I follow you -Fighting a dragon in the time of nowadays

 A year ago I created a blog. It was a life changing decision. I had two main reasons to do that: first of all, I wanted to improve my written English. And I wanted to write. Both aims have been reached.

 Recently I heard that it's Google Analytics I should listen to. According to me, everything is fine - I write. You read me. According to the Dragon, I have only few followers. And to make it worse, they are all humans. Therefore I would like to set up one thing- I am a writer. I write, I don't advertise thigths. I don't sell discounts for a trip around Cheshire and don't give away vouchers for chops and chips at Sophie's Bar. My grandfather always said that writing is a craft. And he never heard about Search Engine Optimization. So, if you still feel like following, you are more than welcome to follow. Deep see baby.

 Before I came to this country I never heard about SEO. (And I am almost seventy years younger than my grandfather.) At my teenage times Internet was defined as a box somehow connected to the telephone line and everybody in the village was pissed off because after eight you couldn't reach anyone. There was a website which had a chat option so you could connect with people in a neighbour town, which was incredibly exciting. Possibility of using Internet the way I use it now then would have probably been a science fiction movie for me. And in the past months I am wondering if back then I was not closer to the truth then now.

 Who are SEO experts? They are a patron saint of contemporary writers. They fight with a dragon of nowadays: Google. The Dragon is a machine so, according to the theory of evolution, is an absolute lord. Of words, ideas, theories, moves, clicks, squeeks, apftzzhh and completely accidental barks. The problem is that he can't see any difference between them. Because the Dragon, no matter how many poems we will write for him, doesn't have a brain.

Moving in or Moving on, the Sex and the City of London

  - This is absolutely unbelievable- said my friend sitting comfortably in a bar in Shoreditch after working hours.

 - It's completely normal- said The Guy I Lived With finishing the dishes after dinner.- It's London, the middle of the winter, everybody expects something, spirituality doesn't exist here.

 His part would be completely understandable. If it was not a reaction on a text I got while sitting on a tube, coming from my rather distant friend and literally offering me sex on the Morrison's parking.

 Ladies and Gentleman, this is the City of London. An absolutely unique place with one special quality: you can find here sex everywhere, every time, on every corner. On every street during busy hours you can meet at least three people who are up for booming basically now. And that's only my personal observation and I don't consider myself as an adveturous person.

MR FRANK

 - Don't look at me like that, I'm not a sexuologist. I'm not going to put a puzzle to your new 'outraged' post.

- But don't we have anything such as 'moral rights' in our law?

- That's the point- said Frank more cheerfully and rised his gaze towards me- This is all the question of interpretation. Or, if you prefer, the illumination.

- Oh my God- said I realizing that this time Frank was not going to be helpful.- You are infected.

SHOREDITCH, AFTER THE WORKING HOURS

 - Unbelievable- said my friend taking a sip from one of six bottles of Sagres, bought by us in a bulk due to happy hours restrictions- I was having a dinner with my friends talking about some 'usual-not-even-true-macho-male-stuff' and they were all saying that real relationships are not actually real, that men don't really need anything lasting etc. So when I developed an critique of an online dating thing I was supposed to be supported. But then I got surrounded by silence. All of them had online profiles. And a spooky explanation in the end of their tongues:

Susan, dwarves and snowy, lazy Sunday

 I cannot imagine a life without snow. In winter two years ago I was leaving Panama looking forward to many things, but now I have to admit, snow was an image on my mind. Snowy wonderland. Susan seems to be dreaming sleeping under the ironing board. We do love summer, but no when it comes to this:

Samba de mon coeur

 If you have a nice morning like me, wherever you are, in London surrounded by the cozy duvet of snow, or Panama in the middle of summer (oh, Panama!) or anywhere else I've never been to or never heard about, close your eyes and think about a miracle. Have you ever experienced something miracle? I noticed that there are usually two kinds of people: first are these who don't and never did believe in miracles. The second type is quite rare though: could be your neighbour, your aunt Sofia or your extremely annoying colleague. They believe that miracle can happen everywhere, and every time. They say it lies down on the street, or you have to do is be there, and pick it up in the right moment or the right corner. And it will change your life.

 I am a dreamer and I love to roam away with this theory and I can say, even if you're not good in positive thinking, you should try that. Because it makes your life exciting.

 So today, I wish to start from a cup of coffee. If it's only coffe, it's still nice. But think how could it be if the coffee was a miracle coffee. A nice morning miracle coffee. I like it.

Elle panique!

 Here is a usual Sunday. And honestly, there is nothing I can do. I neglect my blog and spend manic hours watching my facebook wall and eating strawberries. I'm giving my friends ridiculous presents for their birthdays and Christmas because I'm terrible in estimating somebody's needs. I don't even know how to be truly sad ending up being, as The Guy I Lived With used to say (at the time when he still spoke to me) sarcastic by nature. 'Don't look at me like that, it's all your fault. It's this lifestyle of yours!' When he had a better day he said that it's normal, just completely normal 'not to be in a mood' sometimes, being overwhelmed and hesitating to take part in any activity. But the thing is this is not about 'not being in a mood'. I don't even get depressed. I have panic attacks.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWvdqzUQUhI

Letters for New Year Forgotten in the Closet

 I do not believe in Christmas wishes posted on blogs for random people who may not even celebrate Christmas neither new year wishes for those who loved enough the old one. Personally, I liked 2012. And I'm happy the world is not over.

  This year I am particularly struggling with resolutions. There is practically nothing new about it I wish to pursue, and nothing old which haven't already failed. But indeed, something has given me new thoughts on that. As I spent a winter home, in my old room, I found many of my previous resolutions. It was funny. Funny what I used to think I wanted. And thank God it never came true.

 There are some, let's say, standard resolutions. Every year the same. Anybody ever planned to lose some weight? For me, it was always 3 kilos, no matter what was my actual weight. Quit smoking? Always worked for two months. Every year. Never more. (And I owe you the honesty that I have been smoking for three years only). Finally learn French (and I have been a good student- for the past ten years). Well, decisions are not my stronger sides. I drop everything as soon as it stops to bring me fun. But the idea to write this today was not about the resolutions. That would be too easy. 

 Clearing up my close I found a notebook. I have thousands of them, so at the beginning it didn't catch my attention. Just another notebook with old short stories I am not happy about anymore. But once I opened this one, I realized it has something else. Something which made me immediately need mr Frank.