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Harms





   Mene zanima samo besmislica, samo ono što nema nikakvog praktičnog smisla. I život me zanima samo u svojoj besmislenoj pojavi.
   Junaštvo, patos, odvažnost, pouka, higijena, moral, razneženost i rizik - to su mi omražene reči i osećanja.
   Ali zato u potpunosti shvatam i poštujem: zanos i ushićenje, nadahnutost i očajanje, strast i uzdržljivost, blud i čednost, tugu i bol, radost i smeh.

31. oktobar 1937.


   Pre nego što dodjem kod tebe, zakucaću na tvoj prozor. I ti ćeš na prozoru videti mene. Zatim ću ja ući na vrata i ti ćeš na vratima videti mene. I ja ću ući u tebe i niko osim mene tebe neće videti niti prepoznati.
   
   Ti ćeš na prozoru videti mene.
   Ti ćeš na vratima videti mene.

1931.


   Bio sam najsrećniji kad su mi oduzeli hartiju i olovku i zabranili mi da bilo šta radim. Nisam se plašio da svojom krivicom nešto ne radim, savest mi je bila mirna i bio sam srećan. To je bilo kad sam ležao u zatvoru. Ali ako bi me pitali da li bih opet išao tamo ili u nešto slično zatvoru, odgovorio bih: neka hvala.
   čovek u svome radu vidi spas i zato mora stalno da radi da bi bio srećan. Samo vera u uspeh svoga rada donosi sreću. Sada Zabolocki treba da bude srećan.
   Veliki mudrac - u lošoj kući. Takva situacija je moguća. Veliki duh - u lošem čoveku. I takva situacija treba da bude moguća. 

kraj 1936.

 
   Sitnice

   Mrzim ljude koji su u stanju da govore duže od 7 minuta bez prekida. 
   Na svetu nema ničeg dosadnijeg nego kad neko priča svoj san ili o tome, kako je bio u ratu ili, pak, o tome, kako je putovao na more. 
   Opširnost je majka netalentovanosti!

-----

   Ne volim decu, starce, starice i razborite ljude.
   Trovati decu je surovo. Ali nešto se s njima mora raditi!
   Poštujem samo mlade, zdrave i raskošne žene. Prema ostalim predstavnicima čovečanstva se odnosim skeptično.
   Starice sa trezvenim idejama ne bi bilo loše hvatati lasom. 
   Svaka njuška razboritog tipa izaziva u meni neprijatan ose
ćaj.

the man who died of hunger wrote...







           Neki inženjer stavio je sebi za cilj da podigne oko Peterburga ogroman zid od cigle. Razmišlja kako da to izvede, ne spava noćima i proračunava. Vremenom se obrazuje kružok mislilaca-inženjera i stvara se nacrt podizanja zida. Odlučeno je da se zid iz gradi noću, i to ceo zid za jednu noć kako bi se sutradan svi iznenadili. Pozivaju se radnici. Daje im se raspored rada. Gradski oci drže se po strani i, najzad, nastupa noć kada treba pristupiti gradnji. O gradnji zida znaju svega četiri čoveka. Radnici i inženjeri do bi jaju tačan raspored gde ko treba da bude i šta treba da radi. Zahvaljujući tačnom proračunu, uspevaju da podignu zid za jednu noć. Sledećeg dana u Peterburgu uzbuna. I sam autor zida je snužden. Ni on sam ne zna čemu bi taj zid mogao da posluži! 



          Jedan Francuz dobio na poklon kanabe, četiri stolice i fotelju. Seo Francuz na stolicu kraj prozora, ali mu se lično više leži na kanabetu. Legao Francuz na kanabe, ali mu se već više sedi na fotelji. Ustao Francuz sa kanabeta i seo u fotelju kao kralj, ali mu se već po glavi vrzmaju misli da je na ovoj fotelji odviše mekano. Bolje, brate, jednostavno, na stolici. Prešao Francuz na stolicu kraj prozora, samo što se Francuzu baš ne sedi na ovoj stolici jer kod prozora baš duva. Francuz prešao u stolicu kraj peći i osetio umor. Onda Francuz rešio da legne na kanabe da se odmori ali je, i ne došavši do kanabeta, skrenuo u stranu i seo u fotelju. - E, ovde je odlično! - reče Francuz, i odmah dodade: - Ali je na kanabetu, s oproštenjem, bolje.  

Theme for a Story

A certain engineer has made up his mind to build a huge brick wall across Petersburg. He considers how to accomplish this, doesn't sleep for nights cogitating it. Gradually a group of engineering planners is formed and a plan for the construction of the wall is elaborated. It was decided to build the wall at night, indeed, to build the whole thing in one night, so that it would appear as a surprise to everyone. Workers are summoned. The organisation is under way. The city authorities are sidelined and finally the night arrives when this wall is to be built. The building of the wall is known only to four men. The workers and engineers receive exact instructions as to whom to place where and what to do. Thanks to exact calculation, they succeed in putting up the wall in a single night. On the following day there is consternation in Petersburg. And the inventor of the wall is himself dejected. To what use this wall was to be put, he himself did not know. 


From 'A Tract More or Less According to a Synopsis of Emerson'
On an Approach to Immortality

It is peculiar to each person to strive for enjoyment, which is always either sexual satisfaction, or satiation, or acquisition.
But only that which lies not on the path to enjoyment leads towards immortality. All systems leading to immortality in the end come down to a single rule: continually do that which you don't feel like doing, because every person feels like either eating, or satisfying their sexual feelings, or acquiring something, or all of these more or less at a stroke. It is interesting that immortality is always connected with death and is treated by various religious systems as eternal enjoyment, or as eternal torment, or as an eternal absence of enjoyment and torment. 


This is how hunger begins:
The morning you wake, feeling lively,
Then begins the weakness,
Then begins the boredom;
Then comes the loss
Of the power of quick reason,
Then comes the calmness
And then begins the horror. 


"On falling into filth, there is only one thing for a man to do: just fall, without looking round. The important thing is just to do this with style and energy."
 

Velika Igra: čežnja




"Skupo nas košta to što nismo gluvi ni nemi." 

Igram moju veliku Igru - da li će je njegova tama upiti?






 

MMMmmm...








   " Zar ne mogu voleti bez uništavanja sebe? Zašto u mojoj ljubavi ima toliko nespokojstva, straha i nesigurnosti? Zašto moja ljubav izliva toliko otrova? ... Zašto toliko strahujem kada se u meni ponovo radja ljubav, zašto mi dodje da progutam ceo svet; da bih zaustavio rast svoje ljubavi? Bedno je što želim da budem prevaren u ljubavi da bih imao više motiva da patim. Samo u ljubavi se može videti koliko si propao. Može li onaj koji je gledao smrti u lice još uvek voleti? Može li da umre zbog ljubavi?"

Emil Sioran, "Na vrhuncu beznadja"

Mar. 16th, 2008

 



   
   "Neposredna ili prikrivena, ispovest kroz reč, zvuk ili boju prekida gomilanje unutrašnjih sila i slabi ih bacajući ih prema spoljašnjem svetu. To je spasonosno umanjivanje kojim se svaki stvaralački čin pretvara u vid bežanja... oni koji su kroz stvaralaštvo umanjili zalihe neizrazivog, potisnuti su, kao egzistencije, u drugi plan, premda je njihov duh u stanju da se vine iznad svih drugih duša.
...dezerter nije onaj ko izvlači poslednje zaključke već onaj ko se razbacuje i razglašava, iz straha da se , prepušten samom sebi, ne ukine i ne sruši."

 - Emil Sioran, Kratak pregled raspadanja

Feb. 6th, 2008




    One thing I must accomplish this lifetime - while I am allowed to fail at everything else - is not to become like my mother. Really - anything but... 

Hommage to M. T.

   

   or influence belatedly discovered

   it all begun few days ago, I've dug up some calligraphy stuff done as assignments from circa 2001 - young and dreaming of letters being read

   
   then reading Art History of the XX century we are all so proud of, bumped into a new area of possibilities. With only one slight issue pissing me off. Putting Pollock before Mark Tobey appears ridiculous when it is known Pollock admitted strong Tobey's 'white writings' influence. He simply accepted this manner and stretched it onto his meter long canvases, meanwhile losing(neglecting?) precision and concentration that remain the key of Tobey's work. Meditative, and while it may appear chaotic to some, those are so far from chaos, I'd call them an incarnated focus. Never random, always very thought-thru. Also, to call him an American painter simply by his land of origin... ridicule. He is so much more eastern even form his French comrades of the same period. Closest to Soulages, Hartung, Schneider, de Stael.. but even further you'd expect. 
   Ink that turns to line that turns to calligraphy of extreme articulation, undoubtedly make you contemplate, whether you like it or not... 

   Am coming to realize one does not need anything more than a mere line to express/disclose all there is. Finest minimalism, maximum focus, plus letting the flow from the heart freely into the hand, takes much time and practice, but gives the most powerful results.



   Abandoning all respect for color at this point, working on line only, hoping to be able to write in some new language, drawing visual sayings. I was capable year ago(see above), got to a certain point, then allowed it all to drown; must continue now cause the time is good as any time that is to come, and I need to do this, to create the infinite net of salvation, landscape of a soul. Nerves, vibrations, all that governs my existence, shall be put on display, in that minuscule matter that are traces of indian ink, hoping, unlike Tobey, one does not need to move east to be able to breathe.
 

awake




   after spending three days either in hospital, or crawled in my bed with a bottle of vodka(those should be sold as six pack, or something ) this amoeba decided it is time to finally get up -

gallerist-lady, who is actually rather nice[late explanation acquired - she's a painter herself], woke me up yesterday morning, or was it, asking for some info about works, etc; said I should get some more pieces finished, asked do I have a bf. eeek. to my negative response she was quite thrilled "great, then you won't be busy to get the work done"  just brilliant, what else can I say?! that's the one way too look at it, I suppose. 
no, I am not un-content about the way things are now. no matter how hard I work at avoiding the world and it's happenings, stuff keeps falling on my head, good and bad. and no matter how dependent I get at times, deep in the heart I am a loner, and really could not function 'juntos' with anyone for a longer time period. my family was one experience completely sufficient for this lifetime.

while eating broccoli soup, succesfully avoiding the noodle bitches, I am discovering various meaningful information

"Kiš was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature and was due to win it, were it not for his untimely death in 1989." 1 
   if someone were to ask me, although I was only 7 at that time, I'd say they should have given it to him anyway  'posthumno'. and this honestly has nothing to do with the fact that my one and forever only love is Kiš's 50 year younger twin, by all given accounts. 

missing M very much. walking the city endlessly in hopes of meeting him accidentally. sure, such a big chance for that to happen

off for another bowl of this green liquid belly filler


1 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danilo_Kis
 

Read this!

 

or don't
apparently this state of desperation so huge you can't fall asleep for days, and can't tell days one from another has it's good sides. Drawing maniacally when I should be sleeping. Again - lots of blacks, that somehow turns beautiful in all it's blackness. Unfortunately, beauty is worth nothing, but a mere tiny occasional wholeness feeling in my gut. And even that may be fake, how could you tell?  
whichever came first - desperation or insomnia - please go away!
 










 

wish I had a voice like this


  Alcohol seems like the least of drugs right now. No one can be trusted. When I get hurt my voice changes to unrecognizable. Cannot bear death. And that is about all for time being.