The Famous Literary Group

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We are

one of the very few literary groups who cares more of a bottle of Jack than of you. Yet, you are here going through the work of such people. And the sights are heavy on you; and it is not sights of understanding. But you do not look away for that you believe in the correctness of your doing; the attention is merely surreal - and the response is indifference; and y are famous - sippin’ Jack with us.

...

We are building the literary castle out of wood. Wood is a lovely malleable material that suffers from humanly imperfections. Every single three shines with the spirit and every burnt log turns the spirit into pile of ash.

The tendency to explore, the desire to understand, and the need to sound, predestines you to wonder, to contemplate, and to accept the feeling, for a glass of a whiskey., It is not the glass that makes the whiskey, it is the journey from the field to the bottle., You prepare a fermentation set, out of the nicest and strongest wood, you throw in grounded corn; rye and malted barley, then add some yeast, brown sugar and hot water., The fermentation gives off a strong odour, but you love it., You keep it in the basement, away from the sun., You keep it at 34 C, To favour the yeast., After three days of the fermentation, you separate the pulp from the juice., You assemble your distillation set, distillation flask; burner; condensation pipe, thermometer; collection flask., you got 100 litres of fermented corn; rye; malted barley, you got same sized whiskey barrel, but the volume of the distillation flask, is 2 litres., The distilling is a slow process., The thermometer shows 80 C, ethanol is sliding down the condensation pipe, you watch every drip., First batch is ready, your chest is tingling., You pick the shiniest glass, give it the unnecessary wipe, include a few ice cubes, and pour it in., You feel the connection with the glass, with the basement, and yourself., You are in a sacred place, your whiskey is on the table, you take it in your palm, you smell it., It is the finest drink, thirty seconds old., It tastes like distilled port wine, just super strong, emphasized with a subtle flavour of the brown sugar., The Drink with The Journey., ** The End **



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Juggling Mediation

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by Charles Living

The balls fall on the ground so often that one would think of it being done intentionally.

Meditation is a process in which person focuses at a particular event, for example event of exhale or inhale for a period of time. Looking at what juggling really is, it shows that if executed correctly it is by its essence a form of meditation. The quality of the mediation increases as the ability to juggle improves. The event to focus on in juggling meditation is to throw and catch the balls in the same manner for a period of time with eyes closed or opened and regular breathing.

Juggling improves concentration, increases agility, and most importantly regenerates grey matter.

Just as push ups strengthen the body, juggling strengthen the mind.

The act of learning juggling is also a way to perceive the process of learning. Learning juggling is composed of small steps and repetition until reaching mastery [1].

[1] Malcolm Gladwell

Last update: 08. 06. 2021

Corn and Happy Cattle

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by Charles Living

A few months ago, I drove a thousand miles through the European greenery and saw the environment changing as I was approaching the Czech Republic from the west.

Closer to the English Channel, the woodland was scarce and the grass grew short. The views were opened as the land was mostly flat.

On the approach to the Czech Republic the flat land started to rise and fall opening up green sceneries and areas covered with trees. Deciduous or coniferous; tall and thick. The grass grew tall and fields were populated with corn or happy cattle.

It was a journey from Edinburgh to Karlovy Vary, the place of my origins. A kind of time travel from the present moment a decade into the past.

Karlovy Vary is a spa city known for its thermal springs, beautiful well taken care buildings with good architecture and a river going right through it. The city lies among hills. The hills are full of greenery pushing some of the trees high above the level of the buildings' roofs; and in the midst of that me grabbing a beer - nice and foamy, Czech and golden - enjoying the greenery that was kind of dominating the city with its colour and its fertility.

Then the covid caught me up in the middle of planning my next move, the restrictions were put in place which as a result simplified the process of my decision making by eliminating most of the options I had which was a good opportunity to grab more beer [1] and enjoy all the perks of being back home.

It was a very fruitful time filled with new encounters and old relationships revived. It was great to see people I used to work with and to chit chat about how their lives had evolved and to celebrate again with my old palls or to see my school mates I used to purposelessly fight with in the back of the class.

[1] Charles Bukowski

Last update: 08. 06. 2021

The Willow Tree

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by Charles Living

There is a willow tree in front of the girl and me. It is specific by its long reaching flexible branches. Those trees grow tall and the branches bend so low that one would think they are tempted to touch the ground.

This particular tree is an old one standing here for more than a hundred years at the same spot. Some people noticed its presence and recognised its magnificence by building a little introduction table next to it. The brief text classifies the species of the tree and describes the shape of the leaves and the buds it has during the summertime. The table also speaks about its height and age. As a consequence of reading the table, I kind of perceive its history on a sort of biological level. The tree has more experience than me and has witnessed the environment for longer.

Out of respect, just as I do it with philosophical books and its teachings, I pick up a thin branch that has fallen on the ground and create a crown out of it.

Taking the crown, keeping an eye contact, I put the crown on the top of the girl's freshly washed hair.

Last update: 13. 01. 2021

The Voice Recorder

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by Charles Living

Recently, I had been spending time reading the best rated authors on the history scale. Each of those books I had gone through associated itself to a particular place to a particular table and people. The King, Warrior, Magician, Lover was read in the National Library coffee corner in Edinburgh. The book itself attracted people by its title and those people would often make a contact.

While I was reading The King, Warrior... a woman in her sixties joined my table. She started reading newspapers. In a short while she was joined by her friend. They looked a few times at the cover of my book and eventually started talking to me and I would just nod and nod until one of them left and I ended up chatting with the remaining one.

“What is the book about?”

"It is a thing on personality development and how we lack initiation processes and how we go through masculinity crisis.”

“Oh, I have read so much about those things. ” And then she carried on talking and we would have very nice in-depth discussion.

At some point I noticed that her left hand was holding a recorder. And she’d not try to hide the act of pressing the record button while we were talking.

Last update: 23. 07. 2020