An Equinox

The Day has come
-The Marriage of Heaven and Hell-
I hardly Night from Day can tell
troublesome.

In greyness mingle black and white...
To all the the old Gods (or One that rules them all)
I pray with all my might:
"Please, change the fashion of this fall"

So that Juliet will know
in the abyss under her balcony
in spite of all the snow
Joy and Sorrow
just tomorrow
will be joined in harmony
*

Faces of Fall

Autumn has a lot of faces... the present one is the most scary one...
I like Autumn.
But I don't like it crying and being cold and grey.
I don't like myself being such.
I don't like people around me being such...

So here it goes... Sun burning with frost...
All the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey...
The craws' cawing not included...
Never more.

Dangerous Liaison-g-s

When I was at the elementary school, my roommate (classmate then) had a habit of recording songs she liked from the radio. As I did not have conditions for doing the same, I often borrowed her collection of cassettes and thus our taste in music became similar. I knew what I was listening to thanks to my classmate’s perfectionism in labeling everything the moment she recorded it.

Times have changed, but some habits remained. I have my own mp3/FM player now, and thus can enjoy doing what I was only dreaming of as a child. When I listen to the radio (usually when I wash the dishes or go to buy some food) and hear a song/melody I particularly like and don’t know it’s name, I simply press the "record " button and later, when I have time, I can google the lyrics, find out whose work it is, listen to some more music from the internet and decide whether I like more of his/her work. This is the most frequent method of my discovering nice music and falling in love with it. Of course my friends are sometimes recommending and giving me some music they like, and sometimes a great epiphany comes out of it, but sometimes it is not quite my cup of tea. I tried to participate in the Last.FM project, trying to keep some kind of songs – I-am-listening-to diary, but it did not work… my actual music taste depends on my state of mind very much and my states of mind are changing quite rapidly.

Yesterday evening for example. It was a cold night and a perfect full moon (which always brings me to a very melancholic mood full of memories), was spying on me through the windows and saw, that my hands and eyes were not able to write anymore…

So I switched off the laptop and switched on my mp3…wanted to talk to it (meaning: record some of my thoughts concerning the essays which I was able to formulate but not write down anymore)…but I came across the FM recordings I must have taken more than half a year ago… Just out of curiosity I pressed “play”. And that was fatal for my essay thoughts.

The first melody that came out almost made me dance and at the same time was echoing in my heart quite painfully…”I go back to black”. Call me an outlaw, but I didn’t know whose voice it was, until I searched for it this morning. I can remember that Katie was shoving me a clip of Amy Winehouse’s "Rehab" in December, but however impressed was I with her voice, I did not like the singer because of her "Paris Hilton" behaviour and scandals…and did not recognize her voice in this song…but I liked it and it was filling my eyes with tears yesterday…so Happy birthday to you, Amy.

Then I listened to further recordings, which came out in this order:REM –Drive; Eels – Novocaine for the soul; Hammerfall – Never, ever. When the Scorpions started singing :I’m still loving you, I couldn’t bear it anymore, switched the player off and tried to get to sleep…impossible, the loneliness of the silence was even worse.
I then thought that listening to the radio will help. Perhaps there would be one of those „Jerome Klapka Jerome readings" or at least BBC news to make me think of something else than my sadness…Oh, foolish me. The moment I switched the player on, there was still „Still loving you“.
I couldn’t believe that, but it really was not my mistake, that was what they were playing in the radio in real time. I tried several radio stations, but perhaps because of the full moon, all of them were playing this "love is a bitch and life not worth living without it" kind of songs, so the song that finally saved me (the only one that had a bit of hope inside, as it goes from "no one can help me" to "can you help me?" and the melody is a positive one, too), was Runaway train by Soul Asylum.

So tired that I couldn't even sleep
So many secrets I couldn't keep
Promised myself I wouldn't weep
One more promise I couldn't keep
...

Bought a ticket for a runaway train
Like a madman laughin' at the rain
Little out of touch, little insane
Just easier than dealing with the pain

The Lake Isle

by Ezra Pound

O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
Give me in due time, I beseech you, a little tobacco-shop,
With the little bright boxes
piled up neatly upon the shelves
And the loose fragment cavendish
and the shag,
And the bright Virginia
loose under the bright glass cases,
And a pair of scales
not too greasy,
And the votailles dropping in for a word or two in passing,
For a flip word, and to tidy their hair a bit.

O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
Lend me a little tobacco-shop,
or install me in any profession
Save this damn'd profession of writing,
where one needs one's brains all the time.

from Lustra (1913-1915)

Eye-sick ISIC plus Total Perspective Vortex survived

Progress report :

Mission "Save - Our- Studies" - Part one complete.

Sitting in a computer lab at our faculty, trying to pretend that the last two brain cellules that have survived last four almost sleepless nights, not to mention September the Eleventh, and more importantly, the Tenth, are still capable of producing thoughts worth writing in the essays or at least here...

So what else has happened during the past three days except from my becoming an equal of Zaphod Beeblebrox by surviving the possible world's end?

Day one:
Bought an expensive public transport for coupon for the next three months, valid only with the ISIC card, tried to catch some of my teachers and give them essays but did not find them, tried to finish some of the other essays but didn't, tried to pass one exam, but there was no time for all of us, so it was postponed for the next week, tried to print out some documents, but was unsuccesful, tried to login in the faculty network and after an hour was succesful, realized that I have lost my ISIC card needed for both the transport and printing, got scared, got depressed, got sick, got pain in the eye, cried, could not sleep, behaved in an (almost) unbearable way...
but finally got the ISIC back (was told that it was a mistake, becase if I didn't, I would not be eye-sick)

Day two:
Had a hysterical fit, was comforted, was given two ubelievably delicious pieces of chocolate (dieting or not), got nervous with Katie, supported her during her exam, passed mine, got one more attestation, postponed one more essay, got scared, as the study administration office is closed 9th to 11th, which does not change a single thing on the fact that you have to solve all your issues with them next Thursday at the latest, I think I will sleep in the faculties corridors next week to get my place in the queue; I handed in another piece of writing, I realized I was starving, I tried to buy myself a new schoolbag (my old one is torn into pieces even in a way comparable to my intestines and soul), but did not get one, caught a tram, not a seat, was hanging exhaustedly on the handrail, watching the perfect sunset, got melancholic as it took place at 7 pm already, which means that days are getting shorter really rapidly, in the evening watched the moon for a change, led endless violent/funny/sincere/even worse conversations.

Day three:
Got up terribly early, went to the doctors, took the tests, went to the medical lab, went for one secret mission, tried not to meet any of my employers, went to the faculty, got myself a cup of coffee - bad idea - not helping my brain and killing my stomach, went to the computer lab, tried to get a reservation for my bus back home, was succesful, tried to finish another essay, was unsuccesful...Time to leave.

Seven essays until Monday. At least two more exams. Plus the queues. Plus trying to get the room at the dormitories. Plus the doctors. Plus the insurance, plus the bank, plus the timetable, plus the signing up for the courses, plus talking to my students plus trying to be kind to my family and friends.

I love challenges.

The World According to Timetables, or, Great Expectations

Well, the rumours in media were obviously true. The university teachers are so much underpaid in our country that they must have at least one more job except from teaching, in order to survive. Otherwise I just can’t understand, why the hell should I be forced to stay at school until 7.05 p.m. four times a week for the third semester in a row...

I mean, as a working student, and a teacher, too, it should please me that I have time for my job as well; moreover, my students prefer to have their lessons in the morning, when their brains are still working. Unfortunately, there are just too many snags:

1) I also prefer being educated in the morning, when my simulation of a brain is still working.

2) I am a double-subject student, and if the teachers from the first department start their teaching AFTER their mysterious second job, the teachers from the second department are early birds on the contrary, and start their seminars BEFORE their second job, which is extremely pleasant surprise for the non-resident students, especially on Monday mornings.

3) As a result, it seems that I will have to get up really early and get home late (I usually spent at least one hour by commuting) and have time for teaching my students only during the noon hours, which will lead to my spending most of the daytime really ineffectively.
Plus, it will very probably mean my skipping a proper lunch and/or dinner(not a good news for my devastated stomach indeed), as the few free minutes between learning and teaching I spend in the downtown, where there are mainly very expensive restaurants or junk food stalls, and when I come home, all the shops nearby are closed already.

4) I know that my studies should be my biggest hobby, and I really hope that at least some of the evening seminars will be worth attending and maybe even entertaining, but I was aso hoping for leaving some time for myself this year, so that I won’t get mad. I was planning to find some relaxing activities for both body and mind except for the school and job:

a) Music: All right, I can’t afford paying for a teacher or spending time at music school, and I can forget about the philharmonic orchestra concerts out of time reasons, but I still think I will somehow manage to produce/listen to music from time to time, in spite of all.
Without music, I wouldn’t survive.

b) Movement: I felt I would really need some physical activity this year, to support my dying immunity and gain some endorphines.
Yes, I know, we have celebrated our “last P.E. lesson ever” more than one year ago, but I still would love to return to a more active way of living. I would like to try gymnastics, yoga, maybe dancing in winter, maybe canoeing in summer... But farewell, rosy dreams, all of them take place in the evening, colliding with my compulsory seminars. I can still hope that my roommate has not given up the “getting slim” idea and will take some morning exercises with me ...wait... roommate who? Oh my. Well, running from seminar to seminar and occasional weekend trips will do.

c) Meeting people: Due to my health problems I have been neglecting my social life in the last years... What with most of your friends being artists and intellectuals, grouping mainly in cheap pubs, which might create a perfect atmosphere for the new artistic movement of our century, but really bad environment for my lungs and kidneys.
Oh, how I long for this anti-smokers bill to become a law.
But of course, there are not only pubs. I would really love to be more outgoing and join my friends, as long as I have some, at some cultural events, at least once in a fortnight. If someone can give me an example of a theatre performance, a film festival, poetry reading, anything, which starts later than at 7 p.m., plus half an hour or so for my getting there, I am all ears :(

4) This crazy timetable makes it completely impossible for me to see my employed friends and relatives who have regular working hours and spend the weekends with their families/partners. As there are people among them, whom I would really like to meet at least to give them a Christmas present, if nothing more, this little „snag“ is the most painful one for me I am afraid.
Last but not least, this snag is also connected with the question: „How on Earth am I going to build any kind of an everlasting relationship when instead of offering a hot dinner and warm smile all I can offer to my potential husband is a daily exhaustion?“

Well, as my father says, "the worst death is that out of being terrified".

What will come, will come. I can always consider my job being my hobby, talk to my friends on the internet at night, and I can gain some endorphines by sleeping... alone? No point in trying to be positive just now.

Oh, crap. I have just realized that I am writing even blog posts in the length and formal shape of first year essays. Any change of lifestyle, even with that dreadful timetable, will be better for me than this I suppose.

One exam tomorrow, two on Thursday.

Wake me up, when September ends.

Song of the Day

... and if I ever pass all my tests, whether blood or school ones, I am really going to take this "I-want-to-learn-to-play-the-piano" thing more seriously than ever before...

Because sometimes when you are feeling down, the best thing is just to cry it out... and it just sounds so much better with some kind of musical instrument and you just can't scream into the flute properly, you know... It's always better to hit the piano keys "before I break everything".

Finis coronat opus

Three pages in an hour.
Dream of any translator paid for the number of pages done.
Fatal speed.
Still not quick enough.
If I don't make it at least five pages in an hour, there's no chance for me to remain in the status of student.
If I make it five pages in an hour, I will be dead by tomorrow.

Couldn't sleep last night. Was crying because of some messages received and sent and because of my being frightened and having no soothing hand to reach and no one to tell me :"Fear not, it will be fine." But the main question that was haunting me was "Why am I unable to finish anything?"
Who would believe me that there are more than twelve "almost-finished" essays in my computer, if I do not finish at least one of them?

Yesterday my parents were watching a document about architecture in Prague. Two of the main architectonic miracles and often visited sights had both the same story - both were built ALMOST to the end by one architect, but at the last moment he was withdrawn from the project and sent elsewhere to work on something else. Both buildings had been waiting unfinished for more than three hundred years, until another architect came and finished them in a completely different style. And still they are considered beautiful.
Why can't someone come at the moment when I simply run out of ideas and tell me:"Good job, Juliet, now, go and begin writing something else, we will finish this for you, better than you can even imagine"? Perhaps my teachers' patience won't last for centuries.

But then... one of those essays I am working at is about a man, who "never finished anything" - Citizen Kane and his creator, Orson Welles. And still is Citizen Kane a pearl of cinematography and Orson Welles is considered a genius. Can't someone appreciate just the bits of my work I have already produced? I would bet I have spent more days with these books and essays than any of my classmates who are now swimming in the sea somewhere...

So what is my problem? Am I just a bloody perfectionist or am I incapable of self-discipline? What is that that I fear most? Beginning lots of things I can hardly ever bring to some conclusion? And am I still speaking about school here?

Perfection has no deadline...

... but some deadlines just won't know perfection...


This butterfly won't survive this winter.
Will I?

Lady Macbeetroot

After several hopeless days of toil and trouble and still not being able to bring my essay on Macbeth and Citizen Kane to some smart ending, I put it aside a few days ago and continued working on the "aesthetical" essay about Schiller instead.
In the morning I realized that I have not counted my choosing the Master specialisation at my second department among all these "to-do" things yet. After several minutes of desperate searching through the department website and realizing that I don't even know what to imagine under the complicated names of those specialisations, not to mention the number and type of the courses I should press into my timetable somewhere between my American studies, teaching in several companies, writing a diploma thesis... and being able to stay alive, as my modest wish goes... I hoped I would be able to recover from this unpleasant epiphany by working hard on the Schiller essay as I promised and not planning something which is not yet certain to come, but it was a false hope. After four hours of uninterrupted, focused close reading and writing, and not thinking about anything/anyone else, I lost my nerves. I burst into desperate tears, knowing that I am not able to motivate myself enough to continue swimming in this sea of uncertainty that our faculty kindly offers. Spending the whole summer, or better said, the whole year in an unbelievable stress, writing bullshit about things I do not understand just to be able to listen to even more bullshit about things I understand even less, all that to get that silly diploma, so that I would finally be allowed to read, think and write about things I really like; not only paraphrase the "enlightened" philosophers over and over again (not that this was their fault).
Begging for an indiviual study plan - it's like Morpheus offering you the pills - either you take the antidepressants, or you don't. I have made it to this point, in spite of all my diseases, without enjoying any advantages concerning the studies from the dean's office. But today I felt that maybe it was a bad choice.
All right, let's just pretend for a moment that I have swallowed something except from the tears, which can transport me to another world:

My great-aunt can make an exceptionally delicious kind of preserved beet-root. I have always loved beet-root and I have seen proof that in my aunt's version it is edible, if not enjoyable, even for people, who are by no means beet-root supporters. This great-aunt of mine lives in a small village and goes to a church every Sunday. Once, after the mass, the priest waved at her and hinted that he would like to talk to her in privacy. She followed him to the sacristy not knowing what to expect and came back red by laughter and with a small plastic box in her hand. Inside the box there was a handwritten note from the priest "Would you be so kind as to write down the cook recipe for that unbelievable beet-root of yours for me?"
Of course it was more of a plea for some more red beet than for a recipe, but still, it was a great success and recognition for my great-aunt that she was capable of making something which seems unbelievable even to the priest. My mother got perhaps jealous (or, more likely, desperate because of our consuming the beet-root more quickly than my great-aunt was able to get us a new supply of jars of it) and asked my great-aunt for the recipe as well.
God knows why, perhaps the beet-root was cheap or the configuration of stars was suitable or she had planned it long ago and just decided to realize today - my mother spend the main part of the day in the kitchen, preserving the beat-root according the praised recipe.
That involved a LOT of red sauce spread all over the kitchen. So at the moment (the placebo taking me to another world have just stopped working) I have run out of my powers to continue writing, my mother has run out of her powers to clean up the kitchen...
I have therefore spent an indispensable part of the afternoon with hands plunged into a sink full of very sharp knives and dark red liquid. As I usually have self-destructive thoughts when touching sharp objects, today, despite of my feeling wretched, I was saved by - remembering Macbeth and his wife! The effort that I had to put forth to get rid of the red stains on my hands after sweeping the floor can't be compared to anything, including writing essays.
So. Grin and bear it, Lady Macbeetroot. There is aesthetics to be dealt with.
Motivation? A huuuge jar of beet-root.

A Lonely Cloud

Trapped between the Hills of Sorrow

And Moutains of All-this-work-to-do

Too heavy to float above them

Too light to cry the raindrops out

Forgotten and left behind

I know I am a lonely cloud

but I almost do not mind…

For Whom the Bell Tolls

One of the things I really love is the sound of bells, especially the church one's.
I have mentioned before that I am quite sensitive (in a positive sense) to low tones, so I generally prefer sad piano tunes to those quick ones, tenor recorder to the soprano, violoncello to the violin, big drums to the small ones. But the sound of the bells always and reliably makes the deepest strings inside my soul ring in an undescribable way. I therefore love walking through the city streets especially at certain times - when the church bells chime. The sound always brings peaceful and harmonic thoughts to me, no matter how sad or tired I am. At such moments I feel somehow strangely connected with the rest of the universe, I forget all grievances, I feel no anger, no pain ...
And I remember such moments. I remember the feeling of every noon and every midnight, every six o'clock I was listening to the voice of bells, whether it was in Prague, Rome, in the mountains or on the seashore...

Today, I was at the cemetery with my family, bringing flowers to the grave of my grandfather, who died on September 2nd four years ago. This particular graveyard is a nice place, in a peaceful coutryside, with nice views and trees around, and there are corners in it, which paradoxically seem to attract life. Last time I went to water the flowers on the grave with my uncle, we saw a bunch of colourful buterflies near the pump. Yesterday, my uncle dicsovered a cute hedgehog baby at the same place. So, I said a short prayer for my grandpa, but if I was crying, it was more because of my sore eye than out of sorrow. I felt, that it is good place for my grandad to have a rest.
At six o'clock in the evening, I was in a church with my granny, to say some more prayers. The darkness of the place was in a big contrast to the graveyard. I was thinking of my grandad, but also of many other people I love, care about or used to love and care about. And of my sins, of course. It just comes to you at such places, whether you are a member of some Church or not.
And then, when the bells started to chime, I suddenly couldn't stop the tears running down my face anymore. I was not sure whether the bells were speaking to me, about me, whether they were saying goodbye to those whom I knew were leaving, whether they were presaging the ends or the beginnings... One shouldn't be asking such questions, after all. I just knew that there must be a good reason why they were chosen to be a connection between people and God.

Just listen. Maybe you'll understand, too.

Merry Christmas (and a Happy New Academic Year)

How do you know that the holidays are definitely over?
First of all, your sister's alarm clock rings at 5.55 am, then again at 6 o'clock and then about three times more, in five minutes intervals, again and again until she finally manages to realize that she is going to be late for school... Several hateful looks at her older sis, who goes to this "university for lazy ones" and does not have to get up yet, plus a bit of door slamming to help her realize her happiness. Not that this was necessary, as the other hints that "something has changed" are already filling this lazy sister's cell phone:
"Can you send me the number of the lessons you have taught during the summer?"
"Have you already called the dormitory office?"
"What are the results of your blood tests?Are you ready to teach?"
"Can you, pretty please, send me answers to that test you passed two years ago?"
"Girlie, I have tonsilitis, see you at the doctor's"
"I have your book, do you need it?"
"Oh, by the way, the exam today is not for us, is it?"
I got up with an unpleasant feeling in my stomach, which was not caused by the diet but by the raising stress level. A usual heated discussion over "who will use the computer first" with my parents followed. My mother won and as she was browsing the World Wide Web, my father decided to clean up the cobweb hanging from the ceiling in the hall.
A loud CRASH and several screams followed, and when I picked up the courage to enter the hall, my parents were sitting on the floor covered with Christmas stuff, not knowing wheter to laugh or not. A basket full of boxes full of decorations, ribbons, wrapping papers, bells, angels and the like, which is usually stored on the highest shelf in the hall must have falllen down as a result of my fathers cleaning efforts. So while I was trying to get rid of the moths flying from some of the boxes, my father was rediscovering his "DIY" box full of wires and tiny lightbulbs, making faces as if it was the real Christmas day.
I, on the contrary, had to return to my translations and essays (nobody seemed to miss the computer anymore), but not for long. A few minutes after a strangely familiar smell hit my nostrils. My curiosity being bigger than my self-discipline, I opened the door to the kitchen and saw my mother - prepairing a soup out of a carp, which is a traditional Chrismas meal here.
I stood there and could not believe my eyes:
"Mum?Don't you tell me that you have found the carp among the decorations as well?"
-"No, silly one, I've just remembered that I have some carp meat left in the freezer and felt like cooking it today".
-"Well, Merry Christmas, then."

Sometimes, it is a good thing to be on a diet (I am by no means fond of this traditional fish soup)
And sometimes, I even like wasps.
Like the one that has entered my room right now and kindly reminded me, that it is AUTUMN starting outside, and that means "get back to work quickly, or you will have to get up earlier than your sister".
Smash. Poor wasp. Shouldn't have threatened me.