Wonky Paw

Diana

Ian Transue — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 07:07:36 +0000

Marcela

Ian Transue — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 13:30:23 +0000

Veronika

Ian Transue — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 08:08:13 +0000

A Celebration of Life

Flicker and Glow

Ian Transue — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 22:01:40 +0000

She fascinates me, this Slavic beauty. What draws me into her landlocked embrace? The cities, towns and villages that she adorns like jewellery? The peaks and crevasses of her body, so much more free of the multitude of random, misplaced scars and tattoos that seem to endlessly encompass her northern sister? The combination of the two, more likely than not. Czech was my introduction to Central Europe; my first real lover after Scotland and I had broken up in a gnashing of teeth and spitting of obscenities. We two were not a perfect match at first, but what young man on the rebound treats the replacement well or appreciates the kindness he is shown? I was greedy and wanted “to sit upon two chairs”, as someone once told me. I did not appreciate everything she had to offer, and I abused the compassion she tried her hardest to show me. I was young … stupid … fickle … so I left her for another, always wanting and expecting and taking more. And I did receive more … in a completely different way than I planned for … and in a way that was so much more fulfilling than I could have ever contemplated. Whist I was entwined within the clutches of my magnificent white eagle, a lingering thought would still occasionally steal me away across the border like an unfaithful husband to bed my Czech mistress once, maybe twice a year. I did not shroud or attempt to hide my infidelity, and I would even be willingly permitted to meet our neighbour. With mutual trust in the strength of our commitment, I would always happily return home to the bed I had made … but her scent would be upon my flesh and her taste would linger upon my tongue. Now, that once blazing Polish fire dwindles and has removed her warmth from my bones, and as we attempt to amicably sift through the ashes and come to terms with the seeds we had sown together, I am coming to discover that the kind, gentle ember I left in the hearth ages past is still glowing and is more warm and beautiful than I remembered … and my feelings for her run much deeper than I once thought. I only pray she still feels as deeply for me and finds me as attractive and irresistible as I do her.

The Waters of Life

Ian Transue — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 22:45:12 +0000

December of last year brought about a lot of turmoil in my life, and the waves and ripples are still lapping against the shores … but I am not one to dwell on the negative for too long, and I do have to give thanks to the fates when moments of bliss drop into my lap. Along with all the crap I have had to wade through this year, beautiful moments arose that glistened like cat’s eyes in the dark, murky sludge and have kept me on my feet, clambering towards more solid ground. When surrounded with lies as thick as locusts on holiday in biblical fields of revelation, a small yet cosy drinking establishment allowed me to stretch my wings beneath the earth and hold my head in the clouds for a time as I displayed my love of facial forms. That same brick-encased evening, there was even a duo of angels from white lands permitting me to strum my four-stringed harp and growl before the congregation about the lack of sunshine or the impending arrival of a Ford-driving Christ. And even as ice cold eyes stared blankly at me for days on end with their lifelessness, another unknown ethereal form stood trustingly before me one bright day … shining in the morning, smiling into the light of the afternoon and teasing me in the evening … an entire day all within the span of two hours resonating with the sounds of laughter. These days I have traded a hostile environment for a hostel one, and I walk along avenues covered in the spectacular colours of autumn or stroll the cobbled streets and lanes of a painting come to life; I watch numbered forms swiftly glide over ice as crowds of onlookers chant and scream; where I lay my head is now my home, even though I never seem to keep it upon the same pillow for more than 3 or 4 nights in a row; the company I keep are transient figures that I occasionally create lasting bonds with or, more likely than not, let slip away into the impenetrable fog of the morning … and all of this is near perfect … and far superior to the cold shadow of the ghosts that had for so long haunted my waking hours and sleepless nights. But even this new lens through which I glance through needs the addition of a finely aged 5-year old spirit to make it all swim into glorious focus. There is nothing that completes a day more than the time I am allotted every so often to savour that magnificent drink of life, and every sip I take keeps my head spinning in such a way that nothing can drag me down from the high I feel at those moments. I readily admit that it is a powerfully strong addiction, but one that I am more than willing to nurture or even give my life to keep. And I dare say that the majority of you will permit me to keep a firm hold of this one vice.

Hostel Environment

Ian Transue — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 18:00:36 +0000

Some forever stay by your side, others disappear into the morning fog

Through the Fog

Ian Transue — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 08:34:17 +0000

Taking a break right now … not really because I want to, but because my head is a bit fuzzy right now. It has been a hell of a year, and loads of changes are in progress. I think all for the better. Back when I can have more clarity.

Kasia

Ian Transue — Thu, 18 Aug 2011 11:27:07 +0000

Sometimes, just a name is more than enough

New York City

Ian Transue — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 09:03:59 +0000

Digging in the archives for an NYC tilt … a slant on the Big Apple

Israel

Ian Transue — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 12:16:20 +0000

The Hotbed and the Holy Land