oh dear...
Dear Sofia, this is your brain on Sunday October 1st at 12:50 pm:
Time erases memories and so I'll proceed to write down the most vital parts of your past two days so that they're saved forever in a small corner of cyberspace.
On thursday night you fell asleep while trying to finish your screenplay with Miles Davis' Bitches Brew spilling out of your ipod and into your ears. You woke up early friday morning, packed very quickly and left with your darling friends to go to the last station on the C Metro line (that's the green one). At the station you took a green Renault bus alongside 11 of your classmates (that's 14 minus you, the girl whose parents were in town and the boy who broke his ankle drunk one night and had to go home to get surgery) and you left for Northern Bohemia, the abbandoned countryside of the Czech Republic.
After traveling through gorgeous villages and farmland you picked up your guide; an art curator specialized in Decadent Art that looks like Kevin Kline in French Kiss and has the coolest name a guide could have; Otto Urban. You drove with Otto until you reached a mountain, then you hiked for an hour or so up through gorgeous trees and falling leaves while running out of breath pretty badly and having a tall Bulgarian boy carry your fake Prada bag. When you reached the top and the beauty of the surroundings overwhelmed you, you sat down and had a picnic, sang songs and smoked beedies. The pears were delicious and sweet, and your tuna salad sandwich wasn't bad either.
Then you proceeded to hie down, and just in order to make it up to yourself and not feel like absolute deadweight, you reached the bottom before anyone else. The boys peed all around you and you improvised a song about wanting to have a penis. You then heard your small Russian friend and your loud half Vietnamese friend sing Velvet Underground's Afterhours and you fell in love with it. The Russian girl literally fell. On her butt. But she's ok.
The green Renault drove then to another hill some kilometers away where you grabbed a skilift that took you through the woods and up the hills for a good 20 minutes until you reached the top of a mountain with a small lodge hotel where you stayed. It took you 15 minutes on the skilift just to come up with a good song to sing, and when you did the ones that came up weren't too good. At the top of the hill you unpacked your things in a nice little room and came back down to eat dinner. The 14 of you (12+Otto+Bus driver) ate dinner in a long wooden table and after the refreshing news that NYU would be paying for your food, you all attempted to order and gorge down as much food as possible. The salad, the spicy sausages, the boar and venicin were amazing. The kids around you ordered two and three times and plates with Pork knee and Boar Goulash kept coming in. The wine wasn't too amazing but the beer and Becherovka kept you happy.
You spoke of sex, porn, film, internet videos and jokes. Hours went by, the sun went down and still you ate, drank and talked until the whole table seemed to sway around and people's faces resembled the dead animals on the walls. Then you had a couple of more drinks, you put on all the shirts you had, danced a little, had a bottle of becherovka and decided to go explore the forest around the hotel. Only silly children like yourselves would think of walking in an unknown forest without a light, and for that mistake you paid. When you tried to walk off the path to pee under a tree you fell into a 7 foot hole. The boys came to the rescue with macho strength and alfa male egos. As soon as they got you out and you walked back to the path you heard the voice of your small Russian friend who had fallen into a 20 foot hole while everyone was busy rescuing you.
The voice of the girl was hardly perceptible at all and the small blue light that came out one of your friends' lighters wasn't enough to see her so you tried to slide down a part of the hole and reach out for her hand. The part that you thought was stable was just a bush of poisonous plants and you fell through the bushes and into the hole as well. Down there, in the depth of a dark 20 foot hole, or a crater if you'd like to be more accurate, you laughed and desperately tried to find anything solid that you could prop yourself on to get out. You pushed out your small friend but your big ass was a different challange. It took the rescue 911 boys 20 minutes to devise a practical plan that would get you out, and it worked. You had kept your cool all throughout but 15 minutes into it, unexplainable pieces of sharp glass started falling down around your face along with the dirt and you freaked out. By the time you were out the stress was pissing you off and your hands were full of small cuts and itching blotches from the plants.
Still, you didn't turn around. You kept going around holes and into an open field where you finally peed while the boys chased cows around. You went to sleep.
Everyone told their version of the hole story the next day and you smiled and felt stupid everytime someone asked why you had dived into the hole or why were you stupid enough to jump in to take a friend out. You had 4 cups of coffee. Everyone walked to the hole together and stared in amazement when they discovered its true size under the sunlight. You sang songs about holes and took pictures. Then you took the skilift down the hill, not singing this time but merely talking about your very unfinished film idea.
The green Renault drove you to a small town with a bone church where you took silly pictures and walked around small streets and a promenade looking at a gorgeous river and the vines that grow on its sides. Afterwards, the bus drove you to a Coal Mine that was closed ten years ago and turned into a performance space and modern art gallery. You wandered around taking gorgeous pictures and finally sat down to watch a french artist's performance.
He came in and set down canvases and oil paints. He walked around the room looking at the people in the audience and looking for a muse. He locked eyes with you and you didn't let go. He picked a couple of Czechs and you and took you all to the middle of the room, gave you shots of rum and covered you with a white curtain that hung from the ceiling. He then slipped under the curtain with you and placed small canvases between your legs and spent the next hour and a half with his head between your legs and his hands leaning on the inside of your thighs while he painted things you couldn't see or predict. He said if you felt tired or uncomfortable you could take your clothes off. The couple spoke czech and fidgeted throughout the thing while you stared at his amazing green eyes and were seduced to a point by the image of this man underneath you with a brush and a palette.
After an hour and a half of silence in the tent and strange sounds around you, the intense looking, long haired french artist got out of the curtain, took his clothes off and pulled up the curtain to reveal the remaining audience members staring and smiling. He pulled off the canvases from between your legs to reveal a small oil painting of what he imagined your vagina as. An imaginary vagina portrait that he showed to you and then hung in a room full of showers for the miners. He thanked you and kissed you. You were exhausted. After a while you took the painting with you and were amazed at it, because it was the only one with eyes looking down and because you had been talking a week earlier about your dream of being painted. Everyone asked questions and you felt strangely proud, of the result, of being picked and of being part of this strange man's performance.
You got back in the Renault and played DJ with your Bulgarian friend, connecting your headphones to his iPod and viceversa and discovering beautiful new music during the whole ride. You played him gorgeous little pieces of music that you yourself hadn't listened to in a long time but that you wanted to share, and he loved most of them. He played you amazingness as well. ou both laughed and felt anxious to play more and more things. You stopped at a gorgeous, old cemetery by a stone tower that was built in the year 902 where you placed your nose by a wooden window and smelled death. You peed in the forest again.
You finally drove home, still playing DJ with your friend and discovering Iron & Wine, Metric, some french girl, a french guy, Spleen, Tarantula AD, Queens of the Stone Age and some more Daft Punk and Anthony and the Jetsons than you already had in this trip. He discovered Cindy Lauper's cover of Strawberry Fields, Manjar de los Dioses, Los Orishas, Brian Eno's By This River, Pearl Jam's Sometimes, Coldplay's Such a Rush, a couple of Le Tigre songs you had joked about, The Pixies' Surfer Rosa, Draco's Solitary Man and some Cafe Tacuba.
You went home, changed and went to eat a healthy dinner. Then you took the tram to FAMU, walked accross the bridge in front of FAMU and into an island in the middle of the river,where in the tip of the island, and right by the water, lied 20 or so international film students surrounded by alcohol and celebrating one of the girl's birthdays. You met international kids, drank and laughed for a while and after a couple of hours walked to another bar, had a long detailed conversation on characters from films and animation that you would fuck and finally went home.
You have a million things to do today, and you're already late. Finish this fucking thing already.
Time erases memories and so I'll proceed to write down the most vital parts of your past two days so that they're saved forever in a small corner of cyberspace.
On thursday night you fell asleep while trying to finish your screenplay with Miles Davis' Bitches Brew spilling out of your ipod and into your ears. You woke up early friday morning, packed very quickly and left with your darling friends to go to the last station on the C Metro line (that's the green one). At the station you took a green Renault bus alongside 11 of your classmates (that's 14 minus you, the girl whose parents were in town and the boy who broke his ankle drunk one night and had to go home to get surgery) and you left for Northern Bohemia, the abbandoned countryside of the Czech Republic.
After traveling through gorgeous villages and farmland you picked up your guide; an art curator specialized in Decadent Art that looks like Kevin Kline in French Kiss and has the coolest name a guide could have; Otto Urban. You drove with Otto until you reached a mountain, then you hiked for an hour or so up through gorgeous trees and falling leaves while running out of breath pretty badly and having a tall Bulgarian boy carry your fake Prada bag. When you reached the top and the beauty of the surroundings overwhelmed you, you sat down and had a picnic, sang songs and smoked beedies. The pears were delicious and sweet, and your tuna salad sandwich wasn't bad either.
Then you proceeded to hie down, and just in order to make it up to yourself and not feel like absolute deadweight, you reached the bottom before anyone else. The boys peed all around you and you improvised a song about wanting to have a penis. You then heard your small Russian friend and your loud half Vietnamese friend sing Velvet Underground's Afterhours and you fell in love with it. The Russian girl literally fell. On her butt. But she's ok.
The green Renault drove then to another hill some kilometers away where you grabbed a skilift that took you through the woods and up the hills for a good 20 minutes until you reached the top of a mountain with a small lodge hotel where you stayed. It took you 15 minutes on the skilift just to come up with a good song to sing, and when you did the ones that came up weren't too good. At the top of the hill you unpacked your things in a nice little room and came back down to eat dinner. The 14 of you (12+Otto+Bus driver) ate dinner in a long wooden table and after the refreshing news that NYU would be paying for your food, you all attempted to order and gorge down as much food as possible. The salad, the spicy sausages, the boar and venicin were amazing. The kids around you ordered two and three times and plates with Pork knee and Boar Goulash kept coming in. The wine wasn't too amazing but the beer and Becherovka kept you happy.
You spoke of sex, porn, film, internet videos and jokes. Hours went by, the sun went down and still you ate, drank and talked until the whole table seemed to sway around and people's faces resembled the dead animals on the walls. Then you had a couple of more drinks, you put on all the shirts you had, danced a little, had a bottle of becherovka and decided to go explore the forest around the hotel. Only silly children like yourselves would think of walking in an unknown forest without a light, and for that mistake you paid. When you tried to walk off the path to pee under a tree you fell into a 7 foot hole. The boys came to the rescue with macho strength and alfa male egos. As soon as they got you out and you walked back to the path you heard the voice of your small Russian friend who had fallen into a 20 foot hole while everyone was busy rescuing you.
The voice of the girl was hardly perceptible at all and the small blue light that came out one of your friends' lighters wasn't enough to see her so you tried to slide down a part of the hole and reach out for her hand. The part that you thought was stable was just a bush of poisonous plants and you fell through the bushes and into the hole as well. Down there, in the depth of a dark 20 foot hole, or a crater if you'd like to be more accurate, you laughed and desperately tried to find anything solid that you could prop yourself on to get out. You pushed out your small friend but your big ass was a different challange. It took the rescue 911 boys 20 minutes to devise a practical plan that would get you out, and it worked. You had kept your cool all throughout but 15 minutes into it, unexplainable pieces of sharp glass started falling down around your face along with the dirt and you freaked out. By the time you were out the stress was pissing you off and your hands were full of small cuts and itching blotches from the plants.
Still, you didn't turn around. You kept going around holes and into an open field where you finally peed while the boys chased cows around. You went to sleep.
Everyone told their version of the hole story the next day and you smiled and felt stupid everytime someone asked why you had dived into the hole or why were you stupid enough to jump in to take a friend out. You had 4 cups of coffee. Everyone walked to the hole together and stared in amazement when they discovered its true size under the sunlight. You sang songs about holes and took pictures. Then you took the skilift down the hill, not singing this time but merely talking about your very unfinished film idea.
The green Renault drove you to a small town with a bone church where you took silly pictures and walked around small streets and a promenade looking at a gorgeous river and the vines that grow on its sides. Afterwards, the bus drove you to a Coal Mine that was closed ten years ago and turned into a performance space and modern art gallery. You wandered around taking gorgeous pictures and finally sat down to watch a french artist's performance.
He came in and set down canvases and oil paints. He walked around the room looking at the people in the audience and looking for a muse. He locked eyes with you and you didn't let go. He picked a couple of Czechs and you and took you all to the middle of the room, gave you shots of rum and covered you with a white curtain that hung from the ceiling. He then slipped under the curtain with you and placed small canvases between your legs and spent the next hour and a half with his head between your legs and his hands leaning on the inside of your thighs while he painted things you couldn't see or predict. He said if you felt tired or uncomfortable you could take your clothes off. The couple spoke czech and fidgeted throughout the thing while you stared at his amazing green eyes and were seduced to a point by the image of this man underneath you with a brush and a palette.
After an hour and a half of silence in the tent and strange sounds around you, the intense looking, long haired french artist got out of the curtain, took his clothes off and pulled up the curtain to reveal the remaining audience members staring and smiling. He pulled off the canvases from between your legs to reveal a small oil painting of what he imagined your vagina as. An imaginary vagina portrait that he showed to you and then hung in a room full of showers for the miners. He thanked you and kissed you. You were exhausted. After a while you took the painting with you and were amazed at it, because it was the only one with eyes looking down and because you had been talking a week earlier about your dream of being painted. Everyone asked questions and you felt strangely proud, of the result, of being picked and of being part of this strange man's performance.
You got back in the Renault and played DJ with your Bulgarian friend, connecting your headphones to his iPod and viceversa and discovering beautiful new music during the whole ride. You played him gorgeous little pieces of music that you yourself hadn't listened to in a long time but that you wanted to share, and he loved most of them. He played you amazingness as well. ou both laughed and felt anxious to play more and more things. You stopped at a gorgeous, old cemetery by a stone tower that was built in the year 902 where you placed your nose by a wooden window and smelled death. You peed in the forest again.
You finally drove home, still playing DJ with your friend and discovering Iron & Wine, Metric, some french girl, a french guy, Spleen, Tarantula AD, Queens of the Stone Age and some more Daft Punk and Anthony and the Jetsons than you already had in this trip. He discovered Cindy Lauper's cover of Strawberry Fields, Manjar de los Dioses, Los Orishas, Brian Eno's By This River, Pearl Jam's Sometimes, Coldplay's Such a Rush, a couple of Le Tigre songs you had joked about, The Pixies' Surfer Rosa, Draco's Solitary Man and some Cafe Tacuba.
You went home, changed and went to eat a healthy dinner. Then you took the tram to FAMU, walked accross the bridge in front of FAMU and into an island in the middle of the river,where in the tip of the island, and right by the water, lied 20 or so international film students surrounded by alcohol and celebrating one of the girl's birthdays. You met international kids, drank and laughed for a while and after a couple of hours walked to another bar, had a long detailed conversation on characters from films and animation that you would fuck and finally went home.
You have a million things to do today, and you're already late. Finish this fucking thing already.