the 1:39am post

Tonight we finished concert 13. And it was lovely.

Now then.
I can honest to God say, I'm extremely tired.

So to aid that, tomorrow I'm starting a jumper. As in, starting the knitting of one. Since manual labour is most often my answer to everything I've decided to follow my own advice.

I feel like that hedgehog looks. Go figure. M.

kiss me on my open mouth

Lana and her lyrics.

Ready for you,M.

3.47

3 hours and 47 minutes.
Concert number 12.
Once that's completed we can officially say we're over the half-way mark.

We're stopping at my aunties big yellow summer house for a day. I stayed there for summers on end when I was a child. It has now become one of those memories that's best described or felt through a smell, or I remember it as a smell. A smell of, pinetrees, and water, and pastries, and sand, more importantly sandy summery footwear, and creaky stairs, and somewhat dusty mattresses. And tea too, but fresh peppermint. What a smell, eh.
Those were really really good, old-fashioned, honest childhood summers.
There are still berries EVERYWHERE behind the house. Marvellous.
And I get to be there for a night. And swim morning-evening-morning before we drive back. And there's a nice little food place on the highstreet.
Two weeks ago the old neighbour heard I was staying for a bit and came along to say hi, with a big pot of fresh honey.

Maybe I should move, or at least spend more time away from Tallinn during the summer. Tallinn is brilliant and it's my city through and through, but during the summer it seems like everyone else is having more fun. Wrong choice of word maybe. Not fun necessarily, but, more at ease? And kind of allowing themselves to enjoy sunshine and notice the fact that everything is green, and lush. Maybe because there's so much more greenery when you leave Tallinn.

Well, whatever it is, there is this peace in the countryside.

Into the blue, and green, and pink, and golden,M.

oh so sappy

Love is so beautiful. And I guess that's the problem. The bittersweet tantalising.

Love. We go crazy for it, and some die searching for it.

And the funny thing is that a human heart is a muscle.

Love. And the pain that comes with it. And the fact that words are just nothing compared to it. Nothing. It is absurd, the whole thing. And at the same time, the feeling, it's everything. It is all.Madness, and such addictive madness.

Oh, where art thou, cynicism?
(Jokes. I'm actually a sappy little sap-sap all the time, I simply hide it. And really well, thankyou very much.)

(I think these are the effects of singing 22 concerts consisting of songs about love. And variations of.)

Sappy, M.

non-existing letters

I'm ignoring my emails, again. It comes and goes and is by far the weirdest thing I do (...I think. My friends of course might disagree.) I'm quite quirk-free, apart from this. Ignoring my emails.

If it would be actual correspondence it would be different, most probably. Actual paper and writing. Impractical, but wonderful. But it's not actual paper, or actual anything. It's the virtual world, and the non-existence letters just arriving to this virtual address. Ugh. Uneasy, that is what I feel about all this business.

Letters and stamps, M.

shiny leather in the dark

Venus in furs. I will never, ever get over this song. Ever.
M.

öös on asju

Envy and greed, honestly. Honestly. They like making a strong comeback.
But enough of that.

In other news, I have a massive urge to throw a dinnerparty. But it's more one of those fantasy ones, not with no-longer-alive people, but rather people who never spend time on the same continent.
Everyone would wear dresses (because why not) and no one would complain about not feeling pretty, because all of them are pretty. Emma Stone has said that it is far more important to be funny, or honest, than to look a certain way. I like her so much.
Back to the dinnerparty. So, everyone would feel beautiful, but in the serene sense of the word. The kind of beauty of contentment type of thing.
There would be a large wooden table, I'd serve some fresh salad, some great cheese, and grapes, and some cold and hot meat, soft-boiled eggs, good bread, and wine, and for dessert there would be a sorbet or an icecream and of course, I would bake something. Or make soufflés. And there would be lanterns, and candles, and maybe fairylights. And really quite conversation-enducing music, something from the jazz legends, Ella most probably. And there would be loads of chatting and laughing, the kind of laughing when people don't care what they look like, and at some point probably singing as well, cause no one really cares enough to mind, and why should anyone care anyway? Singing is great. Especially if the occasion, much like this dinnerparty, is suitable. And at some point someone would say that they want to read a poem, and they would. Again, cause no one cares about what you "should", what is "cool", or not, or edgy, or "in", or whatever the stupid terms. Just be. Just the joy of being, of being yourself, as an individual, but also of being in this fantabulous atmosphere, having some food and laughing with the people you sincerely like, in your head and heart, double combo.
And this would go on till the latenight/earlymorning hours. And then me and someone else would decide that right now was the time to go indoors, so we could play a song on the piano that's standing in the corner, and whoever's cold could get some duvets going.

(I just made some dinner. Some salad, cheese, ham. So I thought I needed 2 eggs, hardboiled. Accidentally I managed to make the most perfect little soft-boiled wonders. And it's a warm night outside, and we haven't had many of those lately. I mean, really, really. Simple pleasures.)

So that is the kind of night I would like to witness. No awkwardness, no inner troubles of being, I would like to see my friends enjoy being themselves as much as I adore and long for their company. Just sit there not comparing and stressing, or measuring, or weighing, or assessing. Such a night. One day maybe. But I really really really hope so. Because the truth is, life really is too short. At least too short for any of that.
Not to short for dinnerparties and good food.

There are things in the night,M.