My own process of mature evolution started in 1980 when I was given the chance to attend a summer course for teachers. Before and after that, the attention of the special departments agents to me was more than conceivable and capable of turning any ‘wheel’ that will not hurry up to get rolling on its own in the direction of unknown lands. My project to be able to find where a person’s capacity for comprehension, particularly one connected with learning foreign languages, is linked to other factors like the activity of other people, had to be forgotten, and my love for being loved to be developed as an artificial image, feasible but useless to the projects of any declared or concealed wheel axis. The old socialist wheel that would roll until the final victory of communism- always represented by a cart wheel- was intent on taking me in the direction of carrying freight while I was ready to lead the way out of the socialist doctrine that was implanted in Bulgaria by my own competition abroad.
Any wheel has a hub that is turned, a circle that is turning, and spikes to connect and keep separated for the sake of an increased distance travelled at the minimum of effort on the part of the axis to which the wheel is attached.
Bulgaria is now undergoing an artificial evolution: the same things are successively labelled as rotten, as freedom, anarchy, order to be reinstated, as the latest achievement. Something important is observed: where there is one aspect, there is a balancing opposite one, or otherwise natural evolution would draw in and spoil many of the modern plans.
The process of substitution also concerns the hub and the circle of the global ‘wheel’ connected to the idea of socialism through the spikes, and to the idea of capitalism through the axis.
A ‘hub agent’ implanted in the social sphere may use different tools through which to get hitched to a circle of individuals who have played their parts and will have to be replaced as soon as the ‘hub agent’ gets in the limelight. A ‘hub agent’ implanted in the administrative sphere may create the chart of a circle of businesses that will shine in the sunlight out of the classified files as soon as the ‘hub agent’ gets anonymous and leaves the circle of businesses to be substituted seen and the axis that turns the wheel incognito.
In line with the above, here is an old poem of mine which invites nobody but ‘tomorrow’:
COME, TOMORROW, COME
Over the hills
and over the mountains,
over the clouds,
and over the seas,
there are lands -
so dreamy and boundless,
there are people,
and there is me
V.P.T.
V.P.Toucheva 21.11.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
The past period of twenty years during which Bulgaria was taken out of one economic block to be placed in another, retained most of the stable structures through instruments, manipulation, and people- some of them now criticized, persecuted, and substituted by the common law stating that the instruments and the performers may get criticized, never the aims and the already constructed.
It is part of the human nature to glee at mega projects- the smaller a person is, the greater the joy at a large conglomeration where the openings for that person’s personal welfare seem as many as mouse holes.
I almost now feel to be a European poet, and not someone ambitious coming from the economically retarded socialist block permeated with mentality inherited from numerous generations that lived under different ethnic and political yokes.
In line with the down-statement of fine Mediaeval Music and Drama coming to substitute Bulgaria’s confinement into Mediaeval Life Style, here is an old poem of mine of the time when the EU patchwork was being made out of what there was of achievement and ambition, resentment and historical dues, prospects and global standards, people to live on the earth and people to live on other planets, economies that had split to catch both the technical and the social aspects of development and innovation, countries separated for opposite projects to be implemented, and much more:
THE COMMON CITY
Now gaining the flavours common
to cities of its style and rank,
and posing the unsolved problem
of sameness as bleak as a blank
Adventurers who've passed its hard tests
have settled with adapted wings
The wise have saved their old treasures
unused and hidden from their needs
The young, escaping their background,
have made a leap to take the lead
And only 'fore the weather's riots
a jaw is clenched, or braced the wings
The city, colourful, in plenty,
its head adorned, its feet concealed
A common city, one in many,
in its rock-chair wakeful sleeps
V.P.T.
V.P.Toucheva 20.11.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
The Common Dualism of Logic
(Whispers, Poem Introductory)
Refrain:
Percentage seventy – strong and compatible
Percentage twenty – it’s specific, weak
Percentage ten – odd, unreliable
Percentage hundred- ordered, rather bleak
The dualism of world’s logic:
The city gives to simply give
It takes to take- thing rather common
It takes to give, and gives to take
While authors old and forgotten
were left to leukemia’s means,
at concerts fine, new tastes begotten
became the richman’s latest bliss
Refrain:
Percentage seventy – strong and compatible
Percentage twenty – it’s specific, weak
Percentage ten – odd, unreliable
Percentage hundred- ordered, rather bleak
The dualism of world’s logic:
The city gives to simply give
It takes to take- thing rather common
It takes to give, and gives to take
The city’s huge with structures crossing
It is an open home hostile
A host nowhere, a guest unwelcome,
you may be outcast upon this isle
Refrain:
Percentage seventy – strong and compatible
Percentage twenty – it’s specific, weak
Percentage ten – odd, unreliable
Percentage hundred- ordered, rather bleak
The dualism of world’s logic:
The city gives to simply give
It takes to take- thing rather common
It takes to give, and gives to take
The city’s like all big world cities
A picture puzzle- changed, complete
Some of its items are new pieces
A substitution for domino shift
Refrain:
Percentage seventy – strong and compatible
Percentage twenty – it’s specific, weak
Percentage ten – odd, unreliable
Percentage hundred- ordered, rather bleak
The dualism of world’s logic:
The city gives to simply give
It takes to take- thing rather common
It takes to give, and gives to take
V.P.T. 17.11.2009
The lack of accumulated enthusiasm that poured out today alongside the twenty per cent taken poll (me counted in though for a dim reason), may have at least two basic explanations:
• the people who went into business on assets looted from the socialist economy, will not vote for any idea of order reconstructed out of elements of the repressive socialist model, or imported from EU capital cities that are ahead in the planning and organizing of the lives of millions of people pooled in places removed from chance of manufacturing or cultivating anything for a living,
• the people whose single achievement in the past twenty years is represented by their relatives working abroad, will never vote for a change that will once more challenge their ability to adapt.
In line with the future levels along which an import of projects, specialists, population, will bring in the idea that the higher a location is, the less ethnically specific its population is, here is an old poem of mine:
Questions Unanswered
What did I do to make the night so angry?
What ill presumptions did I claim for me?
What did support me in amounts plenty?
What next steps planned, no options to succeed?
What favours did I offer to integrity?
What chanced-on powers took all rash bids?
Why is the dark space round me so angry?
Why broken are to trips my body links?
Why do I feel deficiency in stores exhausted?
Why's not there to supplies fresh a cross-bridge?
What if I break free of my lockdowns boasted?
What if, like stray dogs do, I roam streets?
What if I walk and walk all lost in motion?
In search of strength which round me exists?
What if I reach someone's unmatched emotion?
What if I am his cross-time across-bridge?
V.P.T.
V.P.Toucheva 15.11.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
A new round of changes introducing pattern relationships and economic order is enclosing the individual interests awoken to fights against the life quotas allotted by the structures, and the group interests that are breaking ahead through life to make the routes for new structure branches.
I hope that I will live long enough to see the focus of globalization taken off Bulgaria that is so deeply entangled in historical, political, and ethnic, legacies that the country will be able to settle into a quiet life only after greater locations get hitched into the global picture.
I also hope that my pension will not necessitate my looking for additional income, because no matter how many vacancies get recurrently posted, there is little real need for teaching or other staff; and no matter how polite secretaries can be, the contracts between their customers and their agencies are shifted onto the translators as direct responsibility with all the incurrent clauses for delay, quality, or invoiced payments.
In line with the coming new round of global economic construction, here is a very short old poem of mine:
YEARS
Of all the musty and delicious,
the pleasant and unpleasant smells,
my years - coming, gone, fictitious-
have made for me a stiff old shell
My body lives by stacking odours
My brain combines and tests them all
My life whirls round rooms of horrors
That dying something is my soul
V.P.T.
V.P.Toucheva 13.11.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
There is one starting point that I can take when thinking of November 10, 1989, and it is the one I took when I first learned that the political bureau of the Bulgarian communist party had resigned their leader after over thirty years of his being in post, and were introducing a political change. Such changes are like two huge underwater icebergs, one of which represents the priority of business over any social life, and the other represents the priority of interest over any other individual or group.
The tops of the two icebergs, correspondingly that of politics and that of social relationships, can melt with the global warming or take various shapes in various dimensions, can be judged to be causes right or wrong when seen from the different aspects at which a business or a person is standing. The important thing is that no business structure suffered any major change in the commemorated past twenty years, though business went through a metamorphosis from belonging to private owners before the socialist revolution of 1944, then getting nationalized by the state, then given, in 1989, to people affiliated to political and security structures to manage, and now included in larger global structures. What changed was the system that worked or blocked the economic flows, the system of appropriateness which changed the staff that comprised the social elements of the business structures, and the security system that controlled the public behaviour and informativeness, with as many combinations of matching in the achieved result tools as many are the business or social levels and the business or social locations.
The generations born after there twenty years will need to know little about the period of socialism and capitalism divided to independently work on the same projects with just a few people allowed to cross the professional borders and exchange information vital to the creation of next projects, nor will those generations need to learn about the transition period of the past twenty years when the uniform- because it was created on opposition- social iceberg turned into stable economic pillars of opposite charge of the same elements to carry the stable world flows: of capital whose possession is scattered in bonds, of information to which access is restricted, of labour that is produced in the work-hand industries, of goods produced in restricted amounts to support the easy control of any consummation, of production that can be experimented with at any time and in the name of the people who will live away from the planet earth, of Know-How that recognizes no individual inventor and is valid only when developed in a business laboratory, of doctrines that are so evasive to the people that one would rather work than hope, like turning on the TV set to watch the commercials rather than getting mad when a commercial interrupts something that needs concentration to get to like it.
In line with the celebrations on the more or less 20-year global anniversary of closing an economic and social project that unified Europe after World War 2, here is an old poem of mine:
DUES
Shadows of light ahead of us
predetermining each action
who will measure how fast
you can ease or torque our tension
Who's the sun, a hope in front
to be liked or to be trusted
If I like the sun, you'll trust
Each one's option right and asked for
Who'll be there, the light we see,
by me liked, and by you trusted
We'll achieve that so complete
union of two souls fastened
Who's the child there to be born
whom I'll gladly give my name to,
Nothing else mine will belong
to us but the name material
They say we have lots of lives
following upon each other
I have here now survived
using all my lives, no other
Someone, somewhere, weary, wrong
didn't speculate on this truth
that our shadows future, strong,
predetermine all that we do
Those shadows of time and life,
their life-gist's speculation
on how good or wrong or right
we have been in our actions
Each one ray of effort light
is clad in a latent darkness,
we cannot reach on too far
if our shadows miss their targets
V.P.T.
V.P.Toucheva 09.11.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
The Howl Of The Fine Weather
The howl of the weather fine is terrifying
The cold chimney now mourns a missing life
The season’s gathering its clouds in the high skies
The wind is sweeping its streets of the gathered dust
A door stored on a balcony is banging
The passage cleared by the missing door
made a connection which no one is taking,
but is another chimney huge, another hall
A parent’s crying, stable, grown, honest
He was a pillar of the old spreading days
His daughter’s now missing, claimed for being modest
and ready, with her fate, to home-anchor ways
The world has chimneys cold, and its trains burning
The world has plans for weathers, weathers for the world
In all the seasons, both have moves most winning
But in the crowds motley, nobody’s weep is heard
The howl of the weather fine is terrifying
The cold chimney now mourns a missing life
The season’s gathering its clouds in the high skies
The wind is sweeping its streets of the gathered dust
V.P.T. 1.03.2008
(‘Dorman’, ‘Directions’, ISBN 978 954 91614 7 2)
V.P.Toucheva 22.10.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
One thing there is for certain, and it is that the more effort I apply in producing perfection to be liked by my teaching experience, the more amusing is the fact that no matter what masterpieces I write, the world will not accept them as nothing but good products unsupported by the poet’s participation in structure events, nor will the world give me postmortem tribute as I will have left a legacy saying that a dead body can’t get warm, no matter with how many blankets you pile over it.
In line with the above, here is a poem of ‘Whispers’ that will be a musical some day, but not before I write the text and compose the music- two self-assigned tasks, the latter of which rather impossible for the time being (some other poems are at poetrypoem.com/author909, though not the whole of ‘Whispers’ will go there, or anywhere yet settled):
Whispers Poem 10
A blooming spring in early snow
Her life’s a spring postponed for fall
No snowdrop heads, sprightly, wise and low
No apples ripe with harvest calls
She’s the image of time modern
The image of time and life real
Chased is by all who fall in cornered
to verify belongings, deals
She’s chasing, through a wizard feeling,
all who have chased and followed her
All getting paid, or with the instinct
to make their rivals do their work
Time influences her a little
Time rides her back to make a hunch
Time weathers her head tough and brittle
Her hair flies to seek its bunch
Her face strains hard to reach achievement
Strain smiles, grinning at defeat
Achievement’s closer to instinct
Escape’s more precious than a feat
One eye emitting light foreseeing
The other skilful in catching light
She measures distance from-to, bridging
the present now to the future’s past
Her arms are always holding something
A something close to her chest
At times, it is a child lovely
At times, a finding cherished best
At times, ransacked container contents
Sometimes, a precious purchased load
Sometimes, just space that must stay close
for energy resourceful, cold
Thin legs have suffered famine’s plague
Wounds where motion is denied
Feet trained to hook and hold the frame,
or ballet-pose for a flight
A beautiful, a pretty, lady
Seen to be such by many men
Attention reaching her in plenty
Her life so bleak, she can’t complain
An envied by all women lady
Intrigued about by that score
who’ll wrench a hen’s head for no laying
From tables fancy driven off
A blooming spring in early snow
Her life’s a spring postponed for fall
No snowdrop heads, sprightly, wise and low
No apples ripe with harvest calls
V.P.T. (26.01.2009)26.01.2009
V.P.Toucheva 17.10.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
Drawn, the curtain keeps the outlines of the jar only, while a swirl of characters and situations slowly configurate the flower on the stage.
Here is Whispers, Poem 5:
The past is whispering its unforgotten, buried, dreams
The present is replying with remorse and pity
Upon a stall, a seller’s selling, for a trifle, some expensive things
Arrayed, there wait some flowers in bunches withered,
and fruit preserved for cold winter in transparent jars
A man is blocked in supervising from afar, away,
unless the flowers withered get their water vase,
unless the fruit preserved gets out and dries wane,
unless the seller finds an opening for thought and taking part
The past sends, one by one, its flowers and their stories
The present shows, one by one, its practically precious jars
Their whispers come across and dash to reach their unknown homes
Life’s products, made to be consumed, to rot, or wither, stay behind
The past is whispering its unforgotten, buried, dreams
The present is replying with remorse and pity
Upon a stall, a seller’s selling, for a trifle, some expensive things
Arrayed, there wait some flowers in bunches withered,
and fruit preserved for cold winter in transparent jars
V.P.T. 3.10.2009
Here is the sentence of today (a transformed sentence of yesterday) in verse:
A war is waging, waging, waging,
somewhere on the patch-work earth
A woman peasant’s climbing, climbing,
job ladders to see all the world
The war is seen, the war is given
Some profit with retribute mirth
The peasant woman is directing
from top positions war and earth
Low, low, in the pits of countries done,
the pyramids of starving and fattening are built
Low, low, under bombs, the starvers’ gross income,
drops bombs as if disguised as fortune’s hellish yield
V.P.T. 29.09.2009
V.P.Toucheva 29.09.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
Two Women
There’s a fiction author, sits confined
with a composer of social hives
Both authors are polite and kind
Both stern and sticking to own side
The author first evades the clash,
looks at a tree that’s winter-bound:
leaf bunches in green-yellow rashed
upon a blue chased off by clouds
The clouds pass the graveyard sunny
Deer sleepers there are covered with earth
One moment beds gape in the ground,
the next they’re bigger than mole hills
The second author is collecting-
the gathered clues can be processed
She used to heal, but also practised
the skills that go with army ranks
How many in the graveyard-city
were lied to, or were liars worth
How many’ll be forever pitied
How many got what they deserved
V.P.T. 27.09.2009
I wonder what verse will come out of the next sentence:
When a country subsides a war through tools increasing the country’s economic effort needed for covering a monetary debt, and when a family is slowly falling apart and can no longer be collectively controlled by the principle of orders coming along the gridlines of professional belonging, and along the gridlines of structural order, then the man charged with the responsibility to sign the subsidiary long-term economic bond, and the woman involved in strategic projects without her knowledge, are two pawns not only moved but also sacrificed: the man is sacrificed by his country in the name of a new policy, and the woman sacrificed by her closest kin in the name of keeping their former belonging a secret.
V.P.Toucheva 28.09.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
When an author of fiction is confined with an author of social relationships, both authors politely outstand their aspects of the binary wish to involve in, or stay away from, social pyramids- the first author evades the direct clash and looks at a tree that is winter-bound in bunches of yellow and green upon a sky of blue getting conquered by determined clouds coming from the graveyard; and the second author gathers clues for a future manipulation that will verify his or her nature developed on a combination of civil profession and military rank.
V.P.Toucheva 27.09.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
There are two aspects in which writing plays inventive and produces ideas based on the relationship of medicine with life- one aspect is when a literary work takes parts from life’s living body while keeping life’s brain blocked to eliminate the threat of residing impulses getting transferred, and the second aspect is when malfunctioning parts are taken out and given to a completely healthy body to cure them with time.
Here is the first rhymed part of ‘Whispers’:
Whispers
A long weekend, the city’s out in the country
The autumn’s shrinking into produce and in quiet moods
The buildings watch through eyes whose job is guarding
The trees are carpeting their outskirts with fallen fruits
She walks to meet a man of nature
So many men have come across to meet
But as she passes, memories age-old clatter
Each one connected back along old links
The men she hates, despises, fears
The men she envies and will imitate
The ones she will not go near
The ones that catch, for whom she’s bait
The past was easy, taken, lived through
A past that took, from her, today
The present is unreal, with life dues
A present that gives to the past its day
He calculates the strengths directed
An opposition in exchange
His past does whisper to his present
His present whispers to his past
V.P.T. 20.09.2009
V.P.Toucheva 21.09.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
The global business and political policy that gave the structures the right to choose their men, or gave chosen men the right to create whatever structures they thought fit- the first direction towards creation leading into stability and the second into anarchy- was all around an apartment where, at a table that could be called round because the tablecloth fell almost evenly on all its side, a man was sleeping, clasped over a script, and was dreaming the happy moments of power proper to when a film director selects the staff for his future film.
V.P.Toucheva 17.09.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
The city was a growing ball of relationships wound over one another in layers that traced back along the applied policies, and revealed in cross sections the features of compatibility that pointed to how small the world was when seen in its whole, and how huge if examined in the variety of its elements: some intent on motion, though with no idea about where to stop, some uncertain about which way to go, though charged with the strong wish to participate.
V.P.Toucheva 15.09.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
Really, the writing of my novel ‘Whispers’ is going on very well and I am almost ready to write its second sentence after this first that reads:
The residential block was about to be cleared of cockroaches with a special concoction sprayed- an initiative coming from the younger generation of the previous social gurus as an alternative option to repairing the roof; an initiative giving business, allowing access into inhabited areas, and preventing hordes of cockroaches from crawling around, scared by the microwave vibrations which the residential area was to be exposed to in the name of creating stability, a steady weather, or security.
V.P.Toucheva 12.09.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
the policeman under double stress who is supporting the law levels, but also pretending to be liberal to the creation of the levels of organized crime
the doctor who is burdened with the dilemma to cure a patient or to provide the hospital with another donor for the advance of science in the direction of proving that an old body can live longer if some of its parts are substituted with elements from a younger body
the military officer who must meander, participating in all the campaigns of the big state and business policies while keeping himself outside the effects of those policies
the administration clerk who has a stable chair at a stable desk, and a stable bonus to a stable salary for staying not bribed by clients desperately rattling in the administration chambers formed by the walls of rights and opportunities, and roofed by restrictions of appropriate historical time, relevant to business location, allowed partnership, and politically supported investment
the.....
Well, if one wants to read, or write, something, one must spare the time and apply the necessary skills. I must sit at my desk, meander to avoid my ideas for better occupation, call from my past a bit of youth to reinforce my inspiration, and step on the world’s organized levels to find characters as orderly and clear as the diamond structure.
V.P.Toucheva 5.09.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
Now that the military structures are shredding off their economically independent administration sub-division, the Ministry of Administration no longer exists, and the State Information Bureau has been announced to have spent lavishly on irrelevant purchases, what can one think but that the first institution has exhausted the funds that temporarily supported redundant officers, the second is handing over the power and tools for granting or blocking entrepreneurship, and the third can no longer place orders for services with firms whose heads cannot be officially hired as consultants on serious matters.
The global stability for Bulgaria bases on the economic levels and the social pyramids, like anywhere in the world, and a person can seek a working position as a specialist in a social-economic pyramid, or a business niche in an economic-social level. In other words, the global stability bases on the principles of the socialist and the capitalist systems combined.
It may prove to be innerving both to the survivors who have been hoping for a still period to be able to take a relaxing breath, and to the drop-outs from the fake structures that lined the basic ones all through the past couple of decades.
In one word, a social war is about to start in Bulgaria between the already settled social layers and the elements settling down from the levels now renewed with foreign import of specialists and specialists returning from abroad- where they were lured to go, driven out of the country by the numerous reforms- to introduce the parameters of uniformity in performance and organization.
I am not sure that the novel I am writing will be as good as “Dorman”(http://vpt.hit.bg), nor that I will not be distracted into proving my identity and independence, that I can write a poem nobody can imitate, or that I am not planning to sell my half of my apartment, or that I know enough of English to have taught at the Bulgarian comprehensive schools, or that I can take care of myself if I am not set up in a situation where my good manners and my endurance are tested.
Here is a poem written on September 4th, 1997, when I attended a training course, with two lovely ladies, Janet and Priscilla, come a bit too late to teach me what I had already found through practice:
Late
It was the hour
It was half past
He looked inside to wake her up
She wasn’t there
She had got up
He’d lain awake
to be in time
she’d lain awake
because of him
V.P.T. 4.09.1997
V.P.Toucheva 4.09.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
Now that the latest stage of tracing routes and levels for the structures extending into an economically stagnated Bulgaria, is waiting for the summer holidays to end, and the global coverage co-ordination surveillance is borrowing the idea of social events financing economic plans, the socialist period structures that existed between the belief that they belonged to the people and their subordination to bank endebtment, seem ready to come out dressed in such a motley bondage and alliance clothing that one may hope to be safe and sane enough to watch the future scandals from aside and evade all obstacles as if they were as harmless in their anonymity as is an armchair placed at one’s apartment door to block, or eavesdrop, or store messages, or stimulate reaction, or assign a job to the future to move, replace, or amend- now when the boundaries of competence the home affairs structures have been reached and the skills of the redundant staff must be employed, be it pointless occupations, lest they are used in spontaneous confrontation.
In line, here is my latest poem:
In The City
While hiding from the city’s notice my own weakness,
I stumble over my own plans and aims
While hiding from the city’s notice my own meekness
I drop achievements I so hard attained
The city is indifferent, won’t help or interfere
I don’t befit in any fate or destination cell
A warden’s look believing, frank and clear,
knows not whom me- the harmless one- will fell
The city is indifferent, won’t help or interfere
I’m heading to my self-produced reclusive hut
A chimney sweeper is a blessing I pass near,
but my hands full of life can’t touch for bits of luck
Ambitious to survive inside the motley city,
I’m jealous and afraid of the ambitions to succeed
The beauty I can’t buy not get its lovely pity,
is based on style paid, and style is based on it
The city’s clean on this hot summer morning
The sun is bleaching heads and raised by sweepers dust
The city’s disappointed on this uncertain morning
that it’s a holiday, a workday, promise, opportunity, and lust
The city’s greedy in its pleasures old, common
It’s organized by people and for people in exchange
Some stick to their joy to find, to use, to prosper
Some have achieved a balance that does really irritate
The city is, of its own residents, all independent
Its people, independently live in their cells, all free
Their anthem bordering on land above and land downstairs,
is city’s heart and will voiced in a song of the blue sea
The city is, of all its residents, all independent
Its people heading to their self-produced recluse
They have no time to answer the reporters’ questions
because they’re in hurry to watch the evening news
V.P.T. 23.08.2009
V.P.Toucheva 25.08.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
A Science Fiction Story
It was a lovely sunset.
The sun and a couple of satellites decided on a short truce for as long as a kiss could last.
The satellites were happy because they were burdened with the creation of additional atmospheric pressure under the horizontal blanket of short waves they were emitting, a blanket that blocked the natural exchange of energy between the earth and the space around it, sort of a roof that ensured the earth with a stable global climate that could be edited by location and season, though it also brought in the problem of the greenhouse effect with which mankind had not yet learned how to cope.
The sun was less happy because it was engaged in proving an own theory of creation, namely that it is not stars that turn into planets with cooling on their outside, nor is it that planets turn into stars with their hot cores growing out, but either way round over time, with one and the same object once a star, once a planet, and then a star again.
There were two persons on the earth engaged in occupations different due to both the difference between their jobs and the difference between their social positions- a woman who was following the whims of the sun, dubious herself on the issue of the luxury of summer, and a man who was indulged in adapting the earth to the global warming which side effect science had not yet found how to harness.
…..
V.P.Toucheva 3-4.07.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
Some TV reporters say that anyone in this country can buy the equipment to learn what the other people are doing and saying. I think that such information is gathered by people interested in sophisticated gadgets and sold to people interested the progress which their competition is making.
However, I find listening in on me and keeping me under observation as natural as the inconvenience of being cold in winter and hot in summer, or as essential as keeping edibles for as long as they can last and using them only after they become a sight worthless as stock.
In the future, Mankind Prime will be living on distant planets and hiding from the unknown environment, but everyone will be safe if frankly open in one’s doings and intentions to everyone else. The permanent communication links will be of great importance, and what we are now doing on the Earth is more or less developing and testing in practice the necessary equipment while breeding the human types that will not shrink from living in total exposition.
I am sure that whatever Mankind does now is in the name of Mankind Prime.
I am sure that we are now living in a historical era when the people on the earth are slowly taking a bit of a shift away from the natural into the direction of the artificial, leaving the purity of ecology to the countryside and the non-human species, and crowding in the cities to re-create those intrinsic qualities that have been lost or diluted during the different civilizations.
I am also sure that Mankind is developing those features and characteristics that will sieve and settle the people attributed to life on the earth, and will present Mankind Prime with people of the natural human aptitude to growth.
Now that balance is the topic, here is an old poem of mine about the winter:
AGAIN
The raining pinetree,
with the sun beside it,
is letting snow white
and cold winters down
No clouds linger
over it
to hide it,
but carried on
by winds,
they go round
V.P.T.
V.P.Toucheva 2.08.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
It is a real merit global strategy has gained in as few as twenty years with the achievement of an almost velvet-gloved substitution of the trainees of the Soviet policy with those of the different western programs that base on the combination of a person’s natural aptitude and the behaviour pattern that person is led into adopting.
The period that was assigned for redistribution of influence over the country, which separated the population into the group receiving benefits coming from the west through the structures of the east, and the group enjoying new possibilities for mobility given by the eastern structures at the expense of the western populations, seems to be culminating in the formation of a local pyramid of power where all levels are controlled by local politicians and officers, both groups with a declared determination to fight against any negative legacy left from previous governments, and struggle for the country’s stability.
Any future comparison with the period directly after the introduction of the socialist regime on September 9, 1944, will be a blasphemy, though many people sense vindictiveness in the atmosphere.
I seem to have failed in my attempts at understanding the mechanisms and tools with which the global levels are gaining stability through an inner instability that steps on all sorts of confrontations.
I have an alternative: to humbly witness what is about to happen while order is being reintroduced by the law, and partially by the people who violated the law during the past twenty years, that is, be like the old man sitting on the curb to listen to the music coming out of a summer window across the street, or I may swagger around, supported by my accumulated exhaustion, and urge myself on in life, like the seemingly insane skeleton of a woman following her own encouragement of ah-aha-ah-aha-ah-aha.
I think that this blog will not be a safe place for some time, so I had better write a story about love, maybe about the impossibility of love between the Ah-Aha Woman and the Man sitting on the curb to listen.
V.P.Toucheva 27.07.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
The tall fake customer who chose to stand right behind me- as if to drop something into my shoulder bag- at the openly broad biscuits counter had probably picked me out from the recordings of my previous visits and was now practising face control on a level well below his former job at the customs house.
Selecting whom to suspect has certainly something to do with the creation of new structures and the hiring of personnel that instinctively eliminates the competition of the structure architects, and more certainly than that with the human types, some of which have parted with the hope to develop the haughtiness of the impoverished aristocrat, but have stolen from their natural opponents the right to develop the instincts of the hunter.
I must read my literary itinerary named “Dorman” to see what of the social background then has turned into social specifics now.
There certainly are more than one Benjamin now to suspect Jane Brown of interfering with her presence in the new style of pools and structures, and more than one Dorman to buy off the security cameras the recordings that turn Jane Brown into an unaware advertising agent on brochures and book covers.
I must rewrite “Dorman” and make it a more serious book.
V.P.Toucheva 24.07.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
Local rules rarely observe laws, and when a local majority is strong enough to abstain its group’s interests, one may turn into the ‘black sheep’ that either obeys or is ousted.
The protests of the minority against the unfairness may be good-humouredly interpreted as insanity or seen as aggression, both of which a clever minority may elude with small picks from the common ‘pie’ or silently suffer.
In line with getting civilized, which I have certainly gone through, ware or unaware of its mechanisms, here is an old poem of mine:
A Compassionate Thought
I will be hungry, will be thirsty
What will be then the helping hand
The memory of this now plenty
or that someone is what I am
The prime is with me, though scared,
but almost equal to thirst
It will stay tired, with me paired
and wait for me to leave it first
I fought my road, left life in ambush
Above my head's the dome of skies
One of the moody fate-announcers
takes his own turn to read my sign
The world's progressing, breaking, building,
preparing in rearguard
Its overlapping, tapping, spinning,
is something better, someone's start
Who needs some water, I am drinking
Who needs some food, I eat and eat
Will someone think that I am needing
when sad days slap on me their leap
I try to help you, I am thinking
I keep and give what I have got
Please do not leave to memos sinking
to help me with a compassionate thought
V.P.T. 25.03.2003
V.P.Toucheva 23.07.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
The poem below, brimming with positive mood, was written shortly after a school’s headmistress, accompanied by the school’s psychologist and its secretary, gathered round me to see me write and sign my resignment.
That was another historical period that brought me another resignment, all negative to my physical and mental survival, but all as customary as is for a mouse to run from the cat, hide in a hole and plan a new food expedition.
The difference between the shifts of political resignations and my instigated resignments may be found in the fact that when on no income or charity I am looking around for a job, like spreading my unused genes on the horizontal to hitch my desperate personality to whatever source of life, while the resigning politicians, having taken turns to alter whatever, plus the education, system to the extent exacting new recruitments to mend all, will be turning their parties into business clubs.
Christmas Tree
Around you there winds a garland,
and stars sit quiet in your green
No story’s told, no memory round
to tell your feelings to your dreams
Your feelings are for people happy
Your dreams keep in their tunes your sighs
Beyond this place of honoured standing
is neither this hall, nor this night
Don’t sleep to wake up in the morning
with presents under your fine skirts
Enjoy the night… enjoy…enjoying
the quiet of a holy birth
A year climbs up on your branches
full of my wishes and my dreams
Oh, Christmas Tree, let light embrace you
Let happiness be round me
V.P.T. 4.12.2004
V.P.Toucheva 22.07.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
It really is a period of total uncertainty but for those people and countries that are participating in the creation of the current upper global levels.
In line, here is an old poem about skies and trees:
One Thing Only
There's one thing which I really love-
the voice which penetrates my soul
But skies are hungry, and above
it soars into the spaces cold
All left for me is a red light
above the tape, all mine and turning
My soul, strong, in need to fight,
can lock your voice in lightnings burning
There's one thing which I really love-
the voice which penetrates my soul
V.P.T.
V.P.Toucheva 17.07.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
In line with my own past twenty years which seem to be quite different though affected by the globalizing past twenty years of the party workers who guarded the socialism infrastructures, and the security institutions who introduced the elements of capitalism, here is an old poem of mine:
ALMOST LATE
The waves
take all
into the bay-
their calm,
their hopes,
their strength
But they are hurrying,
almost late,
to span
the whole
sea shore length
V.P.T.
V.P.Toucheva 14.07.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
The gathered over the years, empty glass jars which I sold today at the equivalent of two euro cents each, will buy me a loaf of bread tomorrow.
The many notices in the block entrance alarming to a recent theft will need my teacher’s pension to pay the already hired security agency that will guard the block.
On one and the same day, I am exhausting the last of my reserves, and security is exhausting the last of its resources.
No wonder my retrospective is turning upon its own back to see if it is supporting or threatening:
In Succession
A nation motley, brewed, amalgamated,
where roads human, peoples different met,
where wars were fought in timeless plenty,
where passions boiled, schemed, and slept
A nation of the best-worst mankind
In turn, prey, predators, tough, then ferocious
Ransacking ranks of friends to grow own pride
All pioneers slow rash, dispatched, and open cautious
Inside own claws of fear and self-confidence
Steel hardened fighters, laundered clever cheats
Inside own dens of remnants, nonsense, tokens
Instinctive cowards, insatiable jungle beasts
A nation wakeful, teamed, sincere, simple, hearted
The builders of the roads to the distant worlds
Earth’s messengers, survivors bred for hardship
The last to live their lives, the new ideas first to serve
A nation scattered in the need of grouping
Collected in the chambers of the home control
A nation pooled inside wooed order, order wooing
Rejecting places fixed in ordered everything and all
A nation motley, brewed, amalgamated,
where roads human, peoples different met,
where wars were fought in timeless plenty,
where passions boiled, schemed, and slept
V.P.T. 9.07.2009
V.P.Toucheva 10.07.2009 Sofia, Bulgaria, EU
The question has much of Bulgaria’s past and present, of the people who left it to live abroad, of the people who came to live in the country, the people who need just the area, the people who need just the power, the people who are tools in the hands of other people, the people of difference and similarity, the people who act instinctively, the people who scheme and wait, the people of all the different spheres and scales, the people of all the different destinies and lives, everybody really.
In line with my future work, here is a retrospective poem:
Rhyming
There’s no hurry to describe the seasons
Enough to look and see the people going past
They seem to liken their all lives’ meanings
to natural divisions by a cast
The autumn person will be nice and cold
like autumn trees which, wet, wait for the night
with pine-tree needles scattered on the ground
and air that’s so strong though light
The spring-time person will be happy, flying
towards a flourish or a conquest
like spring which gives its blessings: arming
the seeds with the potential of days next
The summer person is the scarest to notice
the mist of heat and dust blur off the sight
The summers are forever, ever, thirsty
Don’t get the fruit they’ve grown, working hard
The winter person is the most lucky
Naught there’s to steal, naught there’s to take
The winter, itself, takes beneath its carpet
all, even dreams of spring which will be back
There’s no hurry to describe the seasons
Just say ‘hello’ to each coming phase
If you don’t match, you won’t be greeted: reasons
for this a lot, but you won’t be off-chased
V.P.T. 18.10.2003