zdv's Journal

3:13pm: Dalii
Shodien redzeeju Dalii "Iguanaa" - ar iestiivinaataam uusaam, tumshaam aciim un matiem, gjeerbies bruuni sarkaniigaa uzvalkaa ar melnu lakatu ap kaklu, piipeja cigaaru, dzeera konjaku un nenogurstoshi sekoja futbolam TV ekraanaa. Kad ar v klanu devos durvju virzienaa vinsh pamaaja ar galvu manam prieciigajam skatienam.

7:23pm: Ego-centrisms . . .
Ir gruuti adekvati sevi redzeet, ja visi citi, kas Tevi miil, redz, ka kaut kas tevis uztvertajaa, teiktajaa vai izdariitajaa nav kaartiibaa, Tu pati sevi redzi tur - aizpogulijaa. Tu redzi sevi achgaani un nepareizi, nodarot saapes kaadam citam cilveekam/cilveekiem. Tev nav taadu tiesiibu! Es gribu to sev atgadinaat atkal un atkal.

1:55pm: dolce vita
There are just some people who do not get enough . . . . „I will arrive on Friday from Prague” . . . gee man you will . . . .

The twilight outside in the street and there we are sitting in the bar, reddish, boudoirish lights falling over us, Casablanca is the name, I guess in every city there is one Casablanca. 1st century Roman market place where used to trade boomed, now young people dressed up in stylish closes sit on the old stone benches and tables, swinging their legs, shouting and laughing loudly, drinking wine and eating piedina with rucolla.
My vodka martini with three olives arrives, Francesco smiling, his beautiful white teeth lining up in perfect straight line: “Your three green olives inside as always? When are you back again?” “In April. Thanks it looks perfect.” He looks at Bob, winks, taps on his shoulder and goes back to the bar where handsome dark guys are lined up looking up for Italian girls entering the place. He chats with perfect ease to whoever says a word to him. I sit and admire him, I admire the culture, I admire the ability to be happy, to party.
Cell phones are ringing around loud, cheerful voices shouting in the receivers, people hugging friends and acquaintances entering the bar, smokers lining out at the door, puffing out in the warm spring air. Its 1 am streets and bars are full and it’s ain’t tourist season yet, there’s just locals, just Italians.
My cell rings, it’s Nello, my handsome friend from Sorrento. He asks if I am in Italy, I say that I am, but in North, he says he is out with friends, I say - me too. He says as always – when are you coming? I answer as always soon. Bob is looking at me on the phone through the window smoking out his cigarette, he smiles, I smile. Another night in Italy just has started again.

7:04pm: camera on sale
Errr anybody needs new camera here? Sho te http://www.dpreview.com/news/0503/05030804sondsct7.asp viens tehnologijas friiks grib atdot par 250 EUR, jo esot jaapeerk jaunaaks modelis, taa ir melna, almost brand new. Ja kaads grib, dodiet zinju, jo riit lidoju prom un tad arii vareetu otrdien atvest uz LV kaadai/kaadam karotaajai/kaarotaajam.


Enjoy, zdv

12:39pm: Skaisti, suudabraalis joprojaam maak rakstiit ak jaa un galiigi nav mainiijies
THE SUN OF HAVANA

Ciego de Avila.

There was the usual crowd of pushy working girls already hanging just outside the cafe in the blazing afternoon sun, trying to woo the single male tourists.

I felt lucky I had not known any of them though many of them had spotted me before. I downed the rest of the mojito and the ice water in a beat and briskly walked out, turning the corner to avoid any encounters. Soon the mojito and the sun hit me and I began having random thoughts while wandering the already familiar streets and alleys of the decrepit Old Havana.

In the midst of my lightheaded rambling I caught sight of a stunningly beautiful girl. She wore a loose floral mini dress with shoulder straps and flip-flops. She had a delicate, slim figure with beautiful curves and smooth dark skin. She looked graceful, not at all like a working girl.

I had not yet seen such a beautiful girl in my whole life.

Next day I went for dinner in Casa de Margarita, the nice guesthouse in Vedado that I was staying in. I had the nicest room there with a private bath, a twin bed, ceiling fan, a small refrigerator and a little boom box.

In Restaurant I saw her again. She was wearing the same dress she wore that day. Her ample, cascading black hair flowed onto her shiny bare shoulders. She wore no makeup and her neat groomed eyebrows joined ever so slightly. Her round lips were full like a tulip bulb. Dark green eyes were joining her pure beauty.

I had to make conscious attempts to veer my eyes off her from time to time.

She was shy, pensive and reserved but she seemed to know that she was the special person for a special occasion.

So …after all… it was in my destiny to talk to her.

Her name was Azucena….

Up close she was even more radiant and captivating than when I had seen her from a distance.

I had to make conscious attempts to veer my eyes off her from time to time.

"Where are you from? Italiano?"
"No. I live in New York, and in some other places in the world"
"Nova Iorque ... el centro del mundo! ... Not your first time here?"
"No. I was here once over three years ago."
"Welcome back to communismo!"

And she smiled…

(Sun came out of the clouds in a rainy Riga day.
Worker got salary.
Customs officer made the stamp on the passport after long wait.
Plane arrived.
Mama opened the home door.
Propka ended in Moscow.
Kid got new shoes.)

That night after the restaurant was closed, we walked by the breezy and moonlit oceanfront Malecon drive and I got to have a few words with her.

"Would you like to see me tomorrow?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said shyly with her eyes downcast.
"Can I call you?"
"No."
"Why?"
"You are dangerous"
"Cmoon, I’m not. Why you think that from me"
"You are different"
"Sure I am, I am not Cuban"
"Not because of this..it is simply so"
"Thank you for all." That's all she said before heading back home

(It was again rain in Riga.
Worker was fired.
Customs officer was talking to his colleague instead of stamping the passports.
Plane was delayed.
Mama was death.
Propka took hours in Traverskaja.
Kid had no shoes.)

Next day. I anxiously stayed in until midnight and drank all the beer of Old Havana and there was no sign of her. Then I decided to visit the shabby local bar and get drunk on rum.

The day after, just before noon, a knock on my door woke me. The housemaid told me that a lady with the name Azucena wanted to come in to see me. When she arrived I was badly hangover.

She wore pink stonewashed jeans and a tight black hard rock T-shirt with a wide rip on the back and a large red kiss mark printed on the front. She also wore a hint of red lipstick.

She was a woman of many blushes and very few words. I could never guess what she was thinking but she looked somber and sad.

Suddenly she disappeared in the bathroom and took her time in the shower. When she reappeared she was naked. I looked at her silhouette.. Then silently she cuddled up next to me and rested her head on my chest for a while. I felt her warm silky touch for the first time. I held her for a bit and slowly began kissing her forehead, shoulder and lips. She had the sweet scent of my lavender soap. She was quiet and tender at first but then she became passionate.

Azucena was full of surprises

Later, she opened a can of beer from the mini refrigerator, lit one of my cigars and, as if I was not there, begun going through my things that were strewn around the room. I thought maybe she was looking for evidence of other women. She found my open backpack in the closet and carefully went through all its pockets and compartments. I did not have much to hide. As I lay in bed watching her she found my passport and stared at my picture and my name for some time. Then she found my wallet and carefully examined my bit of cash, travelers' checks and plastic cards.

"No pictures?" She asked.
"Sorry, I did not bring any."

Then she turned the light off, snuggled next to me in bed and, resting her head on my shoulder, drifted off.

When I woke up, Azucena was still asleep. Through the small window high above my bed another hot and bright day in Cuba poured in…

5:23pm: Skaista dziesma, kuru klausīties, kad mīļoto vēl pirms pāris stundām sabučoji uz atvadām lidostā. :)

1:32pm: Jāatzīst, ka PDA tomēr nav tik ideāls, kā gribētos. :( Viņam ir tendence pieslēgt SIM Manager, kurā glabājas pilnīgi nevajadzīgi telefonu numuri, par kuru eksistenci un līdz ar to īpašniekiem esmu jau sen aizmirsusi. Pateicoties šim menedžerim, kuram būtu man jāpalīdz vieglāk dzīvot, manās attiecībās ar cilvēkiem rodas neparedzēti samezglojumi, jo mani sms nenonāk pie pareizajiem adresātiem . . . vispār šodien es nemāku normāli izteikties. TAGAD GRIBU UZ GRUZIJU!

10:28pm: Audrey Hepburn
Jā, man patīk Audrey Hepburn ģērbšanās stils un man patīk vīrieši, kuri atgādina vīriešus, kuri mani reiz ir mīlējuši un reizēm mīl vēl tagad. :)

7:28pm: Traka nedēļa, nedēļas nogalē lūgšu par savu mīļo mammu un Dačuka tēvu . . . Kungs, ja garāmejot iemet acis arī manā journal, tad see - es gribu, lai tas stāv rakstīts arī te!!!!!

3:03pm: avant et après Paris
Paris et moi un
Paris et moi deux
Paris et moi trois
sans Paris

2:50pm: Tick for everything
Biļete – tick
Nauda – tick
X-mas dāvanas – tick
Karakulādas platmale Parīzei – tick
Dig_camera – tick
Tomas projekta paraksts location scouting pasākumam Itālijā – tick
Evening dress – tick

Lidinos prom uz kādu laiciņu.

Vienvārdsakot - visiem priecīgus X-mas . . . par jauno gadu kaut ko uzrakstīšu no Parīzes.

Dzeriet ar mēru!

1:27pm: be gracious . . .
A call at night, - L, he says, my angel . . . . the bla bla over my head, response from me - I hate your guts you (censored) why you just do not leave me alone, you are opening my scars and leave the old wounds bleeding again . . . L, he says, I have a cancer . . . stop a flow of my hate, spiritual muteness . . . I have nothing to say, I hate you for all the pain you caused, love you for what I learned through it. I will pray for you my two-sided feeling friend, I will pray for you, for your illness, for the fright echoing in your voice, for your spirit . . . I live with it every day, the thought, this moment can be my last one too . . . thanks God for the beautiful life you are giving to me and my family . . . I pray for my two-sided feeling friend, my ex love, my ex schizophrenic love . . . as you once told me: „You are my conscience and I am your schizophrenic love” . . . there is no schizophrenic love in me no more, but for you, I am still your conscience . . . this is a moment I pray for you . . . a moment of victory, because now you depend from me entirely, I am the only one that still lives in you . . . I pray for that too, not to misuse this power, a power to heal and a power to destroy . . . God be gracious to him, be gracious to L, so that the cancer in him falls far, far away. Be gracious - change the man!

6:22pm: Šitas ir vienkārši jāpiefiksē nākotnei . . .
v.v. sapnis pēc tam, kad viņš fragmentāri bija noskatījies viņa mīļākās scēnas filmā "Pūķis", atstāstu saviem vārdiem, bet it kā es būtu viņš (kas zināmā mērā ir taisnība):

Sapņoju par revolūciju, precīzi visu neatceros, bet tad kādā mirklī es biju tēva lauka mājās, kaut ko darīju vannas istabā, kad pēkšņi trubās atskanēja Putina balss. Viņš man saka, ka esot iesprūdis kanalizācijā kaut kur pie Ādažiem, vai nevarot šo izvilkt ārā. Es viņam atbildu, ka man baigi negribas viņu iet vilkt ārā (Ādaži tak tālu no Jelgavas), bet no otras puses žēl tā cilvēka. Aizeju pēc kartes un skatos, kur tie Ādaži, izrādās, ka tepat blakus cauri Svētes mežam tik jāiet. Putins man visu laiku kaut ko turpina teikt. Tad īsti neatceros, bet laikam jau lēnām vilkos pie tā Putina, tad tur bija kaut kādas alas, kurās bija salīdis (visticamāk) piedzēries proletariāts, kaut ko tur zviedza un visādi citādi nesmuki uzvedās. Tad es pamodos.

1:38pm: Небеса обетованные pēc Broken Flowers . . . paliek tikai Небеса обетованные

1:11pm: Current Music

6:11pm: Pēc vakardienas teologu sanākšanas nedaudz sāp galva, protams, tas nebija kā kādreizējie 70 cilvēku pasākumi, bet tomēr . . . teologu kino vakari ir jāatjauno . . . cik gadi ir pagājuši kopš visi pēdējo reizi gāzām riņķi Baronielas dzīvokli - vai ne četri? Kārtējo reizi pārliecinos, ka "Chinatown" ir damn laba filma + jaunais projektors strādā nevainojami, labi gan, ka var ignorēt sūdīgo Rīgas kinoteātru repertuāru, tikmēr, gaidot telefona zvanu, pētu Parīzes kinoteātrus, kurus būs jāapmeklē Parīzes naktīs, šķirstu jauno Vogue, vienīgo modes žurnālu, kuru spēju saprast, priecājos par burvīgajām mizanscēnām. V klana pārējie pārstāvji ir pavadīti uz Ukrainu, šonedēļ viss ir tikai manās rokās - AV sākas jauns attīstības posms. :)

Kaut ko domāju par B vakardienas teikto un "postmoderno maucību".

3:16pm: Dienas prieks!
Atradu un nopirku Orhan Pamuk "Snow" Rīgā !!!!

"The White Castle" - Stambula
"My name is Red" - NYC
"Snow" - Rīga

Ir trīs vietas un lietas, kas liecina par maniem ceļojumiem un klejojumiem:

1) DVD plaukts
2) Grāmatu plaukts
3) Drēbju skapis

7:28pm: Skumīgā ziņa . . .
Deivs man šodien raksta: "Tu saproti, ka paliec vecs, kad Tevi pirmo reizi pasūta sieviete ... Tava sieviete no Parīzes un Tev - Tev, vājprātīgajam egoistam, tas sagādā sāpes."

P.S. Kas īsti ir starp mani un Parīzi ???

2:32pm: l'Homm
Redzēju šodien patiesi skaistu vīrieti, kurus parasti redzu reti, sevišķi šajos platuma grādos. Tur viņš stāvēja, šatēniem matiem, zaļām acīm un tik ļoti, ļoti elegants. "Kā milānietis," es nodomāju un tad viņš pacēla zvanošo telefonu un ierunājās franču mēlē. "Nē, francūzis," es atkal nodomāju, pasmaidīju, jo Francija ir mana jaunā paslēpju pilsēta pa kuru staigāju katrā brīvā mirklī. Viņš pasmaidīja, es pasmaidīju, viņš turpināja sarunu un es devos tālāk savās darīšanās.
Manas acis zem tumšajām "shades" un cepures viņš noteikti neredzēja. :)

11:23am: Parīze . . . 3,5 mēneši.

12:23pm: Tava savādā atbilde uz manu tiešo jautājumu.

zdv : "Kāpēc Tev tas ir jāzina?"

viņš: "Es interesējos."

12:04am: . . . . . .
Nenāk miegs, pārāk daudz visa kā pa šīm pāris dienām, izrauta no realitātes, man patīk. Parunāju ar v.v., runāju ar Roby, tagad runāšu ar Dave, gribu runāt ar saviem vīriešiem, lai izjustu kārtējo pateicību Tam, ka tieku tik ļoti mīlēta.

9:06pm: *
Man ļoti nepatīk teātris, es uz to labprāt neeju, man tas ir kaut kas nedzīvs, kaut kas, kas asociējas ar maitu, samākslotību un rituālu, kuram dzīvajiem labāk nebūt klāt, mani biedē tās smakas, kas nāk no aizkulisēm un miroņu grimi, kurus kā maskas nēsā aktieri. Kino ir pavisam savādāks, tas, lai gan nereāls ir dzīvs un elpojošs, kā sapņi, kurus nez kāpēc mēs aizmirstam, tādējādi pazaudējot kaut ko ļoti būtisku, tomēr, ja neaizmirstam, tad slēpjam kaut kādā tajā smadzeņu daļā, kuru ikdienā nelietojam.

1:19pm: Movies . . .
Fifteen films in fifteen days . . . Long life to Baltic Pearl and Arsenals!

Off stuff: Black, in case you read this, last night’s lost doesn’t mean a THING!

7:56pm: Frère Roger
During the evening prayer on Tuesday 16 August, in the midst of the crowd surrounding the Community in the Church of Reconciliation, a woman - probably mentally disturbed - struck Brother Roger violently with knife blows. He died a few moments later.

On the morning of 17 August, after Brother Roger’s death, the following prayer was read in the church:

“Christ of compassion, you enable us to be in communion with those who have gone before us, and who can remain so close to us. We confide into your hands our Brother Roger. He already contemplates the invisible. In his footsteps, you are preparing us to welcome a radiance of your brightness.”

The funeral of Brother Roger will take place on Tuesday 23 August at 14.00.

(c) http://www.taize.fr


LUUK, CILVEEKS . . .