Едно време имах любовна афера с писането.  Сега съм скучно омъжена за работата си. Трябва ми добър бракоразводен адвокат. И после ще се храня с букви - да знаете само какви топли супи с босилек и разкази забърквам. Облизвам си пръстите и си досипвам! Накрая обирам дъното с големи къшеи хрупкава поезия.
Ей така ми се живее... отново. Не съм си представяла живота затворена зад бюро шест дена в седмицата. Така де, той общо взето живота ти се обославя от съществуването зад бюрото, а през останалото време – как да стигнеш до бюрото. Приятелите отдавна са спряли да ти звънят и да те търсят да излезеш с тях, да се забавляваш или ако ще нищо да не правиш, ама да си с тях и да знаеш, че имаш възможността да направиш всичко. Някаква дълбока социална кома. Изкуствена при това. Да ме е блъснал автобус и да ме е докарал това състояние – да не ме е яд. Ама аз сама се хвърлих под гумите. И няма вече нито писане, нито приятели. Фотографските трепети и те някъде отлетяха... ама не, знам ги къде са. Под бюрото. Всичко се върти около туй бюро, ще взема да го запаля накрая и да се свърши.
Накрая на деня се чувствам емоционално изнасилена и ужасно непродуктивна. Някъде в 17:00 часа още започвам да чувствам нуждата от смазване на мисловната кутия, че чувам пантичките как започват да скърцат. А ме усеняват някакви вдъхновения почти ежедневно, ама като нямам сили да и време да ги осъществя просто ги пускам да отхвърчат с вятъра.
Защото бюрото е по-важно.

Време е за една-две революции...


your world

Dedicated to Miss Vax Flower

Sometimes she gets lost, or she doesn’t. I mean, I’m not sure if she does or doesn’t. To me it seems that she doesn’t know which road to choose, but then again, if there is somebody who knows all the secret paths around the labyrinth in her world, that has to be her. It is after all, she who crated it. I’m only worried that she made it so big and complicated that occasionally she forgets the tiny little clues and signs she left here and there to guide her in cases like this. To feel lost in your own creation and have no control over it, is something no author would be very happy or thrilled about. Unless of course, they’re nuts, and I assure you, she isn’t. As already stated, I’m not even sure she’s lost.
You see… I know a thing or two about worlds. The deal is I’m naturally intelligent. Sorry for being so modest, but I never had to work hard in school and still graduated with the best results. Also, I’m very good in improvising, and my memory is very sharp. So practically I have the ability to escape from the craziest situations and solve them at least partly. As I mentioned so bashfully, I know a thing or two about worlds because my own is so vast that sometimes I even get the feeling that it might be infinite. Not to mention how insanely bizarre some parts of it are. My imagination was slightly out of control at some points I’m afraid, and every day there is something to be repaired in it. Or something unfinished waits to be finally done. Some other parts, I have to hide well, but never erase under any circumstances.  Every single world requires a lot of work on a daily basis, especially worlds like mine and definitely hers. Some people are sloppy and don’t care much, but we do. Just because I spend a lot of time traveling between different places, seeing and dealing with different people, I can kind of navigate around their worlds. I definitely don’t get or approve all I see, hear or feel, but most of the time I manage to get out without heavy damages neither for me, nor for its owner. So I do understand her world… here and there. Well… you have to know something – it was long after we met when she realized that I’m the creator of the world she was watching and exploring over the last couple of years in her life. I felt flattered when she told me. I always knew that somehow I can be somebody’s inspiration. I was hers occasionally, and even then that made me feel obligated to take care of her as I would do for any of the travelers in my humble home, if it’s within my power. After all, some of the ideas in her world were inspired by my creations. So I felt kind of, well, responsible. Sorry, I FEEL responsible. The problem’s that first: I was broken back then and I was trying to repair what was left of my original self, so I’m not sure which broken bits of me she used to get inspired from, and second: it’s not like she left the doors widely open inviting everybody in her creation. No. Every time I have to or want to go there I can’t escape the feeling that I’m not allowed or I’m sneaking behind her back, no matter that she called me to go visit her.
By the way, her name is Cinnamony Vax Flower. You’ll need it because this story is about her and you always have to know the name of the main character, don’t you? The narrator, who is not so important in this scenario, is called White April Morning – something you’ll forget as soon as the sun reaches noon. In our case not even the names are so crucial, the actions and the people behind them are.
To start explaining her world, I’ll have to show you some things about mine. Not like hers, my world is very close to the reality of many others. Most important - I don’t really like to mess up everybody, who’s brave enough to enter. After a while I start feeding them with cotton candy and craziness bit by bit so they can cope with it and slowly but surely swallow it. That’s the deal… little baby steps, or everybody will run away as fast as they can if they get to see all in one split second. Nobody’s mind can handle so much of information. I have a thing about details and little moments of full perfection, so as you can imagine, I stuffed my place with tiny things and you never can see all of them in one look. I’m too sorry to say, that sometimes for some people a trip to my place is lake a trip to Disneyland for a little child – you never know where to look, because there is so much to be seen. I can easily understand why some people get irritated and fed up with it after couple of seconds and just leave. But you can’t create a place which would be likable for everyone. I mean, you can create a place where everybody can find something they like or even love and adore, but you can’t create the perfect place which will miss the things they dislike. After all, if you love one thing, that exact same thing could be something somebody else hates. Some people just don’t like compromising. The only thing I actually must be sorry about is my unconditional wish to please everybody, which as you can imagine no normal person can do. I modestly think of myself as a normal one, with occasional loony manifestations, of course. I’m very far away from the statement that I do not need therapy and all in my mind is exactly where it’s supposed to be, but I am completely able to put a leash on my craziest desires and tame them. Or at least – try to tame them, and if they don’t brake I can put them behind steel bars and lock every single one of the seventeen locks I have on the door. Which is not always the right thing to do, but I can’t let everything out from my Morning’s box of joys and crackers. I don’t want turning everybody around me as crazy as I am. That’s why I created my world – a place where I can be as lunatic as I wish, as creative as nobody could understand and where everyone who is out of their senses can feel welcome. Call it a shelter. Or even a sanctuary where every refuge needing protection can hide from the dreadful monsters outside. I never throw people out except if they start destroying or rearranging without asking first. There is this thing about me… you see, if I’m asked I would probably allow anybody anything. If I’m not, the slightest interference drives me crazy. But people like me, who feel where they are supposed to be in my world, would never interfere just because they have places of their own and they don’t like people touching and moving things around.
Also, except some well hidden places, I tend to create things in my world as close to what is considered normal. I mean, as much as I would love the snow to be from sugar powder, I don’t think it’s practical because it’s going to get very sticky, don’t you think? Or as much fun as it’s going to be to have an ice cream ocean, I’m not sure how well people will swim in it. Simple as that. So my oceans are full with salty water, they have sand beaches, my snow is the usual, but of course never get’s dirty or melts, or if it melts it disappears completely so we kind of skip the whole muddy situations in early spring.
Compared to her world, although, mine seems like a boring place where nothing interesting happens, EVER! I won’t tell you about the wonders of that place, you’ll get to see it if she says so and I’m not one of those people who walk around and tell stories of wonderful far away paradises. That’s her world and if you are lucky enough you’ll get there. Everything you need to know for now is that if you can’t handle mine and if this is too crazy for you, you’ll probably walk out insane from hers.
That’s what worries me. I don’t think people get her. I don’t think they even try. This leaves her lonely and misunderstood. The really bad thing is that I don’t really think she realizes it till some point where she brakes and opens her eyes only to see her home empty and silent. Of course, I’ll again say these are just my thoughts, I’m not sure she is actually lost in it or alone, but from what I see and hear that’s the conclusion I can make. Hopefully I’m completely wrong.
There is one other thing… Cinnamony Vax Flower never begs for help and even if something is broken beyond repair she doesn’t say a thing. She just stays there and tries to fix it herself. But I really have no idea what’s happening if she can’t. Even if you see her suffering or crying over something that hurt her and offer her help, she’ll say no.
So these are the simple things that worry me and that leave me wandering around her world, not able to help, concerned and utterly useless.
That kills me.
Because I love her.