Cirmuļa atklāsmes - 21. Novembris 2006

pēc mežonīgās dancāšanas neatkarības pasludināšanas svētkos viens no maniem kakla skriemeļiem ir nolēmis uzsākt jaunu dzīvi, vēlams bez manas klātbūtnes tajā, toties mugura ir kļuvusi tik taisna un pareiza, ka saliekt to pie datora nav iespējams un turklāt izskatos par kilogramiem 40 tievāks, un tā jau būtu nenormālība.

sazin kādā sakarā pēkšņi atcerējos mežu ziemā.

nu, zini, nu?

nu kad tu ieej tādā pamatīgi sniegainā lazdu audzē, kur visi zari apsniguši ar trīs centimetru kaudzīti un noliekušies nebeidzamās arkās, un viss ir tik kluss, ka var dzirdēt vāveres skrienam augšā lejā pa eglēm, bet tāda pusmiegaina dzeņa klaudzināšanās izklausās pēc kalašņikova kārtas.

un tu apstājies pie otrās lazdas un stāvi, un nespēj izkustēties, jo izpostīt ko tādu liekas pārāk vienkārši - sniega kompozīcija uz zemes ir ideāla, uz zariem tā ir ideāla, saules gaisma un ēnas uz kupenām ir ideālas, tikai tu vienīgais tāds ne šāds ne tāds.

kad tu stāvi mežā, un pavisam druscīt snieg, bet tikai pavisam druscīt, un nevar īsti saprast, vai snieg vai tikai vārna noelpojusi dažas sniega plēksnītes no koku galotnēm.

un sniegs krīt virpuļodams, it kā kāds būtu tieši virs tavas galvas sasitis druskās spoguli.

un saule spīd vai savelkas mākoņi, bet tu tikai stāvi un nekusties, līdz kamēr sāk salt pirksti, vispirms roku, tad kāju, tad aukstums zogas tuvāk sirdij, uzmet zosādu uz vēdera, un galva zem cepures pārstāj karst, un tu sāc domāt, kāpēc nekusties, bet nevari atrast pietiekami pamatotu iemeslu, lai ietu prom.

tādu brīžu nav daudz. nespēt aiziet tāpēc, ka ir labi.

Aizdomājos.

cik tomēr ļoti cilvēki sagaida no citiem pieklājību.

no vienas puses - esi tu pats. bet no otras puses - neizgāz uz citiem savas problēmas, pasmaidi šim svešajam onkam!

bet ja nu mans Pats šajā brīdī ir drausmīgi skumjš vai nomākts un labprātāk nolēktu no jumta nekā smaidītu?

lūk, visi šie padomi tikai atsevišķos gadījumos sakrīt ar realitātes prasībām.

bet pamēģini to visu izmainīt! pamēģini nekad nebūt tu pats! pamēģini vienmēr būt tu pats! un nekas nestrādās.



pasaules kompozīcija ir ideāla savā drausmīgumā.

es esmu drausmīga vieta.
manī būt ir drausmīgi.
tikai citi to kaut kā nekad nepamana.
un kas man pēdējā laikā vispār uznācis - esmu palicis tāc greisirdīks!
(mm, labs vārds - Greisirdīks, būs labs varonis kādai pasakai)
starp citu, angļu un spāņu valodā "greizsirdība" saucas tāpat kā "skaudība". jealousy. celo[s].
aha.
Greisirdīks ir Skaudīks, Skaudīks un Greisirdīks.

tātad, ko mums Greisirdīks šodien dara?
bumbulējas!
cenšas izanalizēt sevi - kā viemēr, ar katastrofiskām sekām!

u-ū - prātiņ, nāc mājās! pankūkas jau galdā!

Y qué me cuentas del tiempo
que pasa en tu pestañeo...


(¿¿¿kurš aizmirsa uzlādēt pleijeri???)

Mūzika: Estopa - šodien tikai manā galvā

Her face was all red, presumably because of the cold.

"I was waiting" she said and sniffled shortly and indifferently.

"Mhm" he mumbled.

"The movie has already begun" she said, "I don't think I want to go and see it now."

He shuffled his feet, and looked aside.

For a moment she stood still. It was clear he wasn't too upset about being late. She felt burning anger growing inside, somewhere between her ribs and spine, and she said: "Look, I don't need this."

Then she turned and walked away. Reservedly.

He remained standing there for a couple of minutes. The realisation that he had hurt her didn't bother him much. Although she could have been a good date. She probably was.

It started snowing. He looked up, the cold touch of the snowflakes woke him up, and he walked away. Calmly.


There was no movie on that night at the Burns cinema.

Mr.Timmy left earlier because of headache, and the boy who was supposed to run the movie fell asleep in his chair behind the projector. The three movie-goers waited in the dark room for half an hour and left.

Misha was never getting enough of sleep. He had always a lot of work to do, small tasks, small money. And the cinema was always so warm. Mr.Timmy wouldn't wake him until the end of the movie and do all the work himself; besides, there wasn't much to do. He had never had any children, and this small boy gave him strange fatherly feelings, which made him want to ease Misha's life. It was always a small thing though he did, like rewarding with a candy for some nonsense task or holding his anger sometimes when the job wasn't done properly. These small things and late-night recognitions of a wasted life and a wasted character drove him ever deeper into the bog of alcohol. Funnily enough, Mr.Timmy was quite lucky in that the cinema was still operating and even getting a little cash out of the few public that came to watch movies.

The Burns cinema had acquired its name by burning nearly to the ground at least once in a decade. It seemed to have gotten into a habit ever since it was burned down the first time by the local guerillas as an act of rebellion against the aristocracy. Of course, in those days it was a very necessary building, representing the local prison, and was burnt down on a regular basis - about a couple of months after each renovation. In fact, the only thing that was left of the original 18th century building was the stone foundation. The pieces of stone, greened by the moist air, shone majestically when one opened the basement door, revealing smooth stone-plated floor and rough walls with heavy black iron rings, which once had taken the baron's prisoners' last curses. To put it shortly, it was a great place for children to play.

Surprisingly, the building always sold quickly to the next owner, who would then again run some business there until the next fire. The place had up to now seen such enterprises as restaurants, bookstores, barber's shops and even a marriage office turn to ashes. Mr.Timmy had had a fairly neat concrete block structure built, with a handsome floor-to-ceiling glass lobby, a daring challenge to fire. The previous owner Martha Gray Willows, on the contrary, had chosen a far less expensive option - a small wooden house built more or less in the centre of the foundation. It endured seven months before giving in to tradition.

But then again, Martha didn't bat an eye when it burnt down. She was a childless widow, and the Burns was her husband's last gift - to as if secure her future. He was suffering from tuberculosis and was quite aware of the near termination of his life subscription, so he spent his savings on this rather cheap investment. After the routine fire, she settled her accounts in the town, and on the very day of selling the place, she left for Mexico to visit her nieces.