Disclosure

Contemplating over my own intimate relationships and those of others I conclude that ideal lover for me could be only duplicate of me. Imagine, you meet somebody with equal sensitivity and quickness, equally changeable and bizarre; you have endless topics for conversation, eternal understanding and adore.

You feel hands – wise as your own - caressing your body and you hear the words of tenderness, comfort and devotion at the right time, you sense somebody stroking you with mastery and genuine passion you have not known before. Is it closeness with other woman I am dreaming of?

Though I know that polygamy and bisexuality are frequently components of exquisite sensuality and erotic homo relationships could be of higher class than that of heterosexual, I would not reduce image of real love to body parts where gender differences arise. During first most important weeks of existence human embryo has no gender diversity.

We all want to be truly loved. And it is primary feeling. Unfortunately, everybody has his own ideas how true love must look like. Eventually we never get what we dream of, as our expectations are too unique and quantity of persons we meet during lifetime is limited. Our longing for love is insatiable, and never approaches ideal.

Perhaps, giving love has more chances for eternity, because you can CREATE what you are dreaming of. What you receive from others often looks like parody on your desires, it is so funny, small and pale!- it has no sincerity, no mystery, no vibrations! But what you give is under your control, you can add colors, aromas, exclamation signs- all you want to see in your image. Well, here we come back to old truth that secret of love is giving – giving vital energy of your feelings.

It was sunny and clear autumn day with slight chill in the air.

I was at the main square of Graz observing flock of pigeons in front of city council with nobody around me except of two men on ecstasy who just bought their supply and old drunkard stretching on bank in booze doze.
It was my birthday.

I had bank account sufficient to buy a pair of home slippers and a few tinkling coins in the pocket. I did not mind curves of fortune except of difficulty to know what to do next.

Perhaps it would be clever to buy a loaf of bread and reconsider invitation of Venus bar manager. He collected the girls in trouble for night work. I might appear in nightclub in role of salable puppet, one more in the army of town whores. As I was going out of age, there was no hope for profit. I could also try selling items of my wardrobe, like old fur overcoat and books, which probably nobody would buy.
To lose your spirits means to perish. I went on, but there was no change of tide. When I left my home for Austria some years ago, I played not innocent lotto, but Russian roulette.
The 26 euros I had now was not so little after all. It was enough to keep human being alive for a few weeks if cut loafs of bread in small pieces and enrich menu with garbage from junk cans downstairs.

It was also enough to enter Graz casino and to drink glass of champagne there.
It was traditional casino woman’s day and my birthday! Therefore, I could get additional free tokens to play. Who knows what destiny prepared there for me according with its incomprehensible schemes? Reality is secret order concealed from our eyes.
If I win much, I would leave town for good. If I win little, I would buy myself hearty meal. If I lose… Well, there is always Venus Bar and main bridge from where one can jump in the river with the skirt around the head and white buttocks exposed to spectators of Murradweg.
The moment I made up my mind, the bells of Franziskaner monastery rang, and flock of pigeons left the square. I came back to my lodgings and put on lace underwear, shoes and small black dress. However, eye shadows brush demonstrated disobedience to my shaking hands.
From the first glance, the interior of casino struck me as place of luxury and refinement.
The buzz of voices, carpeted floors, deep mahogany colors and aroma of expensive perfumes, all this added to the atmosphere of money currents flooding back and forth through the place and bringing here true core passions of society, longing for power, emanations of fear, boredom and greed.
There were women in eve outfits and men in elegant suits.
It seemed that majority of them could afford to lose. Some of gamblers nonchalantly played with 500 euros tokens piled in small colorful heaps in front of them at the green cloth of tables. Movement of big roulette wheel was hypnotizing and fascinating indeed.

Nobody could interfere with your chances to lose or to win. Impenetrable order of things manifested itself here - trough run of roulette ball and where it stopped dead as if controlled by invisible force.

(to be continued)

KPÖ: Geschenke an Glücksspielindustrie verschärfen Spielsucht-Problem
Graz (OTS) - Verwundert zeigt sich der Landtagsklub der steirischen KPÖ über die Aussagen von Staatssekretärin Kranzl, die Klubchef Kaltenegger vorwirft, lediglich für eine höhere Besteuerung der Spielautomaten einzutreten.
Die Dichte an Spielautomaten ist in der Steiermark österreichweit am höchsten. Das liegt auch daran, dass pro Automat und Monat 1.000 Euro weniger an Abgaben zu leisten sind als in der Bundeshauptstadt. Deshalb hat die KPÖ im Rahmen eines Paktes an Vorschlägen zur Bekämpfung der Spielsucht gefordert, die Abgaben auf Wiener Niveau anzuheben. Das würde die Zahl der Automaten reduzieren und dem Land gleichzeitig jährlich Mehreinnahmen in der Höhe von bis zu 60 Mio. Euro bringen.
Der Vorsitzende des Glücksspiel-Ausschusses im steirischen Landtag ist Wolfgang Kasic (ÖVP), der als Funktionär der Wirtschaftskammer Obmann der Spielautomatenbetreiber ist. “Wir verstehen, dass Staatssekretärin Kranzl sensibel auf Fragen des Kleinen Glücksspiels reagiert. Klubobmann Kaltenegger ist jederzeit zu einem Gespräch mit Frau Kranzl bereit”, betont Georg Fuchs, Pressesprecher des KPÖ-Landtagsklubs.

Technorati Tags: Graz, Spielsucht

The thought of the day: my human relationships are imperfect and always will be so; imperfections cause sufferings, and sufferings reconciliate me with the absence of all and any relationships, with nothingness. We are mortally afraid and at the same time unconsciously strive for perfection of unknown which will never come in cramped space of individual destiny. How many books can I read during my life time, how many men can I meet? Numbers are rather limited, and years and years of short jouney are spent in sufferings and adaptation to next painful imperfection

500 Days of Street Photographer

As long as I remember myself, I was always mesmerized by water. Even washing cups made it pleasant experience feeling blissful substance touching my skin.

Being so much fond of sea, I avoided deep places and could not swim at all, combining adoration toward water with dread.

Most likely, such attitude I got by being born in region of steppes and mountings, where holy substance is rare and brings life to dry earth of nomads.

During summer months, I was often sitting in fire boat fastened to the Mur coast.

Looking at the river I perceived wisdom of things, feeling myself perfect particle of perfect universe. Boat was gently rocking me and I was sure that linking chain was broken and I was floating in nowhere.

Walking along Muradweg, I used to send cosmos mail messages to all possible Gods and Goddesses of water. You must pronounce your utmost wish

looking at the river - and it will be delivered to holy quarters of nature.

How could I compress all unfulfilled desires in one single wish that can be send as plea to eternity? Feeling wind drying my tears I begged

river: “Please show me the way!”

But river never confirmed or denied anything. It existed solemnly in sphere where small private misfortunes and frustrations played no role. River always wanted to show me – whatever I did, suffering was inevitable!

Only one medicine was valid – detachment.

For your own sake you better be detached of your desires and dependencies!

Dependence starts as adventure. Among tens of similar affairs, you were so easy to come through- only one gives birth to fatal addiction.

Fatality comes in image of man.

He invites you to make trip to Slovenia in his car and then picks you up at the corner of the street. He is suspicious and nervous; he makes a few rounds in area to catch glimpse of possible spies.

Contrary to you, he has something to lose.

During trip, you both keep strained silence, partly because of his CD with Russian music that plays loud – to prevent probable record of talk. He doesn’t fully apprehend the meaning of Russian songs he is listening to. In my turn, I am shy, but provocative. Instability of my situation and fears make me enterprising and dangerous.

This game is seduction. I try to seduce mature man, arouse his feelings and then look what will go out of it. Sexual satisfactions I don’t search and also never get.

Game is much more meaningful than that. I want to gain power over man’s heart.

We swirl around along Slovenian roads, captured by curiosity and trepidation.

Eventually distant hotel is found. Not a single detail of that intimacy I can recollect. Trivialities of quick closeness are dimmed by anxiety. Nor can I recollect his caresses. May be there were none.

Depth of my feelings surpassed all, and if sex occurred under any circumstances,

it played only role of confirmation.

We met again and made another trip.

I was sure I would easily forget these affairs, as I forgot many of them that gave nothing

to me except hurt. But imagination was already at its work, and poison of dependence on imaginary images started circulation in my blood.

It was like unknown illness you could not take control of and could not predict its frightening zigzags.

It took me years of struggle to get rid of it.

For a long time, in fact for a few years I listened to cassettes with Russian music he presented me – and did it every day. Every day I dreamed of dancing together with him in big hall feeling his body in elegant suit pressed against mine.

Perhaps I disturbed God of Mur river with my requests too often.

Fate hit me unexpectedly.

Once I came to public ball and saw him dancing with other woman. Looking how he kept her hand, I knew unmistakably that he slept with her. His face expressed tenderness unfamiliar to me.

Everything there was like in my dream – big hall full of people, lights, sounds of music and his eyes…lingering at other woman’s face.

I stepped in shadow.

Pain in chest! What physical anguish can be compared with it? Lights merged spinning around. There was no past, no future, only this moment of agony that was lasting ever and ever.

I dig nails in my hand, and drops of blood appeared, but there was no ache.

I became suddenly blind and could not make one face from another.

I tried to gulp vodka in buffet, but failed and threw it at shoulder of person standing beside.

Then it was lapse in my memory. Next time I found myself standing at Hauptbrücke

and looking at dark waters below. How much time passed, a few hours, twenty minutes or may be years? From eternity point of view, it was all the same.

O, River! Why did you take my utmost dream from me? Please take instead my life!

It seemed water noise changed its tonality as if trying communicate something to me.

I could feel fresh breathing of the Mur at my skin.

To terminate all in a moment? Jump down and after seconds of injury to enter eternity – without regret, attachment and pain?

The dim waters of the Mur moved forward – and this movement was suddenly right and full of deep meaning. River – the only witness – knew what I felt.

It told me the highest wisdom of moment was to die being alive and to transit to other self, other point of view.

Street was empty and I could hear bell ringing two.

Suddenly I felt tremendously tired, and knew I must go to reach my small attic.

I also knew I would stand all in this life, because that day I survived death of my dream.

The moment when airplane takes off and lands is fascinating. There I was again - in the big belly of steel bird landing this time in Stockholm airport.

High speed, vibration and awareness of certain risk- make perception especially sharp.

In proximity of a few seconds you evaluate all your life.

I was invited to Sweden by one of my pen-friends with whom I corresponded for 5 last years of my stay in Moscow. Nils often wrote me

about his life. Swedish veterinarian of 50 years old - he would send me packs of stockings and roses in frosty Moscow.

My life in Russia was not that easy. Only those of mixed race and nationality origin can possibly understand discriminative nuances of existence in post-soviet reconstructive environment.

Chechnya war was going on; now and then I was stopped in the street

by police officers who checked documents of all suspicious persons with non-Slavic appearances. By other words, like every other real nomad I was ready to fly and all my property could be packed in a single bag.

Sweden- from emigration point of view – could be good choice. But I had peculiar

premonitions about it. Emigration means complete financial dependency on partner- so you must be sure you can stand it or dig out your own grave.

After landing I felt edgy and could not overcome tremor and limpness of extremities.

Certainly Nils was already waiting for me at the meeting point.

The first moments of extreme anxiousness I could not see anybody around and sensed only that he kissed me and took my bag.

I got bunch of flowers and concentrating gaze at fresh lily petals restored my sight.

Certainly I would recognize Nils- tall slim man with blue eyes. But here it was something exceptionally new… The wig! It was tall man with the wig on! And… The skirt! Tall, man in the skirt! And ear-rings! It was man in short skirt with curly wig and ear-rings!

I was struck numb. Life gave me shock. But there was no way back, and a few next months I spend living in the house of Swedish transvestite.

Swedes are very practical creatures. All summer we were busy repairing Nils house.

Never in my life I used to do such hard physical work. Normally we were busy with repair of roof, and all nearest neighbors with interest observed our maneuvers-

me in male’s overalls and top boots and Nils - in short skirt sitting legs apart at rib of roof with blue-and-yellow Swedish flag behind him.

He had enormous collection of bras, used lipstick, mascara and Tampax, supply of which was always restored in the bathroom. My curious question where he used to apply small round menstrual tampons stayed unanswered.

At last the day of my departure came. The repair works were finished. Nils looked sad.

He even forgot to apply make up after crying secretly in his room. He was bizarre, but kind and loved me in his own way. His exaggerated wish to look as female drew the circle of isolation around him even in tolerant Swedish society.

When my things were already packed, he told:

“Thanks for being with me! This is money you earned by helping me with the house”,-

he passed me envelope, - And also there is something little for you in bedroom!”

I opened the door and –O!-saw black body of big photo camera placed in the center of white pillow. Elegantly curved mysterious Cyclopes creature was looking back at me with hypnotic gaze of its lens.

My heart stopped beating. For the first time since leaving home I felt happy.

If intellectual and physical potential of humans is endless, so is potential to feel. Normal life hardly gives opportunity to use this potential in full strength.

But everybody knows in his heart he could experience more intensive, pure and strong feelings, and everybody dreams about true love.

We all have relationships with which are never completely satisfied. We drag these relationships on like inevitable bonds.

We would persuade ourselves that we love those close to us but there are always dark streams of doubt in enormous depth of our heart. If it is love, why we are unhappy? Even proclaiming that we care for others, we have complicated and contradiction feelings, which we never reveal.

Did you notice that you can never be fond of somebody completely? You feel blissful completeness and admiration only when you stay in significant distance from one of your adore. Whenever you make step closer - inevitable blemishes come into sight. You tend to like some segments and dislike others. When you come up closer and closer, feeling of inner rejection and resistance increase. Being too close we can not admire at all, moreover feelings of critics, despise and cold indifference come to surface and poison us. Eventually you want to free yourself and find new object of adoration. Process repeats.

Too close relationships are really ruinous for intimate friendship.

I recollect in my memory face of the first Austrian man with whom I was in love.

I liked every curve of his face and figure, smell of his body, his movements, and sound of his voice.

When I saw him my heart leaped up in my chest.

But strong feelings had quality to change quickly and transit to their opposites.

Concentration camps are pure innocence comparing to cruelty that beloved monsters demonstrate to each other.

Not once I begged him for help and complained I had no normal food for days. I asked him: was it only way to survive for me in this country going to local brothel at piece of meat for drunken styrian men? He replied probably it was.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care if I would disappear, marry, win million in lottery or burn myself in front of Rathaus protesting against discriminative emigrant politics.

It is impossible to touch a heart of man unless you don’t offer him ever lying body of yours with moist hole between legs.

Once he was in love with me. Once I loved him and then experienced metamorphoses of ruinous hatred.

Stand clear of love.

Do you know what…try to be friend.

After two years of destiny zigzags I start again with my diary. Why people write diaries at all? Who reads these Internet diaries? When you give birth to your blog you must re conciliate with idea that probably nobody will read it, and as author you will not be understood or rewarded. You need writing for yourself first of all. It helps to realize.

Where do I go? Why life could be so hard? What is love? And if we create our world ourselves, why it could not be better?

Why I make photos? What is photography? How to photograph people? How to advance in photography? How to earn your living with photography? How to earn your living with photography in big city where you are stranger and don’t know anybody? How to earn your living with photography in big city where you are stranger and when you have no regular work and income? How to do all this when you are female?

And many other questions that till now stay without answers and must be asked again and again. Don’t exclaim: it is impossible! Come with me and look how it is.