"We become the story we tell about ourselves."

Yesterday I was reading this book, given to me by a friend, two years ago. I was meant to read this book in London, but I never did. I brought it all along, to every new house I moved in.

This year, I finally started reading it, and it's been a month now. It's called "A Home at the End of the World", by Michael Cunningham.

It's a truly beautiful romance, very well written, poetically lyrical.

So, yesterday there was this thing a character said that made me stop and think about it. "We become the stories we tell about ourselves." Bingo! That's it! We're nothing but the script we write for ourselves. We become the actors we ourselves direct. Some believe in destiny, and prefer passing all the responsibility over their lives to a greater divine force, justifying mistakes and fears. It's not that I don't believe there is such a force, but I think we can control that force and direct it towards where we want. This force is neutral and takes you wherever you please--it's all a matter of choice.

Each choice involves rights and wrongs. For every choice there is a loss and a gain and both are interchangeable.

Now, going back to the script thing...I do believe we become the story we tell about ourselves, especially when I think about my life. I can pretty much picture all the scripts I wrote and rewrote for myself. There are three stages. When you're unhappy about the character you've been playing, you start planning and writing a new one. When it's done, you start directing it and it seems a bit fake in the beginning, as if not working. But after a while, you forget about the direction and you start acting freely, without any further support, and then it comes to the point when you forget about the precise words that were in the script or the stage directions and you become the character itself and you live that way... up to the time you get tired again and you decide to tell yourself some other story about yourself.

Sometimes you change the stage, the theater, the other actors to work with... Sometimes you keep playing the same play and the same role for years and years.

All I say is... good actors are multi-faced and they acknowledge that by playing different roles they're learning and feeling more, in different ways... and fundamentally keeping up the passion for life.

Some others, for fear, never leave their comfort zone and prefer playing it safe.

I don't play it safe. I play it dangerous.

Cheers!

Szeretlek!

With your excuse Luv, I can't silence

The words just left me completely alone now

Can't say anything

All I know is that we have ourselves

We know we can count on each other

And we do count on each other

We do have lots of stories together...

I love that picture

I do coz that is a symbol for me

A symbol of a life changing

After that night all turned different

We were fucking drunk

Couldn't walk or talk properly

But we managed to walk, shivering but laughing

Crossing the city from north to south

All the way south the river

To have a hell of a night

First everything felt into the white and coldness of the snow

After that all disappeared

Then started to show some focusless black and white

And after all

The colours turned back again

Even my colourblindness seams to have disappeared

Life has colours now

And every time I feel blue, black, green, yellow, red...

Or whatever the colour

There're always the colours of your smile and the notes of your voice

To light up and balance the world around

And at the end, all the words

They are not enough

They don't make any justice

They can't express a 100th part of what we have

At the end

You are right

The only word is really Szeretlek!

Alex-weird fish-Skyline

Ok, now I wanted to write something of you. But I can't. I was thinking of a good story we have or a great moment but I can't choose 'cause all of our stories are important for me. I love we can laugh a lot together, cry together, just be together.
I'm sorry but don't have the words. I have just one for you: Szeretlek!

Smile

You have a bad day. Everything is wrong. You think noone likes you, noone cares for you. And than the miracle's just knocking: your friend calles you. That friend you couldn't meet for 3 months. He just calles you to tell your birthday message made his day and he's free for the night. You have to answer him you can't today but you'll have off next week. Thanks God he has on the same day, so you have a deal: you'll spend that day together.
You can't stop smiling :) Even if you have to work and top up those glasses 'cause you know there's a person who likes you and missed you. You finish your work have your bottle of wine and don't want to go home. So you walk a bit and smile. And you're surprised: the people on the street smile back.
This happened to me today. I know it's not a big thing but when you're down those calls, messages, winks, smiles you don't expect can make the world alive again.

Little boy, little boy, lost and blue

Alex Skyline. It was by noon on a cold day, under the rain, when I first spoke to this boy whose eyes lay upon the weirdness and vague happiness the city on fire could bring. Sparkles of joy and laughter blended with uncertainty. Whatever his eyes were reflecting--this is what I fell for. On the corner of Old Compton Street, he used to squeeze his eyes as if to cry, as people would pass by.
Bars of chocolate, spaghetti, Stella Artois, candies, and dreams. Stories, confusions, theories about the world. He offered me a white flower and white baking powder on the way to a nameless club somewhere near Old Street. In the end, our lives were saved by shots of tequila.
He fried me eggs, I cooked him pasta. I used to talk for long hours about my loneliness while washing the dishes. He listened. He was there.
Burger King was the spot. What if women were the rulers of the world? Talks about women and men, gays and lesbians, Arabs and Indians, western and eastern, idiots and people. People. We have something in common: we both love people. We love too much. Lovers and losers. This was the party we had to sell, and we were indeed walking banners of the party.
Sometimes we were like a couple of two old guys. We had lots of arguments. Strangeness. It's by the arguments we had, and the ability to forget about them--coz they never mattered anyway--that I say it was love. At least for me. I can say it still is.
I miss going to Hyde Park and "feeding birds", I miss the fun, the cooperation, the arguments, the pain, Christmas's day, our days at Trash Palace, and life we shared. We were beautiful and I hope we still are.




"Magpie, was it you who stole the wedding ring?
Or what other thieving bird would steal such hope away?
Magpie, i am lost among the hinterland,
caught among the bracken and the fern,
and the boys who have no name.

There's no name for us
But still We sing

And still we sing,
Little boy, little boy,
Lost and blue,
Listen now, let me tell you what to do,
You can run on, run along or home
Between the knees of her,
All among her bracken and her ferns,
And the boy will have a name.
And we will sing

And we will sing,
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told"
(Patrick Wolf)