Archive for the ‘Как дела?’ Category

NYC Therapy

I woke, and hearing strange noises, it took me some time to realize where I was.

Ah, yes. Sheepshead Bay. Visiting, well, someone.

Gradually, amongst the haze, I remembered I had an appointment today, to see a therapist. Of course, when in New York, do as Romans!


Indeed, as I wait, I see the letters differently, more clearly: The-rapist, yes, the Rapist!

Nein danke!

My mind is messed up enough,

determinedly, I walk away.

Behind me, beseechingly, the receptionist calls…

(To be continued…)








Girl Pisses Herself 2

Fundamentally, in this fallen world,

we like to see people…


This is our joy.

If we are fortunate,

we will sleep through it.








“Are you OK?”

I’m still half-asleep, tired, confused, somewhat dazed,

strange and negative thoughts filling my head.

I’ll be OK once I wake fully.

Or, actually,

enormity and shit of reality (in full focus),

I’ll be worse.




They drive you to the breaking point,

they break you to the driving point.

You react.

Self-centered, they don’t understand

your pain.

Circle of life and consequences,

revolutions every day.




Падут подле тебя тысяча и десять тысяч одесную тебя; но к тебе не приблизится: только смотреть будешь очами твоими и видеть возмездие нечестивым.

(Псалтирь 91, 7-8)

I’m fairly sure, manda,

that you don’t remember the anniversary,

that haunts my soul

and fucks my essence,

in which you are central.

Nonetheless, I’m fairly certain,

that you are rotting in hell,

one way or another.

Lest we forget:

… mother against mother.




Wave of futility

sweeps over me,

cold breath on my stiff neck.

Half-life, too much, and never enough…

Pain, so much pain…

… creeping death.




Sometime during the TV commercials,

somewhere in between ads for life insurance, sports betting and pantyliners,

she decided to slit her wrists.

Driven to madness.

Society story.

The end.




Are you ready?

It’s a long way up

and we’re going all the way to the top!


I wake up.

A door clangs shut.

I come too.

One voice tells me that I’m in a prison cell,

another says: welcome to hell.

Laughter and footsteps get fainter.

And I am on my own.

My eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the dim, yet harsh, light. A bare light bulb, hanging, reflecting on gray drabness.

I’m on a bed (if you can call it that). Four walls cramming in upon me. A bucket on the floor. A tray next to that.

It is what it is.

And that is that.

In pain, I slowly uncoil and get up. I stretch my back as best I can. It’s cold. I’m instantly thankful to be wearing a tracksuit top, the kind that zips up to cover one’s neck. I don’t remember putting it on but instantly I consider it my best friend.

I reach for the tray: bread and water. I smile thinly.

I try not to think about my prospects.

I lie back down on the bed. The mattress is skeletal and the base below hard. I pull up the blanket. And then I realize that, for now, I’m all alone. And I can’t hear any sound beyond my own breathing, and the thoughts in my head.

Peace, of sorts.

Imperfect peace, in an imperfect place.

For now it will suffice.

Such is life.