It´s only for your comfort, trust me.

The glass. Soundtrack to listen: “Control” – Emmit Fenn

The bass is pushing your eardrums. The sounds infiltrate your brain. You start to move. Who taught you to do this? Is it just a sheer force from within, making your muscles move uncontrollably? Will you be caught in this movement as long as the song plays? I cannot tell you if this is the result of socialisation, of your environment. But to be honest, if you do it right, you won´t care anyway. So just keep going. The most important thing is that you don´t lose balance. But how, you may ask me. There is just too much movement around me, everything and everyone is moving! Well, to be honest, just grab that glass. I don´t know if it will help you or not, it might even bring you to fall. But that´s the only advice I can give you.

Hold onto it.

Waking from any night is a hard thing to do. It might be slightly easier some days than it is on others. But doing that initial movement, opening your eyes, realizing that another day has started, is always a hard thing to do. The day is full of time, experiences to be had, expectations to be fulfilled. It won´t matter if you are looking at the day with a positive or negative attitude, maybe you are even indifferent, moving through it with nonchalance. But it is clear that this day, just like every other day, will be filled with something. So, you turn over, looking for something to hold onto. A glass of water.

Hold onto it.

You start your day with a routine. It gives you comfort, maybe it is something so familiar that you don’t even realize you are doing it anymore. I hope you are finding your rhythm. If you really think about it, every day has its beat. But did you ever get the feeling of having a jazzy day? I wonder what that might be like, to just improvise. Is it even possible to act instictively, making up your melody on the spot or will you play jazz according to pre-arranged music sheets? Is it even worse to feel like having a jazzy day only to end up playing jazz that is predetermined? I can´t tell you, but if you ever find out, tell me. And if it is indeed improvisation,…

… hold onto it.

The day goes by and you have followed the beat, maybe it changed in between. You had conversations, arguments, tasks. You held onto glasses, coffee cups, a wine glass. And now we are here. The beat, it is given to you. Someone decided for you, cutting the inextricable link between the day, you, and the beat. Slicing it with more than 110 decibels against your eardrum. Who is really in control here? Is it your muscles, the DJ? Is it your feeling of having to move in a certain way? I know it can be confusing, but I´ll be here. You might be looking for the glass in all this controlled chaos that everyone voluntarily joined. Cut through the fog, find me. I am just as much loosing balance as you are. Come find me and…

Hold onto it.


Who told him that it’s cool going to a bar alone? To a club? To anywhere? Maybe it’s literature with its undeniably attractive, mystique, dark and complex characters. Maybe it’s just his feeling. Maybe it’s not weird at all. Who knows.

He dusts off his leather jacket and hangs it onto the hook beneath the bar. Ignored by the barmaid in the Adidas tracksuit who has been working there forever. The are bonded. Bonded by the story of this place. Both seek recognition. Her, by being the master of the beer and alcoholic beverages. The one thing that people crave. Why else would they come here if it weren’t for the bitter taste of alcohol, pacifier of peoples.

He is here because it seems to look cool. Why it does, if it does, he will never know. Maybe it depends on the spectator.

People going in and out, what’s steady in this booze-fuelled spectacle? We didn’t hear from this place just because it hosts the deepest of our desires. We are sitting on it. What if I were not having my barstool? The steady fort from which I tower above you? It might be level, but I am far away. I will be here, on the cliff. The cliff of solitude. Only the arms of the barmaid can reach me.

Am I lonely, you ask? Well, it depends on the spectator.

However, I’ll be here. With my barstool. Cheers all you people down there.

Toes Humanity has walked many paths. It might walk down the path of self-destruction as these lines are being written and you, reading this. It might walk the path of ascending to a place where no civilisation has ever been before. We never know. What we do know is this: there is something always ahead of us. It’s part of us but we never acknowledge them. It’s our toes.

When do we feel them? When bumping into furniture. Or when taking socks off to feel the grass / sand / water between them. Pleasure and pain, yet again so close. Every step that we take towards doom, pleasure or, said more normative, the right or wrong way, our toes are in the forefront of everything. So why not give them more importance? We could base society more on these little fleshy things that are hidden most of the time.

For sure, the big toe is a force to be reckon with in this new society. You can already see it, in sandals for example. The big toe is parted by the others. But how do we measure who is to be the ruler, the peak of toe-performance? Toes can be ugly, cute, beautiful, sick…. All of these classifications are in the eye of the spectator. So how do we measure? Well, measure is the right way actually.

Queens and kings, nobility, that is people with long toes. In relation to their feet of course. Bear with me on this one. So, toes are at the forefront of literally, gaining ground. And people with longer toes in relation to feet size are, of course, able to gain more ground.

I myself am a peasant. It is hard to come to that realisation. So even as the creator of this new order I have fallen to the lowest position in this feudal toe-system. Perhaps it is wise to abolish these standards. Perhaps we should stop doing the same for other body parts. Perhaps, we can strive, as a civilisation, only when we stop comparing. Not just toes.

Blow dryer.

White noise is a random signal that is equally powerful across different frequencies, giving it constant power spectral density.

Wow, let’s unpack this. Like the fireball that is looming over us, dangerous for humankind but nonetheless beloved by many, such as myself, white noise is terrifying and soothing at the same time.

When people ask me, why do I like this noise, which many don’t know is actually white, I try to answer them with a similar question: why is it that as soon as the sun comes out, when look up at it, even though it destroys our skin cells and even has the power to make us blind?

Is it the power that fascinates us? Is it, just like the white noise, the force of “constant power spectral density”? It even sounds cool, doesn’t it?

“Hey, what have you been up to these last few evenings?”

  • “Oh you know, just listening to the sound of constant power spectral density.”


There you have it. Well, it really depends how much you give on other peoples opinion. But if that is something that drives you, you can end the conversation right there and be the coolest kid on the block.

But let’s dig further than that. So white noise, the sun. What else is seemingly infinite, soothing and dangerous, powerful and yet, comforting? It’s the force of nature. We love the oceans, even though we neglect them quite frequently. Why is the earth called earth, even though we just sit on a few pieces of it that are surrounded and dominated by water? Why is a mountain majestic? Why is thunder magnificent? Why can’t we control the things around us? And why, the more we try to do it, they show us that we are not really the rulers of this ground?

White noise, maybe you are the compressed form of force that cannot be ruled. The longer I listen, the more I accept it.

I heard that it is good for babies. I can see why: born without aspiration, prejudice or entitlement. The force of nature is accepted, tolerated and respected.

Its time to go back to our humble beginnings. Respect the power and force. Respect constant power spectral density.

Meanwhile, I’ll enjoy the sound of the blow dryer, my form of respect, white noise. Trying to become more humble.

The flush.

Recently, he hasn’t been feeling well. It’s not like anything spectacular or tragic happened, it is this sense of detachment that comes with loosing grip. If he is being honest with himself, he didn’t treat himself right. It’s all just temporary, he lies to himself. Jake who sits in the next cubicle could even see it and hear it. He is embarrassed.

“Hey, are you alright? You look a little off, my dude!”, drawing on his plastic vape pen, exhaling Watermelon-Cottoncandy supreme.

It made him even more sick. Maybe it’s the people around me, he asked himself. Maybe I just need to change my environment. That’s it, for sure. All will be good and I can finally find my peace.

He lied to himself.

Even at home he didn’t feel comfortable anymore. Nothing provided coziness in his home.

“That’s called Hygge my dude.”

Shut up Jake.

Usually he can endure those scrolling, ponytailed, high-confidence, higher-anxiety, e-Scooting, Tinder-dating, Craft-everything-drinking, non-farting types of people.

Not today, Jake!

And that’s for all the Jakes out there, and those who aren’t called Jake but act like Jake and sorry to those who are accidentally included here but are actually not a Jake.

The thought of the word Jake made him flinch and tension. A sudden release. Satisfaction. Bliss.

He stood up and pushed the button. The toilet flushed.




“Hey man, I just found this amazing berry! Look at it, it´s huge! I don´t know why your are still wasting your time searching over there. Just get here, man!”

This guy, always shouting and boasting, I am really tired of it. Not for once he can shut up about his stupid berries. We are all searching here, we get it. It´s not like you are the first one to ever find something. For days we have been flying around these woods, jumping from twig to twig, always blindly following the one who finds something. What´s the sense of flying in a group when everyone is just looking at the same spot? Why can´t we split up? And why the hell am I not just going somewhere else?

“Hey man, I just found this amazing berry!”

Here we go again. Again, the same spot. Same people. Why are the places wherever we find something special attracting everyone else to come there? Are we just blindly searching for thrill, for food, for entertainment? What do we expect to happen there? It is the same place, it is the same people. Isn´t craziness defined by repeating the same action and expecting a different result each time? Are we all just going crazy?

“Hey man, I just found this amazing berry!”

Are we crazy or just so occupied with whatever we are trying to do and trying to show to others that we don´t realise that we are stuck in repeating the same routine? Why do we have spots where everyone is, searching for the same thing? Why the hell is nobody leaving this devil´s circle? Why not me?

“Hey man, I just found this amazing berry!”

We move in flocks, we are born in flocks, we die in flocks. Twig to twig, tree to tree. I don´t even remember where I have been lately. I have just a memory what the others have done, what they found, on the search for food in the autumn. Life is hard for a tiny bird in winter. Maybe I can´t survive on my own. Maybe I won´t find anything. And if I find something, who can I tell about it? Am I even finding something when I can´t tell anyone? Do I exist when there is no other bird around me? Is that why we constantly exclaim anything, chirping? Is it just the fear of the silence, the darkness, the loneliness?

Hey man, I just found this huge nut!

Get over here.


I am soaking for you. Me and all my friends, we are prepared to take whatever comes our way. Waiting here in this holder, packed together. Some of us have dents, some of us get ripped apart. We get fiddled with, thrown around, folded and put under tables to make them stop wobbling.

Hey-ho hey-ho.

I am full of excess beer, full of regret and bitterness. But it doesn’t overcome me for I am longing for that sweet Union.

Hey-ho hey-ho.

We like being put together in packs, but do you even know why? Probably not, because you are a human. We like the closeness. You thought it was convenient for you that way? Tidy on the table! What about us? What about our desire, the Union that I speak of? It is not with other coasters, it is the love triangle we endure all this pain for.

Hey-ho hey-ho.

The sturdiness, the soft pressure, me in between. Soaked by beer but lucky to be adored from each side. The Union, that is the situation you are looking forward to, as well! After your beer is drafted, I am being put on my old lover I can relay on, the table. Together with the glass we form an expression of aesthetic pleasure, tidiness, comfort.

However, you were adoring the beer, neglecting the love in between, as humans do.

Hey-ho hey-ho.

I am sorry coaster


You turn into Stepańska street. I sit down.

Still a little hungover I am sitting in my favorite cafe, surrounded by wooden walls covered in old movie posters. I breathe in the coffee-filled air and immediately begin to cough. My body isn’t ready yet.

You stop at the old Antikvariat and look at the newest old books. I order an espresso.

The last week has passed by very fast and it seemed to have no significant events to make it memorable. I wonder how many of those weeks have already passed. How many of these weeks I am unable to reminisce about are still to come?

You continue walking up the road. I get my espresso.

It’s Sunday and once again the streets seem empty. Well, despite the people heading for brunch or breakfast or lunch or just to have a walk. I seem like one of them, I don’t like it. Weekdays I can sit around and feel good about doing nothing while others are working. But if nobody is working, what’s my role in this whole thing?

You pass the window of the cafe. I look outside.

You are terrifying. My stomach hurts a little while I try to understand what just happened. A little Film sequence was running in my head. Oh how much we could experience. How much we could grow together, see things from a different perspective. How compassion grows and creates the bubble around us. I won’t ever feel cold again.

You passed by. I am looking after you, disappearing.

I now bow my head. I didn’t expect this to be the memorable moment of this week for me to remember. I taste the espresso, it’s bittersweet. I put down the cup. It is beautiful. Deep blue with golden edges. Never before have I seen such a composition between the deep colours of coffee and blue.

You turn around the corner. I drink the rest and pay.

I’ll be back again, for you, my shining deep, my espresso cup.

Hot pocket.

She was sitting on a bench with a full package of toast. Silently sobbing, she felt sad and angry. The ducks and pidgeons around here were more interested in the bag of bread than her, still it felt nice not to sit around alone in a park. “A little like being connected to nature”, she said and sniffed her nose.

She was hurt like so many before her, she knew that it would end this way. Still, it was a great ride. The places, the food, the sheer speed of the way of life. If you are speeding through days like this, it is no wonder to come to a stop earlier than anyone else. Either you run out of gas or just hit the breaks because you cannot see clearly around you anymore. But what if there no way to hit the accelerator again? How can I get moving again? “Well, here I am sitting now, she thought, in a traffic jam. In front of a constant red light. Who really controls the signal?” She will not find out.

Everyone told her: do not get into that car. Do not hit the gas. Do not think about change, think about what you have. Your car might not be the fastest but it gets there, eventually. So they said. “But where?”, she asked the ducks in front of her and threw a whole slice. The ducks and pidgeons came from every direction, fighting for the white bread.

“I do not want to feel the pain anymore, why am I even crying? I knew the risk, I took it. I enjoyed it. But now, I am sobbing with toast in my hand. Actually, this reminds me of something we always had for lunch, after skipping breakfast. This horrible thing that looks amazing from the outside. Crispy, deliciously smelling. Warmed up in a beat, for your pleasure. You take a bite and it stings you with the heat of the sun. Tongue burned, palate ruined. But there it is, the savoury smell of grilled cheese. Yeah, now that I am thinking about it, still all was like a hot pocket.”

She sniffed her nose, smiled a little, emptied the whole package of toast on the ground and leaned back on the bench.

“Fucking hot pockets”.

To the guy stamping my bus ticket.

We all get asked at some point what we want to become once we grow up. And we answer “astronaut”, “firefighter”, “someone rich”, “someone famous”, “author” or “someone with my own garden where I can grow my favorite vegetable”. I mean, whatever makes you happy. But who would say “the person stamping tickets in a rustic bus in a post-Soviet country”? Well maybe this guy stamping my ticket right now. Who knows? Who am I to judge? Actually, it’s more challenging and surprising than it seems. He is there, cramming his way through the crowd. Always there, known to everyone who regularly takes this route. It’s the same price for everyone, same ticket every time. There is comfort in it. He knows every bump in the street. Every crossing and just 5 seconds later, he knows where to hold on because the bus is taking a massive bump in the road. A friendly tap on the back by the guy who is coming back from the pub. A little smile from the woman who just finished her shift. We are all here in the same boat, bus in this case. It’s familiar faces and new ones. Maybe he is looking around, seeing the same faces with different expressions. He is the one who can detect mood swings. Bad day at work? He can probably tell the difference. Happy occasion? He will know it. But you won’t. That’s the difference. He will even know when you are new to this bus line. So when I am looking around, looking at him, I cannot help but feel foolish about my estimations. I can write whatever I want but I won’t come close to what he knows. So sit down, guy stamping my ticket. It would be my honour to have a beer with you. Share your insights, your knowledge, your experience and understanding. Or don’t. Who am I to expect anything or judge? But maybe, just maybe, I will learn something. Even from your silence. So have a drink with me.

And all I am left with, is to say,

Thank you.