I am currently preparing, mentally and physically, for a great and strenuous challenge. I am expecting a visitor, a tough woman to please, who will keep me on my toes, and egg me on into debauchery and bacchanalia; namely, my mother.

Our drunken spree begins no later than tomorrow evening, and by then I will have to have gathered all the strength I have left, harnessed my balls (of courage), and fully prepared to take on the challenge, which may prove life-threatening.

I ask my readers to send me their best wishes, and I need for them to believe that I will survive and emerge from the ashes of the next five days´ madness a better man, a stronger man. I need positive energies, so please, respected readers, collect them and send them over with haste.

I am counting on you.
I will survive,
..kH

I was sitting in my favorite Bratislava cafe, being irritated by the overflow of tourists that have started making the city theirs and disrupting the tranquil atmosphere I have gotten used to, when I caught myself engrossed in pessimism. My thoughts trailed onto a path, not entirely unfamiliar to me, but a path of which I try to stay clear as much as I can. It is the path that leads to the dead-ends, to the place in myself, and everyone else human (I assume here that all human beings have similar tendencies) where high hopes and aspirations are destroyed, and labelled impossible. I took this path into the inner darkness, and I reside there still.

It seems to me that whatever dreams I have, of whichever nature, will never come true. The dreams, aspirations, and high hopes - regarding the future in every way, the career, the artistic endeavours, the stability, the security, the study, the love-life, the everything, - can not possibly turn out in the manner that I wish. That they never could. It seems perfectly clear to me that the pictures I paint of my future can never be realized in the minutest details I apply to them. Reality will always enforce its ruthless variations, however much I exert myself in the shaping of the ideal.

It is not to say that I will ever give up, I never would, my eyes will continue to be set on the ideal, and it is in that direction that I will ever push forward. But I fear, very much, here in the darkness where I shivering and alone bury my head between my knees, that the ideal will again and again be shattered into sharp pieces of illusion.

Surprisingly pessimistic,
..kH

Spunky meets Pétya.

After a long day of hyperactivity Spunky returned home, his body having grown quite tired during the day his mind had finally acquired some room to think, and now he was plagued with gloomy thought. As he sat there, his mind racing through the unploughed fields of remembrance and questions unanswered, the shadow of his frown seemed to grow ever larger, eventually swallowing half his face before leaking onto the floor and crawling up the wall in front of him.
The unintelligible echoes in his head, "What is it? Which part? If not this then that, vice versa, back to front.. neither here nor there, yet both..", seemed to weigh on him so that he sank lower and lower into his seat, never reaching a conclusion, one thought disappearing only to be reinstated again from behind another, and together all of them would circle round the scope of his mindscape until he felt madness would begin to seep in.

Perhaps my readers are wondering what it was that had set this merry-go-round in motion in poor little Spunky's head, and before I continue and go into the story of his meeting with Pétya, I am obliged to give a slight explanation for the current state of Spunky's affairs.
My readers must understand that Spunky was not the sort of fellow who painted the black-and-grey of his personal gloom onto the surface of his appearance. He veiled himself in mystery, moulded for himself an appearance that suggested many things, to his friends and acquaintances he always seemed a jovial and cheery sort of fellow, but his truest, and most contemplative self, only emerged to its fullest grandeur in his more personal and private moments. And this was one of those moments. A moment all to himself, accompanied only by the shadows hand-in-hand with the light, and the memory of his recent breakup.
The moment stimulated contemplation on the nature of love, a phenomenon that Spunky, like so many others, thought he knew and comprehended in his own way, but nonetheless continued to appear unfathomable when penetrated to any extent.
"My body, mind and heart seem to decide things for themselves. What am I if not my mind, heart and body, did I choose these men or did sperate parts of me decide this? I dont know, I am pretty lost here. What is love? Which part of you contains it? Does it reside in your body? Your mind? Your heart? Is it the voice? The chains? The curiosity and needs? What is it?" (Author´s note: The inspiration for this account is taken from Spunky´s personal logs, from which this is quoted)

As he had begun to swallow up his whole being by these considerations, he was snatched out of his contemplation by a sudden thud! on the window to his left. He impulsively turned his head to see what had made the noise, and his eyes met the gaze of what seemed to be a stout bat, fluttering to keep itself afloat in the air in front of a greasy mark on the window, most likely from the bat´s collision with the window pane. Having hesitated only for a breath, Spunky jumped up and opened the window to let the strange creature in, and it gratefully fluttered into the warmth of the room, aimlessly at first, but then sat itself on a shelf, catching its breath before it was able to pose courtly and give Spunky miniature suggestions of a smile on its leathery face.
"Thank you, ever so kind of you. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Pyotr Pétrovich, bodhisattva of caves and treetops, however you can call me Pétya. Please, sit down, I am here only to assist you in your troubles, please, by all means, make yourself quite comfortable." Spunky regarded the strange creature inquiringly, but as its offer seemed genuine he slowly made his way back to his seat after closing the window, and sat.
"Where do you come from?" he asked. "From the skies covering earth patches such as Romania and Russia, Eastern-Europe basically." "And are you, well, what I mean to ask is, are you for real? Well obviously, but, I mean.. Okay, so you are a bat?" "Indeed, further questions?" "Vampire bat?" "Well, I used to be, but I became a vegan. So, fruit bat." "Because of your figure?" "Pardon me, I did not quite catch that?" "I mean to ask, well, did you switch from blood, high in cholesterol, to fruit, because of your figure?" "To be perfectly honest with you I used to be quite slender before I switched to fruit, now, as you see, I am plump as a plum, but that quite compliments my character I feel." And thus, connection was struck between them. Spunky could not help but feel that this strange little creature, this Pétya, was pure of heart and had come to meet him with good intentions. He relaxed, and became receptive to whatever it was Pétya had come to tell him.

"Let me begin by explaining to you what brought me here. I am a bodhisattva, I flutter above the suffering and seek understanding of their troubles, and of what causes suffering. My intention is to seize every opportunity to relieve suffering, if my understanding of it allows me the appurtenance, and in your case I believe I may have a thing or two to add, which you then freely can draw into your considerations, or discard, at your own convenience." Spunky´s eyes enlarged, his mouth slightly opened, and Pétya´s harmonious little voice managed to appease his troubled mind. "The vibes of your chords of thought reached my protruding ears as you strummed them, and I know full well your considerations, and how they trouble you. Let me attempt to add the following minor chord to the muddled composition. . ." And thus Pétya began a monologue which touched on all of Spunky´s considerations, and then strayed beyond the notion of love to the notion of humanity and the universal wholeness of one and all. I will spare my readers the monstrosity of Pétya´s discourse, and include here only the conclusion of his speech.

"It is therefore the separation, in your case the separation of your being into parts, as it is individuals´ separation from each other, and humanity´s separation from the larger universe, that is the source of great unnecessary suffering.
"Now that you have activated different parts of your being in your affectionate endeavours, in your quest for the fulfillment of love, you will need to combine their energies, and find a way to love as a whole. With every bit of you, every precious little bit, for how can you offer merely isolated passions to your lovers, and then expect to meet their needs as entities, as complete beings, as well as your own? Link your head to your heart and screw yourself together, be all that you are, and experience the power of such completion in its entirety, - with your entirety." Spunky was speechless for a minute, but then he howled, "This as absurd! I am sitting here, seemingly, for how can I be sure?, being lectured to by a bat about how to conduct my personal affairs. This is ridiculous, who put me in this position?" Pétya grinned in amusement. "The author of this account, to be sure, he has put us both in this absurd position for his own pleasure, he´s a queer fellow," ("aren´t we all," thought Spunky) "but he means well, he always does." "Well, I am not sitting here like this, I want out.. let me out!" (Author´s note: I most certainly will not. You are the stimulator for this account, and so you are trapped in it)
"Don´t get upset," said Pétya reassuringly, "I have finished what I came here for, and I shall go. But remember, separation can be a great evil.. and a sneaky devil. Too many of us engage in it in so many ways. The author of this account, for example, by writing the account he separates himself from it, and the ideas presented in it. He writes it and leaves it, denounces responsibility for it, believing people should only approach it individually and make what they will of it. The readers of this account, in turn, will only read it and then amusingly separate themselves from its content, declaring it to be a mere work of fiction for the reader´s and the author´s pleasure. If the content has any relation to their lives they will only secretly harbor its influence on them.
"And so, will we be able to abandon this destructive tendency? Let us begin somewhere, you can try it out in your personal affairs, accomplish loving as a whole and encouraging your lover to do the same, merge together as two entireties and form a larger entity through the combination of your affectionate powers for the sake of a greater good, a larger entirety. I leave you now, be happy for your sake and everyone´s." And Pétya took off. Fluttering heavily, as before, aimlessly at first, but suddenly stopped mid-air, landed on a table and turned to Spunky again.
"Kindly open the window, please?" And Spunky did.
(Author´s note: It seems to me that either Pyotr Pétrovich took inspiration from my entry on February 2, 2005, where I addressed the notion of the perfect couple , for the delivery of his message, or that I must share some of his philosophy with him without having ever met him myself)

Conceived by,
..kH

A sigh..

Weekend is upon me, a long one.. no school today, and naturally no school tomorrow or the day after. What is one to do with the time?

Shall I go out .. to a club. Shall I.. do some private work. Shall I jump on a plane, or a train, and travel somewhere. Where? A worthy question.. Krakow, might be expensive though. Austria.. nah, better save that for my mum´s visit at the end of the month. Prague as well. But then, perhaps it is not wise at all to travel anywhere.. I did spend some of this month´s money on my flight back to London, and my flight to home. And considering that I will travel at the end of the month, losing more money might be an ill-conceived action.

Go out then. Drink. Perhaps flirt.
What good would it do me.
Where would it lead.

Stay at home. Read and write. I shall go deranged should I spend the whole weekend doing that. But it might prove fruitful. Deranged minds can create unorthodox impressions.
How about I go out there, somewhere in the world, and change it.. for the better. Eh? Do you have faith in my doing so satisfactorily, dear readers, or do you consider me too loose of a cannon? A loose cannon.. weird expression. I think I like the Icelandic concept of loose screws better.

Aye! .. could do with some loved ones this long weekend.

Tightening my screws,
..kH

Saturday night was great fun. I went with one classmate, Lubos (who I have mentioned in an earlier entry), and a Slovak girl, a friend of Lubos, to a relatively new gay club outside the city centre of Bratislava. None of us had ever been there before, and we decided to make a night of it.

The club was of medium size, and, as seems to be very common, situated underground. That is, the main area was on a basement level. An open area, a sort of dance floor/mingling area all in one. Drinks were expensive.. on a Slovak standard, which is cheap on a London standard, and ridiculously low priced on an Icelandic standard. The music they played was a very typical club-scene mixture of cheesy dance and dance.
As usual my eyes surveyed the scene, looking for anything to catch their fancy - it is just a habit, for if my eyes meet attractive eyes that survey me back, it creates a fun tension which adds spice to the regular fun; dancing, chatting, drinking.. It does not mean I seduce the eyes to come to me, or that I would even want to.. Suspense of the kind, the sexual tension between strangers, can often serve as a prelude to extensive physical entertainment, as we all know, for me, however, the prelude is often enough.
There were not many pair of eyes which I took notice of. There was one pair, a pair that returned my glance, but we left it at that.. for the most part.
At the end of the night I had become quite self-assured in my drunken state, I had had my fill of the night´s fun and wanted out. My group was set on staying, seemingly for the mere sake of staying, as everyone´s energy had nearly gone down to zero and the club was gradually becoming empty. I announced my departure and took leave of the lot. On my way out I tried calling a taxi, but, as I might have expected, could not make myself understandable to the lady on the line. I said the name of the club, and recited the word taxi over and over again, I did manage to make out that she wanted the street name.. but then I noticed the owner of the nice looking pair of eyes walking toward where I stood along with a friend of his. "Perfect," I thought and galloped toward them.
"Do you guys speak English by any freak chance?" I asked, so sure of the magnanimity of my presence that I had foreseen the eye-beholder´s reaction before he had given it. He was, to my drunken eyes, quite obviously glad to have me addressing him, and let go of his friend as he answered gaily: "Yes."
"Please tell her where I am," I said and handed my mobile phone over to him. "Taxi."
He spoke to the lady on the line for a few seconds, then asked me my name and pronounced it into the phone in that typical Slovak fashion, "Kristían", after I had given it. After his conversation with the taxi company I, in my magnanimous air, touched him sweetly on the forearm and thanked him heartily for the help. As I prophesied his eyes lit up and he started to keep me chatty, by asking me things like why I was leaving and where I was from. I participated fully, we had a little chat that indicated mutual interest in each other´s.. well, persons, I would like to say, but bodies may have been our main impetus.
The taxi arrived five minutes later, I was given Róbert´s (that was his name) number, and then we said "Áhoj" as I boarded the taxi and drove off.

Let me elaborate on my inner situation that night, while I emphasize that even if I got a hot guy´s number it may not have to necessarily mean that I will ever use it.. it was a sort of personal triumph, a very human game to play, the search for a weird acceptance of strangers that mean nothing to you. We all start out as strangers to each other, surely, but it is not until we strike a connection that we start meaning that whole lot to each other that humans tend to do, and thus I did not mean to have it sound demeaning toward Róbert that he is, as yet, a stranger to me of the meaningless sort. We may well get to know each other, and I may well learn to like him. Perhaps he is even a fantastic big-hearted and loving person, who means the world to anyone whose life he touches. That night, however, that was not the point. The point of my sharing his glances and approaching him, was the egotistic need to prove to oneself that something more would be a possibility. The glances suggested it, the approach proved it. The number.. well, the number is the porthole that might aid in anything more happening should I choose to use it.

I conclude by sharing it with my readers that I may not use it all, simply because there are people that already mean a whole lot to me in that human way, and make my sober self less wanting to complicate my life with an added knot of intimacy.

The story of my life continues,
..kH

We started new lessons this week. Practical ones, yay! .. makes all the difference in the world. We are not used to such extensive theoretical lessons as we have been put through here, and it is therefore a matter for rejoicing that we are now moving on to the more practical phase of our studies. At the beginning of this week we finished the final lesson on written adaptations and analyses of the work of Anton Chekhov, and begun working practically as directors and actors. Next week puppetry will be added to the curriculum as well. Exciting times of change these are.

However, I need to discuss here a darker matter.. the matter of my own annoyance over other people´s blunders. I do not ask my readers to decide whether my annoyance is justified or not, I only mean to share it with you.. and where better to let it out than here?
I have touched this issue before, it is currently bugging me because it has risen to a greater expanse.. it has gotten worse. A couple of my classmates from London, who are here, like me, to study, have been losing sight of what I feel is the proper prioritization of things.. I have mentioned how their incessant partying on the town has affected their attendance in class for example; they have now blown off a whole week of school for drink and smoke.
After we had all come back from Hungary these particular classmates immediately planned a trip to Wien in Austria, where they were going to spend Monday night. At that point in time we were unclear as to how our schedule was going to change, but on Monday that was clarified to us, we knew that we had classes every morning for four hours during the week.
These individuals decided not to care and head off to Wien, disregarding that in our practical work we tend to work as a group and not individually, and not admitting that perhaps school ought to come first before fun times that could be postponed until the weekend.
Off they went.. and they stayed the night, and they stayed the next night; they did come back on the Wednesday, but they did not attend the initial puppetry meeting, and later went out that night and did not show up to class the next morning.
Does this sound healthy to you, respected reader?

Well, whether it does or it doesn´t, I see it is as a blunder.. I see it as an unnecessary lack of control, and an irritating carelessness that has ended up affecting the rest of us, in more ways than one. I have not even begun to talk about the annoyance that follows, for the rest of us, when they suddenly barge into our flats very late at night, or ridiculously early in the morning, after a night out. Laughing, squeaking, making a mess, turning on the lights.. and then they sleep in, naturally, lying around like filthy laundry.. making us feel obliged to keep quiet in the middle of the day and climb over them or tip-toe around them.

Does anyone recognise having an elephant in the living room? That may not be the accurate description of our situation here.. but they certainly sometimes remind me of something akin to small sleeping hippopotamuses in the living room or bedroom.
Snap out of it ladies! Get back with it and stop this inappropriate lifestyle! How can you ever expect to succeed in the way you dream of, if you can´t even keep a decent self-discipline while you are still in school?

Irritated to an extent,
..kH

I didn't sleep for 48 hours, I think.. but as so often happens when one's regular pattern of sleep VS wake is disrupted to a serious degree I can not be entirely sure how long I went without sleeping. Lack of sleep is not my favorite cup of tea, if I allow me to express myself in a rather British manner, and thus I usually get enough sleep. At least 6 hours out of 24, usually much more.

The story of my unusually long day, gentle readers, goes a little something like this:
During the night preceding Friday morning I did not sleep well. I went to bed quite late, had a problem entering dreamland as my head kept filling up to its brink with thoughts, thoughts that ended up running out of my ears onto my pillow. Thinking thinking.. and if I am unable to sort of freeze the images in my thinking head they keep me awake. Then I heard from my platonic lover, that naturally excited me.. and my blood that had gotten to a point of a calm, almost still, flow, started flowing with more rapidity and got hotter. We finished our correspondence and I was left alone late in the dark night, which had begun getting lighter. I lay as still as I could, my blood calmed down, my thoughts exhausted themselves.. I fell asleep. Only to be woken up again within 4 hours. I had a rehearsal.. which then got cancelled on account of an ill-planned hair dresser's appointment which prevented two of the group members from attending, but I was up and decided to stay up.

The day passed by.. I wandered, worked, went to class, bathed. Later in the evening I went to a pub where I met with the group members with the freshly done hair and a couple of other acquaintances (who I will return to later), this group along with two others, another group member and her friend from Japan, was planning to go to Hungary the next morning and spend the day in Budapest.
We were to take a train at 5:20am the next morning, which meant getting up no later than 4am. The whole group, apart from myself, was going to spend the night together in a small flat, I preferred staying the night alone in mine. We dispersed, and I went to a netcafe. On the web I again met with my incredible platonic lover, and we got into a rather serious communication. It left me, by the late end of it, on edge.. and in this state I waded through the night toward my empty flat.

In the flat I hurriedly finished everything off that needed finishing, feeling a bit nervous at how late it had gotten in the knowledge of how little sleep I was going to be able to get before the long journey. Having set the alarm to 3:50am I curled myself up in bed, shut my eyes and hoped it wouldn't be long until I lost consciousness. Thoughts kept me up.. I rolled and rolled, changing my position about a million times before I felt I might finally pass out; feeling how my body got number, waiting in anticipation for my dreams to win me over, I let myself succumb to sleep. . . and I did sleep, for maybe 5 to 10 minutes, before I was suddenly snatched out of my short unconscious state by the ringing of a phone. My phone. My mobile phone. I thought it was time to rise and I jumped up in a rush of adrenalin.. as my mobile phone serves as my alarm too, it was not an unjustified assumption, but I soon realized it was not 3:50am yet, and that it had to have been my mobile phone ringing. At that instant I also realized I had turned and stopped the call, thinking I was stopping my alarm ringing. But then it rang again..
I answered, and what awaited me on the other line I had not expected. It was a call that touched me deeply, but distressed me at the same time. I am very glad for it, but after it it was impossible to expect to get any sleep.

I got ready. Left the house early. Wandered zombie-like to the bus stop. At the stop I walked up and down, up and down.. confused, numb, unclear in the head. Bus came, went, another bus came, went, another bus came I entered and went, train station.. at train station walked up and down up and down, group arrived, words exchanged, unclear, walked, train open carriage sitting down.. happy everyone, glad for it, the train, the journey, confused, but jolly, .. train gone, long ride, writing reading talking, everyone sleeping except me.. riding, train choo-choo.. no, no choo-choo, not a steam train.. new millenium you idiot, chucka-chucka more like it, train chucka-chucka for many hours.. no sleep.. amazing view, beautiful country Hungary, .. deer, no sleep, flat country, no sleep, smiling for no reason, can't think, sun, beautiful little houses and towns, hours passed.. Budapest.

The day in Budapest was great. Very sunny and bright. I only took out about 5000 Hungarian currency items.. I never learned what they were called, but apparently 15 pounds is the equivalent of what I took out. It lasted the whole day.
It is a beautiful city, and seemingly more Hungarians speak good English than I am used to of the Slovaks. The group that was travelling together was a good group to travel with. Everyone very nice, of course out of the 6 that travelled with me 3 I already knew very well, I spend most of my days with them, the remaining 3 were the Japanese friend whose name I am ashamed to say I cannot recall, and two gay guys, Lubos and Filip.
Lubos made our acquaintance at a night out in February, an extremely friendly fellow with a very pleasant character, one of my classmates decided he would become her best Slovak friend, and he has been around us since. Filip came into the picture later, through Lubos, and Filip's acquaintance I had only really made from the girls speaking about him. As I have mentioned in earlier entries, I had distanced myself from the nightlife, feeling it was a pointless endeavour toward self-destruction, and thus the nights out that my classmates had I mostly experienced through their talking about them. And the stars of this oral coverage were usually Lubos and Filip.
What made my journey to Budapest quite enjoyable was not only the prettiness of the city, and the good humour of the group, but also the fact that Filip is quite attractive. It always heightens experiences that among the people that share them with you are attractive individuals. Filip is not tall, he has a small and rather fine featured figure, an unusually pleasant temperament, and two, striking, brown and almond-shaped puppy eyes. I had met him before, but not noticed these complimentary characteristics, the eyes I could recall having noticed before, but it was not really until that day in Budapest that they proved to be the crown jewels of a highly attractive whole.

Conclusively, I enjoyed the journey, we all did. Myself, one classmate and her Japanese friend took a 7:50pm train back to Bratislava from Budapest. The hours on the train passed quickly as I was by that point almost totally out of any contact with the outside world. Exhausted of soul and body. I might not even have felt it had I been beaten by my companions in the train cabinet, I was too tired, too numb, too worn out. We were in Bratislava before midnight, I drifted home, finished whatever needed to be finished.. curled up, probably in bed, shut my eyes. . . . ... .

Awake again,
..kH

I am sitting in front of this public computer with a blank mind. No idea what to write, and yet my weblog lures me to it.. beckons me to express myself about something, anything, nothing. It has put a spell on me.. like a siren it sings to me in the night, makes me dream about it, never to forget about it ever.. it desires me, it needs me - makes sense, it is only for my words that it actually has an existence at all. Weblogs, our digital children, need nurturing.. they need our attention and care, they need us to feed them with our mundane words.. feed them until they are full, full of words.. words.. words..

It is midnight.. ah yes, the infamous time of the night that hardly seems to be the middle of it at all, even if the name suggests it .. To me, the middle of the night is at around 3:30 in the morning. But that is me.. eccentric as me may be it is me.. and I suspect there would be a few others out there that agree with me, on that whole night thing. But I love the night.. it is beautiful.. still, and not cold here anymore .. only still, dry, quiet.. calming. Not to forget: mysterious! For some reason the night always has a sense of mystery.. and romance, to me at least.

This short blog, I am not ashamed to tell you, has taken me a long time to write.. reason being I did it as a sidejob to my chatting through MSN messenger.. also wrote and sent a couple of emails I believe. And they say only women can do more than two things at once.. I challenge any woman to a multitask project, even if I probably would lose that challenge to be totally honest with my respected readers. Even if it looks as if I completed a multitask, blogging while chatting and writing, the truth of the matter is that while I blogged for a few seconds I stopped writing and chatting, while I chatted for a couple of minutes I stopped blogging and writing, while I wrote -.. well you get the picture.

At 30 minutes past midnight,
..kH

Today is my daughter´s Nameday. Today, according to the Hungarian calendar, is the day of Johanna, or the saint-day of Johanna. I have recently discovered that there are different calendars for Namedays and saint´s days in the different countries of Eastern Europe. The Slovak calendar has a different name for the day, the Czech Republic another, and then Hungary the third. Russia then has an even more different arrangement of days.. apparently they are two weeks behind us according to their own religious calendar, and naturally their saints fall onto their own arrangement of days devoted to them.

I am ill.. sick as a dog.. wanna know why? I was attacked.. attacked by the arašídy last night, and have yet to fully recover. It was horrible. I broke into sweats during the night, got red swollen dots all over me, and could not lie still.. I felt I needed to hurl constantly, but was unable to. Then, on top of it all, I was struck by an indescribable ache of the head.. my head was literally going to explode. This whole experience was quite different from what I am used to when this happens.. I usually keep my guard well, and thus this has not happened very often.. but the whole sickness was a new kettle of fish from what I am used to after these attacks. I theorize it must have been because I was unable to rid my system of the poison, unable to hurl it out when I needed to.. and therefore it had the opportunity of torturing me for a longer period and more severely.
I am okay today, not quite well.. but okay. Weaker than I ought to be, but I am sure this will pass before long.

Easter has bored me. It usually does. This year has been no different.

Weakly,
..kH

Bjartur's confrontation.

Bjartur Felinae Krisztiánich, a gallant feline youth, had only lived for about 3 months with his new mistress, when the confrontation of his young life befell him.
It was at the beginning of spring, the frozen veil over Iceland's surface had just begun to evaporate, making way for clear rays of sunlight that licked the icy ground. The flat, the home of frau Eva Krisztiánova, was beautifully lit by the virgin sunrays that danced across its open structure. The members of the household; consisting of the frau herself, her son - Markus Chaika Oskarovich - a tall young man of twenty, with strong features that nevertheless suggested a softness of character, and the two household cats, Bjartur and Blida, had all just risen to meet this wonderful spring day, when the peaceful tranquility was disturbed by an intruder of the most abominable kind. . .

Perhaps, before I describe the unfortunate situation, I ought to introduce the protagonist of the story to my readers. Bjartur Krisztiánich had been born into this world that winter. He had been born into a family of six; his single mother gave birth to four kittens, and at the birthplace resided an older sister to the kittens. One by one, during the following two months, the kittens all left their birthplace, and the embrace of their loving mother, for a new life at future homes. All were adopted, except the elder sister, and Bjartur was the last to leave. In the end Bjartur was taken in by his new mistress, Eva Krisztiánova, and given a place in the household, which already prided of a very hairy feline elitist, named Blida "the persian" Evanova.
Blida did not take easily to the new flatmate, and for the first weeks Bjartur made good friends with the lady of the house, and her young son, but Blida's affections were not granted him easily. In time Blida did take to the reddish ball of energy, as his presence amused her and intrigued her. She took him under her wing, but ensured her authority as the household's elder and wiser cat. Bjartur consented to her terms, and between them they forged inseparable bonds of feline friendship and understanding.

Blida understood where her position in the household lay, and that Bjartur's significance was undeniable. At one point, during their bonding sessions, she remarked to him: "Bjartur Krisztiánich, I realize that you have a role, a mission, that I am unable to fulfill. You, you have come here, among us, I believe, as a protector. Bjartur, I believe, I believe that you are the one." Blida's announcement rattled Bjartur's young brains, he could hardly comprehend that she, his dominating domestic partner, would say that. To him, a rackless youth to which the whole world seemed an endless heap of adventure. But Blida's words remained with him. And on the day of the confrontation, they took on the full desired effect.

So what was it, then, that happened, on that tranquil spring morning, you ask? Who, or what infiltrated the apartment, and flung Bjartur Felinae Krisztiánich into full force, and had him lashing out to the protection of his new but dearly beloved family..
A queen bee. A poor abominable creature in search of location for nesting. As the creature lurked into the home of Eva Krisztiánova, from behind the bright rays of sunlight that decorated the place in streaks, the household was set in a state of utter panic. As soon as the shrieks of the frau and the son, reached Bjartur's ever-waking ears in the frau's bedroom, he knew. He knew the time had come. This day, Blida's prophecy would come true.
As he ran into the living room, where the infiltrator was harassing the petrified family, Blida's exclamation: "You are the one," was ringing in his head. He located the monster, lashed out at it, battled it to death, and ate its corpse ritualistically.
It all happened so fast. In an instant the prophecy had come true, instantaneously with Bjartur's impulse from hearing the awful sounds, it seemed.

In a letter to me, regarding the incident, Bjartur said: I had always expected to find my mission in life, then gather the courage before I could fulfill it. However, what I discovered through this trial, is that our mission in life seems to seek us out. When it arrives, one has simply to be and follow one's impulses. In an instant I have become a household hero. Even your brother, whom, after his shrieks that fateful day, I can not refrain from calling your sister from now on, has not been abashed at expressing his admiration for me, - a mere kitten. I send you my love, and wish you the best in your own trials.
With my respect, Bjartur Felinae Krisztiánich

Recorded by,
..kH

Circumstances have turned me into a total sloth. I aimlessly wonder about, no projects to finish or turn in, no class to attend.. I can live in whichever manner I decide suits me best today.
Our teacher cancelled our class with him today, apparently he has so much work to do that he can not fit us in to his schedule. So, you see what sort of treatment we get here.. we are not respected as proper students, we are foreign beasts.

Well, to elaborate, of course things are not quite as I have just made them sound to be, the school does treat us the best it can.. however, the problem is that there are too few teachers around that can actually speak English. And, to our shame, but a fact nonetheless, we do not speak Slovak. When you spend such a limited time in a new country, and spend most your time with English speakers, your adapting to the new language takes much longer, and, needless to say, we are nowhere near having adapted the Slovak skills required if we were to have our lessons in the local language.

We are taught by PhD graduates, and PhD students of the establishment in question. Their English skills are above the average learned Slovak´s, and they are of the younger generation. On average, the Slovak local above the age of 30 is not used to speaking much English, they speak their local tongue and sometimes even German. The younger people are less afraid of putting to use their acquired English skills, which often are at a rather elementary level though, as I doubt they have much chance to practice, and English media usually is turned Slovak or Czech, but we certainly do heartily appreciate their efforts at communicating to us.

Yes, I am a sloth. I will spend the day reading what I want to read, hanging about the Worldweb, drinking second class coffee, and dreaming about days ahead. Will tomorrow bring a ray of seriousness into this Bohemian´s life? We shall see, we shall see. . .

Lazily,
..kH

Little to be said.. yet I say.

Yay! New weekend.. not that it matters much.. every day is like a holiday here. Time enough off to be relaxed at all times.. all I can stress about is a more distant future. Where will I live next academic year? Will I be able to arrange for that before I go back to Iceland in June?

There are no two ways about it, when college finishes in June I will return immediately to my homeland.. not staying a moment longer than I need in England. This exile for the sake of education is driving me mad.. but I have touched on that before, and faithful readers will know that my insight penetrates deeper.. despite my wailing, I know better.

I have made two new friends.. locals. One of which applied for my friendship on account of my being Icelandic. A regular Islandophile. The other, a friend of an acquaintance here, who shares certain inclinations with me.. He likes me too, finds pleasure in my company, but is unable to understand my lack of subjection to my mobile phone. That is, why I do not just pick up the phone if it rings. And it is true, I sometimes do not.. sometimes I heed not the demanding calls of my mobile. I am not a slave to my phone.. my phone, or any phone, is there for my comfort and ease. If I choose to ignore its, at times incessant, ringing, that should not be a personal insult to anyone. I am celebrating my freedom as an individual.. I am a free individual, not a subject to a kingdom of digital technology.

I have grown ever lazier to spend my evenings out. I am apalled sometimes at the constant drinking and "partying" of my mates. It almost seems as if going out, and drinking oneself drunk, is a ritual to some of them. It HAS to be done.. at every opportunity, every weekend and most nights.. utterly addiction-like, and pointless, from where I am standing. I wonder if the real drive behind this is not as much the conquest for fun, as it is boredom. Bored out of their wits they seek oblivion in drink.. surface pleasures to overshade boredom. And then, some of them start to allow it to affect their studies.. that is, prioritisation turned topsy-turvy to what it should be. I say this because we are here, really, to study.. and it is not as if the demands of study here are all that great.. and yet some of them have started missing classes, and not doing their work properly. Gets in the way of "fun", indeed! It is not as if we have not already lots of time, outside the schedule of work, to spend mindlessly drinking and giggling over all and none.

The flat has been a mess. Horrid mess! I contribute to the cleanliness by NOT leaving my stuff unwashed after use. I can thus not be held responsible for any of the unwashed dishes, or the sink being overflown with the mess of OtHeRs! However, the warding off of dust is not my speciality.. the dusty corners and the cobwebs are thus as much my responsibility as anyone else´s. Spring cleaning is due..

Domestically,
..kH

I daresay.. summer has arrived in Bratislava.

Every day is sunny, and each day warmer than the preceding one.. I have also noticed that the city is getting more crowded, very gradually.. but with each day I feel there is less free space. This applies to the street, Netcafes, restaurants.. I see an increased variety of beggartypes in the sub-pathways, on the street.. my friends the Hare Krishnas have started walking around the old city giving out (for small donations) delicious homemade not-too-unhealthy sweets.

Yes, everything implies summer... all that is left, for spring to officially turn to summer, is for the latent leaves to manifest themselves on the treebranches.

How lovely,
..kH

Today is a glorious day.
The weather is beautiful, sunny and optimistic..
Today is also.. my Nameday.

Yes, it is an Eastern European tradition, every single day of the year is the day of one or more names of people.. today, March 13, is the day of Vlastimil/Ružena/Krisztián, Ajtony. Out of all the different ways of spelling a name similar to mine in Eastern Europe, I feel Krisztián is closest to home. At least I accept that spelling, and would not really mind it much if my name were actually spelled like that. It looks beautiful.

So, today is my Nameday. I share it with all the Krisztiáns of the world, and together or apart we will celebrate our name. It is really a second birthday.. we are celebrating ourselves, our being alive, and the name we were given for this life.

Happy happy joy joy,
..kH

Yesterday I helped execute a lovely surprise for a friend of mine.
One of my classmates here, the only male schoolmate of mine from London who is in Bratislava with me, has a girlfriend who also is a classmate of ours from Rosie B. About three weeks ago she contacted me, and kindly asked me to help her organise a surprise visit to her boyfriend, who shares the Bratislavan flat with me. I found the idea extremely exciting, and together we deviously plotted this grand surprise; she booked her flights (and took care not to fly in straight from her local airport), and I concocted a masterful lie that would help get my friend up to the Bratislava airport on the evening of his girlfriend´s arrival.

Early this week I finally told this white lie to my friend: A disabled friend of mine from Denmark was coming to visit me, as something awful had come up in his personal affairs, and he had asked to stay the weekend with me in Bratislava, while he got his head around this awful thing. I needed my classmate´s help to pick this friend of mine up at the airport, for getting him through public transport back to our flat might prove a difficult task for one, on account of his weelchair.

The story, of course, had some psychological depth to it, which I will not cover in detail - what matters is that my classmate, the sweetheart, said that of course he would help me, no question about it. The trap, thus, had been set.

We got through the week without him starting to suspect a thing, and last night the magical moment arrived. We got to the airport on time. On the way he had asked me some questions about my arriving friend, questions which I answered without hesitation, but the thickness of the plot proved worth every uttered lie.. his reaction, as he turned his head, expecting to see my poor friend roll out of the terminal, but seeing instead the smiling face of his beloved, was heart-stirringly beautiful. The pure, naíve and uncontained joy, in his shocked face and breaking voice, was indescribable.

Minutes before the actual moment, I found myself shivering with anticipation.. it had to work, it had to be successful, I simply had to see the love that indeniably would burst forth in their special moment.. and I did see it. It was beautiful. A blind man would have been able to smell it in the air, in that single moment where their eyes met, before my shocked friend managed to form his first word in his delirium d´amour. Truly touching. I am glad, and very proud, to have been a part of this.

My joy from this was twofold, however; firstly, just to be there and witness the reaction and the initial embrace of two lovers being reunited, and secondly, as causality might have it, perhaps one day I will be given a wonderful surprise of the sort that I have now helped to make possible. Perhaps I have by this made a cause, the effect of which will manifest itself identically, but to my pleasant surprise.
It is certainly an unforgettable experience for anyone, to have been successfully led astray by his friends, for the sake of such a moment. And selfish as it may sound for me to admit, that one of my incentives for helping out to the extent that I did, was my own desire for one day being the guy who turns his head to unexpectedly see his beloved, - it does not take away from the magnificence of my friend´s benefit from the results of my contribution to the cause.

In a nutshell; yesterday I enjoyed the beauty of my having harnessed my own selfish desire to someone else´s great benefit.

With pride,
..kH

A love affair on top of the Opera House.

This night passed, I surprisingly found myself in the middle of another make-belief love affair. My platonic lover and I shared a memorable date, not unlike our prior affair on Valentine´s Day, in the silk embraces of the night.

I awoke in the middle of the night, seized by an urge to see him. I quickly climbed out of bed, got dressed, and ran out into the darkness. When I arrived at his house, conveniently placed in my neighbourhood in Bratislava (for ease-of-make-belief purposes), I woke him up by gently throwing small rocks, that I picked off the gound, to the pane of his bedroom window. He immediately realized what was going on, and with cat-like sleekness he climbed out of his window and joined me in the street.

We then took a long stroll around the city, which was covered in freshly fallen snow, the crisp cold air and stillness of the environment gave our walk an enhanced sense of romantic magic. We talked about anything and everything. We discussed passions, and dreams, fantasies and the complication of earthly matters. We recited our hearts´ own poetry, and reflected on past events. Eventually we came to the one place in Bratislava that still kept its doors open to customers, a narrow and yet surprisingly large tavern, placed on the basement floor of a central building. We went inside and I treated my companion to a few rounds of mulled wine, where our discussion continued.

Over the steaming glasses of wine we gradually became very innovative, and adventurous. We acted on our impulses, paid our bill in haste, and ran toward the city´s Opera House. We then climbed on top of the building together, embraced tenderly, and with a laugh lay down into the snow, and began making love. Covered in snow, under the stars, a mix of goosebumps and steaming sweat. Suddenly the roof of the building gave in beneath us, and we fell down through the roof, and landed on the middle of the Opera House´s main stage. This sudden and unexpected shift only added to our burning passions, and after I turned on a spotlight we only continued where we left off. On the stage, in the spotlight, we made love like wild animals, oblivious to anything outside our merged beings.

In our explosive climax, the building took fire, and through our orgasmic haze we saw where our wild, almost elemental performance, was being celebrated by a standing ovation from the auditorium. The Opera House burned up, along with everything in it, leaving only a deep-red, melted mark of our combined hearts, in the white of the snow.

...
Where our physical dimension is lacking, it finds fillness in the spiritual. Where our spiritual is lacking, it finds fillness in the physical. Where our wholeness lacks, we find fillness in others.

I am deeply grateful for the fill with which this passed night rendered me.

Still burning,
..kH

I must admit that at this very moment, I have an urge to finish what I am doing.. and return home. Home being my native and wonderful land. This is not due to any troubles, or accidents.. it is just one of those things, I miss.. and I feel that I am missing out on something.

What contributes to this feeling is perhaps the isolation that I have started making for myself.. my diminishing joy of mindless nights out, my growing inspiration for my creative writing - which calls for isolation, a writer works in isolation.. and the slight feeling that I am seeing the same people every day. Do not get me wrong, the people I am with are great, and I love them.. but sometimes it dawns on me that because we are on this placement together, we are almost forced to spend all, or most, of our time together. Usually, when in your home environment, you experience total freedom in who you choose to spend time with. If it so happens that it is the same people, then that has been your choice. However, in our current circumstances, sometimes it is because we are stuck together that we are together.

I emphasize that I hold these people to be dear to me, and I have nothing against them, I fully enjoy their company, and respect them deeply.. it is only the slight feeling of enforced accompaniment that sometimes bothers me. However slight.

At the same time I know that I am doing what I should be doing. I am not missing out on anything too important. Not totally missing anything. And that, if I would have had the chance to go back home, I would have gone straight back into the hole that I have comfortably dug myself there. I would have settled. Between long intervals something important would have happened.. I would meet someone, hear something, read something, realize something, do something. In a nutshell, if I suffer for what I am doing, I know at the same time that it is important and that it will benefit me greatly in the long run, had I stayed at home progress would have introduced itself, but at a much slower pace.

Introspectively,
..kH

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. "Dobrí 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

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

The big metropolitan boy is alone in the city.

I am alone. Abandoned.
Nobody here but me.. out of the group of five I mean. One has gone to meet his girlfriend in Barcelona. Three are hanging about Vienna as this is written. Everyone left early this morning, and left me here alone.
It was agreed upon, however.. I have made the decision not to travel much this month. Why? Because I have to respect the impairs of my otherwise capable nature. I am not good at figuring out anything to do with numbers in my head. Maths, even simple maths, tend to confuse me. And here I am, in a foreign country with a foreign currency. I have gotten used to sensing my financing in the form of pounds. That is, understanding the amount of my base currency - ISK - in each pound - GBP. Confusing enough, but after a year at it my sense for it has gradually heightened.
Now, here.. in this lovely place.. I have to sense my base financial status, by filtering the local currency - SKK - through GBP back into ISK. It is enough to drive me mad..
So, as a result while I am trying to be careful with my money I have a hard time sensing where I stand accurately. Thus, I have decided to give it the first month before I start risking the cost of travel.
After the first month perhaps I will have gotten my head around my expenses.

While I am living in the centre of Europe I am going to use the opportunity and travel to such places as Austria (only 45 minutes by bus), Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Poland and Russia (hopefully.. it can be a bit complicated to arrange everything for that - one needs to be invited into the country apparently). My original wildest fantasy was also to go all the way over to Romania, but I have been warned not to go there from here. So, the time for that will come later I guess.

My landlord here complicated things for me even further last week when she asked for the rent money to be paid in Euros. For crying out loud... I tried dealing with that earlier today.. not completely successfully. I got less money than I need, even though I went into a bank and asked for all the help I could possibly ask for.
There is no real support for the mathematically impaired. We are alone in the world, with not a number to rely on.

Crosseyed and confused,
..kH