Nothing is more tormenting than longevity of empty days, for me and, I guess,  crucial for my future as author, many a time I found myself weeping in the cold kitchen feeling helpless, after pacing the room for hours, weeping because I could not easily express myself – in English. I registered then, that my inner verbal processes, especially during peak experiences, went on in Russian, though for a number of years I tried to bring myself into other language dimensions, excluding almost all information in my mother tongue from outer world: internet, live communications and books, that were too seductive to borrow and so easy to read – to devour one volume per day. Tension in expressing myself in foreign language exists in subtle forms and may cause deviations in meaning of what I am writing about, easiness of finding true words is especially important in writing a nonfiction book. Yesterday I felt myself completely defeated, knowing that my command of foreign language would probably never reach sufficient degree of flexibility. (more…)

Whatever they do, average Europeans talk about prices and life costs, and since I live in Austria, I never met a person, who complaining about personal financial predicaments, would not mention option of playing lotto and wining a million, as if mathematical likelihood of event equated not to its magical probability.
But how about idea that our very arrival in this world is occurrence of immeasurably greater randomness, than chance to win a million in lotto?
If conception took place 5 minutes later, fertilized cell would get other set of qualities and form other personality, not speaking already that conception could fail. But even if miracle of merge succeed, potential mother can make abortion later.
Once in crisp and frosty Moscow winter, working over my journalist projects, I was suddenly abashed by doctor, who during routine check discovered cyst in the right side of my body and suggested surgical intrude. I packed toothbrush and slippers, and found myself in the gynecologic ward of publishing center hospital – with five other women, who waited for their turn in tight schedule of medical abortion machine.
We all left our most acute fears at the porch of hospital, and once being accepted in room with beds and night tables standing in the row, we were ready to surrender. It was not expression of fear, but infinite patience  and readiness to subdue physical pain, together with guilt and shame, I observed at the faces around me. (more…)

Whenever I look out of window, and see a piece of blue sky, roofs with black dots of crows at antennas, and hear distant lulling clang of tram, I feel piece and sweet anticipation of new rendezvous with Vienna. I go out and gaze at surrounding curious subjects as newly born soul and wish I would walk forever and lose myself in the city, where every street is terra incognita and deja vu. But if I dwell not in parks or secluded suburban streets, but move to the center, where heart of the city beats, very soon tiredness and gloomy indifference go down as fog at me. It is monotony, that saddens me. As many other cities of the world, Vienna central streets are there mostly for shops and cafes.
Accepting my destiny of frustrated pedestrian, und would enter all boutiques that will come my way, one by one, responding to appealing grace of mannequins in shop windows.
Avoiding enthusiastic assistance of sales-women, I would look at long rows of cloth and brood over the fact that many shops live on one simple operation of selling goods, that were produced in China, East Europe and countries of the third world.
By other words, trade gets profit at difference of prices. This wool pullover was made somewhere at the other side of globe and brought here for sale. Group of worn out factory women knitted it  and probably got their decent  share as 20 cents for item, and then the managers, drivers, pilots, watchmen got their modest rewards too. But main payment would be received by local shop-keepers, when you enter Vienna shop and buy this pulli for 40 euros. (more…)

Deep in my sad thoughts, I awaked to notice an African middle-aged woman sitting at secluded bus stop bench and talking to herself. There was nobody around. Apparently woman was delirious and argued with voices in her head. Perhaps, her problems were imaginary, but her fierce emotions, her rage were quite real. If she spoke German, I would not slow my pace to listen to her. But she spoke African English. I came up to her and asked whom she was talking to. She instantly looked at me with eyes, red from suppressed anger, but unclouded, and replied:

- I am talking to God.

All what street knows about love. It is not easy to make such a collection, and I spent significant time doing it. And I was always thinking what was standing behind moment of snapshot, I was thinking about these real people and their relationships.
Liebeszitate
“Am Anfang gehören alle Gedanken der Liebe. Später gehört dann alle Liebe den Gedanken.” ALBERT EINSTEIN
“Das einzig Wichtige im Leben sind die Spuren von Liebe, die wir hinterlassen, wenn wir Abschied nehmen.” ALBERT SCHWEITZER
“Das gute Leben ist von Liebe beseelt und vom Wissen geleitet.” BERTRAND RUSSELL

Thought is like this. If life were ever joyful, it would be very hard to become old and die.

We know that everyday and every hour we become a little more dead than before, we do exactly this – we approach slowly but surely our individual border of physical existence and non-existence.

Good news is that there are many things in life that are simply awful and they are unavoidable. Perhaps especially keen pain reality gives when you are young and extremely perceptive, full of dreams and expectations.

With age you become a little bit more indifferent and realize that literally nothing in the world has so superior importance in journey through eternity. I often think about endless circles of life and other reborns.

You can hardly make all your aspirations true in space of one short life, nature constantly makes new sketches out of human material – more or less successful they are.

What one can tell looking back at his past experiences.

Whenever pink morning light transits to yellow of midday, and wind blowing from Schmelz stops bringing meditative tunes of kukus bird, I start my everyday journey. Mirror in my small flat is the gateway. I step behind it and as invisible clot of energy roll outside. Together with gust of wind I move along streets of Vienna and touch cheeks of passers-by with cool breathing of fog. I witness street life, its secrets and its drama.
Sometimes I occur to be that small beggar girl sitting at the corner of main street. She has cheap plastic doll in her pocket she wants very much to play with. For a while, I was also that woman in furs gazing at jewelry in window of fashionable shop. She seemed seized with anticipation to purchase precious thing.
I could be that invalid who crawled on his knees along Mariahilfer strasse and roared -Bitter!- with low hoarse voice. He had only one thought that after reaching the corner of Neubaugasse, he would make a break. (more…)

Galina Toktalieva
They say, there is no photographer who would not consider himself to be genial. Most of them including those who photograph only for home archives – regard them to be unsurpassed specialists in photography and also consider others species with cameras to be ridiculous. Whenever I meet with next hobby photographer he hurries to give me advice how I can improve my severely neglected technique and repair personal vision. Strange thing is we all feel ourselves to be bright, but others see us as dull. I gladly take in consideration any advice. But then I usually come back to my highest Self. Sometimes struggling through feeling of desperation I ask myself, what I would do just now, if I knew that exactly in one month I would start for long journey? I could ask myself: what I would do if I know in one month I would die? But dying and death is connected with pain, disaster, illness, fear and loss in our imagination. To avoid painful associations I mind only journey – full of new mysteries and discoveries. (more…)