Arrh, the heat wave is back. It sounds like a simple enough ordeal to weather through, if you're nicely indoors, in the dim lights, windows blind, two fans keeping you cool and nicely snotty, cool shower in the next room every 40 or so minutes ... But Real World beckons and I have to venture out in it again tomorrow morning ... At six, when I push the bike upstream-way to work, it's bliss. Early afternoon, when I just pedal a bit, letting the slight incline of the valley to the rest, in 100 degrees... It's not quite so much bliss. May last a few weeks. I'll either get used to it again, or I'll take sick. I was a little queasy yestereve, around seven, when I took the dog out for a walk. I start to shake and cry and cannot cool down no matter what I do. (A lasting present from my old ship heat-stroke incident, it would seem..) The General needs to put me in the bathtub and spend some time gently showering me from warm to cool, then I just fall asleep, batteries completely drained. It's funny, because if it's just sunny and dry, I am perfectly okay. It's the humidity and hot concrete in the evening that gets to me. And the idiotic fucking dog wants to go out while it's still bright, then realizes what she's done and needs to be dragged the entirety of the stroll.

First day of work

I am so sore and tired I can barely move - first, jumping on the bike again after a pedestrian season, despite a lovely, lovely ride back and to, I am completely out of menial labor state of play and though fun and tasty, the work has me so worn out now, by eight in the evening, I can't even play WoW. Which I haven't played in months - firstly because I was fed up at the time - it happens before most expansions - and then because the comp slowed to a stop with a faulty :C drive. But the General took it to a mate, adding another drive, and now I have the super new and updated operation platforms for all of my fav program,s and Warcraft has just had a massive patch 8.0.. I should go out, walk the dog, play some Pokemon, stop communicating with strangers on the Internet, because nobody wants to listen to real comments. The General is sleeping, too, his work timeline was even more crazy than mine. Have I ever mention how incredibly tranquilizing someone's deep breathing/gentle snoring is? :D

I finally coined the Keylada term for 'bresingari':

Tgeve
- to experience all times, past and future, within a single moment flowing through one-self ...

Why I walk alone... (*poem alert)

I get asked all the time why I travel alone
(and not even mention my husband in the stories.) 
Quite simple I like to be on my own.
I like to get scared and solve my own problems.
I like to stop and cry at the sight of beauty
For an hour: a painting or a mountain or 
just any sight of natural splendour, really, bresingary*.
My husband waits for me at the end of every story
He likes to hear how I got happy or how I got sad
And look at the photos I've taken. I take many. I feel a lot within, too.
That is why I like to walk alone.

(And also he is not that crazy.)


*bresingary means something so awesome you want to cry

General's !romantic! line of the week:

Me: "No, I DON'T want to stop where I am and wait for you, I don't want to quit until I've reached some place nice! I want you to come rescue me in a pretty location.."

G: "Any shitty bus stop in the middle of God's ass nowhere, where I come to find you, will be the most beautiful location once I arrive."

... Too fucking true.

Rarer than wet dreams for me: a myoclonic twitch got me yesterday :D

So as not to wake from intense dreams, I've long trained my brain not to fall for the myoclonic twitch and I get it very, very rarely. If at all, the brain gets so embarrassed, it switches right back, like power going out and backup-generators instantly kicking in.

Climbing onto the bed last night, so tired I was still explaining something to G and readying my brain for something sexy, as soon as my head touched the pillow, the brain remembered four steps down to the river I had to descend in order to brush my teeth, and in this memory my foot slipped. I was not even asleep to the best of my awareness, and yet I went from three layers of consciousness: aware I am laying down on a pillow, aware I am fantasising about the dirty poem I wrote, aware I am stepping down the steps to the water, slipping: half a second later I was gasping, stunned, shocked, perplexed, torn completely out of what I thought I knew into what I was actually doing... 

It felt like my brain sneezed. :D

The little bitch got me. Sneaky brain.

Made it almost to Luče this time ...

For those who know me, I am mapping out the river that runs through my town, trying to walk as far as possible upstream. Now, obviously I know where it starts from, I've been there a dozen times, it's nice. And it's not like it's an Amazon - it's a teeny tiny river. The point is, I enjoy walking alongside of it immensely. So, feeling like I'm running out of summer, that's what I've been doing these past few days. The whole plan was to sleep outside another day and make it to a pretty pretty hill, where I promised to treat G to a sausage and sour kraut and beer if he comes to collect me. But between the shitty weather and him missing me and I falling out of good mood in the middle of the hike over some summer job negotiations, in pain and overheating, once I got lost and too tired, instead of - MY PACING ISSUES!! - taking a breather, making a small fire, making myself some food and taking a swim and a nap, as we talked, I just retired to the nearest tavern and awaited my rescue. The General is never slow to insult me, call me a pussy, a quitter, someone who constantly needs to be rescued and someone who, if need came and we would have to depend on, would represent certain demise... But in Reality, he can't sleep without me, he cannot bare me being sad and will, in two day's time, be the one to constantly ask: so, I'm supposed to be on my way by now, right? I'm coming to get you now, right?

Fucker even treated me to a burger and bought me a box of chocolates. In our vernacular, that's unlikely on a normal day :D

Don't let the 54 km line fool you - it's the shortest road there and I don't do main roads. I walk over country, through small villages and fields, I check out sights and curiosities and look for cute things to shoot.

Because I've done the start of this road plenty, I took a train until St.Martins and you can guess how soon once I stepped off it began to rain, despite supposedly two days of summer weather ... Ye, instantly.

This forest path goes alongside the main road pass Letuš - an awesome little river spot to bathe - if you're into super cold water...

 I considered cotting in half hippy camp, next to a cataract, behind a cloister and above a watergate, but it all felt too civilised. Ultimately a lady whose bank I admired the river from offered I can easily spend the night there if I like. I didn't sleep all that particularly well, sticky and surrounded by geese, too hot at first and then too cold, but at least it didn't rain, not much:
 

Taken from my net tent, moon watched over me, frogs kept teasing the geese and other river fowl kept landing like it's not even Friday right next to me. It was beautiful, but exhausting.

Woke up - actually first finally fell asleep and I know, because I drooled all over the sleeping bag bag, which I stuffed with spare clothes for a makeshift pillow, at first light and brushed my teeth standing knee-deep in the water while the geese studied me. Then moved on.

Really hard to say where in the valley the river is, eh?

The weather was constantly on and off - super hot and sunny, then just about to pour, then super sunny again. Very humid, often unpleasant. Or at least the first few drops very pleasant and then it gets uncomfy again, under the raincoat.

I managed to get into two T-stop situations, the latter being 'fatal' for my morale, but the first one was so cute. The map led me to a farm, where the farmer turned off the electric fence so I could reach a footbridge on the other side of the hill.  A flock of deranged sheep came at me for bothering them, so I had to run a little and then cross the bridge, where they wouldn't follow, but it was so funny. Not every day does one get bullied by clouds.

These woods - and there were plenty, taaaaall spruces and low moss, looked ideal for mushroom hunting. I really want to go back there. I mean, with a car this time :D Car and dog.

Halfway..

Pausing in Ljubno, to charge my phone, dry my pinky blisters, chart the road on to Podvolovjek and waiting for drugs to kick :D (mostly referring to coffee ..) So far weather - knock on wood - is holding... I slept by the river, slightly less bushcrafting than gardencrafting, as a lady welcomed me to make use of her garden bank. All in all people are super nice around here.

Wrote a dirty poem:

Something came out of the water last night
While I slept by the river
Slender and slick
It stared at me for a long time
Which appetite hungers you? I asked.
A man is so quick to betray his ambition.
He wouldn' t let me rest until dawn-break.
I still smell of fish.

Be a good boy now, Hermes...

You gotsta love it when the weather folk announces three days of sun and heat and I pack my backpack for three days of wonderful adventure, and an hour later they change the forecast to 'quite a good chance' of storms and downpour. The General thus kisses me on the forehead: "See you tonight, honey..."

O.o

Chillin' in Iški Vintgar editorial :D

With Ema Žurej and Nina Pečar..

Back from the stay in the capitol. It went by a lot faster than I worried - I did some writing, I did some reading, I did some shooting, I did some exhibitions, and in the end, I didn't even have time to write G the seventh letter I was going to bring him, the one with a damaged stamp. I'm gonna post a majority of the quickie pics on Insta for now, and get right back to my text. Then I'll edit and post the rest and tell you all about it ....

Just out there ... (well, inside, since it's really hot.)

I always forget how very treated the water in the capitol is -  look down on my arms and legs and I'm pale with dry skin. Back home I shower daily, never using any kind of products at all, no soaps, no gels, no creams, nothing, and my skin is perfect. But I always forget, so I come here with just a toothbrush and then wonder if olive oil is a good idea, if you're gonna sweat all day, and you only brought one extra shirt... O.o Nasty.

I'm here for the week. So far the weather has been lovely; I go out on my dog schedule: used to waking up early and coming back from the walk before eight, when it starts to scorch. Yesterday we drove just a few minutes outside the city to the coolest of gorges: a miniature river, only enough to swim in a little, brilliant and icy cold, white rocks with moss, pebble shore patches, surrounded by tall white rocks and old dark trees, willows and oaks. In the eve I put on music (Oddly in the mood to listen to Kids See Ghosts, if you can adam and eve that.) and chase Pokemon all over the city, rocking the new 'friends' feature that has you sending gifts to random strangers in return for gifts from them, which give you rares and shineys and some extra goodies. It's so damn cute I can't wait to go outside again, just to turn my 4 mile walk, crack open some special 7km eggs (finally collected 1480 coins to purchase 12 hot incubators - took me a month to get there and two days to burn through them ... :D ) and collect new gifts from stops. It's idiotic, but I make 10 miles a day just because of it. I take my camera, but street performances are plenty and lots of crowds, which I am mildly averse of. 

Though I did get an urge to do a shoot with soap bubbles... Soap bubbles are awesome, if you get the light right. Maybe car lights, from an SVU? Ideas and inspiration come plentiful when I'm out here. I had a moment where I genuinely needed to invent a word to express my feelings ... I am still working on it still, meanwhile having coined the term 'ghostbirth' - indicating the moment when you realise something happened which will have strong and long lasting consequences... The professor has left me her laptop to use and watch YouTube, but the bullet journal is coming nicely along, to.

On a strict diet of ice-cream and cold salads, and lots and lots of coffee, I'm waiting for my sneakers to dry because the sandals are beginning to give me blisters. That'll fucking teach me to wade upriver in running shoes. I mean, don't get me wrong - it was awesome. I wouldn't get out for hours, it was so nice. But it would have made a whole more sense in sandals. 

On the subject of particular words, watching Shane Dawson cover the aftermath of Tanacon. There's a schadenfreude for you right there... 

I read Clockwork orange on my way here with a train (and a supertrain, no less, because they forgot to arrange a connection for our late arrival and allowed us to board the intercity out of embarrassment ... (not a fan.)), so I was freaking about about street violence for the first few days, but then I am so charged with fascination of the after-VVitch editorial of long-haired, bearded, hairy-chested and dimly-lit W. Chaudhry, all I can chase is student Pakistani-looking tourists, sitting in the evening coffees, drinking beer and having diner with their posh American friends. Mad world. My brain, I mean :D

Okay, so the story goes like this: (in this story. History is a little different, but by now we know nobody can know what really happened, so the more drama the better...)

        Herman II, a 14th century count, is trying to stabilise his realm by wedding his clever daughter to a Hungarian king and his son to a Croatian princess, and so on - he played that game well. From the North a young but ambitious royal family of the Habsburgs is baring teeth and from the south relentless waves of Turks keep spilling into Europe, which he is trying to blockade. The firstborn, like all privileged players, fucks around and acts like a dick most of the time, hating on his father, hating on his wife, hating on his job. He takes any excuse he can think of to do so, and finds comfort in hunting and drinking and chasing chicks. At one point he runs into a minor nobleman vine-maker's daughter called Veronika. Whether she's an innocent kid or a conniving gold-digger, nobody will ever know. But this is how the royal bloodline ends: Friderik can't quit on Veronika, so his wife calls her close to be a maid-in-waiting. Elisabeth - his wife - figures he'll tire of the biddy and make a couple more kids with her, since thus far they only have a mild boy called Ulrich II. Her temper grows, however and - in this story - she curses her inability to challenge the rival to a dual, instead she challenges her to drinking a poisoned cup - one of two in a deadly game of chance. Unfortunately the desperate plan backfires and she is the one to die, while Friderik and Veronika flee, wed and try to pretend life is okay while as guests at another castle. But the army of Elisabeth's family marches for blood and Herman decides to have the girl prosecuted for witchcraft, because of course you blame the bitch. She is tried by three branches - clergy, court and common folk - and it's a commoner who refuses to sign her death warrant, saying his name will not be a henchman's sword. Alas, Herman II talks Veronika into signing her life away anyway, on pain of protecting her people, who are in the way of the army. She asks not to be beheaded but drowned instead. Friderik, unable to stand up to his father like the little pussy he is, weeps and mourns his lover and gets thrown in a newly erected tower...

         And that's pretty much it. That is how Counts of Cilli end. Nobody reproduces anymore and Frid's kid dies a Habsburg lackey while Turks advance. Effectively, Herman II for all his aggression stands the last count of Cilli. Karma reigns supreme.

Veronika musical up on the old castle (Batch 3/3)