Sunday, 20 May 2018

Living in your head

Friday, 18 May 2018

Sliding riveries




Chet Baker - the current mood. A light midnight jazz and a missing glass of Martini in hand. Herbal tea would just about do. And if you brew it - a restorative ritual. 

Another long frantic upbeat day overboard collapses into the balmy night. People, intoxicated with satisfaction from the finally arrived late, very late spring, walked along the streets with faces as if just after a very good sex.

The moon froze as if colored with gouache on unwashed, dark-painted glass.  Lights of the city in jazz pacification.

I live by thoughts simultaneously in four cities, scattered from each other just by the distance of unpurchased tickets.

Silence ringing in my ears. Calmness and anticipation. Something astounding is bound to happen. Like pivoting on the edge just after falling in lust and just before falling in love, even if a little bit and for a little bit. For a fantasmic organic chemical top up. The value of cardboard house isn't in it's durability. Not ever jaded to fascinate and get fascinated, with the concealed agenda of a premeditated unremitting quest for interlocking jigsaw, a corresponding tip of Maslow's pyramid...

Few sleepless nights. Surrounding to insomnia. The moonchild. When you are that dazed, the mind gets numbed, but senses become sharper...

Another flight to catch with dawn. A stirring game of alternating few coexisting realities, bringing closer one and distancing another. Stepping in and out. Sliding on the timeline, rotating memories of the future and dreams of the past.

Never quite mastered the art of sensible packing. Now - just looking at still Thames and blinking lights from the terrace, feeling grounded and belonging here for this night. Homecoming. Snuggling soothingly in bed.

On the bed table 5-10 books, reading at the same time. Some swallowing in a day, if get lucky.

Living fragmentally just as well - at the same time reading a bunch of intriguing books.

Can not say devoting myself to one thing. Do I even need to concentrate on one thing? Not sure. Why limiting to tunnel vision. Traversing through a lavish fair of possibilities. I like everything and like the way it all unrolls.

You are bewildered, somewhat lonely and above all free, roused by experimental rummage for unknown insightful occurrences. You study me. Looking at the soul as a window. Giving yourself away, though whisper would be enough.

Connected by thin intangible inter-exchanging threads of conversations and touches, in misfired search for a lifelike or larger than life depths of intimacy, we tenderly embrace each other in the interim to avoid feeling emptiness around. Sporadically,  numb amnesia appeals more than void.  I rotary dial. Your familiar hoarse voice distorted by the wires. Our clandestines fly over the dozing roofs of the spring city.


© Elin Vidoff

Wednesday, 16 May 2018

Your mirrors



When you are a mirror-person, you happen to hear the phrase from others - "Oh, we are so much alike, and you are even worse than me!...." Ironic distortion.

People whose personalities and actions tend to push our buttons or who get under our skin are generally our pronounced teachers. They serve as our mirrors and illuminate what needs to be revealed, about ourselves and the path we are now on. Magnified pictures of our weaknesses and deficiencies, surrogates, stuffed feelings, repressed emotions. Your hallucinations, illusions and ancient fears are boldly staring in your face. When there is only one denominator - you. The other is only expressing your own otherness. Those are very clear moments that teach us where it is we are holding back. What to unleash, change, balance or heal.  Declustering. Shifting Perspectives.

“When the student is ready the teacher will appear. When the student is truly ready... The teacher will Disappear.”

How many masks do we wear... This is how a person talks with a mother, so with a best friend, such a syllable appears when we talk with a loved one... Sometimes we are wearing a mask or few even in our own internal dialogue. The most dangerous lies are the ones we tell ourselves. 

Maybe they are not even masks - this is how the mechanism of understanding is arranged... You connect with someone on their wave - to know, recognize, empathize. How many waves are we riding simultaneously... Almost a scary thought. Though In essence, we just know how to accept and understand the rules of the game. "Games people play, people that play games." Mastering compartmentalization. Fully present, but detached. The most eloquent stories are created by cynics.

The proximity between people does not arise because they are ideally suited to each other, but because they start to recognize each other... Because they begin to empathize with what the other (and yourself) were or are going through.

The trial and error method works. Mainly it is 
 when you've got a precipitate tendency to adjust your conclusions to random situations, instead of experiencing these situations and not running ahead led by a primal defense mechanism. How many times we have done this before...

Somewhat a skeptical smirking researcher by nature I am. The mechanisms of various behavioral algorithms are truly fascinating. Not forgetting to indulge in self-mocking irony on the way. 

Looking at photos, made over last few years - something that at first sight appears the same, shifts nevertheless. New books on your shelves, new conclusions, new meetings, experiences, trials, attempts, escapades... And stepping forward. Even though sometimes thinking that moving in circles. And always on the edge.

Time goes by. A fat dot. Changing so much and quickly that hardly even pausing to register it. These changes are noticed by your close ones. You are so flawed and imperfect. So many dubious layers. You are in itself a miracle of nature or a natural disaster.

© Elin Vidoff 

Tuesday, 15 May 2018

There are books so alive that you're always afraid that while you weren't reading, the book has gone and changed, has shifted like a river; while you went on living, it went on living too, and like a river moved on and moved away. No one has stepped twice into the same river. But did anyone ever step twice into the same book? (Marina Tsvetaeva)






Sunday, 13 May 2018

Cala Benirras



Benirras beach. Where hippies, dreamers, romantics, free spirits gather and surrender to the wonders of mother nature around them, the ritual going back to 1991 when many hundreds of people joined to protest about the Gulf War. A unique mesmerizing Sunday spectacles when the sun all too soon is descending beneath the waves, while the drummers deliver their awe to it. You watch the drumming circle, and the build-up is sedating but messianic, from a first beat of the first drum. You fall into a trance in this spiritual, tribal experience... The rhythms you are listening too are turning in what you want them to be. You focus on one drummer particular and it alters the way you start to take in the rhythm. This drumming circle is eccentric and unyielding, you don't move and don't want to, eyes closed. This vibe and elation are different from the high-octane hysteria of dancing the night away in Pacha the day before... 

Perceptive conversations over Suntory Hibiki with your accomplice when you are gaining ground after this reverie spectacle. These full mighty presence moments... When you run a marathon. When you are on a chancy journey and wondering what's ahead. When you plant flowers. When it hurt and when it got absolved. When you took shelter from the rain and deliberately walked in the rain. When the embrace is double, as with heart and with soul. When someone truly understands you. When the walls fall, but there is still time. When you are surfing the rapid wave and overlook it is about bound to break at the shallow shore. When the wind blows in 
your face, and there is that yet another turn... When time is judged by the distance of one ticket or one call. When you can't stop smiling from the moment your are awake. Tapping into your five senses. 

© Elin Vidoff

Saturday, 12 May 2018


Friday, 11 May 2018



"When you are free from delusion, you can enjoy illusion. Enjoy the dream but enjoy the dream being free".

As the sun sets in the eve and the wind blows, the birds coast high above. Effortlessly flying, they coast, float, no wings batting; the wind guides them in the blue sky.  
Trust, Faith in life with a bird's eye view; aware, focused, driven, yet detached. An aerial perspective is peace, is freedom.

© Elin Vidoff 

Wednesday, 9 May 2018

Monday, 7 May 2018

...and maybe because of the boiling April sun, he thought about water and ice. Water and ice were made of the same thing. He thought most people were made of the same thing, too. He himself was probably a little different from the corrupt people around him. Ice was distinct from - and in his view, better than - what it was made of. He wanted to be better than what he was made of. In Mumbai's dirty water, he wanted to be ice. He wanted to have ideals (Behind the Beautiful Forevers).





Saturday, 5 May 2018




Monday, 30 April 2018




Friday, 27 April 2018

Wake... from your sleep
The drying of your tears
Today.. we escape
We escape.
Pack and get dressed
Before.. all hell.. breaks loose.

Breathe... keep breathing
Don't lose.. your nerve.
Breathe... keep breathing
I can't do this.. alone.

(Radiohead – Exit Music)



Wednesday, 25 April 2018


Tuesday, 24 April 2018

In the awakened person, there is no fear  (Buddha).


Monday, 23 April 2018

I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another (Anais Nin). 


Saturday, 21 April 2018

"I want to write a novel about Silence," he said; “the things people don’t say.” 


-Virginia Wolf, The Voyage Out



Thursday, 19 April 2018


Nothing is permanent. Everything is subject to change.
Being is always becoming.   – Buddha