Thursday, 28 September 2017

Disconnect of a preocupied mind ...

The brain keeps doing these tiny loops, these odd little ... Like - I'm trying to masturbate and I keep losing concentration, wandering off to thinking of mushrooms and texts and how I should probably take the books back to the library ... This translates to every other aspect of my day. I am unable to focus, at all. I keep forgetting what I was going to do halfway to the kitchen to make myself coffee. general asks me a question and I forget what it began like by the time he is done asking it. Even holding a conversation is unusually difficult.
That's the Brain. The curious case of pompons and buttons - the Feelz are lovely. I feel really nice. Sure, sprinkled with anxiety, but really happy. Almost carefree. Almost ... CBA. So? So I scratch the car. So I forget to take out the dog. So I burn my coffee. So I don't finish the book this year. So I get a tick because I hate showering. So what?

Dangerous territory, this odd despondent dementia. People have been warned my brain is being outsourced. Curious indeed. 

Drove dad to another mushroom hunting morning and, because he was very tired from having road-tripped with my bro yesterday - he moved very slowly. I took over 200 photos of mushrooms during, from a dark foggy woods, beautiful as can be, to the bright sunny variety there-of. Making photos of the last shoots we made with April, though - forget about it. I have absolutely no idea what to do. 

Monday, 25 September 2017

When finding the proper ones isn't what you're best at, you can also go home and PS the * out of pics of shrooms! ... :D Fun times.

Thursday, 21 September 2017

D-day. The sum of compassion you can expect from some people in my family:

      "I have to go to the hospital tomorrow. Worst case scenario they will have to remove one of my ovaries."
      "Just one?"

Monday, 18 September 2017

First Meeting of Morpheus and Kay, in the ugly Garden

(I'm not there yet, but am working on it ;)

The suspicion took shape and a man with red hands stepped forth, carrying the severed head of my husband by the hair, one of its milky eyes focused on me, dead jaw drooping.
The man, the king, the antagonist of the stage and the play he arranged exclusively for me - if you were seeing him arrive from my perspective - generously awaited an opening move, preferably a purge of all sanity.
I sighed. “Ye, almost-Pennywise, a loved-one’s severed head isn’t a personal fear, it is absolutely every person’s nine-kiloton horror; unrealistic and over-the top. But if you want to get Lovecraftian about it … you don’t think the first thing you teach me, back in our day, when we hang, is to differentiate a hallucination from an ascetic wakefulness? Should the blatant overkill not be enough of a giveaway, in case I am drugged or have a head injury and someone is trying to throw me, using my mind against me? You think not insanity or dementia a fantasist’s cruelest joke?”
People of the okiya were screaming ever louder, young women hurting, crawling, just behind the frames, begging me to help them, ripping their limbs from trying to hang onto dear life. The realism of it was testing. I rolled my eyes before involuntary, compassionate reaction caused me to frown in unease. “Neup. Being unable to save strangers begging you to help them is not a fear either, it is a concern. Still a generic poke in the blind. Keep going.”
The ground has since become full of leeches. Cracks, leaves, it all came black and alive. They smelled naught as ever sweet as my blood. They got all the way up to the feet and higher, straps of my sandals their stepladder, they were very many, but leeches don’t bite hurtfully and even when they suck, gross as it may be, it’s entirely painless. Messy, to be sure, itchy further on, annoying. My skin crawled, memories urging me to stomp and find a chair to climb on, but still it was not as creepy as he aimed for – he was trying truly hard to find my thing; it will take him another few seconds to look bigger. This was a battle of wits. I’ve been braced for losing such since the evening started. I was wide open. He was tired, so tired.
“Warmer. Not a fear either, more … disgust. Shall we continue down the list of thesaurus, or do we just skip to the part where I’m not easily nightmared-out?
The severed head vanished and he awaited me to finish the sentence politely as regends would. I half expected the next scene will try to tap into every person's father issues, if he had any way of knowing what my parents look like - which he no longer did of awake people. Bracing for the next remark, I pumped more attitude into the air, for no reason other than stalling the inneviable. "You could try a clown--" 
The red hand snapped, nigh to grab my face and I leapt. So panicky in fact, betraying the act in one swell retreat, my back hit the wood-and-paper wall behind us and more light stabbed through, sharpening his frightful features.
He came right back at me for the Stephen King remark, shutting my running mouth, evil as a winter wind: “Beep beep, Richie.”
           I shivered and breathed in chokes while his fingertips scanned the general shape of me; I could feel my own coffee breath coming off them. He touched not the hairs of my cheek but the hairs on the microscopic things on the skin. This mortal skin. Suppressing a chuckle, he complimented: “Good speech. I’ve heard better,” in a voice of a childhood fear luring you from the path of a forest; in a tone which only every mocked and belittled all ye little bluffers. “And in case you haven’t yet put those two on top of your affray with irony: fear of fear is called phobophobia.”

Saturday, 16 September 2017

Muzej vojaške zgodovine Pivka (pt. 1)

As per usual, whenever we drive home from that direction, the General and I stop in the Military Museum in Pivka, our biggest military museum - the biggest at least collection of actual big stuff, though I also enjoyed the photo exhibition of the one in Maribor and Celje has a spooky one, and I am sure Ljubljana has some good stuff, but I don't remember the details right this second... The most fucked up shit is of course going to be found in the expo in Kobarid - the site of Isonzo River battles of the Great Big One #1 - war to End all Wars - and if you're a praying man, that place will never stop being haunted by the hundreds of thousands of voices silenced for the most retarded reasons. (Impossibly bad leaders, mustard gas turning back on their own, avalanches, so on... As an illustration: the Italians had such a shit commander, that when our boy Big Vinny R. describes his assault with a band of soldiers on the Spindle (Kolovrat) hill, the Italians in caves just keep surrendering, in one case even tearing their own officer to pieces when he tries to resist. It got THAT crappy.) 

But of course taking the General to a military museum is like taking me blindfolded through a chocolate degustation or (not blindfolded) a bookstore: he either knows everything and is excited like a pilot getting a licence to take off, or he finds an error in the exhibition and is simply furious :D 


They built this adorable little tank outside of wood and ivy :D <3

But first, of course, a proper meal: Yugo Burgers for all!

Toy tanks <3 I should probably try and buy a model-making set for G one of these days.

Picture of a Stone Age encampment site

Model of Slovenian war for Independence greatest hits

Well done walls of the Parachute/Pilots expo

Back to basics

A selfie :D
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These spook the fuck out of me. For MANY fictitious reasons - too many movies, too many shows with these in... :/

A day in nature: let's have a picnic and pose on the wreck of a fighter plane

The piece about how women of the region where things fell down, make use of the material: parachute silk was for undergarments, the metal was for cooking appliances... My dad has a story in which an ambulance was abandoned (though not without a body) in his village and people dismantled it within a night.

Recently a farmer dug up a 250 kg bomb such as this one and wheelbarrowed it to his yard with his kids. All of our bomb squad force was needed to safely remove it and detonate it, before it erased the village from the map.

Guess which one of the people on this photo is later to become a big military name ...

The Independence War photo (good stuff, well done!)

People rushing to place a new name of the country on the border crossing during the conflict

The president facing his new army

And Austrian diabetic man asking to be able to cross


.. end of part one.