Life has no meaning – only an intrigue.

S. B.

About myself

Monika has loads of kinks. Of course, depends on how you’re going to look at them: some see them as completely normal behaviour.

For example: if the tea is very hot, she blows on it, unselfconsciously… quietly whistling. And as if disappears from the reality [not only for herself, but for the people around her as well].

Next: while eating something delicious or something she’s been missing – closes her eyes. Says she borrowed this habit from somebody.

And more: walking somewhere in the city on a sunny day she closes her eyes and makes ten steps. Without changing the pace or the direction. Try this one – at about the seventh step you would really love to open your eyes…

Sir, wouldn’t you be surprised to find your girlfriend an old tooth paste to scrub a bathroom sink?

What about eating salad on a bench in a city park with a credit card instead of a spoon (which you don’t usually get just like that in a park)?

It’s no big deal to make Monika laugh and it’s as easy to make her cry.

Although she loathes McDonald’s burgers, one day she sets her heart on them, buys two, and eats them right at the counter.

Monika is often losing weight. But also – Monika likes to brag about some new extra kilos and being “cuddly and feminine”. Monika does not refuse chocolate, cake and beer.

If you’re smoking next to Monika, offer her a cigarette – she’s quite likely to have quit smoking at a given moment but it’s equally possible that she’s started again. Depends on the period of life – the poetic or the prosaic – she’s having. [Take a guess, during which period this creature doesn’t smoke and during which she does? That’s your guess? – Wrong. It’s just the opposite.]

Monika has long hair that she sometimes dyes dark red. Not easy to recognize Monika now, because she’s cut it very short [women in a restroom hoot: a boy, a boy!].

But the most important – she’s charming charming charming. Men often glance at her. She often glances at men, too, as well as at mirrors [which are all over in our world – have you noticed?], because she is in “the prime of life” – 24 years and 46 months old.

About all the rest

It’s enraging when Ralfas doesn’t want to spend time with me. But then he doesn’t for he’s afraid of sex. It’s stupid, ‘cause with him I don’t want it at all, long since. I did while I was waiting for him [and that was way back the last winter]. Now I’m looking for other far-distant love objects and Warshawa (x) seems suitable enough for me. And so I wrote a teasing letter for this true Polish guy that I met one night at a club – Slawek. Let him think about me. [He didn’t reply at all].

It was a weekend when the boys wanted group-sex. Monika, Ralfas, Salvijus – trio’s comeback. It was a night of vodka, vanilla vodka; there was a girl named Vytė with us, who didn’t understand anything – our relationship is hard to understand – there was a global schizo spree that turned into nothing – just sleep. Because I didn’t sign-in for anything. Because Salvijus was right saying: “at least one of us is homosexual and one – bisexual.” I didn’t fall into any of the categories, although familiarity [intimacy? – jeez, this isn’t that] was unrestricted. I simply listened to myself. And was saying: “surprisingly, you don’t feel anything; surprisingly you’re playing fine, without demolishing your stone walls…” The morning was equally ridiculous and indifferent. It was comical listening to the boys’ speaking to one another and then heartily talking to Vytė about her – twenty-year-old’s – problems. If I had her problems… That’s a past stage [not to humiliate or mock anyone].

My writing’s somewhat sad today. Calm though.

I’m creating escapalogical plans. Related to thoughts about death – helps to relax.

And at some moments I’m dreaming of running away to a decent foreigner who will support me, who won’t know anything about my wolf-nature [if it’s possible to hide?]. Those are the Slawek moments.

I really liked Slawek. A surprisingly great blend I would be glad to hang around for some twenty years…

Meanwhile, I’ve got a bunch of friends on the verge of insanity all round. I’m also like that. Or at least it is hanging over me.

With Mindaugas – still no changes. I don’t feel anything new towards him. Neither does he, I think. The esthetics are, oh, not right.

Yesterday I cut my modern-thinned hair to hell. Short short.

I’ll go for a walk while I’m still beautiful.


Those larks of mine do not gladden me anymore.

And I no longer believe much in the miracles like a New Person in my life.

Just dreaming sweet little dreams…

Tonight I even woke up, twice. First time – because I dreamt of Kornelijus.

We worked with Kornelijus this summertime and only after a month I started circling around him like a shark… I was paying attention to him before and after performances, and felt the same in return… All sorts of jokes in the make-up room, natters, glances and so on and so forth. I don’t promise anything to myself though. I mean – what’s this: “don’t promise to myself” – don’t expect anything. Consequences of painful lessons. Taking a bow after the last show we grasped each other’s hands, as usual, but this didn’t mean anything either [actors are always being extremely familiar]. By the way, I’ve crossed out male actors; at least I said so to myself. Nevermind. Later I approached to kiss him and we kissed. Like children; and his lips were so tight [just like Ralfas’ when he “doesn’t love me no more”]. “Bye – bye” and bye. And so what? I know nothing of him, he does nothing for me. This will hardly lead somewhere. After a strategic setback with this one character [an obsession of one beau, continuing far more than one year; of course, not an obvious one, maybe he’s even unaware of it] I surmise that the slightest decisive action on my part will only quicken the collapse of everything…

And suddenly in the night I’m dreaming Kornelijus. I’m dreaming that his hair is bright scarlet and he’s kind of with someone [girlfriend, boyfriend? – I don’t understand their relation but there is somebody at his side]; and then I’m dreaming that we’re moving close to kiss and suddenly… his lips are soft, tender, they open and we’re kissing, so feelingly! A warm wave whelms me; it wakes me up; smiling I’m wallowing in my bed and… am happy.

Part two of the dream comes in the morning. I’m dreaming of Panevežys, home, hearing a strong hammering; Mom comes to open the door and some man throws himself on her, punches her face [I understand that my mom’s a postwoman, that all this is related to some mail], starts kicking, beating my mother; I jump to call the police… Trying to remember something: what’s the number and stuff. One fucking nightmare. Without an end, ‘cause I wake up. I’m cold. Early morning. Somebody is really knocking on neighbour’s door.

The mother of Liuda – an actor that’s acting with me in Kaunas – is in death throes at a hospital, dying from cancer. Doctors say it’s a matter of a couple of days, so today’s performance is cancelled. A touch of such a close death’s tail on my face gave me jitters… And so? What does theatre mean when you’re facing death? Nothing, actually.

Kornelijus asked what it means when you break a mirror. In fact, he broke one with keys during the première of “The Close and the Distant” [well well, couldn’t it mean he’s actually gay – yes yes yes…]. So now seven years of misfortune for him. But I don’t want to believe or disbelieve it. Things that have an effect on us do come true. Although today I wasn’t willing to drink out of a broken cup. Korenlijus said he was mostly afraid for the people close to him… I’m not sure what I’m afraid for. Maybe I don’t love anyone that much to quiver every single time? [Though at night I dreamt my beaten mother, whom I neither do nor don’t love. She’s just an elderly woman that once gave birth to me. On the occasion of my birthday I greet her with the day of giving birth.]

I have a feeling of having begun to tell my life-story to someone. To myself? I would gradually forget everything. If only I stopped writing – would slowly drown to the bottom. Would it be bad? It would simply be different than it is now.

[I want a piece of cake and I’ll soon have it.]

At the shop I’m fumbling Litas coins until the assistant goes under this and rips out:

“So spread them!”

Then I ask, completely cold and calm [in fact, hear myself asking]:

“Oh, are you in a hurry?”

The woman pales and starts mumble something about how it’s hard to work these days; you must do this and also that…

Meanwhile I’m delighted by my wit. Very subtle, very.

[But now I’ve got a piece of cake. Wow, so fat though…]

One day I realised that I am a grown-up and I’ve got money – why don’t I overfeed myself with confection till I vomit? Where is this fucking temperance, self-control from? Whoah, I thought the next second – I can’t do otherwise, I’m responsible for myself. I am a grown person. It’s even pleasant after all – to masochistically restrain myself from candies when I want them so much. Nope, no candies. Development of the willpower. Sort of.

Yesterday I strangely discussed loneliness with Jevka [who taught me the meaning of “I will come over for a cup of tea” – here I should make a large and heavy footnote because it’s a separate story about a guy who came for tea and jumped into my bed, as if “to drink tea” meant “to fuck” in Lithuanian]. And the stuff on loneliness was quite good. Recently he broke up with a gal that had lived with him for five years. Now he can’t get used to being alone at home. I understand him. I said that a few years are necessary to accustom and understand that one can as finely live alone – like in my case. And then: “to drink tea, to drink tea…” Fuck those men… They aren’t a shit better than women.

I’m thinking that I’m still far from knowing how to deal with people nicely. Not only that, I trust them too much. And that is rather dangerous. Only now I’ve started learning to distance myself from vampires. On the other hand, who knows – maybe I’m also guttling somebody?

My crazy pal Angelika once said about Mindaugas, tearfully: “That sad romantic lad. He’s traumatised. I feel so sorry for him… You will never stave him in.”

True, absolutely true. But he can “stave me in”. And I’ve been traipsing about this man for more than two years.

Kornelijus won’t write an SMS. We won’t be together. “No more I-Love-You’s.”


After quite a long silence [well, sometimes we exchanged polite mindful SMS’s like “how you’re doing?”] Ralfas sent a long essay on exhibitionism. God knows if it was written by him or by someone else, but I didn’t understand shit there. All kinds of delirium and gibberish. Like, it’s supposed to be funny and sincere. But in reality – you can die out of loneliness.

One evening I was walking home with a MAXIMA (1) bag in my hand and was thinking [because felt a slight gnawing in my heart – it happens to me]: if I’ll have an inadvertent heart attack right now, how long would it take for them to find me? Mindaugas takes care of me once a month – he asks what’s up, how’s things. Ralfas – hell knows – whenever it strikes him, he can call even after half a year. Parents never call me – it’s me who always phones them. Sister – never calls first as well. And I will be sort of unable to inform everyone that I’m done… What else – colleagues? But if it’s Friday night… And after they miss me? They would believe I partied too much or simply lost my mind and expect I’ll appear at work again soon … Okay. All the friends remember me when it’s them – not me – who feel bad’n’sad. So, who’s gonna find me stinking there – and when?

I live completely alone [I want it that way]. To have some rest and understand what is going on here. And to fall in love with someone. And to allow someone to love me. And to share my life with that person. Only in half – no other cuts. To live some more. There are plenty simple miracles still waiting to be discovered in my life.

I don’t know, maybe all these words are true [if truth exists], just they don’t warm me. And living doesn’t get easier after I’ve heard them.

I go on being silent.

And later. Later Liuda happened to call and said that her mother ALREADY died [few days ago she was in death throes and today she’s no longer here]. And I had to share this message, yes, no irony [although the first thought was awful: “Now I’ve got an excuse to call Kornelijus”]. You see, I just had to tell all the team. Kornelijus was the only one to have answered and he knew what to do [‘cause I was lost]. A couple of hours later I asked him if everything had been taken care of. We spoke twice. The second time he said: “Ok, so see you… some time…” I replied: yeah, sure you will. Then looked at a calendar – soon. If only the show will take place. Because you can’t be sure of anything real and trusty in this world, except death…

And that’s how I got a conversation with Kornelijus as a “present” [in such a weird form – on the occasion of funeral]. You know, I spent all the morning thinking of how to find an excuse for a call or at least an SMS to him…

Anyway, maybe we’ll meet just like that. What do you know. Maybe everything is not so UNDEPENDABLE?

A little later I visited one old acquaintance, Rimutis, exchanged phone numbers and borrowed a cd. I went in person. Didn’t wait for him to remember me. Met Omar in the street. Had a chat in English. Funny. I’m creating a lot of work plans. That much of life.


But sometimes a boot sort of appears on another foot. Everything turns inside out. It’s hard to think of my conversation last night as real. I could hardly explain it logically [the only explanation: I finally achieved what I wanted – got crazy].

I wanted silence – got it. I wanted a person – got it. Wanted to talk with someone – I did. Kostas.

What did I learn? Nothing new. Simply talked. Asked too many questions. Received too many answers. And got a kind of question that I’m not going to answer [‘cause all questions are pointless].

This part is completely out of my movie. I don’t know where this wanderer roved into my universe from. But all the rivers have flown into same sea. “My destiny is clear. But nothing had changed in general.” I don’t even expect any changes in my life. Although. I see the world a bit different today. Ha, reminds of days when we were three – then too I was shouting that I see the world differently. Then too I felt harmony. After that [now?] everything changed, I started seeing that trio thing as a lie. In fact, even now I think it was. A mere spiritual masturbation of three egoists. It’s not what I’m searching for.

I don’t know if I really have to be alone. No. And – I am a woman. Not some hermaphrodite. Not an angel nor a devil. Not a lesbian. I am a simplest REAL woman. That’s important.

I’m asking myself: why do I trust everything? Why do I cry? Why do I shudder? Why do I listen and ask further? Why do I believe? Because this is truth. Reality.

Here I stop. And where you stop, it starts…


So now this Eligijus. A classmate of mine that I set an eye on long time ago, the love of my childhood, is coming voluntarily and staying several nights at my place! Right into the jaws of a shark. Haw.

Ok, seriously. It’s not that I want to write just: “so good so good so good…” I’m just really somewhat ashamed of my degradation, and at the same time I don’t dare to hope for this person’s acceptance, and I admire him absolutely, totally, incomprehensibly and impossibly. Not only does he look closed and unachievable – he’s also warm and achievable, but he’s a real man, so being a real woman I’m not capable of doing anything. Well, maybe I am, but only somewhat miraculously or “by itself.” Today I thought: well, ok, imagine we’re together. Whoah! Fuck, how impossible it appeared! Unbelievable and complicated. And I stopped thinking about that. Only a pleasant feeling of completeness next to a cool person remained. That is way dearer than anything else.

What’s wrong with me – why don’t I call things by their real names? Funny gal. I meant “than sex”, not “than anything else.” That’s It!

At the point when I was saying that nobody needs me, at the point when I accepted it as well as myself – everybody started showing their friendliness. Ralfas said he missed me badly, you know. I said I don’t believe anything. Actually he’s trying to prove now that he believes in something. But back then he didn’t. Then – when I still did. Late. He has probably not encountered a situation when “you’re already late to do something” – that’s a prelude to the world of death. And our world indeed is like that.

The story is unfolding in some way. Further. At least I’ve got a lot of dreams. My writing’s somewhat slack. Oh well, maybe it’s really nothing serious. I’m just relaxing with some friends. Hallelujah.


Hard to put in the upper storey what is going on. But I’m holding on to pessimism [as a manifestation of common sense]. Fucking shit, never in my life have I managed to listen to fucking common sense – neither will I this time. I felt from the beginning that I’m insincere. Better stupid but sincere? Everything reminds me of earlier strokes, I don’t believe that this time is going to be different. But maybe [I felt it for a moment and relaxed a bit], nothing serious for me nothing serious. Nothing serious. Really.

Eligijus will leave. If not tomorrow, then the day after. Will buy a house. Will marry a woman that he hasn’t met yet. Or maybe he has – what do I know? Although I am a witch. A little. I don’t know, today I really want to believe that Kostas was right saying that my man must find me himself. Yes, that’s right. Or maybe my man doesn’t even exist. Then it’s totally useless to screw up a friendly relationship. Childhood’s friendly relationship. I’m just scared to remember everything. So fucking scared that I can’t even write something decent here – just fooling around. Okay, if nothing then nothing. Keeping silent, for the magic to work.

I have just had virtual sex with ‘hombre’, which means ‘Man’ [from this point onwards ‘hombre’ will be Man]. With a man – that’s cool. Was fun. He knows what he’s doing. But I didn’t come. [Should I go and come now?] Those jokes of mine… oh boy, not funny anymore.

[One raunchy lecturer committed suicide. Or – one way or another – died. We’re all going to die. By the way, his death “helped” me, similar to Liuda’s mother. We’re all helping each other. The living – the dead, the dead – the living… That’s a lot.]


And so – and nothing. Fuck-all, as the saying goes. Eligijus left for god knows where, having written before that “won’t disturb you anymore”, you know, and “till next meeting”. This means: “fuck off”. I got it right. [Hate to be right…] Judging by the peacefulness that took me in after he left…

Yesterday I found out that Kornelijus is really gay. Mindaugas told me.

Oh yeah. I was kissing with Mindaugas. After a hundred and twenty years of dragging and hints. Well, nothing ends and nothing begins with this though. Today we were supposed to call each other and probably meet and then – I guess – never leave each other. But it’s ok, nothing of this is going to happen.

I break up with everyone, him as well. And that’s sad SO MUCH, AS IF IT WERE A FUNERAL. Again funeral, one more time, for it’s already god-knows-which break-up in a few months. And that’s for real. And I’ve lost him forever. Because – I opened up. It was intimacy. It wasn’t “to sleep with”. It was intimacy. So it was with Eligijus, as well as gay-Kornelijus, as well as… oh well. Everything is very bad and very good. ‘Cause it ended well. Emptiness.

I just want to break up with MYSELF. Nobody knows that yet. But it’s just so logical. I can’t even cry. So I’ll probably drink some sedative. Because sister has arrived. I’m gonna be jolly and easy-going.

Took off my crown and wrote an SMS to Mindaugas. Then he called [why do they even CALL out of politeness?]. We agreed to go to the cinema [only later did I realise that NOT WITH ME “we” agreed to go to the cinema]. But I was excited [no longer know what trusting someone and being excited for that means]. Didn’t hear him speaking. Just heard WHAT he was speaking. I left work earlier to meet him. I wanted to meet him, wanted to be with him. Wrote to him that I’m already free. He didn’t reply. I went to that fucking cinema. Called him before – didn’t answer. I tried not to think about what I was intuiting. I WENT, he WAS NOT there; I turned around and came back. Ha-ha, came back – to where? To here. Into virtual world, to virtual lover Man, who consoles and writes nice verses to me, calls me princess and says that I should feel myself a queen…

Well, I feel myself an old scuff. Old bitch. Slough. Void. Hole. Don’t feel anything. Feel myself worse than dead. I came here running: Beethoven’s 7th in my ears. And now – this time for real – in my earphones. And I am l-i-v-i-n-g. And it’s already seven o’clock, and NOBODY has been looking for me.

Eligijus hasn’t been looking for me, Mindaugas hasn’t been looking for me, Ralfas hasn’t been looking for me, Kostas didn’t remember me, even Jevka… nobody.

Not because christmas is coming [I should write Holy Christmas!]. No. I exactly feel it. “This is meant to be.” I heard correctly. So what? Even beauty won’t help here, even beauty won’t save the world.

Today I lift my hands up – give up. I give up! I think it’s fair. Not to exist. To anybody. To myself – especially. By fair means – without VISIBLY raising a hand against myself.

I’ll go to read electronic letters from Man from America. Something beautiful – a sun ray straight to my heart. It won’t hurt anymore. ‘Cause I don’t know anything… “Un rayo de sol a mi Corazon (2)…”

Oh, this is a new work – “Monika & Sex”.


Now things with ‘hombre’ are getting complicated little by little… He started writing he loves me! And from me – nothing and nothing, I just keep on sending my lovely pictures. What else can a man’s heart do when what he sees is really ok, and the inside – just the way you wanted, I mean, the way you imagine it?

Oh yes yes yes, I am the most wonderful in the world.

You know, a moment ago I was bypassed on the street by… this… oh fuck, forgot the name, that’s nice… Mindaugas! With a chick. Unfamiliar to me. Young, slim, cheap, CHEAP CHICK. Of course, it’s kind of comforting, gives some thought that he got what he deserved, got something his-style. Yet it’s unpleasant… Of course, I’m thankful for the second opportunity in a short time to watch him and feel a stone rolling off my heart [a stone named… oops… Love].

I’m such a Humorist today.

Now this America. I’m already seeing everything in a blue ground-colour with white stars. I even had a cheeseburger at McDonald’s yesterday. And without intention I bought some bread called “American Sandwich”. And the music I hear is also American [“Linkin Park”] and so on and so forth.

But let me say one thing. The one that I surely say to myself – I’m not going to fall in love with him as much as he did with me. No no no. It will be another drama. Actually I don’t want it at all but it will be so.

Because he’s 23 and he doesn’t want to see the reality. Because I’m 28 and I’m constantly living in the reality. And in reality I am – a lonely woman. Mujer salvaje (3). And doesn’t matter that I think about him all the time and talk in English in my mind. It’s just because I’m lonely now and getting more lonely with time. And the more I will be seeing Mindaugas with his chicks on streets [at least he could’ve chosen Railaitė, an acquaintance of ours, whom, I know, he likes – at least she’s ok for ME too – a woman of my taste, not this shepardess, ha], the more I will be hearing of gay-Kornelijus, the more I will be seeing Jevka with guys in boozers or Ralfas snooping the alleys seeking to remember sex-in-the-streets… The more I will be feeling not only lonely but stupid as well. ‘Cause all my 28 years I was going the wrong direction with the wrong ones. And not to learn from mistakes? To be emailing a cute young invisible guy? Am I a mad cow or what?

Yes, there is something about him that I like. Humour. I realised that today, talking to him. I also like his manly care despite being dis-a-bled [not being able to be with me]. Well, I must admit sex-on-the-internet was not bad. For sure the best I’ve had. He feels me [not perfectly, of course, but me too, I’m so uptight, still trying to stick to some norms…]. Oh this is bad. My brain’s kind of misted or something. And my home’s empty. And I celebrated empty holidays for god knows what.

Yammered a bit.

I’m tired. From the loneliness as well. But my life isn’t that bad.

The one that is going to get me – will get me white, as a snowflake.


And then, well, y’know, as usual, I get visited by feelings and immeasurable belief in my Dream. And I manage to justify everything – so everything!

You see, only now could I tell what I understood during a month of interaction with Man:

I understood that I knew perfectly all the time what kind of man I need and what kind I could marry – all those qualities were engraved in me long long ago, like ten commandments of god in blocks of stone. It’s just that never in my life have I actually got close to that ideal. All of them had scarcely one of the qualities, let alone three or four. ‘Cause it really is possible to accept surface defects but not inner incongruities. Ok, ok, to stop my gibberish I’ll try to describe something here before the first wave of love has flooded back. [Attention – I wrote LOVE].

We’ve been communicating for a month [naturally, I’m thrashing more, as I’m a superlative writer here] but I saw his photo only now. I was shocked but it’s ok, I got over it. Managed to discern beauty in that picture.

Another thing is that he claims to be a real man and want to make me his Queen. Ok, that’s funny and naïve, even banal, but let’s look at it from another side – why not make a woman your queen if you yourself are none the less than a king? Those are nice words, nice vain loud sweet little words – but they’re so affecting my self-confidence! [I have a feeling I’m gonna need more exclamation marks here].

In the next few weeks as he was chatting me up everyday [literally – every-day], he started writing he’s in love. Bullshit, of course, not worth even thinking that it could be true. Well, I sent him several photos and was writing a lot and boldly [all about my bad luck, ha]… But he hadn’t even seen me when for the first time he wrote: “I think I’ve known you for a long time.” So there really is something that doesn’t need to be seen. Should I believe in this? Not to believe means to doom myself to forever lovelessness. Sure. It’s 100% true. He’s open to me. Can’t compare him to anyone. He’s emotional.

So. Soon he wrote me: “Te quiero (4).” And judging from the way my heart trembled having read this, I believed it, and the same moment realized that he didn’t write it just for the hell of it. It’s serious. I re-asked if it was – he repeated it. Doesn’t matter. I know, that’s already super-sweet-banal. But. BUT. [Let’s notice the slight difference in sounding between the word ‘but’ and a word ‘fuck] He writes it in three languages [has even learnt it in Lithuanian] EVERYDAY. Several times. Sometimes – nteen times a day. And…..- – – –

I ANSWER HIM THE SAME. Yes, the same. And I mean it.

And no matter what, no matter where, no matter how all this is going to end – I FEEL myself a Queen, I feel loved, for the first time in my life so strong. And when he writes he wants me – I even (!) get wet the same moment. And I don’t care anymore, how this person looks. He knows the most important thing in the world – if you love, you want happiness for your beloved one. Nothing else matters, all the rest is just the details.

People, god, if only somebody had told me this a few years ago, when I was breaking up with one, with another. Would I’ve been able to dump somebody who loved me? Had this somebody managed to live one minute for me?

I don’t understand, is it so hard to love somebody? This boy is doing it so easily, that it seems to me like a dance. I’m telling him he’s special – he doesn’t believe, says there are plenty his likes out there. I’m asking: where’s this OUT THERE? I must go there, must live there! ‘Cause there’s nobody left OUT HERE.

What I wanted to say to myself: come back a little, to yourself, even deeper, to a place where you’ve already been, but forgot what it means to be honest, clean, fair-minded, emotional, romantic. I’m telling myself: You’re not a cynic, so don’t play one. You do believe in miracles, you listened with an open mouth when Kostas was explaining that you must wait for your man, who’s looking for you, and not to give yourself to everyone willing just because you’re “fertile soil” – uh oh, even if these are the words by Castaneda, even then – didn’t you turn pale and shiver the whole night through? That’s the truth. That’s the truth of truths, you know that; you were writing about that to yourself – here, eat it now. And the thing that everybody’s running away from you like from a leper – what is it? What do you call it? I’ll tell you: it’s simply because that person IS NOT on this earth. He’s in another place, walking under other stars.

I don’t want to be a leech that has chiselled in on some new victim and now is going to copy his life. No, I want to change mine. I want to love – which I haven’t done yet at all. If you haven’t loved in your life – doesn’t it mean you haven’t actually lived? I think it means exactly that. ‘Cause love is the most important.

Man: “To me making love is an expression of feelings towards another person.”

Yes. What else can it be? And if you’re uptight, if you don’t trust [Man: “Where there’s no trust, there can’t be love”], you can’t feel THAT PLEASURE that making love can give to you.

I think, there are real women and real men – call them whatever you like – cosmic pairs, fatal encounters, etc. etc. Doesn’t matter. Maybe changing the way rivers flow isn’t necessary, but at least sometimes it would be great to feel that it’s possible. That’s what happening to me: I believe that it is possible.

Isn’t it a wonderful news before Christmas and the New Year?

No, I’m no longer this cynic Monika – once again I’m a Phoenix, rising and rising from ashes. And he’s not so sad to have risen. Those ashes always make a good harvest. I’m just surprised that there’s so much of everything inside of me and I don’t die from all this shit. And what doesn’t kill me – makes me stronger.

By the way, today I wasn’t allowed into a church. Ha, there was time when I would’ve been offended [there was a story when I was yelled at, though I was so sick, was praying so sincerely – just I had ripped jeans on so one prude bitch didn’t like that]. I wasn’t. Just came at the wrong time to the wrong place.

[One thing that saddens me is my intellect. It’s probably too high for me as Woman? Or my exaggerated understanding of myself. Because you see, I don’t get any results, just keeping up a good opinion.]

Move your ass, Monika.

From: “monika” To: “hombre”

Once, chatting with you online I saw where we really are – you and me – we are nowhere, in an airless, scentless and colourless space, where nobody needs any paintings, any “love at first sight.” It’s a White Room. It’s like matrix upon which we’re drawing our landscapes, trajectories of our feelings… You draw, then me. And we’re both like children – we believe in drawing these fairy tales, in imagination. But what else can we do? No – what can we do if we won’t believe?

The glow of your dark skin is so beautiful in the White Room, your black eyes are sparkling, you’re smiling with a mouthful of pearls. You embrace my waist and strain me to yourself. I feel your warm and strong palm sliding down my spine. It stops there low, at my buns that you’ve missed so much. I curr and wave with all my body towards you. You plunge into my hair [you’ve always like my long wavy hair, mi amor] and you’re breathing my warmth. I feel how strongly the white dove is flapping…

Tender music starts playing in the White Room and you whisper in some earthly language that this music is your love for me. I’m listening to it and feeling your sharp smell. I can hear my thoughts that rhyme into funny poems and float in the air like incense smoke. My heart next to yours in a White Room. Nothing can separate us; nothing can make us forget each other.

Even if sometimes the word ‘death’ twines into the rhyme of my thoughts; it’s just like a spice – gives an edge to my appetite and sharpens the flavour of life… Morir (5).

Then the only thing is in my head: I’m now with you, and everything that goes after – doesn’t matter. We have met. And as equally this could’ve not happened.

This story – not about separation.


February 2004

(Translated by Laimonas Vaičius)

(x) From Polish – Warsaw (translator’s remark)

(1) The largest supermarket network in Lithuania. (translator’s remark)

(2) From Spanish – “a ray of sun to my heart.” (transl. remark)

(3) From Spanish – “wild woman.“

(4) From Spanish – “I love you.” (transl. note)

(5) From Spanish – “to die” (trans. note)


2 Responses to “A White Room, Where You and Me”

  1. Says:

    Hi Sandra,
    I’ve just read your White room story in English.
    Powerful indeed. I admire your work. I know Arunas does too.
    Monika feels maybe she is too intelligent?
    Go for it girl, sing, show the rest of us how it’s done.
    I hope a lot more more of your work is translated, and look forward to catching up again.
    By the way, I’m not sure my email address is currently active, but the computer seems to accept it.
    Great work, Sandra. Thanks.
    (State Library)

  2. Sandra B. Says:

    Thanks, Frank!
    I’ve just tried to send you an e-mail to this address, and no, it is not active :/
    See you in Melbourne, by the State Library, when I and Arunas come back from overseas, anyway! Cheers,

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