Burning lands
all around

Mighty cities
to the ground
have razed

In storms
and thunder

Crashing down
the skies

On waters
boiling under

Nature’s scream
tears life asunder

and murder,
all crazed.


Zakaj je včasih tako težko najti besede?
Zakaj predvsem, ko zaplavam v tiho, čisto milino?
Ko se ti vse na svetu poklopi in ko čutim samo še mir. Mir v čisti, jasni praznini. V praznini, kjer še vedno nekako tavam sam. V praznini, kjer v tej samoti še vedno čutim ljudi, osebe, ki so mi blizu. A jih ne vidim. Ne poznam. Vsaj zdi se tako.

Spomin. Kam si odšel, spomin? Spomin. Na stare dni. Spomin. Zakaj se spomnim rojstva, a ničesar prej, spomin? Spomin. Si živ? Ali le poosebitev moje domišljije, ki lenobno pretaka moje življenje in energijo iz resničnosti v misel. V svet utvar, simbolike, mitov, metafor, poosebitev in simfonij. Spomin… Moj prijatelj, tekmec, ali demon? Spomin, zbogom.

Ne potrebujem te več, spomin. Odidi svojo pot, kot si ti vedno počel in želel, spomin. Odidi in vrni se, ko želiš. Čakal te ne bom, a obiska se bom veselil, kot starega prijatelja in zopet s tabo bom delil, spomin.

Ne potrebujem te več. Naučil sem se zaupati sebi. Ne potrebujem te več, spomin. Tebe in tolažbe starih dni. Ne vem, a vidim več, ko sem sam. Ne razumem, a vem, kam moram, kam si želim. Ne vem kako, a razumem zakaj sem tu. Čeprav mogoče ne v besedi. Spomin. Ko umrem, se zopet srečava cela, ti in jaz. Brez lukenj v obrazih in mask spetih čez njih. Ko umrem…

In English

Letting Go

Why is it sometimes so hard to find the words?
Why is it most often, when I swim into the quiet, clean mildness?
When everything on this world falls into place, and when I feel only peace. Peace in the clean, clear emptiness. In the emptiness, where I still somehow wander alone In the emptiness, where in this loneliness I still feel the people, persons, who are close to me. But I cannot see them. I don’t know. At least it seems that way.

Memory. Where did you go, memory? Memory. Of the old days. Memory. Why do I remember the birth, but nothing from before, memory? Memory. Are you alive? Or are you just a personification of my imagination, which is lazily streaming my life and energy from reality into thought. Into a world of illusions, symbolism, myths, metaphors, personifications and symphonies. Memory… My friend, rival, or a demon? Memory, farewell.

I don’t need you anymore, memory. Go your own way, as you have always done and wished for, memory. Go and come back, when you wish. I will not be waiting for you, but I will be glad of a visit, as I would be of an old friend, and I will share with you again, memory.

I don’t need you anymore. I have learned to trust myself. I don’t need you anymore, memory. You, and the consolation of the old days. I don’t know, but I see more, when I am alone. I don’t understand, but I know what I must, where I wish to go. I don’t know how, but I understand why I am here. Although maybe not in words. Memory. When I die, we will meet whole again, you and me. Without holes in the faces and masks tied up around them. When I die…

Po slovensko


Silver flies
along the cracks
between the night’s
and daily skies

All red, and blue
with green within

All friends, and clues
show sleeping lies

Along the cracks
between the dream’s
and daily life

One falls down,
when nearly dead

But other brings it
back to breath


Following the trees
and shadows cool

Following the beats
of summers old

The paths
of long ago,
walking over
on and on

Never thought
to stop the show,
’till actors
all have gone

Following their piece,
and goodbyes cold

Following their peace,
strangers, and a fool

The stages
crumbled into dust,
walking over,

step by step,
black clouds
are torn away

Then slowly,
step by step,
they carry me
to you, astray

Following the treats,
sour and sweet

Following retreats,
battles now complete

Creeping On a Dream

The shadows creeping
from up high

The silence seeping
through the night

The heart so quiet,
heavy as a stone

Old bonds have broken,
not forgotten,
on the rocky floor

Out the distance,
a warm and gentle wind

The darkened clouds it moves,
shows light is still within

The life ’till now,
was it all a dream?

The Contact Service

If you wish to send me a private message, please fill out the following form;

After being tested for SPAM, your form will enter the initial review period, which normally lasts between ten (10) to thirty (30) days.

Upon being reviewed, the receiving party (from now on The Guy) may take up to fifteen (15) days to fully read (although he might not understand) the form, depending on how many other forms are pending in the given periods.

If the form is so un-understandable that The Guy needs to seek additional clarification (and God forbid translation), this period alone may last for at least another fifteen (15) to twenty (20) business days (which sometimes, but not always include weekends, and sometimes, but not always exclude the rest of the week).

When the form is completely read and (mis)understood, it will be placed in the “Awaiting Response” queue, where the forms await the creation of a personally tailed response.

For masterpiece responses the waiting times might be up to thirty (30) business days, while you might receive a mass-produced response in one (1) to five (5) business days.


Please remember that upon receiving a response, you have eight (8) days to completely read, understand, and reply to the aforementioned response, or you shall be blacklisted and hunted down for your valuables.

Please enjoy our contact service!


you travelers dear!

from far, and from near!

Welcome to heaven
and welcome to hell!

Stay for a while
then go, and be well!


Like our body, each one of our ideas and wishes has to go through
the process of creation, before it emerges as a new business, book, movie, song, etc.

An artist, a creator, eager to share his work must start somewhere. Almost always those beginnings are humble, and pale in comparison with that person’s (later) fully realised creative potential.

Like a child
that grows and evolves until he/she grows up, we evolve and develop our ideas.
When we develop an idea to the point, where we can start realizing it,
we start searching for ways to realize and perfect our visions
in the world around us.

The same as a child in our wide world, our vision can die or get corrupted,
if we don’t take proper care of it or don’t put enough effort into getting it through.

Those beginnings are often hard, painful, and full of uncertainties. They also shape, and perfect the person into the beautiful masterpiece they are meant to be.

This blog is just one of such stories in life.


With the help of this blog
I would like to share,
and experience my being

With everyone wandering
through this site
either by mistake
or on purpose


Oh, flair of life,
its many different paths

Oh, flare my lights,
make them shine through nights

Those silly words,
their colours high and green

The silly laughs,
and tears still ground in fears

The paths unending,
only one to walk the tune

To choose, to trash
ideas, dreams, you fool.

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