GENESIS

Every time a story gives its first cry of life in my mind, I take my notebook and gently put the newborn on a blank page. It fits right in, because it's still so small, a mere idea. I take a step back, stare at it, my head throbbing with one and only question: "Who the hell are you, people?"

Then the story starts to talk, and I start writing.

The Fall

Euphoria...ever thought about this combination of letters that caresses your lips when you say it?

from Greek: euphoria "power of enduring easily,"
from euphoros, lit. "bearing well,"
from eu "well"+ pherein "to carry"

That's what happens to me when I wake up in the morning, sulking and sleepy, grumbling about how I don't want to go to work, and then I go out and drink in a lungful of autumn - euphoria flows through my nostrils and touches the tips of my toes on the inside. All the problems and routine seem to be gone, though they are not, they are always there even before I flutter my eyelashes open to see the sun embracing the world. It's just I "carry them well" now.

I love the fall - it is my spring. All my senses that I've put aside during the summer wake up, I become more romantic and vulnerable. I look around and see such beauty that I can hardly contain my heart inside my chest. People scurry by, wrapping themselves in their moodiness, but I see leaves and the sky so blue it hurts the eyes. I wonder why the sky is so unhealthily blue in the fall, it's like it's been stripped of its skin left there sore and sensitive, but damn beautiful!

Leaves...they are everywhere like annoying children at a birthday party, but they make the world brighter, they make life in September feel like the beginning of a fairy tale. Love that's in the air is red and yellow - mature. It's not fluttering in the wind anymore, not crying the raindrops off its tender skin; now it's waltzing in a furious spin and then glide to the ground to loll around like a warm yellow blanket.

I'd like to wrap myself in the fall, to cream it in and smell the freshness, to let the uneasiness of the air flow through my veins and make my fingers prickle, I'd like to "listen in" the shush of the wind and absorb the last drops of sun warmth, I'd like to inhale the beauty of the autumn earth and to never breathe it out, I'd like to be autumn myself - fresh, calm and motherly.

I walk along the streets and see the traces of the fall everywhere, I feel it sneaking a peek at us, trying to figure out how to make us prettier like it does the trees and meadows, and lakes and the sky; but all it manages to do is make our skin wither year after year.

Yet I feel euphoria dissolving in my blood as the fall approaches me from behind and rubs the back of its hand against my cheek. It sends goosebumps all over me, but I close my eyes and cherish the moment, because I know it will go away, and I'll be faced with another nine months of hustling through life until I can relax again, sit down and let my eyes burn with amber flame.

Freefall into abyss.

Everything started with a fall...

When you look down and understand that the ground is rushing towards you and you have nothing to hold on to, the world around you starts morphing into something else, into one unified idea that you don't quite understand.
You start feeling things more intensely.
                                                      Fear.
                                                             Horror.
                                                                       Panic.
                                                                               Despair.
                                                                                          Adrenalin.
                                                                                                        Submission.
                                                                                                                         Freedom.
You fly down letting the wind blow the layers of emotions away until you are naked in your freedom and you are, finally, excited. You stretch you arms wide apart, you open your mouth and start drinking the freedom, inhaling it, letting it get to your groins till you emotionally orgasm and touch the blue cool surface that swallows you whole. You plunge yourself into it deeper and deeper savoring the "after-pleasure", salty water sipping through the tiny slots between your lips.
                                                                     No air.
                                                                              No pain.
                                                                                          No fear.
When you surface again, waves start splashing against your face, toying with you, laughing at you, and you start laughing with them. You raise you head and see how small the mushroom of the cliff you've just slipped off looks from down here. And you think how lucky you are that your unintentional base-jumping has had a good outcome. And then you think that you will be careful next time and will never let it happen again (won't you?). You swim to the shore, get out of water and feel the cliff burning a hole in your back with its invisible eyes, excitement starts rising again somewhere from below your belly-button. "Fuck me!" - you say in despair and start climbing the cliff again.

...I've never jumped off a cliff, but it happens to me all the time, the whole process over and over again.
You live your life, mind your own business, and all of a sudden you see a cliff of your own sex that attracts you like hell, you see a cliff of the opposite sex that makes you wail with longing, you see a cliff that you'd like to taste, a cliff that smells of happiness and eternal joy... and on and on and on. You come to the cliffs again and again, you slip off, you fly down, and after some really nasty falls you thank God you are still alive.

So, that's my life: getting down and up again.

...I like metaphors. They make the shit of life look beautiful...