you won’t believe it, 1) Coolositable is still not extinct and 2) SANTA IS COMING TO TOWN JAPAN.

As Anna and I have been very busy for the past *goestocheck* 4 months – well actually our whole lives – we haven’t been able to update this blog as much as we hoped to.BUT BUT BUT BUT here is a new post. And it’s utterly positive – not according to expectations.

Balthazar – e.g. I – loves/love Christmas. Or actually the ideal of it. Gaining weight by stuffing ourselves up with cookies – yes, not in that way – eating AND peeling tangerines – exchanging gifts unilaterally or nonlaterally – putting dead corpses into pumpkin soups – drinking Ginger Vodka on the Snow (not on the rocks as during other seasons) – going away  to Barcelona – staying at fabulous, exclusive hotels – throwing snowballs against passing cars and people – and most of all, throwing snowballs at world leaders in Davos (well I admit, that happens only in January) are wonderful activities to keep oneself busy with when passing time in this wonderful time of nice words, hugs, kisses, French kisses, passion, affection, patting, petting, really hard sex against the Christmas tree,  cleaning your chimney with Santa, S/M with Rudolph, Christmas bonda….well just love, right. And CHOCOLATE, LOTS OF CHOCOLATE and GINGER and CRANBERRIES and SNOOOOW. So you see, materialistic lusts evoke great excitement in mankind.

So where is all this leading to? Nothing, apparently. It’s mostly about corporations making inexorably exorbitantly large sums of £,$, ₪, Ft, ₮,,﷼ and mostly CHF. And filling one’s hollow, shallow, wallowed hearts with warmth by buying and cashing and moneyz.

Ahm. Where was I? Yes.

As you may not know, I am currently Santa’s Imaginary Boyfriend and and his muse, that’s why he – the omnipotent Sata… Santa has sent upon us this present:

In this way, I wish everyone a happy beginning of the most materialistic holiday season EVER, and hope you won’t build perverted snowmen and snowwomen.

LOVE and gingerbread,

Balthazar

P.S. Custard-pie battles have been largely accepted in contemporary culture as a new aspect of Christmas.

you should keep track of or look out for those artists. Because they’re either absolutely hot right now or because they’ve been hot for a long time. Or because Balthazar says they’re hot. And because all of them were featured in some way at the largest art fair in the world, in which the author of this article has dwelled for 6.5 hours. 

GENIESSEN SIE!

KEITH HARING

ROBERT REYNOLDS

JEREMY DICKINSON

BALTHUS

KARIN KNEFFEL

GEORGE CONDO

JOHANNES KNARR

HIROSHI SUGIMOTO

PETER LINDBERGH

As you may have noticed, there has been a significant break since we, or, speaking more precisely, I have given birth to another bunch of meaningless letters and punctuation marks, taking away your free time. We, the proud parents of this little chamber of graphorrea, have some difficult time with our offspring. The eternal problem of fathers and sons, meh.

But let’s forget about these small and senseless details and take a breathtaking journey to the land where even the almighty, solid as a rock, laws of Their Majesty Physics don’t work. The time and space, space especially, bend. The reality as we all know it loses familiar shapes.

I am talking about metro at 8:30 in the morning.

The first rule of Moscow metro in these ungodly hours is, you do not even think of using it if you are not rushing to save the world from the invation of zombie radioactive rabbits. The second rule of Moscow metro is, these is not a coach existing in the world that cannot fit one more person. This “one more person” is the most ephemeral substance in any of the parallel universes, even more ephemeral than a student’s loan.

Too much people, too much. And you were trying so hard to convince me that overpopulation is not the first problem of our little green planet.

Speaking of little green things, I have found a way to at least take a breath or avoid being stuck in a dramatic pose. Starting to laugh hard or sing “La Marsellaise” out of key automatically creates space around you, restoring the physical harmony at least a little. See, making other people think you are completely insane has serious benefits.

But you, my dear reader, may already be submerged in doubts about the reason why your humble key pusher writes these anthropological notes, besides of anthropological notes and scenes from the Land of Absurd as a purpose itself. What is the idea, you ask yourself. And the idea, instead of propagandizing the use of condoms and all this prosaic bullshit, is the following: there is no idea. Ta-dah.

Just if someone decides to describe the deformation of space in a metro coach in the early morning with Physics, then I know who gets this year’s Nobel Prize. Don’t forget to mention me in your speech.

This has urged me to find methods to escape from this dystopic state of mind, and typical for me,  I tried music. Now, what would come to your mind first of course, would be “Fuck the Pain Away” by Peaches. Also in a literal way. Unfortunately the dolor-reducing sex doesn’t work, that’s one of the things I know. In the end it’s just sinister and glum music playing inside me.

So, through a divine webular afflatus I discovered Nisennenmondai and their album Neji Tori. As the name suggests, the formation is from a faraway country going by the name 日本国. Yes, I’m talking about Nihon-koku, you’re absolutely right. Minutes after I had digitally clutched the 58-minute-long album, I found myself in a dark room with loudspeakers, blasting Nisennenmondai.

And it was a revelation. Screeching but rhythmic guitars, no singing, rigorous drums, vast but little melody at the same time. Uneasy to describe, to be honest, but exactly what I needed and still am in need of to make the interior pain go away. LOUD, RAW, BLASTING, PRIMITIVE, DISTORTED, BRAIN-OFFSWITCHING, NOISY, JAPANOISE.

To be honest, I guess my words are an assault to or don’t serve justice to what wonder Nisennenmondai  - Japanese for Y2K bug by the way – is. So please, buy their music, I recommend you starting with Neji Tori, I haven’t gotten any further with their discography because even after almost a month now with their album,

I’m still in a state of amazedness.

as the last days of this year are passing, with cloudy skies, storms in the distance, broken hearts and love for the rain, I feel obliged to write about James Dean, one of the persons of

whom I haven’t seen any films.

But only a glance at one of the grainy, black and white pictures of him, was enough for me, to see how gaunt or emaciated his soul seems to be. At the end of existence, the sensitive soul, the fragile innocence and still the oppressed freshness.

I guess 2010 was for more and more people exactly that. For too many people. Social injustice, unmerited projected anger of others on one self, not-talking to each other, the mean games, the escape from reality and how others are unable to accept that, cutting a better figure at the expense of others’ weaknesses, brainwashed assholes, social incapability, bumpkins and ultimately disappointments, empty promises and failure in communication, dishonesty.

“In life you have to suffer, a lot”, says Pepa in ‘Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios’, and unfortunately she’s right. The repression of the fact that life is just an endless dark tunnel, with little light and few angel…

That was 2010 in emotions, for too many.

Hope? Maybe. People won’t suddenly change, but there will be wonders, which though have to be searched for in ourselves, our souls unfolded, maybe that’s the way, even if it hurts and involves humiliation or else, but being true to oneself, may be the ultima ratio to save ourselves.

Before it gets better, it always gets even worse.

Sincerely yours and cheers,

Balthazar

Hellow agaen froam the Lande of Absourd. As you all know, I reely love talking about my countrey’s phenomena – how can I not talk about paradoxes and absourd, absourd and paradoxes!

This time I thouht that it woud be aproupriate to raise the question of langvages. Yes. Langvages. Especialy one, and you all can guess what exuctly: the almigty Inglish Langvage. (My exsitement as I write this word, blesed by all the deities, is so big that I can not hold on to start “Langvage” with a capitol leter)

The Inglish Langvage. All Russians start to tremble as they heer these wondarful words. How many teers are shed above the textbuks during the scoolyears of every Russian! How many unhuman sufers are expirienced by all of us! How many sweerwords directed to the creators of latin alfabet and/inglish gramar are pronounsed by everyone! And the horrid sound “θ” – the persoan who invented it was morally depraved, I sweer.

We, the poor adherents of Cyrilic alfabet, are unabel to achiev a good level in Inglish – genetics are a powerfull thing. But we are strugling and strugling and strugling throuh the years and time. We’re reeching out for the skyes of lingvistics, whear the birds always sing and jasmin always blosoms, but despiet of our wishes we cannot touch them. It raises complecses in us. We’re very ashamed to speak the celestiel Inglish Langvage, but the sever realities of moderne lief force us. And we take atempts.

And then the whol wourld laughs at us. It is unfaire. Reely unfaire to laught at somwone who tries.

there was another reason to the void we left for about 3 months – I lived in the past for about a month (the trip to the United States), but more importantly, I didn’t have the foggiest notion what to write. I love Coolositable™ of course, but for quite some time now, I feel that my being on this planet has no meaning. I feel empty, random, unimportant, am surrounded by too many idiots too often, am in a no-load running to nowhere.

Actually I don’t see much purpose in anything, not even in the long-awaited and highly anticipated voyage to the supervalued United States of America, when we were there, too often did I reflect on the question of why we are here and what we are doing. I know the answer, it’s a work-in-progress document of 3 A4 pages of sinister thoughts and existence-scrutinizing phrases and commas.

But: The thing which is killing me the most is: I know the way out of this most unpicturesque predicament. It’s like shopping for a pair of expensive, though wildly contentious trousers. You don’t know whether they’ll be accepted in the future or now, whether your friends will like them or show less love after you’ve bought and worn them. Mostly it’s a test. Will you stand charging your credit card with an unknown price, which you may probably never be able to pay, or will you not buy your item to a possible freedom?

But really, the underlying question is more: Will it be the way to happiness, or will it have awfully atrocious and bad consequences? Will your social environment pass the test or will everything be abysmally horrifying?

You know why I wasn’t able to fully enjoy this trip to America? Because I didn’t have enough fun to distract myself from this awful truth, and additionally that life will inevitably end in death and that this is the only clear target you really have.

In the end I’ll just have to ask myself:

Is it worth?

Hello, guys, if any of you are still around.

There has been an enormous time gap between Balthazar’s wonderfully beautiful ode to Sicily and my, already mythic, new article. My fault, I recognize, bend my knees and I am ready to bear the cross of punishment and anger. You have the full right.

What was I going to say? Oh yeah. Time gaps. Something tells me that I’ve already written a post about it. This time I’ve opened my eyes and casted a glare at the calendar.”Oh my greek gods!“, shouted one of thousands of  imaginary friends of mine inside my head. “Oh my greek gods, it’s already October!“. And yes, it was. It is.

Madame in her beauty.

Madame Autumn – yes, madame, not mistress or any other names – is slowly poisoning everyone. Madame, because of her extremely female essense. Tender and cold, warm and hurting. Did you ever feel a strange hopeless warmth somewhere inside your chest that stings more painfully than ice on skin? Did you ever feel her breath mixed with the smell of last sunbeams? Did you ever feel her embrace on your cheeks? I don’t think I’d hear a negative answer. Leaves fall with our dreams. Our truths. Our lies.

And it is not hard to notice madame Autumn’s touch around. A week ago I’ve seen in a bus a man in his forties, officially dressed, as if he was going to an business meeting, sitting near a window and biting his fingerbones with an absent look, almost crying. I sat beside him and asked if he was ok.  ”I don’t want the sun to go away”, the answer was. Right in that moment I’ve understood that Autumn is not in the fallen leaves or red grass. No. Autumn is inside of us.

No one can escape. No one, I swear. Can you prove the opposite?

(Yes, madame Autumn embraces everyone. Instead of a sarcastic politically-themed post you’ve read a lyrical nonsense that is, however, too painfully important for your humble narrator. Claims of time return are supposed to be sent to Mr. Albert Einstein. And while your claim flies through time and distance, you can train your imagination and dream a perfect blog article, no limits on themes, lenght, style and concept. Dreamt? And now put it mentally on this page. Done? Congratulations, everyone is happy now, you, for being in front of the best article ever written, and me, for writing a sobby nonsense. Let’s all go and have a glass of wine.)