Galina as cleanlady

Do you remember feeling of being hurt? When you are hurt, you see as if others act on evil free will. In reality we all have very little of free will. When analyzing your private history, that could be history of anybody else, you see you were often prisoner of circumstances, gripped by uncontrollable forces, and in natural flow of events you simply did what you were to do. I already used to write about my life in Bermuda triangle of Graz. Now and then descending from my mansard in the yard  with all these Bermuda cafes and restaurants around, I narrated my story to occasional companions. Austrians seemed to be very sociable. Once it was talkative bold pensioner with bicycle. Other time – teacher of history who lived downstairs. Small gray-haired astrologer from opposite house volunteered on one occasion to pay for my coffee. All of them were eager to give valuable advice how to overcome extreme situation and survive. People tend to support common point of view, and except of rare occasions their advice was the same genial idea of newspaper advertisements and cleaning jobs. (more…)

Life can be hard, but it gives miraculous presents sometimes. Once during my extreme conditions survival in Graz I wrote petition to Bundesministerium für Arbeit without particular hope to get reply, as many of my appeals stayed unanswered before. However, some months later thick letter with blue stamp of ministry arrived, and using it as flag during my next visit to immigration bureau, I unexpectedly reached wonderful results: that very middle-aged lady in Landesregierung, who for a few years aroused deep fear in my soul, unwillingly issued normal time-long visa with access to work market for me. I literally trembled as a leaf when was to see her before. She demonstrated signs of satisfaction with her unnatural powers over pleading emigrants and always made me to believe there was no escape. Probably local regulation system she represented wanted to avoid possible complications with upper system representatives. Bureaucratic machine cracked and big wheel of destiny moved forward in my favor. (more…)

With my first old Nikon hidden under the jacket that made me look at least 6 month pregnant. I crept in one of multistoried houses (Laufhaeuse) where prostitutes rented working rooms. Though houses looked shabby outside, wooden panels, leather arm chairs and thick carpets preserved air of pomposity inside.

Every girl had big poster with nickname, close-up photo and short service description on the door of her cabin. Visitors were to make up their minds looking at these pictures. Pretending to be absorbed by process, I kept eye on the men who appeared in the hall, and could unmistakably judge they were already aroused.

Some of them looked red in face and walked clumsily along the corridor as if salami in trousers suddenly changed its dimensions.

They were excited by very idea of visiting taboo place and by lewd images of their own imagination. Also promise of pleasure in its porno-illustrative form drive them temporary insane. (more…)

Most probable, men of power never pay visits to local brothels, where they can be spied out. If somebody appeared at least once on the screen of TV, it was risky for him to break with the air of lewd innocence in whorehouses or visit corrupted pussy at home when he could be recognized.

I guess discriminative law making is connected with chronically sick libido. Gentlemen in nice suits circulating in city hall and parliament are victims of their own public images and unsatisfied wishes. They strive for demonstration of self-importance erected on cramped libido of unhappy marriages. They could only dream possessing prostitutes – their body and soul. But grip of passion for political power was equally strong, and it made the choice.

I always felt myself investigative and curious about prostitutes, these enigmatic night butterflies, queens of seduction and throat tripper. Do they separate themselves from their bodies when giving blow job or offering orifices to next drunk man with bear belly and dim eyes of ill animal? I used all small tricks available to milk my occasional acquaintances for information about hot places in town. (more…)

Our attachments is the source of our problems. You are attached when you think your life would be impossible without what you are crazy about.
Ten years ago, I was standing in the long line behind the doors of British embassy in Moscow with supreme trepidation and wish to see London where I had never been. My attachment was Anglo mania and sincere belief in superiority of universe with epithet British over universe with epithet Russian including advantages of English breakfast tea over Russian tea.
I was accompanied by middle-aged gentleman – my pen-fiend from Eastbourne, who entertained ideas about Russian women approachability and hoped to bring me to UK, he was bold and shaking – not because of anxiety, but because of being ruined by diabetes and two heart transplant operations he had come through.
I had not passed embassy interview, because could not give direct answer to the question of stern looking English woman separated from me by glass as in prison or zoo, how many times I executed sexual acts with my English friend. I flushed painfully, and in this fire, my Anglo mania was burned. I destroyed books of my favorite English authors and threw pages down from balcony at the heads of Moscovites. (more…)

I miss Graz and its streets more than I miss Kyrgyz steppes, and it seems both are lost forever, though first is not far than 200 km from me, and native lands where I used to run being a horse lay in other part of the world

Yesterday I tried to depict some of die Österreichische Opfer des Nationalsozialismus at Heldenplatz (so many candles were lit there) together with 5-6 professional photographers equipped with massive cameras. Though I was eager to make portrait of chancellor Alfred Gusenbauer and he had not appeared (what a disappointment), it saved me and my Nikon D200 with Sigma lens from disgrace, because in very poor light conditions it was shamefully dead.

Know amateur photographers who are absolutely convinced that type of camera plays no role weather you produce masterpiece or shit. But after gaining experience I see it is not true

Benevolent, you are welcome to visit my recent flash gallery created with Lightroom and Autoviewer. I am fond of Eckhart Tolle, look what he writes: “Everything, a bird, a tree, even a simple stone, and certainly a human being, is ultimately unknowable” From “A New Earth” by Eckhart Tolle. He writes that all our suffering is result of our escape from present moment or lack of awareness. Photography is pure meditation sometimes, one must be alert and fully present at the moment.

Emigration creates stressful limit-situations when person loses his identification:work, friends, relatives, property, language, life and career prospects. Can you stand this collapse of identifications?
- Being 47, I must run around in Vienna as homeless dog looking for institutions, who would approve what I am doing. Feeling lucky to sell photo to newspaper once in season for 30 euros!
-You old enough to do what you consider right. Create your own newspaper!
- You are mad. I have nothing to cover my ass
- One doesn’t need much money to create electronic version (more…)