петък, 3 август 2018 г.

"Before you slip into unconsciousness
I'd like to have another kiss
Another flashing chance at bliss"

Woke up with this going on around my head (doesn't happen that often to wake up with a song, but it is a wonderful thing nevertheless). 

"The Crystal Ship" starts with one of the most beautiful opening phrases ever. Not even sure why I love it so much; it's probably the simplicity, the way it draws a complete picture of a feeling with only two strokes. That's how I wish to be able to write.  

Sitting on the floor at my parents' living room right now. It will rain soon, they left the city for the weekend, I have work to do. My high school books are just nearby and I can imagining bringing back to Belgium Morrison's biography. It was the thing that got me into the Doors all those years ago; and I remember sitting in this very apartment, on this very floor, having to study for a test on Ancient Greece's culture, reading about Jim's own curiosity about Greek mythology.

Whenever I've been back home, I always bring something very random to Belgium anyway. In February it was a favourite pillowcase - a blue one, with the sea and a ship. Stole a book with Joseph Brodsky's essays from a friend as well; not sure when I will return it to him, actually. I remember my flight to Brussels that day was a very early one; I remember the moment we landed at Charleroi I received a text from my flatmate (his nephew has just been born - and because the parents didn't want to know the sex of the baby beforehand, it was only upon birth that it was revealed it's a boy; so I had an ecstatic "we got a penis!" message to great me back on Belgian soil, kind of loved the hilariousness of it all, and the fact I was to know about a new life being born). I remember later in the afternoon going for a walk before a meeting with a friend, and sitting with Brodsky's book at the Metafoor, and Doors and the War on the Drugs were again on the speakers there, and it was very cold on the streets, and the coffee was okay, and the new semester was just around the corner. 









“Ultimately, one desires a site as one does a person. Bodies and cities involve the same seduction, give rise to the same tales of love. We absorb them with the same passion: one can literally fall in love with a place.
As “Hiroshima mon amour” shows, crossing the borders of a foreign body - the body of another touched for the first time - can compare to the cluster of emotions involved in approaching an unknown landscape. A libidinal drive moves us to a place and lets us absorb it. One may get lost in the new geography.”


Giuliana Bruno, “An Atlas of Emotions. Journeys in Art, Architecture, and Film”

четвъртък, 2 август 2018 г.

First thing I noticed about the night in Sofia the moment I stepped out of the car: there is the melody of the crickets all around, even in my typical "big-city" neighborhood. Whereas in Leuven, for all its secret gardens, and parks, and whatnot, I don't think I've ever heard it. And I guess it's one of the reasons (a weird, infinitesimally small reason, but still a reason) contributing to never actually feeling completely inspired by the city -- the type of all-encompassing inspiration one feels sometimes. I'd go to sleep and wake up to the constant song of crazy birds in the Begijnhof, of course; and I'd love the tiny murmuring of the river near my window; there are also the horrible frogs in the park with the blue bridge. All those sounds around, and I love taking notice of them; mapping my way through a place by a geography of melodies. But crickets? Not even once. 

Probably I'm wrong, and now I can actually see myself going on a full-blown investigation mission once I'm back. The Abbey? Or Arenberg? Or near Adrian's house? Walking around town and paying attention in order to spot a cricket, that sounds too much like me. 


Discovered only recently that every year since my grandfather passed away, my grandmother has been buying a book for his birthday. She writes a simple Happy birthday on the first page, signs it with the first letter of her name, and writes down the date. They are newly published books he would've been interested in: about history and politics, etc. It's a bit of a heartbreaking sight; five books sitting on one side of the  bookshelf, a sixth one is going to be added this September. A mark of time passing, but also a very simple, elegant form of communication and remembrance. 








сряда, 1 август 2018 г.

A fast little note I've taken at 7:38 pm, 29th July.

"I am sitting on a bench, which is positioned in front of a small piece of brick wall, randomly standing in the middle of a garden. Next to that wall there is a dry tree that has spread its only two branches in a way that evokes to mind deserts and Texas, and 90's action movies. I am reading Zizek's "Event", and I'm waiting for my laundry to be done. What will follow afterwards is preparing my luggage and seeing my mother and brother for dinner, and going for a drink with a friend. Then it will be tomorrow, and Brussels, and the flight to Sofia."


This year I've enjoyed keeping a track of the way nights before a flight home and mornings before a flight back to Belgium look like. The sheer randomness of events, the sudden realization how odd the details of everyday routine could seem if they are to be dissolved in observation; the fullness of time condensed, the always present feeling that everything is slightly off and surreal because I will be crossing borders and because I have slowly started to belong to two worlds that rarely converge, but also -- and this is more important -- I don't think I will ever be able again to fully, absolutely belong (to a place). 






понеделник, 23 юли 2018 г.

Льовен: лято

To the three persons with whom I've spent a tad too many hours philosophizing about life this summer. Life will be alright, however ending up in four different countries come September is not very cool. 

То е да надничаме из чуждите прозорци - онези по високите етажи,
отворени към стаи, от които виждаме
само цвета на библиотеките. То е да си представяме какво е
градът да диша тежко някъде далече под нозете ни,
смълчан в присъствието на юли; докато ние се унасяме във сънища,
отвити, голи, защитени от тъгите
на улиците долу. Онези подлички тъги

на ежедневието, преоблечени като големите въпроси,
които така се наслаждаваме да стискаме във шепи.

Ние сме останалите тук през времето, когато
всеки заминава, през времето, когато
слънцето почти ни се присмива, a оси разместват крачките ни
с нагъл полет.

Лятото на нашето отлагане, последен опит
да вземем властта над часовниците. Внезапна
близост, родена с обещание:

някой ден,
облечени красиво, спокойни
в своите кожи на малко уморени
мъже и жени, ще се срещнем отново. Разбира се, най-сетне
безстрашни господари на самите себе си. Нали?


петък, 1 юни 2018 г.

С дни беше лепкава жега тук; влагата е почти сякаш си край морето (и морето действително е на час и нещо с влак, все забравям - и все още не съм ходила до там, а трябва). Днес вали, само за четене е; и колкото и да се дразнех на тия вечни белгийски дъждове през зимата, сега ми олеква. Адриан мина за цигара, пихме чай в кухнята, намерихме диска с Жак Брел на Надя и го пуснахме на стария касетофон. Останалата част от къщата - притихнала, съквартирантите се готвят за сесията. Този тип половинчасови моменти ще ми липсват най-много.