rude

The strongest one is one who admits his weakness.

That was one of the most painful conversation of calm face I ve ever had. i wanted to explode with my sympathy to her but she asked me with her eyes why should I be sorry. She told he attitude but I couldn’t help but having the same story to tell. But attitude. Attitude was so different.

The strongest one is one who admits his weakness.

I never do. But my weakness is no secret. Secret is that I m doing my bst hiding this weakness… from myself.

The most fear I have is to be weak. Or to seem weak. The strongest fear I have is to feel more and receive no answer to this feeling. The most fear I have is to admit that somebody could influence me and my life. My proudness never let it know to another person. I t r y no to feel it. Pretend I don’t. don’t feel.

And so she asked me – what can be worse then not let u feel what u re feeling?
But pride?!
Fuck pride.

How often do u meet people who feel and say what they are feeling? who are honest to themselves? Being a person who is last lier in the world about myself I can tell that looking at her I felt world crushing.

My pride is miserable. First of all I need to proof the person that I CAN live without him. Sounds not that logical, isn’t it? Once a man – who knew me close enough- told about me in overhearing conversation – she’s strong enough to leave u for ur own, delay u from her life and never be back again. But she is not strong enough to forget about u ever”.

I ve got serous problems with “I miss u”, “I need u”, “u’re important for me”, “I love u”, “I want to be with u” words. I miserably (!) admit the influence of first men I was in love with - (and they wasn’t in love with me though) – and - even more miserably – the influence of my father.

That was the topic conversation started with.

There are 90% families in Moscow living without fathers. Imaging how many girls and boys are having such a conversation at the same time my sick pride rises its head and crying me to shut up.

“to be indifferent and not care is one. What u’re doing and feeling – IS a hurt life because of him” – Zver’ told me smth which I m not able to admit still. The same as admit a fact to him that I need him, zver’, the most.

one more place i should write about

time to question myself

In China they say that there are 3 things - the worst things in the world. I sincerely don’t remember first one (that was too painful may be)
But second one is - to wait for one who will never come
And third is – too lay in ur bed and not be able to fall in sleep.

I was laying in my bed and couldn’t fall in sleep.
Until that was 5.

- will u change a world, - I asked.
- I’ll try.

Sky was getting lighter and lighter. Yesterday at this time I left smoky bar and was slowly walking to her place.

- will u change a world?
- The world or a world?
- This world?

I felt despair about myself. I often feel despair about myself.

- listen… I do realize I can change people. More or less, for more or less, but still. I do realize I can change people. Change their lives and their approach. More or less. A little bit. But still.
But am I able to change more? Am I able to change more around me? They were reading Belinsky articles for several ages, he was making revolutions in minds, he rulled he pointed a way for ages of people.
I don’t ask if I m able to be like Belinsky.
Or may be I do.

Me. Just me.

- will u change a world?

lonely admittions

I m mean. I m really mean, and unfortunately I don’t want to accept this thought about myself.
I remember that during 2 weeks meditation session, when, having cleaned ur mind from all the garbage of everyday life, during these hours of still seating, u start painfully admit some things about urself.
And first thing I ve admitted was my meanness.
I m mean not only in simple meaning of greed(iness), avidity; avarice, (скупость, корыстолюбие); covetousness (алчность). That’s too. Yes.
I m mean about… food. Oh and a lot. I know that I don’t need that much but smth makes me take second, third, forth orange and quickly eat it.
About time. My damnation. One day it will make me weak and powerless. One day may be I ll not be able to accept minutes. One day I ll curse watches and myself.
I m mean about nights and morning.
About sun. About smell. About people. About friendship. About love. About physical love. About touches. About words. About declarations.
Books. Stories. Novells. Poems. Beauty. Proofs.
Proofs. Proofs that I m beautiful and I m ugly. By my body and by my mind. Proofs that I m good and proofs that I m miserable as they call me. Proofs that I ve change them.
Proofs that I ve changed them.
I m mean about people.
I m mean about sensless meanness.

Aнненков. Замечательное тысячеление.

… У Белинского взамен общества были тогда три постоянных, неразлучных собеседника, которых наслушаться вдоволь он почти уже и не мог. Именно: Пушкин, Гоголь и Лермонтов. О Пушкине говорить не будем: откровения его лирической поэзии… приводили Белинского в изумление, как волшебство или феноменальное явление природы. Он не отделается от обаяния Пушкина и тогда, когда ослепленный творчеством Лермонтова, весь обратился к новому светилу поэзии…. При отъезде моем заграницу в октябре 1840 года Белинский спросил, какие книги я беру с собой. «Странно вывозить книги из России в Германию», - отвечал я. – «А Пушкина?» - «Не беру и Пушкина…» - «Лично для себя, я не понимаю возможности жить, да еще и в чужих краях, без Пушкина», - заметил Белинский.

Instead of society that time Belinsky had 3 constant, inseparable persons, whis whom he never felt enough talking to, namely: Pushkin, Gogol, Lermontov. Let us not speak about Pushkin: revelations of his lyrics … amazed Belinsky, like a magic or nature’s phenomena. He will be still impressed with Pushkin even, dazzled with Lermontov’s art, turn all himself to a knew luminary in literature. … when I was leaving abroad in October 1840, Belinsky asked me which books I m taking with me. “I find it strange taking out books from Russia to Germany”, - I answered. – “And Pushkin?” – “Neither Pushkin I don’t take…” – “Personally for me I can realize possibility of living, especially in another country, without Pushkin” – noticed Belinsky.

Telling honestly I shed a tear at this moment. I was in metro with this old book of recollections about Belinsky. “That’s not XIX century, u study less then 3% of all the people”. Even less I would say. But this 3% of all the people guide me to the world I m loaning to. They open me whole world, they open in me anguish in knowing more, knowing them more, be able one day do no less then they did.

reflections in museums

I found myself in Pushkin’s museum. I spent my childhood there among this sculptures. I was still trying to copy this world on the paper was walking with my pencil everywhere. But Pushkin’s museum is smth special.
In this big empty halls with windows on ceilings I was always thinking – that may be all these legends about golden age is may be true – thereore beginning with middle age there is this longing for antic past. I would even call it nostalgia. This yearning for past – which was in mind and again and again repeated in poems, stories and – pictures. Time passed. This nostalgia stayed.
I stop in roman sculptures hall and sat on the low sofa. Hall was full of copies and only that changed – that some of them I already ve seen in real. But Nika sculpture s still out of this world. This lines, absolutely alive lines of her, this power and tenderness of stone – gigantic, up there, she was on the ship flying-swimming forward. I felt again nostalgia prick inside.

Among these sculptures I couldn’t help but was close to crying.

Sculptures. Sculptures of men.

Sometimes I think what attract me that much in ur body. When u stay naked in the room I feel pale prick again, heart easily sank, smth so unconscious and far that I never think about it. Long legs, chest form, belly and this lines of ur hips. Longing for past an longing for ur body is 2 different things. Past doesn’t have this warm skin. And I ve never united this 2 different things.
Only that this long hours among copies where I was roaming about since I was girl – made me remember u strong.
And think that u and this past is connected.

Белинский и я. через 150 лет.

Чем сильнее человек, тем выше он нравственно, тем смелее он смотрит на свои слабые стороны и недостатки. Еще более можно сказать это и о народах… Народ старый, ничтожный или состарившийся… любит только хвалить себя и больше всего боится взглянуть на свои раны… Не таков должен быть народ великий, полный сил и жизни: сознание своих недостатков, вместо того чтобы приводить его в отчаяние и повергать в сомнение о своих силах, дает ему новые силы, окрыляет его на новую деятельность

The stronger is the person, the more moral he is, the more courageously he look at his weak points and disadvantages. Even more it can be said about nations…
Old, miserable nation love just compliment itself and is afraid the most to see its wounds… great, full of power and life nation should be another way: realization of its disadvantages, instead of making despair and leaving in doubts, should give a new power, inspirit for a new activity.

I m a weak person. In the weak country?

And more – “Идея вычитанная или услышанная и, пожалуй, понятая, как должно, но не проведенная через собственную натуру, не получившая отпечатка вашей личности, есть мертвый капитал не только для поэтической, но и всякой литературной деятельности

Idea which was read or heard and understood may be, and may be even understood right, but didn’t get imprint of ur identity - is a dead capital not only for poetic, but each single literature activity

How many bags or beautiful dead capital I carry from place to place, from day to day, from person to person…

one that has never read historical books

After conversations with him I cry sleeping. I have fearful dreams which I can’t stand and I wake up.
After conversations with him about history.

This book about Alessandr II is the second historical book i read. And again – as it was with Pavel I story I go slowly, page by page, sometimes just not being able to read after a word. Each line just published here on the page fill with such a pain and power, with so many tears and sufferings that I can’t stand it and turn my head down.
I never read about war. I never watch films about war.
I can’t understand war.

In this book on one page that was 2 things which made me stop and stare at the wall – imaging –

1824. Peterburg. Neva-river went out of banks:
“7 november 7 pm on the Admiralteistvo tower alarm lights turned on. In the night that was a storm that never was before. By the morning infuriated river throwed itself to the city. Water was boiling like in the copper, that was gigantic waves on the Palace’s square, and square met with Neva and with Nevsky prospect which became a river itself and rats ran up surviving. ..
Just in few days, after water gone he went to watch a city. All the bank in front of Winter Palace was full with broken ships. And more – coffins from watered down cemetery were everywhere around…

1825. Peterburg.
They have to be killed by quarterring. No – said “kind” tcar – we can just hang them.
They were 5. 3 of them slipped down from rope and felt down to grownd. They were decided to hanged again. Muraviev-Apostol – climbing up again with his hands tied told – cursed country where they are not able to make a conspiracy, to judge neither to hang".

Stop here. How u can read more?

beauty will

They call it Volter syndrome. I still didn’t die, I just cry, cry over every time this life and this world shows me how beautiful it can be.
And every time I think honestly to myself – that I can easily die now. With now regrets. First time it was in Italy, in Rome. Italy is a country which one day will kill me in the narrow street on the warm pavement. First time it was in Italy, in Rome.
On motorbike we crossed the center of Rome. I think I was screaming. I don’t remember, I didn’t hear. I remember small pale thought, even wish – that motorbike can now crush down to ground. ‘cause I m already here. And I don’t want to live through this moment.

What’s the name of that Italian city which I ve seen just in the night? On the roof it was, all the world down at my feet, all this lights, people and history. That was cold, and I want even alone. I so shame to cry every time I m not alone. I turned my face to the city and trusted it to see my tears. In the morning I put my feet up, stretched in the chair and adored roofs. City understood me.

And there too – next night, on the river. Bridges and bridges more. And 2 men behind us. Him, who was with me – was stricked with a thought – that them – these 2 emigrants, these 2 with a poor and hard life, in alien city, in the callanged day’s night – came here, came here with covers and food. To have their dinner. Cause even they need to feel a Beauty.

He felt offended that I didn’t appreciate it. But I was calm and happy – Dostoyevsky a lot of time ago grew a thought in my heart – that beauty will save a world. Even that now it seems overput banality. I smiled happily ‘cause I knew and I felt.

Bridges and bridges more, night and wine, I looked down to water and felt again, again and again – that I m ready, I even want to jump now down, to vanish in this moment and this beauty.

Only I knew – I would survive. I’d never die jumping down to water.

some nights

He waited me in the car, this old man who had life in each single his breathe. I told him I don’t want to go to restorante, or to cook, or to walk – I want be in the car, through the night city –
He shouted, he screamed, he laughed, he cried, he jumped, he moved, he grinned, he clitched, he flitched, he… he was driving, oh my god, he was driving
We both knew that’s gonna be our only evening together
I never gonna sleep with him
He never gonna want smth more

Moscow passed flying, I laughed, I adored Moscow.

Please, I asked him – we have to go to this bukinist shop

It was closed. Down there, behind the door and the stair, along with old books official black wonderful Bulgakov’s gathering was waiting for me.

I started to knock in every door and window. I just felt like the last day in my life. Why I so often feel like the last day of my life?

That’s Italian tourist – I screamed to a face of sleepy guard. – he wanted to buy from u that book about Lenin for 25 000 rubles and official gathering of Leskov – don’t remember this fucking price…

Well, I bought just 5 books of Bulgakov for 1 800

Old, smooth and black

he presented me wine in the end of the evening. He told – it’s full of sun. and (unfortunately) it was enough. That’s so cheap – to buy some parts of my soul.

Next day they stole my bag in the book cafeteria. With cellphone, with I-pod and with book. Number 4 from the official gathering.

Be ready to give back things night present u.

Pushkin - journalist

рассердясь единожды, сержусь я долго и утихаю не прежде, как истощив весь запас оскорбительных примечаний, обиняков, заграничных анекдотов и тому подобного. Для поддержания же себя в сем суровом расположении духа, перечитываю я тщательно мною переписанные в особую тетрадь статьи, подавшие мне повод к таковому ожесточению. Таким образом, пересматривая на днях антикритику, подавшую мне случай заступиться за почтенного друга моего А. А. Орлова, напал я на следующее место:
- "Я решился на сие" - (на оправдание г. Булгарина) - "не для того, чтоб оправдать и защищать Булгарина, который в этом не имеет надобности, ибо у него в одном мизинце более ума и таланта, нежели во многих головах рецензентов" (см. o 27 Сына Отечества, издаваемого г. г. Гречем и Булгариным).
Изумился я, каким образом мог я пропустить без внимания сии красноречивые, но необдуманные строки! Я стал по пальцам пересчитывать всевозможных рецензентов, у коих менее ума в голове, нежели у г. Булгарина в мизинце, и теперь догадываюсь, кому Николай Иванович думал погрозить мизинчиком Фаддея Венедиктовича.
В самом деле, к кому может отнестись это затейливое выражение? Кто наши записные рецензенты?
Вы, г. издатель Телескопа? Вероятно мстительный мизинчик указует и на вас: предоставляю вам самим вступиться за свою голову. Но кто же другие?
Г. Полевой? Но несмотря на прежние раздоры, на письма Бригадирши, на насмешки славного Грипусье, на недавнее прозвище Верхогляда и проч. и проч., всей Европе известно, что Телеграф состоит в добром согласии с Северной Пчелой и Сыном Отечества: мизинчик касается не его.
Г. Воейков? Но сей замечательный литератор рецензиями мало занимается, а известен более изданием Хамелеонистики, остроумного сбора статей, в коих выводятся, так сказать, на чистую воду некоторые, так сказать, литературные плутни. Ловкие издатели Северной Пчелы уж верно не станут, как говорится, класть ему пальца в рот, хотя бы сей палец был и знаменитый, вышеупомянутый мизинчик.
Г. Сомов? Но кажется Литературная Газета, совершив свой единственный подвиг - совершенное уничтожение (литературной) славы г. Булгарина, - почиет на своих лаврах, и г. Греч, вероятно, не станет тревожить сего счастливого усыпления, щекотя Газету проказливым мизинчиком.
Кого же оцарапал сей мизинец? Кто сии рецензенты, у коих - и так далее? Просвещенный читатель уже догадался, что дело идет обо мне, о Феофилакте Косичкине. Всему свету известно, что никто постояннее моего не следовал за исполинским ходом нашего века. Сколько глубоких и блистательных творений по части политики, точных наук и чистой литературы вышло у нас из печати в течение последнего десятилетия (шагнувшего так далеко вперед) и обратило на себя справедливое внимание завидующей нам Европы! Ни одного из таковых явлений не пропустил я из виду; обо всяком, как известно, написал я по одной статье, отличающейся ученостию, глубокомыслием и остроумием. Если долг беспристрастия требовал, чтоб я указывал иногда на недостатки разбираемого мною сочинения, то может ли кто-нибудь из г.г. русских авторов жаловаться на заносчивость или невежество Феофилакта Косичкина? Может быть, по примеру г. Полевого я слишком лестно отзываюсь о самом себе; я мог бы говорить в третьем лице и попросить моего друга подписать имя свое под сими справедливыми похвалами; но я гнушаюсь таковыми уловками, и г. г. русские журналисты, вероятно, не укорят меня в шарлатанстве.


i read his letters, i read his articles, i reread his poems and stories. Chaadaev called him - "our Dante".
and i bless all the skies that i m able to read him in our language
i ask all the skies how could he exist and how could my world have existed without him
i thank all the skies that i can appreciate, enjoy and cry over his lines

look for there

http://summerywine.livejournal.com/