Spiritwalking.

So around 6 am yesterday, seconds after I had an epiphany about life and about the fact that almost everything that we think is stopping us from doing something is absolute bullshit, I decided I should go on a spirit walk.

I took a shower.

I packed my backpack.

Ran the only errand I had to do.

I started walking.

I ended up spending the entire day in a different state, under the heat of the sun, walking.

I had picked up some provisions before embarking on the serious part of my journey so I wasn't going to die of dehydration or just go hungry.

I walked for so long.
I met some animals, bunnies, dogs, cats and geese.
I ended up watching a movie on the beach on a giant inflatable screen.
I only broke public urination laws twice.
I was on a motherfucking spirit walk.

Nothing is stopping you from doing what you want to do.
Don't listen to what the man says you got to do.
Listen to what you say you got to do.

Thanks for reading.

Smoking in public

I wake up.

Okay, I don't wake up, I just haven't gone to bed at all...

I have to go to the bank at nine in the fucking morning because I, somehow, have managed to make four different transactions from my bank account without having any recollection of the events.

I walk for 15 minutes so I can go to the nearby store, to get a coffee, pack of cigarettes and bus money.

And there are I am, no sleep whatsoever, a freshly opened refrigerated coffee in one hand, a freshly lit cigarette in the other, waiting at the bus stop, with only nice thoughts of butterflies and peace and tranquility in my mind.

And this girl comes and goes:
"There is no smoking at the bus stop..."

So naturally I say back:
"No hablo Ingles."

To my bloody morning surprise she repeats the statement in Spanish.

So once again I, naturally, say:
"No hablo espanol."

And then she starts nagging and nagging how I'm this and that and no smoking at the frikking bus stop.

And I gently lift one hand to signal her to shut up, and for the third type, naturally, say:
"No hablo any fucking language this early in the morning."

And then... the things that came out of that mouth. Words, comparisons, slurs... It's just so much.

Headphones in. Ass of the bench. Cigarette outside of bus stop, with the rest of me following closely after it.

Sometimes, even if not intended, we kinda are jerks to other people, and despite the fact that it's so fucking early in the morning and all I wanted was to enjoy my coffee and smoke, being a jerk ain't cool.

That's a very important life lesson right there.

Don't be a jerk.

Thanks for reading.

PS: Now that I think about it, she was also kinda jerk-ish, but I was jerk-ish first so...

ЧРД

Филипе

Waiting for the bus.

I remember...

Once... a long time ago...

Not that long, it was just a few years... 

But when you think about it a few years is a long time. 

Anyway. A few years back I had an epiphany.  It happened while I was waiting for the bus.  I even wrote an essay about that epiphany my first semester in uni.

Right now I'm waiting for the bus again, only it's a different time, a different country, and of course a different me. I just remembered the past, as all tend to do, and I recalled this epiphany. So here I go, sharing my not-so-impressive life wisdom with you.

...
...
...

Sorry for that pause, bus came and I had to board it.

I was sitting on a bench, waiting for the bus a few years back and I realized I didn't want to be doing this. That I'd much rather be doing something completely different, be with someone who is important to me. I know, what a shocker, but keep reading.

I realized that when we are waiting for something, anything, sometimes our minds turn blank, completely and utterly empty. As we wait if we start thinking how we'd much rather be with someone else, then that someone is a person who truly matter to us. An Important Person, with a capital "I" and a capital "P". 

Different time...

Different place...

Different person...

Same situation.

Those who become our thoughts when our minds are empty, mean the most to us at that very moment. And that makes them, even if only for a second, our universe.

Pondering on the meaning of art.

What is art?

Some say it's paintings.

Some say it's writings.

Some say it's music.

Some say it's life.

I know a few artist.
Doing all sorts of arts.

From street art to performing art.
From oil paintings to graffiti.
From flow arts to hip hop dancing.
From short stories to film making.
From guitar to piano.
From tattoos to poetry
to essays
to origami
to photography
to woodwork
to jewellery
to interior design
to music production
...

The one thing in common is that not one of them does their art because they are forced to. They do it because they want to, because they like it, because sometimes it's their reason to be happy.

So I came up with this.

Art is freedom.

The perfect metaphor...

- What are you making? - She asks.

- Pancakes... - I say back to her, prolonging one of the "a" sounds in "pancakes."

She stands up. Comes to me and looks in the pan. - These look different. - She states, a puzzling notch in her voice as she says it.

- These are American pancakes, small and thick.

She goes back to table and sits down. I flip a pancakes. It's too hot near the pan.

- Have you made like these before?

I pour more mix.

- Once. A long time ago. For someone special. But I made the pancakes special too.

I deliver another pancake.

- I'll show you.

2 minutes later I present a pancake in the shape of a heart. I take fork. Separate it in the middle.

-This is my part. - I say pointing to one of the halves.

I begin to chop it up with the fork. I stop when it looks like a jumbled mess.

- There, the perfect metaphor.

A week passed.

Last post I published was over a week ago. Since then stuff has happened.

I got a guitar.
I informed my roommate her hermit crab died.
I thought about the past and home.
I drank.
I smoked.
I've worked more.
I visited a new town.
I remembered the people that I have left and that have left me behind.
I met a few Americans that are nice people.
I finished a book.
I started another.
I found myself getting interested in haikus.
I was sad.
I tried American Chinese food.
I got a US phone number.
I punched a wall.
I learned a few more Romanian words.
I felt better.
I got irritated numerous times by my roommates on various occasions.

All of this happened in no particular order. Besides, the order itself doesn't matter at all does it? The bottom line is these kind of things happen all the time, life goes on around me and around you and around anyone no matter if you're aware of it or not. No matter if you read about it or not.
Life goes on.

The kicker is when you realize that absolutely everyone's life is just as full of stuff and happenings, occurrences, events, emotions, pain, heartbreak, happiness, useless habitual movements, awkward moments, luck, weird situations and everything else that happens to you yourself on daily bases. It happens to everyone else, all the time, and it is just as intense.

Yet, somehow, we are all unique and magical and rainbows come out of our asses.

I'm not saying you're not special. I'm saying you're just as special as everyone else. I'm also saying that what you are going through, there is at least one other individual who is going (or has gone) through the same. Maybe even a whole bunch of individuals, thousands, millions maybe...

If you believe that for you to be special everyone else has to be less special, then you are a piece of shit, and you're also being a special type of asshole.

Thanks for reading.

The night sky.

Here in the USA the moon is prettier than back home.

Why you ask?

Because you cannot see the stars.

Unnamed #2

You're born, and you're pure.

Seconds later, when your lungs activate properly and you start crying, that's it. Game over. It's all downhill from there buddy.

You live your life, you experience good times, you experience bad times, it's called life.

Sometimes the bad times are more than the good ones and at those moments you tell yourself life sucks. Sometimes it's the other way around and you're happy, but I don't believe either state can stick around forever.

So eventually if the bad times get too much, you've suddenly had enough of this sucky life and you decide you'll start anew.

You'll remove your past.
You might find completely new friends, the old ones connect you to you.
You might move away, you don't need that old place anymore.
You might start new hobbies, the old ones never worked out okay anyway.
You might find new interests, you've had enough of these old ones.
You might start listening to new music, the old one was nothing special.
You might buy new clothing, fashion changes everyday.
You might delete all your Facebook pictures, you don't need them anymore you're a new you afterall.

And then you say "Voila."

But you can't start anew. That's the thing about the past, it's your past. You can't ignore it. It is your life. It is your experiences. They leave scars in different forms and shapes. Mental, emotional, physical, psychological. You are not your scars, but they definitely helped make what you are now. No matter what or how much you change, a part of you will always be affected by these scars, by your deleted Facebook pictures, by your old clothing, by your old music, by your old interests, by your old hobbies, by your old town, by your old friends... by your past.

Your life is like a blank sheet of white paper, pure. Then you start writing on it, and the ink makes it impure. But the ink also gives it life. The ink cannot be erased. But the more you write the less important the first few words seem, but they will always be there.

In the end, you are you.

Real Men Love Cats

So after my wonderfull morning wake up call (look at previous blog post for details) I decided to go outside and take a walk during the day for a change.

I put on my favorite t-shirt (look at the title to see what's written on it), put the earbuds in my ears and departed.

I remembered seeing a small coffee house downtown that promised on they windowsill having the best coffee in Ocean City. If you follow this blog you'd have noticed that every time I use the word "coffee" in a post it is usually after the word "sucky" or "shitty". That would be caused by the fact that so far all the coffee I've had since arriving in the <i> wonderful </i> US has been falling in one of the two categories - sucky or shitty. So I was pretty excited about trying this new, hopefully good, coffee.

A brisk 30 minute walk later (I had to make a detour and get cigarettes) I was in front of the coffee shop. A thin elderly woman stood there cutting some sort of baked goods. I asked her about the coffee and she informed me where I can get cups, lids, milk and the actual coffee. The tiny cozy coffee house offered several variates, and I asked which are the strongest ones. The lady kindly pointed them out and told me which one she likes best. I chose the second strongest one and filled a large 16 oz cup with it. She offered me some milky ingredient and then I took a sip.

It wasn't shitty.

It wasn't sucky either.

It wasn't good.

It was great coffee.

It was the best coffee I've had since I arrived in the US.

It was better than most Bulgarian coffees I've had.

The lady kindly even gave me a discount as I work here in Ocean City, and I proceeded to buy a brownie as well.

Fuck, the brownie was awesome too!

I went outside found a nice shady place and sat there. I put on whatever Bulgarian music I had in my phone, looked at the ocean and while I was drinking the nice coffee, nomming the awesome brownie and smoking the cheap cigarette I pretended I was back home, looking at the sea. The water was too clear, it was too clean around me, and the benches were too not-broken, but it sort of worked out.

After that I proceeded and visited an art gallery, the only one I know of in Ocean City, and they had some awesome stuff. Lots of posters, lots of paintings, lots of pictures, a ridiculous amount of variety. I ought to take some pictures and share them with you guys.

Tomorrow morning I'm putting on this t-shirt again, I'm gonna visit the same coffee house, and I'm even gonna leave something in the tip jar, cuz damn finally I know where I can find good coffee. This is one of the best things that have happened so far and it made this one of the better mornings since I am in this place.

Thanks for reading.

Taking a shit in the USA.

This post is dedicated to my brother, Stefko Stefkov, and to his immense love of all rear-end related activities.

Wake up.

Drink shitty coffee.

Smoke a shitty cigarette.

Even here, the effect is the same.

You gotta take a shit.

And you finally think. Oh yes, finally something that is the same as it was back home, the morning shit after the cig and coffee.

But it isn't.

You go to the can. You do your business and even from that moment things are different.

Why?

Because the food is different, so your shit is different, and your shitting is different. It doesn't matter if it's better or worse. I'm Bulgarian, therefore home made stuff is the best, and this ain't no home made shit. It's an American shit. It's freedom fighting shit. If it could vote, it'd vote republican. Your shit has the right to free speech, unobstructed by the government. You know what it would say if it could speak. It'd say "Shit." And then the American Anthem would play as BGM, and a huge American flag would descent to be the background to your freedom fighting shit.

Your shit, can carry a firearm. Second amendment bitch. Your shit believies that because it can carry around a gun, it is safer than other shit. It's not. You still gonna flush it.

But before you flush it, you gotta wipe your ass. And that is a whole different story as well. Why? Because the toilet paper is different...

You go to ANY supermarket back home, you're gonna have the freedom to choose between a minimum of 10 different scents of toilet paper. Here, in the land of the free, you have one common scent. Toilet paper scent. Very difficult to encounter the other types, you have to go to specialty shops to look for that scented motherfucker.

You wipe your ass in Bulgaria, your ass can smell like sea breeze, or like wild fruits, or like daisies, or roses, or lilies, or a bouquet of different flowers. It can smell mountain fresh, hell it can smell like a garden, which you'd think is the same as the flowers, but no, we've got so many different scents we run out of names. Your ass can smell like the wind, like mint, probably like a bakery, I don't know, I'm no toilet paper expert. Fuck Pocahontas and her "Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?" What about you Pocahontas? Can you wipe your ass with all the colors of the rainbow, cuz I sure can't here in the land of the wild and free, but my Bulgarian residents can. And they can do it in a range from 1 to much as much as 8 layers of recycled or non-recycled toilet paper.

But here... here your ass is gonna smell like only one thing. America.

PS: The toilets also flush differently.

Dealing with invaders.

You may be disappointed to read that, I have killed neither an idiotic roommate, nor any other type of human being... so far.

I have however murdered brutally, by drowning mostly, about 30 flies. I hate flies now, I presume they hate me too.

Here in Ocean City, as in any other place during the summer flies appear, and they are annoying as little kid not getting what it wants and a toy store. I made fly traps with maple syrup and peanut butter, I have tried squashing them, chasing them with smoke, cursing them, nothing worked (oh what a surprise). Until, I discovered I am quite good at killing them with an empty peanut butter jar.

Approach the fly, trap in the jar with a swift movement, then proceed to fill it with water and watch the little fucker drown. So far, despite my best efforts the fucking door to the apartment still remains open from time to time, thanks to the aforementioned idiotic roommates. And as one would figure more things enter the "home". So far I have had to kill, remove from the premises, or chase away the following:

2 cockraches
1 garden spider
1 cricket
30+ flies
3 moths
indefinite amount of other flying miniscule easy to kill flying critters and ants
1 drunk African American

Still the question remains, is it that hard to close the fucking door...
Thanks for reading.

Edit: Make that 3 cockroaches

Taking a walk at 3am.

So as the title suggests I took a walk at 3am, which back home would be just 03:00 but apparently this here is called military time, and military time is a no-no.

On my walk four interesting, and that's stretching the term a lot, things happened.

1 - I was asked if I was an undercover cop.
2 - I found a cigarette, with a nice minty taste which I smoked.
3 - I met two girls, also work and travel students. The first was taking care of the other, holding her hair and massaging her back as her friend was throwing up big yellow chunks. As she was doing that the "caring" friend informed me it was a cheeseburger. They had apparently been here for only two days and it was a very nice place.
4 - I met a group of three - Evan (19), Christine (17) and tank-top-guy (also 17). They said they are here for senior week, a vacation week that takes place after graduation, and usually all the teens from the close-by places gather and party in the same places. Evan had girl problems and was trying to text the girl with whom he had these said problems with. Christine was trying to take his phone away. Tank-top-guy was smiling like an idiot.

The thing is though, Evan was surprised we don't have Big Red chewing gum back in Bulgaria, so he told me to meet him at 4:30pm (16:30) on 3rd street tomorrow and he'd give me a few packs. I said okay.

In 12:24 hours from now I'll be 6 streets away, awaiting Evan and his drunken promise.

Edit: I never got that gum.

On quitting your job, when the boss is an asshat.

Last Tuesday, the 10th of June 2014, I quit my job at Buenovita Pizzeria. I was told to come and collect my paycheck on Saturday, or even Sunday by my supervisor, as they would be busy on Friday, the regular paycheck day, and it will be more comfortable to collect it a day or two later. Today, Sunday, the 15 of June 2014 my boss refused to give me my paycheck and told me to return next Friday as "payday is on Friday."

Disregarding almost all of the douche-y comments that preceded the refusal for me to be given my paycheck, and disregarding the fact that that violates Maryland law (Md. Lab & Emp. Code Ann. 3-505), there was one thing that really ticked me off. He said that I didn't even say I'm sorry.

Well, Khachatur Martikyan (Khaichek)
I am so terribly sorry that you are a complete asshole.
I am so terribly sorry that you have a pole stuck up so far your rear that you have to tell your employees that you want to be friends.
I am so terribly sorry that you are in complete violation of Maryland law when you aren't giving me my paycheck.
I am so terribly sorry that I may or may not have left something in your food.
I am so terribly sorry that I had to watch how you treated that other guy who came to collect his final paycheck as well.
And I am so terribly sorry that I worked for you, you miserable great big bag of moronic shit.

Fuck you Khaichek.

( Md. Lab. & Emp. Code Ann. § 3-505)

( Md. Lab. & Emp. Code Ann. § 3-505)

Writings from before 06:00

One night a week or so ago, I woke up, cold sweat all over me, I took a shower and then scared out of my mind I sat down and wrote down a story. This is what I basically wrote down, thought I'd share it with you:

I wake up in the middle of the night.
People are sleeping all around me so I sneak out of the common room. Go pass the guy sleeping on the couch, enter the kitchen, pass the oven, open the fridge.
2 eggs, 3 sodas.
Need to go shopping.
I get a soda, go pass the oven, out of the kitchen, and into the bathroom.
I take a shower.
I put on a towel and get out.
Person sleeping on the couch, oven, fridge.
Then I go back to the oven.
34 minutes until 7:00.
Oven's clock is busted again.
I go to the fridge again.
2 eggs, 3 sodas.
Need to go shopping.
Out of the Kitchen, pass the couch...
How many minutes are in an hour?
I open the common room door.
There aren't 100 minutes in an hour.
People are sleeping all around me.
Why was the clock working as though there were 100 minutes in an hour.
34 minutes until 7:00.
I look all around me
There are people asleep in every bed.
Every bed.
I look at my own bed.
I'm still there.
I run out of the common room, pass the thing on the couch.
Then I stop and look back at it.
It's time it says.
Okay I say.
I didn't wake up in the middle of the night.

Original Facebook entries #6

USA.

The coffee here sucks. Sucks a lot, their normal coffee tastes like water, their strong coffee tastes like shit, which means that I have to put in the appropriate shit load of milk and sugar to make it taste like tasty shit. And to top it all someone drank all my shitty coffee.

Original Facebook entries #5

A week ago, I watched for 10 minutes how a fat woman was putting flip-flops on another even fatter woman's feet because the second one was too fat to lean down and put them on herself. It was sad to watch.