let the bombs fall heads roll people’s knees break let presidents change, human rights, politics, the shift of power move from the right wing to the left and back to right again and witness how fast November nights turn to days let new movements turn into history lies turn into facts see how contemporary arts in years get a name and be replaced by the new work of art, "Brain in the canvas-- Splash!" let writers die, poets, painters, prophets those who preached soul and those

Participant Diary, June 25th – July 2nd, 2016 When you reach the end of a journey, what can you do, but sum up the entire experience and try to weigh it? That was exactly what we did the very last day of our literary pilgrimage. Joyce’s works have had so much influence on our literary and world perception that we cannot but ask ourselves what the world would have looked like if he had never written his books. We might not be fully aware at the first glance, but such is the ab

“Hi, my name is Anna, and I’m an emotional addict,” a beautiful, petite girl with blonde hair said as she stood in front of the group, her hands crossed on top of her hips. “Hi, Anna,” the group chanted. “Anna is new to our group, as are some of the rest of you,” the facility shrink said. “So, Anna, can you tell us a little bit about yourself and how you’ve come to realize you’re an addict?” “Well,” Anna began, “This is not easy for me...” “Of course it’s not, honey, we’ve al

Participant Diary, June 25th – July 2nd, 2016 Joyce’s Ireland was a land burdened by a complicated history and stubborn people, but with the happy privilege to be the cradle of so many courageous enthusiasts. An entire generation of poets lived for the ideal of creating a better nation, free and unbiased, open to change and without radical discrimination. They wanted to create soil fit for everyone’s dreams, where people could serve what they deemed important, without the sha

Vinaigrette smell, Colorless crowd, In a hurry, bizarre, Humid clouds rise Above pavements, Heavy smell of cigars. Dusty, hot air, Inattentive faces Appear in myriad In the dark, Black windows of big cars, The night, worn out. The murmur of streets. The aching sound. Photo: Unsplash / pixabay New York, Lost in my mind. #creativewriting #homepage

Participant Diary, June 25th – July 2nd, 2016 How does one solve an enigma which seems to encompass the entire universe bounded in a book? By approaching it from different angles. That was exactly the opinion of the young enthusiasts who were asked to give three short presentations. Joyce’s (and consequently, everyone’s) universe is so multifaceted that, when we start exploring it, it seems to enrich our world as well as the fictional universe. Joyce’s books reveal the attitu

Relying or depending on others’ understanding of another’s overstanding Over. Can stand it No more. Having high hopes No less, Just low Must slow down A gypsy is whispering into my ear Her lisp sounds like hissing in the grass Her tongue longing to become a probe Her thick lips feeling the tip of my earlobe The tip of the iceberg (she didn’t know) So her gaze is frozen, fixed on this little hole, right ear It causes the eclipse of a crystal ball, right here in my head (she di