maanantai 7. kesäkuuta 2010

Europa 8.6: Ljubljana, Slovenia

Yellow haze swifling around and through the last gleams of a red sunset. The road awaits. Us, lonely followers of chaos, have nowhere to go. For us there are only mountains. A tent waiting on some hillside, firewood and the blind-deaf terrier warming its mudsoaked fur next to your bruised skin at night. We were looking vertically, something hit us, a bullet between the eyes, turned us towards horizontal illuminations. Now we only seek the upward spiral, the vacuum pulling us from this diseased ground and off until the empty skies. As our boundaries dissolve into knives of energy, we shall want nothing. Full.

Hitchiked from Prague to Vienna. The river of Donau crawled muddy and wild. A church across the stream, which one, theyre starting to look the same. Sounds of Mozart in the air, echoing through deserted churches, houses, squares of white chalk, the doombell chime. White wine and the feel of something irreversible. These choices are permanent. Western culture has chosen wrong. Were headed for disaster. But for now, let us enjoy this warm summer. Make the most of this short bloom of a sinned organism. Please forgive us our stupidity. We do not now how to sit, only how to run and scream. This is our right, the everyday right of suicide. To burn out and look at the two sunsets.

Hitchiked from Vienna to Ljubljana. Strolling around the Alpes in a car, an old austrian gentelman driving, didnt speak any english so we sat silently and watched the scenery. He is a fan of classical music. He played us Sibelius, talked about his acquintance with finnish art, we just nodded. He showed us his home, a tall cabin on a green hill, a cat, three dogs, picket fence. Beams of light through leaves of life. Thought about happiness. Thought about staying on these mountains, putting up a tent on some hill and watching life pass you by. What is more relaxing than giving up? Maybe when everything is over and I face only one option, Ill come here. Make a new profession as an applethief and a spiritual guide for these small villages.

22.00 we got on a truck. Watched white lines cut us, one after the other.

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