The Release

Every morning we wake up with a need to release. Release something.

We do not know why and how that need forms. But it is there every morning.

Then we go about the day not aware of that need to release. And find substitutes.

A huge part of our daily behavior is attempting to release. But we never manage.

There are moments when we are either close to a release or actualy releasing.

An orgasm is the easiest example of an emotional release but by far not the only or the best way.

The actual release is very specialized and never the same. It depends on the person, the moment, the time.

See if any of that makes sense to you tomorrow morning. Do something about it during the day.

When Paradise comes

When Paradise comes Paradise creatures appear.

One day, about 20 years ago, I brought a smile to someone’s face and she told me “You are an angel.” But I felt like asking “An angel with a sad face?”.

For a brief moment we’ve seen Paradise in others. At times we brought Paradise to others. With some special people these moments are predictable. But how and why people reflect Paradise is not important.

What is important is to note how simple and natural it all flows. Then, before we realize it, it is over. A Paradise creature came and went. In retrospect we can see it all clearly. Could that be a moment when you were your true self?

The present moment is a subject of resrospective. Retrosective shows that most of the time we spend our lives away from the present moment – we live in the past or in the future. There are a few moments when we were our best and a few moments when we were our worst. The feeling is that most of the time we did not exist, we did not live an actual life.

If there is any merit in any of these thoughts it can be found a few lines above:
“…note how simple and natural it all flows”.


In this house

I try to contain

an ocean

the spinning of an entire Universe of stars

constant inaudible sounds – low and high
and all the sounds in between

a fury of movement and immovable structures

In this house

You are a little girl

You are ancient and eternal

You are light

You are sound

In this house

When you are away the small dog looks at the door all the time

And we do too

Велик е нашия войник.

1987, Военна болница. Викат ме за изследвания дали съм годен да служа. Нема вече привиквания само да земат кръв. Тургат ме в болницата там да ме гледат ден и нощ дали ставам да защитавам каквото има да се защитава.

И аз като всички идиоти там се преструвам на болен. Всеки с номера си. Гледат ме странно 3 дни. Накрая един вика “Таман нощта преди да додеш едно момче умре горкото на това легло. Бълнува за некакви овце накрая.”. Премигнах и си викам “Ебал съм го, аз и без това не барам тва легло”.

Насилвах си черния дроб да им изкара лоши резултати. Така и стана. Младия военен лекар ми каза че дроба ми бил ама много зле. Билирубина ми бил ужас висок (червени кръвни клетки като мрат дето ти правят очите жълти и дроба уголемен ако са много). Вика “Тебе ще те освободим от военна служба, ама положението ти е много зле.”.

Гледам го с големи ужасени очи, викам “Леле, ами сега?!” и млъквам “ужасен”. Ми да, аз не спя вече 1 седмица, ходя като сомнамбул, заспивам докато ходя по коридора нощем, бутам се в стената накрая на коридора и тогаз се будя ебати. А те горките за алкохол дехидрогеназа ме следят – да не съм пил, това е ензима дето разгражда алкохола. Ма аз знам за кво търсят и насилвам дроба по други начини. Чрез умора до зуко. Ям и гадната храна и гледам повече от каквото мазно има да докопам. Нищо друго. Натурален подход към лъжовна кръвна картина.

Сядах само на стол за малко, никога легнал щото ще заспя за 3 дни ебати. Най-майтапа стана един ден докато стърча прав на болничния балкон и уча за изпити. А там се описва таман как работи тоя чернодробен синдром дето го имам ама преувеличавам, кое го облекчава, кое го влошава. Викам си “Живота ебати е по-комедия от всеки филм!”

Цялата болница пълна с такива тарикати като мен. Един пил химикал в капсула да му се образуа язва, друг си чупил ръката нарочно, трети куца фалшиво.

Абе цирк. Тарикатска нация. За съжаление.

The emotional charge of memories

The fact that our friends’ memories about something differ from our own could be explained with the three fundamental types – constructor, reflector, neurotic. I myself (a neurotic – all about connections) build wild “novels” based on what I experience while my friend (a constructor – all about facts) notices the facts much more. So years later, when we try to remember something I remember my own “novels” and he remembers more actual facts (at least the way he registered them in the past).

When remembering I think the Salience Network (responsible for outlining the elements important to us and our survival) also plays games and introduces its own changes – based on what it “saw” in the past and also based on what is important for it righ now. The result – a wildly different representation of the past with some points of contact with the reality.

What is interesting to me is that I personally have memories that are “soft”, “beautified”, idealized. There are negative things but never in pure form. That must be a defense mechanism I have. I hope that all other people are the same way – I do not want to know that people carry old wounds as if they were inflicted recently – but mos likely things are not the way I’d like them to be.

At the end – a memory seems to be a true work of art – completely real and completely non-existent at the same time. But oh, the an emotional charge a memory carries!

То что у друзей воспоминания или отличаются или совсем разные думаю можно объяснить тремя типами – конструктор, рефлектор, невротик. Я лично строю дикие романы на основе того что переживаю, а вот мой друг замечает фактов намного больше. Так что после много лет когда мы что то воспоминаем должно быть я вспоминаю мой “романы”, а он – побольше фактов (такими каким он их видел в прошлом).

Но при етом думаю что в процессе воспоминания СВЗ тоже шалит и вносит изменения – на основе что она “видела” в прошлом и что для нее важно сейчас, много лет спустя. Результат – дикое отличающиеся представление прошлого с какими то общими точками.

То что интересно ето что для меня лично воспоминания всегда как то “мягкие”, “красивые”, идеализированные. Негатива есть, но не в чистом виде. Должно быть у меня ето защитный механизм. Надеюсть так и у других людей – не хочу думать что они в себе носят старые раны как совсем новые – но ето вряд ли так как мне хочется.

Так что кажется что воспоминание ето какое то произведение искусства – и совсем реально и вообще не существует. Но зато какой емоциональный заряд!

Joy examined under a magnified glass

Crater of Tzar Bomba, the most powerful nuclear weapon ever created. Tested in 1961. Picture taken 40 years later.
Diameter of the explosion fireball – 5 miles. Mushroom height – 100 miles.
The blast circled the Earth 3 times

“We have to be able to hold fast, maintain absolute faith that we will make it while simultaneously facing the brutal truth; we might not make it. ⁣
…Give your best, control what can be controlled, and forget about the things that can’t be controlled. ” –Paul Sharp

A closer look reveals that it’s not just about “giving your best… and forget about the things (you can’t control).”

It is about accepting the denial that something exists while at the same time doing what the human mind does at all times – desperately keeping as much control as possible. Surviving.

Meaning that we need to live fully aware that we will have no choice but to suppress some things and cause frustration and pressure to grow inside us. And that we will be using other things to both feel in control and give an outlet for the frustration and pressure.

That is the essence of “finding joy” when you look at it up close through a magnifying glass.

The way it enters your life

All of us look at the flowers and the leaves. We forget that it is the roots that make it all happen.

You know how it works; As long as you persist at least a little AND are able to approach the same topic from a different angle. Only then things start to explode in your head like beautiful fireworks.

I’ve done that with geometry and math now – all my life I hated them. Not bad for someone that finds them to be joy at the age of 45 (that was some years ago). Same thing with electronics, electricity, and computer programming. Good for me but that’s not the point of this writing.
Here it is:

I’ve started to see that one thing in life you should watch out for is HOW something is presented to you. The teacher and his style or the book and its language. How something is presented to you literally has the potential to change your mindset – for good or for bad. To literally make you expand or contract as a person.

The Styrofoam Life


(Written May 14, 2014)
Today I worked in a brand new house that costs $1.5 million. Gated community. All trim (door frames, baseboards) was made of painted particle board, the concrete details outside of the house were made of Styrofoam coated with a thin layer of concrete, the bath tubs where plastic and surrounded by expensive tile, the garage doors were the same as a house that costs $55K. Simply put – this was a Styrofoam House. This is what our society values at $1.5M. Would you like for your family to have such a fake house?
A Styrofoam Experience?

I’m writing this because the Styrofoam Pattern can be found in many areas of our lives – both material and spiritual. Maybe you don’t mind it. But the result is a diminished quality of your life experience. You can do better.

Do you believe you can do better?

The childhood and the lake


I grew up right there – if the camera had moved a bit to the right you’d see the apartment building where we lived. So I remember the lake from every angle and of course – the restaurant. The paddle wheels, the swans for the kids, the boats…

But everything in life comes and goes.

Always, absolutely always, our problem is that we do not know when something starts and something ends. Often something is long gone from our life or from its own existence, but it appears that it is still with us. What really happens is more complicated and not the point of this writing – things actually exist the way we know them only in our heads.

The lake was gone many years ago – I’d say in the early 1990’s – when one night the gypsies cut down to the ankles the bronze statue of the young man holding a spear. In the morning I walked by, stopped, looked at that horror and finally my desire to leave the hell called “Bulgaria” fully formed inside me. Eventually that happened too. The sculpture that I had walked in front of since I remembered myself was now reduced to two tiny ankles cut off from the body. Hollow inside and very quiet. Well, you understand my feelings.

But it takes long years to understand that things just change and are never that which you remember or hope them to be one day – there is no hell and there is no paradise.

So yes, the area had a period when it was absolutely wonderful. It just so happened that a big part of my childhood took place there. That is something simply beautiful and I’m grateful that it happened that way. The entire area has all the potential to look very beautiful – with the proper maintenance. I can not say that for other parts of Sofia where I’ve lived. And I’d add – parts of America included – because here things have a tendency to be well maintained and somehow feel especially empty.

Отраснах точно там – ако фотоапарата леко беше мръднал надясно щеше да се вижда блока в който живеехме. Така че помня езерото от всеки ъгъл и разбира се – ресторанта. Водните колела, лебедите за децата, лодките…

Но всичко в живота идва и си отива.

Винаги, абсолютно винаги, нашия проблем е че не знаем кога нещо започва и кога си отива. Много често нещо отдавна си е отишло от живота или от съществуването си, но на нас ни изглежда че още го има.

Езерото си отиде преди много години – бих казал през ранните 90 – когато циганите една нощ отрязаха до глезените бронзовото момче с копието и оставиха само стъпалата му на пиедестала. На сутринта минах, спрях, гледах тоя ужас и окончателно ме обзе желание да се махна от тоя ад “България”. Така и стана в крайна сметка. Скулптурата пред която съм минавал откакто се помня сега беше два прерязани малки глезена. Кухи отвътре и много тихи. Е, разбирате ме.

Но отнема дълги години да озъзнаеш как нещата просто се променят и никога не са това което помниш или се надяваш някога да са – няма ад и няма рай.

Така че да, района имаше период когато беше прекрасен. Така е станало че там е било детството ми. Това е нещо просто прекрасно и съм благодарен че ми се е случило. А, иначе, целия район, не само около езертото, има всички предпоставки да изглежда прекрасно – ако има подходяща поддръжка. Не мога да кажа това за други части на София в които съм живял. Пък бих добавил – и Америка – защото тук нещата имат тенденцията да изглеждат поддръжани и някакси особено празни.