Moroccan Nikita's

Sedlákovi umře nejdřív koza, potom kráva a nakonec i manželka.  Zničený sedlák si sedne na mez a běduje: "Panebože, co jsem provedl, že mě takhle trestáš?"  Zjeví se mu pánbůh, škrábe se na bradě a povídá:  "Já ti vlastně ani nevím, ty mě prostě tak nějak sereš." (A peasant first sees his goat die, than his cow, and finally his wife passes away. Hopeless, he sits on his porch and starts crying and complaining.  "Oh God, what did I do to deserve this?" God appears in front of him, scratching his head and says:  "Well I don't really know, nothing special, you're just kinda getting on my nerves." - Czech joke - it really makes me laugh) One of those days Just one of those days when, at some point, everything starts to bug you, for no reason, just brutal mood change with no rational motive. Day was pretty good... but i nsidious , the flower of carnage first starts with feeling like bitching about any extremely positivist post you see ...

There's a cat in the courtyard, that keeps on saying "halloooooo". as if it was answering a phone call and didn't hear anything. The cat is invisible. Always hear it, never see it. I disappeared, too. Well, from my blog.  It all started with a new job I enjoy, serving beauty again, how lucky. Moved into a great new house which decoration makes me feel I am in a retro movie every time I step in. Summer comes and goes but the occasional sunny afternoons spent with friends on my roof in deck chairs seem to be endless. I fell two times of my bike, but also managed not to fall off my bike while I was outrageously drunk. (it was my birthday, is that enough of an excuse?).  That was a fun night, with an even funnier ending. Being a bit "tired" as we were riding home around 5 a.m., me (sideways) and the violinist (scared of seeing me fall and taking a nap on the side of the road anytime), I of course forgot to take the right turn to my street and got a bit lo...

Bursts of laughter. "Dupka lata", meaning restless -literally "having a flying bum". It was the witches night after all. Coincidence made we met on a Tuesday again. Me, the pianist and the composer, tacking between four languages. Them two laughing every time I answer their Polish in Czech, me, although a bit under siege, repaying their laughter with mine. Our mutual  mother tongues understanding was getting better as the bottle of Zubrowka gradually emptied, even if English and Spanish still dominated the conversation. I had met her - ethereal creature with intense sparkling eyes-, in the South, late at night, and our first Czech-Polish (almost) fluent conversation about Albrecht Dürer and Günter Grass had sealed our friendship.We did consequently share several breakfasts by the river, many beers, a few friends, a couple of all night long walks in Seville, a mattress, and even found out we shared ...but that would be too much information. I had met him ...

We had to paint the bird cage for the white room, and this is how we discovered that the purple horse had disappeared. The horse had escaped and was hiding somewhere among the stuff waiting to be ordered. Only the turquoise ribbons had stayed on top of the cage, they obviously couldn't run away (they could fly , though, stupid..).  Renewing the cage with white spray paint on the terrace was fun (I felt a bit like a street artist every time I heard the pea while shaking the can) except I underestimated the wind, and found out suddenly my hand was all white. I didn't care much though, since daydreaming  under the spring sun was a much better thing to focus on.  When the paint was dry, we looked for the horse, but that was after she came home and asked me if I had changed the tire of my bike- which I hadn't done yet - since it was not flat anymore (If I didn't, who the hell did? Devil knows..).  We found the horse eventually on the sofa mingling with little el...

I jumped off my bike in the street right by the cathedral for a more than necessary coffee and waved back at the one who had once decided his professional career would be "blowing down this tube and making noises", which made him...a musician. The coffee was good, the cigarette too, but the wedding party going on inside, together with the cold that was hitting us outside made us quickly move to another place to have another coffee and lazy Saturday morning chat. We somehow ended up talking about our fathers who seemed to have some sort of similar mania: fixing it all themselves, leaving dismembered machines and devices of all kind in the sacred place of the house called "woman-don't-dare-to-touch,-order-and-don't even-think-of-throwing-away-anything-you-find-here". Rings a bell?  My dad loved to go to flea markets on Sunday afternoon, we would call it the "bric-a-brac" and me and my sister equally hated going there. Old stuff, from electric wire...

Today I came across this article a friend posted, about a website called "Recommend an ex".  The principle is simple. You broke up with a person but you think this person is great (which is exactly why you are not together anymore) and you want to ... help? be fair?  piss off your ex? so you post his/her photo with a link to their Facebook profile with a couple of sentences describing how cool this person is and why. I just noticed the website is meant mostly for the ones who dumped their partners, for it says :  "Now you have the chance to transform the guilt or remorse of that kick in the ass into happiness." So first of all, when you break up with someone and  feel guilty there's indeed no better way to  fix things up than  charitably recommending the very person who was not good for you to another victim. Are you serious?! Right.Whatever. Let's say the person who recommends his/her ex is totally honest and broke up for other reasons than his/her...

There was this sax player who took a pair of dice out of his pocket after the concert and made us play. Without any kind of stake. Just throwing dice. I was the first to give up, and went to dance for that, at least, made some sense to me.  "Les jeux sont faits."    I remember the one and only time I somehow ended at a roulette table in a casino. I lost the twenty euros left I had in my pocket straight away and decided I was definitely not going to try playing ever again. Just made sure I'd get my money back on the free drinks and cigarettes the casino was offering to its guests and left the place.  I do like the aesthetics of the roulette wheel though.The sound of the ball spinning. Surrounded by the silence of expectation. The ball rolls and rolls and you can only wait to see where it ends. No matter if you played big or nothing at all, you just get into it. There's always this ultimate moment when you let go because you placed your bets and. ... " Ri...