Tuesday 3 July 2012

Space riddle

A bubble that can be taken with me
It has its colours that work like wallss,
a marsmallow, and it smells with flowers,
birds singing,
alittle lamp.
And that is how we start talking.

Fighting

I have just bitten off
your ears
Now I am going to cut off
your nose.
I leave you
one eye.
The other one will be kept
in a jar to remind
me of the whore
I have to be from time to time
for you
Work

April 2010

Thursday 22 March 2012

chunky chips


Remind me again when was it that I was saying all this uplifting stuff about the control of your mind and non-identification?
Oh yes it was only yesterday. Sitting buy a bowl of chunky chips (goodness gracious they were the chunkiest chips on the planet!) and by two cans of non-alcoholic ginger beer freshly squeezed in Jamaica, my friend and I were talking about life. I was very excited I must admit, I haven`t seen her in a while so… but it kind of got in the way because she could hardly express her feelings (the ones she wanted to share) at all.
I have this ugly habit of interrupting people as if I was just about to die choked by water in my lungs (where did the water came from –don`t ask) not in my mouth or throat  because I could still talk. And it is not screaming for help kind of thing, I don`t scream at all but it`s this point at which I think I have to spell out everything at once. I mean my friend she is experienced and she can talk you through the whole first aid thing, she is patient and understanding and she knows when to move back so that the water can come out of my chest. She was revelling herself to me as well in between mouth to mouth and chunky chips. Talking to some people sometimes feels like sharing nude moments where everyone else freezes   out of uncomfortable, embarrassing feeling and so there is just the two of you enjoying the silence of conversation. But somehow you always have to rush as if this was the last conversation you were going to have before you choke with chunky chip or that water in your lungs which keeps moving upwards.
But that`s not at all what I wanted to say. What I wanted to express today is nothingness, numbness of my head and feelings which are just impossible to control and kind of get in the way this same as the chunky chips or water in your lungs. Yesterday seemed so much brighter. It`s true the weather was slightly brighter too but how can that be a problem, why is it such a problem for everyone? Why is it a problem for me? Why do I think that lack of sunlight (even though it`s always there but you cannot possibly see it because of milky mist and clouds which steal the charms of sun but never show off either) can be blamed for that part of my life which is uninteresting, dull, boring, somewhat heavy and futureless. I mean I read all this let`s call them spiritual self- help books or books written by people who`s done it all, went on a mission, became a monk, fought for Tibet, lived in places where most of us would not even dare to think of, found out all the answers to happiness and spiritual path and then of course wrote a book or two; became somehow someone- who –knows- it- all  and lived –it- all-person making people like me really jealous and even more sarcastic. But I believe them. Especially on these days when I am really emotionally vulnerable or divided I soak it all in like a sponge. Then after my lecture I do more cleaning to think it through, or change some furniture around, then run some errands like buying baby clothes for other people`s babies  or que in the post office with packages to be sent to the mothers of the babies; or I might go to the library and scan some books into my bag hoping that something will might to wrong so I get a random conversation with the defeated librarian about wind which is to be blamed for the slow computer system; or I might go to the bank and scan me some money into my account, not too much just a few quid and I pretend that I don`t know this new system and so a swollen banker from last night`s two bottles of wine drunk all by herself or maybe with her cat, will kindly explain to me all the logistics getting lost herself in the middle of the monkey business but she won`t give up and she watches my hands when I press the buttons to make sure that I am doing it at the right speed. Ufff… But there was no rush. I was one of the bravest ones who would actually voluntarily let a machine eat your money in hope that it will end up in your account. And it did with a speed of a changing weather in England or wind that blows your hats off or buries your umbrellas. Then I might go and buy some random necessities like milk or tea and have a conversation kind of about not knowing where my Co-op`s loyalty cards could be gone. Maybe it`s the rabbit. He always borrows things and never brings them back and then you have to be looking around the house for it only to realize that you last made use of it as a book marker but you can`t find the book either. But they don`t believe you and they don`t want to know it either. Just call the help line, would you? No conversation zone here please. I think they should make it a standard rather than people like me getting lost thinking that you can talk just about anything you like. That`s just wrong since the machines. No gems, no spitting, no sneezing in your face, no hand shaking, no weather talk. Efficient, and to the point please.
Somehow I think that the West has taken some of the Buddhist ideas to seriously with a western twist of course. In the West we mix and match, I mean we can never get enough. So yes, talk as little as possible, as little face to face interaction so that we can do more, we can achieve more, we can make more. Go and talk to the machine. It won`t hurt you with silly comments; it won`t flood you with every little detail of their complicated lives, it won`t give you any diseases. So maybe when I find a real person and attention , like a gold fish which went crazy doing pirouettes in her aquarium and suddenly found herself flat on the carpet gasping for air- I choke out of excitement!

Friday 1 October 2010

Bear love

Doll loves her bear
very much.
So much she didn't know
what to do
with so much love.
so..
she started stuffing
clouds with it
and they grew
big,white and
fluffy like
polar bears.
Oh my gosh,she said
all I can see
are bears!

while missing some flavours

Tak sobie siebie zanurzona w ta sofe, juz troche wyplowiala i nie znowoz taka miekka, i mysle.Mysli mi sie sacza,jedna za druga,cala ich chmara przelatuje przez niezmierzone oblicza mojej swiadomosci i nieswiadomosci ,pewnie tez, i mysle.Ale nie mysle nic konkretnego,tak tylko zasanawaim sie o co we mnie chodzi, o co chodzi w tym swiecie zewnetzrnym, o co chodzi w tym wszystkim.I oczywiscie odpowiedzi nie znalazlam,watpie zeby kiedykolwiek sie znalazla

Teorie sa mi wpychane do glowy,nie lopata ale wielkim spychem i ja juz jestem do polowy nimi przywalona.Nazw nie pamietam,imion nie sposob wymienic,oprocz tego ze sprawiaja ze sie usmiechne albo brew mi sie podniesie albo tez sapne od czasu do czasu tak..tak...,pokiwam glowa; i wtedy wydaje mi sie ze mam to zycie i ta cala wiedze na patelni,smaze ja sobie,doprawiam,dopieprzam albo tez zlizuje co sobie tam usmazylam i tylko sie oblize.A potem jest cisza.Potem z tych madrosci nic nie wyrasta,ani drzewo,ani usmiech na innej twarzy,ani ciasto.No i poco mi ona,ta wiedza?

Tak sobie mysle ze sa dwa koscioly,jeden oparty na wiedzy a drugi na modlitwie i wiarze, i teraz rodzi sie tez trzeci-new age bodajze,kiedy kazdy moze soebie wybrac co mu sie podoba,jak w sklepie na wage tyle ze kieruje sie intuicja albo swiatelkiem w tunelu  ktorego kupic nie mozna.I ktorych znich ja sluze?Bo przeciez zaliczylam wszystkie, i zadna szczescia nie dala.Pozostala jeszcze ona,natura,ale gdzie ona,jak sie w niej odnalezsc kiedy przez 27 lata zylo sie w swiecie nie podporzadkowanym prawom natury.NAtura wted wydaje sie pusta i przerazajaco samotna.

I czytam i czytam i wcale nie czuje sie lepsza czy gorsza,pelniejsza.Wiec poco to wszystko?Bo sobie w zyciu nie poradze,bo sie nigdzie niedostane,bo mnie stretuja wielkie kopyta kapitalizmu co min nad glowa wisza.Ale co,podpisalam pakt?Podpisalam.Bede jeszcze za to placic-albo tez i nie-do konca zycia,za wiedze,za meczarnie,za samotnosc w bibliotekach,piatkowe wieczory z ksiazka,nieprzespane noce-bo teorie musza sie zmiescic,wepchac.Teorie ktore moze sa nieprawdziwe,nigdy nie przetestowane,ale jakze 'przydatne' na drodze do wielkosci.Kiedys tak bardzo pragnelam takiej wiedzy a teraz chcialbym sama dla siebie wybierac,a ciagle jestem sterowana i czasu nie ma na myslenie..oprocz chwil spedzonych z Zofa.

Chlopak poszedl do kolegi(ow) na kolacje niby,wiadomo co to chlopaki maja na mysli jak mowia kolacja?Ja niby moglam tez ale sensu w tym nie widze.Sens.Przeklety sens.Mam z nim dziwny zwiazek,jak go brak to sie gubie.Chcialabym zeby mi towarzyszyl a jak juz jest to mi cala zabawe psuje.
Zabawa jej w glowie,kto kto slyszalZycie jest za powazne zeby o zabawie myslec.Rachunki,praca,rachunki,dom,starosc,dom starcow,szpital i cala reszta ktora mnie przeraza.Sni mi sie po nocach,ze umieram,ze mnie gonia,ze znikam,i ze mnie nie ma.No bo niby jestem,ale kto zdaje sobie z tego sprawe.Nikt juz nawet drugiemu czlowiekowi w oczy nie patrzy,chodzimy obok siebie jak w ciasnych tunelach rozpychajac sie o kawalek prywatnosci.A jak juz przyjdzie co do czego,ze jest sie wsrod ludzi,jak w klatce otoczonym, wyjscia nie ma,tzreba siedziec-to czlowiek sie tlamsi,zaszywa sie w siebie i gubi igle i nitke,nozyczki chowa za siebie i modli sie po cichu byleby ich nie zgubic,byleby nie wylecialy z rak trzesacych sie i sliskich od potu.Nozyczki sa niezbedne zeby sie rozpruc jak juz sie jest sam na sam.Wtedy idzie sie dziarsko i mysli sie ,marzy sie i wtedy sie czuje ze jest sie soba bo nikt mysli nie zna tych skrupulatnie zakopywanych, chowanych pod kamieniem przycisnietym teoriami ludzi wielkich i wspanialych-pijakow,narkomanow,depresowiczow,artystow,schizofrenikow,geniuszy,samotnikow.Ludzi ktorzy zakopywali sie w sofach,jesli ja mieli,albo w cuchnacych bliczem kafejkach przy taniej kawie i ciastku, albo w ciemnosciach zakurzonego pokoju, albo w ukochanym fotelu i ludzie ci przelewali na papier to co bylo dla nich wazne. Po smierci ludzie wielcy jak wampiry odradzaja sie za kazdym razem kiedy teoria, slowo,mysl jest wbijana deska do puszki mozgowej.

I tak sie mysli.Wkolko,na nowo.Mysli mieszaja sie z uczuciami,czy tez innego typu chemikaljami w mozgu-uczucie czy tez emocje brzmi lepiej i wtedy zaczyna sie tango. Najczesciej podaza sie za prowadzacym ale co zrobic kiedy braknie tchu, albo rytm sie straci? Wtedy mysli sie ze jest sie fajtlapa,odmienncem,beztalenciem. Mysli wtedy wiruja, mieszja sie kolorowe z bialymi jak w pralce zupelnie i jak sie ustanie na moment to nic tylko zlosc i niemoc i smutek ze to pranie znowu takie nieczyste.