01 October 2012

Ja-far



fresh rain sweeps the damp stones of the windy streets of old tallinn. sipping wine, a flash from the past diverts my perception of space onto the square of hospital san camillo - the sunset. the garden glimmers fluorescent and the sky rising above the tangerine apartment buildings across the street has a depth of gray I love. the details of the conversation I had there with U are muddied under the sense of relief and content I felt for knowing I'd have an MRI. 

which, I never did. the contentment still reigns in those colors though. that fluorescence, that deep gray... 

another sip, and I focus myself on the pavement again. raindrops dance, and the moist in the air twists itself around other associations in italy, the varieties of my mind. in some of them I am on a street of a small village somewhere in northern sardegna. 

the fog around is amazing, the thickest I've ever seen around habitation. I walked slowly on the damp streets, never seeing a soul. I knew where the tiny bar where my friends were was though, constantly, because my mind always draws a map with which it's hard to get lost. I don't know why I wanted to spend time on the streets instead of the bar. I was in a weird space within my mind - there was something with me there that night that never spoke a word.

after some time I found myself in the gta mode, and sat into a fancy dark blue bmw sports car parked not too far from the bar. it had the keys in the ignition. I don't know how to drive a car. the point of entry was just to get my heart beating. I needed warmth as I do now as the fall sweeps over the baltic. 

the warmth lasted for quite some time, with all the pleasures it brought. I wrote some, yet mostly by hand for the road is something I am on whenever I am free. some weeks back I was sitting in the corner table, writing. I was within a bar crowded by middle aged men and a high density of smoke. I had no money, just the ticket back home, so writing came at ease.

after some time, a man took the seat across from me. it turned out he is one of those born again muslims who bow down five times a day while listening to the same mumble, each day. he told me about having a relationship with god who seemed selfish and weird between the lines, and over and over again I helped him cross the border of laughter by showing him how that relationship manifests in everything. you know the feeling when someone else's god sounds more pleasing...

as I lit an incense made in a monastery in india, leaning onto the ashtray of that bar within a small neighborhood declaring itself separate of the european union yet hopelessly within a nato country, he became confused - we burn them only on sundays. I told him I clear the air when I feel to.

there is no guiding principle behind any of this. random ramble is all it is. in the winter of rome, years ago, I wrote a note -  

the future will not match my idyl
I see where I am headed and it is nothing here

I mediated a promise to the world, last summer
I said I'd do something I probably have no guts to do

and now I'm in the train, triggering, ra-in-man
I can't back off

it had no meaning back then yet now I know it has. yet, alas, as you can guess, a meaning that takes years to formulate is very difficult to turn to words.  

so you get ramble. and shots. I truly wish I could offer more, because life is epic. I can nearly remember the night we had there in the aether, a drunken, long night, at the end of which I made the foolish promise to live once again. waking up in a delivery room in f-land was the beginning of a delirium tremens unlike any other. 


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