Those linden trees...

The smell of linden trees. I always forget to zip up my purse when I walk out of the house.I walk down the alley, I cross the street and never even give a though as to how bright the sun is shining...The smell of linden trees!
At times I forget to think and like a walking zombie I just rush through my days. Then there are those days when it feels like waking up. That is when I promise myself I will never fall in so deeply. The smell of linden trees! I believe, I dream, I breath and grow along, I hope, I pray, I cry and smile, I yearn...The smell of linden trees.
I lose hope, I lose my strive, I lose myself. Pain, forgiveness, regret. This is not a story for everyone to perceive. It is not even a story. It is a moulded, twisted, tangled representation of what used to be feelings. I see, I bloom, I open my eyes and look at the leaves. The smell of linden trees overwhelms me, washes over me over with the river of memories. Whose are these memories? Sticky and obscure, they are heavy like the feeling of feebleness before the very end. And what is the end anyways? Doesn't a new begging always wait around the corner? The smell of linden trees... I haven't passed a single night without dreaming for fourteen years now. If I loose my dreams it means loosing everything I own. Or do they own me?
I search, finding seems far away, I still hope, I learned to live for hope. The smell of linden trees taught me!

Luxuries and stages of profanity

The real pleasure of writing a blog is in the essence of being naive enough to think somebody actually cares for what you have to say. There are SOME profound moments in my kind-of-sombre life when I get washed away by specifically huge waves of inspiration. At first I feel like I can't breath. A few days later I experience the puzzling sensation of being a fish in a giant ocean of watermelons. Now the best days have come for me once again! ( I send my sincerest love to the insightful powers of the parallel universe my brain resides in!) Now is the sweet time for the manifestation of the inspiration's true core. Though I call it insightful inspiration, it always comes in different forms. And I get fascinated by that form every time.
My most favourite moment is when people inspire me. The brilliant understanding that another human being is a living, breathing ball of emotions creeps up your spine, my spine. And it sticks to my brains like a long-chewed bubble-gum sticks on the soils of your flip-flops. Lingering, twitching, glimmering - I walk down the streets with an inappropriately huge smile on my face.This time a friend of mine, a very special friend, is the source of my creative aspirations. She is a real hero for standing up against her biggest fears. And I take a very selfish pride in knowing her and seeing the change that takes her right to her future. So that's that.
In the beginning of this seems-to-be-pointless venture I spoke of naivete, partially because I love it. Mainly, dear friends, being naive is a luxury for what feels like a closed society of chosen ones. Keep reading, be naive about how wonderful life can be. Because believing it is half the way to getting there.

P.S. I still haven't forgiven you for saying to that guy he had pretty eyes, Woman!

Печено агне и железни топки

Здравейте! Откровено казано идея си нямам как да започна (както в повечето случаи). Но този път е различно. Май от доста време не се бях вясвала насам. И бях забравила колко притегателно може да бъде обиталището на свободното слово. Но самите ние през повечето време не сме свободни. Защо ми е само да дразня със стремежи към правда?
Е, похапнахте ли агне на шиш? Наядохте ли се като за световно? Сега сити ли сте или искате още мъртви животни и селски събори? Не, аз съвсем не съм критична. Може би за първи път от много време съм обективна. Наскоро приключи велик момент в годината на средностатистическия българин. Но спокойно, мили хора от масите! Идва лято и за всички ще има изобилие от кебапчета и бира на плажа.
Аз пък играя крикет! Мятам топките и гоня тия същите топки по целия стадион. Понякога навлизам в полето на хокеистите на трева. Ама в живота не може всичко да е идеално. Питам се, в тая културна обстановка на чалга дискотеки, чалга момичета(респективно - чалга момчета) и селски ( и нямам предвид селата) сборища по Гергьовден, докъде ще я докараме. Ще я докараме ли донякъде изобщо? А май ще продължим да затъваме в помията от посредствени очаквания за живота. Аз не съм негативна. Това е реалността. Ти готов ли си да я приемеш? После не ме питайте защо си слагам костюма на писателка и отивам да живея в Нивгаландия! - Времето там е по-хубаво!