Fuck. Spiders.

This post will not include any spider pictures as there is no way I'll ever actually go into Google, type in "spider" and then actually browse through a gallery of pictures to choose the best looking ones for this blog...

I don't like spiders.

I don't like 'em, because I'm shit scared of them.

I don't like 'em, because according to social construct (and to myself) I'm too old to be jumping away like a startled amphetamine driven rabbit at the sight of a bug that, albeit disgusting, cannot cause me any harm.

I don't like 'em, because those 8 legged motherfuckers are everywhere.

I don't like 'em, because I'm afraid...

This post can go many ways from here. It can dig deep into the modern human's psychological mind stuff - why do we not like things were afraid of? Why are we afraid of creepy crawlies? Are the things we do not like about ourselves, something we fear because of the way society is built? But fuck that existential shit, this post is about how fucking horrible spiders are.

That shit has 8 legs that are either as thin as my patience for homophobes or as thick as homophobes. For those unfamiliar with my views on homophobes - a different analogy. Them legs either creepy as shit cuz the thing is kinda like a tall skinny dude, but unmistakeably evil, or them legs are like of a stereotypical Russian in the eyes of western society - big, dangerous, hairy. Each one of those legs moves in a beautiful flowing motion, perfectly synchronized with the other 7, and that movement looks creepy as shit. And it's fast, but it is no way faster than the speed of shit being deposited into my pants upon visual contact.

Then there's the body. It can be so tiny that fucker looks like its just legs converging into a single point. Or... it can be as big as a motherfucking puppy. That thing sometimes has different parts, each creepier than the other. It can have more body hair than me (and trust me I have enough body hair for this analogy to make sense). It can have like a gazillion hell eyes on its front that just peer into your soul and you know if you could fucking see into that things soul (if it had a bloody soul) you'd see only one thing:

You'd see snickering. It'd mock you. It'd be like "Hello cunt. I am completely harmless, I can cause zero damage via physical force to you, but you know what... you still my bitch." And you are! You know it! If you're scared of spiders like I am, and I know many who are, you can be the toughest craziest motherfucker out there and you still gonna be this spider's bitch at least for a second before you kill it with your shoe or a sledgehammer (whichever you have at hand)...

Okay, that's all nice, but Ivo why are you telling us all this? Because Scotland is awesome, I have only seen like 5 spiders in total for a month, with one little exception when I literally saw the stuff of nightmares and now I'll tell you about it.

On my way to work one day I saw a big ass tree that looked very pretty. It was on the left side of the only road that leads through a forest to the house I work at. The light was shining through the branches and the leaves, slightly distorted bythe white fruit on the branches. And then I close in to take a  picture, cuz that tree was pretty, when I saw there was no such thing as white fruit on that tree. That was spider webs... Spider webs that formed big ass pouches... Pouches that were all around them tree branches... Pouches that were filled with thousands of spiders probably...

I walked away scared as shit. I said fuck about a million times on my way to the house. I looked around constantly like paranoid (because I was acting paranoid).

One tree, which I ran away from ain't that bad. I mean yeah it's nightmarish, but it ain't THAT bad... Only it wasn't one tree...

The next day I saw 4 more, for a total of 5 trees... And then the next day I saw maybe 10 trees just like that one varying in sizes and shit, but this time I had noticed that some of the old trees no longer had the pouches... Those fuckers must've popped open as there was no visible signs of someone smart coming in with a flame-thrower to clear them up.

And then one day, as I walked on that forest road, surrounded by spider infested trees I saw it. One of the trees still had it's pouches, only not all of them were white... The fuckers were starting to come out. There were so many. If they were bigger it would literally be just like in some of my nightmares. There were black patches of them fuckers on that tree and I knew I'm gonna die. I wasn't really gonna die, but I knew I was...

I ran full speed away from that.

Fuck. Spiders.

Pete The Spider

The fire cracks quieter and quieter as the piece of wood inside burns out. When it's just embers I go to the basket with the pinecone in front of it and pick up a new one. Open the glass door to the fireplace and position the new log on top of the burning embers. Close the door, slide the thing that opens up the air vents and make sure the wood catches fire. When it does, I slide the air vents back and get my ass back on the couch. 30 minutes left.

In 30 minutes I have to slowly make my way to the room in which Ben rests and check if he's asleep. If he's sleeping peacefully, I get my ass back on the couch for another hour, if not I turn him over from his left side to his back so he's comfortable.

Ben has a rare muscle degenerative disease and he's stuck to a wheelchair and basically can't move by himself properly. He needs someone to care for him and 2 nights a week that's my job.

I arrive at 20:00, make his bed, do whatever Ben needs done in the next 2 hours, like make him a cup of tea, help him with his weather station, or just chill and talk. Then around 22:00 I assist him with his medication, brush his teeth, wash his face and hands, prepare whatever clothes he wants for the day after, help him with the toilet and get him to bed.

Everything has to be done in a specific way. Just like with the fire there's a special procedure. A specific way to put the electric toothbrush in his hand and help him use it. A specific way to wash his hands. A specific way to prepare the water with which he drinks his pills. A specific way for... Everything.

And after he's asleep it's just me and Pete. Pete is a spider.

The Fetish Conundrum

So a few days ago me and a friend had an argument whether or not thigh high socks aka above the knee socks are a type of fetish. Now she and I had a very long discussion about it, she insisting that they are not, and me insisting that they are and that she is stupid. Now obviously I'm right, but why exactly am I right?

Okay so her argument was that they are not a fetish as they just make a hot girl, hotter. Basically thigh high socks were just something that enhances and are not hot themselves therefore are not a fetish.

Let's take this apart. What the fuck is a fetish:

Oxford Dictionary: A form of sexual desire in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, item of clothing, part of the body, etc.

Urban Dictionary: An object thought to have magical, especially magically sexual, powers.

Also Urban Dictionary: A sexual fixation or obsession with a usually non-sexual object. EX. socks, horses, monkeys, pain, bondage.

As you can see I am using the most reliable dictionaries in the world, the one originally made by some Oxford scholars who had nothing better to do and probably got so high one day they decided putting all the words in the English language in a big book is a brilliant idea. And an online dictionary ran by anyone who has internet connection which is an incredible feat of engineering and modern science and progress, and also happens to be full of  shit sometimes.

Anyway all three definitions agree that basically if you get turned on by something that isn't sexual, you have some sort of fetish towards it. Now of course that doesn't mean you magically pop a boner or you release the hoover dam in-between your legs every time your weird ass kidnaps a person in a video game and starts shooting them in the dick. What it means is that it can be sexual in the right circumstances. For instance, Dave may have a sunglasses fetish - he doesn't jizz all over himself when he sees his grandma's old sunglasses just laying on the nylon wrapped couch, he does so when he sees them on a pretty girl/boy playing with them in some fashion. Maybe he likes to see people lick the rims or whatever, idk what's the matter with you Dave you fucking perv.

Anyway my point is, a person has a fetish towards something that is not-sexual but that fetish activates in a situation that is sexual for that person. That's why people with sock fetishes can safely wear socks all day without poking the old ladies on the bus with their protruding throbbing schlongs.

Now we have an idea what a fetish is. So, are thigh high socks a fetish? Let's ask THE INTERNET! If I can locate enough porn on the internet involving thigh high socks, that's got to be a fetish. Because as we already know, socks by themselves are a non-sexual object, however if a non-sexual object enhances sexual gratification, that makes it a fetish. Lets Google some porn (and other links that prove I'm right).

WARNING SOME OF THESE ARE NSFW
ALSO SOME ARE 18+   so lock the door.

porn porn porn sort of porn
not porn gamers talking reddit
Japan news a fetish blog erotica
porn fuckboy forum porn
tumblr (still porn) tumblr hentai

If that ain't proof that it's a fetish I don't know what is... Let's not forget though, that basically anything can be a fetish, and most things are as there will always be someone out there who's into something weird, like Dave and his sunglasses. In this particular case with thigh high sock there are too many cases, so I can safely say that it is just a very common fetish, but a fetish nonetheless.

SO FUCK YOU I WAS RIGHT!

Maybe it's Just Me

There are very few deprived of emotion. For the rest, there is an abundance to choose from: love, hate, disgust, interest, abhorrence, fascination, dislike, excitement, amazement, pain, comfort, annoyance, sympathy and so many others. But we must also not forget that each one of those emotions and feelings have different magnitudes.

You can love your child and you can love chocolate.
You can hate stubbing your toe and you can hate someone who has hurt your close ones.
You can be in pain from a scratch or you can have your leg chopped off...

The thing is when we feel something we usually manage to trace it back to a basic emotion of sorts, at the very least we know whether we like it or not. However today I felt something new, something that I am incapable of putting into words and yet I'll try because I know that I must.

It's like an emotion in a dream. You think it's real, yet deep inside question its actuality. It confuses your being with its unfamiliarity.

I believe it is a feeling you get that requires someone special to you in a way different from any other person. And I don't mean regular special, I mean that sometimes you will look at this person and your mind will vibrate with the knowledge that the universe has altered space and time at some point to ensure their creation. You look at this person and sometimes you question either their humanity or your own, because you can't believe them to be a person just like you. Yet they are...

I'm not good enough of a writer to describe it. Were I painter, there'd not be enough colours to portray it. Were I a musician i would need so much more than sheet music and instrument...

And yet it is an emotion that yearns to be sang... It yearns to be painted... It yearns to be played... It yearns to be put into a mathematical formula... Anything as long as it can be represented... Which is why I am still writing.

And some of you will say it's love, but love is too wild, too passionate, too real and unmistakable. Love is scary and fleeting, real and old, but familiar... This was all in a single moment that echoed through my being, this was ultimate.

You know what maybe it's what you feel when you look so deep into someone's eyes you actually see their soul.

Maybe it's what Van Gogh felt as he looked at the sky and drew the dance of the stars in his Starry Night.

Maybe it's what Buddha felt when he achieved Nirvana.

Maybe it's what a person feels the moment he ODs on drugs.

Maybe it's what a person feels when they manage to look into the soul of the universe.

Maybe it's just me.

3 Hours of Night, 21 Hours of Morning

Recently I moved to Aberdeen, Scotland. Moving was shit I might write about it in the future if requested, but right now I refuse to. And now the weather.

I love Scotland. I love the weather. It's nice and cold. There's clouds all the time. No fucking direct sunlight to burn my retina. No heat waves to melt my being. It's cool (pun intended). However, during the summer there is no night. I don't mean like the North Pole, where the sun doesn't set for 6 months, I mean it tries to set, but it fails. It's a shitty excuse for a night.

I go home at 00:30 and it's still light outside. Yeah the sun technically speaking sets a bit after 22:00 but in reality it's still fucking light outside. Then the sun technically speaking rises at 04:00 so that should theoretically give you 6 hours of night, which is little, but it can still be regarded as night. Yeah... no.

It goes dark at 1 fucking AM. It goes light at 3 fucking AM. 2 hours is the shittiest excuse for night. That's not real night. That's like me playing basketball. I'm not really playing basketball, I'm throwing a ball, hoping it's gonna go through the circle thingy, making a fool of myself on purpose so that I hide the shame of my basketball related athletic incompetency...

"But sunshine is awesome!" "I love sunny Summers, why are you complaining?!" Okay lets say that I share your masochistic enjoyment of constant sunlight, and I was born with retina that didn't burn after looking at a light bulb for longer than 2 seconds. This is still Scotland bitch. There is no sunlight. There's clouds. It rains everyday. And I do mean everyday. When it's sunny (once every two weeks get a real proper sunny day) the locals get startled and confused. They call sick at work, so they may enjoy the day, hopefully go in their backyards and have a BBQ or something.

My point is, the day here, because of the constant clouds and shit, feels like morning. You know what I mean, maybe you're not certain, but trust me you know it. That colour the sky has, that feeling in the air right after sunrise. Kinda chilly, but not really. Kinda sunny, but sun is too low to feel proper. Yeah that feeling... All day long, aside from the 13:00 to 15:00 time period (if you're lucky).

I forgot where I was going with this when I started the post, it's just so... wrong...

If you're the type of person who gets up when it feels like it's morning outside you're fucked.
If you're the type of person who gets up when it feels like it's no longer morning outside you're fucked.
If you're the type... you get where I'm going with this.

Good thing is now I get to drink coffee all day long and it's somehow excused?

I really do like Scotland so far. It's awesome. Cheers.

Experiencing BDZ

This piece was originally written for my writing for media class so it is a little bit more formal than my usual style. There are no profanities, but I believe I have managed to convey my opinion about the Bulgarian Railways. Nevertheless had I been allowed to use offensive language I would have used plenty.

What are trains? According to the Merriam Webster a train is “a connected line of railroad cars with or without a locomotive” and nothing else. However, if you would come to Bulgaria you would see that the Bulgarian Railways (BDZ) disagree with Merriam Webster, and that they believe that the train, at least the Bulgarian train, is something more. Something that can leave you in awe, in amazement, more often it will leave you in disgust and shock as well. Something that cannot be put into words, but I shall attempt to do exactly that.

No matter if you’re a native, a tourist, just moving into Bulgaria, perhaps a pigeon, or even a stray dog, you will be passing through Sofia’s main train station if you plan on using BDZ as a form of transportation across the country or if perhaps you wish to catch dysentery or contract an STD. The journey begins at the entrance of Sofia train station, the smell however, begins a few meters away from that same entrance. The smell of banichkas (rich in oil traditional Bulgarian baked good) fills the air as well as certain smells that ought to be confined to the darker spots of men’s bathrooms in less known drinking facilities. Ah, but when you’re travelling with BDZ, everything is a dark spot of a men’s bathroom.

By the time you’re inside it’s too late to back down and you have to purchase a ticket from one of the many inconveniently positioned ticket booths. If you perhaps do not speak Bulgarian at least on a very basic level, you will be in a most uncomfortable position. To put it plainly, BDZ’s ticket booths are ill-equipped when it comes to understanding foreign languages, and the information desk happens to be in fact quite unhelpful and quite uninformative, as personal experience suggests. Thankfully the purchase of the ticket is not a complicated task and as long as you manage to pronounce the name of the location towards which you are headed all ought to work out with the assistance of hand gesturing and polite smiling. Of course the polite smiling comes from the one trying to purchase the ticket and not the ticket seller. BDZ is funded by the government, therefore all jobs are government jobs and as it is a well-known fact, people who work for the government do in fact never smile. On to boarding the train itself.

If you successfully manage to locate the designated locomotive form of transport, it is time to climb aboard. Fair warning, most of the Bulgarian train carts and coaches are from the time before communism ends in Bulgaria. This does not mean that the passenger cars are vintage, it means that they are old and very well abused. Naturally on none of the train carts will a passenger find a properly working heating system or a window that actually opens and stays open. If it is winter outside and you’re freezing on your journey across the country, there is a chance that you will warm up as Bulgarian trains tend to catch on fire from time to time.

You can encounter all sorts of creatures which cannot be met anywhere else besides during the BDZ experience. These include but are not limited to: large old ladies who managed to take anywhere from two to three seats depending on their sitting position, impressively intoxicated people who manage to take anywhere from two seats to the floor of the cabin, Roma people eating so much garlic that one might think they are trying to ward off vampires as well as anything else that has a sense of smell.

Boyana Yordanova, 21, sophomore at the American University in Bulgaria, is a person who has experienced a wide variety of what BDZ has to offer. Her most memorable encounter is the one with “Grandma Stanka, who will tell you everything about her grandkids, and all about the chickens and all about the impotent rooster.” On her last journey she met a homeless man, who had taken an unknown amount of drugs before boarding and explained to her how the snowflakes were aliens trying to steal her brain. During her more boring trips she shares that she either gets to sit near people with smelly socks or smelly mouths, the credit going to the aforementioned garlic.

Perhaps you’re an adrenaline junky and you’re looking for something even more extreme. If that is the case then you ought to be referred to one of the two bathroom facilities that are located on each end of the passenger train cart. Do keep in mind that this truly is an exotic and extreme experience, as it could even prove to be a once in a lifetime event as there is the danger of infection. Point of advice, stay clear of all surfaces, especially those covered in layers of stuff which supposedly originated from a biological source.

Not everyone is displeased with BDZ, it does have its perks. Shane Wallace, professor at Galveston College, who used to live and work in Bulgaria loved to ride the Bulgarian trains. As he says “Bulgaria is unbelievably scenic and there are many amazing views that one can only see and truly appreciate through the windows of a train”, he does however concur that the state in which the trains are is “extreme disrepair,” He further agrees that “the amenities are bare bones, and often unsafe.”

There are many more reasons as to why one would travel with BDZ, but the biggest advantage, aside from the scenery and the memories that shall forever be burned into the cerebral cortex of your brain, is the price. The tickets are as cheap as are the people who maintain the Bulgarian Railways. So if you have an adventurous spirit, like to enjoy a good view from your window and wish to save a few levs in your wallet, but also risk getting it stolen, BDZ is for you.