x-mas мы

i don't know

Mom used to tell me
Everytime when somebody asks u – if he loves u – u can’t answer – oh yes, he does. U can’t. ‘cause u never know. His head is his head. What he tells and what he does – not REALLY matter. U have to answer – “he behaves himself as a man who loves”. Remember Gi-De Mopassan? Good. For example. I was talking some years ago with that woman. “Oh – he loves me so much – she was telling. He adores me. He never never will cheat on me”. He was my lover that time, u know? But she was so sure. And so fool in her assurance.

But once mom told me another story.

That was a woman, foreteller. Pretty famous in soviet time. And one day she gave a talk on radio. People called her and she answered. I think she was using intuition and woman wisdom more then gift. So people was calling her and asked important question for them. To agree about a job, about a move, about friends. One girl called, very young one. “does John love me?!” she asked. “My dear – woman replied. – he doesn’t. because if he does, u would never ask me this question, u would know, u would feel, u would be sure”.

ты влюблена. мне так жаль тебя. ты такая слабая сейчас.

try smth else

You re nervous – she said – relax, let me make massage of hands.
Some people’ve got power, “what a hands” we say – when u feel trembling, when it sends shivers down ur spine. He touches u lightly – and u flinch. She was manicurist – and for one hour and half I fell in love with her strong identity.
(Yes! Manicure! First time may be for a couple of years, пальчики, которые целуют. Должны быть красивыми. И которые не целуют – тоже. Ведь будут целовать. Пальчики).

Calm down – she repeated. Why u nervous so much?
I kept silence a minute. Tried to relax my fingers and felt tension again.

We hand in our project today – I smiled. – 3 months of work. I m working for an architectural agency - I forestall her question. – and today we hang in a project of us – everybody is so exited – u cant imagine.
U will be successful – she said – I feel it. It’s s good excitement.
May be. I hope. We worked really much. U know – this way I like and don’t like in the same time – 3or 4 month u work like hell- I mean – like hell – even spending a nights in the office – oh we had even sleeping places there. That’s great, nice, when u draft something on the desk and somebody is sleeping under the desk in the same time – I can’t imagine more closing situation actually, some army quarters may be. We become really friends meanwhile, really good one, I’m one girl in this agency actually – such a big agency and I’m one – strange isn’t it? Like my brothers they are. And then 3-4 month u re free, once a week in a office, can even leave somewhere, nice no?

I told a lot more. About my former-fiancé. About my man on. My past. My attitude to past.
I was so sincere in the moment of telling absolutely fakes.
She told me too much may be. And I don’t know a second if it’s real life. About her children. 4 children. And 2 adopted children. About her husband. About happiness. About his death. About months of depression. About light. About work. About Moscow.
I m leaving Moscow – and I feel such a relief. And such a disbelief.
As usual.
I never believe.
I was so sincere telling these fakes.

collection

So it started in Sweden. In Stockholm.With Fey.
It was still too early for the city what we arrived. To early for this scandianavian city I mean. Sun was there but city was closed. We were sitting on the stairs watching sky around. In the first opened shop we spent 2 hours in the massage chair. And after that it started. First day actually.
It started by chance. Candies. In the small market. All the colors. All the shapes. All u can imagine. And just here. I took one because that was blue. Fey took one because that was strange. I mean – “that was sin – not just to take it”.
Following days - getting to know the city, trying to live in that city – we felt more and more hungry and poor. No problems with dinner we had. They say that Swedish men never pay for a girl – but we met no Swedish person for a week there. Mexicans drinkers, Russian workers, Peru capoeristas, Chili hosts, French dates – we never thought about evening, but during the day we were alone and hungry. Shop prices made us laugh and leave. So once I just took one candy more. And again. And then not one. And then – in every shop. Only stupid thing we did with Fey – was showing all the stolen sweets right next to the entrance of the shop. I just hope that wasn’t as obvious as I imagine.

So it kept on in Moscow. In our university.
In the big company we were still sitting in eating room – late and empty. U have to leave – they said. Buns – which they cook perfectly, tender, full and rough were laying there on the desk.

Let’s take one – I smiled insidiously. I took one. Fey took 4.
That became obsession soon. One bun. 2 buns. Empty room wasn’t already a criteria.

So it continued in night club.
Rush 80th night, I came there later, I was drinking rum before, I came there later to find Fey and all them, beer and vodka we were drinking then, vodka from tiny shot glasses… at the crack of down we left the place, stood 1 minute on the cold air and came back to hide in bags 2 tiny shot glasses.

I want a collection, I said. I want a collection of stolen glasses.

We came in Ikea that day. Hand by hand we passed rooms till we stopped next to white kitchen, so complete one, everything were ready there - plates and forks, cups and pots, even presents and flowers. So we sat at the table, shacked white serviette and placed it on our laps, and started to eat. Well. “eat”. I cooked something and gave it to Fey, presented her silver box, she was as usual salting her food. Then I was drinking espresso and she was washing plates. We left with 2 beautiful long glasses in out bags.

My collection is on windowsill, if anything happens.

searching for russian restorant

what a strange city. what a srange sity without any point or face. Moscow will disappear soon snowed under italian restorants, japanese cafeteris, french cuisine and american clums. Moscow is obsessed about every single country, every single culture exept its own.

all we do - not only we here - but the world - just trying to sell history.

before the train

that just he point of proudness - all the quarells of us

"sometimes i think if there similar things in us - even one!"

in the end of the fests are just days. the poit - is importance we give to it. we just create it. ourselves. like we created Xmas here.


and that was importante for them. first xmas they celebrated without family. and one of them is 28. i felt responsibility and surprising. gray day for u is one of the greates day a year for someone who leave everything and run/go/fly home to celebrate. my flat that i still couldnt leave was empty and in the morning i brought catolics there. there were cooking whole night - young guys! - and wanted to cook whole day more. sitting there on the kitchen i realised more and more that after all we were born in different countries. and i coulnd explain the importance of new year in this country but tat may be becouse i even didnt know it. so i was sitting there watching them singing xmas songs - old as the world there. they say for europian people russia is everything after poland and sometimes poland too. and all europian feel upset as far as they realise that for russian - all the europe is the same - someting "there" - over the west. so these - catolics - were from diferent countries - but i felt the same far. so i just left for work.

only i wanted was shampagne. mee too - but them drank so much shampagne these month together which they never had during all their life probably.

so i picked up everybody on the way home and took them to big xmas dinner. the very aim was to eat till u almost die. and aim was done. holiday we - in santa claus costumes - drunk of russain vodka - were playing hide-and-seek, destroying empty flat. it's importante to feel cozy in company, cozy, and it was here.

when suddenly i found myself under some storm of sincerity, waterfall, stream, some words which i always keep in myself, never can tell - despite it's really necessary sometimes to tell them and to hear them, some words which always stuck somewhere in my mouth, which i afraid like hell - words of my own feelings - words of my own -
i was crying with my words, i was crying saying

not only me was crying this evening

but after all - was i that empty and that full, that sure and that unsure, that happy and that destroyed...

merry christmas

u builted here too much just to leave

another point of view

And he wrote there
That

All these days together, one by one and next – what a different person she was. Caressing and tender. Stranger and unkind. Teaseful and mocking, vulnerable and helpless, strict and strong, capricious and unpatient. Only I still couldn’t understand - what real she was.

Not about that but… when my sister told me what a shitty selfish I am – I even didn’t realize how right she was…

stone facture

Our conversations started to be stricter but more sincere. Too straight sometimes. But more truth to each other. I like and need this way without extra smile but with more understanding. Even I mistake every single world here. That change when she was in Barcelona. I felt. It happens sometimes that you feel what somebody thinks about through couple of thousands kilometers. And sometimes can’t understand the feeling of smile here. She came to my place then – on the crack of down - without sleeping (I need to work in night bar – she said. We could work together couple of months – I replied). New York New York that was – film made perfectly and only by Liza Minelli. Her lashes – half a cheek and that scene when she is trying to get out of the car. With naked feet in the rain – some moves, some expression just stay somewhere in ur mind. They come when u fall in thoughts. Images. Phrases. Expressions. Songs. Faces. Or when u’re meditating. U never can get rid of ur head. Hours and hours can pass. Meeting and leaving somebody I always think – if I leave in his head a tiny remembrance, a tiny image. Some people remember u years – mom told. They come back to u. because can’t forget. Meeting and leaving somebody I always think – if I can become “something” for him. Some word. Some expression. Some way. Some life. I always afraid – afraid so much – that there are meetings which leave nothing. May be I just afraid to be nothing.

Fey already was sleeping when Liza was singing a song about New York.

That the most sincere and trustful that u can do. To fall in sleep next to somebody. The most tender.

Everytime I fall in sleep next to him – always during the day, so tired of the day – opening my eyes then – I feel a light fear of tenderness.

we used to compare. thank you for this one.

look through Byron and move

XCI
He, Juan (and not Wordsworth), so pursued
His self-communion with his own high soul,
Until his mighty heart, in its great mood,
Had mitigated part, though not the whole
Of its disease; he did the best he could
With things not very subject to control,
And turn'd, without perceiving his condition,
Like Coleridge, into a metaphysician.

Он (но не Вордсворд, а Жуан, понятно)
Прислушивался к сердцу своему,
И даже боль была ему приятна
И как бы душу тешила ему.
Он видел мир – прекрасный, необъятный,
Дивился и печалился всему
И скоро вдался (сам того не чуя),
Как Колдридж, - в метафизику прямую.

XCII
He thought about himself, and the whole earth
Of man the wonderful, and of the stars,
And how the deuce they ever could have birth;
And then he thought of earthquakes, and of wars,
How many miles the moon might have in girth,
Of air-balloons, and of the many bars
To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies;
And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes.

Он думал о себе и о звездах,
О том, кой черт зажег в какой-то день их,
О людях, о великих городах,
О войнах, о больших землетрясеньях,
Терялся в фантастических мечтах,
В заоблачных носился похожденьях,
Вздыхая о луне, о царстве фей
И о глазах красавицы своей.

Sometimes I think how fit my nature to books world (created actually by them) and what an extra and unsuitable part of this real world I am.

Just couple of boxes to pack my world

To a new flat I remove just my library. I have nothing to sleep on in my empty room. But my books, my pictures, my cards and my stories are here.

about hair and kilometrs

I have to admit with sorry feeling that, generally, dissapearing of 20 santimetrs of my hair passed without notice.
My head is light
In all the meanings

In the evening i drop to drink coffe - to the oil station. Coffe is not strong, at home i do better, but to me it gives me a rememberence of all hitch-hiking rush, to him - feeling of his endless roadtrips. So we sit, dived into moving mood, stucked here. Tomorrow we will discuss Baikal trip. In all the details. There.

Thats 5 000 km. 5 000. and 4 whole days in the train. Passing Nijnyi Novgorod, Novorosiysk, Krasnoyarsk and such a small stations like "Winter" and "Tatarian" one, where we will stay no more then 10 minutes.
5 00 km. and 4 whole days in the train.

я ведь должна быть счастлива

- ты летаешь?
- нет

internal yards of us

Потому что в Петербурге ты была искренна. Почему так дороги эти три дня – потому что ты была искренна. Сама собой. И счастлива. В Москве ты снова другая. Ты знаешь, нам обоим страшно.

- What was then – that evening?

- Easy. I understood that you can make be upset.

- Oh, and I realized that you can make me cry.

Once I came home and my mom was waiting me with shampagne. I was still in my work black dress, which I put on that day to quit my job. I was still in my work dress when she opened second bottle. What a strange ways our sincerity choose to appear. What a strange places.

You will cry, - mom said

And when she says this person is gonna cry – he will.

what a wonder ability i've got to accept every single word as a personal offence...

il faro

- And so i think I can name the most difference in us.
I know that nobody lives in lighthouse. people just come there at times to watch and check.
but you? you asked me - if I wanna work in the beacon. you still think that there is a man who live there, getting crazy day by day. dont name me books - i imagine there were a lot about.

- I don't like ur world. in my world people live in lighthouses.

- I like your world too.

that was cold and tender

And it was sleepy and snowy. Wind and snow – Piter was so cold these days. Piter grabbed my fingers with this coldness – grabbed so tight that I couldn’t feel it and again and again I melted in bookshops – this city is full of them. Skin is pricking, drops remain on lashes. We were watching Piter through large windows almost till floor, profound armchairs and with tea in hands. When it's cold u need a big mug of tea in ur both hands. To hold and to smell. We slept all the mornings, we lost immediately leaving Nevsky prospect…

My Piter. I pretend to get to know whole world but I don’t know my Piter. This city was so knew, so unfamiliar, so marvelous, so stranger. I was wondering more then real aliens whom I tried to show it. My Piter is not a real one – I couldn’t realize it more this winter. Piter of dostoyebsky. Of Pushkin. Lermontov. And Gogol. Reading and reading – with a light pain somewhere down I understood that more then hundred years passed. That may be Piter has never been this way. Even. That I missed this city replacing it with imagination of my writers. What else do I keep to replace?

Of course I visited last flat of Dostoyevsky. And Pushkin. I had to touch reality a little bit.