everything is possible...

This journal is mostly



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I know it's been ages since my last post but whatever.
Since the beginning of October I'm studying at a university in Ljubljana (capital of Slovenia) and till now I've been one of the commuters which in my case means I spend 3 to 4 hours a day on buses, trains, car, etc.  I've been looking for places to live in in Ljubljana and I found a room I could afford with my scholarship, and it's quite nice too. But... I've never lived on my own before. And I know that at 18 I should be independent enough and I know I'd be going home for weekends but still. I don't know how I feel about living away form my family and my friends and with room-mates I don't know... I guess I just don't feel very grown-up right now.

on friday afternoon the weekend shouldn't seem so far away....

I haven't been around in a while and I promise I will start catching up sometime soon but for now I just want to wish everybody to have...

just found this... simply beautiful...

Soleils couchants

Une aube affaiblie
Verse par les champs
La mélancolie
Des soleils couchants.

La mélancolie
Berce de doux chants
Mon coeur qui s'oublie
Aux soleils couchants.

Et d'étranges rêves,
Comme des soleils
Couchants, sur les grèves,
Fantômes vermeils,

Défilent sans trêves,
Défilent, pareils
A de grands soleils
Couchants sur les grèves.

One sweet moment gone too fast
And you want to make it last
And you want to taste perfection on your skin

All the lies you hide within
Break the sounds of violin
Break your laughter into lonely, scary notes

Sitting down behind dove-cotes
Eyes are closed and your mind floats
Eyes are closed and inside you unending ache

The promises you plan to break
All the smiles you had to fake
All the smiles erased when you'll become the past


©2005-2008 ~insufficientbrain

Come lie with me
    Beneath the starry sky 
    My moonlit castle made of silver

Come dream with me
    In the darkness before dawn
    Black opals hidden in the shadows

Come cry with me
    Under the scorching sun
    Burnt down ruins and pieces of black coal 

©2007-2008 ~chromarker

Sitting on the shore
The waves gently caressing your bare feet

But your nymphs don't come to giggle at you
Your unicorns have blended with the wind long ago
The orchids no longer shine with fairy dust
The fawn songs no longer interrupt the peace of your woods

You tried to heal a little bird
Broken still it lays on the cold ground

The air has a misty quality about it
And suddenly you can't tell
Whether you are waking up from a dream
Or simply having a nightmare


©2007-2008 ~rlcwallpapers

written for linebyline... the line given was a little bird broken

They stood in a circle around a child with teary eyes,
A child with a plea in his eyes
And a little bird in his hands.
They watched them without emotions.
“That’s how it is,” they said coldly.
“Sometimes, there must be a little bird broken,
Or a cute kitten drowned, or a child…”
They stopped midsentence.
“That’s how it is and anyway,” they turned their backs on the child,
“It’s all for greater good.”

She came one moonless night
And run decidedly up the stairs
That turned into silvery dust beneath her footprints
And created an illusion of winter fairy tale on the abandoned floor and broken chairs
She ran decidedly up the stairs to the attic
Only one thought in her heart

Until she saw it
On an overused wooden floor
Among overfull boxes and old velvet armchairs
Half hidden behind forgotten portraits and fantasy landscapes
Laying quietly, innocently
A sliver shooting star
Winking mysteriously at her

And so she stayed
Long after the stair dust had been blown away by the wind
And the portraits had been darkened
She stayed until the numerous chests were thickly covered by dust
And her hair was made silver with the spider’s webs
She stayed in this enchanted attic
Caught in the gaze of a shooting star



©2008 ~Otamago on deviant art


Zvezdni utrinek

Prišla je v temni noči brez mesečine
in odločena stekla po stopnicah
ki so se spremenile v srebrn prah pod njenimi stopinjami
in ustvarile iluzijo zimske pravljice na zapuščenih tleh in polomljenih stolih
odločena je stekla po stopnicah na podstrešje
z eno samo mislijo v srcu

dokler ga ni zagledala
na obrabljenih lesenih tleh
med prepolnimi škatlami in starimi žametnimi naslonjači
napol skritega za pozabljenimi portreti in fantazijskimi pokrajinami
ležati tiho, nedolžno
srebrn zvezdni utrinek
in ji skrivnostno mežikal

in tako je ostala
dolgo potem ko je stopniščni prah raznesel veter
in so portreti že zdavnaj potemneli
ostala je dokler ni prah na debelo prekril brezštevilnih zabojev
in so niti pajkov posrebrile njene lase
ostala je na tem začaranem podstrešju
ujeta v pogled zvezdnega utrinka

So me and my friend are going to budapest. First we wanted to go to prague but now we decided on budapest because it's closer and cheaper. We're going by train and staying in a hostel for one or two nights. I'm so excited I just can't wait^^ any suggestions about sightseeing and hostels a re welcome of course^^

A peculiar itch between shoulder blades
Just a memory of a dream
A pile of broken feathers and fear of flying
And the feeling of vertigo whenever you look at the sky

Colourful images behind your eyelids like
Angels with linen wings that lost colour during summer rains
And forgotten words written in ink on the inside of your veins

Drops of blood when you doubt you're real
And not just a dream about memories




©2004-2008 ~chasmosaur on deviant art

O sanjah in spominih

Srbeč občutek med lopaticami
Samo spomini na sanje
Kup zlomljenih peres in strah pred letenjem
In občutek vrtoglavice kadar se ozreš v nebo

Pisane podobe, ki plešejo za tvojimi vekami kakor
Angeli s platnenimi krili, razbarvanimi med poletnim dežjem
In pozabljene besede zapisane s črnilom na notranji strani žil

Kaplje krvi kadar se želiš prepričati da si več
Kot samo sanje o spominih

I've written this for linebyline ...

“What happened here?”
“They wanted to take my tears.”
“What?”
“I couldn't let them …”
“What do you mean?!”
“They took everything else … my laughter and my smiles, even the smallest ones ... my anger and my hatred, my hope and my despair … and they wanted to take my tears too.”
“And … you couldn't let them? What have you done?!”
“I took theirs. And now I have everything else back too. Can't you see? I just couldn't let them take my tears …”


and the expanded version...

Afternoon sun shining through the windows. On the floor a couple of bodies, unmoving. A young woman sitting between them, tears running down her face.
The door opens slowly. A gasp.
“What happened here?”
The woman raises her eyes slowly, almost golden in the sunlight.
“They wanted my tears.”
“What?” Confused, nervous, and slightly hysterical.
“I couldn't let them.” Calm, peaceful, self-assured.
A nervous swallow. Then, barely a whisper…
“What do you mean?!”
A strained look in golden eyes. Voice growing ever quieter.
“They took everything else … my laughter and my smiles, even the smallest ones … my anger and my hatred, my hope and my despair … and they wanted to take my tears too.”
“And … you couldn't let them?” Shock, disbelief, comprehension. “ What have you done?!”
“I took theirs. And now I have everything else back too. Can’t you see? I just couldn't let them take my tears …” A soft smile reaching teary eyes. Absolution.

I wrote this a few days ago and I'm not sure what to think about it... I mean I like it but it's not really a poem at least I don't think so... it's just a couple of impressions  thrown together....


A cold grey afternoon

Clouds hanging low in the sky and not really going anywhere

A chilling wind rushing through the woods

Forcefully swaying the trees

Exposing the pale undersides of the leaves

 

Then slowly, softly, silently it ceases

And the evening comes, hidden behind the clouds

Bringing the promise of darkness

A piece of paper, a couple of pens and a boring history lesson

A paper boat on a paper sea

More than just a paper smile

A moment

 

You can crush the boat and leave the sea forgotten on the table

 

Or you can take a photo and make a memory

 

the boat and the paper sea made by me, photo taken by my friend who does not want to be named^^

So as i said i'm reading sophie's world and i came across descartes and his argument about existence of the perfect being i.e. god.  As far as i understand it, his reasoning goes like this:
I exist (because i think). I am human and therefore an imperfect being but i have a notion of a perfect being. The notion of a perfect being couldn't have come from me (because i'm imperfect) so it must have come from the perfect being. Perfect being couldn't be perfect without being i.e. existing. So the perfect being exists. It also created the world and us so that's how we got the notion of a perfect being.

BUT...
according to his argument, every human should have a notion of a perfect being and everybody's idea of a perfect being should be the same. But I, for one, don't have an image of a perfect being. And I doubt there is even one quality everybody would qualify as perfect.
The other problem is that that provided there is a greater being that created the world, including humans, (I don't think there is but that's not the point here) it can't be prefect. Why not? because it created this world and moreover because it created humans. Now there are two possibilities:
1. Somewhere something went terribly wrong. So the being that created us couldn't have been perfect.
2. Everything went (and is still going) according to the plan. But only a very cruel being would create a world like ours. A cruel being can't be perfect.
(oh and if you don't believe that we live in a very much imperfect world then think famine, think wars, think atomic bombs, think humans destroying the Earth... do I need to go on?)

Edit: I just googled "descartes & perfect being" and I found this article http://www.positiveatheism.org/faq/descartes.htm ... it explains everything so much better... now I feel silly...

so philosophy... i have it in school this year and while i love it, it's also freaking me out... sure i was asking myself some of this questions before... Where do we come from... What happens after we die... What's the meaning of life... What's real... but seeing them written in black and white scares me somewhat terribly... it makes me feel soo distant, so unreal... because no matter how long you think about them there is no answer... or rather there are to many answers and you can't tell which is the right one, providing there is such a thing as a right answer to questions like these... maybe there isn't and we are doomed to this uncertainty forever... but on the other hand... all the philosophers... they found some kind of answers and some of them were proved wrong later on but they must have believed their answers were the right ones... so maybe that's what it's all about... not about finding right or true answers but just finding answers you can believe in, that you consider the truth... maybe that's what can bring you peace of mind, what makes you feel safer, makes you feel complete... or does it... what if there is always a corner in your mind that doubts the answers you came to, always saying that it isn't true it isn't real... that nothings real...

also i started reading sophie's world by jostein gaarder... and there is one thing that really bothers me... in the first letter the Philosopher says that everybody has to find the answer to the questions who we are and why we live... that everybody needs it... but if that's so how come there is so many people who never touch those subjects exept in a brief passing or maybe when they are directly confronted with them and after that they forget about them and go on with their life as before... the Philosopher says that it's because they are too comfortable, too trapped in the life such as it is, that they forgot how to wonder... i suppose that's true... but my question is why is that a bad thing... what is wrong with living your life happily, contently, without wondering about things that can never be answered with certainty...

 

ever

everything

everything is

everything is the truth

everything is the truth is a lie

                      the truth is a lie    

                      the truth is a lie told by you

                                        a lie told by your senses

                                                            your senses do not

                                                            your senses do not trust

                                                                               do not trust

                                                                                do not trust anyone

                                                                                                  anyone must do

                                                                                                        one must do

                                                                                                        one must doubt everything

                                                                                                                                  everything is the truth

(everything is a lie)

 

 

Everything is the truth is a lie told by your sense do not trust anyone must doubt everything is the truth

Si je suis trop silencieux parfois
Et un tout petit peu triste
Ne t’inquiete pas
C’est seulement le memoire
D’un chanson que n’existe
Que pendant mon sommeil

Chaque jour elle meurt dans me reves
Et je l’oublier quand je me reveille



just a few lines that came to me today....
if anyone'd like to see them in english just say so and i'll see what i can do...

i came across my old drawing books... they made me sad... i used to be so proud... and what's worst some of my pictures are actually quite good... but i haven't drawn anything for a year at least... i hadn't dare to... and now i want to be able to draw again but i'm afraid i've forgotten how... taking a pencil and making a few lines suddenly seems the hardest task in the world...