Archive for the ‘Thoughts For The Day’ Category

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.




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.




The Sun beats down,

all day long.

In the drought

and in the desert,

it’s oppressive.

No respite.

The Sun beats down,

all the long daylight hours.

… And when you’re beaten down,

it’s hard to get up.




Immediately before, during and after climax,

when I have no control,

ecstatic for the moment,

a cascade of negative images,


hurts and enemies,

floods through my mind’s eye.

Utter violation,

perverted blasphemy.

It’s distressing



to be assaulted thus

in a private moment of bliss.




In my shitty Novosibirsk Khrushchyovka,

I watch the wildlife documentary,

a video downloaded from the internet:

American and British experts

exalting in the wonders of Kamchatka.

They are right,

it is amazing,

I already knew that,

of course.

But, how lucky they are

to be there,


and, how strange,

the impossibility

that I could ever travel thence.

… Borders and visas are meaningless

when you’re broke …

And your own country might as well be Mars.

I look at the cracked floorboards and sigh,

Masha’s dacha will have to suffice.




The annoying irony of life

in this place and time.

Ironic expressions make you simper, grimace.

Manifestations slap you in the face.

(Inside, we cry,

outside, others laugh…)




Sitting on the bus

with the other convicts,

varying extents of self-awareness

on display,

I realize,

despite our differences

and hatreds,

we’re all the same.



of the choices

we’ve made


been forced into,

our names

long since signed away,

hopes and dreams

but a fading,