Interests
Favorite Music
Radiohead, Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jem, The Cure, Deus, Bush, REM, Skunk Anansie, Placebo, Muse, Interpol, Queens of the Stone Age, Simple Minds, Nirvana, Ramsstein, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Iron Maiden, Metalica, Toll, Nightwish, New Model Army, Pink Floyd, Joy Division, Sisters Of Mercy,Porcupine Tree, Bauhaus, Yngwie Malmsteen, Sex Pistols, Ramones, Letu Stuke, Arhangel, Mizar, YU- rock bands... 
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Favorite Movies
The Crow,
Saw,
Beautiful mind,
Me myself and Irene,
Ice Ventura,
How to iritate People,
The meaning of life,
Vanilla Sky,
The Ring,
Lord of The Rings,
Pirates of the carribean,
Shining,
I am a legend,
24 hours party...  
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Favorite Books
"Divo meso"- Goran Stefanovski, "Razgovor so Spinoza"- Goce Smilevski, "Idiot" -Dostoevski, "The Notebook"-Nicholas Sparks, "A walk to remember"- Nicholas Sparks,"Alhemicarot"- Paulo Coelho, "Stranecot"-Alber Kami, "Orkanski visocini"- Emily Bronte, "Gol covek"- Igor Dzambazov...
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hi5 Games
Jasmina hasn't played any games recently.
Journal
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Let me tell you something I wrote to a friend.
Once I read a little story that made me think about my life and in many bad and cruel things I did.
In a small town in Yugoslavia there lived a man named Peter. He read many books, dabbled in politics, and married a girl named Maria.
When Maria was heavy with child, the Germans occupied Peter’s village and took over his home and his business. Peter left to fight in the woods with the Yugoslav Partisans. He was shot several weeks later but before he died he took out a stub of pencil and wrote a letter to his unborn son.
Partisans found Peter’s body and the letter. While they waited for a chance to deliver it, the letter was passed from hand to hand and became in time of guerrilla folklore:
“My child, sleeping now in the dark and gathering strength for the struggle of birth, I wish you well. At present you have no proper shape, and you do not breathe, and you are blind. Yet, when your time comes, your time and the time of your mother, whom I deeply love, there will be something in you that will give you power to fight for air and light. Such is your heritage, such is your destiny as a child born of woman-to fight for light and to hold on without knowing why.
May the flame that tempers the bright steel of your youth never die, but born always; so that when your work is done and your long day ended you may still be like a watchman’s fire at the end of a lonely road-loved and cherished for your gracious glow by all good wayfarers who need light in their darkness and warmth for their comfort.
The spirit of wonder and adventure, the token of immortality, will be given to you as a child. May you keep it forever, with that in your heart that always seeks the gold beyond the rainbow, the pastures beyond the desert, the dawn beyond the sea, the light beyond the dark.
May you seek always and strive always in good faith and high courage, in this world where men grow so tired.
Keep your capacity for faith and belief, but let your judgment watch what you believe.
Keep the power to receive everything; only learn to select what your instinct tells you what is right.
Keep your love for life, but throw away your fear of death. Life must be loved or it is lost; but it should never be loved too well.
Keep your delight in friendship; only learn to know your friends.
Keep your intolerance-only save it for what your heart tells you is bad.
Keep your wonder at great and noble things like sunlight and thunder, the rain and the stars, the wind and the sea, the growth of trees and the return of harvests, and the greatness of heroes.
Keep your heart hungry for new knowledge; keep your hatred of a lie; and keep the power of indignation.
Now I know I must die, and you must be born to stand upon the rubbish heap of my errors. Forgive for this. I am ashamed to leave you an untidy, uncomfortable world. But so it must be.
In thought, as a last benediction, I kiss your forehead. Good night to you-and good morning and a clear dawn”
Here the letter ends. The day that the avenging Partisans swept back into Peter’s village they found that his widow had been murdered a few days before her child would have been born. The letter that his comrades could not deliver has become instead a letter to all the unborn children in the great, mad world.
Every soul is a living idiosyncrasy, where good none better, where bad none worse. There is no more miserable human being than one in whom nothing is habitual but indecision, and for whom the lighting of every cigar, the drinking of every cup, the time of rising and going to bed every day, and the beginning of every bit of work, are subjects of express volitional deliberation. I really hope, that soon, you can launch with a strong and decided initiative in your life. Have a good life. Think with your heart, your instincts and your intelligence.
Yours:
Erick
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English
