How Have We Got Here?

Metaphorically resonant…

Waiting is hard but it's better than having nothing to look forward to.

"What direction - Life begins at the intersection"

It's a Switchfoot quote. OK, I know they didn't actually invent the line but it's in one of their best songs: Faust, Midas and Myself. This piece of music is more literary, than most of the contemporary novels. I'm not gonna add much about the lyrics but the basic question which it implies is whether our goals and dreams are well-thought-out - if we could have them all.

Recently I've been given/offered grand opportunities. One is: two contract offers from a good-named publishing company. It was sort of a before-the-right-time because I decided to continue perfecting my book. I don't even know why I tried to catch their attention. But the amazing thing is, that it worked easy as cake. WOW! Though there's clearly not much that I did. The whole situation is only a link of favourable but un-controlled events. For which I am really grateful.

I must admit, that it doesn't make me special, no matter how much I feel that way. At best, it's a special piece of art, which is worth the mention. But me? Out of the picture. Life often brings us to unprecedented intersections. We are to choose the direction. But do we choose wisely? No. (It was a very strong, firm no...) You know, we could be anyone. Life has no limits at all. Our beliefs, however, can lock us away from the best existing possibilities. We really do believe, that we can't be big people, successful, or simply happy. We let the popular concept take over: we are under too much weight to be getting anywhere in our lives. But in fact, there is no place, nodirection, which we could not choose. I guess the metaphor is as complete as ever...

If it leaves open questions, then answer them, it's on purpose!

Randomness rules!

Writer's note

It's been a long day. I've been called in to 2 job interviews, for which I'm happy beyond words but, other than that, oh boy, have I had a swell time?

I'll begin with something that's very close to me: literary work. Ever since I learnt how to write I've had a grand vision of my future. It's been my dream to be a great writer and I've always lived in this illusion that I'm good at it. But today I was rejected by a medium-sized company. No, not my professional application-- I wanted to be a volunteer. It's a quarterly magazine. So they said that they had my test writings checked by professionals and they found them inadequate in regards of grammar and authenticity.

The other thing is, well, literature, too. Remember when I said I've had this dream to be a great writer? Yeah, it pretty much fills every second minute of my waking hours. So here's the other story: Yesterday I recieved an answer to a query I sent to a seemingly fitting agent. She wrote that she feels honored (of course), that I contacted her, however, my work is not really for her. She (of course) encouraged me to keep on trying because she did not reject my book because of its general lack of genuineness but because of her own lack of enthusiasm about it. Yeah, it sucks. I know what you're thinking: Well what does one (1) agent matter anyway? Keep on trying, she said that too. So yes. Thank you. I've been trying. I've been trying for over a year with a total absence of fruition in any respect. I've re-written and polished my work but what does it matter now?

I've never said I'm a writer. Never to anyone. I've always believed humility is crucial and so I've never mentioned myself as a writer or artist. I didn't keep my writing a secret but I sure as rain was modest about it. Still, what I feel right now is this: I'm a complete wreck as a writer. Yeah, I'm a wreck that's for granted but why do I think I'm a writer. I never said I was and I've been constantly forcing myself not to consider myself as that. But in despair and disappointment my thoughts betray me. I'm just a sore loser and a presumptuous fool.

I'm not going to apologize for all the dismal things I've written because they aren't dismal. They're meant to teach you something. Well, who am I trying to lie to? They're meant to teach me something. Something I know and yet pretend to never have heard of. In all honesty I have a lot to learn and I've got to let go of big-faced concepts about myself. I'll be small. I'll remain small and I'll accept being that. I'm too young to be big and it takes some time to get rid of one's youth.

Visionary work

Watchtower of Turkey

Wish I could do some of that

Been doing a lot of not practicing to get this good at parkour.

Forget the People

The news having spread quickly and having reached the last poor, unemployed soul, a miserably thin crowd came up to Mr Dis App’s door. As he walked out with his humble luggage, they overwhelmed him.

He had thought he had braced himself against the jeering and scolding and ridiculing. But the judgmental people were shouting wishes of safe passage, the cynics wailed without any comment and his loving mother said her heart was breaking for him.

Nothing too predictable but still, all acceptable from people with no fate and spirit. This would be, Dis App pondered, a gesture unconserved.

He had one backpack, one messenger bag and--what he knew no one would know is a piece of luggage to his new life--a watch.

“Where is Scott?” he asked himself.

But he knew, fate is no mirage, it would not dissipate if he blinked or looked away.

And the used car was indeed parked at the end of the street.

Cottages with unmanaged surroundings. Weeds and poppies all the way to the city limits.

Some may say that I couldn't sing, but no one can say that I didn't sing.

Florence Foster Jenkins (a terrible singer)

I like being reminded of love.

Extreme close-ups of human eyes by Suren Manvelyan