The week has turned into a weekend.
Bush held a public speech yesterday, on one of the main squares of Bratislava. Such an artificial address. "Dobrà den!", "Slovak immigrants shaped America", "Slovakia fought for its freedom, today dozens of Iraqis are fighting to vote for their freedom", "Thanks for your help in heeding the call of Freedom", "On behalf of all Americans: Dakujem and God bless you all". The President of a major world power should not sound like a car salesman. It is apalling. The whole address, and everything surrounding it was just one big show.. fake and plastic. It might as well have been Mickey Mouse on that stage, speaking about freedom and how lovely Slovaks are. Uttering Slovak phrases for "Good day" and "Thank you". For one thing, if one has nothing heartfelt and authentic to say to a mass of people.. why say anything? Why get up on that stage, and turn a perfectly beautiful square into a high security fairground? Why did Putin not address the public too? Why only Bush? And for goodness sake, why in the manner of a pop star? How is one to look at that whole fairground/showbiz spectacle, and leave feeling secure, in the knowledge that these people hold a major influence on the affairs and wellfare of the world?
In some respects, perhaps I would have felt more secure about everything had it indeed been Mickey Mouse, and not mr. Bush (and his cronies), performing this spectacle of an address..
...
On to other matters.
Art has become my mistress. In my entry on February 2, 2005, I talked a bit about love and creativity, and insinuated at how they relate - and at how these phenomena support each other. When I call art my mistress, what I mean is that now.. in these times in my life where I am spouseless and alone.. the gap is somewhat filled with creative work through art. It is not the first time, and certainly not the last... as everytime I have been single I have found some consolation, or outlet, only through art.
I have begun writing again. To a larger extent than usual I mean. I have begun serious work on my first novel. Indeed. And the power and concentration for this is found in the metaphysical search for filling this abstract gap. A gap that I fill also through love affairs.
When I am in relationships, or am engaging in a love affair, part of my concentration and patience for creative work, such as writing or theatre practice, is lost. I conduct the metaphysical search through tending to my love affair. Time for art is lost, but time for love is gained.
I am sure I will have to find a way to balance this conflict. I can not entirely accept a future either without love or without art. Why should I not be able to have both? And succeed in both?
This is a matter for further discussion.
Reflectively,
..kH
Friday, February 25, 2005
Monday, February 21, 2005
A new week. Is it my third in this country? I have lost track of time somewhat..
Apparently this week there will be a presidential summit here in Bratislava. George W. Bush (USA) and Putin (Russia) are meeting here, on Thursday I have been told. And do you know what else.. they are meeting in a palace down the street from where I live. My street, according to my landlord, is the main way down to this particular palace (Slovak Presidential Palace).. and we can expect our daily balance to be disturbed as the street might be crowded with police - and perhaps even protestants.
Wonderful! Could they not have met in the White House? And left this calm city at peace. So inconsiderate.
I hope this will not bring any real danger to innocent civilians such as myself and all my neighbours.
Another problem that we, myself and my Rosie B classmates, might have to deal with, is that if we were to be stopped for some reason by police or security, they are unlikely to speak much English. Even unlikelier to speak Icelandic. I cannot believe I will have to take my passport with me wherever I go this week. But then, I am not a particularly suspicious looking fellow..
Or am I?
This past weekend, I along with three of my classmates - after their return from Vienna - went to a popular club outside the Bratislava centrum, called Coyote Ugly. I suspect the name has something to do with the film, released some years ago.. but I never saw that film, as I found it immensely unattractive, so I can not be sure.
The waitresses wear cowboy hats, and the guests dance on the tables. There is a dj (disc jockey), and party music is played, but there is no dance floor. I suppose we are expected to dance on tables.
Anyway, we indulged in drinking, and talked and laughed .. and danced a bit, not on tables though .. and I got to a point, which sometimes happens with drinking, where my rational self left my body. It resigned. Left me there an emotional pulp, an open wound that bled over all and everything.
I loved, I hated, I laughed hysterically, I may even have cried. I kissed and hugged and smiled and frowned. Any onlooker could have seen exactly what I was feeling at any particular moment.
My senses dulled to the point that all I understood any more was body language and written language.
We returned home very late. This bleeding pulp of emotional flesh was laid to bed.. my covers stuck to me covered in blood.. the rational self watched and waited..
Sometime during the night it crept back in.. and I was whole again. My emotions still there, of course, but now covered and protected by the rational surface.
Retrospectively,
..kH
Apparently this week there will be a presidential summit here in Bratislava. George W. Bush (USA) and Putin (Russia) are meeting here, on Thursday I have been told. And do you know what else.. they are meeting in a palace down the street from where I live. My street, according to my landlord, is the main way down to this particular palace (Slovak Presidential Palace).. and we can expect our daily balance to be disturbed as the street might be crowded with police - and perhaps even protestants.
Wonderful! Could they not have met in the White House? And left this calm city at peace. So inconsiderate.
I hope this will not bring any real danger to innocent civilians such as myself and all my neighbours.
Another problem that we, myself and my Rosie B classmates, might have to deal with, is that if we were to be stopped for some reason by police or security, they are unlikely to speak much English. Even unlikelier to speak Icelandic. I cannot believe I will have to take my passport with me wherever I go this week. But then, I am not a particularly suspicious looking fellow..
Or am I?
This past weekend, I along with three of my classmates - after their return from Vienna - went to a popular club outside the Bratislava centrum, called Coyote Ugly. I suspect the name has something to do with the film, released some years ago.. but I never saw that film, as I found it immensely unattractive, so I can not be sure.
The waitresses wear cowboy hats, and the guests dance on the tables. There is a dj (disc jockey), and party music is played, but there is no dance floor. I suppose we are expected to dance on tables.
Anyway, we indulged in drinking, and talked and laughed .. and danced a bit, not on tables though .. and I got to a point, which sometimes happens with drinking, where my rational self left my body. It resigned. Left me there an emotional pulp, an open wound that bled over all and everything.
I loved, I hated, I laughed hysterically, I may even have cried. I kissed and hugged and smiled and frowned. Any onlooker could have seen exactly what I was feeling at any particular moment.
My senses dulled to the point that all I understood any more was body language and written language.
We returned home very late. This bleeding pulp of emotional flesh was laid to bed.. my covers stuck to me covered in blood.. the rational self watched and waited..
Sometime during the night it crept back in.. and I was whole again. My emotions still there, of course, but now covered and protected by the rational surface.
Retrospectively,
..kH
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