The Factory

   

 


      God, the last two weeks were so intense. I hardly believe how many things happened. The new house is great, but it will take a while until I feel here like home. It takes time for me.
     Funny thing with it actually. When I arrived at the Factory couple of months ago I didn’t like it (to say it mildly). I felt lonely, neglected, it was dark, dirty, cold, some of the people were getting on my nerves. But now I miss that fucking place:). I miss the big space, long ghostly corridors, Domink’s swearing at life, Ricote’s past-the-sale-by-date-treats, David’s unusual composure, Marta and Petra’s moodiness, Janusz’ life wisdoms, Celina’s  weird voice timbre, Joel's Viking face, Kriss'... well, Kriss for being Kriss, rats, my room and solitary contemplative evenings, or the jam sessions till late, and the next day coughing out the tar from all the cigarettes we smoke at David’s.

     I know I’m sentimental. The thing is that when I arrived to London I didn’t know anyone except for Radhika who helped me to get sorted out here in the first place. But slowly I got to know some nice people, who turned into close friends, some of them even very close. This is important stuff. Belonging is the essence of being I think. When you share with others, you grow, expand, enjoy the energy flow. If you’re stuck with yourself, you wither, like a spark separated from fire. This is my experience.

     Tania joined me today, after almost four months of separation. She was tired after the journey and the last few days of packing fever. On top of it she got a headache and sore throat, so we didn’t really had much of exchange. Also I think she might be afraid that I’ve changed too much, being here on my own for so long. I know I’ve changed, but I believe it’s a good change. Anyway – change just is, you can not really judge it.

Home

Where is my home, my Friend?
Is it made of bricks, pipes and screws
or maybe ideas, words and people’s faces?
Do I find it in the midnight talks,
with cigarette smoke dancing,
painting dragons on the wall?
Is my home made of books
I got on amazon last year?
Is it the music someone recommended?
Is it that breakfast place,
where on Tuesday I had a meal
with a very good friend,
and we washed it down with a pint of Stella?
Is home only for those lucky bastards,
who had smooth childhood,
loving parents
who never drank,
never fought
and never were irresponsible assholes?
And for the rest of us?
I think it might be a bit of each.
Let’s look for it together,
my Friend.
Let's look for it.