~ kafka coelenterata ~

poland is like a sanctuary filled with unintended blasphemies.

that's where its weakness springs from - the forcelessness of what should be powerful and devoted to an idea, defended with the life and flame of the believers. if lucipher rebelled like that, he'd get stuck in heaven eating dog food.

still there are steps to be found, leading down into an ancient pride, strong beauty and
omitting the atavistic or idealistic solutions, unveiling the truth. i guess they are the bourderlines. the tension inbetween unleashing the energies of both realities, uniting and amplifying them upwards. to the stars.

letting then fall in a rain created somewhere over the clouds.

everything happens on the bourders, universally. they can merge together but if the existences are strong enough, they can merge into each other and broaden the common-event-bourderzone without losing themselves on the way. there's the air of the inspiration days.

chimneys and faeries in a leukemic country.
time to throw the door on the back in a self-imposed exile, drift until they carry somewhere. far from mother suckling with bad milk. far from bread with stones.

MORE LIGHT.

~ stray dogs ~

when a saami is chosen to become a noaidi, a shaman, he has two options. he can accept this promotion or deny it. in the case of the second alternative sajva, the helping spirits of a noaidi, torment him until he changes his mind.
tonight it striked me that for long, long years i've had my chest cramped because of this denial. the field was different but the rule remains the same. and now? a release. countless beats. full colour. urge. eights. limitlessness.

the snake is long, seven miles

when the houses of cards fall, which is by as little as a breath, you can finally see the sunset.
it's now. what has begun in december - side 24 in a why-so-morning-and-why-so-broke nomad sunshine - reached its closing within the last few days. got a level-up of my understanding of plato's triad: there is nothing more worth living than the truth.

~ ready, able ~

and when i trek alone back home

missing my few and close, heart-warming soulmates. here and now. and unable to help myself. everytime i under no circumstances should waste my time and yet i do it, i make pics in microsoft paint, explaining to myself that these are no pics really, just halfway productions. they don't count.
but they do.
and even if drawing by using touchpad makes me feel like a complete manual retard, there's still something in the picture. now there's everything. and despite knowing there's aurora borealis going on at the lake, i won't go because of this chaining "state of sigh." heavy longing, yet at the same time kept in a sweet tone - because there are ones to long to and they make me smile softly in this very moment.

they go we go, i want you to know

that i draw about you. kisses.

~ the draft ~

i'm kneeling on my soft coconut-carpet as i call it because of its cream colour and a bit worn-off softness. perfect for the floor enthusiasts of my sort. cosy in orange semi-darkness, the walls are covered in a shadowplay of the small round lamp, just as if a hand-granade of tangerine feathers, leaves and butterflies burst and paused in the mid-motion.

so the carpet and the orange leaf-feathers hung in a glimpse.
and me on the floor browsing through my sketch folder, re-discovering the to-be-drawn pics. expect some new stuff here when i'm back to sweden and to my sweet analog set.

[metathought #1: why am i always ending up BABBLING about non-importances while i really have a short core-thought to pixelize into this place?]

i feel very tender. at the moment. never before have i cared less about christmas. just because. a very positive state, maybe it's just priorities. maybe it's my heart overwhelmed by an unknown-yet-well-known sweetness.

[metathought #2: if you by any chance have noticed the concentration of hifens in this text, you can probably imagine how well the wallfrozen tangerine butterflies correspond with the liminal phase i'm going through]

so it's coconut, tangerine, sweet and inbetween. still the world of surprise ice. everything seems to be a draft, just like this fragment of a pic i've never finished.
my lovely december transition, please lead my steps.
because i'm tender and intuitional, and trusting - something i once was harshly criticised for and told not to. yelled for not to. hurt not to.

i'm longing with a direction and all clocks point midnight.

~ sunflowers aloud ~

today the world was smiling at me.
and i smiled back everytime.

i removed some private parts from this picture. it has a story but i'm not sure if it's a happy one.
so let's skip it. for today.
let's smile at the night.

~ welcome home ~

hate.
a cold, white and composed flame.

one of the hardest truths to discover about oneself.

sanitarium

~ mówią płonie stodoła ~

...płonęła aż strach (;

very arionically delayed official wedding wishes for ~lfin and gema: KRA!

04. 07. 2008
LOWE

and my first real picture order! so glad this was the occassion.
thank you for a crazily crazy party, a convention-like experience of folding 150 napkins into some fancy figures, letting me go shopping barefoot in a hardrock hello kitty pyjamas. and for so much more.
kisses, candies and poteflon.

~ apocalypse, please ~

it's time we saw a miracle

come on, it's time for something biblical
to pull us through

another picture for ania's novel.
uriel, arion, leviathan.
around 40 photoshop layers.
countless curses.
muse in the backgroud .

~ no anam ċara ~

i know it's hard to tell

how mixed up you feel
hoping what you need
is behind every door

vnv nation - illusion.
it was like a trance, drawing this picture.
i know nothing.
i see a lamp and it's time to turn it off.
the darkness is starving.

~ uriel ~

if angels are cruel
why do we welcome them?

a portrait of uriel, a character of my best-ever-friend ania's future novel that i proudly motivate, encourage and sometimes influence a tiny little bit ;}

god, i love him! *^^*

ania, let me know if his hair is too red.
...and WRITE!

~ blue notes ~

i sat in front of my laptop, just about to pixel down a piece of story i scribbled during one of those grey, almost-winter train travels. when i opened the notebook, i found a note written in april nearly two years ago. i remember it. the notebook was way too expensive but it was sunday evening, everything closed - i had no choice. that's how i became a loony owner of a blue notebook with a white symbol of bird on its cover and translations of "bird" right underneath.

and so i started writing with a black pen. i wished it was my favourite one, with ink of rainy colour, as i use to call it. it's blue. a special kind. rainy. mine.

ptak bird oiseau uccello vogel

~ solitude ~

my grandpa died one minute after i finished this drawing. it's not ready. it won't be, my hands are shaking. my lips too, so i bite them.

the only wise, strong and pure man that existed in my life just because.
today it snowed for the first time since my comeback to poland.
words flee.

~ dynamite ~

first the light
and then the thunder
i've been up all night and I got it now

i had something to add
to the things you showed me
i've got it here underneath my coat

~ welcome home ~

sometimes i don't understand people.

sometimes i find it hard to convince myself
once again
that they didn't mean to.