Sevdelina's Itsi-Bitsi Tiny Little Bloglet

Adrienn Hucka (Adri)

2009-03-10T14:08:00.000-07:00

We did not speak the same language
but we understood each other…
and it was worth it all
merci beacoup

As We Stop, We Continue Moving!

2008-11-03T10:45:00.000-08:00

Deleting pages, almost like we do with memories. We go back and forth – and did we stop – chasing rainy clouds? And as we stop we continue moving since we do not believe in farewells.

What kills one, makes one stronger - after all the deaths one suffers...

2008-09-22T10:43:00.000-07:00

In the ashes of the past, between the smoke of the burning cigarettes, in the darkness of the night – the senses sharpen, the perception of the world becomes acute… What really makes one rise again and move on? What makes one the new person who carries no burden from before? And how can one wake up and admire the beauty of the day after all the battles one has lost? In the end of the day all that noise (the terrible perturbing buzz of shallow, humble thoughts) does not matter because what kills one makes one stronger! The reflections in the mirror are distorted and what once brought delight is gone. But failure is not an option, denial is not an escape. The thoughts are not going go away unless one decides to live. All the shit will linger but today’s shit is no longer the shit of tomorrow for one should look with different eyes. Once the dirt is gone, after all the deaths one suffers, the day will come to breathe again, to inhale the splendor of tonight.

Thoughts in the cold

2008-03-05T09:48:00.000-08:00

When we start thinking, if at all necessary, we may realize that denying does not actually lead to any final statement or conculsion. So does accepting, of course, unfortunately.
May it be that we deny persistently that people are what we need and infuriatingly stubborn we continue to believe that we can be just perfectly fine the way we are – all by ourselves? And in the very moment, as those thoughts are buzzing in our heads, in a search of a human contact, we capture ourselves into the most deadly trap of affection. I wonder why is that? But my thougths are so sluggish that they lag behing my feelings with ages. I cannot escape from my feelings though. I can force myself to think in a direction, you know: “Now, let's think positively” kind-of-fashion. Before I thought I can also do it with the emotions but I just fooled myself for a while, which may actually be a nice device to keep me occupied not to think about other stuff. After all it seems like a lot of thought, ah? No answers yet...

Nothing x 3 = The Snow Man

2008-01-31T15:12:00.000-08:00

THE SNOW MAN by WALLACE STEVENS

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Every time I think about human perceptions I am more than puzzled. Whether ascribing them to or uniqueness as human beings or just giving up the attempt to explain them, the truth is that we are guided by them – we make decisions based on reason but also on senses; we try to foresee if beneath the mundane there is a symbol that our sensitivity will discover and follow. In most of the cases, we completely ignore what we have learned from the books and our experience, relying entirely on the voice inside us. Is there a stronger force hidden deep into every one of us that we subconsciously adhere to?
The poem “The Snow Man” by Wallace Stevens presents that idea of parallel worlds of imagination and reality – the former being the one we can occasionally escape into and the latter, the one that we are confined into. In my own world, I associate myself with every single symbol that I find interesting or indulging for I zealously believe that emotions, feelings, and senses are the ones that matter. I smile when I see the fallen leaves; when the winter wind plays with my hair in the air; when I hear the roar of the sea… I often wondered why I do that and then I realized – “breathing life” into an inanimate object such as a snow man can really be fulfilling.
In my opinion, Wallace Stevens employs the image of a snow man because it indicates how transparent and delicate the barrier between the two worlds is. But what else if not a heap of melting snow is that “observer”? He is the “listener, who listens in the snow” – being out there, exposed to the world in which he does not belong but still created him. The snow man is an embodiment of the surmounting will of people to “breath life” into things that does not exist and “behold […] nothing.” What is the purpose of the snow man after all? We erect it out of the nothing, possessing nothing and “understanding” nothing. He is the link between the imaginary world, full of wondrous characters that we create for the mere purpose of satisfaction and the real tangible universe that encompasses the physical bodies, even those made of snow.
Taking a more profound look at the last three lines of the poem we realize that the poet is emphasizing primarily on the idea that people have the diverse ability to live in both of their worlds. We all have responsibilities to execute and obligations to meet but besides the world for the tangible “Nothing” there is another one, where even the inanimate listener hears the “sound of the leaves.” The place is bare, the sound of the wind is miserable, the season is winter, and the leaves are few… Wallace Stevens depicts his surroundings in a downcast manner, making the point that what, at first glance, seems completely desolate and void may turn out to be so emotionally loaded as to quench the “thirsty senses.”
Sometimes all I need is that thirst quencher to sooth my suffocation in those moments when I want to scream in the face of the gloomy world. And then I realize that my shout will be hurt but only by the lonely listener in the snow, and then carried away by the same winter wind. That is why all my perceptions and symbols are so dear to me for they alone are the escape I so much desire. I still smile when I see the rising sun, the blooming tree or the dozing snow man in front of a house but now I no longer wonder why!

. . .

2007-10-26T02:57:00.000-07:00

Ти тръгна, а аз останах
И никой не разбра...
Разсъмна се и утрото изгря –
Светът бе мрачен и студен
И вятрърът свиреп свистеше.
Потърсих те и осъзнах,
Че късно и няма веч
До теб да се събуждам аз.
Прости но не можах да бъда аз
Това което искаш ти.
Обичах те и ме болеше...
Загубих те и част от мене
ти отнесе...
Сълзите няма да те спрат – върви
Върви напред и забрави,
Че с тебе крачех също аз.
Не икам аз обаче във забрава
Да потъне този блян
И продължавам да тъгувам
За прегръдките ти с свян.

The Tears Of the Man Beside

2007-10-20T05:14:00.000-07:00

I saw a man – a lonely one
And then another one;
Two more…
Thousand faces all around.
But then I could but only feel
The tears of the man beside.
He had no voice, no name
But Sadness call him they.

When Faith Does Not Follow

2007-10-17T02:56:00.000-07:00

TO VANKATA WHO REALLY LIKED THAT PIECE :)

Sometimes all I want is to pull my eyes out… more or less for the purpose of seeing. Later, I will put them back but not in their usual position. I would rather insert them with the pupil gazing back, leaving the nerves outside, exposed to the outer world. Of course, no one will notice the nauseous being with bleeding nerves replacing the beautiful retinas since the ‘world’ is so busy doing its gross misdoings. Thus, with my vision so unimpaired I will not focus on what is insight since I already know myself in excess but try to perceive it with ‘different eyes.’ I want to penetrate inside, to break open, and to question:

What is it that makes me move? Is it the morning dew,
Or the thought that time is running through?
Should I spread the wings of desire,
Or follow the destitute preordained?
My eyes perceiving an unexpected self
Harnessing the soul in an unpleasant torture
Guiding it towards a glamorous future –
Future expected my many and none.

Even though my eyes were ‘blind outside’ I saw a person in the city park. A gentleman of an age respected was calmly sitting under the light rain, playing on his faithful accordion. I passed by – I did not want to scare him away because I knew he will notice the absence of eyes on my face. He was not part of that world – he had a pure heart. And although he had no shelter to put his tired body at rest, he was satisfied with what was his; playing French chansons of a decade forgotten.
Days have passed and no one discerned my bleeding eyes but him. I found what I was looking for, I found it out. It is not that you see with your eyes beloved but that you want to follow…

Force

2007-04-18T07:15:00.000-07:00

Completely sad, disturbed and ugly…
…ugly the world outside.
a strong storm blowing mercilessly on the seaside rock.
A figure, a shadow,
transparent and gentle
guards the iron gate of hatred.
Waves of gold, eyes of ice,
tears of laughter, bare feet.
The devastating force of loneliness – the only beauty.
Murky sky, then quiet rain…
No end, no escape – eternity.
And on the single rock,
perching in the middle of the sea,
the ghost, the shadow – still alone
Singing with the sea,
Flying with the gulls,
Crying with her soul!

For You

2007-03-28T07:21:00.000-07:00

My heart a barren desert is,
my mind – a pocket.
I fill it in with golden sand,
and carry it alone forever.

Having Nothing to Say

2007-03-06T13:19:00.000-08:00

.... the door in front of her was open; she looked at it with the nonchalant look of a child and then decided to close it. The room was dark and empty and spooky. The branches of the birch* tree were swaying under the gentle gust of the wind outside the old house. She was going nowhere...

She stood there – at the middle of the shabby place – dresses all in black, pure and deep black, that could hide even the slightest hint of emotion in ones soul. And, yes, that was the reason she loved it so much... shrouded in black was her soul, caged inside her feelings – away from everything, form everyone. All the people that came and passed through her life were uninvited, unexpected, unfamiliar. They all wanted part of her heart, to take off the precious black cloak and feast on her... The only thought back then in her head was that... “no, I don't want,” no other words, not a single sound.

Her bare feet left bloody prints on the ground... her bloody tears glimmered in the darkness of the night. The room was cold – she could see her breath. And only they, the stars were there... once again as every night. Her only solace, her only friends... that demanded nothing and had nothing to say.

* in Slavic culture the birch tree is considered to be a gift of God; a symbol of light and purity that protects people.
in Scotland birch is related to dead people!

When things go wrong

2006-12-09T15:35:00.000-08:00

This time again… it is over. The spooky mist outside pervades everything. The trees, tall dark images, are shrouded in a pale silk. The world was wearing a cloak of illusion and every object seemed distorted in an ugly manner. Staring into the fog, trying to follow your way, you find yourself surrounded by strange faces – as if many eyes are cast upon you. It is so dark … but in the same time the thick whitish fog creates the feeling that something terribly wrong is going on with this particular night. And indeed that was the truth. EVERYTHING was!

the world on fire...

2006-12-08T06:21:00.000-08:00

I set the world on fire; it burned for days and nights. The might of the blaze was vigorous – serpentine flames engulfed everything around. I watched the magnificent color of the gaily sparkles....
It is over. The moonlight illuminates the barren ground. Small fires still burning imply the appalling feast I craved for and eventually created. It is so peaceful now, not a single sound. I wonder through the remnants, my feet are black from ash. I kneel and grab the embers. A tear slopes down my cheek. If only I did not have to do it. If only I had a choice.....
Now I am alone, wondering through the dark desert I created for myself. There’s nothing else left to be burned. MY SOUL WAS AT THE STAKE FIRST.

LONELY NO MORE

2006-11-29T03:36:00.000-08:00

Completely shattered
with grief and pain –
rules the world alone.
How dark and empty
and devastated....
How brutal and fierce
the weather outside?
A single drop - a tear maybe
is falling down the pane.
An endless hour strikes again.
The pain will die,
the wind – abide.
The merciless hand
still clutching the world
withers pale...... alone.
A quiet shrill, a second
a single drop again......
This time – blood strains!

I FOUND HER.....

2006-05-18T00:08:00.000-07:00

Picture taken by Preslav Rachev

A Short Story In a Few Words

2006-04-27T00:36:00.000-07:00

TO 13 15 13 3 8 9 12 - WHO MADE ME BELIEVE IN VIOLET

EMPTY, PEACE, SOUL, SMILING, STARS, BEAUTY, SPIRIT, EYES, VOICES, SILENCE, WIND, DARKNESS, FIREFLY, GROUND, FLOWER, HEART

EXPLANATION: (longer than the story)

I am (empty) but at last in (peace) with myself. I burned everything human in my (soul); now, for the first time in my life, I am (smiling), smiling with joy. The night is splendid because the (stars) are lonely again. Their (beauty) is cold - they just stay there, blinking, being part of the Divine will.
I am a (spirit) - transparent and gentle. I ripped off my heart, I sent away my soul; I have two pieces of ice for (eyes). I see people, many people. I hear (voices), many voices. Then (silence), it's only me. Do you hear it, do you feel me? I love listening to the sound of the silence - it's an endless song, sung by the (wind).
I look around, and there she is, wearing her favourite violet dress, gazing at me with her violet eyes, full of goodness. She smiles at me and disappears in the (darkness). I smile back, trying to keep her image forever in my mind. I start running...I run and run...she was here, right here.
At the place she stood a second before was only the royal (firefly) ballet, performing complicated dances under the melodious repertoire of the classic frog and cricket choirs.
I kneel down and take from the (ground) the little violet (flower) she has dropped. It is so fragile and yet it has all her beauty. It was her heart and she gave it to me - the appalling spirit with no (heart) and soul, cold as ice.
It happened 452 days ago and I am still searching for her. I know that I will see her again, playing with the squirrels or picking flowers. Now, I have violet heart. The ice from my eyes melted down and I see the world in violet. I am not a spirit anymore, neither a shape, nor a shadow. She taught me that I should not feel sorry when a saga ends because every "Bummel*" has its end.
DO NOT LET HER GO AWAY BECAUSE SHE IS...VIOLET.

* From "Three Men on the Bummel" by Jerome K. Jerome
'A "Bummel", I should describe as a journey, long or short, without an end; the only thing regulating it being the necessity of getting back within a given time to the point from which one started. Sometimes it is through busy streets, and sometimes through the fields and lanes; sometimes we can be spared for a few hours, and sometimes for a few days. But long or short, but here or there, our thoughts are ever on the running of the sand. We nod and smile to many as we pass; with some we stop and talk awhile; and with a few we walk a little way. We have been much interested, and often a little tired. But on the whole we have had a pleasant time, and are sorry when 'tis over."

WHY EXACTLY BLACK...?

2006-04-20T00:06:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen black people? I mean really IN black - wearing black clothes, black shoes, black make-up. (If you have not, I will be glad to meet you!) And what do you think of them?
If you are one of those who say: 'Wow, look at them, they are like creatures coming from the Hell, garbed always in black. Those are black-wearing psychoes', then I guess that you should not read this.
But let me tell you my story...why exactly black.
My life did not begin with my birth; it rather started when I first realized that I live in the Middle of The Ocean. I encountered many stroms of depression. (During a storm The Ocean is violent, really tempestuous). The only thing that was able to save me was the black color. Hardly anyone could believe that the first time I dressed in black I felt secure - protected by the phoneyness of the world.
There is a song: ' I wake up in the morning/Put on my face/The one that's gonna get me/Through another day/Doesn't really matter/How I feel inside... Having a face that's getting you through the days is not enough because it works only for a year or two. Then, again comes the disappointment and the resentment you feel for pretending to be happy does not make you really happy. In the moments when you are all by yourself, you take off the face and are left with nothing but the joy of something that has meaning for you. If there is not such a thing, create one. I did it for myself. I woke up one lovely morning and the first thing I decided was that I start wearing only black. This morning was not arbitrary chosen by my inner self. It was two years ago, when I could not use my tired 'faking' face anymore.
There should be a song: 'I wake up in the morning/Put on my black shield/Ready to defeat the storms...
Do you believe in symbols? I personally love them. Recently, I read in a magazine article that the favourite color of a person is indicative of his or her kind of personality. To the surprise of all those who dislike the black color because they think that it symbolizes death and the dark side (of the force:), it was written that the people who wear black possess emotional soul. :)
Do not get me wrong - I am not preaching the lecture about the miraculous black color. I am not a depressed person who is searching for support and understanding! That's just my story, the way I saw the things.
MORAL: Never judge the people you know by the color they love. After all no one is sure why exactly black... Just feel... no matter what color are your favourite socks!