navuče se na blog. a tek kada dobiješ na popularnosti, au. meni će bit nos u sedmom nebu. njiii.
16.05.2007. (08:18)
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Reader
Hey mate, buy us a drink… You’d better start to write about that, K said to me. We sat at lunch, in fact just after lunch in a pleasant forest restaurant and K already had several beers under his belt. I had only a couple, with which I washed down the meal, and it was too much for me. The medication that I take can in no way be mixed with alcohol. I roll my eyes. Writing is not something that I could see solving the problem, rather it is part of the cause. In fact, I am a journalist. No, I am not one of those popular stars who you see on the screen or spot by the name and picture on their column. They are actually very few, maybe some tens. And many are amateurs, visitors to the profession. There are also some thousands of anonymous legionnaires, professional “hacks”, and without them in journalism and broadcasting there would be no content, you would see only adverts and columns. And I have been one of that riffraff for more than twenty years. When I say professional, I mean that it is how I pay my bills and debts. For one fleeting moment, when chaos grabbed me and I withdrew into psychotic illness, (which moreover is a professional risk and sometimes I saw colleagues both young and old succumb just like soldiers in battle), I had become an associate editor, on a, let us say, prestigious publication from our leading publisher. I got into print some prose, poetry and other articles, scattered around in journals here and there, especially when I was young, just as is the way among colleagues separated from literature. In other words, both the illusions and facts of the curative properties or power of writing are very well known to me. K was not impressed. Oh, no, I said none of this to him. I was not in a condition to. I say this now. He knows that and everything like it since we have known each other all those years. I just waved a hand to him: “drunken bum”. K was not impressed because he is an unredeemed optimist. For him it is an simple matter: What is butchering you must come out. I think… I see a little: You can’t tell your wife. You just torture her! She can’t get to you, and it is driving her crazy, and without her you’d be in the asylum, mate, I can guarantee it! You can’t tell us, your best friends, and we went though all that shit together. You can’t tell your doctor N, he insists that it is too early and keeps you drugged. So now write! That way you will tell everybody and nobody! Listen, I don’t have any inclination to scribble how I feel this or that in some diary … But no, no, no! K stood his ground: Write a blog! You are anonymous, but it is a public thing. “Touch-move”. What is written, is written. That the right thing for you. Again I roll my eyes. Some black blog! What’s more people show their worst side, they mangle the language, cure complexes or entertain illusions about their own importance when thy carve their own way into the “popular” circle. I have seen that internet “village” community: you want forums, you want games, confessions, you name it… Prejudice! In the end, what worries you, you never fitted in anyway. You don’t have to fit anywhere. Write yours, dump it. And the whole world isn’t so foolish: if others can cure their complexes, so can you. A few may benefit, and nobody can be harmed. It will certainly help you! I must sleep on it to think about it- I say what I can promise him. I used to solve all my problems and so forth by sleeping. K contentedly blows smoke and shrugs his shoulders. The bugger knows that I will begin.
25.05.2007. (10:13)
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sagittariusclassic
...dobro ti je rekao, kaj misliš, zake se moj blog zove auspuh...:)
08.05.2007. (10:49) - - - - - promjene spremljene- uredi komentar - obriši komentar - prijavi ovaj komentar kao spam - zabrani komentiranje autoru ovog komentara- učitavam...
ludlud
;)))))
08.05.2007. (22:29) - - - - - promjene spremljene- uredi komentar - obriši komentar - prijavi ovaj komentar kao spam - zabrani komentiranje autoru ovog komentara- učitavam...
vOmitus
navuče se na blog. a tek kada dobiješ na popularnosti, au. meni će bit nos u sedmom nebu. njiii.
16.05.2007. (08:18) - - - - - promjene spremljene- uredi komentar - obriši komentar - prijavi ovaj komentar kao spam - zabrani komentiranje autoru ovog komentara- učitavam...
Reader
Hey mate, buy us a drink…
You’d better start to write about that, K said to me.
We sat at lunch, in fact just after lunch in a pleasant forest restaurant and K already had several beers under his belt. I had only a couple, with which I washed down the meal, and it was too much for me. The medication that I take can in no way be mixed with alcohol.
I roll my eyes. Writing is not something that I could see solving the problem, rather it is part of the cause. In fact, I am a journalist. No, I am not one of those popular stars who you see on the screen or spot by the name and picture on their column. They are actually very few, maybe some tens. And many are amateurs, visitors to the profession. There are also some thousands of anonymous legionnaires, professional “hacks”, and without them in journalism and broadcasting there would be no content, you would see only adverts and columns.
And I have been one of that riffraff for more than twenty years. When I say professional, I mean that it is how I pay my bills and debts. For one fleeting moment, when chaos grabbed me and I withdrew into psychotic illness, (which moreover is a professional risk and sometimes I saw colleagues both young and old succumb just like soldiers in battle), I had become an associate editor, on a, let us say, prestigious publication from our leading publisher. I got into print some prose, poetry and other articles, scattered around in journals here and there, especially when I was young, just as is the way among colleagues separated from literature.
In other words, both the illusions and facts of the curative properties or power of writing are very well known to me.
K was not impressed. Oh, no, I said none of this to him. I was not in a condition to. I say this now. He knows that and everything like it since we have known each other all those years. I just waved a hand to him: “drunken bum”.
K was not impressed because he is an unredeemed optimist. For him it is an simple matter:
What is butchering you must come out. I think… I see a little: You can’t tell your wife. You just torture her! She can’t get to you, and it is driving her crazy, and without her you’d be in the asylum, mate, I can guarantee it! You can’t tell us, your best friends, and we went though all that shit together. You can’t tell your doctor N, he insists that it is too early and keeps you drugged. So now write! That way you will tell everybody and nobody!
Listen, I don’t have any inclination to scribble how I feel this or that in some diary …
But no, no, no! K stood his ground: Write a blog! You are anonymous, but it is a public thing. “Touch-move”. What is written, is written. That the right thing for you.
Again I roll my eyes. Some black blog! What’s more people show their worst side, they mangle the language, cure complexes or entertain illusions about their own importance when thy carve their own way into the “popular” circle. I have seen that internet “village” community: you want forums, you want games, confessions, you name it…
Prejudice! In the end, what worries you, you never fitted in anyway. You don’t have to fit anywhere. Write yours, dump it. And the whole world isn’t so foolish: if others can cure their complexes, so can you. A few may benefit, and nobody can be harmed. It will certainly help you!
I must sleep on it to think about it- I say what I can promise him. I used to solve all my problems and so forth by sleeping.
K contentedly blows smoke and shrugs his shoulders. The bugger knows that I will begin.
25.05.2007. (10:13) - - - - - promjene spremljene- uredi komentar - obriši komentar - prijavi ovaj komentar kao spam - zabrani komentiranje autoru ovog komentara- učitavam...