Bratislava

I arrived in this city without expectations, thinking it would be small and heavily influenced by its recent communist past. I didn't really like the city at first sight. To be honest, I think this is simply impossible, because it has no obvious beauty. There is the chaotic mix of modern and communist style buildings, a tiny historical centre with few landmark buildings, there is worn down cityscapes and modern architecture, mostly american franchise companies, say McDo, KFC, ... there is the most unfriendly Slovak people, and a language that is very hard to decipher. But after a while, well, I started to like the place. I never really liked ultraclean cities that seem prefab tourist attractions. If you can see the charm of the buildings in decay next to the new temples of capitalism, intermingled with some historical buidings, well, you might like the city too. After all this is a country that went from communism to independency and the euro currency in just 20 years. And seeing this history in the making, the evolution of society at work, well it is a special experience. Probably for many change has come to swiftly, leaving many people unhappy, but hey, after meeting the kindest barwoman in the countryside, even though she didn't spoke a word of any other language but Slovak and Russian, I think this country has a good potential to turn into a tourist attraction pole, but I'm happy to experience it now before it becomes a copy of Austria. I ate in a hotel restaurant underneath Beckov castle (what a view), and the food was excellent for just 10 euros. Curious to visit this place again in say 10 years.

insomnia

It should be sleeping, however random brain functioning prevents it from doing so. 

The best ideas are to be found in these hours of the night, so are the worst. 

It is a man, a human being, it is slightly annoyed by this unwanted waking and it is happy. 

Yes, happy as in carefree, as in joyful. 

However it has the power to reflect on this state of happiness, which is often all it needs to interrupt this blissful state of happiness. Why does it think when there is no need to do so. 

Why is it knitting together random words, often rhyming, while it should linger in the silent eloquence of happiness and sleep. 

After all, there are no words for happiness. Long ago its kind invented words for painful laments, embarrassing frailty and songs for broken hearts. 

Hearts neither break nor mend. Hearts beat for a while. That's all there is to it. 

But the vocabulary it invented to express its hurt is close to infinite. 

Mostly driven by the desire to impress its female counterpart, hoping to induce some pity, hoping to deposit its seeds that will provide it with an offspring, a tribe of its own, after all, it loves itself. It at least clinches to the illusion that whatever it does itself, it should do better. 

A song about happiness is not a song, it's just a melody and some lalalalalaaaaa or doobidoobidoo. 

Thinking of that, happiness is not suited for any of the arts it invented. Happiness is dull, plain, one-dimensional and dullness won't get it laid.

So can someone please tell those singing-people at the radio not to sing the kind of crap anymore that has a chorus even remotely similar to this one: "You make me feel so high, I wanna fly... so high... in the sky".

Yes, it is lazy. To hide its lack of talent, more talented specimens sing for it at radio studios around the world that then transmit the music to those who aren't able to serenade a female into their beds themselves. It is then a matter of learning the right lyrics by heart, copying the best lament and make the pain feel like its own. It's important to have pride in its own taste, with no room for discussion. After all, arrogance is often mistaken for confidence. 

Quoting famous people, well-respected writers, or even philosophers (olalala) will provide it with a perfume of enigma, confidence and depth of character. Even better than just confidence.

A guaranteed leg-opener. A false scent to hide its own nature. 

O yes, it is a man. Whatever that is. 

Why was it writing all this? Oh yes, happiness. It was happy. 

Happy. If you say the word a couple of times, you will see what a stupid word it actually is. 

Anyway. It was happy. A lot. 

It felt the touch of a warm body, a breast maybe, that was transmitting this delicious heat to its back. It felt loved, it felt love also running through its veins. 

After all it does know sincere love, without any need for tricks to deposit seeds, without the need or desire even to procreate or rejoice in any form of horizontal tango.

It's a side effect. Love. It's too pure for this imperfect creature. 

But love is there, love exists. And it is addicted to the bliss of love. 

Sincere love, without the need for words.

Sincerely yours,

cardápio