bosoro

20.04 12:54 sunny day.

thinking about god in the memories i hold. thinking about holding memories. thinking about thoughts of the past.

17..04 09:35 rainy morning

tired even though just woke up.

i terminated my deadline and i’m not sure that i’ll be able to make it.

i’m struggling with the desire to go for a coffee.

but i know that it probably won’t help me work.

15.04. 13:34 rainy day.

let my friend go on the train back to their far away land.

spoke with my brother on the phone. nothing new, yet the echo of constant change resonates through every word spoken.

i'm looking forward to this week that i decided to spend in complete isolation. i feel responsible for finishing illustrations for my book that should be published someday. i have to fulfill this checkpoint. i feel the need for achievement to move further.

my father told me a few days ago that my aunt might let me use her summer house for the holidays. i think it could be a perfect opportunity to spend time with friends and finish our project if we can solve our bureaucratic problems.

I'm feeling a bit lost but trying my best not to be toxic toward myself. the process of shaping and reconstruction is really hard and exhausting.

the stuff i need to feel myself:

smaller apartment, including dishwasher, washing machine, full-sized bath, and sink. space furnished with pieces i chose carefully and personally. piano and acoustic guitar. long table in the kitchen for dinner parties. a balcony or a hidden garden in a backyard. the space i can fit and fill.

highly paid computer-related jobs with a low amount of communication from 9 to 15.

my own coffee shop - aka personal/public art studio - atelier - collaboration center. big broad tables, a lot of light, instruments, and materials. a small room for tea.

super fast laptop and internet to avoid any physical limitations.

gym in the basement of my house. me running in the late morning through the forest, playing big tennis on weekends with friends and a trainer, doing tai chi in the garden late in the evening. yoga daily as a wake-up.

eating only fruits and soups. feeling myself clear and light. feeling the power and energy to move.

communicating less. listening more. writing more. reading more. collecting a personal library. finishing personal projects.

small wardrobe of a few items. short but fluffy hair. clean skin.

music… just a lot of good sound all around.

talking only thoughtfully. no small talk. no courtesy or politeness.

objects:

•	noise-canceling headphones

•	pack of color pencils

•	two soft blankets

•	one slim pillow

•	a lot of candles

•	scented oils

•	one wooden bowl and one huge heavy ceramic cup

•	set of sunglasses

•	filter coffee machine

•	rusty piano

•	two guitars

•	cutting, printing, clipping, sewing instruments for crafts

•	orange lamp

middle of the night, and i’m on my way home;

a weird feeling of repetition and

and alienation circles inside.

the sky is clear,

yet the darkness is so firm

that only the small aureole of light

produced by the car’s lights is visible.

the noise of the train station

is similar to the sound of a blossoming cherry tree.

people — night dwellers?

no, not yet.

the soft nature of the young night

descends on their eyes,

imbued with the dreaminess

of a day asleep.

i’m coming to my place,

to be consumed

by accumulated tiredness.

i feel like the biggest change i can’t cope with

is lost of words.

there are no words inside

anymore

no more beautiful words

to depict the world.

no happiness to hide the gloom

only the vulgar presence.

the stink of mundane is following me

and i’m sorry for that.

i lost any magic

that were shimmering deep inside.

i just want to be human.

as all humans.

not tired.

not endlessly sad.

no rotting inside.

looking at the sun

with widely open eyes.

smelling the newly bloomed flowers

in the middle of the street.

Late night. The foggy streets shimmer with expectations for the future feast. Trams shake lightly, bumping into the walls of thick smoke. I venture further into the night, accompanied by the clicking noise of the tower clock. Does anyone recognize my presence? The shadow or shape of my existence, in the thick darkness of the sparkling town.

long almost cinematic travel. emotional dialogues. walks through nowhere. the passage to adulthood.

long day. the beginning of summer holidays. weird feeling of abandonment. i'm thinking a lot about human relationships. about communication and interaction.

what does it mean to be a human being ?

what does it take to be a part of human society ?

do we need language ?

do we need ethics ?

do we need an elaborate system of perception-explanations and believes ?

do we need cities ?

i'm questioning myself how much of a human i am. during the long summer days and short summer evenings i see stars and the depth of infinity universe while comparing it to the broadness of my self perception. the way i started seeing human is non-centric, melted into environment, lost in interpretation of self perceptions and overwhelmed by technology. we become something less important that our collective products. so we embraced the idea of production. and overproduction. as an outcome to avoid meaninglessness - the consumption. and overconsumption. now we lost the taste. the inner intuition which were showing us the path of natural sublimation. now we existing in the world without borders. without scales.

what does it mean to be a human in the world without border ?

probably to be able to consume or to produce. so-forth to be a part of human society would mean to be actively practicing both.

but why human societies centered around consumption ?

maybe we can change it if we find the root.

літо мене виснажує. я не знаю як люди живуть в пустелі. здається що кожна краплинка моєї свідомості випалюється сонцем. я стаю схожою на вигорівшу фотокартку яка вже кілька років непорушно висить на дверцятах холодильнику.

long day. dinner with neighbors. hortensia flowers in the garden. evening coffee with chocolates. i'm trying to see through the sadness. maybe i will find something further occasionally. maybe i will evaporate sooner. i feel that my life carries no meaning. or at least not more than a life of a moth.

lost.

I had a dream. I was falling in love. Softly, slowly, inevitably. Just like the flowers of spring turning into summer leaves. I felt truly present. The fourth time we were supposed to meet near the lake on a green field, bombs started to fall on the city. We didn't meet again.

Do people even remember how it was? Talking... long evenings daydreaming of lost ancient cities, golden tigers, poems written on stones.

i miss the world tenderly covered by smoke and dust. fuzzy creation of mystic minds. elaborately crafted from words and tactility.

говоря о чем-то новом. я забываю себя в зимнем пальто. с первыми морозами нахожу случайно. пока роюсь в поисках спичек.