- what language do you think in?

- (after a long pause) I honestly don't know.

Lines written during the period of half-asleep

I salute you, our sleepless nights. I salute you, big moon, you orange face in the formless sky, you muse of insomniacs and dreamers. I salute you, dreams and frustrations and unfulfilled hopes and sad life stories. I salute you, empty fridge and empty bed. I salute you, meaningless talks and time-wasting entertainments. I salute you, cancelled plans, used plane tickets, missed trams and buses, cold winter coats and angry dogs. I salute you, fresh skin, light cotton, summer sunglasses and cocktail straws. I salute you, moving boxes and dirt and broken suitcases. I salute you, missed phone calls, unsent text messages and wrong addresses. I salute you, broken hearts and missed chances. I salute you, my youth.

Cinema in its very core is already a collective experience. Collective dream, as it is often called. Even though in the age of individual film watching, we still regard going to the movies as something special. As an event than needs special treatment. Cinema, it its very, very core is an event. A happening. Once in a lifetime experience.

every once in a while my world collapses on me. falls into me, my chest and all I can do is to carry it around with me hoping that somehow sometime it will get itself together again. my days consist of breaking apart and getting together again, and I can only sit and wonder while trying to keep hold of life outside myself, of this so-called objectivity outside me, of calendars and time and the way days go by. they keep repeating that one should live one day at the same time. I say hell with that, most often you can't keep track of even one minute of being here and now. honestly, I don't have the slightest hint about how to live right. I'm not really sure that there is anything right or wrong, but I do know that you can't mess with your consciousness because it's really not worth it. in the end you've fucked only yourself, not your parents, your God, your friends or whoever you wanted to impress. I guess there are many ways how you can learn. I have a feeling that my way of learning is deduction - I have no idea what's right but I have some beliefs about what is wrong. I just wish I could find out the truth through some easier way but on the other hand that would destroy the only joy I can still really feel - the joy of making my own mistakes and destroying my own little world.

I just wish I could ever fall in love again. but no, all I'm feeling is this big empty blanket of something. sort of sadness, emptiness, nostalgia and sentiment together, and there's no place in my heart for something new. so I'm sad, lonely and really tired of this all, although.. I'm really too young.

i hate farewells. not because i cry, no, i usually don't do that. but i hate the way i and people i'm telling farewell to, how we keep pretending that nothing bad or challenging is going to happen. going away is always a challenge. whether you're challenging your relationships or your own mental toughness, it's hard stuff to do. so i hate how we usually pretend, that nothing like farewell is going to take place. instead we're still talking about our daily plans and unimportant things that are going to take place, like going to a new cafe or watching that movie the critics praised in the last week's newspaper. i hate farewells, because in the end i never get to the most important, the crucial point - that i'm going to think about this person, i'm going to replay our conversations in my mind over and over just to make myself feeling ridiculous and to keep wondering what better phrases i could have used. what different, more meaningful words i should have used. because i never get to the point how much this person means to me. sometimes it's a whole life, sometimes it's just an example. but still, every person i've ever met has made an impression on me. and so i keep hating farewells, because who in the big old world wants to say goodbye to someone who has made a change in your life.

So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls on one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by know the children mums be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight the stars'll be out, and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all river, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found, I think of Dean Moriarty. (Jack Kerouac, 'On the Road')