Moroccan Nikita's

It's the Dream Olaf Hauge - Drops in the East Wind , 1966 It's the dream we carry in secret that something miraculous will happen, that it must happen – that time will open that the heart will open that doors will open that the rockface will open that spring will gush – that the dream will open, that one morning we will glide into some little harbour we didn't know was there. Well, here in Norway something miraculous happens every time a 4D show starts. No, really!  Brilliant dancers, gifted and hard working technical crew put up a special evening for their audience, no matter what the conditions are. Show must be. Be beautiful. Precise. Moving. Magic. That's great! but that's the serious part.  Now what happens behind the scenes.. that's more interesting. It all started with a rice-cooker in a green room.  Of course, we were all terrified by the bill we received after our first dinner out. That's Norway. For the sake of your bank account...

We had read the Perseides were going to shower the skies that night and thus decided to find a place out of the city's light pollution to watch the precious St Laurent's tears. We - me, the professor from Paris and Sarajevo - met at the Opera house at midnight on the dot and were to drive some 20 minutes to Kalmthout natural park. Maybe the meteorites confused the notions of time and space, or maybe we were too busy telling funny stories and trying to name the movies matching with the famous film themes we were listening to, anyway, somehow, we got a bit lost in various diversions and entered Kalmthout only an hour later. The streets were empty as in a dead city and the tune that just came up was "Twisted nerve" whistling...spooky! We drove around  Creepytown in search for a person that could show us the way, and it seemed completely deserted, until we finally found the only opened bar with a woman and two men standing outside. We stopped and kindly asked for th...

Men grow too old for love, my love, Men grow too old for lies; But I shall not grow too old to see Enormous night arise, A cloud that is larger than the world And a monster made of eyes. * The monster  made of eyes Up there the skies were infinite and the clouds hung at our feet. The days were hot, green and translucent, the nights were cool, deep and sparkling. We were gathering on the hotel terrace after every concert, they were telling jokes and we were all laughing to tears echoing far in the surrounding stillness. We had some beers, smoked a bit, I felt like a little walk and went down the terrace and turned right toward the church. I wanted to look at the sky. Past the second house was the last lamp, a bench and the beginning of a little path bypassing the hill. Past these, a curtain of darkness. I walked a few meters  and  disappeared behind the backdrop. I was all alone, and looked up, in the uncanny silence of the witching hour. My eyes were probably mi...

Summer in Antwerp is like summer anywhere else... just perfect.  Life unfolds in soul caressing sunny mornings and late warm sunsets, peaceful evenings mirroring in the Schelde unless it's in the beer you're having on a roof while listening to strange birds making even stranger noises. (In fact I think they're flying monkeys thinking they are birds, or the other way round. don't ask me what they're doing in Antwerp, I didn't ask them. I just shouted "f*** you!" when they were too noisy --which, as I was said, is weird too..) Summer and its storms that catch you on an open air festival evening. Sarajevo laughed at me when we hit the road between the corn fields and headed to Sfinks festival because I had flip flops on, whereas she had a pair of brand new sneakers to avoid wet feet...well when we came out of Anderland (the music box) after a great set of Acid Arab and all that was around was mud, I couldn't help from having an evil smile on my fa...

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 ...