so, this far: i have forgotten the mobile modem in riga. goodbye, internet communication. i clicked ‘do not save’ on a document i had been working on for six hours. goodbye, sanity (or is it reason?) i spent 3.5 hours travelling by coach, and listened to “Would It Kill You to Stop Doing That: A…
the geese fly high over the heads of people and skyscrapers, calling from the first to the last incessantly, caringly, so that not one is lost on the journey over the land and sea. and i, spellbound, listen and watch the silvery bellies and the dark wings and the extended necks, pointing across the wind,…
and so i was standing there, in the darkness, and listening. to the bat song, and to the trees talking to the wind. to the smell of almost fallen leaves, and raw earth from the fresh fields. and how the stars move and the clouds stand still. so simple. so irreversible. life moves from a…
thus, i have escaped, in great hurry, from the place i used to call home. the place is ok. there is nothing wrong with the place. the lake and forest and all things are, actually, quite nice. but the last four days clearly showed that place alone is not enough. not enough for one to…
gulbenes benzīntankam ar godu jāsaka – pēc mana kritiena uz vietējā nelabotā bruģa jaunietis – pārdevējs izteica līdzjūtību un piedāvāja šņabi. a es tur gāju pirkt sērkociņus. tā nu tagad nokrāsoju zaļu nobrāzto ceļgalu, mērcēju šņabī sastiepto rokas locītavu un priecājos par to, ka bruģis nebija vēl caurumaināks, jo tad varēja arī kaut ko nejauši…
well, my almost 4 hour journey home (the term is definitely imprecise and disputable, as i left here when i was 16, never to return for more than two weeks at a time, usually 2 or 3 days is just about enough i can bear) was successful. i brought a replacement cat (timothy) for the…
started watching the series. for the first, what, 4 films, i find it quite stimulating, and well-made, and excellently conceived, and very, very true. and i also talked to some people yesterday, and today, and this was confirmed: there is no love without sacrifice. there is no value for a thing without giving up something…
she is old. she was planted by my grandfather’s father. she has survived a world war, and countless winters and summers, and wild animals, and humans. i played in her branches when i was a kid. the apples were winter apples, their smell – refreshing and beautiful in the dark winter evenings. i still come…
one of our cats (the one in the pic, where he sleeps on the laundry, as was his custom) got killed by falling snow and ice from the rooftop. now the farm is un-catted, cat-less, bereft of a noble hunter.
i have always been particular to the trees. because they are so rooted, so wooden. because they have those tree souls that make a nice echo in my soul – or maybe it is my soul’s echo in theirs? because they do not mind just being there. because when i put my hands to their…
this is a very … interesting time for this me. interesting as in the proverbial curse attributed to the chinese. interesting because of its duality, even triplicity. at some point, many years ago, i became one. me. with all the experience, and old traumæ, and half-healed wounds, and the awareness of god, and my own…
look at this. it smells of the sunshine, and honey, and home. or at least the meadow and forest, and bees (invisibly present in the flowers). and the bird songs in the nights without darkness, and the lake right behind me. and sleeping in tent, and swimming, and all that is not grey.
he can, of course, be very quiet. but he usually is not. his steps rattle in the corridor, and this is how i know he walks. forget the cat paws and the mythology of the big softies. yes, he is big, and soft to the touch, but he also has those claws, and he sleeps…
in size, importance, whatever. yesterday my bro was so drunk he did not notice he had cut off part of his finger, and lost it. like, really lost it. on the ground. all the kitchen was full of blood. he refused to keep the bandage on for long enough for the bleeding to stop. i…
have you noticed how the original world gets smaller when one returns from either far away or long time no see? the world of my home has diminished even unto a snowball in bonfire. but i will think of that tomorrow. today i will meditate on how things shrink. how the once important people suddenly…
moon in my bed. and i must say again, either her or me. so…her, probaly. whatever is left of me, crawls in a miserable ball out of the reach of the moon, and listens to the little ginger kitten rioting in the corridor. after tomorrow, i will go to see my mother. if the roads…
the balrog* falls from the bridge in moria to its doom, and gandalf falls with it. the evil never falls alone. it always – always takes the good down with it. and then for a moment the good is down, and the evil is gone. it is in those moments, that hope becomes the frailest.…
started preparing the next year’s course in history of english. and as i am bored with the texts i have had this far, i fugured, the rune poem would be nice – like discussing the runes, and their meaning, and the saxon syntax and morphology and suchlike. so here is one of the pieces (picture…
today the shrimp and me talked, and she mentioned a book she had seen on a garage sales: mountains of denmark. really. mountains. of. denmark. i laughed my head off, i did. so, i thought, why not come up with some more oxymoronic titles for books. some of them might be the thinnest books in…
broken dreams diamond shards on the walkway of a soul seeking barefoot bliss. silver on grey raindrops quiet among twigs, fragility balanced precariously. bittersweet taste of leaves waiting for snow. a moment of truth, a breath of clarity.
has turned its other side. it is raining. rain of dickensian proportion has soaked, sogged, quagmired all and everything: raindrops congregate on the twigs; fog waterlogs moss and lichen; even the sun becomes gray and blurred amidst the moisture. my november dream of sitting by the fire and baking potatoes in the ashes has failed.…
Was getting ready to heat the sauna today. We have the so-called black sauna, that is, the logs burn and heat stones that taver heat the sauna by providing steam. I had these huge slightly moist logs, a whole heap of them, and only a few thin bits of raisinous pine. For a moment it…
The Latvian has a relationship with their land. Land is a woman, to be tended, guarded,cherished, conquered and enslaved.Yes, even raped. It is a traditional role-play that goes on when a Latvian encounters their land. It seems that other nations have moved on in their discourse of land- and agrarian-related feelings thoughts and passions. For…
The land owns the people, not the other way round. The air breathes me. The trees bend the wind. I am of the roots of my family, indisputably. This means, my family land owns me. How i wish it all were differently. With the land i inherit also all those people and responsibilities and joys…
