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Beard never considered himself very well versed. Yet once he got acquainted with the spoken word and comedy circles he felt like all those inner desires from long forgotten times had come back. After all he did want to be a an actor as a young-ling …

Last year my heart almost gave up on me. It was a result of a long term bad choices upon bad choices sparkled with some horrible choices and with a rotting cherry of self-loathing and pure wish for self destruction on top. Road to the abyss was well paved, or so I thought…

Beard had been struggling most of his adult life to be able to get a decent nights sleep. Major role in the inability to do exactly that was played by the fact that he got irritated every time he tried to fall asleep by the fact that he was well aware of the cacophony of noises that would follow. He truly desired to able to sleep silently throughout the night but there wasn’t much he could do to bring about his wish. And since he wanted to be taken seriously and leave an…

Beard had signed himself up for a “book reading challenge”. Actually, it was his fifth year in a row. He thought that even though they never managed to fulfil their plan to build “true communism” in five years, he might as well reminisce about his soviet childhood by sticking to something for as long as the original plan had it. So, fifth year in a row he made a “social media promise” to read fifty books. Chthulhu only knows why night hound does what he does.

Beard was in a good mood. At least it seemed so to those watching him from afar. And why wouldn’t he be. Nothing had happened yet. But he knew far too well that it was bound to change eventually. After all, nothing ever stayed the same by the end of the night.

Beard was solemnly standing guard as he usually did on nights when others where out partying. He didn’t mind it much because he had grown accustomed to being alone most of the time he spent awake in this world. At least this way he was killing two birds with one stone. Putting his ugly mug to some profitable use while killing time in-between bouts of loneliness was in his mind a solid way of at least attempting not to go totally haywire.

There have always been those who say “keep calm!” Especially in situations where “anything else but” comes to mind far more freaquently then keeping calm and not loosing ones cool. I guess to an “outside observer” such a suggestion comes more naturally than to one who is actually in a thick of it.

I would have never guessed, that all it takes for people to understand, that something is operating on the level with its capacity was a pandemic. I have operated the doors on and off for decades and still can’t fathom the new reality. It is appealing to say the least.

We are now living in times of pandemic. Some of us are scared. Some of us think that all this is just another conspiracy. And some of us secretly hope for the “zombie apocalypse” to come true. And all of those scenarios are cool. They all serve their innate purpose – provide us with solace and give us a purpose for justifying our existence.

Recently there have been a lot of discussion pertaining to what is acceptable and what is not acceptable when it comes to the human interaction. Main theme of this discussion has for somewhat “obvious” reasons centered around men mistreating women by their words or deeds. But awkwardly enough, only on rare occasions has the discussion shifted to the opposite side of the court – women mistreating men by their words and/or deeds.

Night is always profound. Just as the inner workings of human mind. Or so one might hope. But unfortunately it is not always the truth.

Many think that night is too quiet. Too desolate for your own good. It grabs you by the throat and squeezes until you either go bonkers or yell your lungs out so as to not surrender to the suffocating silence of the realm of darkness.

There are those among us, who rely upon darkness as refuge. Commonly they are considered to be among those not desired by the society. Sometimes it is so due to their inclination towards unlawful or vile. But sometimes it’s because society would prefer to not notice them in order to avoid the unpleasant contemplations about whether or not one or the other individual is worthy of our attention and support.

Darkness grips me every time it arrives. It grips me from the inside more than it engulfs me from the outside. I learned to deal with darkness very long time ago. Back when it was trying to find itself a permanent place within my bodily frame. I am still not quite sure if I have gotten rid of it for good. That’s why I always fear the deep grip of the moonless night.

Progress of time has brought with it the progress of human need for explanations. And don’t get me wrong – I am not saying that this is necessarily a bad thing. But in the context of night-time economy, one ought to admit the limits upon the possibilities of meeting such a need as thoroughly as each and every individual might expect his or her needs to be met at particular time and space interaction.

I have always felt more at home in the dark. I guess it’s because I can worry less about my appearance and the effect it has on people around me, when I can have at least a slim hope of being less visible. Even though deep in the shades of my mind I am fully aware that darkness brings out the edges even more than the light does.

Sometimes time just stands still. Even though your brain realises that actually it is not the case, you still somehow feel that it is not moving in its usual pace. Something out of the ordinary overwhelms you. You can feel the gripping tension of certain hopelessness. Hopelessness that makes you feel inclined to produce some kind of counter reaction to your surroundings in order to feel that time is actually moving.

I have been asked by many how come bouncers are so stubborn? Why be so rigid and stiff towards those who don’t feel like following all the rules. Well, my answer is always the same – for every exception one would make, ten more would crop up like magic mushrooms after Chernobyl.

During the years that I have spent on the door, I have discovered an interesting paradox. (Or at least I think it is a paradox. But I am merely a bouncer and not a philosopher). People tend to presuppose that everyone who have chosen the path of a “nighthound” have done so because they are educationally inferior to those, who have gone on to choose other paths. The reason I treat it as a “paradox” is because my personal journey has led me to meet a myriad of men and women…

It is some times amusing to witness the shock and awe reflexes on the faces of people who have forgotten the basic rule of any kind of interaction – tit for tat. One of the main reasons for forgetfulness is enshrined in the idea of individual worth superseding the worth of others. People tend to forget, that those who work in the night industry are “people” too. Therefore it is feasible to assume, that if you mistreat them, they will retaliate in kind.

As long as I have been on the door, I have always struggled with the inability of people to understand the importance, and hence respect, the house rules. Notwithstanding the changes in social reality, which have led some to believe, that rules are merely there to create unnecessary obstacles that can be overcome by mere denial of their existence masked by claims of “self-expression” and “artistic voyage”, from the point of view of a bouncer, these changes ain’t worth shit!

It’s always words that hurt the most. But not all words hurt equally. Some of them merely sting for a bit. Others hurt for a considerable time. And very few words are able to stay with you for life.

A long time has passed since I first stepped on the door. Many nights, many men, many struggles. But one thing I still remember like it was yesterday – cold was the night when it all started.