Archive for the ‘Я не знаю’ Category

Too stark, she says,

this thing we have done,

contrasting bad and good,

replacing wrong with “right”…

revolutions and intentions.

Pause, reflect,

so much lost,

a relative black hole.

Indeed, we need to ameliorate,

find appropriate red paint,

restore our fate.

… Is it possible?

Tomorrow…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Something beautiful,

or at least I thought it was,

and/or wanted it to be.

Now tarnished,

sullied with hurt and pain.

Communication breakdown.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

It’s Summer

and they’re giving away watermelon at the market:

children and adults rush with gleeful abandon,

but nothing is truly free…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

It’s World Fair Trade Week,

whatever that means.

“Like, fair trade prostitution?” I ask.

… Unexploited, with no pimps.

An honest and fair exchange.

Is it possible?

… In this age where sex is no longer sacred,

well, maybe.

But, then, *everything* is a commodity,

and *everyone* wants the best deal.

… And money is tighter than your ass.

So…

Likely, no.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

New York is enraptured

as Jimmy Connors is more of an asshole than ever,

and

the USSR is crumbling apart.

Momentous.

Cavernous pit,

all utter shit…

Captivating,

compulsive

trainwreck in motion,

where will it end?

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

History and terror.

Who knows what was true?

Can you trust perspective?

If you were there, passion and fear,

ashes,

blood,

and guts.

For the others:

words, time,

rust…

Detachment changes meaning

and books

gather

dust.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Red Terror,

White Terror,

Day Terror,

Night Terror.

Memories I imagine,

from other people’s accounts.

I shudder with repulsion, pain and fear.

Yes, I understand,

but I don’t know.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Okay, it was an interesting proposal.

Considering the closest he got to Avant-Garde was the second Omsk Hockey team, when they had a free admission day,

this was truly *out there*

and I was intrigued…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

As I pace in my cell,

forwards and backwards,

I consider,

imagining myself somewhere and someone

else.

Imagine… Like an American.

Way of life.

Today.

Planet Earth.

Some women give birth.

Progress.

Glacial.

Nonetheless, progress.

If I had a therapist,

they would be impressed.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

You drool as you sleep,

salty residue left on your pillow.

Epic life memories, mainly forgotten.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat