Archive for July, 2018

Overcome by futility

and human frailty


I desire finality

and close my eyes.



another reality.




Short, and sharp, and shit.

That’s how we like it.

No wasted time,

straight to the point,

the message clear,

the bad news,

the cringing fear,

so we can move on

to the next article.

Short, and sharp, and shit.




I reflect, instantly,



and overwhelmingly aware,

all too aware,

I shake my throbbing head

(it doesn’t help):

such pressure,

over such a shitty banality,

minutes and hours of life



day after day,

out of control,

rabbit hole,

frog spawn,

maggot salad,

horse meat,

human flesh,

wasps’ nest,

crumbling mess…

the garbage may

or may not

be collected.

Triviality sucks.




Moskva Demolition 1


Change is good,

change is awesome,

when it is for the better.


it seems to be the human tendency

to embrace negative change,

the kind that makes things worse,

the kind that complicates

and screws people up,

destroying hopes and aspirations.

Such change is often chosen for us

by the powers that be,

or we are convinced to “choose” it ourselves

by trend-setters,

society shapers,

captains of industry.

Democracy and other conspiracies

to keep us down.

Change is good,

when it is good,

but *those* changes are rarely embraced.

Instead, we cherish the worst aspects of the present

and pile on bad changes,

disingenuously called “progress”.

To be human is to suffer.





The writing is so beautiful,


and lyrical,

it speaks to me,

makes me think

and wonder.

The writing is moving,


and it makes me proud

that it makes me want to cry.




Don’t waste your eye contact on me.

Don’t look to me for direction.

I’ll blink, look away, and say anything,

to escape your inspection.




Yamal, 2009 (2)



it’s not as if you have the crushing weight

of Arctic pack ice on your shoulders.

So, exhale and relax.

Viva perspective,


So says the ass

who doesn’t know

or appreciate

what you’re going through:

The pain in your brain,

the panic which consumes every

cell of your body and being,

the total torment,

so far beyond what any

nuclear-powered icebreaker

could surmount.


I understand.




Time passes and context proves the undoing

of everything you hoped would be.

Like, this afternoon’s enlightening sentiment

buried by tonight’s depleted body

and spat-upon soul.

Still, the clock keeps ticking,

yes, the fucking clock,

the calendar,


and various rodents,




suck you dry.




We met for dinner,

summer evening,

two girls connecting.

I asked about her day.

She said it had been a long,

fulfilling morning and afternoon on the beach.

… She lay on her back,

she turned,

she lay on her front. …

No book, no learning,

nothing but time and Sun and empty head.

She smiled,

she beamed.

Pride in her expression,

she pulled down her pants:

“Look at my tan!”




No, English isn’t my first language,

perhaps that affects my writing now.


As far as I recall,

the first words I spoke

in this life-form

were neither Russian nor German

but babyish gibberish.