we finally did it...on top of st. pauls cathedral...and amen to that!!

we decided to pop by national theatre after v&a to listen to a jazz trio playing the tunes of former yugoslavia's traditional music...it was agreed without discussion they sounded more like bossa nova than gypsy brass but then they started exploiting yugoslavian folk sounds and it was rather compelling..before that tho we stumbled upon four CUTEST BOYS on the planet earth!! the way these boys manipulated instruments right there on the pavement was something magnificent..reminded me of my classical music lessons and endless hours spent cramming opus conccerto g minor etc. its very very different..its classic with a twist.actually, if you never studied classical music you would not even make a connection..its something i have not heard before...so give it a go, i recomend: http://www.myspace.com/porticoquartet

you can also watch them play (on their site)

favourite pic of my dad and my sister!... such a character.

just look at me skirt! fashionista from day one

the four of us

Aniuska in Smiltyne

got a new toy!

p.s. my love and I..little brother was too little to be in the shot...so shy from so much attention...such a grip :)

a history of love of.
my mother taught me to appreciate the art of film making since i was very very little. our house is full of books and you can imagine how two adults (my parents that is) desired all four of us to fall in love with written word but it took me years to discover my hidden love for books. i remember very clearly how i made a conscious decision to read and guess how old i was? I was 17 goin on 18. Yes. very very old when it comes to reading but ever since then I regard all books with utmost respect and humility. It was however a bit different with film. I cannot say for sure whether it was the magic of The Other World or the beauty of actors but movies always had a special role in our family. My mother would come from work, do out laundry (mountains of it!), feed us all, undress and then have the rest of the night for herself infront of a telly (or a good book if there was nothing good on the telly:) I remember watching everything from Chinese kung-fu films, to Russian classics and films from the age of glamour in Hollywood...and many many more...titles of most of them i can still recall...i have a good memory for that kind of stuff. i think i only have a good memory when it comes to films and actors. i could never say that about poetry and authors for some reason. anyway....what i wanted to say....my mother...my dearest...She somehow managed to pass on the love of film onto me...and my sister as well...but we have completely different tastes when it comes to cinema going..My sister is a classic lover. She goes for films like Solaris with Banionis (the one that George Clooney fucked up a little in his remake)..i on the other hand go for anything that...oh i cannot even name it...anything really...as long as there's something to relate to or aspire to...im a total Bergman freak but I do not understand Jean-Luc Goddard or it might take me time to appreciate Francois Truffaut...But you get the idea...

once when I was 10 or 11 I watched a film that stuck in my memory so well that I had to track it down...I watched it together with my mom of course. She has a very annoying habit of commenting on films that I hated when I was little but looking back at it, I am so grateful she did it cos I learned to make connections between words and actions and the morale, things that I was too young to understand but...It kind of creates a substystem down there inside you and you live it out later in life...

it was Educating Rita. a British film with Michael Cane. A film about a young girl Rita who lives in Cambridge i think and who is craving to learn, to change, to live...And of course she's as chavy as possible (to use today's terms), terrible accent, ghastly sense of style but a very perceptive mind...she meets this professor (whose an alcoholic) and starts coming to his tutorials...To make a long story short...She does change...She changes from a girl living with her idiot asshole boyfriend who doesn't understand WHY anyone would want to study or go to a theatre etc etc to a girl who loves life and lives it...i could say it better but i think you'd get more from watching it..

so today i watched it again...after more than 13 years and i was surprised how much i remembered except now all the names like Keats, Blake, Yeats, etc...did actually mean something to me...it made sense and it made more than that...

watch it if you have a minute...it made my day...and it talks about poetry. Heaven. and it is hilarious of course.

cin cin

I will buy the flowers myself, Mrs. Dalloway said or how to tame the invisible.

My Glorious Weekend:

• I cut my hand with a metal belt. Made a wound the size of a button.
• I cut my eyelid. I do not think it is possible but I did it. When I close my eyes I have this pink streak across my right eye.
• I remembered what its like to have temperature. Odd feeling. Reminds me of childhood.
• I have indeed remembered how grand it is to write.
• Viktorija, on Saturday you made me feel the happiest person on earth. I have forgotten I had the capacity to laugh so much. And be so….happy. I cherish you so much and will thank you for ever for being out there somewhere.
• Read this on a Sunday morning at 6 a.m. at work: you know it’s going to be a busy day at the office when they use red bull to prepare coffee.
• Now….I feel the 5 hour fever has gone away and I can actually walk and get out of bed and write this…shall we start then….

Pardon the lack of continuity and coherence. I feel I MUST.

It is one of those…THOSE days...the days, days and days that creep upon you like the mist creeps upon the night grass without a warning, without a premonition, without a hint. It is as if it is born out of itself. The grass is the giver and the receiver of the bounty.

All that is great and terrifying, all that is enlightening and challenging have the tendency to announce of its arrival in one way or another. Think! One prepares nine months to receive another. One waits none months to give itself to the other, to the world, to the wrong and mislead, to the talented and geeky. One closes one’s eyes before the arrival of sleep ready for salvation or redemption or peace. One senses the arrival of the bigger. I believe we have been equipped with our 5 6 or 7 senses in order to register, tattoo, and record those ceaseless currants that make the winds move and the clouds float and the waves brake. By the help of our memories we become living libraries of archives that will accumulate dust, be listed through by the careful, might be laughed at and abandoned but might also be immortalized by the brave.


Some odd days (these days), entities in their own frivolous fashion, seem to have ignored the unwritten law of this indistinct universe and have crept on me without a mere sign of warning as in – the stars have…, the Venus moves into…, the rain whispers… and the wind seeps into….- no, nothing of the sort, just a pale reflection of reflection of the memory long forgotten that made me recognize the invisible with the eye of my mind.

Days like that do not just happen even though it does seem that Happening is the only punctual tendency they possess. They do not happen. They ARE and that is their most encapsulating and terrifying quality. I suppose any subject or object exhibiting such capacity is petrifying and engulfing in all senses available. And so by this share act of Being they push all that has inhabited the space prior to them - like time and energy and spirit and fear – to the corners of the innermost corners and you find yourself (substance as fragile as the Dawning Birth) in the midst of all this chaos surrounded by the above mentioned corner stones and wondering as an infantile whether or not you have enough in you to carry this through to the night?

The moment when one realizes that such days ARE and are NOW is as overwhelming as the nature of them. That moment…It is that split second before one wakes up from a dream/remembers the last thought they had before they fell asleep/remembers the first To Do thing on the days list/ acknowledges the presence of immaterial matters (such as weather and time) and submerges oneself into the physical domain naked in thought. That is the closest I can get to explaining the Moment. It can also be that brief -square-shaped-frame that envelopes the remnants of ones dreams (past and future), the physics of everyday functioning and the tools available. It is very similar to sleep walking. Or Day dreaming. Being awake, conscious but not present. Yes present somewhere else, asleep or awake, conscious or in a state of coma.

Regarding those tools. The ones I find most rewarding for me are smell and sound. I have found myself traveling through galaxies in a matter of 0.0000000837465 second to clutch on that one memory and squeezing past the invisible and yet head strong barriers to reach my self. It is the ultimate joy to pin point the Constant that has made you think/live/feel. As all things in life this shall come with practice and stop me if I start preaching on ways to do just that. I am a humble disciple reminded of my wrongdoing on an hourly basis. Growing nonetheless in my appreciation of the Day.

The Sound.
Today was one of those days. [You know who you are...and I hope you know that only you can make me laugh in one minute and weep in the next. I believe you know when you hurt me but you also know that letting go is more than you can do. And I also hope you know I love you not less than you love yourself, which is MORE than a universe.) Today was one of those days. I might have to thank you. Here. Now. For stabbing me like no one else would dare or have the nerve to. For making me feel smaller than the atom. You only can make me hear things that are more beautiful than the greatest composition and see visions that colors or shapes would fail to empower more than their own content leaking through the borders. I curse your ego. I hate your fears for they stop you from being…being that person I fell in love with...and I am helpless. I cannot help you walk. But I could hold your hand as you attempt to do it…]

We came across this Sit and Play orchestra as we were walking to see the play at the National Theatre. In a nut shell, every cube is a different musical instrument. i.e. every cube represents an instrument in an orchestra. As you approach the "orchestra" you hear a very well known classical composition (mozart, handel ir vivaldi) and you can just stand there and enjoy the magic. However, if you were to desire to join in and make a contribution all you had to do is sit on one of the cubes and "play". You can actually hear the instrument beneath you adding to the overall beauty. You can see me sitting on a Viola :)

south bank on a friday afternoon

this made me laugh today...to all of you who read lithuanian and who have lived in a shared housing this will be rather relevant :)))))
Written by my brother about his housemates:

.... mano bendranamiskiai uzknisa biski nemegsta indu plaut, o as biski pedantovas bicelis savo namuose, ne vieno induko viskas blizga, indai su ranksluosciu isluostyti ir krc jie ideda i kriaukle tipo nepamatys Vigantas ir galesim ramiai miegot, nunu padedu ant stalo kad visi matytu kaip kokia puokste, tai draugai zinai jau juokias pastoviai pamate kitokia figura, gal biski pripras, dar ten yra biski pas juos pamegtu dalyku, skalbiniai, suksliu skirstymas ir t.t. nusprendziau padaryti plakatukus tipo zinai su uzrasais : SIUKLSES I MELYNA KONTEINERI EINA BE MAISU NX, PRASOME ISSIPLAUTI INDUS, MURZINUS SKALBINIUS LAIKYKITE IKI SKALBIMO SAVO KAMBARY. nu vien zo jauciu rimtai padarysiu, nes jie vyresni uz mane, o as turiu priziureti kaip vaikus juos, fuck negerai! jie mane myli ten vse dela, as jiems pasakiau pora kartu sureguoja tam kartui ir vsio, tai imsiuos sakau biski griezciau!

tell me about it...i could only add to this...oh god, could tell stories about my flatmates dishwashing habits....or clothes washing habits for that matter..

enjoy...hehe and hope whoever you live with its neither my brother nor me ;)

"I believe that on the last day (if it ever comes), when we are all assembled together, that the Almighty… will say to us: ‘Fools! Who told you that you were to give yourselves to one being only? You were made to give yourself to many freely. I wrote that law with My finger on your hearts'."

Back in Dublin after nine years abroad, Richard and Bertha have to confront two other people who love them, and ask themselves questions about guilt and responsibility.

Exiles by James Joyce. Going to see Joyce's only play tonight...Looking forward to it..