Lepopisana

Moja gimnazijska leta niso bila nič posebnega ... morda pa se samo ne spomnim več. Vsekakor pa sem si ob branju te knjige zaželela, da bi bila. Devojka pod velom tajne je roman o šestih gimnazijcih, sošolcih, ki obiskujejo eksperimentalni razred, s programom pod pokroviteljstvom Združenih narodov. Vsak ima svoje poglavje, ki nosi njegovo ime in vsebuje zgodbo z zornega kota enega od treh fantov in treh deklet, njihov pogled na ista štiri leta. Ko jih sestavimo, dobimo zgodbo, ki bi jo lahko povedal vsevedni pripovedovalec pa jo je, modro, raje prepustil njim. Beremo o šoli, učiteljih, učenju pa tudi o mladostnih ljubeznih, delovnih brigadah, prijateljih z vogala, počitnicah ter resnih stvareh kot je kraja v šoli ali pretep pred njo. Veliko vlogo v knjigi ima tudi glasba, ki so jo ljudje poslušali v šestdesetih. V vseh zgodbah se pojavlja Svetlana, njihova sošolka, ki pa nima svojega poglavja. Svetlana je skrivnost in to v različnih pogledih. Je zelo lepa, marsikdo je bil ob te...

El Greco was born as Doménikos Theotokópoulos in 1541 on the island of Crete. At about 20 he went to Italy and later to Spain. They nicknamed him El Greco, the Greek, because his proper name was too difficult to pronounce. He painted mostly religious scenes, rarely did he touch upon secular subject matter. He lived in Toledo, the capital of catholic Spain and the former centre of Sephardic Jews. I saw El Caballero in Vienna, on a hot August Sunday in 2001. The Kunstrhistorisches Museum was full of people. My attention was captured by his face, particularly his eyes. And his direct eye contact with a viewer. People were passing between us. I don't remember their voices, just seeing them pass, almost hover noiselessly. I remember being sucked into his eyes, slowly drowning into their amber melancholy. The white lace kept dancing in my peripheral vision.  He's serious, austere and melancholy. He stands slightly off centre, partly turned towards the viewer, with h...

The Year of Magical Thinking is a memoir covering the year after Joan Didion's husband died.  She writes about emptiness, dreams, children, family, things she did, where she went, what she remembered, what she wrote about. Magical thinking refers to her dealing with John's death, grief and mourning, as well as with the time their daughter Quintana was hospitalised. She mentions that she was thinking as small children think, as if her thoughts and actions had the power to change the outcome. She finds it difficult to give away his shoes because he would need them when he returned. But later she wonders how he would come back if his organs were taken at the hospital. She asks herself: "... did I remain so unable to accept the fact that he has died?"  "A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty." Life changes in an instant as Didion puts it at the beginning of the book, an ordinary instant. What remains is emptiness which...

I walk through the corridors of a castle in the mountains. The feeling is the same as if it was in the middle of nothing. The mountains are grey, the same colour as stone, the castle is built of. Narrow corridors open into small terraces paved with black and white tiles. I don't know why I'm there. I used to keep a journal into which I wrote about my dreams. This entry is from 28th September 1999. While reading this entry after so many years, I got the impression of the castle being in a way unreachable. You can't get in but you can't get out either. In those years I dreamt a lot about houses, castles, apartments, about wars fought there and all sorts of other events. I never kept note of interpretations of those dreams. As far as I can remember I never even tried to interpret them. I just wrote about them. Now I understand them, then I didn't. I just observed them as they were. René Magritte never liked to interpret his paintings. In his opinion, the images...

Črna stran bele Ljubljane Izet odjebi All cops are bastards Big riot city Maščevanje črnih ovc Dobro jutro prinčipesa Image ovce, egotrip forever Our solution, mind revolution Svemirska pljačka

27. april 2016 , dan upora proti okupatorju (včasih smo mu rekli dan OF). Nekje med Logatcem in Vrhniko, ne vem točno kje, vse je bilo videti enako: zasnežena drevesa, zasnežena cesta, rdeče luči. 1. maj , mednarodni praznik dela. Kot lani in predlani pa še kakšno leto prej, nas je tudi tokrat zbudil Pihalni orkester Litostroj. Rada vidim, da pridejo.