I am sitting here alone with my fan at work. The fan is not very conversational, so I came to the conclusion that rambling a bit here would be a good substitute. It doesn’t converse, though it does emit a nice whirring noise that is pleasant and nullifies the stifling silence of the office.

Today has been a relative waste (other than the spinach salad that i concocted earlier, that is). Relative to the weekend and the whole of last week. I awoke at 15.00, stumbled around the flat for a bit, sat down, smoked a cigarette, got up, stumbled around some more, and finally found my way to the shower. I call it a shower, but it isn’t really a shower. Showers are defined by the existence of shower curtains. We have no shower curtain. So it’s not a shower. It’s a bath with an apparatus attached to the spigot which allows pseudo-shower-like functionality. This is not at all unusual in this country. Anyway, after the pseudo-shower, I stumbled around the flat a bit longer, had another cigarette, fed the cats, and set off into the city with no particular destination in mind. I ended up at work because there was little else to do.

Pátek byl zajimavý protože: První, jsem šel do zkurveného Proseku s Patriciou se setkat s Pavlem a Ingridou. Obvikle si vybíraji divná mista. Je daleko z všude a ta služba tam je jako hrůza. Po čtyři piv, my jsme řekli, “musíme jet do festivalu blizko Košire, a je daleko, chapeš?” Bylo pravda, vlastně. Tak, jsme - já a Patricia - odešli. Cesta trvala vícemeně jendu hodinu a konečně jsme přijeli do poslední zastavky nějakého autobusu ve středě nějakého lesa. Slišeli jsme hudbu, tak jsme šli po zvuku. Našli jsme Habosha a Rosteja. Hulili jsme a chlastali jsme a kecali jsme do rana. V sobotu jsme byl mrtvej, ale ještě jsem šel do Iron Maiden.

At about seven in the morning (I am not sure, really), we sat at the end of the bus line which would take us back to Anděl. Habosh, Patricia and I, quite happily bleary, stretched our legs onto the asphalt as our buttocks firmly gripped the kerb. A straggler from the festival showed up and sprawled himself out in front of us, and focusing on Patricia, started babbling quickly in Czech. Once he discovered that Patricia did not speak Czech well, he continued to babble even more quickly at her in Czech. I understood about 70% of what he was spewing (and Habosh, being Czech, understood all of it, of course) and it was along the lines of “Foreigners Who Can’t Speak Czech Fluently Do Not Belong In This Country”, “We Are Better Than You” and some other nationalistic nonsense. As the guy was sitting in the street, directly in the path of where the bus would come, I had the secret wish that it would come at that instant and crush him into the pavement. Patricia and Habosh told me later that they, too, had secretly had this wish. The bus did finally come, but it did not crush the bastard. He continued his diatribe on the bus and finally Habosh told him that his views were absurd and simple minded and to go off somewhere and fuck himself with a very serrated object (velmi zoubkovaný objekt). So that was that.

Habosh had to work at 8 something, so Patricia and I kept him company (so he would not fall asleep) at a pub near Anděl. I don’t know exactly when I arrived home, but I do recall waking up at 17.00 in time to stumble around the flat a bit more before going to the Iron Maiden gig.

After going to the crazily overpriced Iron Maiden gig in the very stuffy T-Mobile arena at Výstavyště full of more than 20 000 heat-generating humans (and one cat), Patricia, Habosh, Rostej, et. al., and I went to a pub to drink beer and smoke pot. During the course of the evening, Patricia began to give Habosh Spanish lessons. He got to learn very important and useful phrases such as “No puedo trabajar porque estoy colocado.” Soon I suspect he’ll be ready for a job interview in Spain.

This has certainly been a fecund month for concerts. Porcupine Tree (ok, at the end of last month), Jaga Jazzist, Waltari, Guapo, Iron Maiden and three festivals full of popular Czech bands that you probably don’t know. Dobrý.

I went with Patricia and Michal to see Guapo last night in a dirty little club in Strahov. It was a bizarre but brilliant concert. I met Michal at 5 and we took the bus up the hill and ended up (como siempre) in a pub whilst we waited for the doors to the club to open. After two beers, Patricia showed up (in all her Spanish splendour) and we continued with a third beer. We were going to eat something, but since, after all, beer is liquid bread, we didn’t bother. We stumbled to the club and encountered the band’s soundcheck. It was, as most soundchecks are, loud. The bassist made particularly lots of noise. We had another beer. Michal provided the prediction that the opening band (Czech) was going to be horrific, but I held on to a bit of optimism (since the opening band for Porcupine tree, whom I saw one month ago, was brilliant). Michal was right. So we went back to the aforementioned pub for 45 minutes. We drank another beer and were offered a joint from friends of Patricia who apparently lived in the area and inhabited the pub regularly (just as she used to). The walk from the pub back to the club seemed very long and surreal (mostly because of the marijuana). Michal talked at length about the widths of the cracks in the parking lot. We arrived and ordered more beer. Unfortunately, at that moment, I had to urinate very badly, so I was away when the concert started. Sequenced bells and chimes raced everywhere (I began hearing them as I was pissing), and as I re-emerged and found Patricia and Michal, two of the members of the band were creeping through the throng with gongs held above them, screaming and ranting (and banging the gongs). One of them (the keyboardist, at it turned out) was painted blue. After that, it was 1 1/2 hours of relentless Zeuhl (with several more gong sequences). I was surprised that the audience (mostly students, probably, in their early 20s) were so enthusiastic. It was brutal stuff. They played their new CD in its entirety and the first ‘piece’ from their last CD, plus an encore which I hadn’t heard. Afterwards, we took the slow, meandering bus from Strahov to Karlovo Namesti and ended with another beer at ‘U Sudu’ (there were other beers and stuff inbetween that I forgot to mention). I was the least drunk of the three of us as we called it a night, so I walked for 30 minutes back to Holešovice through the warm, humid night.

Drunk in the morning. Well, I guess noon is morning for me. Just me and the cats here, and, of course, the ubiquitous wine and freestanding velbloud. I played rummy with Michal last night. It was brilliant. I hope to see Patricia tonight, but hope is a bland thing. I’ve had no dreams that I can recall since returning from Maja. Perhaps the alcohol snuffs them. I should go to work. Oh, GOD, life is bitter and absurd. Now it is time for my final cigarette.

Are lives I live so circulatory? I am here with five friends - five is the maximum I have ever felt that I could relate to. And they talk about the music as Patricia crunches Křupky. I should not be so cynical. Viking attempts to explain about our time in Průhonice and I just returned from the toilet, have realized that I am a stranger, as usual. Viking calls this book a bible; perhaps it shall be, if I encourage all of my friends to scribe within it.

The rain precludes me

As I shiver in this pub

Listening but mute

I am fading away…

It’s been a long problem with me - I cannot associate with people perfictly. You think that you understand, BARBORKO?

http://polaris.fucksheep.org/boc_astronomy_w_stephen_king.mp3 After reading the whole ‘Dark Tower’ series by Stephen King over the last week, I find this nostalgic bit of music. It is not exactly connected, but, for sure, interesting. The aforementioned novels are possibly a bit of pop culture, but I enjoyed them immensely. The characters have a resonant depth, and when each of them died, I was gripped with emotional pain. Maybe it breaks no new ground like James Joyce or Tolkien did, but it is, nonetheless, gripping. When Jake died, I cried. And I don’t usually cry. Oy: “I Ake!” That could be ‘Bye Jake’ or ‘I ache’. If you haven’t read them, it would make no sense, probably. Oh, by the way, here is the original: http://polaris.fucksheep.org/boc_astronomy.mp3

Commentaries:

Tony:

Don’t post spoilers, damn it!

Me:

Wanna beat me over the head with a mallet or what?

Tony:

I will beat on you with a plastic bat or walrus.

It was no mallet, but a magna of illusion.

Me:

At least it wasn’t the Forge of Vulcan.

Acy, you told me four years ago that you liked this song. Finally, I got the CD again (the original was stolen by someone who is a friend of us all). http://polaris.fucksheep.org/peter_blegvad/Downtime/14_-_Say_No_Now.mp3 Pa pa pa…

Commentaries:

Tony:

Stolen by whom?

Me:

I won’t say. I’ll leave it to your imagination.

Acy:

I don’t really remember the song too well, except for a hint of recognition at the chorus :) But it really brought back that time in my life, and that visit, that meant a lot to me. I remember listening a lot to “Mayfly and the Rose” sometime in that period as well. I believe that was your Robert Calvert CD, do you have it on MP3?

Keep in touch.

Acy

Me:

I am ripping it now.

What did the chrous remind you of? Maybe Pavla? :) http://polaris.fucksheep.org/hype.html

I woke up this morning clutching my penis. Strange because I did not have any sexual dreams. I dreamt about Fort Stockton, as I usually do, but of a surreal Fort Stockton. I walked along what I suppose was Main Street, past the strange and outdated drugstore which still served fountain drinks – the one Chris and I went to some years ago – the one Acy and I went to after visiting Joni when I was still in that rabid High School. I turned right, along Guadalupe Avenue, if that exists. I don’t remember. I came upon a giant store called ‘Sears Jeans’ and all they had were jeans. Fucking kalhoty. It seemed out of place in the general desolation which was Fort Stockton, Texas. They had all kind of jeans – for the fat – for the thin – for the ravaged – everything. I walked curiously through the store, thinking that I really need some new pants (and, I do) and came upon a buffet. It was like a little paradise among capitalistic gloom. People were sprawled on their tables like drunkards, clutching jeans to themselves as if they were their children. On the tables were unfinished utopenec and tlacenka, like in a rancid czech pub. I went to the counter. The prices were in czech crowns. 40 Kc for a full meal – including soup. “That’s pretty cheap, vole” I told myself. Then I was walking home – along Division Street, waiting for a screaming fit from my mother.

Music: Porcupine Tree

Commentaries:

Bender:

…I dreamt about Fort Stockton, as I usually do, but of a surreal Fort Stockton…

Isn’t this redundant? What other kind of Ft. Stockton is there?

Of course, it would be much more awesome if you could get utopenec there…

Me:

Did you ever have utopenec here? and are you going to be near the hometown at xmas?

Bender:

yes…i don’t recall the name of the pub, but i had utopenecs there. if i don’t misremember, you had ham.

Me:

probably na kvedice. was it with janička?

Bender:

No, it was just us. It had two floors, on the ground floor you got the food, and upstairs you ate it. The wall had a painting or poster with very crude caricatures of people.

Tony:

Did you wake up in a pool of vomit?

Me:

not yet.

Acy:

I wake up clutching my penis, but that’s just because I love and adore it.

I don’t remember the drugstore. I do remember going to some fairly lame music store.

Mmmm, tlacenka.

Me:

do you still have it pierced? were you with us when we followed the fools on bikes? i believe it was lee, david, me… and you?

I really don’t update this thing very often, do I?

Well, I can expound on today’s plan, however. I shall go home, get drunk and play nethack until I pass out. When I awaken, I shall prepare for my trip to České Budějovice and figure out when I can possibly go visit Maja in Munich. Perhaps the following weekend? Women are very good at making me feel guilty.

Music: Peter Blegvad

Commentaries:

Jayson:

Nethack… so did you win?

Me:

No, I gave up after a while from frustration and watched a film (21 Grams) instead.

Acy:

Smoke pot instead. If you smoke enough, you’ll still pass out, but you won’t be destroying your liver. Your lungs won’t like you so much, though. However, I imagine your lungs can handle the abuse a little better at this point.

Jayson:

Just make pot brownies then. It will take a little longer to start but you can really get messed up and have a hard time being certain of the doesage until it’s too late. Your liver and lungs will thank you.

Tony:

Or heroin! Fast-acting, provides hours of entertainment.

Acy:

Yeah, but it gives the brownies a nasty bitter flavor and makes you unbelievable constipated.

Me:

Do you prefer constipation or prujem, Aceman?

Acy:

The dosage is really not that hard to titrate. Just make them really fucking strong and start out with a little tiny brownie. Work up from there.

Me:

I am uncertain why you would think that I would not be alive, my dear Aceman. I can get pot, if needed, from my friends in Kacerov, but I don’t really like the way it makes me feel, especially if I am alone. Paranoia. Did I ever tell you the story about when I had to tie myself to my bed when I was living in Holland so I wouldn’t jump out of the window? Too much marijuana. Hmmm…. I guess I understand why you may think that I would not be alive.

Maja is a girl with whom Loyal talked on the phone four years ago. I remember very clearly what he told me when she handed me back my mobile: “Dude, I can’t believe it. She’s 18!” If anyone wants to call me next weekend, you may be able to talk to her, as well.

“A woman’s test is material. A man’s test is a woman…if a man could fuck in a cardboard box, he wouldn’t buy a house.” - Rabbi Dave Chappelle

Commentaries:

Acy:

I am a pan of fed ants.

Me:

I am happy to hear that. How difficult was it to scatter your consciousness among a scampering horde of insects?

Acy:

I simply infused my brain with neurotransmitter-sampling nanomachines and advanced cryoprotectants. The nanosamplers inserted themselves densely into my cell membranes and then, after my body was cooled to subzero temperatures, they were sampled at high resolution using an 815T MRI. Each sampler reported the concentration of one of over thirty different neurotransmitters and neuropeptides, which, combined with their precise position, allowed a cognition-space transform to map my cognitive processes into a widely distributed network if nanoprocessors. These were loaded into a wasp-like delivery drone and implanted into the males and workers of a swarm of Neivamyrmex pilosus.

Me:

What are the purpose of wasps, really?

Anonymous:

that’s what happens when you only shop at IKEA. he should try to get some big furniture which comes in boxes that can accomodate all needs. fucking including.

Me:

Are you stupid or what?

Anonymous:

just trying to judge things by their face-value and see what monsters i can give birth to by doing that.

Tony:

sPONG?

The feathers from a deflowered dandelion float about the office. I am the only one who notices. All else is sunlight and obstacle.

Music: Marillion - The Invisible Man