Histeria of Violence

Let's boast about something evil. Let's talk about nightmares. Almost every night I find myself in the middle of an unknown room in London, where all hell breaks fucking loose. Under a hateful light I am running and hiding for my existence, in a hectic, crazy chase. Something is terribly wrong up there.

"I am living at the Villa Borghese. There is not a crumb of dirt anywhere, nor a chair misplaced. We are all alone here and we are dead."

When I sort of retreated to a corner (went for a short break to my hometown), bunch of vicious information touched my deep fears. Not only about cheeky encounters allegedly enjoying my room (though basically harmless), more serious were attacks from savage Bangla teens (basically bored). And when I realized that I was slightly ripped off in the heart of the community, I lost it completely.

"If so – well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere." Or maybe:
“We're going to rip his lungs out! And eat them!”

My passion for violence is growing, shamelessly. I want to crack anonymous bastard in a fine manner of some brothers' Coen appalling scene. Angry, mad and scared. However, nothing is really under control, not even a temporary home. But ...

"... our trip was different. It was a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the human character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country - but only for those with the true grit. And we were chock full of that."

Welcome to my house! I'll be back in a bit ...

Contributors to this blog: sir Henry Miller, dr. Hunter S. Thompson
Photo: Mini Gaza in Saatchi gallery

The art of living

My squat room by Marta Lamovšek & Saša Šimek

All I have ever wanted, crosses my mind when I half open my eyes in the morning, trying to guess what the weather is going to be like through a curtain slit. For the first few moments I don’t move: my eyes are slowly traveling over the colored walls. From hair to toe I am melting into amazement and gratefulness for what I have. Like a prayer, rising into a great joy.

After a month of nailing and sawing I settled in the room full of comfortable and cheerful feng shui. Spacious and for the first time all mine. People are asking me, slightly suspiciously (or even terrified), how can I live like that, in the squat. Live how? Without rent, with all the basics covered, with lots of good vibe and time for myself in London? Easily.

But anyway, what would a girl, released from almost all economic obligations, do in her day? My daily routine seems unreal; I can do whatever pleases me. Cycle to Camden or run along the canal. Go to the gallery or shop fresh mint at Whitechapel market for a revitalizing cup of tea. Every moment is relaxed, mirroring itself in many sweet possibilities.

Yet I start off my days very simply and basically, with the healing shot of coffee, continuing it with another one. Yoga follows right after this indulgence and the day is carried on spontaneously, usually with the neighbors knocking on the doors. Fellow squatters occupy lots of my time. Community is growing and people are working hard to get their homes sorted. Rooms, first smashed and completely run down, are becoming crazily refurbished, all with green politics in mind. After all, Council will evict us sooner or later and demolish the buildings. But until then we are keeping the place alive, share the food, help each other out and genuinely enjoy ourselves together. Social experiment with no money involved.

It’s a extraordinary gift to live so alternative in such a snobbish city. And the flush of freedom is awesome. Squat is settled for a cozy life now, but suddenly I hardly find any peace in living here. I enjoyed setting up and ruling my world, hosting my friends, but since I don’t rule my heart, I need to go. My mission is accomplished, summertime in Ljubljana is whispering me a love song. Janja & Metka, welcome to my girlish room soon. Beautiful London, I've had a time of my life. See you later.

Building a house

London express

Here is the collection of moments of how we were making our house with some of the most important participants too. The girl in charge is missing though, Eli from Barcelona, but the rest are here. In the middle is Kristof, 23 year old Hungarian, who genuinely reminds me of my favorite philosopher Diogenes. He can do everything and wants nothing back, because he despises slavery of working for money (all he wants is to travel and draw, pounds he needs only for paints and tobacco). He is subversive in the most delightful way, so my abs hurt from laughing as they didn’t for a long long time; he fixed our toilet doors and marked them with some fine graffiti, which reveals his idea of extreme shitting, also a fresh suggestion for an Olympic discipline for London 2012.

In the left upper corner are my three Hungarian neighbors, who helped me with flower sofa for my room three floors up (f..king nuisance) and are absolutely the kindest guys around. They are old squatters and they sorted out their apartment in no time, found internet signal and in the evenings they organize movie nights in Pako’s huge room, which looks like a Buddhist temple. Instead of popcorn we eat sushi or Pako’s biscuits (he is a vegetarian chef), enjoy special sandalwood scents and with Eli we feel treated quite like squat princesses.

Other remarkable boys from Budimpesta and around are Andor the artist, Peter the lovely gipsy and Miklos the handsome hippie. After all the help I received from them I could almost say that any new squat girl badly needs at least 5 or 6 upright Hungarians.

Soon my room is going to be ready and then I pray the god of all Slovenians, Spanish and Hungarians to help us live in peace with no evictions. At least until June.

Legal Warning

Klick to enlarge

This is written on our doors, on the doors of every squat actually ... Law is on our side :) Aaaaa, ahahaha! :) And today i found internet signal too, so soon it will be the most comfortable house for the most reasonable price in London ever! I L-O-V-E IT! Coming back soon with more.

Flux

Source

Suddenly the rock have started to roll. After two months of enjoying the sights of London I chilled down, and my finances too. I saw South, West and East, only North is waiting to be discovered. Now I shifted my thrills and excitements from only looking to participating in the daily life. I could be a supervisor in a nice 4 star hotel, wake up at 5.00 and earn some money, or I could live in a squat. Since I can't afford hilarious rent on Marble Arch any longer, I had to consider both options seriously enough.

Though I did fight for a cruel supervisor job hard (waking up before dawn!!!), I was told, that I am not a natural born waiter walker. So the universe literally pushed me into the squat. My friend passed me on an exclusive information, that the guys next doors are opening the abandoned flat next doors. And a vision of a laid back life, where you recycle and then create with your own hands, attend art workshops, care and share, spread my lungs with some finest sense of freedom. Not only back to roots life, just a thought of living for free in this posh city of makes me giggle.

To enter the squat one must first remove the metal plate, which firmly covers doors and windows to prevent squatters from sneaking in. But rats are always smarter, they find a hole. Our apartment is empty and to some point run down, but not that bad, and my room's got the potential to be a cheerful place. Of course there are some basics that need to be fixed ASAP, but guys already sorted out the electricity and the water is thanks god here. And also my new room mate from Barcelona is so technical-wise, that I am her most obedient student, who actually succeed today in connecting some copper wires in order to make a sparkle and then turn on the lights :)

I am very basically thrilled by this. There is still a lot to do and next week I'll move in. The only burden on my heart is to leave my most dearest Saša, who I so fear not to see every evening for our girls' night. So I am almost on my way to Camden to buy a nice bike to cycle and cycle and cycle uptown & downtown. Fingers crossed for the weather, and fingers crossed for all of the necessary things, that are waiting for us somewhere around.

London sentimental

Before I publish my "serious" blog, I must share some of this weeping sentimentality, that has captured me recently. It happens on Fridays, most likely when I am on the sofa with headphones on, while all of my Slovenian friends are partying on the route Zajc-K4-SubSub-Metelkova. From my perspective it sounds like a magic combination from a lost dream. Despite living in this great city I can not undertake numerous excitements any more, I get used even to such extraordinary sights as the Westminster fairy tale palace. But it seems that I could never get used to a quiet Friday/Saturday evenings (stuck at home), or even less likely, compromise with fake beats, crowds or prices outside. This kind of peculiarity gives me a hard time, when I want to swap my sofa for a cosy place. If I only were a trancer, it would be much easier; I could pop to one of many notorious squat parties.

So last Friday I was perpetually listening to the very last minutes of Surgeon's set in the club Katakomben, an emotional part, which almost made me shed a tear. I imagined all of my people in the front of k4's big stage, with my boyfriend behind the DJ, animating the crowd with his hips, smiling faces and dancing bodies ... I crave for a family night in Ljubljana. I can only hope that mr. Surgeon will scatter my home oriented focus this Friday and give me some hell of a time. If not, I will cease partying here. But untill then, Vauxhall, here I come again!

Happy Twilight

Foto: Dejan Erniša

My long-time-no-see friend published photos from a very first absinth party, taking place four years ago at a rather unknown location. And he made my day. I'm thrilled to see how young we were at the time (though my boyfriend claims he is the same) and what a persuasive vampire I was. Dear moments that faded away suddenly came back to me. His funny round glasses from high school and my short hair, famous style by Tinka Pobalinka in 2005. We actually hardly have any pictures from a respectably long period of being party animals. But the photo's got much more than only remains of the days; it brilliantly depicts our vibration, which was there from a very beginning and shall represent us forever. That's the kind of love I adore, vivid and wild one.

And to those, asking me, where is my boy and how can I possibly survive without him - I miss him very much. We are both sort of used to bear with the distance, though it's difficult and no fun, especially for the one waiting in Ljubljana (most unpleasant in winter cold&rain and in empty apartment). However, this absence is also the freedom we need to fulfill our educational and general "life-wise" plans, and it's my turn now. The project is to lighten my famous twilight, so called messy head. And while doing this I feel anxious, but safe, sad, but great, because he is my ultimate bright light. And when he says to me a simple "Don't worry baby" my heart is an instant believer. When I am back, we'll hit the road together ... like a fairly harmless Bonnie and Clyde, heading towards a fairly civilized Tarzan and Jane life (Brazil and the neighborhood). Honey, I'm coming soon, get ready! (Ghrrrrrr)