On Love And Other Teachers...

2010-05-16T19:24:00.002+02:00

What a cold and purely uncomforting place. A spacious clutter made to comfort cripples no matter physical or mental. We are no longer patients we just couldn’t spear a move of a muscle for any kind of expression. Air stays still, soft and thick, packed with micro molecules of surgical spirit, valeriana drops, food dropped on the floor as a result of handshakes caused by a bad joke over lunch, after noon sleeping hour, where he, who slept nearby had breath of HELL, what was the essence of the joke that resulted in food being dropped on the floor after handshakes. That entire atmosphere of ‘I am being put into this box but it’s fine, what else do I require…’ brings me into state of no return: this is my reality, this is my cross. What happened? Nothing really, rather nothing is happening here and now. Is this the purest state we can attain as human beings?..
Everything used to be so different for me back in the old days packed with joy and terrific happenings…

Dear Diary, I am going nuts, officially! Well, if I can still write something, even this, it may allow a little hope for my useless soul. Anyway now I would like to go back to the years that have long been gone now, 2000’s, rather strange times.
Times of global changes of all sorts. It would be appropriate to talk you through those times now but my current condition wouldn’t allow it I am afraid. As in the present times all there is left for an older person is to drink and stay quiet wherever possible (which practically means everywhere). Remember the times when there were signs at the entrance to most gallant public places aka pubs stating: “No hippies, no Irish, no dogs” (practically I would fit all described categories in most of my conditions), as an unspoken rule was not to talk to French. Whereas now: “No i-women, no i-pets, no olds” (still no one talks to French). I must sleep now until… sleep i-nurse says and i-pen stops.

Monster, in the love, in the mind of reasonable/unreasonable.
1.45am. Reasonable. How in every act, accepted by human society, lays unexpression of monstrosity.
“Shut up you all, enough about it, we are in the middle of dinner after all…” Srtugatski Brothers, “OZ”

text in Russian needs translation…rather impossible task for me to perform unfortunately

Of love and other teachers…
23.50. deep night again. Human inability to accept being overrun (overcome) by the one below in a rank… fear floods the teacher’s mind as he or she begins to see impossibility of learning the lesson student is capable of giving.
Fear not, you could be god…
But we are incapable of reasonable understanding of such a thing as: I am god. Soon it will be doubted, then taken into consideration, then many irrelevant things would be linked in by the ones who analyse too much or just analyse, anal…
(I need to fix my windows, they are broken, taped by the one before and ropes got broken even earlier, sad things; beautiful, disabled. Like my eyes. Pitiful little things…)
I fear my students for I know not what they know. But my desire to face them grows ever stronger, my desire to share that little I know with them and be tolerant.
(It will be cold in the winter if my windows won’t be fixed. Summer is coming, I’ll work.)

Everyday route, everyday love, single used, better package for easier disposal.
Ourobos, no better friend shall I desire…

Encounter starts in slow motion, only faces of two shown.
“All memories are traces of tears”
Will the river carry us along, long will it be for the story of us to be recounted. I always wondered if there’s only you and me?.. Or I – is many, only you could never tell and I never found confirmation of such occurence… I look back inside through a layer of weightless fabric that somehow seems impossible to break through.
It was a lonely time when I found you. Thousands of hours had passed since you started gazing overzellestly at me with those eyes, looking for the answer, but were you lost in finding the question.

Yet another recollection of other events:
Your outstanding body I met about twenty hours ago, this wild dance you ingaged me in… Wicked sea, endless substance, play of two wales.
Not hearing form you hurts a little or just makes me wonder unpleasantly. You know I could have chosen anybody I wanted [I began to want you after a while] , you saw them, me, with your very own eyes. Why did I lay my eyes on you… Could it be the russian submarine t-shirt or wild eyes of yours peering through the crowd, not leaving me a second on my own or your persistance in chasing.

Isn’t it sad when submarines leave no trace on the water…

Red light your hand, down. Ah what a move. Someone sed: “I’ll be your bitch, your maid if you want” I followed: “I’ll come back next week” this repeated multiple times during the evening. This beautiful ackward creature, featuring Red T-shirt, Black tight Shorts, Blond wig, beer-beer belly stood between us when I tried to hug the creature, ah, almost forgot, the nails: wide. Longish. Possessed-cropped, chopped cuticles and ends. Red nail polish. Creature took my hand at some point, appealed: “Come and see!” Shortly I followed, or was taken. Behind a little alone standing in a corner bar. Seductive style high hill black shoes were demonstrated. “I’ll be your maid, I’ll do anything you want. I have many talents. I have bondage too. Come back, will you? And I’ll have a surprise ready for you.” My answer to that was not that much different from those, given earlier, even though I shared some warm feelings for the creature. Then I returned where I left you with our dance. Very thoughtful, there you were with two whiskeys as if you knew that I drink like a wale or you just being humanly nice. “Let’s get your friend a taxi and go someplace else” (I could enjoy that evening endlessly, should I performed more selfish approach to think about this suggestion. But…) did I not think a second saying: “She is coming with me, home” (this is when all started to go wrong). Nevertheless later:
Kitchen. Deemed lights (at a level just when it is that annoyingly low, yet to be nicely dark). My friend is on the red three-seated sofa with her back towards me. I open the oven. Burning air heats my body with intense but delicate wave. I picked up the dish with raw meat covered in marinade. In two moves stuck it in, shut the oven. At exact moment hand had touched my hip. Right. Warm breath at the back of my ear. Now the two hands held my hips. I could feel his entire body moving gently. Then hands were moving away from one another. Left hand had met my neck. Right was slipping in between high waist pants and tights. Wave had followed, it wasn’t only the oven.
He grabbed my exposed hips with all the might in beautiful hands and dipped his tong in. What a bizarre sensation. Again? Not really that was different, yet again. Grabbed the white sheet so tight. With every movement my body moved up and up and up again. Soon my hands have found support on the floor. (I have never looked at my fireplace upside down; beautiful.) Then. Yes you were still holding my hips firmly, twisting on the bed.
I had started drifting a long time ago… by the time we were finished I was far away, as if I’ve never met you, you were almost inhumane, yet further I proceeded with the human routine of sharing bed to sleep. In the morning nothing changed, I smiled, water over my head, down my neck, back, hips, feet and down the drain, what a waste to wash your body sometimes. No sins no washing away. Coffee. Here drink it. Smile. I am late. Lets get out please. Smile. How night bakes everything nicer. Yes just nicer to the eye of the beholder, and the heart that squeezes holding that bloody eye wants to scream but lacks a mouth… And yes I have raped you once again… Sorry heart. Smile.

Thursday(deep night, rather early Friday morning). Drunk again, wasting money, wasting time. Oh well, what is that to me, I never really earned enough to drink that much; though my body worked enough. Someone writes phrases I spoke, I can not capture a word of my own. Why is that so? A song requires music, music needs voice, voice must be heard. Dead circle. I am drunk; mind isn’t capable of producing sensible words. Looking at my writing is enough, I struggle reading it myself, not to mention writing.

In regard to the subject of “love” – no visible progress; though I managed to take others to the next step, left myself with the same vision: untouched, unmoved. Why don’t I fucking let myself go?! Would anything move me? Make me feel? Well I have met you about a week ago, precisely a week ago at a similar deep night/early morning hour. On the whole it was good; sometimes even magical (as you called it later) evening with fog and gay boys around us. Stage of uncontious extasy. May be it is time to take medicine… It has been years, I have been bad. Nothing… just a little weird. The thing is, my life no longer requires any… so…Fuck it, really no need. I already have the planet, planet-flat, where I save people form the end of the world… World is on fire but I have the controls and the other planet, we will be safe there I promise. I will learn how to use theese controls (once I find them) .

I am the foot of heaven and hell, not really my fault they can never decide which is to overrule. One must be in control or to be controlled; the inbetweener is the worst mistake that the Universe can make.

Don’t speak to a complicated person or you might start questioning foundations of you “established” life! But if you choose to do so, do consider it very serious, as your establishment might not be what you were so passionately trying to build, yet something you have uncontiously being looking to forget most of your contious life.
Only blind can forsee the changes.

Social encounter turns me into selfdestroying freak. Sexual encounters turn me into helpless beast. Being alone is unberable, thought of being seen or talked to does not make me want more. I am a carrion with imaginary sensitivity; afraid of eagle-owls, that are the only salvation…

I can not write in a day light. As night sets it’s fabric on the city my head expresses more will in cooperation with a pen. I guess it is my strange attachment to the moon. Welcome to the world of the warewolf. Long I believed it was only bizzare visions I had following as life took it’s course. Later it occurred to be not just a result of ill imagination but rather possible, at times even confirmed, existance of shuch condition of mine.

2.55am. Later than I expected.
Just happened to see an amusing performance, on stage and in life. Mutance of being. It must be within you, the devil you let out on a lace run. So categorising yet silent. Fuck, can not write and want to say so much, yet this language that fails me, this longing and the head, no wonder this place…
No more use for me really.
It is unberable to think of all the past happening leaving nothing more to desire.

A tiny not anymore flying insect, black body, four legs, transparent wings, one sticking out… Took it out of my soup, continued eating. What a sweet little place carying for people of the age…
(Pagan is the place to go…)
Purpousness of one’s existence can reach ridiculous stage. I am just at this state. Do I require to obtain a purpose at all? Is it just a responsibility that society makes me face? Or is it a pursuite I shaped for myself? Most of the times it is a combination of all with variying proportions at times. Making a statement of one thing being worth another is only relative in regard to particular times and values considering the moment suth statement is produced. This means that value of such statement is only ‘valid’ in dimentions it was produced and will change according to time and situation.

Why do I care for what the Love is?.. Why is it the one question that bothers me?.. So precise I want the answer to be, why should I care?Will I ever get any closer to the answer? Distraction.

Birds… Birdwatch… Crazy. So much to a relationship. Creatures. They say there are hardly any female birdwatchers, women come here driven by something else; I am yet to find out. I am considered to be one of them as I can see. I did not come here for birds, something else had brought me here. Relationship. One’s love, one’s obsession with flying creatures. I have lerned something new but it is not mine to experience, not my fascination.

So many lives have I had the honour to indulge in… well it would take a long time to narrate them all, will tell you about only one.
Suddenly I get the feeling she is drinking now deep into the night. Night was ever kind to her. She could shine at night, her dark tight skin really could shine. I’d call her a cliché name, the Star. Oh her crystal shaved head, one Egyptian cross earring, a bling, a big one. Oh her perfectly polished skin. That skin silk must have been provided by the Universe itself. Oh her smell. Oh the sound framing her as a shiny halo. Oh she. She started flowing through the crowded floor right through to me. Me. Oh me… black. All in black. Not so perfectly shaved any more. Applied clippers on own head a couple of days ago. I had to sit down, couldn’t bare the thought of the fact that my prediction could have been right. My eyes pointlessly seeking a shelter in an art piece. I was right.. I had a horse sized gulp of that drink handily placed in my hand. Then swapped it to another hand. She sat down next to me. Second. She touched my cold hand. Second. She firmly held it in hers. Silence. Eternity.

Complex of the senior:
It began to occure with greater frequency that in any of the previous years. This condition is explained by inadequacy of social and mental maturity. A particular case of cognitive dissonance, what later I have called the Complex of the Senior.
Some arrows:
* Only the blind can forsee the changes…
* Consideration – this is what makes one insane. Consideration os “reasonable people”
* Contiousness – that destroys an artist!

Some words on absurdity of everything:
Apocalyptically-pessimistic
Indifferently-optimistic

2010-05-16T19:19:00.000+02:00

ANASTASSIYA

2010-05-16T19:17:00.000+02:00

schizophrenia

2010-05-14T00:47:00.002+02:00

"Requiem for 'me'"

ADA YU

On Love And Other Teachers...