Emotions on Air, Mind Mute

u know what happens when something changes in u….when suddenly love finds u while u less expect it to..

when ur blood shoots off high doses of endorphines dancing like crazy dolphines and fills ur tissues with unlimited wave of warm influx…..simply called happiness.

and u know, that despite the laws of mathematics my happiness if shared with u will never decrease….but will multiply and raise to cubic power.

and distance will not be measured by lazy kilometers and sleepy time zones… distance will be measured by length of my love and frequency of my heartbeats for u which will bring me to u as fast as speed of light and as close as an artery pulsing in ur neck.

soon…

She could hate and love at the same time, the same two persons, because of these two same persons. 

She loved the same man. the same man loved the same woman and She, but not in the same manner. 

every night the same man visited both She and the same woman, but not at the same time. She was the first, the same woman was the last to be visited by the same man.

On the visits of the same man to She the same woman was always nearby. She wanted the same woman to be somewhere else but not at the same place as She. 

She could have the same man spiritually, the same woman had the same man both physically and spiritually. 

the same man spent long hours with the same woman, but less with She. She had to find a way to enjoy herself so She……..

the same woman was She’s mother. She and the same woman loved the same man.  the same man was She’s father and the same woman’s husband.  

at the moment domain [i am] is trying to configure the [my] system. 

some data [memories] are hard to synchronize. some viruses [habits] are yet to be diagnosed.

software provider [U] updated a daily report [nightly email]. from what it is concluded that the system has installed many programs with useless features [useless characters] and from where cookies [they] may have access to and damage the matrix [heart]. 

logging out without saving files [not seeing u] may cause the loss of documents [my balance]. it is recommended to shut down and then upgrade to the advanced level of protection [intensity of emotions]. 

restarting [restarting] now…. the monitor [mind] hangs [on u]. that is what was expected now. been warned [told] several times [just once]  it is not practical to keep the old version of processor with new disk drive [ it does not matter to u as long as we can remain friends]. 

should not have downloaded so many dull games on to the computer [life]. strange though, there is so many computer crap [everyone but u] in the archive disk [life], but still lots of space [place for u in my heart].

have to uninstall all programs and instead install the only exe.application [the only person]. the one this system… [my system]….. needs more and cant function [breathe] without any more. 

requesting password [waiting for u]

typing command [saying ur name]: 

troubleshoot and reboot the system [breathe with me] …..>>>>>>>>>>>%%%%%%%%????#############################################

dear mama,

it is the third letter i write to u. each time the same. but u never get them. it remains unsent. 

today u called and told me to to wear a mask not to get swine flu. of course, i will.

i always wear a mask.

with u. 

baku looks like a leprotic camp. everyone is so worried for their thingy called life. u just cant imagine how i take care of my own life. 

i cross the streets, by guess, with my eyes closed. i caress cats and dogs having organic creatures in their fur. 

u called to tell me to eat well. of course i will.

-as usual, a dish of emotions topped with thoughts plz-… 

u asked about weather, my work, my friends, books i read just wanting to censor what i do and dont do. …

u asked me how i feel.

but u forgot to ask about what i feel…  

mama, do u know that in november ur daughter needs u more?

in november ur daughter wishes to downsize her bed because it reminds her of how lonely she is?

in november ur daughter  wants to roll up in a ball and hibernate till the early spring? 

in november ur daughter does not feel shy because of her cold hands. everyone has them so.

in november ur daughter does not need a reason to get sad.

do u know ur daughter loves autumn but hates november more? 

do u know ur daughter piled heaps of funny looking medicines u urge her to swallow and made a big shape of heart?

it is bigger than ur heart, mama…..   

mama plz stop teaching me whats right or wrong. it is all relative. ur right side seems left to me.  

mama plz stop preaching. dont ask and delve. 

it is november outside and it does not suit my face so well. 

it has been two days that i walk to work and back home. 

morning mist and evening darkness comforts me.  

it has been two days he has been following me.  

honestly, i feel a bit uncomfortable because of it. 

from time to time he makes strange noises when he sees me seeing him. at normal, he is quiet and looks a bit exhausted. 

but i guess i like him very much. his eyes. his deep dark sorrowful eyes. like a melted chocolade. 

till now no one looked at me the way he does. so movingly, sincerely. kaleidoscope of emotions in one set of eyes. 

today i didnt see him. and i miss him.

where is he?

where is that dog with brown ears and lovely eyes?

remember when we talked about association of senses?

u freak me out…. the way i am being freaked out when i see Dali’s paintings. surrealistic, erotic, eccentric. and still touching.

and number 11. remember it too? peril, transgression, sin. Dali is also born on the 11.

u r just one "dəli" Dali.

(Clarification: Biz - Onlar is azerbaijani pronouns meaning We-They, and when read together they sound as “Bisons”) 

Yesterday as I was walking on the Martyr’s avenue in Baku, I happened to eavesdrop two men, one of them is a member… in a Parliament. I saw him speak twice on TV and since then I have become prejudicial towards him.

According to two men, we live in a country …..

-        where every human is important (!) and dealt with special consideration.

-        where social package with a minimum salary of 75 AZN (= 93.80 USD) within a month is quite enough for a person to lead a normal life.

-        where people will survive this winter too, as it will be milder and people are cold-resistant here.

Nevertheless, these two “bright” philosophers were deeply upset that we, the people, despite of all comforts of our lives, still moan and groan about nonsensical problems. 

Then philosophers took a comparative approach to explain the moaning-groaning phenomenon of us,a well-to-do nation, and compared Azerbaijan to Sweden. One of them smartly noted that Sweden is a problem-free country but despite this fact the rate of suicidal cases is much higher than anywhere else.

————– 

One Philosopher: Biz_onlara ne etmishik? (What have we done to them (bisons)?)

Another Philosopher: Eh, fikir verme. Nashukur milletdir de. ( Eh, don’t take it to ur heart. They are just one unthankful nation).

One Philosopher: Saat nechedi? (What time is it now ?)

(Another philosopher looks at his watch)

One Philosopher: O-o, ROLEX. (…)

Another Philosopher: Heh, bashga cur ola bilmezdi.. (Heh, it could not be otherwise.)  

One Philosopher: Bombasan (=You are a bomb) (this is a cool buzzword used in Azerbaijan to compliment someone) 

———— 

I am not sure about if we are a cold-resistant nation. But at that moment I couldnt resist curses to his water-resistant irresistible "bomb" watch.    

do you remember your childhood? 

how often do you reminisce about it?

I do not remember mine. often as I try to.

as if someone took a nibbled eraser and carelessly rubbed my memory out with it.

papa says memory is the function of time which mostly well records sad events but dusts the details of good ones. so, no wonder why I do not remember my happy childhood. well, I take his word for it.  

sometimes I do remember past scenes though.  in short episodes. with garbled fragments. childhood run over my mind as a motion-picture …when a wind brings a painfully familiar odor of wet soil.

yesterday I visited a house which used to be my home some 15 years ago.

since then things have not changed much there. except for its  habitants and an old big tree. 

the tree is not there anymore.

present habitants cut it off to make woods. to warm their frozen hearts. 

there is a  pitiful stump instead. hoary and lonely in the middle of nowhere of misty and damp november. 

does that tree remember me?  

all fallings, scratches in my palms and scar on my left  knee?

it should, according to my papa’s theory of time.

but it is a stump now and stumps do not remember.  

I loved that tree. it was my shelter. 

I would climb it often, especially in between autumn - winter when for once again time I was stuffing my mouth with a delicious handful of wet soil. and was sitting there until my mama called me to dinner when it got dark. 

that sticky cold mass smoothly slided down through my throat leaving its inimitable taste for long on the roof of my mouth. 

while my parents were deadly worried about my strange preoccupation trying to fix the small innocent problem, I was exulting with being able to have my fill of soil for dinner.  

they went to great lengths to get me out of this strange habit. and they managed somehow, for a while.

later on we moved to a new house with no tasty soil around. 

with the time, i grew out of my child habits. and besides not all soils tasted the same.  

some say that childhood is when you get lost without losing anything. when you are adult, you lose something but you manage to not get lost.

I guess they are right. but my papa’s theory is not true.I remember that tree.I still can reproduce the taint of soil in my mouth. 

yes, I was happy and lost without losing anything right on that tree munching on some delicious stuff from where we belong to. and waiting for the twilights to come.  

now, every time when november comes and the soil begins to give off its damp aroma, I want to run away from here. to any similar-looking tree. hungrily take a clot of fresh wet soil nearby, stuff my mouth with it and climb that tree. and stay there until someone calls me to dinner.  

1. write a last post

2. have an ultra short hair-cut

3. eat the biggest cheese cake (without feeling remorse)

4. smoke my first and last cigarrete

5. tell my office manager all i think about her

6. save another life (lives) by donating my vitals (this one being the last)

7. ask my mama to forgive me for never trying my best to be the best for her

8. Tbilisi

9. I have to see you

10. I have to have you.

In two cases I have nothing to blog about.

1. when I have nothing to say

or

2. when I am happy.

Today I am happy AND  have nothing to say.

 One day I went to KFC. No, I am not a fan of junk food (me likes fast food). I went in to KFC just to use its WC. 

On entering KFC I saw a crowd of people who came to KFC, hopefully not for the same foul purposes as I did…. but maybe quite a few did too.

As I was making my way through the crowd to a desired destination, I, quite by accident, brushed my shoulder against the stomach of a dark-skinned guy. You may ask: what my shoulder was doing on his stomach. Well, the guy was twice as tall as I was if I stood on my tiptoes plus a 10 cm high heels. As a polite girl, I decided to apologize and said "excuse me". (how could I know that this word is used in a different context?). In reply I heard a tall guy tell me "What excuse me?? Say I am sorry, ya short racist!".

I was giving colors - red and blue-, with rage and fear. Instead, I replied him in a meek tone "I am not a racist, I am a feminist" and left KFC forgetting about the burning reason that led me here. 

Stop here!

Am I  really a feminist? Or my answer to an unfriendly guy was just a reflexive-motor response of my brain to his inadequate reaction. Or maybe, I was being inadequate at that time?

But…what if I am a feminist, not in a mass sense of this word though. 

If so, do I really know what feminism is all about? 

I used to have a distorted understanding about feminists.  I thought feminists were unsatisfied angry women who availed themselves of every opportunity to object to men and never shaved their (not men’s) legs.

Such a misrepresentation was formed in my mind due to a well-known German feminist Alice Schwarzer whose one of articles I happened to read, quite by chance.

According to active (professional) feminists I knew (luckily, not personally), a mere touch of man’s hand upon a woman’s hand was considered to be an evident form of assault which aimed at belittling woman’s dignity and showing her a male strength. If a woman ever naked soft silhouette of her shoulders it amounted to a cheap form of prostitution.  I am sure Sigmund Freud would have to reconsider his Psychoanalysis and make a fortune on his cosy couch if he ever managed to bed and interview these androphobic women with anxiety disorders. But then again they would have also objected to the degrading fact of being on a horizontal position while Freud would be sitting vertically with his shoulders up. 

Such a perverted idea about feminists was living with me until I got to know a very intelligent woman. She is an incredibly pleasant person, was married three times, twice of which with the same man, has 4 kids and calls herself a real feminist (!).

She holds a managerial position in one of the local firms, supervises three men, develops new projects, goes on business trips, loves her husband and brings up her smart kids.

When I see her eyes sparkling with her career successes and female happiness, Alice and Freud and my "immature" thoughts about feminists all move away on the backstage.

Now I think of (real) feminists in a different way.

Feminism is not about being manly.

It is all about being feminine.

It is all about knowing one’s strength and being able to use one’s weaknesses with style.

Having one’s own principles but being able to go to a compromise when situation needs it. 

Competing with men but knowing where and when to stop and still remaining matchless.

Keeping strong but remaining frail inside.

Flirting with men but staying wholly faithful to the man she loves.

Liking to eat meat but going vegetarian for a quite few days (but never vice versa) when her man is vegetarian.

A real feminist must be (if rephrasing my skype friend’s words) a mix of vulnerability and dominance.

A real feminist is the one who goes to bed as a lover and wakes up as a happy woman inspired to build her career.

Feminism is not a desperate scream on the microphone in the street meetings trying to persuade a crowd about male inferiority. 

It is a style of life that comes to a woman with time.

It is an art of enjoying one’s life. 

And if one day your man will say that you are a bloody feminist, do not overreact. Touch his hand and bare your shoulder. Show him that laws of gravitation are much stronger than any legal arguments of a grumpy woman who mistakenly identifies herself as a feminist.  

ps. as of today Limerent learned the hardest way to 1) draw a difference between "Excuse me" and " I am sorry" and 2) never enter a crowded fast food parlor to do her natural deed. 

1.     Never gonna give you up – song by Barry White– background for lovemaking

2.     Serenade -  op. by Franz Schubert – for meditation

3.     Xilaskar Heyder Ata (= Savior Heydar papa) – song by Bilal Aliyev – for mobilization and inspiration of the crowd.

4.     Scream – a painting by Edward Munk – for  getting depressed

5.     Sitzender weiblicher Akt -  a painting by Egon Schiele – for starting masturbators

6.     Passing by – op. by Yiruma – good for those who wants to pass out (at best) and away (at worst)

7.     Necrophile -  a novel by Gabrielle Wittkop- for necrophiles

8.     Loneliness on the Net -  a novel by Janusz L.Wisniewski – for those who are skeptical about possibility of  love on the net.

9.     Ali & Nino – a novel by Kurban Seid – for those who need courage to struggle for their love which seem impossible because of borders and stuff.

10.    South Park – FOR ALL above 14. 

I am in a relationship with him since 2000, on and off.

Before 2000, I loved a Man. He loved me too. Unconditionally. He was an average Man from a below-middle class. He sold lemons, tangerines and sniffed some stuff (for pleasure).

But still, I could not be satisfied. I was seduced by the glamour and sparks of the other man. I had my head in the clouds. I craved for a better life. I wanted to be rich.

It has been 9 years since I see the sparks. I am surrounded by the glamour. But I am not a part of it.  

Glamour rejects me as a donor heart improperly implanted to its organism.   

I am not living with.. I am living side by side a man who cares for fame and money.

He is a petrol magnate.

He looks classy, has lots of friends, bosses and powerful idiots. He drives expensive cars, rents mansions and one-night partners. He does what he wants without consulting with me. And calls me a family.

He is fake when he talks and walks. He stalks behind petrol magnates who are richer than him.

He has a big company. He employs foreigners and locals. He treats foreigners. He mistreats locals.

He likes to attend international conferences on human rights, forums on homosexual rights, meetings on domestic violence. And still, he violates human rights, disdains homosexuals and commits domestic violence.

He sells some of his products at a cheaper price to his friends and neighbors. He increases the prices in the local market.

Some people say that he was very different long time ago. He was gentle and considerate. Humble and polite. He was diverse. Since when he began entrepreneurship he changed a lot, for the worse.

I cant stand another day with him. I am tired of pretending. Tired of trying to look creamy just to please his friends. I should speak to him.

A: r u ok to talk now?

B: I am busy. Sorry.

A: it wont take much. where r u?

B: In the traffic.

A: listen, i called to tell u i am leaving

B: You need money?

A: no, i am leaving hell from here.

B: ??

A: to him

B: (chuckle) to your guy who sells lemons and sniffs cocaine?

A: not cocaine, but hashish. fyi, he is organic, not fake as u r.

B: You are a piece of scrap

A: i have always been

B: You are a cheap sniffer. I never managed to get you into a habit of looking glam and drinking super cocktails.

A: cocktail of greediness and hypocrisy?

B: Almost everyone drinks it now.

A: Baku, i am leaving. u r getting worse day by day.

B: Go and fuck off with your sniffer man…..

A: dhfjdskgeurh

B: ??

———— 

Low battery, connection fails.

Baku used to be a city of contrasts. It was a silk way, a cultural bridge, east and west, Europe and Asia.

Now it is neither east nor west.

It cant decide where to belong to. 

But it remains a city of contrasts, in a different way.

In a way that you can see small kids begging for 20 qepiks on the steps of Lacoste.

You can see a conceited parliamentary (who is unable to turn his neck because of layers of fats) cursing an old woman who voted for him and now comes up to him asking to keep promises he has given on his election campaign.

You can see bright youth in the jails whereas true criminals suck the blood of innocent people.

I love contrasts.

But Baku’s contrasts knifes me deep in the eye and leaves a scar in the heart.

At times, it is better to date a monotonous guy who sells fruits and sniffs hashish but still remains a human rather than a man who stinks petrol and is full of nasty contrasts.  

PS. While a young girl, I was always fascinated by my grandfather’s stories about Stalin’s time, his regime and repressions. And I wondered how it would feel like to live in that epoch. Now I do not wonder. No need to wonder. History repeats its personages. I am living through the same epoch.  

Big Bang explained the creation of the universe.

Evolution transformed an ape into a human (though very few humans still strongly persevering traits of ape).

Progress necessitated the entering of a human on to the Space.

Misogynists ranted about men doing things with more acumen.

……Nature gifted women with hymen.

But what logical theory can explain the necessity of so rigidly maintaining some quasi-values in the Caucasus (moslem/asian society) which are typical and traditional to primitive societies?  Why is it so important to keep hymen intact before marriage. And this notion is not to be mixed with virginity. Because paradoxically, presence of hymen does not necessarily mean remaining virgin and vice versa.

I understand that there is a religious, moral side of this issue; therefore I take no interest in reflecting on them here. Rather, I tend to approach this issue from a bit alternative view.

At times I catch myself realizing that idea of keeping hymen intact is another form of ideological propaganda imposed on minds from the start of civilization by some selfish men-fathers. Why men? The answer is simple. In primitive societies while men were involved in hunting and spent more of their time outside of house, they wanted to make sure that their daughters would remain pure. And how would it possible to make it sure? Of course, by checking if everything was in place. This tactic was developed by fathers for the benefit of the future husbands of their daughters. By drawing a taboo of sexual contact before marriage fathers guaranteed that their daughters would all be physically pleased by their husbands with no choice of comparing the present mates with the previous ones. And therefore would remain faithful. Comparison, that is what people of those past ages feared most. As in comparison, truth was born.

Our ancestors were good in agitation. So good they didn’t have a chance to blog. Cant imagine what other “values” would have been instilled in our brains then. Because when an idea is being imposed, it does not become a value, it becomes just a myth. In myth people are prone to believe, as believing is the easiest way of accepting. Whereas for an idea to become a value, it needs to be logically explained, carefully brain-filtered and then freely perceived.  

While I am trying to come up with an explanation of the hymen phenomenon, my memory springs back to my university years. A long time ago now I remember debating with my university teacher about the necessity of remaining virgin until the marriage. He argued an interesting but bizarre point of view, rather a theory, which explained the nature and necessity of remaining virgin (= keeping hymen intact).

According to him and an overrated “Theory of First Mate” aka Telegony  he believed that woman’s first sex mate genetically becomes father of all her children regardless of who the subsequent father is. That is why it is so important for a woman to remain “pure” so as not to blend genetic traits that may be inherited once woman has more than one sexual partner.  I was quite shocked, honestly, to hear such an irrational argument from a person who studied abroad, had three degrees and dated a modern-mind woman. I was even more frustrated to hear him argue such a position not just from a moral, but rather from a scientific point.

Later on, I was absurdly and sadly amused by one story that happened some 5 years ago in one of the distant regions in my country.  Why absurdly amused? There was a girl in one family. Her family was quite traditional, religious, of high morals (as society hallmarked). This girl came to a big city to pursue her education.  As time passed by, she appeared to be pregnant and virgin at the same time.  It turned out (not for all of course) she indulged herself in all forms of sex, except for penetration. But she underestimated smart structure of her genital physiology as it is scientifically proved that there are still slight possibilities of getting pregnant even without deep penetration. Why sadly amused? Because all her tribe (which is less educated) dubbed her almost Saint and was piously supposing it had to do with supernatural powers.    

It is still not a trite fact that some members in our society  also use hymen as a strategic weapon to make a man marry a girl, at best. And not all that, the families of these girls attach hymen issue to the dignity of a family which becomes shattered as a result of willful defloration.  

Sometimes I think that perception of hymen as virginity in our society almost borders with cultural ignorance and profanity. Society tends to estimate girls not due to their character, virtues, education and etc, but rather due to the fact that she is virgin, she has never had sex and therefore she is clean.

As to the virginity, some people also tend to dramatize the most pleasant experience of all their lives and approach first sex as “losing virginity”. Is it so sacrificial so that it appears to be a ritual of initiation?!  And no wonder, that in almost all languages, discarding virginity sounds as “losing it”. In some regions of my country this ceremony is indeed a sacred ritual and is the apex of the after-wedding event.

I so much wish we stop thinking about things hymen-deep. Maybe this way we may evolve into a real, civilized homo sapiens, refresh and set our minds on a new frequency in a way it is possible to see other crucial problems and solve them.

That said, in no way do I mean that I am scornful and disrespectful of those who remain virgins (true virgins) and experience sex after marriage. What I mean here is that we can’t close our eyes to the fact that some members of this society do whatever they want and then get surgical somewhere and yesterday’s femme fatale transform into a today’s daddy’s girl. But why do they do this? Because of what others will think  and say about them. Suffice it to say, laws of society have always contradicted with the laws of our nature and this has been the core reason of mental, emotional tension and dissatisfaction and other psycho-physical things to come with it.

If the content of the post in any way offends morality, virginity or dignity of any good person, I am sorry.  For those who are fake and hypocritical like fake hymens, I am not sorry. After all, I suggest not turning fads of the nature into fetishes to be gifted to the men we love. I believe we have much more precious things to give our men other than an ephemeral layer of tissue.

Have a great sex!

Special thanks to A.Einstein  for his Theory of Relativity and saying that “Virginity is not the dignity, but the lack of opportunity” that served as a base for the present post. 

His photoworks.. She has been looking at and in them for n^th time now.

Each time she sees them, she feels them in a different new way. They are like neurons. They transmit emotions unexpressed and thoughts untold.

People, faces, wrinkles, gazes at their most climax. Frozen at glance and yet dynamic, almost unprocessed, without exaggeration, desperately real. Such an impression that if he had hurried or been late to press the flap of camera for even a mere second, they would have never been so perfect with their own imperfections.

She imagines him taking a photo of her. And she gives him one of her thousand yard stare. The perfect moment is almost here. And then frustration on his face. Frustration which is so professionally typical to photographers when … the battery goes down.

You have hypnotized me.

You make me lose dimension of place and time.

My imagination flies me far away.

I walk with you through alleys and valleys familiar only to you.

I take a sip of your favorite wine.  Its bittersweet stream scorches my throat.

Heart makes 120 beats a minute. Its furious voice rips my eardrums.

I touch your hand. The one which is close to your heart.

Shiver rolls down my spine.  

Your tender and flaming eyes coat my frozen shoulders.

You breath caresses my cells and fibers.

Your sourish skin gives off the scent of timber and nutmeg

Your kiss tangled with your frenetic whisper covers my eyelids. 

Your  face dissolves in the silence of the dark. 

Eye pupils in dilation. 

And I take off  the ground.  

I overdose with you.

You are my own brand of C₁₇H₁₉NO₃

I will not wake up.

Even for just once in my life I want to feel weak and fragile.

I want to be intoxicated and led by you. 

At fullest speed

Snow dropped all night

Storm swept and roared.

Desire bursting deep within

The candle burnt.

As beehive aiming to the smell

Of sweetest cake.

They rose from floor to sky above

In cramps and stroke.

Like arrows dancing on the frame

By whims of snow.

As candle glowing on the desk

And lips aglow.

Her velvet gown

Was falling down

In slowest whisper

The candle drowning in a wax

As salt of tears

While shadows grew

On dim light wall

In mad obsession.

Legs crossed, arms crossed

A man in woman

Two souls’ coition

They drifted off

Like whirl of snow

In dance with seizure.

The bodies wet,

Mind went all dizzy

In double vision.   

Seduction heat

Of two lost bodies

Was doing marvels

And shadows drew two wings

On wall

Of fallen angel

Two souls soared high

In rhythm of blues 

Despite the winter

They kept on melting deep within

Two lovers-blowers.

(c) limerent 

Influenced by a soviet novelist and poet PB. 

February, 2010.

Kalaallit Nunaat

Nuuk

Dear Mr. Edelmeyer,

I love your paintings. My mom says you like oranges. And she also jokes that your love for orange color may come from a psychological trauma you had in a childhood   What is a psychological trauma?

I was at your exhibition two weeks ago.  I am a bit annoyed by why exhibitors use a glass protection for your paintings. I wish I could touch them. This way I could feel them, see them clearly.

I think there are two real colors in a life. A dark and a light. When it is a night time, I see a dark color. With the first sun beams I see a light one.

It is sad that I do not imagine how green, yellow or red colors may look.

But I think you are a genius. Your paintings smell like an orange juice .

My name is Rosalinda. I have 12 years of age. I am blind.

March 2010,

Denmark,

Dear Mr. Edelmeyer,

I understand you may be busy and have no time to write me. Can you hire someone else to write what you say. Just like I do.

I have bad news and good news.

It has been a week since my mom, my sister and I moved in to a hospice.

My sister has an acute type of blood disease. It is when white blood cells eat out red ones. Luckily, I cannot see them eating the other. Or else I could not take it to see my sister dying.

My mom hoped very much that we would find a bone marrow donor for my sister. Mine does not match with my sister’s. We have different fathers.

Good news is that I have 40 % of chances to see. Doctors will transplant optic nerves of my sister’s eyes to my eyes. Mom says that it will be less painful for her to live with the idea that her daughter is not gone completely.

Wish me good luck and peace to my sister.

Will tell you about the results as soon as probable.

February 2022,

Nuuk

Dear Mr. Edelmeyer,

You may not remember me now that so many years have passed since my last letter to you.

I am Rosalinda, a blind girl.

Well, now I am a mother and can see.

The surgery went well.

I am fascinated by the fact that my perception of your paintings while I was blind and perception I get now didn’t change at all.

I have a daughter. She has birth defects. She is blind.

 Doctors say that it may be the cause of Retinoid that I have been regularly taking during pregnancy to regenerate cells in my eye.

Over again, I still think you are genius. But why do you use only one color? Why orange?

February 2023,

Caucasus,

Dear Rosalinda,

I do remember you. Glad you can see. Pity your daughter cannot.

Why orange?

It is the only color that my brain could remember after a physical trauma.