Marlen is sweeping the floor with an old, frizzy broom. I’m sitting on the couch made of wooden planks and blankets, with two stools underneath standing as feet. The smell and smoke of yellow Camels fills the air and makes it look thick and dustier than usual. I look up to the skylight and see small sun rays trying to get through the thick blurred glass. The light in the room is the same as always – the blurred rays on the dusty floor and shadows in the corners of the room. Sometimes it gets hard to tell the weather while sitting in this dusty room, since there are no real windows and the door is always closed. Plus, the building itself never get sunlight straight, so it always looks cold and dark inside.

Marlen is sweeping and sweeping and as my cigarette ash drops on the floor, I watch her in total silence. I watch as the dust spins round and round as she sweeps around it, beginning to look like a small tornado. I think of the world. The world as this garbage Marlen is trying to get rid of. There are small pencil, the ones that are too small to hold between your fingers, cigarettes butts and ashes, different colored  clips, bottle heads, lighters, tiny scratches of paper, packets of single-use coffee, teabags… Everything we ever used in this room is now lying on the floor and my friend is trying to get rid of them. This is one of those moments where you start thinking about your life and what to do with it, what to do with yourself and why things have become this way. You know that these thoughts are just for a moment, everything will be the way it was before, but you hope it won’t. You sit there, frozen to the couch and look at something so remotely ordinary  and you are scared of what will happen the second you move, or even shift you leg.

I wait for my senses to get me back to normal. They slowly do.

I hate Marlen. I always hated her. She’s like so many of my friends who I accidentally befriended. Through talks about music, taste, movies, food and all. I know too many people who are like that, I should get rid of them, I know.

Marlen and I used to talk so much. About Hemingway, Pink Floyd, Guy Ritchie, Bregovic, Hollywood, Independent films, trash movies. We could talk about anything. Religion. Family. Marriage. Friends. Art. University. Everything but sex. She is afraid of sex. She starts screaming when she hears the word, but when it comes to erotica in art, she’s all for it. She’s an art hypocrite. She hates something, but she loves it in art. She hates the color pink, but she uses in the most in her oils. I hate her for that. People don’t notice small details like that, but I do, that’s why I hate her, and that’s why I hate people. They don’t notice everything I do and they blindly believe everything they see, everything the people want other people to see in them.

I haven’t talked to Marlen for months. I don’t really want to, not like she asked me to. She annoys me with her innocence and childish behaviour. She’s dumb and totally not ready for this world. This cruel world, as people say. She’s too innocent for it, too soft, too fragile. But I don’t know anymore. Maybe she’s faking it. Maybe I think she’s faking it because I’m jealous of her imagination and her artistic nature. The way she carries herself with her long red hair, like a fairy. The way she hates herself and thinks she’s not worth anything. The way boys always like her, talk to her, and nobody pays attention to me. The way she is 2 heads higher than me which makes me feel like a dwarf. I hate her for sitting on her knees like a fairy and picking up the stuff that might actually come in need from the dusty garbage on the floor, not giving a fuck about dirtying her hands a clothes. She’s an artist. She doesn’t care about dirt.

I’m tired. Tired of being tired. Tired of analyzing everything and everyone but still my brain does it for me everytime! I’m tired of people asking why I’m not talking so much anymore. I’m tired of not having a reason for not talking. I’m tired of talking to everyone, tired of people. Tired of their problems, their happiness, their friends and boyfriends. Their disfunctional and functional families. I want something for myself. Want to feel like a character, not a spectator. There are two roles in life – The main part, and the supporting -The one that throws in witty comments in a few scenes and then never appears again. The one that spends the whole movie doing everything for the main character, but gets nothing in return. Because the supporting character doesn’t do it for her benefit, she does it for her friend and her happiness. Because the supporting character is a fucking saint. Yes, I’m good at sarcasm, cynicism, irony and all.

I’m tired of my cynicism. I want to trust people, I want to believe, love their flaws. But I can’t.

I put out my cigarette just as Marlen tries to empty the ashtray. We exchange slight smiles. Mine is bitter. Hers is sweet.

Bitter. Bitter. Bitter.

Why won’t she talk to me? Does she hate me? Does she know I hate her? I hate the mystery of her? Maybe she’s just too much into her work – cleaning out the room, as I sit there like an empress on the throne, not bothering to move my ass even a little bit as she triess to sweep around the couch. It’s nothing. She won’t say anything anyway, she’s too much of a coward.

I think about lighting another cigarette just as Marlen ties the garbage packet and throws it in the corner. She swipes her long hair from her face and looks around for a place to sit. I don’t move an inch. She sees a small stool under the low table and puts in to the wall. She sits on it and leans on the wall painted with figures of Jesus and his other Saints. I watch her slow, elegant fingers light a cigarette and put it into her lips. No wonder boys jack off to her.

The cigarette butt is in the newly emptied ashtray.

-So what have you been up to? Sorry we couldn’t have a chance to talk like we used to. – She says in her waiflike quiet voice.

-Nothing much, you? – I say, smiling at her.

-Same here. Hey I noticed you haven’t been yourself lately, too quiet. Is something wrong?

I don’t want to answer the question. But I do.

-Well, nothing much, just tired and sleepy, you know me, I’ll get better.

-Okay… – After a long pause she says something I have been dreading. Something that will bring me back to reality and make the bitterness of the last 20 minutes go away. – You know, yesterday I watched this awesome movie!


Boring Students VS Interesting Students

In Tbilisi, every state University has its “student type”. I know almost every one of those types. There are many kinds and sub-kinds and so on, but right now, I wanna focus on one thing: the boring students.

For example, Tbilisi State University is the largest one in the country and has a huge diversity of different types of people. The cool ones, the sporty ones, the girly ones, the idiots, the rich kids, the poor kids, the village kids, the foreigners and so on. But the people there are in no way boring. They have fun in their own ways.

The students of Ilia State University are downright losers. They are the left overs of the TSU.

The boring ones are the students of the Tbilisi State Medical University. They are the ones who refuse to “grow up” and have fun in the courtyard by playing childish games like the foot stomping one. They buy one bar of chocolate for 6 people and share it between the lectures. They take pictures of the skulls and bones in the halls of the University (it’s like taking a picture of a drawing in the academy of arts). They make lame jokes that only they understand. Jokes about chemical reactions and biological stuff. They try to seem more intelligent, since they are future doctors after all, but they just look lame. Just because they know the names of all the organs in the human body, doesn’t mean they are more intelligent than any other student in the Academy.

What bothers me, is that we “artsy” people who study in the Academy have the reputation of dumb, uneducated people. While some of us are a lot smarter that the future medics or sociologists. Why does everyone joke at the stereotype of artists being dumb, but nobody jokes at the stereotypes of medic being smart? Everyone know that Art Academy students aren’t dumb, but the stereotype of artists being stupid plays a bigger role. It’s the same with other professions. Everyone knows that not all Medical students are smart, but the stereotype of them being smart plays a bigger role, but still, nobody jokes about them. There is no joke of medics seeming  intelligent and in reality, being dumb.

I hate that. The Academy of Arts may be a place where there are a lot of posers, but at least the people there are not boring. Even the posers don’t bother that much, since they are interesting to analyze and look into. People in the Academy don’t try to look like the mass. I admit, there are a lot of people with forced “originality” and “avant-gardeness” but still, there are many who are really that way. Just because I’m an artist doesn’t mean I’m not intelligent. On the contrary, you can’t be a good artist and have a creative mind if you are not intelligent.



Back into Teens

Analyzing people and their behaviour has become one of my favorite things to do, and it has taught me a lot. It kind of sucks to analyze everything others do, everything that concerns you, because you start seeing all the tiny cracks and they slowly become bigger and bigger and they end up being the only thing you see when you look at a person.

Another thing I realized is that there comes a time, when you are about to step into the adult world, step into the 20s, when you start having nostalgia. When people around you start changing, and you think you are the only one who has stayed the same. I have analyzed this over and over again, and yes, I have gone through changes, but the changes everyone goes through during the end of the teenage years. When you are a teen, everything and everyone is annoying and irritating and you just want to run away from home and you are angry at the world. I didn’t have this teenage angst thing. My teenage angst started now, at 19 years old. The thing is, some people grow up when they step into 20s, and some people simply change from bad to worse, thinking that this is the very essence of growing up. Like my friends.

Ah… My friends. I have had been through so many feuds and wars and quarrels and conversations and negotiations with them. But nothing ever works out. Sometimes, I am in love with those 4 girls, but most of the time I just hate them. Especially lately, when they have been through this extremes make overs. One has become a total bimbo, the other has become a sentimental bitch ever since getting a boyfriend, one got married and is pregnant and I see her only once a month, and one came back from another country. I was never really huge friends with her, but she’s okay. She’s okay with being who she is, being laughed at for wearing hills at trips to the countryside and being totally dumb.

I could talk about them forever. How they make me feel like a terrible person, how they. instead of boosting my self-confidence, actually lower it. They think that growing up is wearing makeup, wearing hills, going out to clubs, getting a boyfriend, flirting. I hate flirting, I hate makeup, I hate skirts, and I hate clubs. I love ambient, trip-hop, rock and post-rock, I love playing cards while listening to music, smoking, drinking some vodka with friends. I love talking and making jokes when with friends, not gossiping and talking about guys and other people and their relationships. I’m sure that my friends are even surprised that a guy could like me. I have short hair, I swear sometimes, I make dirty jokes… It doesn’t fit their image. It doesn’t fit my friend’s boyfriend, who think that because her girlfriend is a happy-go-lucky nice girl, every girl should be like her.

Well, I shouldn’t go too far now. What makes me pissed is that all these years, ever since I have known them, I have been trying to find myself. Yeah, find myself, like they do in films. I have a hard time doing that. Having friends in 8th grade was a huge achievement for me. I was shy, my confidence was below zero, I hated myself, I was ashamed of my family, of what I wore, what I listened to. I was ashamed of the fact that I loved animes. The funny thing is, that people who laughed at me, now listen to the music I listened to back then, they watch japanese cartoons. In 8th grade, I had friends who invited me to their homes. I thought they were above. I had an extreme inferiority complex. Those girls were skinny, tall, beautiful (though now that I look at it, we were all the same), they knew were they stood, (at least I thought so, now I realize that they were posers, like every teenager was back then). I thought I was a total shit. No guy would ever like me. Well, it was hell. Till 12th grade. When I realized this couldn’t go on. My friends would hang out without me, they would gossip about me. So I said, fuck it! I’m gonna be myself. I’m gonna be what I like to be. I don’t know how it happened, but the anger worked. I would stand up to my mom when she wouldn’t let me out, I would tell my friends if I was angry at them and when they were being assholes, I would tell them they were being assholes.

But, of course, nobody liked the person I had become – me. Straightforward, free of other people’s thoughts, funny and carefree. People started disliking the fact that I have a voice, I can say no, I can be angry and not talk to them for days. They started disliking the fact that I have more freedom of thought then them, that I know what I’m good at and can talk about it freely. They don’t like it. I’m not shy at all now, I know where I stand in society, I know who is better or worse then me and my friends hate that. They want to be back to shy kid I was. Despite the fact that I’m the one who always makes plans, who always says “let’s go out”, who says jokes and makes them laugh, they still don’t respect me as much as they should. I’m like a clown. When I have feelings, they hate it. They think if they shoot me right into the heart, I won’t feel it. Just because I always hated showing too much emotions. It’s not necessary. Sometimes I might feel bad, but why should I make others feel bad about it? Why should I complain, especially if I know that nobody can help me and I can be my own saviour?

This sucks. People have totally lost it around me. Everybody wants to be something. Every girl around me wants a boy’s attention, they want photos on facebook, they want to meet a lot of people. Nobody wants the good old friendship anymore. That’s why nostalgia kicks in at this moment. Sometimes I want to cry because of extreme nostalgia. I miss the old times so bad. But come to think of it, what old times? The times when I was a nobody? When I had no voice? Hell no. I don’t miss the old times. I just wish things had gone differently so I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit now. None of the friends I have feel like actual friends. Not because “nobody understands me” or something, but because every friend I have has totally different views and needs from me. It’s hard you know, having friends. It’s hard to keep them and it’s hard to know who is a friend and who is not.


Sometimes you think that nothing is possible and no matter what you do, nothing good will come out of it Sometimes, you have days when you think that everything is possible and you feel like the happiest person in the world. These moments mostly last for a very short time, not enough to actually start doing something. You know, when you get the inspiration you have been waiting for and want to do something to it, but when start getting ready, inspiration fades and you end up with nothing. What should you do in such moments?

You have to find something that always inspires you. It may be a song, or a painting, or an artist, or a person or an animal, a movie, a video, a place and so on. There are two types of inspiration:

The first kind happens most of the time. It’s when you are getting inspired for ideas, but don’t actually do anything to express them. You ave tons of thoughts running around your brain, but you body doesn’t want to produce anything from those thoughts. I am like that most of the time. When I’m surfing the net for artists and movies and stories, I get amazing ideas, but I spend the time surfing more and more and eventually get tired.

The second type is when you just know you have to start doing the job and once you do, you don’t want to stop. It happens rarely, to me. Which is bad for an artist, but I promise to get better at this. After all, I have recently found things that inspire me in such a way. A song, a movie, a place and a person. Even a photo.

So you just have to seek for it. You have to go after inspiration with a club. When you have to do something, or draw something, especially when you have nothing else to do, just sit your ass down and start doing it! That’s all there can be said about inspiration and getting the work done!


Nothing to Write about Except Cheesy Teen Romance Stories

I hate cheesy stuff. All the romance and drama and cliches, it makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. But, being the strange being we humans are, I like when “cheesy” is happening to me, not around me.

The thing is, as an ex-writer and a now-artist, I try to look beyond the everyday life routine and topics such as love and hate and happiness and so on. But the truth is, when you are young, (especially when you grow kinda slowly like me, because girls my age already wear heels and are married and have children and look like women and have had tons of boyfriends and sex and relationship experience) no matter how hard you try to avoid such topics, you can never do it. You may not discuss love with your girlfriends, but you thing about that one person all the time, and suddenly, you kinda relate to the characters in romantic movies you once hated, though you never admit it.

God, I hate when I am like this. When all I can think about is my crush. Sometimes, there is this good point when you are in love, which I call a muse. The period of liking someone and when you think about them you actually have butterflies and you want to vomit and your legs are shaking and you too are shaking and you just can’t control yourself! You might actually be a pretty cool and careless person, but when you see that one guy, you become a dumb teenaged kid. At that moment, you go so dumb, you don’t realize you are dumb, but then, every time you are alone and start thinking about you actions, you keep facepalming yourself so hard…. I know I do. And very often I hated myself for it, but eventually, I came to a conclusion that that’s just the way it is. And you have to face it. You can’t always keep your cool, and you shouldn’t. I even hated myself for writing stuff like this in my journal, which became more like a teenage diary, it’s so disgusting when you read it, but the thing is, it’s all true. The things you write while still under the effect of that one person are actually the true things about you, things beyond the wall you built around  yourself, the things beyond the coolness.

Well, I’m beating around the bush now, but I have nothing much to write. I’m in that situation now when the butterflies are gone and you have this kinda empty space which doesn’t feel up with simple flashbacks. I’m in the situation when a person has to find some other object of affection to forget the past one. These two weeks have been totally robotic and unproductive and totally boring. Except for today when I got drunk like a pig and of course my love bubble burst and I finally blurted out everything I wanted to say.

So, here is a warning. In 3 days, I’ll be left with no hope at all and there will be no use in thinking about writing that person a text or calling or seeing him, because he’s moving. So, I’ll eventually go back to my original state as a man- hater, a potential pothead, a “cool girl”, a totally careless person and a nice dudette. I really miss that old me, when I didn’t care about guys at all and hated flirting and romance and I hope that as well as my original state, my mind will also go back to being the way it was. No imagining romantic stories or stories about love and lust and so on.

Fight Club Philosophy


Fight Cub is my favorite movie. I love movies like this. I love movies which don’t involve dumb romance, movies that are violent and talk about consumerism and nihilism and so on. Though I have nothing in common with Tyler Durden, I’m kind of nihilistic, and there are a lot of things I don’t care about, which aren’t that important to start with. People think I’m a total unemotional nihilist, because sometimes I say that things don’t matter.

Let’s not talk about me here. The thing is, I watched Fight Club the 100th time yesterday. This time, it was for our philosophy lecture. We have this film club in a cafe on Sundays, where we watch movies that have a bond with the topic we discuss every week. Our philosophy teacher is young and full of ideas, so I was quite eager to go to the club. Yesterday was my first time watching a movie in the small cafe and I learnt an important lesson from that – NEVER watch your favorite movie with a group of people that you don’t really care about. First of all, it’s like the movies was yours! It was made for you and up till now, you were one of the few in the room who really knew the film, but after the credits start, you’re just like the crowd. Each and every one of you watched the same movie, at the same time, in the same room, sharing the same ashtray. It sucks. It really does.

When I discover something new, I like to share it with the people I love, the people I want to discuss it with, but discussing my favorite movie in the philosophy class is not the best experience.

There are some movies, which don’t tell you anything, at first. But when you watch it again and again and again, you discover symbols and signs which you need to decipher. But Fight Club, despite its philosophical side, tell you all it has to say! Tyler says every word straight on, so that the viewer can understand it. He doesn’t use some weird unknown sentences and words, you don’t have to be a philosopher to understand what Fight Club is about.

I was so irritated when they were discussing the movie after we finished watching. All these people spilling different, shitty ideas about what we should do with out lives, how we should try to make our lectures more interesting and communicative. I’m an introvert. I don’t like all this crap like discussing things in class. I love discussing things with the people I know, with people whose opinion I’m actually interested in. Yes, we do have discussions in our philosophy class, and sometimes I take part, but we have this subject for only a year, and then what? Nobody will care about what we talked about in class. It’s just a one year thing.

What I want to say is!

1. Having a discussion about a movie you have just finished watching is useless. I can’t talk about a book or an event or a film right after it’s finished. I have to think for a while, maybe a day or two, and then start talking. You have to give it time to suck in.

2. Never watch a movie you are in love with when surrounded by people you just know. It’s okay to watch it with strangers. But never for a class, or a lecture on anything like that. Anything that involves teaching, learning and discussing. Trust me. I was very happy when I found out about the film club, but now, I won’t go there anymore. Unless they show something I have never seen.

Abortion and Babies

I recently read a very dumb article in a very dumb magazine. It was about how the attitude towards a child while pregnant affects his adult life. The article said that the majority of people who were “hated” by their mothers while still in their womb, grow up into suicidal and depressive adults, and end up taking their own lives. I knew what was coming as I kept on reading, but I was still shocked as I read on. The author said that the reason was this bond between a mother and a child. If a mother has a bad attitude towards her unborn child, then no matter what she does when the child is actually born, he/she will be depressive and suicidal. This article was some bullshit about how a mothers soul must always be clean and how a mother should never sin, and so on. People actually believe it is all true. One thing is true, though: when a mother hates her unborn child and her feelings don’t really change for better when a child is born – the child will be depressive. Not because of some unknown bond, but because the mother did not what a baby, and doesn’t really care about her baby. That’s why such people turn out to be suicidal.

I don’t understand why Georgians always have to talk about some spiritual crap. Everything is connected to god and our soul and our sins and so on. Japan was struck by a tsunami, god punished them for their sexual corruption.

I have to live with all this crap, you just have to listen to all this crap.

Another problem, which is a problem in many countries, is abortion. There is another thing about Georgians that makes me mad. They say motherhood is the most important thing in a woman’s life and every woman should eventually become a mother and give birth to as many babies as she can, but when it comes to choosing between and mother and a baby, it’s always a baby. Our Biology teacher asked us a question in the tenth grade – “Imagine you are a doctor, and a mother is giving birth right in front of you. But there are some complications. The baby can’t come out on her own. If you help, the mother will die. If you don’t, the baby will die. Which one do you choose?” All of my classmates, who back then used to be crazy ass Christians, where “shocked” by the question. “The baby of course!” they all replied like this answer was the most natural. They didn’t want to be untrue to their religion, and they didn’t want to get into an argument with the teacher. I love arguing, it’s my favorite thing, so I replied “the mother”. Not because I wanted to stand out, but because I never really thought having a child was a big deal, and I was slowly becoming an atheist and my family always gave me freedom of thought, unlike in so many Georgian families. Then the argument started. “A newborn child is the most wonderful thing in the world”, “how can you say that?!”, “a mother gave birth to you!”. I quickly became my class’ Satan. Though the teacher approved of my answer, even if she didn’t say so in class. The thing is, a baby has one life to live, and she/he hasn’t even started her life. Yes, it is terrible to cut off the life of a newborn human, but what about the mother, the father? A father can’t raise a child all that well when his wife died for the child. Just like a mother can’t do that well without a father. They depend on each other. A woman can give birth to another child. Yes, she will be depressed when she learned that she lived instead of her child. But imagine what it feels like to know that you are alive only because your mother died for you? I wouldn’t want a life like that, and I wouldn’t want a life like that for my father either.

Then there is abortion. Abortion is something that, I think, only woman have the right to talk about, and only men who actually love their wives of girlfriends and have the guts to raise a child. Another Georgian crap is that abortion means getting in the way of God’s plans and sinning and so on an so on. I want to live in a country where abortion is legal. I’m afraid to have sex until marriage only because of this. What if I get pregnant? At the age of 19, when I don’t want to get married, when I have to study and find a job, when I love my boyfriend and when sex is a natural thing to do, why should I be afraid that my life will be ruined? The majority will tell me that I shouldn’t have sex before marriage and “how can a baby ruin your life?!”. It can. When you have a kid, you have to take care of the kid. You don’t have time for studying well and finding a good job. Most of the young fathers chicken out and leave their pregnant girlfriends with their parents to take care of them and their grandchild. This is terrible. Some young father marry their pregnant girlfriends and leave with her parents in her house, and don’t even have the guts to find a job and soon comes the divorce. All this happens because abortion is not legal, and what’s more, abortion is the biggest sin in out religion. Nobody wants to stop for even a second and think about how our lives would change if the attitude towards abortion changed. There wouldn’t so many children in orphanages, there wouldn’t be so many infants lying and crying in the streets and in garbage. Yes, in garbage. Girls who are raped wouldn’t have to give birth to their rapist’s children. Things would become so much better, but nobody wants to even bat an eye.