The Book of a Jungle 2 (Jungle Junlge Fire Fire)

When the unearthly evil is defeated and the power of the jungle has triumphed, it seems that nothing can stop the inhabitants of this magical place with being happy, exercising, and rejoicing in life, except for the human nature of Mowgli, which deceives him and causes him to make yet another mistake. And who now knows what the consequences and losses the Jungle will incur while Mowgli is distracted from his duty.

The second exciting installment in this fantastic cinematic puzzle from your humble servants is Mike Pigskin and Karina Aslanova, who have once again outdone themselves. Your '' MUST WATCH '' of the passing and coming year.

The Book of a Jungle (A Jungle Episode)

Maugli has broken the rules of a jungle. But all is not as it seems in this jungle, and Baluga unravels a plot that goes way beyond anything he could ever have ever imagined ...

Will he save us all?

From visionaries Mike Pigskin and Karina Aslanova, comes a jungle story re-imagining for modern sensibilities. Using cutting-edge special effects, beautiful character and scene development, and intricate plot twists, they have truly redefined a genre.

614 Words And No News

Write write write.

Every time. The end of August makes me do it more diligently than ever. Summing up another unproductive summer like it's a new year's resolution. Perhaps it is. After all, old, long-standing habits always outweigh new, fleeting undertakings. It is a new year in school, university. For me it was always a huge event. An arsenal of pens and notebooks, new shoes and backpack. Another chance to study better, fix everything. But maybe it's also the eve of my birthday which I can never enjoy in full because of this immense longing for the departing summer.

There’s something special in this period, as bitter and as sweet as possible and my melancholic personality cannot help but enjoy this time. Today it's so sunny and as cold as it can be at the end of August, and I feel exactly the same as a year ago. Does this testify that I haven’t changed at all and stayed in the same place? My life cannot be called planful, and those rare changes are very painfully palpable. This year there were enough of them and they managed to undermine this unstable concentration of mine. It's so hard for me to hold on to one thought, it doesn’t let me live fully, be active, and act purposefully. Usually this phenomenon constantly worries me, represses and paralyzes me, but nottoday. Seemingly the end of the beautiful season, so little time left to do something, to have time to enjoy it, thoughts in such format should have strangle me completely, should have created absolute chaos and vanity and drive me to a dead end, but it is simply not happening. Yet?

I want to write again all that I wrote a year ago, about the deceptive heat of September, that the transit of this time of year is so tangible that it is like watching the sea, when everything around is an endless movement and you don’t need to worry, you can stand still in one place and just watch, and it will be enough. But these words are not new, and neither am I.

Some shadows lead to others and everything repeats.

I continue to play ‘what the best me would do now seeing the worst me’, which is actually me I believe. The best one would just sit next to me. Maybe she wouldn’t smoke and would have kept all the cigarettes for me to survive a day. The best me feels sorry for me, she knows what it’s like to be me. I annoy her a little but she is generous with mercy and patience, we are sitting together on a sofa and she is waiting when I’m gone. How much better her life would’ve been. We are sitting together and looking out the window at the blue cold sky. We feel good together but we are waiting when one of us will get out of here. And she’s leaving. Hopefully she will return when the weather is better, or will congratulate me with my birthday, but for now, she’s got lots of things to do and her own life to live.

The end of August is something unbearably fantastic. It feels so awake and real, so fresh and reassuring, like the last gulps of a freedom, of a life itself, it is so valuable for it is so irreversibly ephemeral. I miss a lot, and I’ve missed a lot, but at the end of any work there should be a little hope. I can’t think of anything so I’ll end on a good old phrase that my dad often used to repeat to me;

Omnia transeunt, et id etiam transeat. nihil interit

Another Day Poetry: Bunde

My place is there where others were forgotten.

The empty one, abounded, and preferably rotten.

So then I could hear my choking thoughts

And probably my full-time busy evil heart notes.

The faceless place, with amputated tentacles and dreams, 

So I could lean upon those virgin fields, and lean, and lean.

And feel...how I...

Surround my egocentric nature with a grass and soil

And do not worry, that there’s something I could spoil,

Surround myself with people that have lost their heat,

When you asleep you cannot see, you only feel it.

So feel...the heart...

Of all those corners that they’re cleaning every day,

Will be the one that I will take to lay,

My head, and I’ll be spitting out stones,

That has been stuck between my life-time moans.

Meow...meow...followed by coughing.

The coffee, coffins, and delightful confetti,

It's all I ever wanted and it's all for me,

For free, at first presentably enveloped presents,

Ah, what a place, it's filled with dynasties of peasants.

And golden pheasants drinking morning dew,

Out of my mind they're coming through,

Right to the streets in ghostly shades

They creep into the arms of blank and sinful maids.

Then soothing them...that place won't fade.

My place will not disturb me from my thought,

It will forgive, it will support,

The way I want, the way I always will,

Until...until I fall down still,

Enjoying plastic bags and songs, that very special day of mine

Before the day breaks get in time.

Profoundly flatten, with those little flats,

It doesn't take much space to make a nest for rats.

And people watching stars at night,

Oh place, will you be mine?

I will take all and will give more than ever,

I'll speak out loud and you will make the weather,

And I will whisper to your chest confessions about dearth

In other places on the earth.

The Gringo (LIFTL)

Hey there. A brand new music video (LIVE!) is out
Have fun! xox

Another Day Poetry: Girlfriends

It's nice to have a girlfriend

To understand complains and share ideas

To be up to something shamelessly

And get sick by the same hysteria,

It's nice to have a girlfriend

Not of loneliness or boredom

But because we choose one another

Or at least been to the same classroom,

It's nice to have a girlfriend

Without prejudices of who I am

But to catch the same wave together

No victims, no one feels like scum,

It's nice to have a girlfriend

To whom I can call at any time

Who's taking and giving chances

Who is similar, but better than I,

It would be nice to have a girlfriend

To do crazy things like kids

To have stupid ladies nights and get wasted

‘Cause those are girlfriends’ needs,

It would be nice to have a girlfriend

Sisterhood, solidarity and all

And feel open to cry at her house

Feel Okay and sit on the floor,

It would be nice to have a girlfriend

It would be nice but alas

The older you get it gets harder

To bother, to want, and to trust,

It would be nice to have a girlfriend

With whom you can fall and revive

Just to be there for each other

Just to have such a person in life

x

Another Day Poetry: Lullabies for sleeping lovers (from sleepless ones)

Lullabies for sleeping lovers (from sleepless ones)

Oh no my dear, I'm not sleeping

And I don’t think I ever do

I'll just silently hang around here

Will be watching after you

Oh no my dear they won't let me

I've tried a million times

So I better be spending my smokes

Making up my little rhymes

Oh no my dear I'm not blaming

A single sound around this town

I’ve just grown to be so frustrated

With the way the world uses the sun

Oh yes my dear my lover

I will stop to whine up your streams

And I'll conquer all heights of all mountains

And all windmills in your troubled dreams

Another Day Poetry: The girl who's balcony has fell

The girl who's balcony has fell

Oh well oh well

Alright, she said

They will be mad

-You better hide under your bed

You only spoil and destroy

Oh boy oh boy

I try my best

But I’m so stressed

-Confusing thoughts inside your chest?

So hard to find those things sometimes

Oh my Oh my

With the fallen balcony

And in a joyful agony

Damn you, damn me, damn you, damn me

Down on the ground, it's me my dear

But it's alright, no fears no tears

And laying quietly and sane

She watched a passing tiny plane

-It used to bring you peace and hope

It always will, no matter what.

(artwork Laurel Holloman)                         

Another Day Poetry: Far

When, you’re far, you, are, far,

And all familiar things are wrong and bizarre

Uncomfortable, foreign they are

Drink after drink in the closest bar,

When, you’re not there, everywhere

Dressed yet tricked – at the Vanity Fair

Smashing your head in despair

You try to be nice but you can’t stop to compare

When, you’re gone, after the winds

Cleaned up your wounds and guessed all the hints

Sucking on mmmmmmmmm minty mints

Leaving no trace, no foot prints,

When, you’re far, you, are, far,

And there’s no such device to reach your lonely planet

And it falls so fast and hard

Wherever you are, wherever you are