Dragan Todorović photography


The bridge will only take you halfway there, to those mysterious lands you long to see. Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fair, and moonlit woods where unicorns run free. So come and walk awhile with me and share the twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known. But this bridge will only take you halfway there. The last few steps you have to take alone. Shel Silverstein


Durmitor is a mountain in the northwest of Montenegro. The most special part of the Durmitor National park is river Tara with its deep canyon, at some points over 1300m deep, making it the deepest river canyon in Europe and second in the world just after Grand Canyon. Canyon is UNESCO World heritage Site, and enlisted in world's ecological biosphere reservation. The waters of Tara River are drinkable all the way. Đurđevića Tara Bridge was built between 1937 and 1940 in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and at the time of its completion, it was the biggest concrete arch bridge in Europe. This is a 64MPx composite of three vertical X-Pro1 panorama shots taken half an hour after Halfway photo when the mist had almost gone.

O Captain! My Captain!

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring ....

Éí 'AaníígÓÓ 'Áhoot'é

Scully: I know what you did wasn't by the book. Mulder: Tells you a lot about the book, doesn't it?

the truth is out there

Scully: Have you ever had any dealings with a cow? Mulder: Agent Scully, just exactly WHAT are you implying?

c l o s er.

A NASA-funded study by New Zealand scientists has discovered that our planet's clouds have gotten lower in the past 10 years. The study said the average height of clouds in the earth's atmosphere declined by around 30 to 40 meters (100-130 feet), or by one percent. Fewer clouds at very high altitudes contributed mostly to the height differences, but the exact reason is still undetermined. ... I don't exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it. J.D. Salinger The Catcher in the Rye


Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite. Or waiting around for Friday night or waiting perhaps for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil or a better break or a string of pearls or a pair of pants or a wig with curls or another chance. Everyone is just waiting.

m u c h a d o a b o u t n o t h i n g.


How many miles to Babylon? Three score miles and ten. Can I get there by candle-light? Yes, and back again. If your heels are nimble and light, You may get there by candle-light. Borges' most iconic short story is the one called "The Library of Babel" about a race of people who live in a cosmos that is bizarre indeed. The universe in which these people live is a vast, apparently endless honeycomb of interlocking rooms, each one with two hallways that connect it to other rooms on the same level and a spiral staircase connecting it to rooms both above and below. Every room's walls are occupied by bookshelves that are full of books. Fun with infinities. If our universe is flat and infinite, then it has infinite matter. So take any probability, if it is finite, then it has occured an infinite number of times. So if the universe is infinite, then no, not everything would exist, but everything that is physically possible would exist provided that matter was distributed throughout the universe. Due to quantum fluctuations and other random events, anything that could theoretically happen on earth or in space would by necessity happen because it would come up in infinite space. There is a world exactly like this one except that you wore a different color shirt today. Whatever the probability.. say 1 in 10 to the trillionith power, it is finite and that means that there are infinite copies of me in the universe. So, there is a world out there in which this picture was taken. Sculpture "Birocracy" author: Marko Pejčić



It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime. Ray Bradbury Fahrenheit 451

Zajdi zajdi

On March 16, 1975 Deep Purple had a concert in Belgrade as the first western rock band to play in venues seating thousands of fans. Members of a Serbian and former Yugoslav rock band Smak bought the tickets and went to the concert to see their idols for the first time. Just before the gig, manager called them and told to bring their instruments as they will perform as the opening act. They played only three songs. Legend says that after hearing Radomir Mihajlovic Tocak and his fingerpicking and vibrato, Deep Purple delayed the appearance on the stage and were very angry because they had to play after Smak opening act. Ritchie Blackmore said that he was so nervous after listening this guys guitar solo that he emptied the contents of a bottle, full of local brandy onto the surprised manager. No deep purples in this photo, just a reddish Belgrade jungle sunset as a hommage to the most emotional Stratocaster in this time-space continuum. Be sure to listen really loud. Зајди, зајди, јасно сонце Зајди, зајди, јасно сонце Зајди, помрачи се И ти, јасна ле месечино Бегај, удави се Црнеј, горо, црнеј, сестро Двајца да црнееме Ти за твоите лисја ле, горо Јас за мојта младост Твоите лисја, горо сестро Пак ќе ти се вратат мојта младост, горо ле, сестро Нема да се врати O Set, O Set clear sun O Set, O Set clear sun Set down, blackout And you clear moonlight too Escape, drown yourself Dark sorrow - forest, sorrow - my sister Let us mourn together You - for your leaves, forest Me - for my youth Your leaves, forest - my sister Will come back to you My youth, forest - my sister Will never return

Hommage to Дании́л

Blue notebook № 10 Once there was a redheaded man without eyes and without ears. He had no hair either, so that he was a redhead was just something they said.He could not speak, for he had no mouth. He had no nose either. He didn't even have arms or legs. He had no stomach either, and he had no back, and he had no spine, and no intestines of any kind. He didn't have anything at all. So it is hard to understand whom we are really talking about. So it is probably best not to talk about him any more. Дании́л Ива́нович Хармс In this building, in this very room, a yugoslav movie The Harms Case was shot in 1988

. blaupunkt

The existence of forgetting has never been proved. Inside my head - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where I store memories. A room like the stacks in a library. And to understand the working of my own heart I have to keep on making new reference cards. I have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases... so, even without a God, I'll live forever, here in my own private library on this pale blue dot .

28 | Atchoo in Color

Breaking the Waves

just matte painting exercise

Runcible Cat

The first practical application of runcification was in 1871 when Edward Lear noted that a runcible spoon could be used by owls and pussycats. "They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon," from The Owl & The Pussycat. In subsequent years Lear applied the principles of runcibility in other fields: "He has gone to fish, for Aunt Jobiska's Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!" Modern students of runciosity believe that it may have been inspired by the word "rouncival" (apparently meaning gigantic).

so what!

Sympathy for the Devil‬

I shall sit down,' replied the cat, sitting down, 'but I shall enter an objection with regard to your last. My speeches in no way resemble verbal muck, as you have been pleased to put it in the presence of a lady, but rather a sequence of tightly packed syllogisms, the merit of which would be appreciated by such connoisseurs as Sextus Empiricus, Martianus Capella, and, for all I know, Aristotle himself.' Your king is in check,' said Woland. Very well, very well,' responded the cat, and he began studying the chessboard through his opera glasses. And so, donna,' Woland addressed Margarita, 'I present to you my retinue. This one who is playing the fool is the cat Behemoth... Mikhail Bulgakov The Master and Margarita

Lamento über Belgrad

Jan Mayen, mein Srem, Paris, meine toten Freunde, Kirschen in China, all das erscheint mir noch, solang ich hier liege, schweigend, wach, sterbend, erkaltet, ein Scheit in der Asche. Aber, das sind nicht mehr wir, nicht das Leben, nicht die Sterne, sondern Ungeheuer, Polypen, Delphine, sie werfen sich über uns, eine Flut, sie reiten uns heulend: „Staub, Asche, Tod ist’s.“ Sie rufen, russisch: „nitschewo“ – und spanisch: „nada“...

for the last bohemian

Skadarlija is a vintage street, generally considered the main bohemian quarter of Belgrade, styled as the little Montmartre. It is less than 400 metres long, yet is one of the most famous streets in the town. Restaurants there are proud of their lists of worldwide celebrities and epicurians who visited them over the decades. Even Alfred Hitchcock ended his diet in Skadarlija. But this is not a photo about Skadarlija, although the place is the same. It's about the gentle touch of Košava, famous Belgrade wind which starts in Romania, follows the Danube through the Iron Gate where it gains a jet effect, continues to Belgrade and moves far south to Bulgaria. And, of course, it's about Belgrade girls.

Beautiful day without you

Living under guard Wind is on my neck Sun is on my face A beautiful day without you

As Worlds Collide

deer in the headlights

Up home we wear a hat like that to shoot deer in, for Chrissake, he said. That's a deer shooting hat. Like hell it is. I took it off and looked at it. I sort of closed one eye, like I was taking aim at it. This is a people shooting hat, I said. I shoot people in this hat. J.D. Salinger The Catcher in the Rye

sound oxymoron

One tiny moment when the boat engine stops in the middle of the lake and all you can hear is cormorant running across the water during takeoff. Splash and whoosh amplitude breaking the perfect surface of the mirror. I have never heard a more eloquent silence. My tired feet brought me to that red boat So still and foreign waters And although I've never been here Although I've never been here I know that here I've swam before Here I've swam before

From Her to Eternity | 01

When the child was a child It walked with its arms swinging, wanted the brook to be a river, the river to be a torrent, and this puddle to be the sea... Peter Handke To Solveig Dommartin

Ajde Jano!

Ajde Jano! Ajde Jano kolo da igramo! Ajde Jano, ajde dušo, kolo da igramo! Ajde Jano konja da prodamo! Ajde Jano, ajde dušo, konja da prodamo! Ajde Jano kuću da prodamo! Ajde Jano, ajde dušo, kuću da prodamo! Da prodamo samo da igramo! Da prodamo, Jano dušo, samo da igramo! C'mon Jana! C'mon Jana, let's dance the kolo! C'mon Jana, c'mon honey, let's dance the kolo! C'mon Jana, let's sell the horse! C'mon Jana, c'mon honey, let's sell the horse! C'mon Jana, let's sell the house! C'mon Jana, c'mon honey, let's sell the house! We'll sell them just so we can dance. We'll sell them, Jana honey, just so we can dance! *serbian traditional folk song pick up your version: Talitha MacKenzie Daniele Sepe Flatworld groupe DOR Kroke band Faith No More

driving with Isaac

Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

perfect speed

You will begin to touch heaven, Jonathan, in the moment that you touch million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesn’t have limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there. Richard Bach


The Universe is very, very big. It also loves a paradox. For example, it has some extremely strict rules. Rule number one: Nothing lasts forever. Not you or your family or your house or your planet or the sun. It is an absolute rule. Therefore when someone says that their love will never die, it means that their love is not real, for everything that is real dies. Rule number two: Everything lasts forever. Craig Ferguson Between the Bridge and the River

the banquet

According to Aristophanes in Plato's The Banquet, in the ancient world of legend there were three types of people. In ancient times people weren't simply male or female, but one of three types : male/male, male/female or female/female. In other words, each person was made out of the components of two people. Everyone was happy with this arrangment and never really gave it much thought. But then God took a knife and cut everyone in half, right down the middle. So after that the world was divided just into male and female, the upshot being that people spend their time running around trying to locate their missing half. Haruki Murakami Kafka on the Shore


Thomas Mann The Magic Mountain Mikhail Bulgakov The Master and Margarita James Joyce Ulysses Franz Kafka The Castle Marcel Proust In Search of Lost Time Robert M. Pirsig Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance Jack London Martin Eden Albert Camus Notebooks Henry David Thoreau Walden, or Life in the Woods JD Salinger Nine Stories

introibo ad altare dei

The twentieth century began in Dublin on thursday 16 of June 1904, when stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. That was, of course, the very first sentence of the most important novel ever written. The twentieth century ended on saturday 4 of august 2012, when speaking to Brazilian newspaper, Paolo Coelho said: "Today, writers want to impress other writers. One of the books that caused great harm was James Joyce's Ulysses, which is pure style. There is nothing there. Stripped down, Ulysses is a tweet." And he also said: "I'm a modern writer because I make the difficult seem easy". He makes difficult seem easy.... And here is the twenty-first century, the era of global blunting and the reign of idiots, their long-awaited time: the golden age of the average, the marginalized majority who finally got the historic opportunity to be heard and to judge. Pressed with imposed shame for centuries, that majority is now free to finally say that Joyce is complicated and incomprehensible as incomprehensible is everything more complex than the form of status on some social network. So, here we go again: "Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned: ________ " What did Buck Mulligan intone? a) "Introibo ad altare Dei." b) "Paulo who?" c) "Remember that wherever your heart is, there you will find treasure." Paulo Coelho has 5,554,877 followers on Twitter, but I prefer this Paulo Coehlo than real Coelho anyway: https://twitter.com/PauloCoehlo ps. I have to admit that once I was given The Alchemist to read by a friend. What an alchemy it was, if by that you mean turning perfectly good ink and paper into undiluted shit.

Goodbye blue monday

lazy tuesday aka mental break. just doing nothing. maybe with some music. later.


He offered me a leaf like a hand with fingers. I offered him a hand like a leaf with teeth. He offered me a branch like an arm. I offered him my arm like a branch. He tipped his trunk towards me like a shoulder. I tipped my shoulder to him like a knotted trunk. I could hear his sap quicken, beating like blood. He could hear my blood slacken like rising sap. I passed through him. He passed through me. I remained a solitary tree. He a solitary man. Nichita Stanescu

The Gospel according to Antoine

The proof that the little prince existed is that he was charming, that he laughed, and that he was looking for a sheep. If anybody wants a sheep, that is a proof that he exists. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Bubble gum

The Maestro says it's Mozart But it sounds like bubble gum When you're waiting for the miracle For the miracle to come

Hide and Seek

Someone hides from someone else Hides under his tongue The other looks for him under the earth He hides on his forehead The other looks for him in the sky He hides inside his forgetfulness The other looks for him in the grass Looks for him looks There's no place he doesn't look And looking he loses himself Vasko Popa

A Perfect Day for Bananafish

"You just keep your eyes open for any bananafish. This is a perfect day for bananafish." "I don't see any," Sybil said. "That's understandable. Their habits are very peculiar." He kept pushing the float. The water was not quite up to his chest. "They lead a very tragic life," he said. "You know what they do, Sybil?" She shook her head. "Well, they swim into a hole where there's a lot of bananas. They're very ordinary-looking fish when they swim in. But once they get in, they behave like pigs. Why, I've known some bananafish to swim into a banana hole and eat as many as seventy-eight bananas." He edged the float and its passenger a foot closer to the horizon. "Naturally, after that they're so fat they can't get out of the hole again. Can't fit through the door." "Not too far out," Sybil said. "What happens to them?" "What happens to who?" "The bananafish." "Oh, you mean after they eat so many bananas they can't get out of the banana hole?" "Yes," said Sybil. "Well, I hate to tell you, Sybil. They die." "Why?" asked Sybil. "Well, they get banana fever. It's a terrible disease." J. D. Salinger

Kafka on the Shore

I’m free, I think. I shut my eyes and think hard and deep about how free I am, but I can’t really understand what it means. All I know is I’m totally alone. All alone in an unfamiliar place, like some solitary explorer who’s lost his compass and his map. Is this what it means to be free? I don’t know, and I give up thinking about it. Haruki Murakami ps. better on black

Unconditional One

And this little light of mine, a gift you passed on to me; I'm gonna let it shine to guide you safely on your way Your way home...

Stupid Ending

Ask questions, no, screech questions out loud - while kneeling in front of the electric doors at Safeway, demanding other citizens ask questions along with you - while chewing up old textbooks and spitting the words onto downtown sidewalks - outside the Planet Hollywood, outside the stock exchange, and outside the Gap. Grind questions onto the glass on photocopiers. Scrape challenges onto old auto parts and throw them off bridges so that future people digging in the mud will question the world, too. Carve eyeballs into tire treads and onto shoe leathers so that your every trail speaks of thinking and questioning and awareness. Design molecules that crystallize into question marks. Make bar codes print out fables, not prices. You can't even throw away a piece of litter unless it has a question mark stamped on it - a demand for people to reach a finer place. Douglas Coupland Girlfriend in a Coma

28 | Atchoo!


Irrational fear of Friday the 13th. When you can pronounce the word, you're cured.

Otherwise, don't take photos on that day and keep asking yourself:

Am I over processing my pictures?

Adieu, mon prince Carnaval

Glass Bottom

Navagio | 01

Navagio | 02


Breakfast at Hell’s Kitchen

The Thorn Gate

From Her to Eternity | 02

One more song and it's over. But I'm not gonna tell you about a girl, I'm not gonna tell you about a girl. I'm gonna tell you about a girl... Nick Cave To Solveig Dommartin

I bless the rains

I hear the drums echoing tonight But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation...

the tree of life

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me, Searching my reaches for what she really is. Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon. I see her back, and reflect it faithfully. She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. I am important to her. She comes and goes. Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish. S.P. Quercus ilex.

shrink to fit

a) Honestly, if you don't fit in then you're probably doing the right thing. Lights Poxlietner b) Very deep. You should send that in to the Reader's Digest. They've got a page for people like you. Douglas Adams c) Michel Gondry commercial

bones and feathers | bw

I laid on a dune I looked at the sky When the children were babies and played on the beach...


The mirror’s laughing at my eyes the silver bugs are chirping I’m going away.


With an amazing regularity I keep seeing one and the same dream. It seems to make me return to the place, poignantly dear to my heart, where my grandfathers house used to be in which I was born 40 years ago right on the dinner table. Each time I try to enter it, something prevents me from doing that. I see this dream again and again. And when I see those walls made of logs and the dark entrance, even in my dream I become aware that I'm only dreaming it. And the overwhelming joy is clouded by anticipation of awakening. At times something happens and I stop dreaming of the house and the pine trees of my childhood around it. Then I get depressed. And I can't wait to see this dream in which I'll be a child again and feel happy again because everything will still be ahead, everything will be possible... The Mirror Final fragment Two instances of wind


Why did god create a dual universe? So he might say ‘Be not like me. I am alone.' And it might be heard.

loss of an eye

I used to tap my fingernail until no nail was left, and my finger until it wore away. But a blind man came to me and said: - Brother, leave your nail alone, what if there's an eye on the tip, do you want to pop it? But still, but still this gate between you and me, someone has to knock it down. Nichita Stanescu


When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it. A.A. Milne


My sadness hears the unborn dogs barking at unborn people.

eeepinnow ee i o

No more sand art no sand book, no masters. dumb ones? Seventeen. Your question—your answer. Your song, what does it know? Deepinsnow, Eeepinnow, Ee-i-o. Paul Celan


Uncorrupted by experience, a special case of loneliness. I sometimes invent reality, so that I’d have somewhere to spend the night. Mika Antic

go read a book

Just give me a comfortable couch, a dog, a good book, and a woman. Then if you can get the dog to go somewhere and read the book, I might have a little fun. Groucho Marx


bones and feathers

I laid on a dune I looked at the sky When the children were babies and played on the beach...


everything buried inside the vortex as if had never happened


down went the Tisza never shall it turn back

ducks per second

If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, we have at least to consider the possibility that we have a small aquatic bird of the family Anatidae on our hands. Douglas Adams Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

been a long time gone, Constantinople

There, Master Niketas,’ Baudolino said, ‘when I was not prey to the temptations of this world, I devoted my nights to imagining other worlds. A bit with the help of wine, and a bit with that of the green honey. There is nothing better than imagining other worlds,’ he said, ‘to forget the painful one we live in. At least so I thought then. I hadn’t yet realized that, imagining other worlds, you end up changing this one. Umberto Eco Baudolino



A door is what a dog is perpetually on the wrong side of.

As if Life isn’t short enough

Tigers are mean! Tigers are fierce! Tigers have teeth And claws that pierce! Tigers are great! They can't be beat! If I was a tiger That would be neat! Tigers are nimble And light on their toes! My respect for tigers Continually grows! Tigers are perfect! The e-pit-o-me Of good looks and grace And quiet dignity! Tigers are great! They're the toast of town Life's always better When a tiger's around! To Mr. Watterson




Ancora adesso, nelle terre di Carewall, tutti raccontano quel viaggio. Ognuno a modo suo. Tutti senza averlo mai visto. Ma non importa. Non smetteranno mai di raccontarlo. Perché nessuno possa dimenticare di quanto sarebbe bello se, per ogni mare che ci aspetta, ci fosse un fiume, per noi. E qualcuno - un padre, un amore, qualcuno - capace di prenderci per mano e di trovare quel fiume - immaginarlo, inventarlo - e sulla sua corrente posarci, con la leggerezza di una sola parola, addio. Questo, davvero, sarebbe meraviglioso. Sarebbe dolce, la vita, qualunque vita. E le cose non farebbero male, ma si avvicinerebbero portate dalla corrente, si potrebbe prima sfiorarle e poi toccarle e solo alla fine farsi toccare. Farsi ferire, anche. Morirne. Non importa. Ma tutto sarebbe, finalmente, umano. Basterebbe la fantasia di qualcuno - un padre, un amore, qualcuno. Lui saprebbe inventarla una strada, qui, in mezzo a questo silenzio, in questa terra che non vuole parlare. Strada clemente, e bella. Una strada da qui al mare. Tutt'e due immobili, gli occhi fissi su quell'immensa distesa d'acqua. Da non crederci. Sul serio. Da rimanere li una vita, senza capirci niente, ma continuando a guardare. Il mare davanti, un lungo fiume alle spalle, la terra, alla fine, sotto i piedi. E loro, li, immobili. Elisewin e Padre Pluche. Come un incantesimo. Senza neanche - un pensiero in testa, un pensiero vero, solo stupore. Meraviglia. Ed è dopo minuti e minuti - un'eternità - che Elisewin, finalmente, senza staccare gli occhi dal mare, dice: - Ma poi, a un certo punto, finisce? Alessandro Baricco Oceano mare

to throw a stone at Charlotte Mayhew

"Would you like to know how Charlotte got those nine stitches?" I asked suddenly, in a tone of voice that sounded perfectly normal to me. "We were up at the Lake. Seymour had written to Charlotte, inviting her to come up and visit us, and her mother finally let her. What happened was, she sat down in the middle of our driveway one morning to pet Boo Boo’s cat, and Seymour threw a stone at her. He was twelve. That’s all there was to it. He threw it at her because she looked so beautiful sitting there in the middle of the driveway with Boo Boo’s cat. Everybody knew that for God’s sake—me, Charlotte, Boo Boo, Waker, Walt, the whole family." I stared at the pewter ashtray on the coffee table. "Charlotte never said a word to him about it. Not a word." Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters J.D. Salinger She knew she was able to fly Because when she came down She had dust on her hands from the sky She said I touched a cloud She felt so high, the dust made her cry * crazy ones revisited


Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else. Italo Calvino Invisible Cities

the atheist's puzzle

We don't have all the pieces of Winnie The Pooh puzzle, but we can certainly say it's not a duck.

captain revisited

Non essere una viso pallido | colour

Am I Everywhere Where My Traces Are?

Who knows what I’ve been connecting with without even touching it

still waiting for Andreas Sam

And here is what the harp sings into his ear while he listens with his eyes shut: that he will soon stop tending cows for Mr. Molnar, that his father will never return, that he will leave the hut with the earthen floor, that he will finally go to his grandfather's in Montenegro, that he will get new books, that he will have fifteen hundred pencils, two hundred fountain pens, and five thousand books, that his mother will soon die, that he will meet a girl he will love forever, that he will travel, that he will see oceans and cities, that he will go back into ancient history, biblical times, and investigate his murky past, and that he will write the story of the aeolian harp made of telegraph poles and electric wires. Danilo Kiš Early Sorrows

Infinite Kiss

500px logo interpretation, with special thanks to Ana and Milan. Behind the scenes.

the end of summer

the secret of flight

The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it. J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan Buza bar cliff jumping, Dubrovnik.

South of the Border, West of the Sun

Inside that darkness, I saw rain falling on the sea. Rain softly falling on a vast sea, with no one there to see it. The rain strikes the surface of the sea, yet even the fish don't know it is raining. Haruki Murakami