troll

hey, i see you - wiggling your gray faded tail, crawling over my words. you put them inside your cheeks, tug them away to a safe hidden spot. you sit over there, remove your girdle, get ready. you lick the words with your ulcerous tongue, passionately rub the words over your fungal skin, sniff them in. i see you - pathetic disgusting foul troll in the dark wet hole with my beautiful words all around you.

fear

the fear. the freezing shivering hands. the overclocking heartbeat. the sweat. the panic. the storm of overbearing anxiety. let go. be calm. close your eyes tight-tight-tight. take a breath. lock your lips like they’ll never open. don’t be afraid. dive in. let them see it. let them see you. you are not that important. you are not a big deal. release.

xxxx

it has to start with the ability to say:
x xx xxxxxxxxx xx xxxxx.

pull

you grab on so tight, it hurts your hands. the skin, ripped by calluses, shows islands of raw red flesh. you hold on, you pull, you won’t let go. you need this. this is all you can do. this is all you could hold. you’ll try all you can. you will get bored. the thrill, the novelty, it will all wear off. plagued calluses will rub off. scarred marks will scrupulously cover your healed skin. you will drift for a while. there will be something next. you may come back. your eyes would look down at your palms, and your lips would smile.

truth

the moment of satisfaction upon arriving at a movie theater and recognizing all of the currently playing films is followed by a moment of realization that the minimal age of the people in the audience of the movie you have selected to watch seems to be about 65.

lucky

unspoken words. unfinished thoughts. the fear. the anxiety. the empty days. the stretch of time. the doubts. the hope. you look at all that passed. the moments. wide open eyes. the love from ones you love. support in their smile. encouragement combined with trust in you. the confidence in you. the times you celebrate your chose them. you kept them all along. on a quest. you look at yourself. you look around. you look ahead. and then you tell yourself: “how fucking lucky”.

newfound insights

перечень понятий, с которыми я ознакомилась за последнее время просто неимоверен и многогранен. вот горячая десятка моей новонайденной эрудиции:

10. как сжимать зубы от стыда и улыбаться нахмурившись
9. театральные нюансы, виды шерстяных пальто и хлопковых постелей
8. все про дранки, планки, катушки и бечевки
7. православные кресты, купола и соборы
6. зарождение поп-арта и американского футбола
5. сухожилия рук и болезни суставов ног и стоп
4. специфика почтовой оплаты по получению
3. рубанки, грузовики, и газовые баллоны
2. пирожковые, пончиковые и хлебная водка
1. пистоны, поршни и лисы

то ли еще будет?..

the vast knowledge i lately obtained is mindboggling. here is a list of top 10 of my newfound insights:

10. how to set teeth in shame and smile while frowning
9. stage and theater specifics, types of wool coats and cotton sheets
8. all about sticks, strings, notching and tying
7. orthodox christian crosses, domes and cathedrals
6. birth of pop art and american football
5. hand tendons and illnesses of leg and foot joints
4. specifics of collect on delivery packages
3. carpenters planes, trucks and gas tanks
2. doughnut shops and rye vodka
1. pistons, barrels and foxes

what’s next?..

fame

it’s not easy to handle all this fame. they are not kidding saying it’s excruciating to attract. thousands of people come and see you naked. they examine your heart. they poke at it with tools, they look at colors, they analyze the beat. they voice their opinions, they use harsh words, they want you to feel ugly. you thought you would not give a shit. they proved you wrong. you did not think the kindness would matter either. it does. ‘I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.’

promise

i will find you. you will be unique and beautiful, and you will break my heart. you will have a round face with your dark brown hair split in the middle, looking at me with your honest devoted green eyes, promising me something, i would not yet know what. i know, the promise will be broken, the eyes will turn away, the air will turn black, and i accept that without a second thought. i will find the green eyes on a round face with a promise.

tpos

can you fall in love with a book? can it craze you to madness, make you act foolishly, silly like a child? can it take control of your mind? can it take over your life, lead you on a quest? can you discover your alter ego? can you transform? can your insanity become contagious? can you find a pool of souls going through the same? can it validate you? can you find yourself welcomed, valued, understood? can you tell why? can you see what is wrong?

cement

you go to the hardware store. you pick best quality cement. you pick the most expensive bricks. you load the car. you drive back. you line up the bricks. you mix the cement. you place the bricks one by one in a perfect line. you coat them with cement. you put up the second line, the third, the fourth, all the way up to your height. you turn. you make the next wall, one more and the last. you make the ceiling right above your head. you are done. you have succeeded.

a gift

each sentence is a gift. a holiday to celebrate. like butter to spread. so light and yet so delicate you have to stay alert. you have to keep the balance, the pace, the rhythm. it gives you so much joy. it gives you so much comfort. the present you can take and share in return. disquiet of your heart. you add a spice of tenderness directly from your soul. with all your love. you send it forth and pause. can you believe it?

the happy place

come here if you are down, upset or anxious. you think, things aren’t fair? you think life is too much? don’t be foolish. come here instead. you can’t be here without a smile. you can’t be here unhappy. this is a happy place. you need a happy place. today this one is yours. today this one is happy. today it is enough.

your wish

you are sitting across from me on the old chair in the shabby room. stop looking at me, you say, restless, annoyed by my stare. i don’t move my gaze. i don’t acknowledge your words. i am not concerned with your wishes. i do not ask why you are there. i keep looking. i keep looking at your face that will not be with me anymore. i have to memorize each cell, each line to store them in my heart. to take them with me. your face. i have to take my doubts and regrets, my joy and disappointment far away deep into the future. i have to take them to the day many-many days ahead when i will take each cell, each line out of my heart, place them together into your face, look at your eyes and ask – what did you wish for on that day many days ago?

walk

you wake up to a view of blue calm empty sky. your bones ache. your joints are in pain. you get up. you walk for a long time. people die. people you love die. people change. things change. the sky becomes gray and full of clouds. full of rain. you mourn as you walk. you cry. you walk for a long time. your boots leave deep footprints in the mud as you walk. your lover is by your side in a flower dress. she is beautiful. you are beautiful. your children are playing next to you. you are happy. you are hopeful. the sun is shining. you are burning up. it is hot. you are thirsty. you walk for a long time. you skip ahead curiously. you look for something to quench your thirst. you lay down. you gaze up into your mom’s loving eyes. you hug. you suck. above is a view of blue calm empty sky.

exclamations

day two. overjoyed! i really am, i am full of energy and excitement! i want to jump up in the air and do a flip! i am twirling inside my head! how great this is going to be! what an idea! what an ambition! what a perfect plan! let’s do it!

therapist

dr. doorovski is sipping rich cardamon tea with a touch of cinnamon anxiously looking at the clock. his patient is late, and it makes him undeniably uncomfortable and disappointed. he has realized, he holds himself responsible for his patient’s conduct and choices, and he repulsively resents this revelation. to dr. doorovski, his patient’s tardiness to an appointment with him feels like a personal failure. he convulsively scratches his cheek. the new aftershave, the 22nd anniversary gift from his wife linda, must have been wrong for his skin. he senses dryness and irritation all over his face, especially around his thick grayish mustache. dr. doorovski gets up from his chair and stares at the busy construction site out of the wide window at his office. he looks at the confident steady movements of the workers that project a strong sense of belonging and purpose. dr. doorovski opens a door of a thin tall mahogany cabinet in the corner. he pulls out a bottle of scotch, and he pours himself a glass.

freedom weekend

в эти выходные мне вспомнились другие летние выходные. я шла с папой по проспекту шевченко во львове, когда мы столкнулись с его знакомой. она держала в руках блокнот и ручку и делала какие-то записи. эта женщина была настолько этим занята, что прошла бы мимо, не заметив нас, если бы папа ее не окликнул. “что ты записываешь?”, - спросил он ее. “да вот, пишу адреса тех, кто вывесил украинские флаги”, ответила знакомая, - “попросили записать на всякий случай”, - добавила она. это было лето 1991-го года, когда западная украина заговорила о желании независимости от умирающего советского союза. в эти выходные многие львовские жители вывесили украинские флаги на своих квартирах и домах в патриотическом жесте в поддержку новых времен. папина подруга работала в райкоме партии. он еще существовал, там люди по прежнему получали зарплаты, и еще не было до конца понятна ситуация ни отделения украины, ни гибель советского союза вместе с райкомом партии, ни судьба тех патриотов-смельчаков, вывесивших флаги.

this weekend i remembered another summer weekend. i was walking with my father in lvov, when we ran into a friend of his. she had a notepad and a pen in her hands writing something down. she was so concentrated, she would have walked by without noticing us have my father not called her. ‘what are you writing?’, he asked. ‘writing down addresses of the ones who put ukrainian flags up’, she replied. ‘they asked me to take notes just in case’, she added. it was a summer day in 1991 when the west ukraine first talked of independence from the decaying soviet union. that weekend many citizens of lvov hung ukrainian flags at their apartments and buildings in a patriotic gesture supporting and welcoming these changes. my father’s friend worked at a communistic district committee that still existed, people still received salaries there, and there was still a big uncertainty about it all – the ukrainian independence, the death of the soviet union together with all the district committees, as well as the future of these brave patriotic citizen who hung the flags.

molding

you are an artist. you search. you spend your days looking for your mold, looking for your gem. you’re going to make an art. you will find that perfect person - the one to inspire, the one to create, - your muse. you will hold the one you found tight and gently in your caring palms. you will treasure her features, you will absorb and memorize them all. you will learn how she walks, what she loves, and who she is. you will discover her soul. you will study her obsessively non-stop, even in your sleep. you will go deeper and further to unravel who she is. you’ll realize your muse is not that flawless. you will find your muse to hold some traits you do not like. it is ok. you are an artist. she is your art. you will take your mold and you will improvise.  you will work on adding qualities you feel are missing, you feel are wrong. you will mold your muse until you’re satisfied with the result, until you’re proud of your art. you will be content when you can no longer sense the precious tenderness you felt in your loving palms.

question

my body is restless. i am so afraid. i need to ask you this single uppermost question. i don’t know what i am more frightened of – asking the question or hearing you answering it. i am in a daze. i am not myself. who am i? who will i be after your answer? will you ever answer? will i ever ask?

a roach

joseph tann was crawling along a rusty pipe from the first floor kitchen back down the basement. his tuxedo was wrinkled and torn in places. profound sweat was covering his dark muscular yet noticeably tired body marked by signs of exhaustion. a heartburn was visibly bothering him, making him crouch every few steps. finally joseph plopped at his destination – a cardboard box filled with dump stained yellowish books at the far gloomy corner of this dim shabby space. joseph crawled over kafka’s metamorphosis to the familiar spot at the back. he relaxed his antennas. he was ready for his nap.

observer

my nostrils are sensing a thread of a rotting compost mixed with cigarette butts and dripped out beer. i am sitting on the street in the outdoor section of a prominent restaurant. my drink is a delightful mix of fresh grapefruit, rose, elderflowers and liqueur. inside, a band is playing a blend of reggae, jazz and soft rock. i am no longer anxious. i am an observer. the stroll of worn out children wearing washed off organic cotton labels carrying light sabers or riding scooters does not seem to pause. the children are followed by dads of the same dress code and demeanor. droplets of sweat are sparking on arms and faces of everyone. i can’t spot makeup on any female despite my suspicion they do have it on. there are people with dogs, all so well groomed. i was here once before, many years ago. the memory does not feel neither painful nor sentimental. i’m glad i am here.

string

i am unwinding the string. i am aware of what i am doing. i’m terrified and excited. i know the consequences, i know the drill. nothing is new but i feel like it is. i’m frightened. i’m prepared. i think i am, yet i know i am not. i know the despair, the pain, the loss. they are my friends. they will appear when the string is dropped, when i emptied it all. i do not care. i will get through. i will do it this time. but i know i cannot.

words

you let go, you take a breath, you submerge in a pool of words, - beautiful, contradictory, intriguing, hypnotizing words. you hear fragments of words said softly and loudly around you. you see words of different fonts and shapes chaotically flying in front of you, towards you and away from you in all directions. you try to grab on to a word. you try to clutch to any word that can take you away. you are desperate to connect to a word. you know the other words will stop their bewildered dance the instant you do it. the words will pause, they will glow and line up, the words will take order and meaning. the words will light up and escort you to the whimsical enchanting world you are longing to be in.

love

it happened. all of a sudden the love was there rapidly filling my every cell. love was forcing in, pushing away my thoughts and feelings, adamantly squeezing them out, replacing all i had. instantly i understood it was love.  i recognized it, i welcomed it, i opened all the space in me for it. i did not need anything else. all i had before was no longer important or real. i let love fill me full of warm incredibly light glowing tender happiness.