‘I’ is a verb dressed as a noun.
—Julian Baggini

Photo: a © signature mmm production

This is yesterday’s sunset with my first ever watermark at the bottom. I guess I’ll be needing one. I know an expert should handle these things but this is what I’ve come up with. Your honest opinions welcome. Photo: MM

ADD-IT: Instead of Photo: MM, I’ll say from now on:

Photo: a © signature mmm production

Remains of the day

Carnival was in town. Somehow we managed to miss it. And yet we’ll carry the proof for a while.

Photo: MM

Three tails of Ljubljana dragon

Today is the Slovenian Cultural Holiday, and conveniently, and surprisingly for me (even though apparently since 1991), it’s a day off work. (Another case of “If you live long enough.”) So I bring you three Slovenian tails, or better tales, or better raps, since in Slovenian “rep” = a tail.

Baroque Ursuline church and the Column of Plague

Congress Square

Golden statue from Roman times.

The first two have stuck in my memory after hearing them for the first time on the radio when I was last in Slovenia, whereas the last one is an old favourite. Love me some rap/hiphop.

First, a story about an actual elderly woman (in the video portrayed by a well-known actress) who lives in the same building as the rapper Rok Trkaj and who must walk the stairs without the elevator despite her osteoporosis, so he often carries her bags for her and he’d promised her to write a rap about old people for a change. And he did.

I’ll always remember him because he walked over half of Slovenia or more to promote one of his records, and by the line from an epic hip hop battle: “Ti si morski sadež in tole tlele je bla rižota.” (“You are a frutta di mare and this right now was a risotto.”) Can’t beat my feeding preferences. (Even though in this battle, and in many more, he was beaten by the king of Slovenian hiphop, N’toko. I’ve translated his song “I’m a Slovenian” here.)

By the river of Ljubljanica

Maček café

Novi trg fountain

The second song is calling young people to

“…go out, even if it rains.
Go out, even if it snows.
I’d like to return to those times
when time was running more slowly
when in rough times nobody was reaching for their phones
because we didn’t have any
and yet we still connected
we shared good memories by talking to each other
sunny days we spent in the street, on the bike
images remained in our minds without a single like.
Technology has brought us together
but also set us apart
showing it all, concealing the soul
rules have changed
we make friends with a click
no need to say a word.
Look up, look me in the eye
shake my hand, have a beer with me
I’m here before you in flesh and blood.
Go out, that’s where life truly happens.”
(translated on the spot by Manja Maksimovič)

Trubarjeva, Ljubljana

And Murat knows what he is saying because a while ago he and Jose did the song Nazaj (“Back”) with a similar sentiment, in which Slovenian legend Benč repeats the words from his old song about how he wishes to return in time but knows it is not to be. And then Murat & Jose add:

So quickly that we can’t even see
in such a noise that we can’t hear a thing
on and on, as fast as we can
hey folks, by the way, do we even know where we go?

There is no doubt about the difference in quality of life back then and now. Never mind the holiday where there was none.

Photo: MM

Featured photo: Statue of greatest Slovenian poet France Prešeren, whose death was turned into the national cultural holiday. All the photos taken in Ljubljana this summer.

Good luck knocking

I buy my gifts as if the whole world was available; I just have to look where my hand is about to reach.

Then I know for whom it is too.

So when it is a heart-shaped mirror, it must be sis.

But she is spending her Christmas and months around it in Peru.

After a consultation with my father I leave it gift-wrapped on top of her mail pile that is waiting for her at our parents’ house.

A few days before she is bound to return to this hemisphere for now, mom writes: “What is this heart-shaped mirror that I found on the shelf?”

“Wrap it back, mom. Not for you! Don’t you and dad ever talk?” Dad feigns ignorance and low recollection powers, he must have been on computer.

When sis returns, she must have opened it because she writes, with a heart:

“Oh, just to inform you that as I was packing to return, my old little mirror broke.”

“Sorry about that, had to do it,” I reply.

While in reality it was good luck knocking. I had merely known it would.

≈ Manja Maksimovič ≈

And these are some other, Niki’s hearts from my yesterday’s visit to Il giardino dei tarocchi. Next time we go together.

Photo: MM

It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.
—Jiddu Krishnamurti

Photo: MM

Right in the cat?

“We highly recommed you this product,” their website says. It would be comedy if it wasn’t so ugly, and someone needs medicating.

Fuck you, I say.

This is not an ordinary post. I don’t hope for any likes. But this is how the story goes, and it goes well with the Wolf from Wall Street from my previous post.

When I was last in my birth town Ljubljana, Slovenia, which was some three weeks ago, we went to its largest shopping centre. From a shopping window I caught a glimpse of this:

I lead a remote life. Mostly I don’t care about anything much that I can’t influence, which might be a part of a problem but so it is. So I guess it must be funny or cool for some to have a brainfrying drug adorning their chest, or leg. But this I’d probably let go. It’s obviously a trend a few steps removed from the marijuana leaf. People have too much money. They lead, or want to lead a “cocaine life”. Groovy. Used to be “heroin chic”.

But then I saw the small print. On the other thigh.

It started with Fuck. “Fuck her right…” Hm…. I took a few photos and happily forgot about all that. But today I found the photos, and checked their website to see what the hell. Do you care to guess how it continues? “Fuck her right in the…”

I mean, I don’t wish to spell it out, intrepid me! And they have it printed out and on sale for anybody to buy?

I’d give you the name of the shop if I remembered it. Somebody there made the executive decision to sell this garbage. I can only imagine an English-speaking mother, prone to reading, who finds this item in the laundry. I have no idea if this is a worldwide best-selling item, or something brand new, or if it’s hiphop-star endorsed, or what in the sweet hell. And I don’t wish to know.

It’s a sign of the times. We let the cat get so fat. I just hope a bunch of girls beat the crap out of the first jerk who comes into their reach wearing one of these. (Not really but you know.)

Location: BTC, Ljubljana

Photo: MM

Quote reblogged from Joeyfully Stated. Reading her “Oneness”, and watching “The Inside Job”, and watching “The Wolf of Wall Street”, made me burst out in the comment at Joey’s:

This is very true. And it will never be truer than when the ‘top’ 1% get hit on the head. They live in fear of that day, and it will come, because they refuse to be one with us. They have their own rules. It will be ugly, and it will not be televised.

Practice the oneness. Photo: MM

At wood

A word after a word after a word is power.
—Margaret Atwood

It is not exactly new news but I’ve heard about it only now, via The Sarcastic Muse. There will be books in 100 years.

The article describes a meeting with the writer Margaret Atwood. It is lovely in itself and it made me comment that I might feel something similar if confronted with Jeanette Winterson to whom I wrote my open letter (and tried sending it to her via various channels but I’ve never got any proof that she has received it). She has had an influence.

But the astonishing news I found in the article concerns the project Future Library. From its website:

“A thousand trees have been planted in Nordmarka, a forest just outside Oslo, which will supply paper for a special anthology of books to be printed in one hundred years time. Between now and then, one writer every year will contribute a text, with the writings held in trust, unpublished, until 2114. Tending the forest and ensuring its preservation for the 100-year duration of the artwork finds a conceptual counterpoint in the invitation extended to each writer: to conceive and produce a work in the hopes of finding a receptive reader in an unknown future.”

And this is the most optimistic thing I have heard in a while, since this is such an optimistic week. Not only will there be people who know how to read in one hundred years, but they count on the trees to continue giving us books. I don’t know which is more precious.

The project began in 2014. The first writer to deliver a book was Margaret Atwood – her piece has a title “Scribbler Moon” – and the second will be David Mitchell.

Every year one writer will deliver a text.

If you think about it like this, I’m still so young. If I start now, I might get offered to write a text for my 100th birthday.

From Slovenian coast, facing Italy. “Nono” is Grandpa, from Italian, not a no-no. This will not last one hundred years. Better hopes for the future of books.

Photo: MM

WPC: Optimising optimism

Since it was just a few days ago that bestia decided we are having a sunrise live, I’m sharing it with you as an ultimate proof that optimists are correct: they expect the sun to rise and then it does.

I can’t remember the last time I witnessed one, and as sunrises go this one was surprisingly not that early at all. These images were taken between 7:13 and 7:48. Good to know: from now on, at least for a while, every next one will happen earlier.

These images are lined up as they happened. First I went on a little walk (first two photos) but then I realised it’s best if I go up on the roof. I was not wrong: the sun did appear! But the ultimate optimism is captured in bestia’s stare: she WILL come down again.

Photo: MM

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: Optimistic

Happy birthday, stric Matic!

Today celebrates my fun-loving uncle.

A few images from this year’s New Year’s Eve: beer gets in your eyes.

With his sister, my mom.

With his cousin – singing something else.

Once upon a time my uncle heard the Bosnian band Zabranjeno pušenje and was so pleased with its sarcasm and especially “Zenica blues” that it is now included in his standard repertoire.

I made him two tapes with their music. We went to hear them in concert in Tivoli hall in Ljubljana and there he was approached by a security man and asked to put out his cigarette, even though this was years before the restriction law. Funny that, considering that Zabranjeno pušenje means No smoking. When many years later uncle sold me his belladonna ford, the tapes were still in it.

The album of the band that includes “Zenica blues” is called Das ist Walter. The intro is taken from the partisan film “Walter Defends Sarajevo”. It’s a dialogue between two Germans overlooking the city.

– Merkwürdig! Seit ich in Sarajevo bin, suche ich Walter und finde ihn nicht. Und jetzt, wo ich gehen muss, weiss ich wer er ist.

– Sie wissen wer Walter ist?! Sagen Sie mir sofort seinen Namen!

– Ich werde ihn Ihnen zeigen… Sehen Sie diese Stadt? Das ist Walter!

In short, the hero Walter, who the Germans are desperately trying to get hold of, is the entire city of Sarajevo.

For some years now, “Das ist Walter” is also a restaurant in Ljubljana (with branches in some other cities) serving Bosnian meat delicacies such as ćevapčići. Even though we had mighty fun the last time we were there with their Italian menu (“prava bosanska čorba”, real Bosnian stew, became “lawyer’s stew”, because “pravo” also means “law” and google translate was at work), but that’s all good because not only čevapčiči are great but also uncle is in love with their beer. And for an expert like him that says a lot.

And here is another Bosnian band, Dubioza kolektiv, that probably he doesn’t know yet. They say that Walter will be back. And when he comes, he’ll be pissed off. No matter how he might look. 😀

Ovaj grad, ova zemlja = This town, this country
ima zajeban karakter = has a messed up character
najviše kad treba = when we need him most
vratiće se Walter = Walter will return

Happy birthday, Matic, and I wish you many more Walters just when you need them!

Photo: MM

When train comes to town where there was none.

And blue hour and puddles make it cinematic.

Photo: MM

How much is it if I cry?

First a song by a Serbian band that I have translated for the occasion, then a true story, which is how I like them the most.

Riblja čorba: Dva dinara, druže / Two dinars, comrade
Translated by Manja Maksimovič

We were coming up with names for our children.
I loved her more and more every single day.
I was certain that I’d finally found the right woman.
We were saving for an apartment together.

I was sitting alone at our table.
Everything worth a damn had gone down the drain.
A woman made an ass out of me again.
I was just supporting cast.

I wished to howl, I ran downstairs.
I wasn’t able to hold it much longer.
A social case in front of the toilet said:
“Two dinars, comrade.”

“Number one, one dinar, number two, two.”
My glance pierced him like a sword.
“Excuse me,” I inquired.
“And how much is it if I cry?”

Should one drive from Ljubljana to Rome, out of one home into another, this means 7 to 8 hours highway time with many pit stops. Not only bestia but also I have to use the toilet on several occasions.

The first one comes soon, because amore needs an espresso to see the day clearly. This means a cappuccino for me. Immediately upon tasting it, my tummy makes a rumble and I cringe in pain. What a godawful broth. I almost have to run.

The toilet of the bar is next to the gas station. There is a bus, with people smoking in front, obviously travelling great distance, south to west.

When I reach the toilet, there is a line and a woman is collecting coins. Obviously the bus women have invaded the premises. They occupy all the sinks too, performing morning ablutions, watering their faces and cleavages, gurgling, making horrible-sounding attempts to clear their lungs. Like at home. Don’t you just love sleeping on the bus.

The scene worsens my pain and to think that I’ll have to pay for the experience makes me make an epic eye-roll.

The coin-collecting woman throws me a glance and mumbles something in the cursing way of a gypsy, possibly convinced that I cannot understand. But I can.

(She, in one of ex-Yugoslav languages:) Rolling eyes, are you?

(Me, repeating after her:) Rolling eyes.

(She, aghast:) You are Macedonian!

(Me, looking her in the eye:) Do I look it?

(She, laughing now in disbelief:) You are Slovenian!!

Since we are in the middle of Slovenia, this shouldn’t come as such a surprise but I know, Slovenia is a transit country. And Slovenians would rather not discuss nationalities with a coin-collector. Instead they would stare dead ahead. Or check their nails.

(Me, deciding to be jovial:) You can tell me, what on earth are you putting in these coffees so that everybody needs to come in here and pay you? What a market niche!

She grins widely now. A booth empties and I run in. Upon exiting I’m even happy a little and ask her how much she thinks it was worth. She says: “Daj šta daš.” Give what you give. I give her 50 cents to make it level with the toilet in Pisa where I was similarly appalled that I had to pay, but there the price was fixed, and greet her goodbye, still grinning. Obviously I made her day.

When I have to pee again, it’s hours later and we are in a service station somewhere in Italy. Off the highway it’s all rather the same until you start to climb the Apenini. I have to walk up and up and up to find a toilet.

As soon as I see there is no line, I decide to dash for the closest booth, when I pass another lady employee. She looks at me in something like horror but I choose to ignore her and proceed, thinking: “Oh no you won’t, goddamnit. You don’t even speak my language. You don’t need these bloody coins, your make-up costs more than my bra.”

Then I stop listening to my internal monologue and while peeing have a listen around me. Something is off.

I buckle up and just before making my exit I realise what is happening.

I only hear male voices.

She did try to warn me.

≈ Manja Maksimovič ≈

Featured photo: Off the roof this morning. Photo: MM