My secretive friend

Vibrant with colour, this peculiar creature showed us just how well adjusted a predator could be.

Through the bushes

A bit of exploring to find new paths to the beach. Not too hot and excitingly green. I love seeing just a hint of seashore over tops of olive trees; just one whiff of salt in the air, just few sails in a distance, bit of laziness crossing the street. Fig tree looming over street corner.

Handmade Stichmarkers

This lovely garment I've been working on is coming along quite nicely. I'm not usually much of an outdoorsman but knitting under an olive tree has been surprisingly relaxing. Pink stichmarker in the photo is from my first handmade stichmarker set. Fimo and silver wire, along with some tiny beads, and a bit of persistence because making them requires some delicate twisting and binding.

Biograd ferry port

Very barren. Waiting for my offspring to come over from Tkon I was thinking how this place was like a empty canvas, yet it is very appropriate for it to be empty. Marina on one side, tour boats on the other. Middle ground as a place to rest eyes on the barrenness.

Rastoke

Slunjcica waterfalls in Rastoke.

Mobtest

There should be easier way for this. How about finally discovering that plug-in brain implant?

Clay Penguin

It is time for repentance
Comfortably wedged between searching and enacting.
It is time for repugnance,
For redundant celebration of distaste.
It is time for a reprobate
To earn its keep in silver.

Diamond

Today, world is like a diamond: beautiful, hard, expensive and misused.


* * *


Only spilled bile in a cage of ribs.

Letter

I'm writing...

There is snow outside and my nook is warm and fragrant. Using wattles and clay I enclosed my cave, arranged fireplace in such way that the smoke would not accumulate indoors, using driftwood I set up tiles and shelves for crops. A gaze of my hoard fills me with bliss. Cauldron gently squeals hanging over the fireplace, porridge with herbs smells divine.

I was busy.

I kept myself busy so I wouldn't think. About you. But it is not working any more.

Sad Santa

I've stumbled upon Willard Grant Conspiracy few weeks ago while listening to Richmond Fontaine radio on Last.fm and I was hooked. Did some reading, a bit more listening and finally decided to invest some time and money into attending their concert at SC last night (Dec 3rd 2008).

Quite more jazzy/bluesy than I actually expected them to be having heard their studio albums they proved to be peculiar and enchanting experience.

It was kind of like watching a living schism, paradox in flesh.

It started with watching annoyed, fat dude ambling through the stage to his chair and sitting down despondently and ended with his transubstantiation into desperate Santa stripped of his powers, fairytale creature barren to mere frame – to humane, to identifiable, to heartaching possibility of common experience – transubstantiation being fulfilled by Robert Fisher opening his mouth and singing – disturbingly, aching, wonderful.

I've listened to them stunned, my jaw hangin' open, bright-eyed and engulfed in wonder.

I've listened them make beautiful music.