How much would you pay?

Heya dear readers!

Usually I wouldn't write a post on this poll but, much as far as I know, this is the only way to get this poll on Goodreads. :-)

You can vote in this box on the right. Thank you very much for your effort. I know it's not much for you but certainly is for me. If you're reading this on Goodreads, please visit my blog and vote. Don't be surprised if the poll shows only few votes - bloody thing resets itself every few hours. I keep track of the votes in an excel sheet on my computer. Frustrating it is, yes. :-)

So, here's some information on the forthcoming short story collection. It will consist of eight stories between 500 and 4000 words long, all together around 15.500 words or 50 pages. So that you know what you buying - in numbers.

Few of the stories you can read on this blog under the tag writing. All the translation work was done by Petra Pintaric. Dear Petra, thank you very very much! It's been a pleasure to work with you. And, of course, there is Branko Antolic my brother-in-law, the typical Scorpio, who did the proofreading. Thanks, bro! That much about the quality.

Two of the stories are, actually, part of a still unwritten but soon-to-be (hopefully until fall; in worst case, until the end of the year - this year! :-)) collection of short stories set in the near future where the climate changes cause the short term extreme weather condition. You will hear more on that soon when I start to write it. :-)

Before the end of the post, few words about the title. Why Old stories? Well, they are all written in time before a smartphones and mobile internet. When was that? Now you know. :-)

And at the end, instead of a candy, a prize for you, dedicated readers, a cover!

Taraaaaaam!

A Handful of Rags

The cover is done! (All right, I admit - almost :-)). But all stories are translated and it is matter of week or two before I publish my first short story collection. I'm thrilled. A little. :-) 

So, to celebrate that in advance, I present you, dear readers, one story from collection. It's A Handful of Rags, a short story that won Zlatko Tomičić prize for the best short story back in 2006.

Hope you'll enjoy it.

Here you go people: A Handful of Rags!

His jaw was clenched. His nostrils were flared. His eyes were devouring the monitor. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. His left hand was jerking rhythmically. He timed his climax for when the first squirt hit the garter belt and the stocking, but he missed. He squinted at the scene he had missed through half-closed eyes.

“Uuugh!” He was dizzy from the relief. His head hung. The sweat above his eyebrows dripped down his eyelid. The back of his chair squeaked.

Alt + F4 erased the window on his screen. The movie now seemed stupid to him.

***

“Hey, do you know that Eiffel invented the garter belt?”

“Bullshit!”

Do you realize?

After work, few months ago, I stopped by my very dear friend's office to see her only to find out that she is not at work because her granddad died and she is on his funeral. I called her. Of course she couldn't reply so I texted her. Couple of minutes later she texted me back and then the realization that one man is gone for good struck me.

I didn't need to recall the death and funeral of my grandma that was two years ago, I just let realization to open me. That man is gone and that will happen to me and to all the people I know. We’ll all go. We will all die. No one will survive life. And the last man who will die in my life would be me.

To even start to get a grasp on the fact that I will disappear is very hard. That is completely out of the rational understanding. My ratio tells me that I was always here, all the time and so it is unimaginable that one day I'll be gone. Erased. Nullified. Gone. Vanished into thin air. Like I have never been here. 

But I will.

That is the only thing I can be sure of. 

Only I don't know when.

Having that in mind the question I'm asking myself is: What's the point? What is the point of having children when I'll disappear? Or writing a book? Or get married? Or earn million bucks? Or fuck the playmate of the month? Or be virtues? Or achieve anything or lose everything? What's the point? Why bother if I'll die in the end. All these goals and achievements that our culture currently propagates so eagerly are completely insignificant compared to death. I'm sure that is the reason why death and elders are removed from mass media, why we live in culture of youth, beauty, fun and leisure. I strongly believe that is also the reason why all that Twilight saga bullshit is so popular. We will live forever, young and beautiful (even if that means we'll rip other people's throats and drink their blood, suck their life – ultimate selfishness).

I don't think life by itself has a meaning. It's like we discuss what the meaning of wolf's life is? A Wolf's life doesn't have a meaning. The meaning is beyond wolf's understanding. The wolf couldn't even pose that question. The wolf's life is just life and he does what his instincts order him to do (and newagers call that freedom – Jesus Christ!). There is no meaning in a wolf's life. So, there is no meaning in our lives too. Life is life and that's it. There is no meaning in life. Meaning of life is to live (and die in the end :-)). And that's it. If we want meaning – we need to give it to life.

The last sentences of my friend's grandpa were: 

"Do not sue the driver. The man isn't guilty." He was run over by a driver who was blinded by the morning sun and didn't see an old man crossing the street.

"Take care of each other. Don't argue with each other." He said that to his wife and daughter.

"I'm sorry I didn't make a will." He had poor pension and didn't have any wealth.

On the other hand, my friend was in the hospital and doctors couldn't agree what's wrong with him. So he asked, after couple of weeks sitting in the dark. One of the doctors told him he had cancer and he wouldn't live more than a few months (in his opinion, of course). It was a wrong diagnosis but my friend realized that he will die. So, after a long night of thinking, in the morning he picked up the phone and started to call all of his ex-girlfriends to apologise for being an asshole.  

Does the understanding of our mortality gives meaning to our lives or makes us better people? Don't know. My experience after 3 months of everyday meditation on death and impermanence is that it has broken my heart. At least cracked it. Suddenly, I realise that I have no time and that only thing I need to do is to change. Not myself, not the others, not the job but the way I live. Did I realise that I’ll die? Not quite. Have I found the meaning of life? Of course not. Had I become better person? Don’t know. Maybe. 

But it’s a start.

The Flaming Lips - Do You Realize from matt wissing on Vimeo.

J.C. Oates about writer's block