Thursday, December 28, 2006

HAPPY 2007

Wishes you Kaneli from all her heart.
Rock n'rule, people, just rock n'rule! ;)

Wednesday, December 27, 2006


Kaneli is sad again. Pissed off. Hurt. Tired. Doesn't feel like explaining too much. Who the fuck cares anyway. Well, if you would really like to know why, then ask me, heh. It was just a Hell of a day. By all means. Goddamned, voi saatana, prekleto!

The link posted below may be considered as sick and disturbing. And yes, it is sick, basically. Though here I am professional in various performative arts analysis. Film and similar media included. Also you probably already know I am able to overdo. I take things too bloody seriously. Even sick jokes. Even other kind of jokes.

So, you can say this cartoon you can check out below is just disgusting. Sick joke of some perverted mind. Yet as a graduated (oh my) professional I will take this thingie seriously. And I will dare to say it is possible to see beyond the sickness of this practicular cartoon. It shows very well the state of the world we live in. Sharply. Bitterly. Ironically. Oh, and of course it fits into this so jolly times.

People (including me), please be more nice and honest with eachother... oh, please do so, if possible...

Saturday, December 23, 2006


I adore foxes. Smart cinnamon-coloured little arses of the forest. I so remember this legendary puppet tv-show, very Slovenian one, folk tales and all that; now it's probably over twenty years since I have been watching it with joy. Do you recall Zverinice iz Rezije (Beasties from Rezija)? They so rule! There I met really great fox. Very special one.

Hei, by the way, how about putting such very cute and also very dead forest thingie around the neck? Oh, it must be proper warm treat for cold winter. Kind of pet-scarf that stares into the the world with glassy eyes...

Back to toy-foxes. Last summer in Helsinki, I think when I was on night walk to Korjaamo, I spotted one toy-fox. It was very soft and cute. While I was looking for some presents, I walked again all the long way to the shop just on behalf of this fox. Since the shop was so far outside fancy city centre, those prizes were lower; yet I found out practicular fox might be too expensive. At least in that moment. Of course I was sorry later. Small Helsinki fox would fit so nicely into every place I would put it. Meaning is beyond money, in some cases.

Now I finally got my very own fox. Like this one here. Oh, true, I also needed new key-ring; an excuse for those 6.82 € I have spent. Nothing to do with feasts and celebrations; it was lucky coincidence of finding the one. My treat to my selfish self. Now I just have to come up with suitable name for it, right?

Friday, December 22, 2006


Today, I was given this lyrics to check out. It belongs to Finnish punk band Au Pair; listen to the exact song HERE. Hei, just do it, guys totally rock! Well, but since I take every single thingie in this life so bloody seriously, I have also noticed I am able to translate these words. As it can be seen. And yes, this is my first ''published'' translation from Finnish. Wow.



Puhun asioista
I talk about things
joita en ymmärrä
That I don't understand
Kirjoitan sanoja
I write words
joita en käsitä
That I don't comprehend
Koko elämäni turhaan yrittänyt olla jotain
All my life I've tried to be something in vain

Olen humaani
I'm humanist
Olen empaatti
I'm empathist
Osaan nuoleskella
I 'm able to lick
tärkeitä perseitä
Important arses
Vaikka olen ihan vitun typerä
Though I'm so fuckin'stupid

Ja kahdenkymmenen vuoden päästä
And twenty years after
Istun läski isäntä
I'll sit, fat master
juhlapöydän päässä
At the festive table
Jos en sitä ennen ammu itseäni vahingossa
If I won't accidentally shoot myself before that

Thursday, December 21, 2006


There are many of fake-ones, yet this guy here just has to be the real one. I give a fuck he looks the same as the rest of his fake kind. This is global-versus-local problem; I do not want to write essays about one huge beverage-company that has implanted red and white uniform just everywhere. I also do not want to preach how the whole Christmas-thingie has fallen into shiny pits of commercialism; we know this already, don't we? This original guy traveled all the way to Slovenia from KORVATUNTURI, Lapland, Finland, aaaaa!! Red-nosed reindeer Rudolph (or if you prefer PETTERI PUNAKUONO) runs fast and far; even faster and further than Finnair flies. Anyway, two of my friends went to meet him live. I was latter told there was too many people, so it was impossible to catch a glimpse of the one. Who also happens to be known as JOULUPUKKI.

So Santa, in this case by all means Joulupukki, is pure Finn. Oh, this practicular one actually did utter some good wishes in Finnish on the telly. Joulupukki came from his great cold distant homeland as part of some EU celebrations. Well, whatever. Let's take a look at the guy's name. Joulu in Finnish is Christmas, while pukki actually means a goat. This name is believed to come from an old Finnish tradition, where people dressed in goat-hides used to go around from house to house after Christmas eating leftover food. Also pagans used to have festivities to ward off evil spirits. In Finland these spirits of darkness wore goat skins and horns. In the beginning this creature didn't give presents but, beware, demanded them. The Christmas Goat was an ugly creature and frightened children. Life is cruel and it sucks, deal with it as soon as possible, yeah!

Today I happened to check out Finnish children's book in one big bookshop. Joulupukki, in Slovenian Bozicek, by Mauri Kunnas. Translated, of course. While flicking through the book, I found some additional information about Joulupukki's private life. Did you know he has a wife? She exists indeed. Did you know one of his elves has been previously working in South Finland (khm, I really wonder where)? And another elf has been previously working in Finnish National Theatre, oh my. There was also very nice drawing: Joulupukki with all his elves in a huge, so huge sauna... relaxing after this great annual task he has successfully completed.

Here I copy slightly pirate-punkish song that has just arrived to my mailbox:

Yo-ho, yo-ho, Santa walks the plank!
The fatty goes bloop, his hatty goes, too,
his sledge is on fire- YO-HO!!
His chokies we eat, Rudolph we beat,
all presents we plunder- YO-HO!

And for the very end, some very cliché seasons greetings in Joulupukki's so-to-be-told mother tounge:

Hyvää joulua kaikkille!

Tuesday, December 19, 2006


Last weekend I had two good days. There was this International Christmas Seminar with Doshu Nanbu in Zagreb, Croatia. Seminar for the martial art I practice. NANBUDO seminar. Some Nanbudoists from our club drove to Zagreb with our sensei (he is also an excellent driver). First, some brief info for all of those who are not familiar with these kind of seminars. When an international Nanbudo seminar is going on in some country, Nanbudoists from all over the world gather there to practice techniques under the guidance of the founder Yoshinao Nanbu Doshu. Brief sightseeing, meeting people and most important: intensive practice. Learning directly from our main source.

Change is the only constant in the world. Doshu continues the development of his art, he changes and develops the techniques; thus seminars are very good opportunities to learn about those changes. For me, it is really interesting to observe this flow. Seminars differ in length too; there are weekend seminars as well as those which can last even for two weeks. Like the most important Nanbudo seminar in Playa d'Aro, Spain. Just imagine (just remember)... trainings on the sandy shore... twice a day...under the sun...

My first Zagreb seminar happened last year. And I have very good memories from it. Kind of special ones; I need to be more honest here. When I entered the seminar-dojo this year, I noticed how places one visits only every now and then can keep memories. The spirit of the past as it would stay in Zagreb seminar-dojo. As nothing would change from last year. Same feeling in the place. As some sweet shadows. As beloved ghost. Then, the training started... and those shadows vanished in the air.

This time intensive training helped me a lot to free my mind. For those two days at least. And this was the purpose: go, practice, sweat, do not think about the rest. Like the shit in life and all that. Huh, last year I was there in Zagreb with white belt, now I wear green. There is also something I started to think about. Okay, true, Nanbudo has changed my life. Severely in many ways. Yet... my spiritual development... khm, I really wish I would be more mature. As my belt has changed rapidly, my spirit should... or at least I wish it would change more than it has so far. I was also thinking a lot about my impatience. Sometimes during trainings I just want to rush too much. Why, I do not even know. I should gain more patience. I should be more precise.

Nevertheless these four seminar trainings with Doshu have given me some push. Like more energy and will I have been lacking these days, at least considering the practice. Heh, my life still sucks, but in DOJO I must try to keep my mind free as much as possible. I have to move myself... by all means.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006


No big neither profound words today. This is an ego-entry, pure egotistic emo, I warn you. And perhaps I am writing from one sudden moment of despair. I have realised several times I am a person that is overdoing situations. Hei, afterall I have studied drama, right? But seriously. I can react very emotionally on some small things as well as I can torture myself for a long, too long time, thinking stuff over and over again. How I fucked up and all that. I am a highly educated person with several awards (oh my, what the fuck), I know there is no point in constant self-torture. What has happened, has already happened. Oh, and this highly educated self-confident person just totally sucks in communication. Despite she has studied drama (dialogs). And despite she is able to write such magic dialogs that can really amaze public (at least so she was told).

Some things just do not pass away that bloody easily, no matter how much I try. Convert, change, move further. Stay cool, stay cold, stay calm. Do your work. Live your life. Walk the path. Feel zen. A flower falls, even though we love it. A weed grows even though we do not love it.

In this case, time is everything that moves. Nothing else, just the time moves. Without proper, decent, not that bitter solution. I try so very hard, but nope, no go, still no go. No matter how much I try to be aware of the danger I might be overdoing situation again. Overdo in the sense that I see things much worse than they actually are. Yep, I really seem to be a master of various scripts; well, they are all doomy-gloomy bleak. Though sometimes things really hurt, and that's it. Things just hurt. No overdoing, real pain. Reality that sucks. Deal with this pain yourself... okay, yes, but how?! I cannot no longer. Such samurai I am. Yet I guess those samurais were also not very skilled when there was some simmilar emo-shit going on...

Huh, shall I now drink all that Kossu vodka - SALMARI I still happen to have in my cupboard...?

Sunday, December 10, 2006


It snows. It always snows. The winters are long in our parts... (From theatre play Reykjavik)

The weather here has been just awful. It was like 15 degrees Celsius during last week; in the evenings, to make it even worse. Whole Saturday, pouring rain. Water everywhere. Hei, it also seems people are becoming neurotic because of the weather. This is not natural. It should be winter already. Will we soon celebrate an Australian-like Christmas, everything green and warm, those commercial red-dressed-white-bearded-gifts-bringing guys sweating under the sun? While walking I have spotted some spring flowers; yellow primroses. Women on Ljubljana's main market are selling bouquets of white hellebore; another spring flower.

Within some other conditions, today it would be snowing. All day long. Soft white silence in the air. I miss snow. Slow and lazy, but still so persistent falling. It can fill me with melancholy; I wonder how would I feel this year when seeing snow again. Okay, the prognosis now promises colder and more wintry-like weather for the week we are about to start... Huh, by the way, I totally dislike rain falling on snow during winter. That cold rain melting with snow on the ground, as changing everything into itching ice that bites deeply into one's heart... brrr. Soft silent snow whispers different stories.

Too many strange winters has already happened. As one of my friends said last time, this remarkable absence of the snow has started in the eighties. I so remember those first non-snowy winters. Later, constant worries if it will snow or not. Last year snow was early and the winter lasted really great while, true. Proper winter it was. But this year again the weather is turning strange. Yet what now seems odd could become totally natural and acceptable within some years...


Tuesday, December 05, 2006


I am slightly shaking here. I have got an idea for something. Out of some past events in my life, out of some current thoughts and deeds. Out of strong feelings too. Shall I whisper my idea to you? Well, it could be stolen, this Internet is one horrible place, right? Of course I trust you, my dear friends; but you know well how this very public space works. However, some time ago this image of an airport appeared. And some people. That's all I will reveal now. But so far I have noticed all of my plays have started with an image. Strong image. That just does not want to disappear from my head. It can stay there for... years, even. Whit my very latest play, first there was an image of a guy in a desolated Icelandic hut. After three years and loads of some events, I have completed my latest play. That guy in the hut very much included.

Yet I won't start writing this night, no. Too early. On this stage I only hear a couple of dialogs within the image of this practicular airport. I am afraid it might be a bit too boring. Only dialogs. Perhaps I have just got an idea for a radio-play... or a movie. I would like to make (better to say to write) a movie one very distant day... Well, I will see if anything at all will finally be born out of this airport-image I feel now so strong.

I will stay here shaking. Thinking stuff over and over again. I feel lots of tension these days too. Oh, I would travel, I so miss some people... I have been feeling down and depressed again... Saatana, but it seems this overall tension can at least provoke some creativity.

Monday, December 04, 2006


Today I went to see a stage reading of one American play. During the play something occurred. Not on stage, though. All of a sudden I have started to cry. Watching the play, tears pouring down my cheeks quietly.

I have realised it was not the play that made me cry this evening. The play was neither that bad nor that sad. My thoughts were elsewhere, I did not even follow the play as I should. Self pity sick? Nope. Becoming an EMO? Oh, c'mon! Speaking seriously now. Some things are turning slightly too bitter... and that is what has caused the tears.

I remember a great performance I have seen in Helsinki. Performer LOIS WEAVER (in her show called Tammy) asked her audience, if we have ever written a letter we have later decided not to send. I usually do not feel like talking about my private life and my troubles infront of theatre audience, yet in this case... Lois (well, Tammy) seemed really kind and warm. Or perhaps I just needed some odd comfort, heh. Yep, Tammy, I actually happen to have some letters I have never sent. Lois said she would give me her e-mail address later, should I send those couple of letters to her. That is theatre; she has never given me her address. Too bad.

So those letters have remained unsent. There is just too many letters never sent in my life. Good as well as bad things. People I miss and I am afraid to tell this to the people. Wishes. Observations. Feelings. Decisions. Things I am so afraid to utter: should I tell this or not at all? Will I fuck things up (no matter how fucked up they already are) if I utter this? Now again it seems I am facing some very hard decision... so hard, not a pleasant one in this case... totally suitable for a letter, perhaps...

What on Earth should I do?
Oh, prekleto!

Saturday, December 02, 2006


Flogging Molly

T`was in the early evenin
`Near the presence of the moon
You told me you would meet me here
Well now is not too soon
This dagger twisting in my back
Tells me I never should
Have trusted everything to fall
From beggar to fool
I see your face like every race
A serpent with two arms
Devouring me while rains the sun
With dreams in foreign lands
This cold dark tormented hell
Is all I`ll ever know
So when you get to heaven
May the devil be the judge
With another bag of bricks

I scratch your name across these walls
And with my blood turns red
Then drips upon my killing floor
Where I now call my bed
No precious light to harbor
Like so many here before
Now breathes a thousand more
With another bag of bricks
Temper filled with blindness
Leads this lost and lonely man
Dragged around your whipping tree
A scourge you can`t command
So deafen me with silence
Drown me with your roar
Scowl me with your hollow eyes
Still burnin` to the core
No door will go unanswerd
Like so many closed before
No vagabond to knock upon
This tired and beatin` war
When all return to exile
Free from all once bound
Decline and brawl old parasites
The truth will yet be found

Hei, dear people, so what kind of lyrics makes you cry?

Thursday, November 30, 2006


I can't sleep. Strangely restless. Listening to VÄRTTINÄ.

The future is driving me mad. I am so fed up that I am such a dreamer. Dear and sweet naive lass, just grow up, realise, deal with everything! Yuck. Well, usually I try not to expect anything. In most cases I even expect the worst things to happen. Thus I am so happy when (or if) the things turn much better than expected. However, sometimes the worst really happens. And that hurts as Hell. Because it can be even worse as expected. So I am really trying not to expect anything, not to picture some wonderful future. I am also trying not to picture totally fucked-up future. It can be even worse; it can be also better, though. I am just trying to feel bare here-and-now as it is. Okay, at the very moment, this here-and-now is not pleasant.

The past too. Memories and all. What has happened together with what the fuck will happen. There are words I just cannot utter. Thoughts I am so afraid to reveal.

Distances. Great cold distance.
Time. Goddammned dreams.
My so dark side.
This sleepless night.

In one movie I have heard the following Japanese thought: When you go to war, do not expect neither victory nor defeat. Do not expect a thing.


When it comes to learning Finnish, one suddenly starts to feel a big urge. A lust for good dictionary. I have been lucky I have traveled to Finland soon after I have started to deal with the land's language. In Finland, actually in Turku, I was given a chance (and my friend's kind assistance) to buy very good Suomi-Englanti-Suomi, Finnish-English-Finnish dictionary. For very reasonable price of 25 €. Just imagine: similar one and only avaliable dictionary here in Ljubljana was something more than 100 €.

In my case, there is always English between Finnish and Slovenian. So one actually has to travel from Finnish first to English and then, finally, to Slovenian. And vice versa. Feels almost like changing airports when traveling to or from Finland. Okay, the textbooks and other material I use for learning are completely in Finnish. But every now and then I write stuff in English first, translating it to Finnish later. Well, in most cases I really try to think and write directly from that amount of Finnish I have gained so far. Despite those clumsy mistakes I make; they are just part of every learning. Or sometimes a resoult of lazyness. Errr...another story.

However, here comes the great news. So far, there was no Finnish-Slovenian-Finnish dictionary. Now it seems entering European Union has brought some beneffits to our linguistic field this autumn. The very first Finsko-Slovenski as well as Sloveeni-Suomi dictionary, sanakirja, slovar! Written by one young Finnish lady living in Slovenia. The dictionary itself is small, actually tiny. 12,10 €, 100 pages for Finnish-Slovenian and 100 for Slovenian-Finnish. Also there are words only; no examples of usage, no examples of the cases that the verbs require, no phrases and so on. Yet here it is, the very first one. Well, it would be even better if it would be possible to study Finnish within Slovenian universities too, right?

Sunday, November 26, 2006


Wanna know how I spend some Sunday evenings? There is a thing. I run radio show about theatre. Live. Thus meaning I sit in the studio and speak ''on air'' for half an hour once every month. Well, it is not like some big salary here; I do this show more for fun, to use my theatre-knowledge in sort of constructive way. Also, this is no serious job, I am not tied to it or anything. Yep, but I like to perform... there is some kind of special thrill and magic in this live acting. I also like to appear ''smart'' in public. Errr... however, after an amount of these shows, I now manage to enjoy all this.

Today it was the Sunday for my show. The radio was dark and almost abandoned; only a few people hanging around. Well, not actually hanging; you know what I mean. And one never knows, are those few people really sober or... slightly high on something, hehe... or just slightly bored of everything. Okay, to underline this oddity a bit here. When coming there, I was given a strange Japanese thingie, supposed to be a mushroom soup concentrate. Little shiny bags. With hiragana or katakana written allover it. Do I dare to try it, heh?

To the show now. Inspired with some past thoughts one can observe in previous comments of this blog, I have decided to tell the audience about ROBERT WILSON. This American theatre director was my great ''love'' during studies. Theatre of Images by all means. Yet not hermetical: understandable and funny. Critical. Also not shallow; at least those earlier works. By the way, photos here are featuring The Black Rider. Hei, the guy used to be pure avantgarde... nevertheless his later fame has thrown him into the glamorous pits of commercialization. Sadly. But as an occasional theatre historian, I just went nuts for this theatre. Even after some years my fascination is still present. Oh, Wilson is a cult. If one prefers precise visuality, profound visual structures with additional wit and really good music, I suggest to check out Robert Wilson. Suitable even for not-at-all-theatre-fans. Probably the best what has come to the world theatre from Texas. And there is also something I discovered on behalf of Wilson. Yes, he knows how to get the audience. With some great and well known musical names. To expose here PHILIP GLASS (Einstein on the Beach) and TOM WAITS (The Black Rider, Alice, Blood Money). The two I have chosen to play in my show.

So I ended today's radio job. Hell, I don't know how many people feels like listening blah-blah theatre stuff on Sunday evenings. That one dreamer features every now and then. Who cares anyway... I went out into so warm night (what the fuck, it should be snowing already), the streets were lonely (at half past eight, well, whatever), ghostly silence was floating in the air, some pale stars were twinkling between creepy clouds... and there was that Japanese mushroom soup rustling so strangely from the depths of my bag...

Saturday, November 25, 2006


Oh dragul meu me mistuie focul iubirii ... (In Romanian)

There is this affair going on in Slovenia for a month now. What to do with one Roma family, that has ended up in quarrels with locals of one village. The authorities are trying to move them into other communities, but it seems nobody would really tolerate this family. Well, they are Roma, the Gypsies. Even European Union has already paid attention to the case. Yep, we here respect all those great European nations; but when it comes to marginals, and Roma are perceived as marginals, then the level of tolerance changes rapidly. But I am not here to analyse the practicular problem; still I am writing in connection to it. Yesterday I saw a movie that touched me a lot. TRANSYLVANIA by Gypsy-Algerian-French director Tony Gatlif. Let me copy the plot here.

Zingarina arrives to Transylvania. She is not there to visit this region of Romania but to trace her lover Milan, a musician who has made her pregnant and who left her without a word. When she finds him back, he brutally rejects her and Zingarina is terribly upset. Her destiny changes when she meets Tchangalo, a traveling trader.

Transylvania. Just whisper this misterious name gently into the air. The whole Romania feels mystical to me, and not only because of Vlad Ţepeş DRACULA. However, the self-searching journey of Zingarina displays such magic of the land. ''Imagine everything you can; I've been through it,'' says Zingarina. She turns her pain into pure beauty; she slowly melts with Transylvania, forgetting her past, becoming a nomad. Pure life and passion. So different from everydays in the so called West. Transylvania becomes a world unknown to common European eyes. Romantic world. Hard and cruel world. Constant journey. But also the world where facing constant hate and intolerance...

The narration seems impressive. Full of feelings, yet not overdone. Magic reality, sometimes. Pure and honest. Such is the story of a Gypsy-like traveler. The story told through several languages. Also through powerful music and images. Oh, inspired with the legendary work of director EMIR KUSTURICA and musician GORAN BREGOVIĆ? Anyway, I think this movie too tells strongly how every different world bears unique beauty. Romantic or even naive thoughts, but still. Why are we so afraid of these differences, why are we rejecting this special culture, why do we not want to discover and understand it's beauty?

Oh, and now I am even more tempted to visit Romania one day too.

Sunday, November 19, 2006


There is this big annual Ljubljana International Film Festival LIFFe going on right now. So I spend quite a lot of time watching all sorts of movies these days. My escape from the shitty reality? In fact I have managed to pick up some movies that recall my own reality a lot more than I would like.

A cute incident occurred this weekend. Since I like to dramatise small and selfish events, I have to write on this one too. The new Kaurismäki's product Lights at the End of the City (Laitakaupungin valot) is about to be shown soon. I went to the LIFFe information desk, curious if director Aki Kaurismäki himself plans visiting Ljubljana. To tell the audience about his work and other interesting thingies. Like those fancy Marimekko bags.

Behind the desk sat an English speaking lady; obviously a foreign employee. ''Is Kaurismäki coming,'' I ask. ''No... but some of his actors, perhaps. Are you from Finland,'' the lady inquires with slightly strange enthusiasm. Huh, it happens again! In Helsinki I was mistaken for a Finn quite often, thus meaning conversations on the street and in the shops. People were asking me for the road and so on. In Finnish. There was also a guy trying to talk to me while Magyar Posse gig. In Finnish. Well, he was drunk pretty much. And yes, I had lots of fun pretending I really am a native; through the usage of language, of course. Oh, now I miss those streets, I would so travel up to Finland again. But in Helsinki and elsewhere in Finland these mistakes were natural. Can I distinct foreigners while walking around Ljubljana right away? Yet Icelanders seem to have special gifts. In Iceland they immediately knew I am a foreigner. In Finland the story was different.

Back to the info desk now. ''No, I only speak Finnish,'' I answer to the lady. I usually do not feel like boasting around I know some Finnish, but at that time I did utter the fact. To Hell(sinki) with modesty, right? And in this case, the result came out quite useful. The lady was excited, she requested my phone-number. Hei, the festival might need a Finnish-speaking somebody. Just might, but nevertheless.

When it comes to work, would anyone be rather interested in the fact I am also a graduated dramaturg? Being able to speak a bit rare language (at least some basics with occasional and unintended spelling mistakes) proves again to be more useful. It looks like one has to constantly advertise her/his all, but really all capabilities. Even at the most akward moments.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006


Letters are nothing but a piece of paper. Despite you burn them, the memories that have remained will still remain; despite you keep them, that what has vanished, vanishes.

It seems to me I can no longer make the difference between one and the other, between the things that have existed and the things that have not existed.
(Haruki Murakami)

Wednesdays seem to be my blue days. For some time now almost every Wednesday happens so that I end up in melancholy. Emotionally restless. Reminiscent. Nostalgic with some pain. Thinking about the past over and over again, recalling faces and events, looking into the future with fear.

Now I can bind the upper words with the reason why I came to write here. HARUKI MURAKAMI. Japanese writer. Today I have started to read the third book bearing his name on the covers. South of the Border, West of the Sun. This month I have also noticed Murakami has been given the Franz Kafka Prize in Prague. I have discovered the words of Haruki Murakami last year. Since then I have been his fan. Well, I read him in Slovenian only; I have not search for English translations so far. But I happened to see a Japanese movie Toni Takitani featuring Murakami's script. And for all of those who know my new play: yes, Murakami too has influenced my writing.

The first Murakami's book I have ever read is Norveški gozd, Norwegian Wood (Noruei no mori). Lots of Murakami's work is influenced with music strongly; he owned a jazz bar. Norwegian Wood too is inspired with the Beatles's famous song. Though that wood in Murakami's case refers more to a forest (mori). The book caught my intention immediately. A story of love and discovering sexsuality, a story of loss and confusion. The main character is Toru Watanabe, a drama student living in Tokyo. The whole novel is actually told as his reminiscence. I still see the images strongly... like, for instance, the peaceful sanatorium near Kyoto where Toru travels to visit emotionally troubled Naoko... the flat of Midori, Toru's second love... the weak firefly he releases from the jar in Tokyo... finally, his overall softness and confusion.

I feel Murakami's writing as a tender poetry. Intimate poetry. Inner worlds. Touching the reader really into the depths of mind, every now and then. Strong images; even beyond reality. Carefully constructed reflection of some time, of some world. Recommended!

And as being a writer myself I can add this thought here: even the most intimate and tender story can (critically and strongly) reflect the whole world and the whole time we are living or we have been living in...

Sunday, November 12, 2006


Every dog has it's day, right? Well, this weekend I had mine. First, many thanks to my friends for all sorts of congratulations. Thanks for some nice material stuff too (though I would not like to be a materialist). I am looking forward to read some new books... while eating dark chocolate, mljac.

So this weekend I decided to treat my selfish-self a bit more. The magic word: sauna. Finnish sauna in a small wellness-centre. I like this cosy place, nevertheless it is pretty far from Ljubljana and I had to travel with a bus quite long. However, sauna happens to be the only Finnish word used and known just everywhere (besides Nokia and Kimi Räikkönen...oh, and Lordi). Okay, in Slovenian we spell it savna. Some Finnish words to add here. Kiuas warms the sauna up. And when water is thrown on the stones topping kiuas, rises löyly. Well, learning a foreign language can implant some characteristics as well as traditions of a foreign culture, it seems. Before I started to deal with Finnish, I did not think of having a sauna. And my first real sauna actually happened in Finland. Last January. Traditional sauna at friend's place. Then I often had a sauna while living in Helsinki last summer (hei, it was free). So I have really attached to it.

One just has to find the sauna-feeling by one's own self, I guess. That heat. So warm silence. The world stops moving, for a while. A ritual. Cleansing by all means. Skin softens; it glows nicely. In Finland I was told one should not care about the time while having a sauna. Just relax, listen to your own (phisical) feelings... free your mind (at least try to). I rahter borrow a thought from the ARTICLE I recommend if you are a Finnish sauna fan.

The feeling is blissful. The sauna relaxes the body and soothes the mind. ''Re-created'' best describes what the refreshed mind feels after bathing in the steam.

For the end of my sauna day, I have copied the following short (hi)story.

The Middle Ages. That's about the same time the Swedes came to Finland. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed and bringing something with them called culture. The Finns found themselves with no choice but to surrender to them and make the best of it. Upon realizing this was their only choice, the Finns sent a delegation to speak to the Swedish invadors. Finns: Well, we'll let you stay, but on one condition. Swedes: What's that? Finns: We want to know what you think of us, of our country. Swedes:, there are lots of trees? Finns (looking hopeful): Yes...? Swede 1: And...erm, lots of lakes. Swede 2: Yeah, we haven't got nearly as many lakes as at home. Swede 3: And your selection of berries is unbelievable! Finns (nearly with pleasure that someone likes their country): Well, that's good then. Now... err...we can still use our saunas right? Swedes: Sauna? What's that? (They see naked women running from building into a lake.) Oooh! Sauna! Yea, sure! You can keep the sauna. In fact, we'll join you! Finns (quite pleased): Excellent.

Friday, November 10, 2006


Thinking of a martial art Nanbudo I practice, I have to work a lot on my very lousy lazy hip-movements. Among other things. I also have to work on my lousy lazy concentration. And those push ups. I am not any good when it comes to doing push ups, they are just driving me crazy. Sometimes my energy is rather destructive than creative. Lazy I can be as well; by all means lazy. But there are also some moments of enlightenment while training. The photo here shows Yoshinao Nanbu Doshu, the NANBUDO founder (thus Doshu, red belt). Great person. Anyway, for some time I have been thinking about a KATA. Perhaps you have heard about katas in karate. Nanbudo itself has roots in one karate style (Sankukai), but let's focus just on kata here. Some theory from Doshu's book. Kata is a sequence of techniques, imaginary combat against several opponents. You might also check out one more philosophic ARTICLE on kata in general.

Nanbudo has several kata-groups. I will introduce Advanced Katas only. Nanbu Shodan, the image of spring, Nanbu Nidan, the image of summer, Nanbu Sandan, the image of autumn, Nanbu Yondan, the image of winter and, finally, Nanbu Godan, the image of all four seasons. Briefly explained, all second words resemble numerals, from first to fifth. Much more I prefer the connection to nature. Four seasons. It seems our senseis (sensei is a black belt, a master, a teacher) have chosen timing for each so far practiced advanced kata just perfectly. Within the mild sense of spring arising, we have started to learn Nanbu Shodan. When spring has faded gently into summer, we were thaught Nanbu Nidan. Now, when leafless forests are whispering their memories to cold autumn winds, we have started to study Nanbu Sandan.

Kata is difficult to explain; you have to feel it to perform it, writes Doshu. In Japanese, kata is a form. Dealing with Japanese theatre style kabuki, I was surprised when discovering kabuki has katas too. Of course, but kabuki has dance forms. Still I dare to say theatre and Nanbudo have things in common. I feel kata as... a monologue. The actor is on stage alone, just she/he performing. The actor has to evoke emotional storms within her/his self. The actor's imagination has to create reality. To perform, actor has to feel first. The monologue can also be severe fight against one's own self. Within all, constant happiness of creativity.

The feeling of kata. The power of imagination. Imaginary combat becomes real combat. To feel the invisible hand you grasp. To feel the weight of the invisible body you throw. To feel how thick if the invisible opponent's forehead when concluding the first part of Nanbu Sandan. And so on. If done properly, kata featuers such a beauty, such a perfection. Martial art is an art indeed. Well, I would say a real kata feeling truly reaches beyond words... and there are years infront of me to find out this real kata feeling. I have to fight my lazyness and destructivity indeed.

Friday, November 03, 2006


Give me a road
Give me a forest
Give me a road in the forest
I could walk almost forever

Today I have suddenly realised I had been walking a lot. Too bad I had been walking in the city. Nevertheless I have this characteristic I can just walk and walk and walk. For miles. Sometimes without a single thought, sometimes several feelings overcome me. Sometimes I just listen to music. Or to silence. Sometimes I turn very sad while walking. There are other times when I clear my mind perfectly. Walking is just great!

Then, the forests. Forests are something I just love. I have always loved forests. Now the trees here are bare, the branches bleak. Summer forests, this is total magic. Almost mythical feeling. Well, winter forests too, so white, sleeping under snow and icy cristals. Walking in the woods is my total fascination. Magic above all.

In these sleepy autumn hours I recall again how I walked... miles, many miles in those FINNISH FORESTS. Just walked and walked and walked. The woods in Finland are something special, really. Significant feeling, so significant atmosphere. The glitter of the light; the light up North is different. Then, the glitter of soft darkness. The rustle in the wind. Every now and then, a pond. A swamp. So old and wild they seem; nobody rules those ancient woods, the trees are masters of their lives. Quiet forests. Elvish forests. Wise and secret forests. Finnish woods know several oldest secrets of this world, I am sure.

And yes, in Finland there is profound attitude towards nature. One can feel this everywhere. Respect. Awareness.

I miss those Finnish forests. I wonder how they look like now...

Thursday, November 02, 2006


It seems I have chosen the gloomiest month of the year to be born in. November is wrapped gently in the smell of rotten leaves, burning candles, autumn flowers. Cemeteries. Bare trees, mists, quiet dark afternoons. Ghostly. Gothic. Oh, melancholy aplenty spreads before me! Anyway, Halloween has reached our country too. Again one of those imported holidays, yet I always like to be thaught about pagan roots of celebrations. Dear friend Ärväthyyll has written a post on Celtic Samhain (pronounced sowín or zowín); I do not want to copy her. So I will rather write on one event. As well as on skirts.

There was Samhain Feast in a bit underground-style club called Orto bar. Sorta cosy place with not too friendly staff, errr. But underground gigs do happen there. Rock, punk, metal. Just to mention, I prefer such small clubs rather than big halls, big crowds and all that. I also like to meet unknown alternative bands. This time we were promissed to get a portion of gothic. Since I missed Korpiklaani (oh) and Magyar Posse in Helsinki was actually the last gig I went to (thesis and trainigs), I was almost dying to get some proper live music. So I put on black nail polish, corset and long skirt (hehe), I joined my friends (thanks!) and went to check out two bands. Croatian Phantasmagoria and Macedonian Mizar. Yeah, former Yugoslavian gothic-metal-rock! While listening to Mizar, I have recalled how I have actually liked Macedonian ethno some time ago. It seems I still like it; Mizar has featured one great ethno-darkish piece.

PHANTASMAGORIA fit into gothic metal more. By the way, this Croatian band also performed on Wave-Gothic Treffen in Leipzig; Tenhi were there too. As I have heard during the gig, they play covers (or better, reinterpretations) and their own music. But their performance was what I liked most. Even more I liked the frontman's outfit. Frontman had corpse paint, great black coat and, finally, the guy was wearing a skirt, yeah! A skirt totally rules. I know, you can say to me - oh c'mon, so what, get some more life, go to a huge metal festival, see those serious outfits there and, let's say, Dimmu Borgir. Or similar famous band performing. Still I think it is nice to support bands as Phantasmagoria too, right?

Now from the very beginning of this post I feel like a teenager (with black nail polish) writing into her diary, but nevertheless (behold, here is the point)... in my opinion, guys in skirts look really sweet. Well, I have always thought this way.

For conclusion I can say I had sorta nice Samhain Feast with so far unknown bands. Quite good music, pretty good performance. Here, I also want to open little chat. So what do you think about guys in skirts? And if you happen to be a guy, would you dare to wear a skirt?

Saturday, October 28, 2006


19. Ordinary Mind Is the Way

Joshu asked Nansen: "What is the Way?" Nansen answered: "Ordinary mind is the Way." Joshu said: "How can I find it?" Nansen replied: "The more you seek, the more it slips away." Joshu insisted: "How can I find the Way if I am not supposed to seek?" Nansen responded: "The Way you seek is not a matter of knowledge or non-knowledge. Knowledge is illusion; non-knowledge is confusion. When you have really reached the true Way beyond doubt, you will be boundless and clear as the summer sky. Therefore do not ask which way is the right and which way is the wrong one; there is neither good nor bad way.

With these words, Joshu was enlightened.

MUMON'S COMMENT: Nansen was trying hard, yet he was not able to melt the ice of Joshu’s doubt. Regardless the enlightenment, Joshu will require thirty more years to exhaust that meaning.

The spring flowers, the autumn moon;
Summer breezes, winter snow.
If useless things do not clutter your mind,
You have the best days of your life.

Friday, October 27, 2006


A newspaper article draw my attention today. There seems to be new elite neighbourhood developing in Ljubljana. An area of nice houses owned by foreign embassies for the ambassadors to live in. Reading the article I have realised our street as well belongs to this elite area.

Our practicular street has always been a humble street. Simple houses, nothing fancy. Outskirts close to the city park, even closer to the forest. We even used to have foxes and deers visiting, years ago. Anyway, it seems we will be surrounded with several residencies pretty soon. I have been observing this elite area growth long before the newspaper got it. First, I guess, huge as well as very guarded American residency appeared. Few meters away, Finland has bought more simple villa. Well, I like the fact I can see Finnish flag in the wind whenever I head for the city. Italians have also decided to move into this area, also Czechs, and now British and Portuguese.

Since it was very sunny and very hot weather (too hot for this time of the year), I went for a walk to pay some special attention to our surroundings. True. There are even more houses rebuilding, growing, changing. Such an elite part of the capital this area is about to become.

However, I think the street I live on will stay humble. Like a simple country girl among fancy ladies. For a long time, the residents here have been facing not so easy life, actually. Nothing elite-like. First bus stop is really miles away. Pretty long walk, especially during icy winters. Quite a huge disadvantage by all means; there are old people living here too. And I guess nothing, totally nothing will convince the city community to finally plan a new bus route (or, better, to rearrange those old ones) with a bus stop somewhere closer. Regardless the new elite diplomatic area here. It seems diplomats are supposed to use cars only.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006


First of all I need to write I have been touched these days quite since so many of my friends have rejoiced my graduation. Thanks again. To return this positive energy I wish you lots of luck wherever you need it. I have to arrange a party, right? And since I am writing on being touched and stuff like that... a small event happened to me yesterday. Now I am turning egotistic again, of course.

Into my mp3 player I have put GODSPEED YOU! BLACK EMPEROR, Lift your Skinny Fists like Antennas to Heaven album. I haven't listen to this band for a really long time. When the music has started to play I have realised I am about to cry. It was a sudden moment, it has just overcome me. The music is very atmospherical... no lyrics, just a strong soundscape.

Here I am about to write on more melancholic moods only (yep, again); of course there is this other type of music which drives me totally crazy and can put me into a very nice euphoria. Well, back to gloomy doomy. So far I have reacted pretty emotionally while listening to My Dying Bride, especially in the past months. But in comparison to mostly non-verbal Godspeed, My Dying Bride has strong lyrics. Sometimes the music has a cleansing effect, sometimes a couple of their pieces can bring me down. I do not listen to doom metal neither with the purpose to be brought down nor to provoke self-pity, not at all. When I feel like listening to doom metal, I listen to it. However, there are days when I can respond to lyrics as well as to sounds more strongly.

Since I am a dramaturg, I have noticed something. Like that I would have a professional deformation. Movies just cannot touch me. I am aware of the fiction, I see some other, more professional things while watching a movie. I sorta see beyond. So I happen to laugh on a very odd spots (oh, here I so remember Lars Von Trier's Dogville), but this is a laughter which comments the script, the writer's wit and skills.

The point is I have noticed I am seldom really touched by a movie; nevertheless even that happens. However, when it comes to music, when I encounter strong soundscapes, things seem to be different.

Monday, October 23, 2006


This is it. Today I have been given my papers. Not the exact papers; just a temporary thingie that proves me to be a graduated dramaturg. I will receive the very fancy printed diploma within a ceremony on the 3rd of December. Oh.

Bloody Hell, Jumalauta, prekleto, I don't really know what to do! Where to turn, where to ask for a decent job. I would just need a nice job until next summer. Something to get over these long months. Errr... let me dream for a short while... In an ideal world, I would get a coasy office somewhere. On an embassy, for instance. A coasy office where I could deal with artistic/cultural affairs considering our little country. How about Slovenian embassy in Finland, Helsinki, eh? Just to sorta put together linguistic interests with my true profession. And yes, some dramatrugs do end up in offices.

Stop dreaming now, dear (oh my, I dream about an office!). Well, I have some really serious plans with my future, I surely do. I am aware of my talents well enough - and I won't reveal those plans right now. There is just this practicular amount of time infront of me... However, for these months... dear god, I am so affraid of these months now. For that tourist guide thingie I should do a heavy (and expencive) exam, and if I would pass it (since many people has to repeat it and pay again for it, that is the whole point), there will be no work for my (humble) Finnish skills until April 2007. So it seems.

Some time ago I have heard this radio broadcast. It has spoken about my dear Iceland. Like a presentation of the country it was. There was also a talk about foreigners living as well as working in Iceland successfully. I clearly remember the story of two Latvian girls, let's call them Ilona and Alise. Both graduated in economics, beware. And why have young Ilona and Alise actually come to Iceland? To clean toilets in one hotel in Reykjavik! Yep, cleaners with BA in Economics. I really respect any honest job in this world, I do not have problems with that. The money is what I talk about here, of course. Anyway, I do not recall the exact euro-number of their salary... nevertheless those girls earn much more for cleaning toilets in Iceland as they would at their Latvian home in case of dealing with the stuff they have studied for. With their BA. As Ilona and Alise have said, they had been coping very okay there in Reykjavik. Yep, the number of their salary was nice and high indeed, for Slovenian conditions as well. I guess for other European conditions too.

Cleaning toilets in Iceland... in Reykjavik... so how about that, eh?
Ég er villtur. -> I am lost.
Ég er að leita að almenningssalerni. -> I am looking for public toilet.
Snyrting -> toilets

Sunday, October 22, 2006


After the graduation, I have to fight my emptyness. So I will keep writing. Today, I will write on a beloved story that has inspired my new graduation play quite strongly. Here is a painting Lemminkäisen äiti (Lemminkäinen's Mother) by famous Finnish artist Akseli Gallen-Kallela dating back to 1897. On it, one can see Lemminkäinen, a young and handsome hero. His mother, äiti, has had to travel all the way to Tuonela, the land of the dead, to fetch the body of her son from the river Tuoni. Young Lemm has actually been choped into pieces. With the great strength and effort, the mother manages to put the body of her son together. Finally, she brings Lemm back to life!

The motive of Lemminkäinen's mother is probably the most famous motive from the Finnish national lay Kalevala. Click the title to check out the exact rune in English. Lemm's restoration reveals a rebirth of the dead one. The rebirth done through a non-selfish sacrifice of the loving Other; the mother in Lemm's case. Great story, full of hope. The healing power of pure love, no matter how sweet and romantic this seems.

Some time ago a friend very dear to me has given me a postcard. It is clear enough the photo you can observe here is a remake of Gallen-Kallela's Lemminkäisen äiti. Also something this photo-remake has brought to my mind. Once I have got this idea and so I have written a poem in Finnish. Uusi Lemminkäinen (New Lemminkäinen). The theme of the photo as it would resemble my poem just perfectly. When I was given the card I was quite excited. I told to Kalle about the poem, yet I have never given it out to read. So here it is now. I guess I will not be given any other opportunities to publish my poetry in Finnish here in my own country, right? Though I might translate it one day.

The poem has been written on a very early stage of my Finnish lessons. That was also the time I was deeply in writing my new play. Anyway, I hope there is not like lots of mistakes in the text. For all of the readers that do not understand Finnish - well, this is how suomi looks like in a longer poem-wannabe, hehe. And yes, Lemm's story here is told more bitterly as in the great Kalevala original. Now just figure it out...


Musta joki virtaa keskellä mustaa maata.
Kauan kävelin mustan joen rannalle.
Tiedätkö, musta joki, ketä etsin tätä,
Näitkö hänet keskellä mustaa maata.
’’Kyllä, vieras, tunnen ketä etsit tätä,
Näin hänet keskellä mustaa maata.
Kauan katsoi hän mustalle rannalle,
Ei nähnyt hän käärmettä keskellä vettä.
Hyppäsi se iso käärme mustasta vedestä.
Mene, vieras, olet tässä turhaan; hän ei enää elä.’’
Kiitos, musta joki, kiitos vastauksesta.
Voisitko antaa kuolleen rummiin minulle.
’’Kyllä, vieras, ota hänet, ota kylmän rummiinsa.’’
Niin nousee kuollut rummiinsa mustasta vedestä,
Niin on hänen kuolleensa mustalla rannalla.
Kauan katson häntä; hän on kuin kylmä kivi;
Kauan rakastin sitä kylmää kiviä
Elä, rakas kuolleeni, mustassa vedessä!
Menen mielelläni mustasta maasta,
Kuolleeni vielä elää keskellä mustaa jokia.

Saturday, October 21, 2006


My BA in Dramaturgy as told in numbers and bare facts (random).

1 day: 20.10.2006
1 grade: 10, I totally do not care for grades, but since it is so high... hehe...
1 new play: Severna pravljica (Northern Tale)
120 pages: 77 of those is a play, the rest is the play's explanation
50 euros: for binding the thesis into a book
dark blue covers: see the photo

silver letters on the cover: see the photo
4 years of actual studies: lectures, exams and practice
2 years of thinking
6 years of studies as a whole: 4 active + 2 passive
2 awards: for playwriting
59%: according to one Finnish source, this is a percentage of people having serious mental problems among writers and playwrights (hehe, I have never forgotten this chart I have been sent a year ago)
nerves, nerves, just too much of nerves: see the overdoing section
life sucks
communication skills: these suck as well
1 trip to London: just don't mention that
1 trip to Iceland: well, that was nice
2 trips to Finland: minun on vaikea kertoa siitä
salmiakki: have eaten some while writing, njam njam

fucked up relationship(s): errr...errr... friendships included...errr...
sleepless nights
walking alone in glittering winter nights: do I need to explain?
sitting on the sandy shore, staring at the sea: do I need to explain?
emptyness: just overall
feeling self-pity: with pleasure
overdoing: always and everywhere
sensitive: I am very and by all means, this is the price I have to pay for being an artist, I guess (or vice versa)
1 new pair of sweet black boots: a gift I have given to myself, I feel really hot in them, hehe
Finnish language: motivation
movies: quite a lot of these, actually
Tenhi: inspiration, lyrics and atmosphere
Magyar Posse: inspiration, atmosphere
Katatonia: inspiration, lyrics
My Dying Bride: inspiration, lyrics and atmosphere
Korpiklaani, Flogging Molly: ocasional more jolly stuff
missed (metal) gigs
Mumonkan Zen Stories: there is neither wrong nor right way
self-confidence: yep, now it is slightly higher
3 Principles: Chikara da, Yuki da, Shinnen da
7 Forces: tai ryoku, tan ryoku, handan ryoku, danko ryoku, sei ryoku, no ryoku, seimei ryoku
Nanbudo: energy, creativity and special happiness by all means

Friday, October 20, 2006


My dear friends, I have a sweet secret to reveal. Totally my style, to hide away from the rest of the world, just to deal with some stuff alone. Well, sometimes. Since I am not in the mood for writing any letters, I will just use this blog. And yes, now I will reveal this secret in totally overdone theatrical style. Just behold! Today, on the 20th of October 2006, I was given a title...

Univerzitetna diplomirana dramaturginja
BA in Theatre, Radio, Film and Television: Dramaturgy

My thesis was rewarded grade 10, excellent, the highest possible grade a student can gain at the University of Ljubljana. So now, dear friends, you can congratulate me... finally, right?

Finally, it all went very quickly. Within two weeks; only a week ago I was given the date of my graduation exam. Then it became frustrating, the paper work, design, printing of the thesis and all. Nevertheless, now it is done. Done forever! Well, my private life still sucks by all means, but at least I have passed my graduation with honours...

I am actually the very first, beware, the very first Slovenian dramaturg who wrote ''only'' a theatre play for BA Thesis. A theatre play and a dramaturgical explanation, to be precise. I really wanted to write a theatre play for my final thesis. At least something useful I managed to do: who the fuck wants to deal with that boring theory all the time? Can one put some boring theory on stage, can one make a decent whole-evening entertainment for people out of a plain theory? Nope! So I have been writing a bit longer. Today, I was told that it is perhaps better to write longer: then, better thesis is completed. Good for gaining some further scholarships this highest grade could be. And as two of my total three mentors have also said: as a playwright, I had successfully proved Slovenian dramaturgs could be... creative. I am among those who started to pull the walls down. The old and rotten walls of prejudices; the prejudices that a Slovenian dramaturg only reads other plays, only reads and writes... theory. Yet, the revolution is about to happen! Dramaturg can be and has to be creative artist! Prekleto!

However... no matter how proud I have been at the moments of my graduation exam... there has this huge question appeared. What to do now, dear BA in Dramaturgy? I did follow my heart when I had to choose my profession, I did not think about jobs and all at that time. I have graduated, so what now? It looks like there is no suitable job here, for instance. Except that tourist guide thingie, but that actually does not have much to do with my true profession. So here I am, an outstanding student, a proven and graduated writer/dramaturg with a shitty private life. What to do now, eh? Errr... a sip of salmari, perhaps?

For conclusion, time for some more self-pity. Yep, I feel sad and empty. Like that I have been thrown into a void. Perhaps things will get better and I will throw a graduation party eventually... it would really be so great that all of you, my dear friends, could attend this party... but now I just feel so sad and empty.

Sunday, October 15, 2006


There is this brief image of a guy Ilmari playing kantele in my new play Severna pravljica (Northern Tale), remember? Heh, do you know, where does this image actually come from? More then a year ago I have been given a DVD with lots and lots of music. Paljon kiitoksia to my great Finnish friend Kalle for sharing these sounds! I have really got so much special energy from this music. There was Tenhi too.

Since then, Tenhi has been with me. Always and everywhere. I have noticed how music inspires my writing strongly. There is no doubt Tenhi has had a huge impact. Progressive rock, folk inspired, if I add sorta professional definition. Much more special sounds, though. So much inspiration I have found within these pieces. Melancholic the music is, however, this is a different kind of melancholy. It suits me just perfectly. Many people consider Tenhi as sad, even if they do not understand the lyrics. Well, for me this is a melancholy that is able to reach beyond sorrow; into the world beyond I can't even find right words to describe. One just has to hear and feel this beyond, I guess. The sorrow which actually cures one's sadness. Offers special kind of support. Calms down trubled mind.

Soft and tender, dark and deep. Väre smells of falling leaves, rustling in the warm autum, in Maaäet I feel the snow melting and the waters running in the chilly spring... Magic, pure magic. As well as the charm of Finnish language, even more beautiful within these pieces. Good lyrics indeed (click the title). The vocal of Tyko Saarikko as it would be the voice of a shaman. And yes, one of the band members is named Ilmari.

Really special magic I can find in Tenhi. When I have finally experienced Finnish nature in all it's mighty, those forests, lakes, ponds, swamps... then, the secrets of Tenhi have been revealed; partly at least. If I only remember me standing on the swampy shore of the quiet Mustalampi...

These days again I have found myself singing Hiljaiseksi lampi jää, Jäljen and Rannalta haettu. I just dare to say Tenhi are among those... seven (let's say seven since this number bears some meanings)... so seven major reasons I would just leave all the errands here, spend the money, go, sit on the plane for Finland... in case of this one from those seven reasons, only to see Tenhi playing live. Will I ever be given such a chance...?

Friday, October 13, 2006


I somehow ended at the opening night of Suomalaisen nykyelokuvan viikko, The Week of Contemporary Finnish Film. First I was in doubts, should I go at all since I had to make a sacrifice on behalf of one Finnish movie. Errr... I really needed to go out, I feel like getting crazy, being fed up just perfectly with everything. I have been into my thesis, it is heavy; for some reasons these very final meters before one reaches the goal seems the hardest to survive... by all means. I am neither the first nor the last person dealing with final thesis in this time and world, but still.Finally, I sorta got over yesterday's sorrow, I put myself together a bit, and went there.

It seemed that mostly the Finns living here had come to see the movie. Finns or Slovenians attached to Finland from several different reasons. Both missing Finland from several different reasons (more or less), both being (more or less) happy there is something Finnish to see and hear. Okay, if we forget the endless possibilities of internet and the astonishing DVD technology.

Kalle wrote me like the Finns feel prejudices about their movies; they prefer foreign products. The situation seems the same as when Slovenians meet Slovenian movies. Our audience as it would be far more critical towards our own film; still it is true Slovenian movies have gained some more required qualities as late as only few years ago. However, there is a sense of quite big development, and I could speculate Slovenian film will gain more success in the future. Well, financial support is yet another story.

Anyway, this Finnish movie itself was nothing too special. Lapsia ja aikuisia - kuinka niitä tehdään, translated into Making Adoults. Sort of a bitter comedy on relationships; when it comes to Finnish humor, I have noticed it caries seeds of bitterness quite often... am I right? However, after some funny as well as bitter moments, two women friends find out they are actually in love with eachother. Sweet indeed.

That was the movie. Then, the mingling part started. The most interesting part of the evening. So at one point I found myself, pretty much relaxed, chatting in Finnish with some young Finns on languages. Yep, Slovenian is hard to learn; for us too. Or how one can unexpectedly meet Finns everywhere, just like I keep bumping into Slovenians in some weird places (in the middle of Icelandic nowhere, for instance). Or latter, what the fuck is all about those slippers? Well, Slovenians seem keen on using slippers, while Finns do not; they prefer woolen socks. And that the real Finnish man, so the one who really is a man, rides a bike rather than travelling on a bus (bike rules, yes indeed). However, I was very much surprised with that short moment when I realised I had actually been chatting in Finnish - relaxed, as it would be English. Despite the fact I can still encounter problems when it comes uppon the dialect of Turku.

Now to end this boasting - there will be like a row of fresh Finnish movies here to see. No Aki Kaurismäki this time, yet the name Kaurismäki is the main trademark when discussing contemporary Finnish film. Perhaps I will write another, more ''theoretical'' post on Finnish movies (Kaurismäki included) at the end of this short festival. Nevertheless the latest Kaurismäki will be seen here within a month. International Ljubljana Film Festival LIFFE will present Laitakaupungin valot, Lights at the Edge of the City, on the 21st of November. Until then, just click the title of this post... as well as enjoy the very short explanation below.
ELOKUVA -> movie, film (what else)

elo -> life, zivljenje (more ''poetic'', usually elämä)

kuva -> picture, slika

Wednesday, October 11, 2006


Today, one small and simple event was enough. And down, just down it went again. Though I have been trying hard to keep up the good spirit. Nope, no go, it seems. If somethings are pushed back deliberately, pushed back to be forgotten, pushed back and denied, this nasty stuff will strike and burst out at some totally unexpected moment. So it seems. Fuckin' fed up with this by all means - but what can I do?

Oh, again I feel that I would go and just hide somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A cottage in the midst of the woods... yes, there should be forest. Nobody anywhere, just me and the trees. Silence. Sweet rustle. Meditation. Would I gain back my peace ?

I would know still very well, too very well, that the world is there beyond my middle of nowhere. I would be so aware of that, it seems. I would know there is the world, things going their own way, things changing all the time, there is nothing I can do; this would stay firmly in my mind. Every single moment in that middle of nowhere, I guess. Beyond my sweet nothing I would still feel the rest of the world. And the missing, this would stay. The missing would stay, no doubt. There in that cottage, in the midst of the forest. No escape. No escape possible; one carries her/his own hell within wherever this one goes. Wherever this one tries to hide. Nope, no go.

And what can I do? Still anything left I can do? I feel my words so weak, too weak; no power in my words anymore. I feel like I could split myself into halves; still nothing would change. Things just go their own way.

Time as it would slip through my fingers...