Archive for May, 2016

On one side of the fence you have the easy-going, modern lifestyle, the people go to work, they have plenty of time and energy left over to socialize with their many friends, they are young and already homeowners (their parents bankrolled the mortgage on the home they acquired, cut-priced, after a soldier died), they don’t waste time working the garden or washing their cars, but still things grow and life is peachy. They get all the breaks. The present and future is theirs.

 

On the other side of the fence, rotted and wind-battered, you have the flip-side dead-end of the American dream – life sucks and then the people die. They believe in God and try to do the right thing, they want to make the world a better place but, sensitive, they get chewed up and spat out. They do all chores they can. They work from dawn to dusk and into the night, and still it’s never enough. They are beset by endless complications and catches. They are running to stand still. They live on energy drinks and alcohol. They have no hope in tomorrow, that things will be better. They get all the heartbreaks. Their present and future, there’s a brick wall looming, sooner or later, a calamitous collision and the end is nigh, tonight, tomorrow, who knows?

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Somehow,

much as she liked it,

these days,

she found Czech beer typically

had a tinge of something redolent

of fly spray.

 

Still, as she waited for the moisturizer to soak into her upper body,

with each sip,

that tinge

twinged and teased another memory,

from near and far,

one could say,

her life flashed before her eyes.

Art model.

 

Fragments.

I’m sorry, it’s not the cohesive whole

(which I want and need it to be)

but it’s all the gods are currently allowing.

Fragments of salad.

 

In the future, when we meet.

Let’s make it *not* in a café – a waste of money, and too loud.

Let’s make it a PowerBar and a walk on a mountain trail,

a hike if you like,

or a city park.

A can of Monster between us.

Bliss.

Then we can talk: deeply and meaningfully, changing the world,

yesterday and tomorrow,

one piece of poetry or prose at a time.

 

A Pole once told me that I was lucky to be a szkop in Russia. Castrated? Yes. He said try being a Pollack or a black arse.

Stick with Nemsty.

Indeed, Nemtsy means mute and refers to the lack of communication and comprehension, the language barrier between early Hanseatic Germans and Russians. The name stuck. Yes, some twist this to mean Russians think Germans are dumb. But, really, the days of potato and sausage references are long gone irrelevant (Russians love their Kartoshka and Kolbassa!), and allegations of neat gardens amongst shit-heaps, well… And unlike the Western Allies, Russians and Soviets generally didn’t seek to degrade their German Nazi enemy with collective slurs. Perhaps excepting Damn Germans, and individual (understandable) expletives and profanities which didn’t linger. … Unlike “us”. … We lingered long, woven into the fabric, sometimes freely, sometimes forced by circumstance, surprising to outsiders, quite the extent: Germans in Russia.

… 

The Kids Of Degrassi Street? In time, play button permitting, maybe tomorrow.

Today, more likely The Littlest Hobo, or any number of TVOntario (Educational) programs.

The boy walked over to the 12 inch TV and twisted the knob. The world awaited.

 

Papka didn’t mind me staying up and watching the news. 21:00. Time, Forward!

Cue the music, emotion and memories: today, tomorrow and yesterday’s. Yes, it’s still stirring night after night, into perpetuity.

 

So, you try to learn the language.

It’s hard in dull surrounds.

Still, you gather the essentials.

And, as you’re that way inclined, you add it all up, you fit the jigsaw pieces together. Bit by bit. … Messy picture. Weird statistics. Tired, tiring, tiresome compulsion. God help you. … Eventually, you realize 60% of the words boil down to genitalia and objectionable people, the other 40% encapsulate variations of GET LOST and GO AWAY.

Hard to believe but it’s true.

No wonder you find it hard to communicate.

This world has lost its way, if ever it knew it.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, ahh SCREW IT.

Taking Stock.

Posted: 2016-05-25 in Danuta, Hoping For Some Hope

What if I don’t care anymore?

Can I be stopped, when I don’t fear the consequences?

When I feel abjectly betrayed by the “societal contract”, am I still liable to its bonds and obligations?

 

1988, 1989, FES Bike

Posted: 2016-05-25 in Dagmar., Time, Wow! Signal

Machine, sleek, the future was here.

Velodrome curves, sexy.

Enough to give a certain kind of guy an erection.

Female, I felt it within.

Plastic orgasm.

 

 

Отвали!

Posted: 2016-05-24 in Thoughts For The Day

Отвали!

Otvali!

The pain inside my head.

The pain outside my head.

Your presence is offensive, your actions reprehensible: recalcitrant scum. Your noises deafening, your silences frightening (I know you’ll start again).

Отвали!