Enough

I almost quarreled with my mother who is strongly against my going to the Bogrov dog shelter. It’s not like she doesn’t love animals-she does, as strongly as I do. She’s just concerned about the way it affects me. She asked me“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Do I really have to explain? Yes, it’s a nasty job; yes, it leaves my body aching and my soul bleeding; yes, it makes me burst into tears a dozen times a day. It is nasty but that's what it really comes down to isn't it? Nobody wants to do it and yet someone has to. Because if the only thing you do is to say “Oh, poor little things, I’m so sorry for them!” that makes no difference for the poor little things and helps them not. Just feeling sorry is nearly not enough.  Sympathy is useless if not followed by action.

I’ve been a passive whiner for far too long.

Blur

Tomorrow. Right now the world makes no sense-at least not the sense I can live with. Because if what is on my mind is the truth I will never smile again.

I shall leave it all for tomorrow. I’ve had too much for one weekend. I’m not that strong.

Walking

I spent the day at Animal Rescue shelter in Bogrov walking dogs from 10 am to 6 PM. I’m dead tired but how I feel doesn’t matter-the dogs needed it and I provided it. I wish there were more volunteers.

Duty calls

I’m going out to do some good. And may the Force be with me. OK, a minor force will do just as well. I’d appreciate anything. 

Mercy

There is so much on my mind that it suffocates me to keep all that sadness inside. And I don’t know how to ease of it.

Time-out, please

Challenging yourself to test your limits is rewarding; however, reaching your breaking point leaves just one question in your mind: what the hell was I thinking?!

What am I trying to prove? And to whom? Is a day worth living it if it doesn’t end with a smile?

I need a break.

Darlings

The staff at the dog shelter is very limited-just enough people to clean the cages and feed the dogs but that’s just about it. They depend on volunteers to come on weekends and walk the dogs-all 500 of them. A friend took a picture of me with one of the dogs I walked yesterday. He was such a darling. All of them were.

After

Oh, dear. It was just as I expected it to be but that doesn’t make it easier. It was devastating. E.T. is still there. Next weekend I’ll go again.

I only took pictures of the “kindergarten” (puppies are kept separately):

E.T.

I have a friend who has a friend who is a photographer and has an assignment at the Animal Rescue shelter scheduled for today-to take pictures of all dogs to be put for adoption. My friend called me a few days ago “Do you want to come with us?” Hell, yes! The shelter is located on the outskirts of Sofia-dishearteningly far to get there by public transport. I’ve been planning to visit it but could not find the courage and courage I need because…

My Animal Rescue 2012 calendar is hanged in my living room and it’s the first thing I see each time I enter in there. In about a week it will be already August but the calendar is still on the month of June because of the dog whose picture is on that page:

He’s not pretty, obviously, but for some reason I find him irresistibly charming and absolutely adorable. And I can’t stop thinking about him. As far as I know he’s not adopted yet and today I’ll ask to see him. Just to see him-for starters; and take him out of his cage for a walk. And then I’ll see how it goes-it is too frightening for me to build any plans. It is both a win-win and a lose-lose situation for me. There’s the love and the affection-to give and be given, and that is priceless. But looking after a dog is a big responsibility-it’s time consuming to begin with; I’m not sure if I’m ready to be "handcuffed" again. And there’s also that other part where the dog gets old and then very old and then…  

But…

Oh, fuck, it isn’t what’s best for me that I should do, is it? I must do what is right and what is right may not always be what is right for me. Oh, fuck.

OK. I’ll just go there today and see how it goes. One step at a time.

His name is E.T.

Fluke

Yesterday seemed the longest day ever-with the fatigue accumulated throughout the whole week, with the excitement of good news and the anticipation it brought, with the heat completely redefining the perception of time, with the Friday-ness of the day to begin with that always, especially lately, sets my mind in a rapturous mood, with the odd, almost mystical coincidence in the morning that made long forgotten happy memories emerge from oblivion. Yesterday was a fair of colours, sounds and sights fascinating to be a witness of.

Decompressing

The more I deal with people the more I long to have a dog; for dogs, unlike people, do not succumb to the temptation to pretend they’re someone they’re not.

"Anastasis"

I remember jotting down in my journal in a time long forgotten “A reason to stay alive-to wait for the next Dead Can Dance album.” And then DCD split and it looked like it was for good. But here they are back together and that line is relevant again, even more than before, because the new album is not just a piece of transient art. It’s a breathtaking picture made of light and embroidered with magic. It’s perfect. I feel like falling on my knees in gratitude and reverence.

Memo

I guess peace of mind doesn’t go hand in hand with long-lasting memories. Tricky choice, is it?

Disarming

A friend sent me this picture. It is impossible for me to imagine someone could keep indifferent to such cuteness:

One day I’ll have a house in the country. And a big yard. And a piglet; no, at least a couple of piglets so they could keep each other company. Not that they would have a chance to feel lonely with the bunch of dogs I’ll take care of. And cats-of course there will be cats as well. One day…

Down

Is it possible to love without getting emotionally attached and thus avoid the pain that parting always inflicts?

                                                                             * * *

The day took a wrong turn from the start and the further it dragged on the wider the curve and the bigger the deviation. The best I can do is to stop resisting the flow and save my passion for a cause worthy the fight instead of squandering it over unremarkable irritations whose triviality is insulting to the self-respect. The air couldn’t care less if you try to punch it.

It was a sad day; hopeless in a subtly definite way. What if tomorrow feels the same? What if the day after tomorrow is no different either? It gives me the shivers to think of it.

Sighingly

I can’t even remember when the last time I attended a concert was. And the last time I was at a memorable concert was even longer ago. Such a shame ‘cause it is then that I feel really and fully alive. I so much miss the thrill of being a primal witness to a miracle in action. It bears the touch of divinity.

Never-ending story

Little wonders everywhere. When the mind is light it is so easy to spot them that the though how many must have passed unnoticed in times of confusion is almost scary ‘cause clearly it’s all on display all the time-the good, the bad and the extraordinary.

Every awake moment seems miraculous. The impossible blue of the sky, the futile courtship of male pigeons so pathetic in their diligence it almost seems touching,  the wrinkles on people’s faces that I imagine to map the curves of their lives, the stillness of a mid-July Sunday afternoon – to have been presented with the gift of normal life seems a miracle.

But that was yesterday. Oh well, there’s always the next weekend to recharge and rediscover the meaning of life anew.

Baffled

Velvet Acid Christ is about to release a new album (hooray!) and I already pre-ordered it although it’ll be out in September-more that 2 months from now (ah, the sweet torment of waiting...I've missed it). The news got me so excited that lately I post mostly VAC videos on my FB wall. Well, they’re not exactly videos-just a bunch of images of album and single covers and booklets put together. One of my friends was very impressed with some of the drawings (but no so much with the music, I suspect) and he asked if I knew who did them. I’ve been asking myself that question many times so now that someone else was curious about it too it was more fun to look for the answer. I remember reading somewhere that if you can't find something on Google it doesn't exist. And I couldn’t! The only thing I managed to dig up was the name of Quartier Macabre-a formation of three artists: Worm, Seven and Echo Webb, and somehow I think it was Worm who did those particular drawings that I like:

And that’s all I found! That “Worm” person has apparently disappeared-from the WWW at least. I tried all the search words and combinations I could think for but to no avail. That is so unnerving. It’s not like I’ll lose my sleep over it of course; it just disturbs me to be reminded that Google is not al-mighty and all-seeing after all.

Recurring

Memory is like an overfilled closet-you never know what the first thing to fall on your head will be when you open it.

A few days ago, on my way to work, I listened to the Still EP and the closet opened unleashing a flood of tears. I remembered how it was a couple of years back when one December morning I posted “Leaving hope” on my wall; the decision that I had to make-a decision that was overwhelmingly horrifying to say aloud.  In my desperate denial of the truth I clung to the irrational and futile delusion that wishing for something really badly can make your wish come true, against all odds, even against all logic.

Time heals, people say. It doesn’t happen that way, of course. Pain isn’t an item you can deliberately misplace while moving from one point in your life to the next one-maybe because it wasn’t that you chose to have it in the first place; it was you who drew the short straw to carry it. And it becomes an innate feature-just like DNA, bone structure and eye colour.  Why is it so hard to accept it then?