dog in the cold, before breakfast and school.
now i look at the same spire out a different window as i turn on my computer this morning. there's that piece that i didn't finish last night, and they sent me another text. it will all be over by nine. not bad. i get to finish my work before most people even get to the office...
for some reason i'm thinking about a small circle of people that are presently part of my life. i've been closed up in my apartment for a better part of two-and-a-half months, and my communication has become very limited. aside from mainly communicating by computer, i don't get "out" very much. my thoughts don't get out. they don't get bounced around in space and between people, i don't here them echo, reverberate. but there is the occasional discussion.
i remember one that happened just last night. and a feeling of deja vu sets in. eery. i already have one sibling that i communicate with online - now it looks like (i hope?) i will have another...
in the silence of the monday morning in last october i contemplate my life in a year. i don't plan much. i do what i consider needs to be done and that's it. things get done but i'm often blinded when it comes to what is developing around me. i realize that my family will be a lot different in a year. who knows where the next family dinner will be.
why is it that such toughs only come in solitude and dreary mist? where is that gene and can it be eliminated from the generations to come?
i'm not going to be down. i'm enjoying work, and taking advantage of that.
for the first time (ever/in many years) the leaves are turning color on the trees. small things people don't notice, something the photographer does. now if i only had some sunshine...

someone died.

and that puts a period. it also marks a period.
he claimed that the "final curtain" was the end of a world. each of us is a world. - and it was others' worlds that suffered from one's death. i felt my world tremble. i hadn't seen him in years. i used to go to his home often as a kid. he was the man with the beard and pipe. he was a strange one (not that i didn't meet much stranger people later on).
i didn't attend his funeral - because it was borders away, not because i don't attend funerals. i'm a persons that lives in denial of mortality and death. but i go for the living. occasionally its out of respect for the deceased, to salute and get closure.
closure. i like the sound of that word. klo´zher. 'love the "zh". gives it a burst of energy and then a fade to black.
anyway, i observed the impact that the loss of this world had on people around me. one person in particular. my father lost a friend. he's at an age when you are still not used to losing people around you, not to death at least. i could see his need for reassurance. everything will be ok. it's the way things go. it's not nice, he could have lived to see his youngest son finish school, but life is a terminal disease. but life has so much more meaning than death. death is but a moment. it's how you live that counts. and with that i get on my bike and ride off into the daylight. although i notice every single roadside memorial...

a new chapter

the time had come. lupe packed her sack and lay it on her bed. the first days of autumn were nearing, and that great step in her life was about to take place - whether she was ready for it or not. the summer was long and fun, and she enjoyed it with all her friends. but now that was about to change.
last week school started and lupe was old enough to start first grade. her friends would sit indoors all day. and even when they finished their classes there was homework to be done, projects, chores...
"time to go, honey", lupe's mother shouted from downstairs. lupe took one last look at her room, her pink little room, and closed the door on the way out.
lupe didn't have to go to school. she was going elsewhere.
lupe's father was a scientist. his work was taking her family away, far away for a long time. the family was abandoning their home for three years, and they would live on a boat, in a distant country, while he researched a endangered species of fish.
lupe would no longer spend time with her friends nor would she her teacher give her homework. that would be replaced by adventures with new friends of different races and species, and home schooling by her mother.
but will she have what to talk about when she returns?

i don't write on the road

the road is not for writing. the road is for traveling - paper and blogs are for writing.
many a mile have i traveled since i wrote anything sensible. perhaps this is not as sensible as one might expect, either. but it is what i think of writing at the moment.
things will change; i'll get used to the city again; i will return to my primary addiction (workaholism) and occasionally think of the other ones. i will get my momentum up again, and i will gain stability, just like when riding a bike.
and i will be able to look back on the road and the places it took me, and i will smile and recollect the thoughts that passed through my head...
then will be the time for writing.

loneliness (never finished)

I’d spent three days in the mountains, I was going to the seaside, and I wasn’t expecting to get lonely. At least not here, on top of the last mountain, in plain view of my goal.
The whole story started three months earlier, when plans were being made for our family get-together. I decided it was high time I did that trek through Montenegro, across those famous mountains that drivers hate, and only “serious” cyclists attempt. I was supposed to go with a G, but he backed out a few weeks before the beginning.
I studied the maps, made my plan, and made sure that I was physically and mentally prepared for hours of pedaling.
I’d been to the coast already twice this year, and I would spend time laying in the water in the bay in front of my mother’s house, looking up at the rocky mountains surrounding it. You can’t spend that much time seeing the geography around you without feeling it challenging you. My last confrontation with one of the mountains is a legendary tale in itself, but that’s another story. So I spent days on end, looking at the point I knew I would come out of the wasteland and where I would see the sea. I patiently prepared everything in my power to get there: I worked out, I trained for dehydration, I made and rechecked my baggage lists, I bought the ticket to the border, made sure my gear was in order, and I meditated.
And then I started off. From my home the first stop was my favorite cocktail bar, where I met with a friend to talk about where we’d been traveling, since both of us were about to travel more. Good things start when you leave the house, not when you arrive at your destination – so might as well start the good stuff immediately. And bad things happen whenever. In this case – I couldn’t sleep in the bus. I spent the entire night trying to be comfortable and not to be annoyed, just to breath steadily and to relax my body – having completely given up the idea that I would sleep. At dawn I got off in the second-smallest bus station in world, had a quick coffee in the local bar, and set off. It was gray and drizzling, later I would learn that it was 10 degrees. The only thing I could wear was my new bike shirt which I had bough to keep me from burning in the August sun – not to keep me from freezing in the rain. And the cold crept into my bones. The fact that I had to make a 800-meter climb did not help either. Meditation stepped in. I tried to focus on the surrounding view and take pictures when I stopped to rest. Adrenaline was high – it was only the first 15 out of 100 kilometers I had to make that day. I did my first work in front of a store whose keeper I got out of bed to buy water and candy bars. The border guards were too gray to even ask any stupid or interesting questions.
By the time I reached the first town my body had had enough, even though my brain was sending adrenaline orders. The long downhill ride had cooled me too much and I needed energy and shelter – a pastry shop, of course! Two hours I shivered in the corner. The owner was very pleasant and she chatter with all the patrons. I wanted a little of that local experience, but all I could do was focus on stopping the trembling. Thirty down, seventy to go, and I couldn’t even ponder getting on my bike.
It’s this situation that is what is one of my favorite situations – I have to cross this huge obstacle, I can barely fall on it, let alone fight it, so I shift into first gear, take a deep breath and start etching at it. Patience. I’m not sure where I picked that lesson up, but I learned it well.
Writing this story is one of those situations. I’ve been running around too much, not stopping and thinking, just getting up and going, maybe thinking about the next mountain or the next milestone, but not about the Big Road. I’ve had nothing to write about. Two weeks, thousands of kilometers of travel, people, nations, friends and family, and I’m left speechless. I started out in order to get to a single moment, one that was specific, one that I’d been working towards for months, and it lasted a matter of seconds. And it was gone. And I was no better a person, no more experienced. I had done what I always hated – fulfilled expectations (mine, in this case). Planned being. Filling in (previously created) voids instead of building mountains, reaching for the sky.

The road rose steadily up the next mountain, and I was looking forward to the view from the top – it opens up on a large canyon, with an elegant bridge leading across it. And there’s a long fast descent to it. The last thing I expected to see in this desolate part of the world was two kids sharing a single bike, bursting out into the road right where I had stopped to take some pictures, and challenging me to keep up with them. They were out for a ride, and going down into this big hole, only to make their way back up. Caution (and the sheer weight of my saddlebags) kept me from accepting the dare. There was many more kilometers and mountains to cross. I wasn’t about to risk that over a fast mile.
The bridge below me was one of the points that I had known for many years. It is one of those points where busses stop for breaks, and people like to have their picture taken, with the turquoise river running far below. Kilometers of pedaling are cashed in for seconds of riding over these bridges, through villages, next to narrow-gauge railroad tracks… And there’s also the spicy lamb soup with a view the arches.
(continuing the paragraph a month later, on a rainy day, remembering the summer)
this is where i first encountered lady loneliness. her gown concealed me from the other people in the restaurant, and i sat alone sipping hot soup. i was there in disguise, a foreigner but not, looking the part but only taking advantage of it to the extent of opening new windows into the world. a family of french tourists at one table and croatian bikers at the closer one. stories and tales of the previous days, and plans for the following ones. routes crisscrossing the region, intersecting in this moment in time, in this one traditional place - the bridge across the gorge.
i was away a bit later. i wasn't as rested as i would have liked to be, but i didn't care. only one more of the three big hills remained, and i would be at my destination. one hill, but unfortunately i forgot that each of these hills were as big as a good whole-day climb.
patience had come over me. many miles were behind me and but a handful separated me from a bed (the first one in three days). the end was in sight, i felt secure.

and i score...

one day in july...

addicted to going

home sucks. or at least i suck when i'm at home.
not even the fourth day of 40 degree weather counts as an excuse. i get pleasure in getting away, i get things done when i get away. i'm addicted to not being here.

forgotten fear

anxiety overcomes me. i have doubted my skill.
for months i've been looking forward to a three-day solo bike trip, and then two sentences from my father get me thinking about the irrational. and i can't control it. the fear of crashing somewhere in the montenegrin mountains. and i know i won't back down, either.
after 15 years of biking, probably 50,000 kilometers, and not a single traffic accident - i'm afraid of three days of riding. i need to reassure myself. this is who i am, what i've become after years of biking, hiking, studying different outdoor skills and overcoming fears. i cannot be reverting to the scared little boy who thought he'd never reach his dreams involving bike, cameras and far-off landscapes. all because of what his daddy said...
the thing that actually annoys me the most is not that i'm susceptible to the words coming from certain people - that's something i consider normal (to some extent). i'm annoyed by the fact that after a long time i'm not able to control a very simple emotion, which is derailing my train of thought. and i derive my sense of security from the fact that i know i can control my emotional reactions in moments of crisis. and now someone dropped a spanner in my mechanism.
this is about growing up. this is about leaving things behind, but more importantly going places, particularly places other people don't get to. and solely because that is your dream, the one you pursue for your own sake. we never really abandon the child in us...

i think i'll go start packing my bike, two weeks in advance, just to get reacquainted with my old experience, to get back the big picture, which should dwarf my puny concerns...

beneath the starry sky…

it’s been an age-old tendency to gaze at the stars above and ponder one’s insignificance and transience. so it’s no wonder that given the opportunity to gaze at them (there’s to much light pollution at home, and in any case there’s too many other things to do) i revert back to the old way of thinking.
i’m not one of the people that fears death, subconsciously but deliberately ignoring it on a daily basis. it’s there. it happens, and it will inevitably happen to me as well as to you. the question is what do you do with this piece of information. some people don’t get pets for their children because the pet will die sooner or later, and then the child will be heartbroken. but life is not about ignoring such things. people tend to focus only on that ultimate moment, and always associate it solely with grief – but isn’t that the moment when you close your account on earth – and the balance most likely is not in the red!
i wear a dog tag around my neck. there’s only one. it’s a piece of functional jewelry – it contains my emergency information. over the years i’ve been ridiculed for it, but it’s there to remind me of the fragility of my body, the limitations that exist in this world, and of the caution that should be exercised in order not to cut short my stay in it. it’s there as a celebration of life!
too many times have i been in situations where someone has had an accident, mainly involving slightly more challenging sports. us city-folk tend to look at nature as though it’s the neighborhood park – it’s grass and trees and perhaps a hill or two. caution into the wind! and the sea is actually a pool. it takes such a small step away from the narrow path or ski slope to make us see a whole different world. the question always arises whether you can take that same step back.
so as i sit beneath the starry, starry sky, contemplating the various aspects of the big bike trip that awaits me in one month, which ends in this same place, i feel the need to address the issue of mortality, and to celebrate life for what it is – the only great adventure that truly exists. and if i should happen not to make it back from this trip or the next, let the moment be in remembrance of the things that i did do, not that one thing that i didn’t.

natural vs. not...

natural is what we are. regardless of all the technology and pollution, we are still 60% water, and the rest is proteins, fats, carbohydrates, and a crucial pinch of nucleic acids. we are biologically as much part of nature as any other being on the planet – but as a society we tend to mess things up.
so i’ve asked myself so many times – if i tend to live as a biological natural being, should i resist the urge to try and play with my photos? should i take additional advantage of the digital format (the primary advantages being the low price-per-image and small physical size)?
and then since i don’t recognize edited pictures as being part of my work, i find myself with a picture in hand (the result of overexposure) that i don’t know what to do with. so i place it here, where i can raise the question unmistakably – how far should we allow ourselves to go in distorting nature?

being there…

for some people taking pictures is about the absolute expression - this would mean controlling all aspects of what ends up being included in a visual work. i cannot subscribe to such a view. for me it’s about getting THERE, the place where IT is happening. and then the only thing you need is your eye, a camera and the right index finger. so starting the day out with the plan to enjoy my surrounding i ended up with a spectacular day, visiting several places i’d never been before, making several dozen pictures that i wouldn’t object putting my name to, and just taking it easy. that’s what its all about.
and then when i look back at how many times i yesterday praised such days, and when i think about the months to come, i cannot but grin wider than the cheshire cat, and say – i’m loving it!
and when the autumn rains come, and when people start shutting their windows and closing blinds, somewhere, somehow i’ll share the views and places i’ve visited and seen, and it will all be warm again.

wicked tech...

when i was a kid i used to dread the last week of august. that was the time when you were supposed to prepare for school, stand in line for textbooks, say goodbye to freedom and await the inevitable confinement called school. and it was also the time when boredom would lead my mind to stray into its darkest corners, where issues of death and despair lurked.
i yearn for that boredom now. workaholism has consumed my being and i cannot seem to stop for longer than it takes to catch my breath. and that darn technology is there to help me along – such as now. sitting in the yard of my friend’s ancestral home, in a village miles away from anything that might be called a town – i still have the means to put up this entry.
and in the background i hear geese and wind, someone chopping wood. flies buzz around me, oblivious to my indifference. the hum of the fan on my laptop reminds me that there is something unnatural, non-indigenous in this picture. but it is this piece of tech that provides that small outlet where i can tell the world – PLEASE STOP. to smell the roses.

summer-time...

it’s easy now too look back and say – it was nothing. it was while it lasted that it was difficult.
sitting many miles away from the finished but not presented project, i can look at it and say – it was good. the final touches have been applied, and anything else that i want to do is not necessary. the only thing remaining is to welcome friends and have a good time.
the coffee is cold and the day is sunny. my bike is at hand, as is my camera. the company is good and the hills are not too steep. opportunities and a relaxed frame of mind. i guess that summer is here, and with it the perks of shorts and sandals. and there’s months of this to come.
life IS good.

tri-

one step finished. one more remaining. at least one left for the future.
three by three by three. Even the address is 3.
it covers 3-squared months pictures, three months to decide, three weeks to select, three frames to pack it.
the opening is in three days. hopefully it will last at least three weeks.
close, closer, closure.

retaliation...

...pure and simple, against those among us that believe that there is no such thing as cyberspace, other than the impersonal source of information that is of any use to them.
... and that personal(ities) do(es) not belong here (albeit presented in the form of mockery).

the world that exists only within...

the principles that we believe govern the world. the real world. we strive to learn about existence, building our scope of understanding in time and with experience. and we deduce and comprehend, experience and test our ideas.
at the end of the day the ideas are theories, directed by philosophies, and belief of comprehensive comprehension is created.
and we probably know just a few bits more, maybe a byte. and there's something to exchange with likeminded people - a growth opportunity.

but that is still only part of the world.

an inner experince of the world

feelings that cannot be described. the perfection of balance. erotica.
the breathing rhythm 30 kilometers into the marathon, the recoil of the yo-yo, slicing dried meat with a very sharp knife, leaning into the curve on a monoski throwing spray meters into the air, holding a long note singing, that point when the photo shot achieves equilibrium, spinning in the english waltz, achieving simultaneous organisms, pulling back the bowstring, falling and being caught by bungee cord, feeling the keyboard springs when speed-typing, slow restrained breathing, speeding through a muddy puddle in the forest, thick honey dripping from the fingers, deep snow snowboarding through pines, a drop of sweat rolling down your back, turning the rudder into the waves, the resistance of the rope when ringing a heavy church bell, opening a can of tennis balls, watching the sun set beyond the horizon, the stretched step of running, rowing, blowing up a balloon, skindiving, skidding both bike wheels in the snow, hiking with a good pack on your back, focused muscle-relaxing in bed after a tough day.
slow breathing.
(this is still but a glance of the world)

how we look at things

- is never the same. it takes but a moment to change focus, look deeper or not focus at all. and then it is but another world.
you see what you choose to see. that is, if you can see at all. two sets of shutters opening a single view of – the world. there are so many steps to opening that last shutter...
probably the first step is just getting out, into the world. physically experiencing the matter that makes up our surroundings, and exciting our five senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste - and last but not least - touch.
sight goes the furthest and most often gets you to places before you have reached your destination. the good old one could get you to the next hill, but now you can gaze upon the world through the window of a passing jet. and there are those sights that can take you back into the past, or even into the fantasy world that exists only in other people's minds. and it is great to show what you see...
sound gets around corners, and reaches the ears, giving us depth of space and richness of vibration. ever try walking down your hallway in total darkness, just jiggling your keys? ever imagine the finesse of spoken language that is lost when you take out the subtle sighs, short laughs, sobs, cries, murmurs, sounds of kisses... not to mention music. i would trade sex for music.
smell is the language of chemistry. chemistry becomes personal, but this form is one of distance. you can smell someone from across the room (hopefully - not), or the person that was in the elevator before you, the neighbor's dinner, roses in the garden, the cappuccino that is about to touch your lips. the smell of the city. this is the one that covers everything. just like everything that is "good for you" is supposed to not taste attractive, the smell of bad stuff is always stronger than anything good or pleasant. or is it just how we’re wired?
but taste is what gets you intimate. to taste is to consume, to ingest, to become at one, to achieve atonement. there is no cheating - there is no keeping distance. there is no greater experience. you might get a metal plate in your head, or an artificial hip, but the only consuming experience is that which results in taste. if might be the taste of your lover's lips, or that excellent spaghetti you had in that small italian village, or the bug you swallowed while on your bike, but its there. in you. forever. yet you will never be able to recall it. remember it - yes, but never bring it back to memory on demand. strange was the idea of the Designer - give you so much, but never everything.
then there’s the touch. touching and being touched. from putting your hand in coffee grains, running fingers over your lovers exposed skin, to the rubbery traction of a racquet grip, feeling air wrap around your bare torso as you run and the kitten’s licking tongue.
and that’s how we experience our surroundings. the physical surroundings…
which has nothing to do with how we actually understand the world and what it really means to us.

the belief in things

the water is deep. it hides unknown things. there could be a simply hungry shark, or a stealthy submarine watching you as you do your thing - up on the surface. you could be swimming carefree at one moment and end up being someone's lunch or conquest. it could be a conspiracy or just natural entropy.
so - do you think about the other side of the reflective surface?
on the up-side there is definite serenity. stroke-two-three, stroke-two-three, stroke... the water is calm, the only thing making waves is probably my head breaking the surface for air. and probably my ass. i've fixated on a patch of pines on the other side of the bay. i've never been there, at least not swimming. it's the goal, for now - it's an idea. i will get there eventually. it's just one of the ideas for the future. for now i'm satisfied with my stroke. it's the breaststroke, but with a twist - a little butterfly-kick to delay my breath. and it feels good on the back. i'm looking at the pines. i passed along the other shore years ago, by bike. there is a little clearing where the locals play petanque. i've heard that the world champion plays learned to play there, and sometimes does still.
the water is cold today. no wonder - there's two more weeks to go before the tourists come, before they make into the summer soup that it sometimes is. there's no one in the water. not even boats. just seaweed blown in by the storm this morning. the bay has a very small mouth and most of what gets tossed in stays in. but there is always enough space. if you're not worried about what lies beneath the surface.
i feel as strong as a horse. i'm thinking i might even get to the other side. my majka isn't expecting me to be out long, and it would probably be a terrible fright, but who cares. i feel like conquering the world, just by getting to the other side.
it's strange to be swimming in such a big lake. i'm aware that the mountains are around me, even though the only thing i see is the reflective surface of the water before me, the mellow dents in it, and the pines at the foot of the mountain. there's no horizon for miles. i'm deep inland surrounded by 1000-meter peaks. but i am well aware that the ships that pass through this same water that i'm swimming in have sailed the seven seas, seen far-off lands, and that they carry with them secrets of the deep.
no way! i'm not going to make it. or at least i'm not going to risk it. swimming is not my sport and no matter how wise i am about pacing myself i know when i'm entering uncharted territory. and regardless of what people think - i don't take risks. educated adrenalin shots maybe - but not risks :)
i've made it maybe a third of the way. i'm sure that i can make it across but how would i get back? lesson learned. another one added to another volume of the book called life. i look behind. the houses on the shore look a lot bigger than i expected them to. but then what do i know? off to the west clouds are resting atop the first peak above the bay. i've climbed that one (the lesson learned that day was much greater than the one today - and it could have been much more costly). the evening sun managed to pierce two rays through the thick cumulonimbus, and they shine on the water. the gray mist covers the mountainsides and the image reeks of energy. the might powers silently struggling between themselves - air against sun, water against stone. millions of years at war, and me seeing but a puny strife. me sitting there in the middle of a dark bay, my white body gleaming beneath the water's surface on a calm evening in late spring. i can imagine the view from the mountain.
the sun rides parallel to the mountain above the village. it skips off the oaks and olive trees on the protruding parts, and slams into the old village half way up the mountain. there's no one living there any more, no one but an old couple with their donkey, two cows and herd of goats. the occasional tourist passes by their home on the way to the old church, to see the view. the only way up is the medieval cobblestone path winding its way steeply up the hill through groves of chestnuts and oaks, and then olives. the clock strikes seven. it's a new clock, driven by electricity. the old one is now just an exhibit for the curious.
the tranquility of the water. no waves, no sway, just water. and then i see my legs beneath the surface and remember that there is 20 stories worth of water beneath me...
the main place everyone visits in this part of the bay is right across. that's where the petanque champion grew up, but no one knows him. the town is famous for its captains who sailed around the world, brining riches to their awaiting families, and the church that they built out on a rock in front of the town. lady of the rock. she shines now in the evening sun. people travel miles to see it and i feel spoiled. its but a boat ride away, and its been like that for years. now i might even swim to it one day. the church floats in the middle of the bay as though it was built out of styrofoam. its unreal. but it's there.
i take a look around once more. the village up the mountain, the rays piercing the clouds and water, the island glistening in the sun, the old town and its church tower. this is a reality. and right now it's my reality. it's not that i belong here - i don't, at least no more than i belong anywhere else. and i definitely don't belong in the water - i don't have fins. but this is where i am and what i should take advantage of. and it is also something that will be there later. even if i'm not here. it's time to go back. i guess i'll be back here again some day. like so many places i've been over the years.
i stare at the yellow house, in the second row from the water. stroke-two-three, stroke-two-three, stroke... the journey back can never be compared to the one going out. it's the way back, home. i'm there in minutes, or at least that's how it feels. the adventure is over. i was on the water, i was in the water - i didn't get pulled under. i did what was mine and i'm going on to the next thing. the cold air greets my dripping body. the breeze makes me focus on by breathing. muscles pulsate as i walk up the street. the sea stays behind. i hose down instead of showering and wipe myself with a damp towel. it didn't have time to dry since my last adventure. it probably won't be dry in time for the early morning one tomorrow. it will be the good-bye swim. but i'll be back, sooner or later. that's the way life is i guess. you go and you come back, but you always keep fighting the monsters from the deep - in your head if nothing else.

life eras

(in math i was taught the cartesian coordinate system, and later in physics more graphs had time on the x-axis)
i spent around half of my life with one flag. then there was another and now i'm up to three.
life had many more eras than states, many more states than countries. and we keep looking forward, into the future. in the 21st century does anyone look back (with or without anger) at the 20th century? the fast pace of life takes us away from our neighborhood and childhood friends, whisking us away across oceans of water and time. and still we keep on going. yesterday lies in the dust, but tomorrow shines around the corner. and as our computers approach the speed of light and planes shrink the globe we have not the opportunity to think back about a red star or the first thirteen stars, or what used to be our own star. aren't we all stars, someone's star - sometimes buried by the sands of time, sometimes shining brightly in the darnkess of night.

some things are worth more than their weight in gold

a hot cup of chocolate a piece of mud cake with the realest whipped cream and above all a smile. few things in life top that. the smile. "my sunshine".
seeing people grow is great. you probably remember growing up, but the question is do you recognize that others do the same. we should - both grow up and take notice. the (human) world is only made up of people. and people are only human. and we are never standing still - we are always going somewhere, if nothing else - we're steadily making our way towards the end. but the journey is so great, it takes you so many places, changing all the time. "a business that is not growing is dying." (life is a kind of business, but lets not make it to commercial.)
a trip, a step out of the ordinary helped my weary eyes focus on the other things. but the other things that are actually THE things. the smell of roses and cappuccino, and the long sunsets that don't exist back home. a different land but not so much unlike my own, yet surprisingly incomparable. and in it a very familiar homy face. and in it i recognized a maturing youth, a freshness and wisedom, and the eternal Sunshine. may we all have that special sunshine in our lives, including those that shine so bright. and let them never be underrated!

on the plane

getting on a plane was always a big deal. when i was a kid that meant only one thing – we’re going half way around the world to see our grandparents. it also meant a huge adventure, one that i’d be looking forward to probably for a year. and then when it started i’d think it was a dream, and that when i woke up again in by bed at home it would be tomorrow, not a month later.
i still get the jitters when i get on a plane. i’d been lucky enough to have had the time to take trains when i travel through europe, as well as not having a job that required even occasional flying. the plane remains a synonym of far-off adventures, anxieties and tranquility.
the plane has stopped in göteborg. the north is living up to my expectations – i’ve exchanged the 30-degree scorching may days in belgrade for a cold rainy morning in southern sweden. we’ll be off to stockholm in a moment, just as soon as our third-world carrier refuels and picks up some passengers. the advantage of being from a country where there are so few passengers to this region is that you get to make additional stops, which means additional take-offs and landings – which is a close as serbia gets to a rollercoaster! it is quiet in the cabin. a group of apparently pilots on a business trip break the silence with rough jokes and boyish laughter. the flight attendants (i’ve always found stewardess to be much more romantic) are attending to their every whim, with a complementary drink and flirt. worlds apart. i try to imagine what the swedes would think if they knew what this was about. data error! the system wasn’t designed to process irrational fantasies.
i an hour and a half i will be leaving serbia behind. i enter sweden with a different passport, i assume my purely international identity. nothing ties me to the surroundings, yet my eyes connect me to everything. i truly become the man of the world that i’ve always tried to be – above borders and nations. five days of abstract existence, fueled by a new city and a new country. then on the sixth day i get on another plane that takes me back to my bed, and the question – what was it that i learned from my swedish dream?

i sleep well

very well.
sleep is one of those places in life where you are truly alone, or at least nothing is there that you don't take with you. and i apparently have mastered the great jedi power of leaving things behind. it's nice to know that there is a retreat, somewhere up there, where dreams are made and (in my case) forgotten, left behind. the new day starts as fresh as the first ray of sun on the morning dew, hours before the city erupts into action, or at least that eternal coffee break.
but regardless of how much you rest, how much i meditate and clear my thoughts, those forehead wrinkles and the odd gray hair keep catching up on me...

the image of people

its difficult to get a good one. after years of taking pictures, i still trash most of the portraits. it makes me wonder how the pros do it. you want to get involved with the subject, to understand their background and inner works in order to convey them in an image. but on the other hand those that you know (too) well never turn out the way you want. and for me posing is out of the question (a mistake?).
taking the picture means understanding the subject, grasping, comprehending... and this is what is my goal: at one point in my life i will understand people enough to put on an exhibition of pictures of people, ones that will speak what i feel and what they are.
this is a picture of my grandfather, probably making his first mobile telephone conversation ever. that day he was diagnosed with "spots" on his lungs, as he called his condition up to the end, four months later. the only axiety in his eyes is that stemming from the question why i was taking his picture. i only remember he was talking to his housekeeper, but not what it was about. and the fact that he continued the conversation with me where we had left off - something that i still haven't mastered.
this is one of the last pictures that i took of him. with his spiraling health, he had no choice but to go with the flow. pictures were last thing that were on his mind, or mine for that. but i still got this one. that was a fun day at the hospital, my father was there too. on the way back i even got my grandfather to snap a few shots.
its histories like these that make photographs. i just have to get to know people.

into the forest

into the forest we march, searching for that which is not of our own. and we walk searching for the trees and leaves but in fact fleeing our daily existence and expecting to find ourselves. the strides are light but difficult, they kick up last year's leaves and dust, but they are far from the square asphalt of the city we have come from. this is nature. tame, but still nature. and it brings joy for this is where we came from.

what i do

i've said it so many times that i love my job, the work that i do. i am a translator. i retell other people's words. i have the opportunity to get involved in what someone said, emerging myself, soaking up the smallest detail.
time stops. time stops like in no other situation in life. (workaholism helps, but i'm recovering.) words on paper are almost forever. (does blogger.com make hardcopy backups of these lines?) when you are working with something that is forever, your effort is timeless. the pulse of the world around you has no meaning. you take all day to find one word. then next one takes a fragment of a second.
as you make your way through the text you slowly start understanding the author more and more. when i read i focus more on the characters, the descriptions. translation, understanding each word to the extent that you can retell it in another language, takes you behind the scene. you imagine the writer, not only his message. i've never translated anything i've written (i try even not to read what i write). what secrets lie hidden in the choice of a single word, the rhythm, the pace. do written words carry information about my slow breathing, or the passion that leads to fervent typing and table-rocking. does the reader adjust the reading-speed to my breath. can the writer make someone just stop. breathe in. breathe out. breathe. in. breathe. out. breath. pause. breath. pause... pause... stop.
did you get the last line? how much should i care?

going the distance, growing apart

it’s not about leaving things/people in the dust – it’s about flying solo. no wingman, and you always need someone to watch your back. especially when you’re out in front, at least in this one direction. “it’s lonely on the top”, although i wouldn’t dare call this the top. it’s just a place, a rural road seldom traveled. rolling hills with the fresh spring grass and a mellow sun scorching arms that haven’t seen the sun in months. others didn’t take this turn onto the small road running through the pines.
we would met up again later down the road. at least for a while. the detour wasn’t one that cost me much. it was there and i had the time. the day was far from over, and i wanted to take advantage of it - i wanted to see the winding road and the forest and whatever lied beyond it. it was a large hilly clearing in the middle of the mountain. for some reason it was named after a spirit. no, not a ghost, but a beverage. strange people live in the next forest. and it is a beautiful forest. the sun shines though the leafless canopy. and there are few people along the way – big guys with saws and the occasional lumber truck. no one else ventures here, i’m not sure whether they have no reason or they don’t dare. but i chose to.
the forest ended abruptly at the top of a steep cliff. from it you can see a river cutting its path through the valley and making its way to the sea far beyond the last hills visible on the horizon. spring had just arrived and the trees were awaking. a dog ran ahead of me down the road and seemed to jump off to the right and down the cliff. strange. but what is strange, anyway? was it him running, seemingly for no reason, or i who had absolutely no reason for being on this road except to see what was there, and then going on. and he had a lot less reason not to be there.
i trembled the entire way down. if i had only left word that this was where i was going to pass perhaps they would know where to search for me if i didn’t surface. this wasn’t where i wanted to go. it wasn’t worth it; the ride isn’t exciting enough, and the location isn’t exotic enough. it would just be plain stupid.
the rendezvous turned out to be just downstream from the cliff. it was civilization. or at least the place mankind left a greater footprint than a 5-meter-wide artificial strip through forest and stone. i spoke of the road less traveled. they spoke of the same things as before. i realized that there was a difference. an increasing difference. i had been different in choosing the pines, now i had added the meadows and cliffs, and dogs and big men to that. and apparently i was looking at the world from an entirely different angle. but wasn’t that the point? or at least the point to hear about the world from a different angle? no. it is about talking about common things, ones that the listener can understand without hearing about them, just adding new information to the abundance of malignant information that corrupts clarity of thought. a civilization of data junkies with a touch of cerebral dystrophy. and me physically addicted, with my brain screaming for help. it just seems to revert back to the simple plug’n’play information sources saturating the world surrounding me. no backbone, on abs.
so i find myself wondering in the noon sun, among cafes under linden trees, watching the people doing their thing. and i find myself as far from them as can be, without leaving the continent. i flip through the phonebook in my head, looking for someone that might be available for a fast trip through the real reality - the one that everything else builds up to, the one we occasionally dare to dream of – but there is no one. just another reminder of solitude bordering on loneliness. well-dressed thugs discussing business, twentysomethings reading newspapers. “get your work done and just get out” i keep repeating to myself. i don’t have the willpower. i feel the city dragging me down, sucking me into the lethargy that is my hometown. at least its not the hyper-productive well-greased machine of real metropolises; those can really get you.
i slumped into bed when i got home. i tried reading the book, but it wasn’t the same. the hero was still in the forest, but i was now surrounded by concrete. just a little depression nap. how time crawls by when your having no fun. as the sun set i make my way out onto the terrace and try writing. it brings some satisfaction but far from that of the meadows and pines. this is life in the 21st century. the standard 21st century. i remember someone calling me a renaissance man. i remember a choose-your-own-adventure book when i was a kid, with the whole story taking place in medieval times. i rarely made it out alive in those books.
am i moving in a different/opposite direction of my surroundings? am i moving backwards in time? will i end up a neanderthal at some point; strong and with excellent survival skills, but ungroomed and lacking all but the most basic communication skills?
planes pass each other in the sky, as i yearn for the pines...

bikeabout

it was difficult to write on the road. i don’t understand the difference while on the road – it’s the coming home that completes the circle.
it was too cold to stay on. one spring shower and everything became too cold. the wind started chilling right to the bone, and the sun just couldn’t keep up with it. big mountains. big enough to keep the sun’s heat out of april. big enough to remind me what frost looks like in the early morning, when the sun still hasn’t reached the summit plateau. so big that the pine trees cannot break them and streams cannot wash them away. so big that even just going down them hurts your hands and abuses your breaks. so big that you come out of them lost.
the body reverts back to its prehistoric operating mode – high energy consumption, high output, movement, metabolism kicks into high gear, endorphins slowly creep up on you leading to a gradual high that lasts all night, and into the beginning of the next fix. it’s just too easy to be a junkie. everything you eat is spent, junk food ceases to exist; sweat expels toxins and t-shits become white with salt. the vision of the goal ahead is the only driving force, the only reason to be. existence becomes simple.
the spirit is elevated as hills are left behind and new peaks rise in the distance. traditional roads wind up through pastures, blossoming cherry trees, and pine forests, new roads soar up legbreaking gradients. the occasional car passes by, people nod, sheep scatter. and at the summit omnipotence mixes with vulnerability, the power vs. mortality of the human body. the realization of the accomplishment is equaled by the awareness of how many things can go catastrophically wrong; the actual drops of sweat on the climb behind vs. the possible drops of blood on the descent in front. life literally hangs by the threat of the break cable. the ultimate test of self-confidence – it was me that installed that cable.
staring down at the asphalt snake gives you new appreciation for travel in days of yore. merchant caravans making their way from valley to valley across mountain passes. you imagine horses making their way along these same paths, which have in the meantime been widened and paved, but still the same path. voyages that lasted weeks now last hours, even for a biker with twenty-five kilos of gear. and the villages in the valleys are as they were: farming communities, with minimal outside communication. only today there is more traffic passing through, straight through. but life is the same: fields, home, cattle, crops, evening drinks at the tavern. people still don’t go anywhere. perhaps to the city to see the doctor or relatives. and the big rigs kick up dust as they whiz past carrying goods far away. the lone bike rider pedals away.

the great escape!

getting things sorted, and then days of preparation and anticipation. on the road. i studied my geography (the same one that i evaded at all cost in high school), inspected by bike, tested my telecommunications - and then GO!
it's the third day now. just pedaling. just getting to the next point. learning about where my ancestors came from. learning about layers of culture from the way that roads are and were built, to architecture and contemporary views. and how to tackle mountains. (surprise answer - brandy and self-doubt!)
it's all subtle impressions, layer upon layer, kilometer after kilometer. so difficult to put into words. it includes the sound of birds singing, the cherry tree blossoms, the weight of the bike and the fatigue of my legs, the perseverance that gets you where everyone thinks it can't be done, and the exhilaration of going down the other side of the hill. i thought i could.
and that is just the abstract. some things were never meant to be put into words. some things have to be experienced. dancing about architecture...

cherry blossoms - serbian style

roof down and out of town. people checking you out as you smile by. the great escape, too bad you can't take everyone with you. but then good things happen to those that do things. it's been like that for me for years, a simple who-dares-wins program. jus' sun, sunday, dazing, N-great! and a special treat - a hillside of cherry blossoms caressed by the spring sunshine. and another photo geek to share it with. laughter. goodtime.

getting naked

a few days ago i went to hear a friend play. we used to play in a band together, when we used to have the time... now apparently we've gone different ways but both need a creative outlet. so when he invited me to hear him play i seized the opportunity.
what i always liked most to do when playing was to let a familiar melody play in the background and then to just play over it, for my own pleasure (although the fact that it was a saxophone that i was blowing into surely shared my enjoyment with the neighbors, too) anyway, this friend had apparently had similar visions of enjoyment (incidentally, enjoyment was the name of our band), and he got together with just one more person to do something like that - just to play over background music. guitar, keyboards and brasilectro. simplicity and pleasure.
the club was filled with obviously "friends&family" on that tuesday night, with free cachaca.
and there he was just playing the way we did in rehearsal. nothing special, but obviously rehearsed, but he was enjoying it. and that was it. that was all it was and that was what it was supposed to be. no greater ambitions, no waiting until you get "to that point" before exposing your "self" to the world. just doing it. getting naked.
it was inspirational!

definitely boring, maybe responsible...

well that's what i am. or at least that's what i've become in recent months. too little work, too much television. i can't stand my conversations. skipping stones on the shallowness of life, as i once described someone. it came back to haunt me.
so it's all kind of organized (i don't like using the word like), with the expected and natural gaps, but sooo dull.
and my patience i running out. i'm waiting for the next great thing, but not exactly waiting passively. always adding new bricks, trying to understand the problems arising from the height of the existing stack. hoping that my Babel will not come crashing down (although i'm seeing new aspects of misunderstanding).
panic overcomes me sometimes. panic that life is getting the best of me. but not that i'm giving it my best. i catch myself speaking nonsense because i cannot cope with chitchat. i'd rather be doing something speechless with friends. instead of this communication of convulsion, sickening. and as the panic sets in i loose control of my being. and i end up seeking balance and content in the purity of physical activity. in the end i don't have much to say - do i?
i should just get out of the house.