no (such) place like home.

At home the walls are white, the sky is blue and light-polluted.
At home the noise can fall and rise but never stop. The paint on the windowsills bulges with weeks of sun and cracks layer after layer. It falls to bits exposing the previous shade of latex in which the same view was framed in good and bad weather. I'm not looking forward to it, but I can see myself a week from now, planting the sticking-up pieces of hardened paint between the skin of my fingertips and the fingernails, looking down on the traffic from between the balcony bars, dangling my legs in the breeze, waiting for the draft to crash a window or a door somewhere in the flat, to close that space somewhere inside me, where speckles of dust fall and hurt.

I know too well how the pidgeonshit on that balcony smells, I've seen the pidgeons fuck, hatch, then each eats its brother, learns to fly, fucks, hatches, fly again with never-ending squeak and shit. I know how the sound of steel and people wakes up every morning, explodes in a football game on satudray nights, the metro overflows with piss and people, then calms down.

And I don't want to have to go inside, I don't want to be there for longer than a change of sheets, I don't want it to be my home unless someone else is the guest.

I haven't felt this way in a long time. It's very difficult to go and impossible to stay. I can't treat the end of the year as a proper end to something, but rather as a first part, so I'm growing very impatient to see the rest, to live the rest and I don't want to have a break right now when it's more wonderful than ever.

do ut des.

Here's the deal I made with those of the gods who were awake last night while I was struggling to memorise the nuanced words for flesh and blood in Nepalese, Rom and Arabic:

Because I have no more time and little energy to trade with the gods for doing well on my exams, I've decided to sell my soul. Not that I had many qualms, but it took ages to think of something that I wouldn't dare do anyway.
But I won't give the price away until it's over, i.e. around June 25th.

to be continued.

annals.

Chronicle
of All That Happened to The World
While I Was In Cram-Exam-Crap Mode:

bodycount:
- many Chinese people in an earthquake
- Yves Saint Laurent
- an old and loved literature teacher

discoveries:
- a brand-new unknown exotic tribe in South America

festivities
- my cousin's, my brother's, Hristo Botev's birthday
- the day of the child
- St Cyrill and Methodius
- my sister's and cousin's prom

... to be continued ...