Rrrarr (with emphasis)

I don't exactly write openly and addressing the grand population of those Internets on the topic of my personal life or feelings, or whatever they're called. To tell the truth (you're welcome), I'm still working actively on opening up more even to my friends in what concerns such emotional bonanzas (and my apologies – I've been working my way through all seasons of Deadwood recently, and thus, terms similar to "bonanza" and "cocksucker" might surface more frequently in my babblings). That said, take this as a rare largesse.

I'm angry. Feistily angry inside. And not only inside, I suppose, but also displayed through glares more genuine than the usual Northeast-European street expression, and a tightly-clenched jaw. It's injustice that causes the boiling. Injustice in many forms, on numerous levels, injustice both direct and witnessed.  The inability to be able to give a swift, decisive resolution to the many of them. Possibly the most egregious injustice of them all – an inability to set things right. When acceptance of this comes about is another question. I may be Pisces (kalad) nearly across the board, but my Moon (kuu) is in 0 degrees Scorpio. Whatever that means.

One thing does help – a resounding pirate's yarrrr. And the Miles Davis spiraling though the air at the café, where I type this, staring out across the expanse of consumer catalysm and escalating stairways. It'll have to suffice for now.

Bonanza.

Edasi, вперёд (the only way to go)...

In the woodwork.

It's quite a sight to see the gradual creep of Greater Europe into the oddity that is Eesti, regardless of the party accountable for the phenomenon's landing and clearance of customs. These thoughts just spiraling up and around while sipping a new Estonian craft beer (a topic I am sure that I will cover at greater length very, very soon, and under the influence of very, very many of them) while being the lone occupant of a new bar in full Scandinavian-interior-decorating glory, transplanted into the unlikely and titillating context of a former (semi-former?) Soviet industrial complex. Gray bricks, fresh snow and barren trees on the outside, lampshadeless hanging retro bulbs and birch floors on the inside. Seeing as how Estonians claim (rightfully) their right to the fruits of Nordic lineage, the only truly surprising element is the question – how has it taken so long for Scandinavian design and delicious beers to take their own rightful throne here across the gulf from Suomi, and why have "outsiders" been the ultimate bearers of it?


Tradition, I suppose.

Good enough for me.

Edasi, вперёд..

Be as it may.

Walking past a lamppost, one
       shadow
            chases another
for a moment

(fall – sügis  – осень 2012)

What goes around..

You know what? A rare treat. That's what. And nothing else. So don't ask for anything else. Alright, you can ask. Go ahead. I'm waiting.

Fine. The treat – me writing on a subject that concerns day-to-day life in this ice-encrusted corner of the world called Eesti! Might even make it into a habit. I'll leave it open to supposition.. been a while since supposition has had a good airing-out, and best to keep everyone on their toes. Or heels. Not on their arches. I don't have any, and if that makes me racist, then so be it. Flat-footers will prevail.

Today – public transport. I suppose one of those multiple reasons that keeps to the shadows for why I vote for the majority of Europe over the US in terms of public services. I do admit that the only real brushes I've had with public transport in the States has been the wonder of mankind that is Metro Transit (far less shudderific than Chicago, and the nicest bus drivers in all of the world.. is that the spring of Minnesota Nice?), a small sampling of Chi-town's smelly/greasy/don't-want-to-think-about-what-I'm-touching-or-breathing-or-who's-been-touching-and-breathing-on-me, and a failure of a bus and train in NYC. Thus, I refrain from declaring myself an expert from the rooftops. Also, I don't have roof access in this café. The owner is nice, but it's also a four- or five-storey building, and I'd rather not leave my double stout alone. There is a play corner, I guess.. but I'm a jealous bastard, and don't want that stout making friends with anyone but my gullet. As I was saying.

Even though the Minnesota Nice is brimming in the Metro Transit system (and who can forget the UMN Campus Shuttle driver, who would blast jazz over the speakers and sing along?), bus' timing is horrible. Light rail as well. Especially given the frigid temperatures that grace our great Northern Star, even the sparser routes could run every ten minutes or so. And stops? Please, obesity supporters. A stop on every block is not in the Constitution. Nor should it ever be. Walking three, or even four blocks to the closest bus or light rail stop will not cause a spike in heart attacks. In anything, it will cause a spike in fit-ab attacks. Fabacks, if you will. And the whole system of letting in one person at a time from the front door... yes, money is guaranteed, but when you have a line of ten people or more wanting to enter through the same door, not even swiping a card over a sensor can be just to the other waiting passengers.

I made that mistake a few years back when traversing the city in order to make it to a friend's house, and from there on to the majestic wedding of the illustrious couple Shannon and Stuart Gates (which Thor even graced with tornado warnings and lightning), by expecting to get from South Minneapolis to past Como area in an hour and a half. Haha, the naïveness of a customer long forgotten in the ways of any buses not being the 16 or 3A/B coming from Stadium Village to Cedar Ave. I made it from Diamond Lake Rd. to downtown in an hour, and had to frantically cab it from there. Lesson learned.

Now, I'm not saying that Tallinn's transportation system is perfect, or anywhere close to that, or better than others of its kind in Europe. I do miss having bike racks on the front of buses in Minneapolis – that is a device more brilliant than locals can imagine. Here, I was even thrown off of a bus one time (i.e. the driver refused to leave the stop until I got off) because in midwinter, I tried bringing my bike, the frame of which was split in half and had been inside of my apartment and subject to my grieving for months, onto the said public transport vehicle. Bikes not allowed on buses, the explanation being officially that they could "dirty" the floor. I'm sure half of the residents of Kopli (only half – there are some fantastic folk on the end of the peninsula) do much worse.

On the other hand, however, it is hard to find a bus that does not run on at least 15-minute intervals. Oh, and there aren't only buses. We have trams. And trolleys. Trams run about every five minutes during the day, on two separate lines. Electric fuel over diesel.. that's a win. Not looking, of course, at the proportion of energy produced using oil shale in the country... but we do have our share of wind turbines. Secondly, all doors open when the given vehicle comes to a full and complete stop. Enter and exit as you please, just curse the faux cops that board every once in a while to check tickets and delay your trip. Even before now, where we have free public transport (an issue I'd best discuss in a different post entirely, given the political circumstances surrounding it..), a passenger was able to purchase a one-hour (or one-day) ticket on his or her mobile phone, which would validate in a two-minute period (another angry post should come on that topic later... first-world problems, regardless).

With the advent of said free public transport, however, I've developed an inner conflict. I want to use/misuse/whatever the system as much as possible. And I do, to a certain extent. However, I was just in the height of enjoying my lack of a need to use the functional transport system. Namely, I live a good eight-minute walk away from Vanalinn (the Old Town). It's winter and I've been strapped for hours and hours to my laptop daily (take this very minute, for example), so movement is a must. When it's not possible to strap on skates or skis for traversing the sidewalks, my 5-ton Swedish army bike takes me from point A to point farthest-western-point-of-the-country, or wherever else I'm headed. In short, public transport challenges my laziness.

I love the fact that this is an issue. It's something, towards which every functional urban city should strive.

Edasi, вперёд...

Literally literal

Working as a translator, words are at the absolute center (centre, if the customer desires the Queen's English) of my day-to-day-to-day-to-day life. The variable lodged in all of this concerns the medium of the given words. In my case, obviously, this is written. Oh fate, you fickle fragglerocker. I am literate (and damn proud of it), and my level of literacy has improved incredibly since becoming involved in the translation field. Thankfully.

That said (written)...

Well, point in case. All of my words, the massive imperial portion of them, are written, not spoken. This is odd for me, to put it lightly. Not simply unaccustomed, but focusing on the lesser side of my nature. True, it has resulted in self-improvement, in honing a less-developed skill, even in high self-satisfaction. And yet, it fails to fulfill the entirety of me. Spoken word, I've discovered, is of lofty and irreplaceable importance and cruciality for me. My career, which I love, is fundamentally different in its nature. Go figure. Love is a bitch – good call, whoever coined that one.. And Alanis, I think this is that irony you were searching for. You have my permission to use it in Bitter Pill Vol. 2.

And it pains me that the most accessible and convenient opportunity for conversing with the familyfriends dearest to me in MN and elsewhere is ultimately through writing as well. That the most accessible and convenient way to express myself is precisely what I am doing at this very moment – typing it out, casting it into the boundless netherworld of my age-old and somewhat dusty blog. Even with the fantastic possibilities bequeathed by Skype and Google for having that verbal and visual contact.. it's different from the face-to-face proximity, the verbal resonance through air waves and not sound waves or waves of other varying composition.

So that's my eloquent excuse for not updating this as often as I so much as would like to. It's the medium. And I just want to get a beer with you, Minneapolis. Grab a growler and sit by the river, talk of times and travels and translucent trapezoids with tantalizing THB trannies. Alright, that got a bit out of hand. But what else would you expect?

Edasi, вперёд..

Arrival. Saabumine.

Two weeks. Then it began. Don't get me wrong – Minneapolis is and will always be home. It's a whirlwind ride of fun and love from friends-family every time I'm here, all of the time. The genuine desire to get by pleasantly, 'Minnesota nice', is astounding. However, there's something else beckoning from its native elsewhere. A siren from across the sea, but one that can be touched, and – as far as I know – doesn't lead you to jagged cliffs. Eesti is now home in the first sense, for good – the place to settle down. Home from which to journey, from which to recurrently return.

I wrote those lines after two weeks had passed in Minneapolis. Now, closing in on a month of being back home, I know and warmly embrace that it is truth in the most elementary state. The Higgs boson of the soul. December will mark five years since coming to the place that has somehow always been home, my destination. Paths in life. Wisconsin, Minnesota, Eesti. Home. Kodu. Finding peace. Complete sentences aren't called for.

Hummer

When you decide 

that your life is a prize

 Renew and revive

It's alright honey

It's alright, yeah

[...]

Ask yourself a question

Anyone but me

I ain't free

 (So they might not be my lyrics (they're not), but they go well with a picture snapped from a kayak somewhere center of the Bay of Tallinn in a sea whipped up into confusion, and capture life to the quick. Well done, B.C.)

Edasi.. 

Intricate

Pen to paper. Fingers to keyboard. Make it faster, easier, no – don't think. That's not part of the process. Doing is the process. Doing is doing. There we go, much better. Now it's faster. Doing. Simpler. Why take hassle? Something wrong with that, some-... ooh, no. Don't look back. That's back there. Not there. Here, no, wait – there there. That's it. So what are you waiting for?

(At least that's over with. Right?)

Sssshh – turn off, now.

Edasi...

I think I ate a thinking cap.

There are places to live, and places to be. I've never been the best at being able to tell the difference. Assuming that there is a definite, definitive answer to that question. Doubtful, as most things. Like bagged dairy products. Why, Eesti, why?

In any case, the question is ever-expanding. Each new place that is visited presents itself as a possible place for further visits, for inhabitation, or for staying the fuck clear of which. Minneapolis, Minnesota overall is a place to live. Estonia in general is a place to live. Tallinn is definitely livable. Russia... visits with long intermediate periods for recovery and restoring your faith in humanity. Sweden, Finland, and other countries along the Baltic are places to visit, but short trial living periods is a fun fantasy. Can I call that a "funtasy"? Sounds dirty enough. I think I will.

And then things become more complicated, like playing Scrabble with a person that is overly intelligent and insufficiently intoxicated (despite your continued attempts to spike his or her drink with increasing potency, enough to flip the balance of their blood-alcohol ratio and make them inhumanly immune to any diseases). Haapsalu, or Hiiumaa, for example. Those places within generally livable Eesti also appear to be well worthy of residence and a round of free beer. Unless you try something, you never know, and will probably regret it later if you don't, and will spend the majority of your week drowning your self-doubt in Smirnoff Ice and cocoa-cream-filled cookies. I know, sounds like a blast.

So, what the hell? Oh, right – complications and the realities of having and building a life. Trends towards lesser mobility (i.e. nesting, or whatever it's called) get in the f'ng way of greater mobility (which, I should mention, is what makes my USB 3G Internet stick (netipulk) my new favorite inanimate pet). I, for example, now own a refrigerator. It is quiet, energy-efficient, and I spent a hell of a long hour successfully switching the side, from which it opens.

Then, there are people. As I mentioned earlier, Minneapolis is a place to live. The people there are nearly without exception the most open, friendly, loyal, funny, ridiculous, and fantasticulous that I have met in the world (where I've been, by the way). Moving away from that was, and still is no easy thing. Visits back are one thing, but the ability to just be there with and for those cherished, gooey-love-vomit friends.. yeah, that be another.

Had I the fiscal resources and more mobility (which is generally achieved through the presence of said monetary bling), I'd likely rove extensively. With more fixed destinations, constant returns to certain locations, and undetermined periods of time for each.. all depending on the trade winds of my soul (yeah, man, you know? Like.. yeah..). There are people that I love in Minnesota, in Tallinn, and elsewhere, and physical proximity is a must for.. well, for all of them, but how to elevate one above others? What right and what basis do I have for that? And what about the other possible livables, which always hold possibilities for as-yet undeveloped facets of living? And question mark, question mark – question? Mark? Whenever at a loss, the answer is five. Always. Make the answer form and redefine the question to your whims. Suck it, Trebeck.

Suppose it's precariously organizing a list of places to live and places to be, which constantly enriches and complicates life. Could be worse.

Next up: a rambling (roving?) recount of 300 kilometers by bike with Tuuliki to and entirely around stunning and majorly badass Hiiumaa. It's going to blow your mind, so get nice and liquored up for the read. Also set some coffee brewing, because you'll probably pass out halfway through it, and will need a pick-me-up when you finally scoop your face off of the monitor. That's my style.

FUNTASY.

Edasi..

Straight from the top

Heading out on one of the most day-rich camping trips I've had in a while... goes a little something like this:

Train to Vasalemma – bike around halfway to Haapsalu, or wherever the legs give out – pop a tent (not in front of a cousin) – work in said tent in the morning, bike to and past Haapsalu – ferry to Hiiumaa – ring around the island for a couple days.

My trusted 9-year-old Nalgene is full to the brim, and this tune's doing the rounds through my brainwaves:

More to come. Much more.

Edasi..

Haven't forgotten this place. Just reaffirmation. Don't we all need a bit?

Tee ees - the road ahead

Realizations shape life, shape the path. Show you how far off you may have been.. show you where you're headed. Where the õige things and people stand. The air is clearer here, the light more defined. The energy unreal, and more real than can ever be imagined.

True as ever -

Edasi..

Ots - point - geahči

I've realized that I am uneasy, sometimes exasperated with "points". Call them the peaks and valleys, a snapping point or 30-point bucks.. they instill a bit of doubt. Am I putting in enough effort to re-route or maintain the direction of things? Is it all just cycling and therefore I need not worry about effort? Obviously when things are at a higher point or a peak, it feels like the right time to allow things to soar as they will, to not overextend my efforts so as to not be an obstacle to natural growth or inadvertently re-route the momentum of the moment. When they are lower, down in a sort of rut, then there is that feeling of inadequate exertion in an opaque cocktail with the glimmering suspect that a turn-around is straight ahead. You never really know whether you are just running against a wall until you either break through or stumble across it. How much of that are you responsible for? Not running means a static state, which in principle leads nowhere. Though I wonder what can be found in 'nowhere'..

Head down and shoulders locked or shake it off and face the sky?

Simply searching for the arc. Best place to look is straight ahead, I suppose.

Edasi..

Rmmffhfhfh.

I don't often read horoscopes. Specifically, only when I have the urge to scan the gems written by The Onion or when I get a free month-long newspaper subscription and the only rival to horoscopes on the back page is the weather report. Today's bit of "cosmic wisdom" caught my eye and my eyebrows.

Kuula sisehäält, kuna see võib lausa karjuda.

Listen to your inner voice, as it might outright shout.

Tähed räägivad tõtt - the stars speak the truth. Whether it is the alignment of the planets, slowly rising temperatures and increasing daylight, mild lactose intolerance or simply the confluence of all things life.. that inner voice is making a racket as of late. What language it speaks, however, often escapes me.

Edasi..

Keeleelamine

Nii.

I just heard an incredibly intriguing tale about late Eesti President Lennart Meri tonight, and felt I should lock it down in visible, re-audible form for later times.

Härra Meri was once on an ethnographic trip to film Finno-Ugric doings amongst the Nganassaani prior to Eesti re-gaining independence (on a side note - definitely check out Lõhmus' film "Tantsud Linnuteele. Pildistusi Lennart Meri filmirännakutelt" when the opportunity arises). Obviously this meant it was Soviet times, and - not much differently from the norm amongst more eastern-centered Finno-Ugric peoples today - Russian was the language used for bridging linguistic streams. After paddling upstream with the crew and local Nganassaani to their camp to film a bear ritual, docking and unloading and such, Meri pulled one of the other Estonians on the trip aside and said "Come over here and let's speak in our own language for ten minutes." Eesti keeles, eks ole. "Ten minutes?" the guy asked. Meri nodded. So they sat on the bank of the river, amongst the bustle and after having felt a bit of resistance and slight hostility from the Nganassaani ("Why should we work for you?" I think was a rough translation of the phrase used prior to launch), and started chatting about the world in straight, lilting and üliilus eesti keeles. After a few minutes, one of the younger Nganassaani came up to them and asked, "What are you saying? I don't understand." Meri answered, "We're speaking our own language." The Nganassaani chap cocked his head and stared at them in more-than-slight bewilderment for a while, listening to the language.. hearing the sound and the rhythm, the deep similarities with his own. Afterwards, intertwining the group with the Nganassaani began to picked up pace and depth.

The words "Russian", "stranger/other" ("võõras") and "enemy" all share one common set of letters in Nganassaani - their word for "Russian". Once the people determined and took to heart the fact that eestlased (Estonians) were neither the first nor the third, the second was soon to fall and the understanding that there was a deeper bond came forth. Soome-ugri - Finno-Ugric.

Speak your language, no matter how "small" or whether anyone around you comprehends. It opens up its own worlds..

Räägi.

Edasi..

Juovllat, šnaps, lumi and cheer. The slow unwind.

Ohh, holidays. The redefining of such occasions with age is indeed a thing of wonder. Some of the 'magical' properties, winds filled with the mysterious change in public attitude and excitement, do abate somewhat.. however other pleasant aspects erupt in their place. All the more reason why some people despise widely-celebrated holidays .. obligations sometimes pop up and seem to fully rob the days of this deserved, almost human right of a calm, self-pleasing spirit. If such mandatory indentured hours can be avoided, though.. well hot damn, it can be doused right back in the adult version of a magical time.

Today, for example, has been fantastic so far. Woke up rested around ten o'clock, had some tea and a cinnamon roll, lit the lights on the jõulupuu / ёлка / Christmas tree, put on some music to fit the season, hit up the shop for hõõgvein / glögg, verivorstid / blood sausages, piparkoogid / gingerbread and some proper winter porter, came back to sit and read for a bit with coffee, and am now heading out with my suusad / sabet / skis for a bit of biting cold air, then back for indulging in the hõõgvein and just generally .. enjoying the holiday just as it means by definition. Slowing everything down about forty notches, enjoying the holiday greetings from here and there - from deeply missed friends afar, and letting every molecule in my body simply take some time off from the rampaging rush that is the other side of 'progress'.

So more on that quite soon, and in the meantime - häid pühi, happy holidays to all. Just take a breath and smile.

Edasi, вперёд..

Hereandthereandhereand.. - Siinjasealjasiinja..

.........so now a day later (don't mind the time stamps, like I mentioned - this takes time), I feel I'd like to go off more on the expat topic.

I had forgotten. It sounds quite romantic and mysterious, though the truth is - I did. Part of this was planned, of course. I feel that I never really was an expat until about eight month ago (give or take). The method in which I wanted to dive into eesti keel required this status to be waived .. at least my realization of the status. After I moved here, I refused more and more often to speak in any language other than eesti keel or русский язык. Not the easiest way to make friends, contacts or rapid progress in linguistic proficiency, but effective nonetheless. Essential.

Along with comfort at how proficiency was progressing came an easing of aversion to anything English. Mind you, a lot of this is internal now (and welcome!); however I at least allowed myself to associate more with fellow expats.. even though it took a while for the 'fellow' identity to set in! I read a fantastic article written by another US-born nomad upon being back on that side of the ocean (albeit temporarily -- I still remember the first times I experienced those blips of life between plane tickets!).

One of the comments on the blog post contained an amazing quote, along with a similarly insightful reply from the author herself:

"Forever lost no matter our location" - I feel like I've

retained "otherness" even in coming home.

This is for good, for real, deep down, on like prawn. Embracing your instilled expat identity dispels all boundaries. Minneapolis I love, yet there is a constant yearning to be here when I am there.. all the same, when I am here I pine for Minneapolis, and Suomi, and Sverige, and Ísland and........ it is fantastic. Intoxicating and uplifting. Not merely a lifestyle, or a life, but a complex and indescribable identity in itself. I am not detached from any of the places, nor am I so deeply rooted that I can not survive - can not feel them and still enjoy and revel from afar.

If that all does not call for a beer, then.. well. It does.

Edasi, вперёд..

Embracing the expat within..

Well, as the fog rolls in and winter winks slyly, it seems only right to finally write a post that is actually meant to be informative.

Life in Eesti..

As I type this part of this post (given the fact it is supposed to be descriptive and understandable, composing it takes a bit of time!), I am sitting with soothing soft jazz and the constant flow of trickling water surrounding me in a café. One thing that seriously defines a country is its array of cafés.. I deeply miss the culture in Minneapolis: good music, provoking elements piecing together to become some corner Uptown espresso joint, interesting people coming through and living their lives as they live them alongside you - just a small table or couch away.. these atmospheres are impossible to replicate or transplant. I believe that some places of this type exist in the UK and various pockets in Western Europe, however they are surprisingly absent here. Even when I was in Suomi looking for a place to sit down with a book and some temporal calm existence, it was a bit difficult to track down somewhere outside swarms of tourists, non-corporate and not just a shack with an automatic Nescafe dispenser. Maybe my searches have been too short and too limited (I suspect this), as I have only done so during the course of tethered travel and time-space deadlines.

Eesti has a few positive locations that at least provide some elements of decent coffee-shoppery. Yet almost all of these are accompanied by some sort of disqualifier - for example, I'm currently enjoying my work day with upper-mid-priced coffee at the second-level café in Rahva Raamat bookstore.. located at the very top level of Viru Keskus shopping center with a great window booth seat overlooking the consumer orgy below and with a skylight above. Not bad, overall.. jazz is playing (as I said) and there is also an interesting fountain to the one side of the cafe (constant trickling fantasticness).. yet no free bathrooms. All in all, it is my favorite spot in Tallinn next to Kehrwieder locations.. however I technically work for those place and the customer flow there is much more active. In any case, all the above have much better results than usual attempts to 'branch out' a bit. I tried a small café that has always looked interesting, yet is directed towards the daily business crowd and is only open until 18:00. It was good to give it a try, I suppose.. and in doing so, find one of the few locations in downtown Tallinn that make you feel like you are at some rural bus stop between Moscow and St. Petersburg. Watery brown-ish Nescafe straight from a discount vending machine, music that will either make you want to down half a bottle of vodka or go postal after three minutes, and absolutely no character. The majority of other cafés here tend to bear elements of this or go to the exact opposite extreme -- über-classy and low quality with looks of scorn as you try to relax. A good number of cafés here tend to cross or try to smudge the line between coffee place and restaurant.. given, 'expert reviews' judge them on their kitchen as well and I know from violent experience (literally - an intoxicated pensioner swung a punch!) that clients expect there to be some sort of 'praad' - i.e. main dish. Makes sense that physical conflict should ensue if the establishment does not follow up on their 'obligation' to provide solutions for drunken munchies.

Müürikohvik in Haapsalu completes the top-three of places at which I am comfortable working or unwinding.. though given the multiple-hour bus ride required to hit up the location, I am sadly unable to frequent it often. Maybe it is just a lack of integration on my part - who am I to think that a café is not defined by its array of faux-Indian dishes, cognac menu and an atmosphere that is either prepping you to get back in your BMW or drink yourself slurry?

Cases such as these cause me to question levels of integration overall -- does the term entail living it and shutting up, or is there room for criticism in the process? For some reason, I am often in turmoil with the preconception that while still undergoing integration you really only have the right to openly and directly criticize certain elements after you understand why they function as such and after determining whether or not they are beneficial for the target society in question. I concur - the reason such conflicts exist is that the world is still chock full of diversity. This is a positive aspect, and even some things that may seem negative to the outsider or even to a lifelong member of the culture are still necessary for it remaining unique. Where does the line run between having arty cafés dotting the streets, filled with thinkers and conversationalists; and a monotone urban landscape void of geographic peculiarities? I suppose the only way to go at it is to give it a try -- however the former spots did themselves arise from a certain environment and it might be supposed that such corresponding cafés or whatnot should do the same in their own country. Progression vs. reform vs. renewal.. vs. a preserved form. Inspiration? It would be fantastic to open up some place combining all the things I would like personally in a cafe - Kehrwieder is actually a fantastic example of this, as a Canadian expat with Estonian roots and a life story encircling the globe succeeded in creating the type of Estonian café he always wanted to patron. Possibly some day and with some kind of capital and loads of freedom to keep up a somewhat nomadic existence.. that must be it. Integration is an individual process through and through, and each minuscule element is a personal decision, a determination of the level at which one floats or submerges. We nomads and cultural vagabonds are not merely aquatic or of land -- gills in some tidepools and wings above others.

Edasi, вперёд..

Influence - Mõju

Output is essential, though what falls under question is quality, form, means, motive. Motivation itself is quite the positive, propelled sort of output. Yet what then, if motivation is the purpose in itself? How do all these elements really interplay? The ends seems to be a thing of value, something of function and purpose in itself that will utterly lead to a further stage in this sloped progression. Motivation entails momentum, which is not a static thing, is not fixed. The two interplay to make for positivity, yet the presence of both is essential for real motion, for movement. Is it always the object that is a catalyst for inspiration? Does the energy flow outward, only giving the appearance that it is emanating from the actor, and is actually still quite reciprocal? Or is it possible to acquire this from another source, independent of the intended direction?

Indeed.

Edasi, вперёд..

Cloud exchange - arutelu pilvedega

The paradox of seasons is lovely in all its pauses and moments of furrowed brow. I already miss near-daily contact with the sea. Expression unleashed through spinning XX cm tires or tyres on pavement, on stone and grace to wherever that trifecto might lead. All the same, it takes a different and strangely communal alternate form now, in the time of wind, snow, golden red carpets spread past the horizon and a fulfilling promise of transition. Summer meditation is an exchange directly with loodus-luondu, encounters with mountains of moss and sea spray. Autumn brings a proposal to commit these thoughts to more visible, revisit-able form. Form in itself.

No harm done. Progression.

Edasi, вперёд..