Ovo je jedan lijep, sarmantan i ponekad stidljiv blog...


Zdravo, ja sam Vanjic, genijalcina...

Za komplikacije, of course :) Sretan vam ponedjeljak... Btw, sjedim jucer u kafani, gledam tekme, i pita me konobar hocu li trecu pivu, rekoh trecu nikada ne narucujem prije ponoci, ali garant je u Australiji vec ponoc, pa daj mi je... Daleko je, Australija mislim ;)


Uglavnom sam dobar...

Ali onda opet, ponekad, pomalo... Jebiga...


Krenuh napisati ponedjeljak

Skontah da sam cijeli dan fulio, i onda odustadoh...


Ponedjeljak opet...

Umoran sam, stavite me na infuziju, hocu da spavam...

Nesto sam nocas razmisljao kako zivim stereotip od zivota, filmske situacije cudne.

Morao bih se preseliti na Key West...

Evo vam pjesmica.


Muzika nas je odrzala...

Muzici hvala...

Evo vam album...


The Final Chapter

Ima tu prica koja me prati cijeli zivot. Zapravo, nije cisto prica, nego je album, film, koncert i na kraju, sinoc bijase i epilog...

The final chapter.

Nakon razmatranja gorucih pitanja (fino se zapalilo), ulazimo u kino i tamo je mozda jedno 25 ljudi, na one time only projekciji filma o filmu, filma o albumu, filma o ideji, posljednjeg osvrta Roger Watersa na njegovu licnu zivotnu sagu, onu koju je bio dovoljno hrabar da isprica, a mi jos hrabriji da poslusamo.

I ponekad pratimo.

Spomenuh da je bilo jedno 25 ljudi, projekcija je kasnila nekih 45 minuta, ali odavno ne vidjeh bolju atmosferu na jednom mjestu. Nije to samo do toga da su ljudi bili napuseni, a jesu, nego ideja da prisustvujemo kraju necega prelijepog se mogla opipati u zraku. Bilo je tu dijete od nekih 15 godina, sve do ljudi od nekih 70. Jedan od onih momenata koji se pamte.

I onda je pocelo.

I trajalo slijedecih skoro pa tri sata. Kao da je bila minuta. Emocionalno praznjenje koje se moze desiti samo u ovakvim situacijama. Projekcija se zavrsila, svjetla su se upalila i lagano smo izasli napolje. Niko nije pricao. Stali smo ispred kina, zapalili cigaru i posmatrali kisu koja je lagano padala, ne zureci nigdje.

Tako je i trebalo biti, u pravom momentu krug je zatvoren.

Mali dodatak prici:
Svi koji citate ovaj blog znate da se ne vracam na iste teme skoro nikada. Ovo je treci put da se vracam na ovu, i to jeste zadnji put. Ovo je nesto licno, duboko, nesto o cemu sam pisao vec dva puta u raznim zivotnim situacijama, ponukan razlicitim motivima. Ovu temu cu zavrsiti sa ta dva teksta, prvi napisan u januaru 2007 i drugi napisan u oktobru 2010. Neka druga vremena, ali opet ista ideja...

Prica prva: Hey You

Prvi dani nove godine uvijek dobro sluze za opravdanje da si umoran (mahmuran) od svijeta, tako da covjek nekako sjedne sam sa sobom i sumira gdje je, sta je i koje je. Godine prolaze, zivot ide u nekom svom pravcu, a zaborav na godine minule je neizbjezan. Samo ponekad nas neka pjesma podsjeti na stvari koje i nisu tako daleke, a opet izgledaju kao da su se desile u drugom zivotu, te u nekoj posve drugoj galaksiji, ili pak paralelnom univerzumu. Zasto ja pisem ovo? Pa prije otprilike mjesec dana sam imao zadatak napisati pricu o pjesmi, ili pak o sebi samom, ko sam i na sta me pjesma podsjeca. I krenem ja pisati, kontajuci napisati pricu o tratincicama i ostalom uvenulom cvijecu, medjutim nekako prica zavrsi pricom o ratu. Ta tema se sve manje spominje, samo ponekad na kojem derneku sa probranijm ljudima, koji su mi geografski sve dalje i dalje. Treba se boriti protiv zaborava, jer insan se lako nauci na dobro, a tezi da potisne sve manje dobre stvari. Anyway, mozda ce neko smatrati ovo patetikom, a mozda i ne, ali sam odlucio postaviti cijelu pricu na blog, jer smatram ovo jednim finim svjedocanstvom o nekim manje dobrim vremenima. Izvinjavam se sto je prica na engleskom, ali je tako napisana, pa bih je i ostavio u izvornom obliku.

Dakle prica:

I woke up. Darkness surrounded me from all sides. Some strange feeling, deep inside my stomach. Solitude. Loneliness. It visits me sometimes. My old friend. The Song. It has been around for some 13 years. Thirteen, such a strange number. Sometimes that wave comes and I know that I will go under.
Everything started in the summer of 1993 when I heard it for the first time. I remember like it was today. It was in those bad days, during the war. That’s when we met, the Song and me. We kids tried to stay alive during the war. We were spending most of the time in a basement apartment that was ours. It had to be ours, we made it. My building had some strange rooms in the basements, built for unknown reasons. Those rooms had just one small window just above the ground. We dug the wall around window to make the hole bigger.
This is how, in place of a window, we got a door. It was a weird door. When you looked at it from the inside, it was a meter and a half from the ground. But it served its purpose. Surreal. But the entire world was surreal, so the door more or less no one considered weird. After we had made the door, we decided to connect two rooms in the same way. Digging again. Seven days later we had a two-room apartment. Someone had brought a battery-powered tape player, so we spent most of the time listening to music. If only you knew how many great bands played in that apartment. Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, The Quinn, Iron Maiden, Metallica, The Doors, The Animals, Nirvana, U2, Luciano Pavarotti, just name it and we had it. And then one day, my friend Boki brought a Pink Floyd cassette. The Wall. The title itself sounded ironic. Who could say that it would become one of my favorite albums. But, who could ignore a song called, “Hey you”?

“Don't help them to bury the light. Don't give in without a fight.” So powerful. One beautiful day we were honored with a little bit of electricity, so we immediately gathered together to see a film. Made 11 years earlier, only two years before the Olympics in Sarajevo, that film was dedicated to a generation of people who had lost the ideals of the 60’s and 70’s. And at the same time, we remembered that the film was made for us, for a generation that spent its youth surrounded by walls in a very, very small space.
It was weird to not be able to move more than 12 kilometers in one direction. Such a small space. And again so much spirit. This spirit was indestructible. We weren’t allowed to make a mental wall around ourselves. We fought in our own way. We lived in our own world. To run two hours under grenade and sniper fire to see a concert that may or may not happen was our way of fighting. To open a video store in times when there wasn’t power was an amazing thing to do. To wait for the train at a time when you hadn’t seen a working car in half a year was totally surreal. That train was our Godot. And the song was always there, in my mind, my friend and my enemy: “Out there on your own, sitting naked by the phone, would you touch me?”

I remember a 1994 New Years’ party much better than I remember many others that came later. To wait for the New Year with style, the first and basic thing is logistic support intended for lifting the spirits of people suffering under the siege. In other words – alcohol. Beside alcohol, the second very important thing was food (if possible, heartier, because of alcohol). To satisfy its need for the above-mentioned things, one needs the third most important thing. Money. To come into money you need long-term planning with certain sacrifices, showed through one month of walking on the front lines, which were, by the way, very dangerous places, and collecting wood on them. After collecting a certain amount of wood (also knows as the fourth most important thing), then walking door-to-door selling to interested customers. Now, after you exchanged the fourth most important good (wood) for the third (money) then you find yourself in a position to think about acquiring the first and second most important things. But you can just think about it, because acquiring food and alcohol in a city where those things don’t exist isn’t exactly the simplest thing in the world. All that you have, but from the other side of the airport.[1]
And that was the moment that I volunteered to go across the airport. The plan was simple. Luckily the ground was dry, so the mud wouldn’t obstruct my running. I said to my parents that I was going to visit my aunt in another part of the city, and that I will come back in a few days. I went over the airport, and out of the siege without major problems, the UN troops returned me just once. I went to the free territory, bought 10 liters of beer, a bottle of cognac, and some meat and vegetables for that special evening. I decided to sleep the night on the free territory, and to return to the city the following evening. The next day fell the most rain in the past 10 years. That evening I tried to go over the airport 13 (thirteen!) times and I failed each time. The UN caught me every single time. That evening, at the age of 15, I met desperation. I met how it was to dive through mud, and how to walk not caring if you’re going to be shot or not (17 people died that night trying to pass over the airport. Lightning bullets were turning night into day and I caught my self thinking how funny it was that I could see my shadow in the middle of the night. But my shadow was not the only thing that was following me. There was the song, over and over again: “With your ear against the wall, waiting for someone to call out, would you touch me?”
I went over the airport the next day at 5:15 in the morning, after eight unsuccessful tries. How did I feel that morning? The best in the world. I was alive, I had all the groceries I needed, and the party could begin: “Open your heart, I'm coming home.”
The party was good. Six best friends, a couple of girls that considered us cool, good music, and a positive atmosphere. Even today when I close my eyes, I find myself at that party. Those were the times full of tears, blood and laughter. We needed so little to be happy. No one could harm us. We were the strongest.
And then again that feeling is awakening inside me. Solitude. Loneliness. Where are the children of my youth? We are on all five continents. What happened to us? Did the world move further? Did that wave pull everything under? As Roger Waters wrote,Together we stand, divided we fall.”

1 Airport – the only place in the Sarajevo ring that wasn’t under control of the aggressor (it was controlled by the UN). However, going across the airport was considered one of the most dangerous things in the war, because the UN more or less served to catch those who tried to go over. Meanwhile, the aggressor was shooting on everything that was moving at a distance of some 400 meters.

Prica druga: The Wall

Thought ya
Might like to go to the show.
To feel the warm thrill of confusion
That space cadet glow.
Tell me is something eluding you, sunshine?
Is this not what you expected to see?
If you wanna find out what's behind these cold eyes
You'll just have to claw your way through this disguise.




Umro sam

Rodio se,


Smijao se,


Gusio se

She (mother) won’t let you fly, but she might let you sing(k)


Ustajao se.


Explozija emocija.

Mother will she tear your little boy apart?
Mother will she break my heart?


Zabranjene misli.


Jebena praznina.

What shall we use
To fill the empty spaces
Where we used to talk?


Gledam ljude,


Niko ne zna razlog,

A suze im idu.

U masi,

A svi sami.

Hey you, out there in the cold
Getting lonely, getting old
Can you feel me?





All in all you're just another brick in the wall.


Ne dam.

Hey you, don’t help them to bury the light
Don't give in without a fight.


A opet,

To je ta,

Strana tamna.

Budi se i

Samo ponekad,


Ponekad, pomalo.

But it was only fantasy.
The wall was too high,
As you can see.
No matter how he tried,
He could not break free.
And the worms ate into his brain.

I na kraju,

Sta ostane.



And I don’t need no drugs to calm me.
I have seen the writing on the wall.
Don't think I need anything at all.


Ne, ne ide.

Ostane samo



There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying.

When I was a child I had a fever
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I've got that feeling once again
I can't explain you would not understand
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.



Znao sam da postoji razlog zasto mi je The Wall najdrazi album svih vremena, ali nisam bio ni priblizno spreman da odem na taj koncert. Sanjam zadnjih barem 20 godina da odem na taj koncert i na kraju sasvim slucajno saznam da se desava u DC-u, cijeli dan se ponasam kao fucking tinedjerka, samo sto ne vristim, i na kraju odem na koncert i isti me (kao i ostalih 20 hiljada ljudi) totalno razvali. Nakon odrastanja sa albumom, sa filmom, opet nisam bio ni priblizno spreman na ovo. Ne ovih dana zasigurno, ali opet, davno su me prestale iznenadjivati stvari u zivotu, tako da sam i ovo ukazanje Roger Watersa sada prihvatio kao nesta sasvim normalno, zamalo da ne kazem ocekivano. Hvala mu!!!

Toliko misli na pameti...

A ni jedna pametna, onaj osjecaj kada su noci frajerske i uvijek na smetnji, noci su samo na smetnji... Jebo Branka Copica, picka bio...


Srijeda je...

Zapravo lažem, četvrtak je, 4 ujutro a ja ležim u krevetu i slušam Filigrance... I sada nesta kontam, iznenađujuce trijezan, da li je Džoni, onomad kada je pisao stihove radio to iz perspektive BJ Štulica, priznate zvijezde, ili je to pak mali Brane, sin oficira koju se seli od grada do grada, pokušavajući da se uvijek asimilira u društva koje ga nikada nije ni prihvatilo, Male jutarnjim dubioze by Vanjic... Laku noć...



Malo bleja, malo teretana :) Sve me zivo boli...

I necu pisati svaki dan, samo se tako potrefilo...


Ponedjeljak je...

Sjedim na poslu, blago mamuran, slusam Rundeka i razmisljam o fasizmu, koliko prikrivenom, toliko i otvorenom, explicitnom. Tema su normalno izbjeglice, gdje se probrano balkansko drustvo, kao neke "civilizacijske vertikale" buni zato sto ovi jadni ljudi zaboga donose vaske i sugu u to nase presvijetlo, savrseno drustvo. Facebook je u sustini odlicna stvar, cisto ono da naucim s kim cu se pozdraviti na ulici a koga cu pljunuti. Rundek je isto tako odlican, sto sam stariji to ga vise volim.

Ali htjedoh neke druge pricice ispricati.

Pita me sinoc ova djevojcica koju cu malo kasnije spomenuti, kada pisem da li razmisljam o publici, o tome ko ce procitati, kako ce shvatiti, gdje ce otici napisana rijec. Odgovor je bio uglavnom ne, pisem za sebe, ponekad, pomalo, ako osjetim potrebu da nacinim zapis, ostavim nesto sto cu mozda opet nekadi procitati, vratiti se na neka prosla sjecanja, a mozda je i samo bitno staviti slovo na ekran u ovom momentu, da se izrazi misao u malo formalnijem obliku.

Rekoh li uglavnom ne? Znaci, to mozda ostavlja prostor da nekada i razmislim ko ce procitati rijec ili dvije. Ovo je vjerovatno jedna od tih situacija, ponekad rijec nosi i odgovornost.

Slusam Rundeka, dobar je. U svoje lose dane volim biti sam...

Dakle, pricica druga. Zivot je uvijek bio fluidna kategorija, podlozan promjenama, neuhvatljiv, nikada totalno razumljiv dok mi je curio kroz prste. Pokusao sam nekada zalediti momenat, zgrabiti ga kao kocku leda, koja bi se opet na kraju otopila od toplote mojih prstiju i nastavila curiti dalje. Tako je bilo i ovaj put. Bio sam ozenjen, sada vise nisam. Ljudi kazu, jebiga, zivot, i ja ne mogu da se ne slozim. I to je u redu, nasao sam mir, pogledao refleksiju sebe u vodi koja je odlazila, te zaplivao negdje dalje. U jednom momentu se jesam bio (mogao bi se cijeli post napisati da li je ovo proslo svrseno vrijeme) uplasio virova koji me cekaju u rijeci zivota, u isto vrijeme lijepih i uzbudljivih, ali opet nadasve opasnih. Lako je nekada zaigrati se, mozda i prelako, tako da sam se bio povukao (ista dilema o vremenu) u malo sigurniju lagunu, gdje sam se posvetio sebi, malim stvarima u zivotu, Snoopiju, papirologiji, poslu, mozda i par bliskih prijatelja, jedno ili dva fina putovanja, cak sam i tetovazu nabacio (dosadilo mi je ljudima objasnjavati sta vidim kao svoj identitet, tako da sada tetovaza to kaze za mene). Izasao sa par djevojaka, cisto da ubijem vrijeme, ali opet, drzao se sa strane, kao posmatrac svoga zivota, standardno tih, odsutan, bez prevelike zelje. Jedna velika, mirna rijeka, gdje sam plovio na splavu, bivajuci uvijek na dohvat obale.

I onda se desi posve slucajan susret, kako to obicno biva. Osam dana danas kako sam sjeo na pice i odlucio otvoriti usta, reci koju rijec, i evo, nisam jos prestao. Druzimo se po danu, druzimo se navecer, druzimo se po mjestima sa uzivo muzikom, druzimo se po selima Virginije. I nikada ne prestajem pricati. Sinoc je do poezije doslo, sam sebe ne prepoznajem. Rekoh joj da mi se svidja, kaze ona, kako znas kada uvijek ti pricas. Teska situacija.
A svidja mi se. Zato sto je pametna, sto voli poeziju, sto napravi zamisljenu facu kada pokusa opisati knjigu, sto uziva u muzici, sto zajedno sa mnom ne zna pjevati, sto ima najljepsi osmijeh. Svidja mi se zato sto u isto vrijeme sa mnom pomisli na istu pjesmu, sto ima svoju malu tekicu gdje pise stvari koje joj ostanu u sjecanju, sto iskulira kada na motoru idemo 130 na sat. Svidja mi se sto pokusam vidjeti svijet, ako ne sebe, kroz njene oci i sto mi se svidi to sto vidim. Male stvari, gram poezije i kap osmijeha. Neuhvatljivog, kao sto i treba biti, samo procuri kroz momenat, ostavi trag i produzi dalje.

Nisam je ni poljubio. Opasna je. Spomenuh li negdje vir, tako lijep i zabavan, a opet tako opasan, neuhvatljiv. Rijeka postaje dublja i pomalo me vuce, ali imam osjecaj da je to u redu. Svaki dan ulazim malo dublje, svako jutro se ne bojim veceri, svaka rijec ima znacenje.

Ponedjeljak je. Slusam Rundeka i vise ne razmisljam o fasizmu. Razmisljam o njoj...

P.S. Evo vam slikica, tetovaze normalno :)

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