Casualties of War

The are no survivors in war, you either die on the battlefield or in your memories long after the guns have gone quiet.

Dusty Typewriter, Year One

A year ago I started the web page but it still doesn’t look like the way I imagined it. It’s going to take some investment for it to look they way I want it. Baby steps, as they say.

A Future Not So Far Away

Politicians today have every reason to be afraid. Vegans are the planet’s strongest political potencial. They come from every religion, country, social class, race and sex and they are not happy with the current situation on the planet. There is no doubt that, in the not so distant future, today’s dominant beliefs and ethics are going to be turned upside down. One day, Homo Superior will rise and our children will ask themselves – How could they have been so cruel?

A Writer’s Process

When you are a writer you sometimes have to socialise with people for whose believes you have contempt. It is all part of the professional process.

On New Ethics

Only when political boundaries come down and rails networks, roads and houses go underground, will animals run free again. Homo sapiens have to give back what they took from the Earth and start thinking in a new ethical way before they start to mass explore space. Otherwise, every weaker creature in the closer universe will soon found itself on an endangered species list.

Whatever

In the early spring evening the TV program was no more than a buzz coloured in salt and pepper. The anchorsman’s sentence was interrupted in the middle and his last words before the TV went out were: Saskatchewan is almost completety covered in dark and Canadian officials say that the invasion is conf…

Nēhilawē Creek was a nice place and if only I haven’t eaten so much, it would have been a perfect evening to work. My book was almost finished, but almost does not pay the bills.

“Have you heard the news?”
“No, John, I haven’t… Did you like dinner?”
“Yap.”
“Are you in a bad mood again?”
“I missed the deadline, again.”
“I see.”

Linda was smiling as if I had just said  that I know the numbers for next week’s jackpot. She was always cheerfull, a little too much for my taste, and after being married for twenty years it was way too much. The flame of the short candle was dancing its fragile dance on the porch’s iron table. The wind was messing up my newspapers like it was doing it on purpose. On top of everything I didn’t have my reading glasses so I could only catch a word here and there.

“How about wine? Cake, maybe?” Needless to say she was smiling as usual.
“Where is the gas light?”
“No gas, John. We burned the last bottle while fishing on Kaskitesow Lake.
“Candles?”
She was looking at me like she didn’t hear what I just said.
“You know… Those waxy sticks you light whenever there is a power outage like the one right now! Did you put’em in your ears, for Christ sake?”

She sighned instead of answering and I could read it like it was written in the air that I should know better and I hate when you mention Christ for no good  reason.

I sneezed without feeling any relief. I tried again, but sneezing is not something you can do whenever you feel like it. My frustration grew as big as the Praries behind the Nēhilawē Hill. Luckily I remembered that I do have candles behind the toolbox in the basement. They were red, the fancy kind but that didn’t really mattered anymore.

“Sweetie, do you feel like taking a walk?” -
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Linda, please. I want to read.”
“There is nothing in the newspapers anyway. Look, it’s such a beautifiul evening, you can clearly see the stars, they are so big, look!”
“Right.”
Linda took the plates from the table and rushed inside dramaticaly cause Jones the cat threw something on the floor again. Who says cats can predict things, the only future they see is the one on the cutting board.
 
The stars were big, but they weren’t really stars. Suddenly, I heard a thunder louder than anything i’ve heard before in my life. A thousand tiny hissing sounds like multiple jet engines whooshing were coming from above and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to find out that something exorbitantly unusual was happening.

“Linda they are coming.”
“Yes darling? – Now she was talking loudly from the kitchen. „Who is coming? The Parkers were here last Friday, they will not…”
“Linda!”

She came onto porch with a glass of light milk enriched with vitamins in her hand like that was the only thing which stood between her and the ugly process adults call aging.

“You don’t have to yell, I can still hear you!”

I know I was making faces because the muscles at the base of my skull were starting to hurt as hell, but I was perfectly unaware of my facial expressions. Maybe I was simply screaming in silence.

“It’s such a beautiful evening. C’mon, you have to look at the bright side!”
“Bright side? Here it comes darling.”

Now, the sound was thousand times louder and we were lit like two mise under the painfuly white neon lab light.  

“What is this, John! Oh my god!”"
“Linda . You are not smiling anymore.”
“John, look… “
“Whatever, Linda. Whatever. “

On Winning

No matter how tough the circumstances are, persistence always wins. At the end you may die, but if you quit you already are.

On Future

Veganism is the only possible way forward for a sustainble future for mankind.

Twitter.com

Slaven is twittering and thinking that it is probably a new kind of micro – literature.

On Happiness

There are people who enjoy life and people who don’t. The latter usually enjoy meddling in other people’s lives.

Facebook and editing

Is Facebook staff incompetent? My account was disabled without any explanation and I have to look for my precious contacts all over again. Those false complainers should be ashamed. When you don’t have a life of your own you constantly try to screw everybody else’s. Otherwise, I am editing and I can’t wait to finish editing this novel so I can move on to another.

My Ad.. My Ad.. My Triumph Adler

The graphic of the typing machine is my own sketch of a photo I took several years ago. The (dusty) typewriter you see in the header is a Bulgaria-made Triumph Adler that I took from my father and on which some of my first stories were written. I’m still not sure about the model name and the year of production. It had been in our house as long as I can remember.

How not to write

Do not write drunk, do not write tired, never ever write anything if someone or something pissed you off.  No matter what you think, it does affect your work in the worst possible way. What you really need is a steady routine, an easy morning, fresh coffee and fresh brain cells.

On Humans

Humans laugh when they are generally happy, and when they mock others. The question is are we really better than animals just because we laugh?

    

On Jokes

No matter how politically correct you are you have to admit one thing: there is no joke which does not insult a particular person, group or idea.

Tofu & Rice Salad Provençale

This is a vegan version of the salad I use to eat alot while in France. Instead of tuna, there is tofu. No eggs.

400 g Cooked rice
300 g Tofu, schredded
200 g Vegan Mayonnaise
2 Tomatoes, sliced
1 Big red onion, sliced
1 Lemon, juice
Olives, chopped parsley, salt, black pepper

Mix the ingridients in a salad bowl. Refrigirate for a few hours. Have a glass of wine, think of  the Mediterranean.

Aspire 1

Typing a lot is fun, but if you are not used to the keyboard size, it gets tricky. This is my first post written on the super small Aspire One and I hope that my typing skills will get better with time. I don’t like its touchpad and the backspace key is way too far right. Instead of a conclusion let me say that the 3 cells battery pack sucks big time. Otherwise, the laptop is cool to carry around, pretending to be an important writer and its sapphire blue is an awesome colour.

On Success

A high spirit and a low profile are the keys to success.

On Animal Rights

We will never fully succeed in the protection of human rights unless we protect the rights of the powerless animals and nature in general.

Galaxy Zoo

I just found another useful hobby – galaxy mapping. If you are astronomy enthusiast, it’s a must. Anyone can help the cause, so sign up at http://www.galaxyzoo.org and start mapping!

Snails from Hell

 

I found my self not knowing what to do with the rest of the pumpkin that I carved for a Jack-O’-Lantern. There wasn’t much in the kitchen, so this recipe is simple. If you feel like it, you may add a little bit of tomato sauce for the sake of bloodiness.

Sunflower oil

2 onions

1 tsp dried chili peppers flakes

100 g pumpkin “flesh”, shredded or scraped

200g Elbow pasta

In a hot pan brown onions and add the pumpkin. Stir for 15 minutes at medium hear. Add cooked pasta and sprinkle chili flakes. Eat slowly, it might be your last meal.

Support Group

 

The lighting was dim and red, almost like in a strip club. It was Halloween, so I didn’t really pay attention to the spooky decoration. Besides the pumpkins, the place was pretty empty.  Jane took my hand and walked me across the room. She was my lover twenty years ago and has been my friend for as long as I remember, so I didn’t object.

“What kind a of club is this?”

“A jazz club.”

“Officially?”

“The temporary support group gathers here when the club is not open.”

“God, I need a drink.”

“No booze tonight, what you need is help.”

“I don’t need that! You think that I don’t know where the problem is.”

“This is not AA.”

“What is it then?”

She brought me to the darkest corner.

“Rick, this is Mr. Grant, and Mr. Grant already knows you.”

An immense African American in an asphalt hoodie put his hand on my left shoulder.  The tiny man in a gray suite and gold-rimmed glasses, who looked like an accountant, did the same, as did their female companion.  With other hand she played was playing with her pen.

“Please sign here.”

I knew I should asked what this was about but I trusted Jane, so I signed.  

Grant was almost singing. “Here, we stand united for your life as it was.”

“What?”

Jane stepped back with her arms crossed on the chest, leaving me alone with the three of them.

 ”Rick, think of this as a Christmas gift, only it has come earlier, and here, gifts do have meaning.”

I turned forty-six just a few days ago and when you are that old, divorced and with no job, you either don’t believe in miracles anymore at all, or you would believe in anything like astrology and all that. I was the first kind.  I simply didn’t care anymore.

“Who are you creepy people? The mob?”

“Not exactly,” said the man who looked like Barry White in his, naturally, deep voice. “Our code prohibits any kind of criminal activity, which directly or indirectly enables our client to profit from the situation. Our goal is simply justice.”

“What do you know about justice?”

“We know how they set you up so you lost your job.”

“I was laid off. Nobody set me up. How would you know that, anyway?”

“Mr. Latouche, we are not evil.”

“Right, good intentions and all that.”

“Let me put it this way, you can leave now if you want, and your life will be as miserable as it was, or, you can stay and embrace our offer.”

“We know people,” the accountant guy said nervously.

 ”Sure you do,” I said through clenched teeth.

The woman with the pen opened her palms in persuasion. “Misery is a global category Mr. Latouche, if we don’t act together, nobody will.”

“So what happened to you, lady?”

The deep voice interrupted us.

 ”We don’t discuss our lives with the clients, it is better for all of us that way.”

“And why do we have to meet here in this dark basement?”

The woman started to talk again.

 ”They put us at the bottom of society, so we have meetings in the basement. Once we resolve our troubles, we go back into the light. We never come back, and we don’t speak publicly about it.”

“Who are you people? Crusaders, vigilantes?”

“No. Again, our aim is Restitutio in Integrum, a way to put you back where you were before. Before bad things started to happen to a good man like you, because someone played dirty.

“What do you mean?”

He scratched the left side of his chest with his fat fingers like he was swearing on something.  His fingers were covered in red gold.

“Mr. Latouche, we are not going to make your wife come back. Her leaving you was just the consequence of you losing your job.  And, you are not going to see your mother again. She died from natural causes.”

“Are you saying that somehow you have the power to bring her back to life, but you aren’t going to do so because of your imaginary code?

They were looking at me like I was a spoiled child asking for another present.

“Bullshit, again,” I said.

“Let me tell you something, Mr. Latouche. Do you remember when good old Harry from your department lost his house in the so called accidental fire?”

“I do. He inherited a fortune just a week later and bought another one. So what?”

“The fire wasn’t accidental.”

“So?”  

“Regardless of his motives, the man who ordered Harry’s house burnt was on the other side of the world at the time. We had his house burnt to the ground a month later.”

“Didn’t  you say something about criminal activity being against your code?

“It was a pure, non profitable act, Mr. Latouche.”

“What about Harry’s inheritance?”

“We have fonds for cases like that.” 

“So, his long lost uncle from South Africa never really existed?”

Grant was silent for a second than he continued.

“Mr. Latouche, this is a tough, merciless world and in reality there are no rules.”

“Let me get this straight, you will punish the one who set me up?”

“We already did. Now it’s time to put you back where you were, and we cannot do that without your permission.”

“Who was it that set me up?”

“We cannot tell you that, but believe us, he will never try to do it again.”

“If I had figured out that I was set up and by whom, you wouldn’t have helped me then?”

They were silent again.

“You need my permission to give me back the life I used to have? And if I do, what do I have to do for you? “

“We have to go through the documentation first. We’ll call you when the time comes.”

“Call me? When the time comes?”

“We are going to ask you for a favour, no more.”

“That’s it?

“Yes.”

 

*     *     *

 

Toronto looked like it was wrapped in paper. I always thought that snow was a much creepier decoration than rain.

Jane’s hands were in her pockets.  She was smiling.

“So what do you think?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“It’s amazing, I always wanted it to snow on Halloween. Do you feel like having a drink now?”

“No, the kids are waiting for me, you know how they are at this time of the year.”

“You need a ride?”

“No, my car is just there.”

There was a cat without a tail sitting on her car’s hood.

“Holly molly,” I gasped.

“What?”

“You know, Harry had a cat, and it was a pretty rare kind, Manx or something like that, and we all knew that the cat died in the house fire.”

“So?”

I lit a Winston.  The air was freezing.

“His new cat looks exactly the same, and I always thought that it was amazing how he was able to find such a similar…  Jane, how did you find out about the support group?”

“You know the rules.”

“Jane… “

“Happy Halloween, Rick.”

On Persistence

No matter how brilliant your sprint is, your marathon competitors won’t care.

Marula & Tofu salad

This is one of the Bulgarian salads I felt in love with. Fried Tofu is just my add-on, so the salad would be perfectly good even without it.

 1 head of lettuce

4 – 6 Fresh onions

Tofu 200 grams

Big black olives

Virgin olive oil with Basil

Cut the tofu in little cubes, deep fry it. Wash the salad, let it dry, cut onions, add olives. This is the important part. Cut the head of lettuce in narrow stripes. Pinch of salt. Mix the ingredients. Preferably served with Muskat grape Rakia.

On Writers

No matter how big a writer’s table is, it’s always too small.

On Anger Management

When I’m angry with people, I imagine what they would look like if they were cats, and then my anger goes away.