A good book?-A day in the life...

I need a good book!- Everybody needs a book, Kathy. Some people are more of the modest type- they just want a good life instead. So are you saying it's easier to stumble upon a happy,relatively careless existence, than to actually read a good book once in a while? - No one really has the right to be that judgemental, when it comes to things as abstract as literature.
Why do you need a good book?- I don't know any more. I need a glass of good wine. To send me with a calm mind to my fancy dreamworld.
You should have seen those fields today! You should've been there with me today. People dream of a heaven. But I saw heaven today and it was earthly, real. Those golden, yellow fields. Left alone at the mercy of the cruel sun and the sun made them complete. It brought to them those glorious brief moments of earthly perfection, just before the harvest. It was perfect how every wheat ear absorbed and reflected the light at the same time. Hundreds of them, dancing to the soft rush of the summer wind, singing their mute chants, singing to the soul.
So do you want to read a good book or write one?- I don't know if I'll ever be that demented as to write another book, again.The fear of being rejected, squared. Maybe I wanna make a good book out of my life.- So tormented, dramatic and heartbreaking? - Is that a good book to you?- I don't know how my criteria is going to change in the future.- So the one with the surprising end twist? Just don't let it be predictable. - So far, so good.You know, there are tons of good books out there, waiting to be red...
So we'll have tons of nights with good books and fine wine? - And cool night breeze, and the stars?- That sounds a bit predictable but you have the advantage of the mentally challenged young woman at your side. - I drink to that, Kathy!
-Slainte!

"If time is all I have"

Take your time. Don't hurry, don't drown yourself in impatience. Don't torture your mind with thoughts of what it could be!
I always rush towards the blank page. As if I can almost hear it's loneliness and I am once again filled with eagerness to send that old friend away. I have grown to believe the future never really existed and it never will exist. It almost feels like the great discovery of a time-traveller... And aren't we all?!
It's funny how "coincidence" follows me around. I bet it follows you around as well. Pieces of your thoughts and actual words someone else says,they fit together like a puzzle, thus making the picture clearer. Don't hurry. Things tend to happen as they should. Who are we kidding?! Things always happen as they should. And people seem to be very diligent in forgetting.
I rush towards oblivion all the time. These repulsive four walls that have the marks of my mistakes, they suffocate me. And I want to run away,and I want to forget the person who came here two years ago. But that is not how it works...
Here it is again- I feel like I should be saying these thousand words, trying to get a grasp on the complicated rules of the universe. But I won't be saying anything. I can't run or hide. All that remains is to just breath. And the hope that it'll get clear some day...and you can only get there by breathing.

Хоумтаун и ковачите

Няколко реда, драснати върху стара тетрадка. Не отдавна, но почти забравени. Къде е границата на възможностите? Къде е границата на допустимите обърквания и лъжовните емоции? А кога красотата спира да действа като хероин?...

Страховити сивеещи облаци вече се бяха скупчили, когато будилникът ми иззвъня в 6.30. Все още не бе почнало да вали, което ме наведе на мисълта, че сигурно ще почне в момента, когато затворя външната врата зад себе си. Това място, което преди отричах като затвор за всичките ми таланти, като че ли винаги е красиво. През зимата строгите планиниски хълмове се мусят недоволни от студа, притъпен от снежните юргани. Лятото и есента са ясни. Красота, зелено, после малко шарено. Но пролетта тук сега за мен е съизмерима с някое чудо, магия дори. Само преди две нощи хълмовете бяха пусти. А сега, като че, зелена река ги е заляла със спиращата дъха ти енергия. Изглеждат прелестни, недостижими, величествени като шлейфа на някоя имепратрица. И аз оставам без думи. Аз! Претендирах да боравя с думите както опитен ковач майстори с разтопения си метал. Но тези хълмове!...
Влакът тръгва в 8, но гарата тук е наблизо, както почти всичко останало. Никога няма да ми писне да пътувам с влак. Радвам се на лекото подрусване както някое ревливо бебе се кефи на павета. Зеленети поляни по целия път до Пловдив нямат край. И толкова рано сутрин аз продължавам да се изпълвам с вдъхновение и замлъкнало благоговение, които знам няма лесно да мога да превърна в думи. Защо не мога да пея? В моменти като този би било толкова по-лесно да изразя възхищението си пеейки. Уви! Остава ми само да преборя себе си и да се опитам отново да взема леярната за думи под мой контрол.